Folk-lore and Legends: German Part 19

"Heaven forbid!" said the a.s.s. "Come with us. Anything will be better than staying here. Besides, who knows, if we take care to sing in tune, we may get up a concert of our own, so come along with us."

"With all my heart," replied the c.o.c.k; so they all four went on jollily together towards Bremen.

They could not, however, reach the town the first day, so when night came on they turned off the high-road into a wood to sleep. The a.s.s and the dog laid themselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into the branches; while the c.o.c.k, thinking that the higher he sat the safer he should be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according to his custom, before he sounded his trumpet and went to sleep, looked out on all sides to see that everything was well. In doing this he saw afar off something bright, and calling to his companions, said--

"There must be a house no great way off, for I see a light."

"If that be the case," replied the a.s.s, "we had better change our quarters, for our lodging here is not the best in the world."

"Besides," said the dog, "I should not be the worse for a bone or two."

"And may be," remarked the cat, "a stray mouse will be found somewhere about the premises."

So they walked off together towards the spot where the c.o.c.k had seen the light; and as they drew near, it became larger and brighter, till they came at last to a lonely house, in which was a gang of robbers.

The a.s.s, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window and peeped in.

"Well," said the c.o.c.k, "what do you see?"

"What do I see?" replied the a.s.s. "Why, I see a table spread with all kinds of good things, and robbers sitting round it making merry."

"That would be a n.o.ble lodging for us," said the c.o.c.k.

"Yes," rejoined the a.s.s, "if we could only get in."

They laid their heads together to see how they could get the robbers out, and at last they hit upon a plan. The a.s.s set himself upright on his hind-legs, with his fore-feet resting on the window; the dog got upon his back; the cat scrambled up to the dog's shoulders, and the c.o.c.k flew up and sat upon the cat. When all were ready the c.o.c.k gave the signal, and up struck the whole band of music. The a.s.s brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the c.o.c.k crew. Then they all broke through the window at once, and came tumbling into the room amongst the broken gla.s.s, with a hideous clatter. The robbers, who had been not a little frightened by the opening concert, had now no doubt that some frightful hobgoblins had broken in upon them, and scampered away as fast as they could.

The coast once clear, the travellers soon sat down and despatched what the robbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not hoped to eat again for a month. As soon as they had had enough they put out the lights, and each once more sought out a resting-place to his liking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw in the yard; the dog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door; the cat rolled herself up on the hearth before the warm ashes; the c.o.c.k perched upon a beam on the top of the house; and as all were rather tired with their journey, they soon fell fast asleep.

About midnight, however, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights were out and that all was quiet, they began to think that they had been in too great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder than the rest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, he marched into the kitchen, and groped about till he found a match in order to light a candle. Espying the glittering fiery eyes of the cat, he mistook them for live coals, and held the match to them to light it. The cat, however, not understanding such a joke, sprang at his face, and spat, and scratched him. This frightened him dreadfully, and away he ran to the back door, where the dog jumped up and bit him in the leg. As he was crossing over the yard the a.s.s kicked him; and the c.o.c.k, who had been awakened by the noise, crew with all his might.

At this the robber ran back as fast as he could to his comrades, and told the captain that a horrid witch had got into the house, and had scratched his face with her long bony fingers--that a man with a knife in his hand had hidden himself behind the door, and stabbed him in the leg--that a black monster stood in the yard and struck him with a club--and that the devil sat upon the top of the house, and cried out--

"Throw the rascal up here!"

After this the robbers never dared to go back to the house; but the musicians were so pleased with their quarters, that they never found their way to Bremen, but took up their abode in the wood. And there they live, I dare say, to this very day.

THE FLAMING CASTLE.

Upon a high mountain in the Tyrol there stands an old castle, in which there burns a fire every night, and the flashes of that fire are so large that they rise up over the walls, and may be seen far and wide.

It happened once that an old woman in want of firewood was gathering the fallen twigs and branches upon this castle-crowned mountain, and at length arrived at the castle door. To indulge her curiosity she began peering about her, and at last entered, not without difficulty, for it was all in ruins and not easily accessible. When she reached the courtyard, there she beheld a goodly company of n.o.bles and ladies seated and feasting at a huge table. There were, likewise, plenty of servants, who waited upon them, changing their plates, handing round the viands, and pouring out wine for the party.

As she thus stood gazing upon them, there came one of the servants, who drew her on one side, and placed a piece of gold in the pocket of her ap.r.o.n, upon which the whole scene vanished in an instant, and the poor frightened old woman was left to find her way back as well as she could. However, she got outside the courtyard, and there stood before her a soldier with a lighted match, whose head was not placed upon his neck, but held by him under his arm. He immediately addressed the old woman, and commanded her not to tell any one what she had seen and heard upon peril of evil befalling her.

