Legends of the Rhine
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Wilhelm Ruland >> Legends of the Rhine
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On the heights there were proud castles, telling the wanderer below of
the fame of their illustrious races. Thus Roland made many a long
journey on his adventurous course down the Rhine. He passed many a
place rich in old memories: the Lorelei Rock, where the water nymph
sang at night: the cheerful little spot where St. Goar lived and
worked at the time of Childebert, the Merovingian, (that wonderful
saint who once spread a fog over his imperial uncle, compelling him to
pass the night in the open air, because his Majesty, while journeying
from Ingelheim to Coblenz had neglected to bend his knee in his
chapel) and the green meadows near Andernach, where Genovefa, wife of
Palatine Count Siegfried lived. And now Roland neared the place where
the stream reaches the end of the Rhine Valley, and where the seven
giants are to be seen, the summit of one of which is crowned with a
castle; there they stand like the seven knights who in later times
stood weeping round the holy remains of the German emperor.
A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The setting sun threw a
golden light over the hills. On the sides of the mountains there were
numberless vineyards, to the left, hedges of beeches ascending to the
heights of the rugged summits, to the right, the murmur of the
rippling waters, and above, visible among the legendary rocks where
once a terrible beast lived, the pinnacles of a knight's castle, and
over all, the heavens clothed with a garment of silver stars.
The knight paused in silence; his glance rested admiringly on the
beautiful picture. His steed pawed the ground uneasily with his
bronze-shod hoofs, and his faithful squire looked anxiously at the
darkening sky. He reminded his master modestly that it was time to
seek shelter for the night.
"I should like to beg for it up there," said Roland dreamingly, an
inexplicable feeling of sweet sadness coming over him for the first
time. He bade his squire ask the boatman who was putting out his
little bark to cross the river, what was the name of the castle? The
castle was the Drachenburg, where Count Heribert sojourned sometimes.
Thus ran the answer which pleased Roland very much. He had been
charged with many greetings and messages to the old count at the
Drachenburg from his friends living near the upper Rhine. Roland now
hesitated no longer, and soon a boat was ploughing the dark waves.
II.
In the meantime night had come on. The full moon's soft beams showed
them their way through the dark forest. Count Heribert, a worthy
knight in the flower of his age, bade the nephew of his imperial
master heartily welcome to his castle. Far past midnight they stayed
in the count's chambers, engaged in entertaining conversation.
The next day Count Heribert presented his daughter Hildegunde to the
knight. Roland's eyes, full of admiration, rested on the blushing
young maiden. Never before had the charms of a woman awakened any deep
feeling in his heart; he had only thirsted after glory and deeds of
daring, after tournaments and feuds. Now the bold champion was struck
with a shaft from the quiver of love. He who had opposed the dreaded
adversary so often, now bowed his fearless head in almost girlish
confusion before Hildegunde's charms. She, too, stood crimsoning
deeply before the celebrated hero whose name was famous, and who was
beloved in all the country round.
The old knight broke up the scene of embarrassing silence between the
youthful couple with gay laughing words, and conducted his guest
through the high halls of his castle.
Roland tarried longer at the friendly castle than he had ever done
before in any other place in the country. He seemed bound to the
blissful spot by love's indissoluble chains, and so it happened that
one day these two found themselves, hand in hand, the deep love in
their hearts rushing forth in ardent words. Count Heribert bestowed
his lovely daughter very willingly on the celebrated knight, his only
desire being to complete the happiness of his child whom he loved so
dearly. A castle should be erected for her on the heights of the rocks
on the other side of the Rhine, opposite the Drachenburg, and this
proud fort on the rugged rocky corner of the mountain, should be a
watch-tower for the glorious Seven Mountains and their castle. In
later times it became the famous Rolandseck. Soon the walls could be
seen raising themselves up, and every day the lovers stood on the
balcony of the Drachenburg looking across, where industrious workmen
and masons were busily toiling. Hildegunde began to weave sweet dreams
of the future round her new home, where she meant to chain the
adventurous hero with true love.
But one day a messenger appeared at the Drachenburg on a horse white
with foam. He was sent by Charlemagne and brought the tidings of a
crusade which the emperor had decreed against the Infidels beyond the
Pyrenees. Charlemagne desired to have the famous knight among the
leaders of his army. Roland received the message of his great master
in silence. He looked at Hildegunde who with a death-like face was
standing beside him. Grief stabbed cruelly at his heart, but he must
obey the call of honour and duty, and, informing the royal messenger
that he would arrive at the imperial camp in three days, he turned
sorrowfully away, Hildegunde sobbing at his side.
III.
The cross and the half-moon were fighting furiously for the upper hand
in Spain. Terrible battles were fought, and much blood flowed from
both Christians and Infidels. Bloody victories were gained by the
emperor's brave knights, the chief of whom was Roland. His sword
forced a triumphant way for Charlemagne, it guarded his army, passing
victoriously through the unknown country of the enemies. But the sad
day of Ronceval, so often sung by German and other poets was yet to
come. Separated from the main body of the army, Roland's brave
rearguard was making its way through the dusky forest. Suddenly wild
shouts sounded from the heights, and the cowardly Moor pressed down on
the little band, threatening them with destruction. But the noble
Franks fought like lions. Roland's charger, Brilliador, flew now here,
now there, and many a Saracen was hewn down by its noble rider's
sword, Durant. But numbers conquer bravery. The little army of Franks
became less and less, and at last Roland sank, struck by the lance of
a gigantic Moor. The combat continued furiously round him. When night
spread mournfully over the battle-field, the Infidels had already done
their terrible work. The Franks lay dead; only a few had escaped from
the slaughter.
"Where is Roland?" was the frightened cry from pale lips. He was not
among the saved. "Where is Roland?" asked Charlemagne anxiously of the
messengers. Through the whole kingdom their answers seemed to
resound, Roland the hero had fallen in battle fighting against the
Saracens; wherever this cry was heard, it awakened deep sorrow.
The news soon spread as far as the Rhine, and one day the imperial
messengers appeared at the Drachenburg, bringing the sad tidings and
the deepest sympathy of the emperor. Heribert sighed deeply on hearing
the news and covered his eyes with his hands; Hildegunde's grief was
heart-breaking. Before the altar of the Queen of sorrows she lay
sobbing her heart out, imploring for comfort in her great need. For
days on end she shut herself up in her little bower, and even her
father's gentle sympathy could not assuage her bitter grief.
Weeks passed. Then one day the pale maiden entered the knight's
chamber, her grief quite transfigured. He drew her softly towards him,
and then she revealed the resolution which was in her heart. Count
Heribert was overwhelmed with grief, but he pressed a loving kiss on
her pure forehead.
The day came, when down below on the island Nonnenwert, the convent
bells rang solemnly. A new novice, Count Heribert's lovely daughter,
knelt before the altar. In the holy stillness of the convent she
sought the peace which she could not find in the castle of her father.
With a last great convulsive sob she had torn her lover's name from
her heart, had quenched the flame of sorrowing love for him, and now
her soul was to be filled ever with the holy fire of the love of God.
In vain her afflicted father hoped that the unaccustomed loneliness
of the convent would shake her resolution, and that when the first
year's trial was over, she would return to him. But no! the pious
young maiden fervently begged the bishop, who was a relation of her
father, to release her from the year's trial and to allow her after a
short time to take her final vows. Her longing desire was fulfilled.
After a month Hildegunde's golden locks were no more, and the lovely
daughter of the Drachenburg was dedicated to the Lord forever.
IV.
Time rolled on. Spring had vanished and the sheaves were ripening in
the fields. Where the river reaches the end of the Rhine valley
crowned by the Seven Giants, a knight with his horse stopped to rest.
Far away in the south, where the valley of Ronceval lies bathed in
sunshine, he had lain in the hut of a poor herd. There the faithful
squire had dragged his master pierced by a Moorish lance. The bold
hero and leader had remained for weeks and months on his sick-bed
struggling with death, till the force of his iron nature had at last
conquered. Roland was recovering under loving care, while they were
mourning him as dead in the land of the Franks. Then having recovered,
he hurried back to the Rhine urged by an irresistible longing.
A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The setting sun threw a
golden light over the hills; numberless vineyards flanked the
mountains, hedges of beeches were on one side, the murmur of waters
on the other, and above the pinnacles of a knight's castle among the
legendary rocks where once a terrible beast lived, over all the
heavens clothed with a garment of silver stars.
Silently the knight paused, his glance resting admiringly on the
beautiful picture. Now as in months before an inexplicable feeling of
sweet sadness came over the dreamer.
