Upon the mountain's heathery side,
The day's last lustre shone,
And rich with many a radiant hue,
Gleam'd gaily on the Rhone.
SOUTHEY.
The English merchant was now much consulted by the Swiss Commissioners
in all their motions. He exhorted them to proceed with all despatch on
their journey, so as to carry to the Duke their own account of the
affair of Brisach, and thus anticipate all rumours less favourable to
their conduct on the occasion. For this purpose Philipson recommended
that the Deputies, dismissing their escort, whose arms and numbers
might give umbrage and suspicion, while they were too few for defence,
should themselves proceed by rapid journeys on horseback towards
Dijon, or wherever the Duke might chance to be for the time.
This proposal was, however, formally resisted by the very person who
had hitherto been the most ductile of the party, and the willing echo
of the Landamman's pleasure. On the present occasion, notwithstanding
that Arnold Biederman declared the advice of Philipson excellent,
Nicholas Bonstetten stood in absolute and insurmountable opposition;
because, having hitherto trusted to his own limbs for transporting
himself to and fro on all occasions, he could by no means be
persuaded to commit himself to the discretion of a horse. As he was
found obstinately positive on this subject, it was finally determined
that the two Englishmen should press forward on their journey, with
such speed as they might, and that the elder of them should make the
Duke acquainted with so much as to the capture of La Ferette as he had
himself witnessed of the matter. The particulars which had attended
the death of De Hagenbach, the Landamman assured him, would be sent to
the Duke by a person of confidence, whose attestation on the subject
could not be doubted.
This course was adopted, as Philipson expressed his confidence of
getting an early and private audience with his grace of Burgundy.
"My best intercession," he said, "you have a good right to reckon
upon; and no one can bear more direct testimony than I can to the
ungovernable cruelty and rapacity of De Hagenbach, of which I had so
nearly been the victim. But of his trial and execution I neither know
nor can tell anything; and as Duke Charles is sure to demand why
execution was done upon his officer without an appeal to his own
tribunal, it will be well that you either provide me with such facts
as you have to state, or send forward, at least, as speedily as
possible, the evidence which you have to lay before him on that most
weighty branch of the subject."
The proposal of the merchant created some visible embarrassment on the
countenance of the Swiss, and it was with obvious hesitation that
Arnold Biederman, having led him aside, addressed him in a whisper--
"My good friend," he said, "mysteries are in general like the hateful
mists which disfigure the noblest features of nature; yet, like mists,
they will sometimes intervene when we most desire their absence, when
we most desire to be plain and explicit. The manner of De Hagenbach's
death you saw--we will take care that the Duke is informed of the
authority by which it was inflicted. This is all that I can at present
tell you on the subject; and let me add, that the less you speak of it
with any one, you will be the more likely to escape inconvenience."
"Worthy Landamman," said the Englishman, "I also am by nature, and
from the habits of my country, a hater of mysteries. Yet, such is my
firm confidence in your truth and honour, that you shall be my guide
in these dark and secret transactions, even as amongst the mists and
precipices of your native land, and I rest contented in either case to
place unlimited confidence in your sagacity. Let me only recommend
that your explanation with Charles be instant, as well as clear and
candid. Such being the case, I trust my poor interest with the Duke
may be reckoned for something in your favour. Here then we part, but,
as I trust, soon to meet again."
The elder Philipson now rejoined his son, whom he directed to hire
horses, together with a guide, to conduct them with all speed to the
presence of the Duke of Burgundy. By various inquiries in the town,
and especially among the soldiers of the slain De Hagenbach, they at
length learned that Charles had been of late occupied in taking
possession of Lorraine, and, being now suspicious of unfriendly
dispositions on the part of the Emperor of Germany, as well as of
Sigismund Duke of Austria, had drawn a considerable part of his army
together near Strasburg, in order to be prepared against any attempt
of these princes, or of the Free Imperial Cities, which might
interfere with his course of conquest. The Duke of Burgundy, at this
period, well deserved his peculiar epithet of the Bold, since,
surrounded by enemies, like one of the nobler animals of the chase, he
yet astounded, by his stern and daring countenance, not only the
princes and states we have mentioned, but even the King of France,
equally powerful, and far more politic, than himself.