At length the woman reached home, full of anguish, still keeping possession of the gold, but telling no one whence she had obtained it.

When the magistrates, however, got wind of the affair, she was summoned before them, but she would not speak one word upon the subject, excusing herself by saying that if she uttered one word respecting it great evil would ensue to her. When, however, they pressed her more strictly, she discovered to them all that had happened to her in the Fiery Castle, even to the smallest particular.

In an instant, almost before her relation was fully ended, she was carried away, and no one could ever learn whither she fled.

A year or two afterwards, a young n.o.bleman, a knight, and one well experienced in all things, took up his abode in those parts. In order that he might ascertain the issue of this affair, he set out on foot with his servant in the middle of the night on the road to the mountain. With great difficulty they made the ascent, and were on their way warned six times by an unknown voice to desist from their attempt.

They kept on, however, heedless of this caution, and at length reached the door of the castle. There again stood the soldier as a sentinel, and he called out as usual--

"Who goes there?"

The n.o.bleman, who was bold of heart, gave for answer--

"It is I."

Upon this the spirit inquired further--

"Who art thou?"

This time the n.o.bleman made no answer, but desired his servant to hand him his sword. When this was done, a black horseman came riding out of the castle, against whom the n.o.bleman would have waged battle. The horseman, however, dragged him up upon his horse and rode with him into the courtyard, while the soldier chased the servant down the mountain. The n.o.bleman was never more seen.

THE MONKS AT THE FERRY.

From time immemorial a ferry has existed from Andernach to the opposite side of the Rhine. Formerly it was more in use than at present, there being then a greater intercourse between the two sh.o.r.es of the river, much of which might be traced to the Convent of St.

Thomas, once the most important and flourishing nunnery on the river.

Close by this ferry, on the margin of the Rhine, but elevated somewhat above the level of the water, stands a long, roofless, ruinous building, the remains of the castle of Friedrichstein, better known, however, to the peasantry, and to all pa.s.sengers on the river, as the Devil's House. How it came by this suspicious appellative there are many traditions to explain. Some say that the Prince of Neuwied, who erected it, so ground down his subjects for its construction, that they unanimously gave it that name. Others derive its popular _sobriquet_ from the G.o.dless revelries of the same prince within its walls, and the wild deeds of his companions in wickedness; while a third cla.s.s of local historians insist upon it that the ruin takes its name from the congregation of fiendish shapes which resort there on special occasions, and the riot and rout which they create in the roofless chambers, reeking vaults, and crumbling corridors of the desolate edifice. It is to this ruin, and of the adjacent ferry, that the following legend belongs.

It was in the time when the celebrated Convent of St. Thomas over Andernach existed in its pristine magnificence, that late on an autumnal night the ferryman from that city to the Devil's House on the other side of the river, who lived on the edge of the bank below the ruins of the ancient palace of the kings of Austrasia, was accosted by a stranger, who desired to be put across just as the man was about to haul up his boat for the day. The stranger seemed to be a monk, for he was closely cowled, and gowned from head to foot in the long, dark, flowing garb of some ascetic order.

"Hilloa! ferry," he shouted aloud as he approached the sh.o.r.e of the river, "hilloa!"

"Here, ahoy! here, most reverend father!" answered the poor ferryman.

"What would ye have with me?"

"I would that you ferry me across the Rhine to yonder sh.o.r.e of the river," replied the monk. "I come from the Convent of St. Thomas, and I go afar on a weighty mission. Now, be ye quick, my good friend, and run me over."

"Most willingly, reverend father," said the ferryman. "Most willingly. Step into my boat, and I'll put you across the current in a twinkling."

The dark-looking monk entered the boat, and the ferryman shoved off from the bank. They soon reached the opposite sh.o.r.e. The ferryman, however, had scarce time to give his fare a good-evening ere he disappeared from his sight, in the direction of the Devil's House.

Pondering a little on this strange circ.u.mstance, and inwardly thinking that the dark monk might as well have paid him his fare, or, at least, bade him good-night before he took such unceremonious leave, he rowed slowly back across the stream to his abode at Andernach.

"Hilloa! ferry," once more resounded from the margin of the river as he approached, "hilloa!"

"Here, ahoy!" responded the ferryman, but with some strange sensation of fear. "What would ye?"

He rowed to the sh.o.r.e, but he could see no one for a while, for it was now dark. As he neared the landing-place, however, he became aware of the presence of two monks, garbed exactly like his late pa.s.senger, standing together, concealed by the shadow of the ma.s.sive ruins.