"Hildegunde!" murmured Roland, glancing up at the starry heavens.
Again as formerly a boatman rowed across the stream, and Roland soon
was striding through the forest towards the Drachenburg, accompanied
by his faithful squire.
The old watchman at the castle stared at the late guest, and crossing
himself, he rushed up to the chambers of his master. A man's figure,
bent with age and sorrow, tottered forward. "Roland!" he gasped forth.
The knight supported the broken-down old man in his arms. When Roland
had departed long ago, his grief had found no tears; now they flowed
abundantly down his cheeks.
The knight tore himself from the other's arms. "Where is she?" he
asked in a hoarse voice, "dead?" Count Heribert looked at him with
unspeakable sorrow. "Hildegunde, bride of Roland whom they supposed
dead, is now a bride of Heaven."
The hero groaned aloud, covering his face with his hands.
In spring he left the Drachenburg and went to the castle on the rocky
corner, and there he laid down his arms for ever; his thirst for
action was quenched. Day by day he sat over there, looking silently
down on the green island in the Rhine, where the nun, Hildegunde,
wandered about among the flowers in the convent garden every morning.
Sometimes indeed it seemed that she bowed kindly to him, then the
knight's face would be lighted up with a gleam of his old happiness.
But even this joy was taken from him. One day his beloved did not
appear; and soon the death-bell tolled sorrowfully over the island. He
saw a coffin which they were carrying to its last resting-place, and
he heard the nuns chanting the service for the dead, he saw them all,
only one was wanting ... then he covered his face. He knew whom they
were carrying to the grave.
Autumn came, withering the fresh green on Hildegunde's tomb. But
Roland still kept his watch, gazing motionlessly at the little
churchyard, and one day his squire found him there, cold and dead, his
half-closed eyes turned towards the place where his loved one was
sleeping.
For many a century the proud castle which they called Rolandseck,
crowned the mountain. Then it fell into ruins, like the mighty
Drachenburg, the tower of which is still standing. Fifty years ago the
last arches of Roland's castle were blown down one stormy night, but
later on they were built up again in memory of this tale of true and
faithful love in the olden times.
SIEBENGEBIRGE
The Drachenfels
I.
When the wanderer has left the "city of the Muses," Bonn, he perceives
to the left the mighty summits of the Seven Mountains. The rocky point
of one of these hills is still crowned by the tower and walls of an
old knight's Castle. A most touching legend is related of the mountain
with the terrible name.
In the first centuries after the birth of the world's Redeemer, the
Germans on the left side of the Rhine accepted willingly the doctrines
of the Cross; Maternus, a disciple of the great Apostle, had brought
them over from Gaul. At first the pious messenger of Christ worked
among the heathen tribes in vain. They persisted in their paganism,
and even prevented the priests from coming into their country.
At that time there was a terrible dragon living in the hollow of the
rock which even now is called the Dragon's hole. He was of a hideous
form, and every day he used to leave his den and rage through the
forests and valleys, threatening men and animals. Human strength was
powerless against this monster; the people thought that an angry deity
had his abode in this terrible beast, so they bestowed godlike honours
on him, sacrificing criminals and prisoners to him.
A tribe of heathens lived at the foot of the mountain. These men,
desirous of war, often made raids on the neighbouring countries,
carrying fire and sword among their Christian brothers. They once
crossed the water, plundering the land and making prisoners of the
people. Among the latter there was one most lovely maiden, whose
beauty and grace inflamed two of the leaders so much, that each of
them desired to have her for himself. One was called Horsrik the
Elder, a famous chieftain, known to have the strength of a bear and
the wildness of a tiger; the other, Rinbold, of a less rough nature,
but of equal bravery.
The beautiful maiden turned aside shuddering when she saw the two
chiefs' glaring eyes, contending for possession of her. All round were
their men intoxicated with victory. The struggle for the Christian
maid affected the two leaders more than the division of the booty.
Soon the angry words of the two opponents found an echo in the hearts
of the men standing round.
Horsrik, the much-feared fighter, claimed her, and was received with
cheers. Rinbold, the proud young chieftain, claimed her also,--great
applause greeted him. The former glared sternly, grasping his club in
a threatening manner. The high-priest, an old man with silver-white
hair and stern features, stepped in between the two combatants, and in
a voice surging with anger he said:
"Cursed be every dissension for the possession of this stranger! A
Christian must not disunite the noblest of our tribe. A daughter of
those we hate, she shall fall to nobody's share. She, the author of
so much strife, shall be sacrificed to the Dragon, and shall be
dedicated to Woden's honour at the next rising of the sun."
The men murmured applause, Horsrik more than the rest. The maiden held
her head upright. Rinbold, the proud young chieftain, looked
sorrowfully at her angel-like face.
II.
Early the following day before the sun had poured his bright beams on
the earth, the valley showed signs of life. Through the dusk of the
forest a noisy procession moved upwards towards the highest point, the
priest in the middle, behind him the prisoner, pale but resolute.
Silently, for her Lord's sake, she had allowed the priest to bind her
forehead as a victim, and to place consecrated flowers in her loose
flowing hair. Many a sympathetic look from the crowd had been cast at
the steadfast maiden. The young chieftain was stricken with pain at
the sight of her death-like countenance.
There stood the projecting rock which had often been dishonoured by
human blood. The fanatical priests wound ropes round the maiden's
body, and then tied her to St. Woden's tree which overhung the
precipice. No complaint escaped the Christian's white lips, no tears
glistened in her eyes which were glancing up at the morning sky. The
throng of people moved off, waiting silently in the distance to see
what would happen.
The first rays of the sun streamed over the mountain; they lighted up
the wreath of flowers in the maiden's hair, playing about her lovely
face, and crowning it with glory. The Christian maid was awaiting
death, as a bride awaits her bridegroom, her lips moving slightly as
in prayer.
A gloomy sound came up from the depths. The Dragon started from his
den, spitting fire on his path. He cast a look at his victim there on
the spot which his blood-thirsty maw knew so well. He raised his scaly
body, thus letting his sharp claws be more visible, moved his snaky
tail in a circle, and showed his gaping mouth. Snorting the monster
crawled along, shooting flames out of his bloodshot eyes.
A shudder of death crept over the maiden at the sight of this awful
beast. Tremblingly she tore a sparkling golden crucifix from her
breast, held it towards the monster piteously, and called on her Lord
in a heart-rending voice. Wonder of wonders! Raising himself, as if
struck by lightning, the monster turned, dashing himself backwards
over the jagged stones into the waters below, and disappearing in the
river among the falling rocks.
Wondering cries arose from the waiting heathens. Astonishment and
wonder were depicted on every face. In quiet submission, her eyes
half-closed, the maiden stood praying to Him who had saved her. The
cords fell from her sides; two strong arms caught her and carried her
into the midst of the astonished crowd. She raised her eyes and
perceived the younger of the two chieftains. His rough warlike hand
had seized hers. The young man bent his knee as if to a heavenly
being, and touched her white fingers with his lips. Loud applause
greeted him on all sides.
The old priest came forward, the people waiting in great expectation.
"Who had saved her from certain destruction? Who was the God who so
visibly aided His own?" asked he solemnly of the Christian. With
bright eyes the maiden answered triumphantly:
"This picture of Christ has crushed the Dragon and saved me. The
salvation of the world and the welfare of man lies in Him." The priest
glanced at the crucifix with reverent awe.
"May it soon lighten your spirit and those of all these people round,"
said the maiden earnestly. "It will reveal greater wonders than this
to you, for our God is great."
The maiden and all the other prisoners were conducted back to their
own country. But the former soon returned again, accompanied by a
Christian priest. The voice of truth and innocence worked wonders in
the hearts of the heathens. Thousands were converted and baptized. The
old priest and Rinbold were the first who bowed their heads in
submission to the new doctrine. Great rejoicings were held among the
tribe when the maiden gave her hand to the young chieftain. A
Christian temple was erected in the valley, and a splendid castle was
built on the summit of the rocks for the newly-married couple. For
about ten centuries their descendants flourished there, a very
powerful race in the Rhine countries.
The Monk of Heisterbach
In olden times in a lovely valley near the Seven Mountains, stood a
cloister called Heisterbach. Even now parts of the walls of this old
monastery remain, and it was not by the hand of time, but by the
barbarism of foolish warfare, that its halls fell into ruins. The
monks were driven away, the abbey was pulled down, and the stones were
used for the building of a fortress.
Since that time, so the country folk relate, the spirits of the
banished monks wander nightly among the ruins, raising mute
accusations against their persecutors and the destroyers of their
cells. Among them there was one, Gebhard, the last Prior of
Heisterbach, who now, they say, wanders about the graves of the monks,
and also haunts the burial-places of the Masters of Loewenburg and
Drachenburg.
In the Middle Ages the monks of Heisterbach were very famous. Many a
rare copy of the Holy Scriptures, many a highly learned piece of
writing was sent out into the world from this hermitage, telling of
the industry and learning of the pious monks.
There was one brother, still young in years, who distinguished himself
by his learning. He was looked up to by all the other brethren, and
even the gray-haired Father Prior had recourse to his stores of
knowledge. But the poisonous worm of doubt began to gnaw at his soul;
the mirror of his faith was blurred by his deep meditations. His keen
eye would often wander over the faded parchment on which the living
word of God was written, while his childlike believing heart, humbly
submitting itself, would lamentingly cry out, "Lord, I believe, help
Thou mine unbelief!" Like a ghost his restless doubts would hover
about him, making his soul the scene of tormenting struggle.
One night with flushed face he had been meditating over a parchment.
At daybreak he still remained engrossed in his thoughts. The morning
sun threw his bright rays over the heavens, casting playful beams on
the written roll in the monk's hands.
But he saw them not, his thoughts were wholly taken up by a passage
which for months past had ever been hidden to him and had been the
constant subject of his reflections, "A thousand years are but as a
day in Thy sight."
His brain had already long tormented itself over the obscure words of
the Psalmist, and with a great effort he had striven to blot it out of
his memory, and now the words danced again before his weary eyes,
growing larger and larger. Those confusing black signs seemed to
become a sneering doubt hovering round him: "A thousand years are but
as a day in Thy sight."
He tore himself away from the silent cell, seeking the cool solitude
of the cloister-gardens. There with a heavy heart he paced the paths,
torturing himself with horrid doubts.
His eyes were fixed on the ground, his mind was far away from the
peaceful garden, and without being aware of what he was doing, he left
the cloister-gardens and wandered out into the neighbouring forest.
The birds in the trees greeted him cordially, the flowers opened their
eyes at his approach; but the wretched man heard and saw nothing but
the words: "A thousand years are but as a day in Thy sight."
His wandering steps grew feeble, his feverish brain weary from want of
sleep. Then the monk sank down on a stone, and laid his troubled head
against a tree.
A sweet, peaceful dream stole over his spirit. He found himself in
spheres glowing with light; the waters of Eternity were rushing round
the throne of the Most High; creation appeared and praised His works,
and Heaven extolled their glory; from the worm in the dust, which no
earthly being has been able to create, to the eagle soaring above the
heights of the earth: from the grain of sand on the sea-shore, to the
gigantic crater, which, at the Lord's command, vomits fire out of its
throat which has been closed for thousands of years: they all spoke
with one voice which is not heard by the haughty, being only manifest
and comprehensible to the humble. These were the words of Him who
created them, be it in six days or in six thousand years, "A thousand
years are but as a day in Thy sight."
With a slight shudder the monk opened his eyes.
"I believe Lord! help Thou my unbelief," murmured he, taking heart.
The bell sounded in the distance. They were ringing for vespers;
sunset was already gleaming through the forest.
The monk hastily turned towards the cloister. The chapel was lighted
up, and through the half-opened door he could see the brothers in
their stalls. He hurried noiselessly to his place, but to his
astonishment he found that another monk was there; he touched him
lightly on the shoulder, and strange to tell, the man he saw was
unknown to him. The brothers, now one, now another, raised their heads
and looked in silent questioning at the new comer.
A peculiar feeling seized the poor monk, who saw only strange faces
round him. Growing pale, he waited till the singing was over. Confused
questions seemed to pass along the rows.
The Prior, a dignified old man with snow-white hair, approached.
"What is your name, strange brother?" asked he in a gentle, kind tone.
The monk was filled with dismay. "Maurus," murmured he in a trembling
voice. "St. Bernhard was the Abbot who received my vows, in the sixth
year of the reign of King Conrad, whom they called the Frank."
Incredulous astonishment was depicted on the brothers' countenances.
The monk raised his face to the old Prior and confessed to him how he
had wandered out in the early morning into the cloister-gardens, how
he had fallen asleep in the forest, and had not wakened till the bell
for vespers sounded.
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