Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine Part 18

Shortly afterward the old attendant entered, bearing profuse apologies from his master, and begging that the knight would continue to accept his hospitality. Guntram followed the old man to his chamber. As they pa.s.sed through the adjoining apartment he stopped before the veiled portrait.

?Tell me,? he said, ?why is so lovely a picture hidden??

?Then you have seen it?? asked the old keeper. ?That is my master?s daughter. When she was alive she was even more beautiful than her portrait, but she was a very capricious maid, and demanded that her lovers should perform well-nigh impossible feats. At last only one of these lovers remained, and of him she asked that he should descend into the family vault and bring her a golden crown from the head of one of her ancestors. He did as he was bidden, but his profanation was punished with death. A stone fell from the roof and killed him. The young man?s mother died soon after, cursing the foolish maid, who herself died in the following year. But ere she was buried she disappeared from her coffin and was seen no more.?

When the story was ended they had arrived at the door of the knight?s chamber, and in bidding him good night the attendant counselled him to say his paternoster should anything untoward happen.

Guntram wondered at his words, but at length fell asleep. Some hours later he was awakened suddenly by the rustling of a woman?s gown and the soft strains of a harp, which seemed to come from the adjoining room.

The knight rose quietly and looked through a c.h.i.n.k in the door, when he beheld a lady dressed in white and bending over a harp of gold. He recognized in her the original of the veiled portrait, and saw that even the lovely picture had done her less than justice. For a moment he stood with hands clasped in silent admiration. Then with a low sound, half cry, half sob, she cast the harp from her and sank down in an att.i.tude of utter despondency. The knight could bear it no longer and (quite forgetting his paternoster) he flung open the door and knelt at her feet, raising her hand to his lips. Gradually she became composed. ?Do you love me, knight?? she said. Guntram swore that he did, with many pa.s.sionate avowals, and the lady slipped a ring on his finger. Even as he embraced her the cry of a screech-owl rang through the night air, and the maiden became a corpse in his arms. Overcome with terror, he staggered through the darkness to his room, where he sank down unconscious.

On coming to himself again, he thought for a moment that the experience must have been a dream, but the ring on his hand a.s.sured him that the vision was a ghastly reality. He attempted to remove the gruesome token, but he found to his horror that it seemed to have grown to his finger.

In the morning he related his experience to the attendant. ?Alas, alas!?

said the old man, ?in three times nine days you must die.?

Guntram was quite overcome by the horror of his situation, and seemed for a time bereft of his senses. Then he had his horse saddled, and galloped as hard as he was able to Falkenburg. Liba greeted him solicitously. She could see that he was sorely troubled, but forbore to question him, preferring to wait until he should confide in her of his own accord. He was anxious that their wedding should be hastened, for he thought that his union with the virtuous Liba might break the dreadful spell.

When at length the wedding day arrived everything seemed propitious, and there was nothing to indicate the misfortune which threatened the bridegroom. The couple approached the altar and the priest joined their hands. Suddenly Guntram fell to the ground, foaming and gasping, and was carried thence to his home. The faithful Liba stayed by his side, and when he had partially recovered the knight told her the story of the spectre, and added that when the priest had joined their hands he had imagined that the ghost had put her cold hand in his. Liba attempted to soothe her repentant lover, and sent for a priest to finish the interrupted wedding ceremony. This concluded, Guntram embraced his wife, received absolution, and expired.

Liba entered a convent, and a few years later she herself pa.s.sed away, and was buried by the side of her husband.

The Mouse Tower

Bishop Hatto is a figure equally well known to history and tradition, though, curiously enough, receiving a much rougher handling from the latter than the former. History relates that Hatto was Archbishop of Mainz in the tenth century, being the second of his name to occupy that see. As a ruler he was firm, zealous, and upright, if somewhat ambitious and high-handed, and his term of office was marked by a civic peace not always experienced in those times. So much for history. According to tradition, Hatto was a stony-hearted oppressor of the poor, permitting nothing to stand in the way of the attainment of his own selfish ends, and several wild legends exhibit him in a peculiarly unfavourable light.

By far the most popular of these traditions is that which deals with the Mauseturm, or ?Mouse Tower,? situated on a small island in the Rhine near Bingen. It has never been quite decided whether the name was bestowed because of the legend, or whether the legend arose on account of the name, and it seems at least probable that the tale is of considerably later date than the tenth century. Some authorities regard the word Mauseturm as a corruption of Mauth-turm, a ?toll-tower,? a probable but prosaic interpretation. Much more interesting is the name ?Mouse Tower,? which gives point to the tragic tale of Bishop Hatto?s fate. The story cannot be better told than in the words of Southey, who has immortalized it in the following ballad:

THE TRADITION OF BISHOP HATTO

The summer and autumn had been so wet, That in winter the corn was growing yet; ?Twas a piteous sight to see all around The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor Crowded around Bishop Hatto?s door, For he had a plentiful last-year?s store, And all the neighbourhood could tell His granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day To quiet the poor without delay; He bade them to his great barn repair, And they should have food for the winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, The poor folk flocked from far and near; The great barn was full as it could hold Of women and children, and young and old.

