Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine Part 14

Thus it came about that Archbishop Werner of Falkenstein, owner of the grim fortress of Stolzenfels and a wealthy and powerful Churchman, was an amateur of the hermetic art, while his Treasurer, who was by no means rich, was also by way of being an alchemist. To indulge his pa.s.sion for the bizarre science the latter had extracted many a golden piece from the coffers of his reverend master, always meaning, of course, to pay them back when the weary experiments should have crystallized into the coveted philosopher?s stone. He had in his daughter Elizabeth a treasure which might well have outweighed the whole of the Archbishop?s coffers, but the l.u.s.t for gold had blinded the covetous Treasurer to all else.

One night?a wild, stormy night, when the wind tore shrieking round the battlements of Stolzenfels?there came to the gate a pilgrim, sombre of feature as of garb, with wicked, glinting eyes. The Archbishop was not at that time resident in the castle, but his Treasurer, hearing that the new-comer was learned in alchemical mysteries, bade him enter without delay. A room was made ready in one of the highest towers, and there the Treasurer and his pilgrim friend spent many days and nights. Elizabeth saw with dismay that a change was coming over her father. He was no longer gentle and kind, but morose and reserved, and he pa.s.sed less time in her company than he was wont.

At length a courier arrived with tidings of the approach of the Archbishop, who was bringing some n.o.ble guests to the castle. To the dismay of his daughter, the Treasurer suddenly turned pale and, brushing aside her solicitous inquiries, fled to the mysterious chamber.

Elizabeth followed, convinced that something had occurred to upset her father seriously. She was too late?the door was locked ere she reached it; but she could hear angry voices within, the voices of her father and the pilgrim. The Treasurer seemed to be uttering bitter reproaches, while ever and anon the deep, level voice of his companion could be heard.

?Bring hither a virgin,? he said. ?The heart?s blood of a virgin is necessary to our schemes, as I have told thee many times. How can I give thee gold, and thou wilt not obey my instructions??

?Villain!? cried the Treasurer, beside himself. ?Thou hast taken my gold, thou hast made me take the gold of my master also for thy schemes.

Wouldst thou have me shed innocent blood??

?I tell thee again, without it our experiments are vain.?

At that moment the door was flung open and the Treasurer emerged, too immersed in his anxious thoughts to perceive the shrinking form of Elizabeth. She, when he had gone from sight, entered the chamber where stood the pilgrim.

?I have heard thy conversation,? she said, ?and I am ready to give my life for my father?s welfare. Tell me what I must do and I will slay me with mine own hand.?

With covetous glance the pilgrim advanced and strove to take her hand, but she shrank back in loathing.

?Touch me not,? she said, shuddering.

A look of malice overspread the pilgrim?s averted face.

?Come hither at midnight, and at sunrise thy father will be rich and honoured,? he said.

?Wilt thou swear it on the cross??

?I swear it,? he returned, drawing a little crucifix from his bosom, and speaking in solemn tones.

?Very well, I promise.? And with that she withdrew.

When she had gone the alchemist pressed a spring in the crucifix, when a dagger fell out.

?Thou hast served me well,? he said, chuckling. Then, replacing the crucifix in his breast, he entered the adjoining room, prised up a stone from the floor, and drew forth a leathern bag full of gold. This, then, was the crucible into which the Archbishop?s pieces had gone. ?I have found the secret of making gold,? pursued the pilgrim. ?To-morrow my wealth and I will be far away in safety. The fools, to seek gold in a crucible!?

Meanwhile preparations were afoot for the reception of the Archbishop.

Elizabeth, full of grief and determination, supervised the work of the serving-maids, while her father anxiously wondered how he should account to his master for the stolen pieces of gold.

The Archbishop was loudly hailed on his arrival. He greeted his Treasurer kindly and asked after the pretty Elizabeth. When her father presented her he in turn introduced her to his guests, and many a glance of admiration was directed at the gentle maid. One young knight, in particular, was so smitten with her charms that he was dumb the whole evening.

When Elizabeth retired to her chamber her father bade her good-night.

Hope had again arisen in his breast.

?To-morrow,? he said, ?my troubles will be over.? Elizabeth sighed.

At length the hour of midnight arrived. Taking a lamp, the girl crossed the courtyard to where the alchemist awaited her coming. She was not unseen, however; the young knight had been watching her window, and he observed her pa.s.s through the courtyard with surprise. Fearing he knew not what harm to the maid he loved, he followed her to the pilgrim?s apartment, and there watched her through a crack in the door.

The alchemist was bending over a crucible when Elizabeth entered.

?Ah, thou hast come,? he said. ?I hope thou art prepared to do as I bid thee? If that is so, I will restore the gold to thy father?his own gold and his master?s. If thou art willing to sacrifice thine honour, thy father?s honour shall be restored; if thy life, he shall have the money he needs.?

?Away, wretch!? cried Elizabeth indignantly. ?I will give my life for my father, but I will not suffer insult.? With a shrug of his shoulders the alchemist turned to his crucible.

?As thou wilt,? he said. ?Prepare for the sacrifice.?

Suddenly the kneeling maid caught up the alchemist?s dagger and would have plunged it into her heart; but ere she could carry out her purpose the knight burst open the door, rushed into the room, and seized the weapon. Elizabeth, overcome with the relief which his opportune arrival afforded her, fainted in his arms.

While the young man frantically sought means to restore her the pilgrim seized the opportunity to escape, and when the maid came to herself it was to find the wretch gone and herself supported by a handsome young knight, who was pouring impa.s.sioned speeches into her ear. His love and tenderness awakened an answering emotion in her heart, and that very night they were betrothed.

When the maiden?s father was apprised of her recent peril he, too, was grateful to her deliverer, and yet more grateful when his future son-in-law pressed him to make use of his ample fortune.

The pilgrim was found drowned in the Rhine, and the bag of gold, which he had carried away in his belt, was handed over to the Archbishop, to whom the Treasurer confessed all.

And the good Archbishop, by way of confirming his forgiveness, gave a handsome present to Elizabeth on her marriage with the knight.

The Legend of Boppard

Maidens had curious ways of revenging themselves on unfaithful lovers in medieval times, as the following legend of Boppard would show.

Toward the end of the twelfth century there dwelt in Boppard a knight named Sir Conrad Bayer, brave, generous, and a good comrade, but not without his faults, as will be seen hereafter.

At that time many brave knights and n.o.bles were fighting in the Third Crusade under Frederick the First and Richard Coeur-de-Lion; but Sir Conrad still remained at Boppard. He gave out that the reason for his remaining at home was to protect his stronghold against a horde of robbers who infested the neighbourhood. But there were those who ascribed his reluctance to depart to another cause.

In a neighbouring fortress there lived a beautiful maiden, Maria by name, who received a great deal of attention from Sir Conrad. So frequent were his visits to her home that rumour had it that the fair lady had won his heart. This indeed was the case, and she in return had given her love unreservedly into his keeping. But as her pa.s.sion grew stronger his seemed to cool, and at length he began to make preparations to join the wars in Palestine, leaving the lady to lament his changed demeanour. In vain she pleaded, in vain she sent letters to him. At last he intimated plainly that he loved her no longer. He did not intend to marry, he said, adding cruelly that if he did she should not be the bride of his choice. The lady was completely crushed by the blow. Her affection for Sir Conrad perished, and in its place arose a desire to be revenged on the unfaithful knight. The fickle lover had completed his arrangements for his journey to the Holy Land, and all was ready for his departure. As he rode gaily down from his castle to where his men-at-arms waited on the sh.o.r.es of the Rhine, he was suddenly confronted by an armed knight, who reined in his steed and bade Sir Conrad halt.

?Hold, Sir Conrad Bayer,? he cried. ?Thou goest not hence till thou hast answered for thy misdeeds?thou false knight?thou traitor!?

Sir Conrad listened in astonishment. A moment later his attendants had surrounded the bold youth, and would have slain him had not Sir Conrad interfered.

?Back!? he said. ?Let me face this braggart myself. Who art thou?? he added, addressing the young knight who had thus boldly challenged him.

?One who would have thy life!? was the fierce reply.

?Why should I slay thee, bold youth?? said Conrad, amused.

?I am the brother of Maria, whom thou hast betrayed,? was the response.

?I have come hither from Palestine to seek thy life. Have at thee, traitor!?

Conrad, somewhat sobered, and unwilling to do battle with such a boy, asked for further proof of his ident.i.ty. The young knight thereupon displayed, blazoned on his shield, the arms of his house?a golden lion on an azure field.

Sir Conrad had no longer excuse for refusing to do battle with the youth, so with a muttered ?Thy blood be upon thy head!? he laid his lance in rest and drew back a few paces. The stranger did likewise; then they rushed toward each other, and such was the force of their impact that both were unhorsed. Drawing their swords?for neither was injured?the knights resumed the conflict on foot. Conrad felt disgraced at having been unhorsed by a mere youth, and he was now further incensed by receiving a deep wound in his arm. Henceforth he fought in good earnest, showering blows on his antagonist, who fell at last, mortally wounded.

In obedience to the rules of chivalry, Sir Conrad hastened to a.s.sist his vanquished foe. What was his surprise, his horror, when, on raising the head and unlacing the helm of the knight, he found that his adversary was none other than Maria!

?Conrad,? she said in failing tones, ?I also am to blame. Without thy love life was nothing to me, and I resolved to die by thy hand. Forget my folly, remember only that I loved thee. Farewell!? And with these words she expired. Conrad flung himself down by her side, convulsed with grief and remorse. From that hour a change came over him. Ere he set out to the Holy Land he caused the body of Maria to be interred on the summit of the Kreuzberg, and bestowed the greater part of his estates on a pious brotherhood, enjoining them to raise a nunnery over the tomb.

Thus was the convent of Marienberg founded, and in time it came to be one of the richest and most celebrated on the Rhine.

Arrived in Palestine, Conrad became a Knight-Templar, fighting bravely and utterly oblivious to all danger. It was not until Acre had been won, however, that death met him. An arrow dispatched by an unknown hand found its quarry as he was walking the ramparts at night meditating on the lady he had slain and whose death had restored her to a place in his affections.