Legends of the Rhine

W >> Wilhelm Ruland >> Legends of the Rhine

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

The poor countess was heart-broken at this bitter separation. She felt
the loneliness of the castle deeply, she longed for his happy presence
and the sound of his voice. She could never speak to Golo as to the
friend to whose care her husband had recommended her. Her pure eyes
shrank from the passionate look which gleamed in his. It seemed to her
that he followed her every movement with a look which her childlike
soul did not understand.

She missed her husband's presence more and more. She would go out on
the balcony and weave golden dreams, and while she sat there, looking
out over the hazy blue distance, she longed for the moment when
Siegfried would return, when she could lean her head upon his breast,
and tell him of the great happiness in store for them.

Perhaps the war against the heathens might last so long that she would
be able to hold the pledge of their love joyfully out to him from the
balcony on his return. And the countess' lovely face would be lit up
with a gleam of blissful happiness, and she would while away the time
on her favourite spot, dreaming and looking out into the hazy blue
distance.

The secret aversion which the countess felt towards the steward was
not without a reason. Her angel-like beauty had awakened lustful
passion in Golo's breast, which he did not strive to hide. On the
contrary his frequent intercourse with her, who was as gracious to him
as to all her other inferiors, stirred his passion still more, and one
day, losing all control, he threw himself at the countess' feet,
declaring his love for her, and imploring her to return it. Genovefa
was horrified at this confession. With indignation and scorn she
rejected his love, forbidding him to appear before her as he had
utterly forgotten his duty, and at the same time, threatening to
complain of him to her husband. Golo's eyes flared up, and a deadly
look of hatred gleamed from them.

He could hope for no pardon from his angry mistress. Besides, his
pride would not allow him to seek it, and now his one desire was
revenge. It only remained for him to follow his dastardly plan and to
avoid Siegfried's wrath.

Hatred raged in his breast. He dismissed all the servants of the
castle and put new ones of his own creation in their places. Then one
day he appeared before the horrified countess, and openly accused her
of being unfaithful to her husband far away.

Shame and wrath robbed Genovefa of speech. Golo explained to the
servants who were standing around in silent amazement, that he had
already informed the count of his wife's faithless conduct, and that
he, Golo, as present administrator of the castle, now condemned the
countess to be imprisoned in the dungeon.

The unhappy Genovefa awakened to find herself in an underground cell
of the castle. She covered her face in deep sorrow, imploring Him who
had sent her this trial, to help her in her present affliction. There
after some time a son was born to her. She baptized him with her
tears, giving him the name of Tristan, which means "full of sorrows."

II.

Siegfried had already been absent six months. He had fought like a
hero in many a desperate battle. The fanatical followers of Mohamet
having crossed the Pyrenees, struggled with wild enthusiasm, hoping to
subdue the rest of western Europe to the doctrines of Islam by fire
and sword. In several encounters, the Franks had been obliged to give
way to their power. These unbridled hordes had already penetrated into
the heart of Gaul, when Charles first appeared and engaged the Arabs
in the bloody battle of Tours. From morning till evening the struggle
on which hung the fate of Europe raged. And there Charles proved
himself worthy of the name of Martel, "the hammer," which he
afterwards received.

Siegfried fought at the leader's side like a lion; but towards evening
a Saracen's lance pierced him, and though the wound was not mortal,
yet he was obliged to remain inactive for several months on a
sick-bed, where he thought with longing in his heart of his loving
wife by the Rhine.

A messenger arrived one day at the camp bearing a parchment from Golo,
Siegfried's steward. The count gazed long at the fateful letter,
trying to comprehend its meaning. What he had read, ran thus: "Your
wife is unfaithful to you and has betrayed you for the sake of Drago,
a servant, who ran away." The hero crushed the letter furiously in his
hand, a groan escaping from his white lips. Then he started off
accompanied by a few followers, and rode towards the Ardennes, never
stopping till he reached his own fort. A man stood on the balcony,
looking searchingly out into the distance, and seeing a cloud of dust
approaching in which a group of horsemen soon became visible, his eyes
gleamed triumphantly.

A stately knight advanced, his charger stamping threateningly on the
drawbridge. Golo, with hypocritical emotion stood before the count,
who had now alighted from his foaming horse, and informed him again of
what had happened. "Where is the evil-doer who has stained the honour
of my house, where is he, that I may crush his life out?" cried
Siegfried in a fury.