Then when he saw it could hold no more, Bishop Hatto he made fast the door; And while for mercy on Christ they call, He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.

?I? faith, ?tis an excellent bonfire!? quoth he, ?And the country is greatly obliged to me For ridding it in these times forlorn Of rats that only consume the corn.?

So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily; And he slept that night like an innocent man, But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he enter?d the hall Where his picture hung against the wall, A sweat like death all over him came, For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked there came a man from his farm, He had a countenance white with alarm; ?My lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the rats had eaten all your corn.?

Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be; ?Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!? quoth he, ?Ten thousand rats are coming this way?

The Lord forgive you for yesterday!?

?I?ll go to my tower on the Rhine,? replied he, ??Tis the safest place in Germany; The walls are high and the sh.o.r.es are steep, And the stream is strong and the water deep.?

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, And he crossed the Rhine without delay, And reached his tower, and barred with care All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

He laid him down and closed his eyes;?

But soon a scream made him arise, He started and saw two eyes of flame On his pillow from whence the screaming came.

He listened and looked?it was only the cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, For she sat screaming, mad with fear, At the army of rats that were drawing near.

For they have swum over the river so deep, And they have climbed the sh.o.r.es so steep, And up the tower their way is bent, To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score, By thousands they come, and by myriads and more, Such numbers had never been heard of before, Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell, And faster and faster his beads did he tell, As louder and louder, drawing near, The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door, And through the walls helter-skelter they pour, And down through the ceiling, and up through the floor, From the right and the left, from behind and before, From within and without, from above and below, And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop?s bones; They gnawed the flesh from every limb, For they were sent to do judgment on him.

A Legend of Ehrenfels

Many other tales are told to ill.u.s.trate Hatto?s cruelty and treachery.

Facing the Mouse Tower, on the opposite bank of the Rhine, stands the castle of Ehrenfels, the scene of another of his ign.o.ble deeds.

Conrad, brother of the Emperor Ludwig, had, it is said, been seized and imprisoned in Ehrenfels by the Franconian lord of that tower, Adalbert by name. It was the fortune of war, and Ludwig in turn gathered a small force and hastened to his brother?s a.s.sistance. His attempts to storm the castle, however, were vain; the stronghold and its garrison stood firm. Ludwig was minded to give up the struggle for the time being, and would have done so, indeed, but for the intervention of his friend and adviser, Bishop Hatto.

?Leave him to me,? said the crafty Churchman. ?I know how to deal with him.?

Ludwig was curious to know how his adviser proposed to get the better of Adalbert, whom he knew of old to be a man of courage and resource, but ill-disposed toward the reigning monarch. So the Bishop unfolded his scheme, to which Ludwig, with whom honour was not an outstanding feature, gave his entire approval.

In pursuance of his design Hatto sallied forth unattended, and made his way to the beleaguered fortress. Adalbert, himself a stranger to cunning and trickery, hastened to admit the messenger, whose garb showed him to be a priest, thinking him bound on an errand of peace. Hatto professed the deepest sorrow at the quarrel between Ludwig and Adalbert.

?My son,? said he solemnly, ?it is not meet that you and the Emperor, who once were friends, should treat each other as enemies. Our sire is ready to forgive you for the sake of old friends.h.i.+p; will you not give him the opportunity and come with me??

Adalbert was entirely deceived by the seeming sincerity of the Bishop, and so touched by the clemency of the sovereign that he promised to go in person and make submission if Hatto would but guarantee his safety.

The conversation was held in the Count?s oratory, and the Churchman knelt before the crucifix and swore in the most solemn manner that he would bring Adalbert safely back to his castle.

In a very short time they were riding together on the road to Mainz, where Ludwig held court. When they were a mile or two from Ehrenfels Hatto burst into a loud laugh, and in answer to the Count?s questioning glance he said merrily:

?What a perfect host you are! You let your guest depart without even asking him whether he has breakfasted. And I am famis.h.i.+ng, I a.s.sure you!?

The courteous Adalbert was stricken with remorse, and murmured profuse apologies to his guest. ?You must think but poorly of my hospitality,?

said he; ?in my loyalty I forgot my duty as a host.?

?It is no matter,? said Hatto, still laughing. ?But since we have come but a little way, would it not be better to return to Ehrenfels and breakfast? You are young and strong, but I??

?With pleasure,? replied the Count, and soon they were again within the castle enjoying a hearty meal. With her own hands the young Countess presented a beaker of wine to the guest, and he, ere quaffing it, cried gaily to Adalbert: