Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine Part 13

With his own hands the baron swung to the ma.s.sive trap, swearing a deep oath.

?If I forgive my daughter, or any of her accomplices, may I die suddenly where I now stand, and may my soul perish for ever!?

The disappointed bridegroom soon returned to his own land, and the baron, whose increasing moroseness made him cordially hated by his attendants, was left to the bitterness of his thoughts.

Meanwhile Rudolph and his bride had escaped unseen from the castle rock and now dwelt in the forests skirting the Seven Mountains. While the summer lasted all went well with them; they, and the little son who was born to them, were content with the sustenance the forest afforded. But in the winter all was changed. Starvation stared them in the face. More and more pitiful became their condition, till at length Rudolph resolved to seek the baron, and give his life, if need be, to save his wife and child.

That very day Rheinhard was out hunting in the forest. Imagine his surprise when a gaunt figure, clad in a bearskin, stepped from the undergrowth and bade him follow, if he wished to see his daughter alive.

The startled old man obeyed the summons, and arrived at length before a s.p.a.cious cavern, which his guide motioned him to enter. Within, on a pile of damp leaves, lay Etelina and her child, both half-dead with starvation. Rheinhard?s anger speedily melted at the pathetic sight, and he freely forgave his daughter and Rudolph, his. .h.i.therto unrecognized guide, and bade them return with him to Okkenfels.

Etelina?s first request was for a pardon for the old chaplain, and Rheinhard himself went to raise the heavy trap-door. While peering into the gloom, however, he stumbled and fell headlong into the dungeon below. ?A judgment!? he shrieked as he fell, then all was silence.

The bruised remains of the proud baron were interred in the parish church of Linz, and henceforth Etelina and her husband lived happily at Okkenfels. But both they and the old chaplain offered many a pious prayer for the soul of the unhappy Baron Rheinhard.

Oberworth

In the middle of the Rhine, a little above Coblentz, lies the island of Oberworth, where at one time stood a famous nunnery. Included in the traditional lore of the neighbourhood is a tragic tale of the beautiful Ida, daughter of the Freiherr von Metternich, who died within its walls in the fourteenth century.

Von Metternich, who dwelt at Coblentz, was a wealthy and powerful n.o.ble, exceedingly proud of his fair daughter, and firmly convinced that none but the highest in the land was fit mate for her. But Ida had other views, and had already bestowed her heart on a young squire in her father?s train. It is true that Gerbert was a high-born youth, of stainless life, pleasing appearance, and gentle manners, and, moreover, one who was likely at no distant date to win his spurs. Nevertheless the lovers instinctively concealed their mutual affection from von Metternich, and plighted their troth in secret.

But so ardent an affection could not long remain hidden.

The time came when the n.o.bleman discovered how matters stood between his daughter and Gerbert, and with angry frowns and muttered oaths he resolved to exercise his paternal authority. ?My daughter shall go to a nunnery,? he said to himself. ?And as for that jackanapes, he must be got rid of at once.? He pondered how he might conveniently rid himself of the audacious squire.

That night he dispatched Gerbert on a mission to the grand prior of the Knights-Templars, who had his abode at the neighbouring castle of Lahneck. The unsuspecting squire took the sealed missive and set out, thinking as he rode along how rich he was in possessing so sweet a love as Ida, and dreaming of the time when his valour and prowess should have made their marriage possible. But his dreams would have been rudely disturbed had he seen what was pa.s.sing at Coblentz. For his betrothed, in spite of her tears and pleadings, was being secretly conveyed to the nunnery of Oberworth, there to remain until she should have forgotten her lover?as though the stone walls of a convent could shut out the imaginings of a maid! However, Gerbert knew nothing of this, and he rode along in leisurely fashion, until at length he came to the Schloss Lahneck, where he was at once conducted into the presence of the grand prior of the Knights-Templars.

The grand prior was a man of middle age, with an expression of settled melancholy on his swarthy features. Gerbert approached him with becoming reverence, bent his knee, and presented the missive.

The prior turned his gaze so earnestly on the young man?s face that Gerbert dropped his eyes in confusion. A moment later the prior broke the seal and hastily scanned the letter.

?Who mayest thou be, youth?? he asked abruptly.

?Gerbert von Isenburg, sir.?

?And thy mother??

?Guba von Isenburg,? was the astonished Gerbert?s reply.

The prior seemed to be struggling with deep emotion.

?Knowest thou the purport of this missive?? he said at last.

?It concerns me not,? answered Gerbert simply.

?Nay, my son,? said the prior, ?it doth concern thee, and deeply, too.

Know that it is thy death-warrant, boy! The Freiherr has requested me to send thee to the wars in Palestine, and so to place thee that death will be a certainty. This he asks in the name of our ancient friendship and for the sake of our order, to which he has ever shown himself well disposed.?

Seeing the dismay and incredulity which were depicted in his listener?s face, the prior hastened to read aloud a pa.s.sage describing von Metternich?s discovery of his daughter?s love for the humble squire, and Gerbert could no longer doubt that his fate was sealed.

The prior looked at him kindly.

?Gerbert,? he said, ?I am not going to put the cruel order into execution. Though I lose friendship, the honour of our order, life itself, the son of Guba von Isenburg shall not suffer at my hands.

I sympathize with thy pa.s.sion for the fair Ida. I myself loved thy mother.? The impetuous Gerbert started to his feet, hand on sword, at the mention of his mother, whose good name he set before all else; but with a dignified gesture the prior motioned him to his seat.

Then in terse, pa.s.sionate phrases the elder man told how he had loved the gentle Guba for years, always hesitating to declare his pa.s.sion lest the lady should scorn him. At length he could bear it no longer, and made up his mind to reveal his love to her. With this intent he rode toward her home, only to learn from a pa.s.sing page that Guba, his mistress, was to be married that very day to von Isenburg. He gave to the page a ring, bidding him carry it to his mistress with the message that it was from one who loved her greatly, and who for her sake renounced the world. ?The ring,? he concluded, ?is on thy finger, and in thy face and voice are thy mother?s likeness. Canst thou wonder that I would spare thy life??

Gerbert listened in respectful silence. His love for Ida enabled him to sympathize with the pathetic tale unfolded by the prior. Tears fell unchecked from the eyes of both. ?And now,? said the prior at last, ?we must look to thy safety.?

?I would not bring misfortune on thee,? said Gerbert. ?May I not go to Palestine and win my way through with my sword??

?It is impossible,? said the elder man. ?Von Metternich would see to it that thou wert slain. Thou must go to Swabia, where a prior of our order will look after thy safety in the meantime.?

The same day Gerbert was conveyed to Swabia, where, for a time at least, he was safe from persecution.

The Dance of Death

In the nunnery of Oberworth, on a pallet in a humble cell, Ida lay dying. A year had gone past since she had been separated from her lover, and every day had seen her grow weaker and more despondent. Forget Gerbert? That would she never while life remained to her. Wearily she tossed on her pallet, her only companion a sister of the convent.

Willingly now would the Freiherr give his dearest possessions to save his daughter, but already she was beyond a.s.sistance, her only hope the peace of the grave.

?I am dying, sister,? she said to her attendant. ?Nevermore shall I see my dear Gerbert?ah! nevermore.?

?Hush,? murmured the nun gently, ?stranger things have happened. All may yet be well.? And to divert the dying maid?s attention from her grief she recited tales of lovers who had been reunited after many difficulties.

But Ida refused to be pacified.

?Alas!? she said, ?I am betrothed, yet I must die unwed.?

?Heaven forbid!? cried the pious nun in alarm. ?For then must thou join in the dance of death.?

It was a popular belief in that district that a betrothed maiden who died before her wedding was celebrated must, after her death, dance on a spot in the centre of the island whereon no gra.s.s or herb ever grew?that is, unless in the interval she took the veil. Every night at twelve o?clock a band of such hapless maidens may be seen dancing in the moonlight, doomed to continue their nocturnal revels till they meet with a lover. And woe betide the knight who ventures within their reach! They dance round and round him and with him till he falls dead, whereupon the youngest maid claims him for her lover. Henceforth she rests quietly in her grave and joins no more in the ghostly frolic.

This weird tradition Ida now heard from the lips of the nun, who herself claimed to have witnessed the scenes she described.

?I beseech thee,? said the sister, ?do but join our convent, and all will yet be well.?

?I die,? murmured Ida, heeding not the words of her companion.

?Gerbert?we shall meet again!?

Gerbert, her lover, heard the sad news in his dwelling-place on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Constance, and returned to Oberworth with all speed. A week had elapsed ere he arrived, and Ida?s body was already interred in the vaults of the convent.

It was a night of storm and darkness. No boatman would venture on the Rhine, but Gerbert, anxious to pay the last respects to the body of his beloved, was not to be deterred. With his own hands he unmoored a vessel and sailed across to Oberworth. Having landed at that part of the island furthest from the convent, he was obliged to pa.s.s the haunted spot on his way thither. The circular patch of barren earth was said to be a spot accursed, by reason of sacrilege and suicide committed there. But such things were far from the thoughts of the distraught knight.

Suddenly he heard a strange sound, like the whisper of a familiar voice?a sound which, despite its quietness, seemed to make itself heard above the fury of the storm. Looking up, he beheld a band of white-robed maidens dancing in the charmed circle. One of them, a little apart from the others, seemed to him to be his lost Ida. The familiar figure, the grace of mien, the very gesture with which she beckoned him, were hers, and he rushed forward to clasp her to his heart. Adroitly she eluded his grasp and mingled with the throng. Gerbert followed with bursting heart, seized her in his arms, and found that the other phantoms had surrounded them. Something in the unearthly music fascinated him; he felt impelled to dance round and round, till his head reeled. And still he danced with his phantom bride, and still the maidens whirled about them. On the stroke of one the dancers vanished and the knight sank to the ground, all but dead with fatigue. In the morning he was found by the kindly nuns, who tended him carefully. But all their skill and attention were in vain; for Gerbert lived only long enough to tell of his adventure to the sisterhood. This done, he expired with the name of his beloved spirit-bride upon his lips.

Stolzenfels: The Alchemist

Alchemy was a common pursuit in the Middle Ages. The poor followed it eagerly in the vain desire for gold; the rich spent their wealth in useless experiments, or showered it on worthless charlatans.