"My lord, I have punished the wretch deservedly and lashed him out of
the castle," answered Golo in a stern voice, sighing deeply.

The count made a sign to Golo whose false eyes gleamed with devilish
joy, to lead the way.

Siegfried entered the dungeon, followed by his servants and also by
those who had travelled with him. Genovefa listened breathlessly in
her prison, with a loved name trembling on her lips and a prayer to
God in her heart. Now the terrible trial would come to an end, now she
would leave this dungeon of disgrace triumphantly, and exchange the
crown of thorns for the victor's wreath.

The bolt was unfastened, firm steps and men's voices were heard, the
iron doors were dashed open. She snatched her slumbering child, the
pledge of their love, and held it towards her dear husband. His name
was on her lips, but before she could utter it, a cry of agony escaped
her. He had cast her from him and, his accusations falling like blows
from a hammer on her head, the poor innocent countess fell senseless
to the ground. The next day two servants led mother and child out into
the forest, where with their own hands, they were to kill her who had
been so unfaithful to her husband, and her child also. They were to
bring back two tongues to the count as a proof that they had obeyed
his orders.

The servants drove them into the wildest depths of the forest where
only the screams of birds of prey broke the silence. They drew their
knives. But the poor countess fell on her knees, and holding up her
little child, implored them to spare their lives, if not for her sake,
at least for the sake of the helpless child. Pity entered the two
men's hearts and withheld their hands. Dragging the mother and child
still deeper into the forest, they turned away hastily, leaving their
victims to themselves.

They brought two harts' tongues to the count, informing him that they
had fulfilled his orders.

III.

Genovefa's tired feet wandered through the unknown forest, her child
crying with hunger. She prayed fervently to Heaven in her despair, and
tears were sent to relieve the dull pain in her heart, after which she
felt more composed, and her child was soon sweetly slumbering. To her
great astonishment she perceived a cavern near her, where she could
take shelter, and as if God wished to show that He had heard her
prayer, a white doe came towards the cavern, rubbing herself
caressingly against the abandoned woman. Willingly the gentle animal
allowed the little child to suckle it. The next day the doe came back
again, and Genovefa thanked God from the depths of her heart. She
found roots, berries, and plants, to support herself, and every day
the tame doe came back to her, and at last remained always with her.

Days, weeks, and months passed. Her unfaltering faith had rendered her
agony less. In time she learned to forgive her husband who had
condemned her unjustly, and she even pardoned him who had taken such
bitter revenge on her. Her lovely cheeks had become thinner, but the
forest winds had breathed a soft red into them, and the child who had
no cares nor gnawing pain in its heart, grew into a beautiful little
boy.

IV.

At the castle on the Rhine, sorrow was a constant guest since this
terrible event had happened. Siegfried's burning anger had sunk into
sorrow, and often when he was wandering restlessly through the rooms
so rich in sweet memories, where now a deserted stillness reigned, the
agony awoke again in his heart. He now repented of his hastiness, and
a voice whispered in his ear that he had been too severe in his cruel
punishment, that he had condemned too quickly, and that he should have
considered what he could have done to mitigate her punishment.

When these haunting voices pursued him, he would hurry away from the
castle and its loneliness, not being able to bear the torment of his
thoughts. Then to forget his trouble, he would follow the chase with
the yelping hounds. But he only seldom succeeded in dulling his
misery. Everywhere he seemed to see the pale face of a woman looking
imploringly at him.

The state of his master's soul had not escaped Golo, and this crafty
man cringed the more to the sorrowful count, feigning to care for his
welfare. A starving person accepts even the bread which a beggar-man
offers, and Siegfried, supposing his steward wished to compensate him
for his loss, accepted willingly every proof of devotion, and
recompensed him with his favour, at the same time hating the man in
his inmost soul who had rendered him such a terrible service.

One day the count rode out to the chase, accompanied by only a few
retainers, one of whom was Golo. Siegfried pressed deeper than was his
custom into the forest. A milkwhite doe sprang up before him and
sportsmanlike, he chased this singular animal through the bushes,
hoping to shoot it. His spear had just grazed it, when it disappeared
suddenly into a cavern. A woman whose ragged garments scarcely covered
her nakedness, leading a little boy by the hand, suddenly came out of
the opening in the rock, and the doe, seeking protection, rubbed
herself against her. She looked at the hunter, but her limbs trembled
so that she could scarcely stand, only her large sad eyes gazed
wistfully at him. A stifled cry, half triumphant, half a groan,
escaped from her lips, and she threw herself at the count's feet. From
the voice which for long months had only moved in earnest prayer or in
low sweet words to the child, now flowed solemn protestations of her
innocence. Her words burned like fire into the soul of the count, and
drawing her to his breast, he kissed her tears, and then sank at her
feet imploring her pardon.

He pressed his little boy to his heart, overcome with gratitude and
happiness, and wept with joy, calling him by a thousand affectionate
names.

Then at the sound of his bugle-horn his retinue hastened towards him,
Golo among them.

"Do you know these two?" thundered out the count to the latter,
tearing him from the throng and conducting him to Genovefa.

The wretch, as if struck by a club, broke down and, clasping his
master's knees, he confessed his wickedness and begged for mercy.
Siegfried thrust him contemptuously from him, refusing sternly, in
spite of the countess' intercession, to pardon his crime. Golo was
bound and led away, and a disgraceful death was his reward.

* * * * *

Now began a time of great happiness for Siegfried and his saint-like
wife, and they lived in undisturbed peace with their little son.

In gratitude to Heaven Siegfried caused a church to be built on the
spot where the white doe had appeared to him first. The countess often
made a pilgrimage to this house of God, to thank Him who had caused
her tears to be turned into joy. Then a day came when her corpse was
carried into the forest, and was buried in the church. Even now in
Laach, the wanderer is shown the church and the tombstone, also the
cavern where she suffered so much. Thus the name of St. Genovefa will
last to all time.

HAMMERSTEIN

The old Knight and his Daughters

[Illustration: Am Sarge Kaiser Heinrich IV.--Nach dem Gemaelde von
L. Rosenfelder--Zur Sage von der Burg Hammerstein]

Above Rheinbrohl, on a dreary sandstone rock, stand the ruins of the
old imperial fortress of Hammerstein. For a thousand years the storms
have beat on those desolate walls. One of the first owners was Wolf
von Hammerstein, a faithful vassal of the Emperor. It was Henry IV.
who then ruled, and partly by his own faults, partly by those of
others, the crown had indeed become to this sovereign one of thorns.
Wolf of Hammerstein had made the historic pilgrimage to Canossa alone
with his master. Now, on account of the infirmities of age the
venerable knight seldom descended the castle-hill, and only from afar,
the loud trumpet call of the world fell upon his ears. His wife, now
for several years deceased, had born him six daughters, all attractive
maidens and tenderly attached to their surviving parent, but their
filial affection met with the roughest and most ungrateful responses
from the sour old fellow. It was a sore grievance to Wolf of
Hammerstein that he had no son. He would willingly have exchanged his
halfdozen daughters for a single male heir. The girls were only too
well aware of this fact, and tried all the more, by constant love and
tender care to reconcile their ungracious parent to his lot.

One evening it thus befell. The autumn wind grumbled round the castle
like a croaking raven, and the old knight, Wolf of Hammerstein, sat by
a cheerful fire and peevishly nursed his gouty limbs. In spite of the
most assiduous attentions of his daughters he remained in a most surly
mood. The pretty maidens however kept hovering round the ill-tempered
old fellow like so many tender doves. Then the porter announced two
strangers. Both were wrapped in their knightly mantles, and in spite
of his troubles the hospitable lord of the castle prepared to welcome
his guests. Into the comfortable room two shivering and weary
travellers advanced, and as outlaws they craved shelter and protection
for the night. At the sound of one of the voices the knight started
up, listening eagerly, and when the stranger raised his visor and
threw back his mantle, Wolf of Hammerstein sank on his knees at the
stranger's feet, and seizing his hand he pressed it to his lips,
exclaiming: "Henry, my lord and king!" Then, with trembling voice the
Emperor told his old comrade-in-arms that he was a fugitive, and
before one who had torn from him the imperial crown and mantle. And
when the old knight, trembling with excitement, demanded who this
impious and dishonourable man might be, the Emperor murmured the
words, "My son," and then buried his face in his hands.

Rigid as a marble statue stood the old knight. Like a bolt from
heaven the consciousness of his past ignoble conduct had flashed upon
him. Suddenly he seemed to feel how tenderly the loving arms of his
daughters had enfolded him. He spread out his hands towards them, as
if anxious to atone by the tenderness of a minute for the harshness of
years. Then the Emperor, deeply touched, thus addressed the old man.
"Dear comrade-in-arms, your position is indeed enviable. The faithful
love of your daughters will tend you in your declining years. No
misguided son, impatient for your end, will hunt you from your home.
Alas, for me, to-morrow accompanied by a few faithful followers, I
must go down to battle against my own flesh and blood."

Towards midnight the unhappy monarch was conducted to a room prepared
with care for his reception; and, while he sank into a troubled sleep,
the old knight overwhelmed his daughters with long-delayed caresses.
In his heart, he silently entreated for pardon for the deep grudge he
had long cherished against the God who had been pleased to grant him
no son.

* * * * *

Three months had passed by. Sad news came to the Rhine from the
Netherlands. The Emperor Henry was dead. In the midst of fresh warlike
preparations death claimed him. His faithful partisans were therefore
greatly grieved and more especially Wolf of Hammerstein. But the
second part of the tidings made him even sadder. The consecrated earth
was denied to the unfortunate dead Emperor. His coffin was placed in a
cellar in Liege without any respect. Whoever wished could go there to
slander or to pray for the repose of his soul, whenever they desired.
When the knight was told of this he swore vehemently and did not close
his eyes for several nights. Then his mind was made up. All the
prayers and weeping of the daughters did not make him alter his
decision.

One day he stood before the Archbishop of Cologne and reminded him how
he had saved his life more than twenty years ago, and he recalled to
his memory that he had promised to grant any wish of the Hammersteins.

There was a great discussion between the knight and the bishop. But
the fidelity of the vassal was rewarded. The strong ecclesiastical
protection of the church at Cologne facilitated the steps to the
priests in Liege. Surrounded by pious women and earnest men he knelt,
a week later, before the sarcophagus, he pressed his lips to it and
murmured "Henry my master and my King." Afterwards he had the body
transferred to Speyer where it was placed in the royal tomb.

When the mournful vessel went up the Rhine from Cologne, by order of
the knight black flags fluttered in the wind and greeted the dead
Emperor. Hammerstein was always known later on as the most faithful
vassal of the King.

VALLEY OF THE AHR

The Last Knight of Altenahr

Only a few mouldering ruins now show where one of the proudest
strongholds of the Rhine country, Castle Altenahr, once stood. A
legend relates the mournful story of the last of the race which had
lived there for centuries.

This man was a very stubborn knight, and he would not bow down to or
even acknowledge the all-powerful archbishop, whom His Majesty the
Emperor had sent into the Rhine country as protector of the church.

Unfortunately the bishop was also of a proud and unyielding character,
and he nursed resentment in his heart against this spurner of his
authority.

It was not long before his smouldering rancour blazed into an open
feud, and the mighty bishop, accompanied by a large band of followers,
appeared before the proud castle of Altenahr. A ring of iron was
formed round the offending vassal's hold.

But its owner was not disturbed by this formidable array, and only
laughed sneeringly at the besiegers' useless trouble, knowing well
that they would never be able to storm his rocky stronghold.

The warlike priest saw many of his little army bleeding to death in
vain. He was very wrathful, but nevertheless undismayed.

He had sworn a great oath that he would enter this invincible hold as
a conqueror, even if the fight were to last till the Judgment Day; the
lord of Altenahr had sworn a similar oath, and these two powerful foes
were well matched.

Thus the siege continued for some months. The besieger's anger grew
hotter, for every attack cost him the lives of numbers of his
followers, and all his efforts seemed useless.

Already there was an outburst of discontent in his camp; many servants
and vassals deserted from such a dangerous venture. Revolt and
disobedience seemed on one occasion to threaten a complete dissolution
of the besieging army, as a desperate attack had been again repulsed
by the hidden inhabitants of the fort.

The bishop's allies urged the unrelenting man to desist from his
merciless purpose, but he received their protests with a sneer: "When
you leave me, my greater ally, hunger, will draw near. It will come,
that I am sure of." Then followed an uproar of confused voices;
mutinous troopers, now become bold by the wine they had taken, fell to
brawling with their leader. The bishop's grim smile died away.

"Wait my men, just wait for one more attack," he cried in a powerful
voice, "it will be the fiercest and the last," and with a dark face he
turned and strode away.

* * * * *

Dawn was creeping over the valley of the Ahr. There was a great stir
in the camp on the side of the mountain, and up above, in the castle
of Altenahr, silence reigned round hazy pinnacles. Suddenly a flourish
of trumpets was heard, and the drawbridge having been let down, the
lord of the castle galloped forth on a milkwhite charger, his tall
figure towering over the animal, the feather of his helmet waving
above his grey hair, and the first rays of the rising sun irradiating
his steel armour.

Holding his steed with a firm grip, he raised his right hand to the
shouting besiegers, signifying that he wished to speak. His voice
sounded far and wide.

"See here the last man and the last charger of all those who lived in
my tower. Hunger has snatched them all from me, wife, child, comrades.
They all preferred death to slavery. I follow them, unvanquished and
free to the last."

The noble animal reared up at the spur of its rider ... a great
spring, followed by a thundering crash ... then the Ahr closed her
foaming waters over man and steed.

A shudder seized those who were looking on. The dark countenance of
their leader became pale as death, and he rode off without a moment's
delay, followed by the curses of his mutinous troops.

Since that time the castle of Altenahr has remained deserted; no one
dared to enter the chambers hallowed by the memory of this heroic
defence. Thus it was avoided by mankind, till time gnawed at its walls
and destroyed its battlements.

The Minstrel of Neuenahr

I.

He was called Ronald, this tall handsome man, with blue eyes and fair
hair; he had a noble bearing and was a master of song.

The knight at the Castle of Neuenahr had made a great feast, and
Ronald was sitting on the drawbridge playing his harp and singing. The
guests stopped their noisy conversation within doors and knights as
well as noble ladies listened breathless to the unseen singer. The
proud lord of the castle bade his page bring the traveller in. Thus
the tall handsome man, the blue eyed, fair-haired stranger with the
noble bearing, appeared before the high company. The knights looked at
him with wonder and many a handsome lady regarded him with admiration
covertly.

Among the high company there was a beautiful young girl, the daughter
of the knight, whose birthday was being celebrated. The lord of the
castle rose from his richly carved stool, and made a sign to the
singer who was bowing graciously to the knights and ladies and lower
still to the master of the castle.

"Give us a song, musician, in honour of our child who is seventeen
years old to-day."

The musician fixed his glance in silent admiration on the maiden. She
dropped her eyes, and a lovely blush covered her cheeks. He seized his
harp, and after a few chords, began to sing a song of homage. Sweetly
sounded the music, and even sweeter the flattering words. The maiden
flushed a deeper crimson and cast down her eyes. Once when the harper
in his song compared her to a star lighting a wanderer's path, she
glanced up, and their eyes met; but hers sank quickly again. She
seemed to waken out of a dream when the song ended amid loud applause.
She saw her father lifting up a massive goblet and handing it to the
singer, saw how the latter raised it first to her, afterwards to her
father and his guests, and then put it to his own lips. The maiden
felt she was no longer mistress of her heart which was beating as it
had never done before.

II.

"You might teach my Rothtraut to play the harp," cried the proud lord
of the castle, who was in a very lively humour, having partaken freely
of wine. She heard it as in a dream, and the musician bowed, murmuring
that he was not worthy to receive so signal an honour.

He remained however at the castle. Lovely Rothtraut felt afraid in her
heart like a trembling child crossing a bridge leading to flowery
meadows; she had no mother in whom she could confide those fears for
which she could find no words. She therefore yielded to her father's
desire, wishing to amuse him during the long, lonely evenings by
playing and singing. Singing came naturally to her, for a nightingale
seemed to slumber in her bosom, but she found more difficulty with the
harp. Her slender fingers drew many a discordant sound from the
strings, and often her father, comfortably seated in his armchair,
laughed heartily at her, which made the maiden blush with shame. Her
large eyes would wander from the harp to the musician's face; but her
confusion only became worse when her eyes timidly met his. He was very
patient with all her imperfect efforts, never blaming her but on the
contrary praising all her modest attempts beyond their merits. Then he
would sing a song of his own and play some deep chords which seemed to
thrill the air. The knight would listen entranced, and the maiden felt
love's blissful pain in her heart. She did not know what it was, or
how he had long since sung himself into her soul, and her tender heart
trembled at love's first revelation. The passion possessed her more
and more; it spread its power over these two hearts, and soon in the
quiet garden of the castle, Ronald clasped the daughter of the proud
knight to his heart.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13