To his camp, therefore, the English travellers bent their way, each
full of such deep and melancholy reflection as, perhaps, prevented his
bestowing much attention on the other's state of mind. They rode as
men deeply immersed in their own thoughts, and with less intercourse
than had been usual betwixt them on their former journeys. The
nobleness of the elder Philipson's nature, and his respect for the
Landamman's probity, joined with gratitude for his hospitality, had
prevented him from separating his cause from that of the Swiss
deputies, nor did he now repent his generosity in adhering to them.
But when he recollected the nature and importance of the personal
affairs which he himself had to despatch with a proud, imperious, and
irritable prince, he could not but regret the circumstances which had
involved his own particular mission, of so much consequence to himself
and his friends, with that of persons likely to be so highly obnoxious
to the Duke as Arnold Biederman and his companions; and, however
grateful for the hospitality of Geierstein, he regretted,
nevertheless, the circumstances which had obliged him to accept of it.
The thoughts of Arthur were no less anxious. He found himself anew
separated from the object to which his thoughts were, almost against
his own will, constantly returning. And this second separation had
taken place after he had incurred an additional load of gratitude, and
found new as well as more mysterious food for his ardent imagination.
How was he to reconcile the character and attributes of Anne of
Geierstein, whom he had known so gentle, candid, pure, and simple,
with those of the daughter of a sage, and of an elementary spirit, to
whom night was as day, and an impervious dungeon the same as the open
portico of a temple? Could they be identified as the same being? or,
while strictly alike in shape and lineament, was the one a tenant of
the earth, the other only a phantom, permitted to show itself among
those of a nature in which she did not partake? Above all, must he
never see her more, or receive from her own lips an explanation of the
mysteries which were so awfully entwined with his recollections of
her? Such were the questions which occupied the mind of the younger
traveller, and prevented him from interrupting, or even observing, the
reverie in which his father was plunged.
Had either of the travellers been disposed to derive amusement from
the country through which their road lay, the vicinity of the Rhine
was well qualified to afford it. The ground on the left bank of that
noble river is indeed rather flat and tame; and the mountains of
Alsace, a ridge of which sweeps along its course, do not approach so
near as greatly to vary the level surface of the valley which divides
them from its shores. But the broad stream itself, hurrying forward
with dizzy rapidity, and rushing around the islets by which its course
is interrupted, is one of the most majestic spectacles in nature. The
right bank is dignified at once, and adorned, by the numerous
eminences covered with wood, and interspersed with valleys, which
constitute the district so well known by the name of the Black Forest,
to which superstition attached so many terrors, and credulity such a
variety of legends. Terrors, indeed, it had, of a real and existing
character. The old castles, seen from time to time on the banks of the
river itself, or on the ravines and large brooks which flow into it,
were then no picturesque ruins, rendered interesting by the stories
which were told about their former inhabitants, but constituted the
real and apparently impregnable strongholds of that Robber-chivalry
whom we have already frequently mentioned, and of whom, since Goethe,
an author born to arouse the slumbering fame of his country, has
dramatised the story of Goetz of Berlichingen, we have had so many
spirit-stirring tales. The danger attending the vicinity of these
fortresses was only known on the right, or German bank of the Rhine,
for the breadth and depth of that noble stream effectually prevented
any foray of their inhabitants from reaching Alsace. The former was in
possession of the Cities or Free Towns of the Empire, and thus the
feudal tyranny of the German lords was chiefly exerted at the expense
of their own countrymen, who, irritated and exhausted with their
rapine and oppression, were compelled to erect barriers against it, of
a nature as interesting and extraordinary as were the wrongs from
which they endeavoured to protect themselves.
But the left bank of the river, over great part of which Charles of
Burgundy exercised his authority, under various characters, was under
the regular protection of the ordinary magistrates, who were supported
in the discharge of their duty by large bands of mercenary soldiers.
These were maintained by Charles out of his private revenue; he, as
well as his rival Louis, and other princes of the period, having
discovered that the feudal system gave an inconvenient degree of
independence to their vassals, and thinking, of course, that it was
better to substitute in its place a standing army, consisting of Free
Companies, or soldiers by profession. Italy furnished most of these
bands, which composed the strength of Charles's army, at least the
part of it in which he most trusted.
Our travellers, therefore, pursued their way by the banks of the
river, in as great a degree of security as could well be enjoyed in
that violent and distracted time, until at length the father, after
having eyed for some time the person whom Arthur had hired to be their
guide, suddenly asked of his son who or what the man was. Arthur
replied that he had been too eager to get a person who knew the road,
and was willing to show it, to be very particular in inquiring into
his station or occupation; but that he thought, from the man's
appearance, he must be one of those itinerant ecclesiastics, who
travel through the country with relics, pardons, and other religious
trinkets, and were in general but slightly respected, excepting by the
lower orders, on whom these vendors of superstitious wares were often
accused of practising gross deceptions.
The man's appearance was rather that of a lay devotee, or palmer,
bound on his pilgrimage to different shrines, than of a mendicant
friar, or questionary. He wore the hat, scrip, staff, and coarse
dalmatic, somewhat like the military cloak of the modern hussar, which
were used by such persons on their religious peregrinations. St.
Peter's keys, rudely shaped out of some scarlet rag of cloth, appeared
on the back of his mantle, placed, as heralds say, saltire wise. This
devotee seemed a man of fifty and upwards, well-made, and stout for
his age, with a cast of countenance which, though not positively ugly,
was far from being well-favoured. There was shrewdness, and an alert
expression in his eye and actions, which made some occasional contrast
with the sanctimonious demeanour of the character he now bore. This
difference betwixt his dress and physiognomy was by no means uncommon
among persons of his description, many of whom embraced this mode of
life, rather to indulge roving and idle habits, than from any
religious call.
"Who art thou, good fellow?" said the elder Philipson; "and by what
name am I to call thee while we are fellow-travellers?"
"Bartholomew, sir," said the man; "Brother Bartholomew--I might say
Bartholomæus, but it does not become a poor lay brother like me to
aspire to the honour of a learned termination."
"And whither does thy journey tend, good Brother Bartholomew?"
"In whichever direction your worship chooses to travel, and to require
my services as guide," answered the palmer; "always premising, you
allow me leisure for my devotions at such holy stations as we pass on
our route."
"That is, thine own journey hath no professed or pressing object or
end?" said the Englishman.
"None, as your worship says, peculiar," said the itinerant; "or I
might rather say, that my journey, good sir, embraces so many objects,
that it is matter of indifference to me which of them I accomplish
first. My vow binds me for four years to travel from one shrine, or
holy place, to another; but I am not directly tied to visit them by
any precise rule of rotation."
"That is to say, thy vow of pilgrimage does not prevent thee from
hiring thyself to wait upon travellers as their guide," replied
Philipson.
"If I can unite the devotion I owe to the blessed saints whose shrines
I visit, with a service rendered to a wandering fellow-creature who
desires to be directed upon his journey, I do maintain," replied
Bartholomew, "that the objects are easily to be reconciled to each
other."
"Especially as a little worldly profit may tend to cement the two
duties together, if otherwise incompatible," said Philipson.
"It pleases your honour to say so," replied the pilgrim; "but you
yourself may, if you will, derive from my good company something more
than the mere knowledge of the road in which you propose to travel. I
can make your journey more edifying by legends of the blessed saints
whose holy relics I have visited, and pleasing, by the story of the
wonderful things which I have seen and heard in my travels. I can
impart to you an opportunity of providing yourself with his
Holiness's pardon, not only for the sins which you have committed,
but also granting you indulgence for future errors."
"These things are highly available doubtless," replied the merchant;
"but, good Bartholomew, when I desire to speak of them, I apply to my
father confessor, to whom I have been uniformly regular in committing
the charge of my conscience, and who must be, therefore, well
acquainted with my state of mind, and best accustomed to prescribe
what its case may require."
"Nevertheless," said Bartholomew, "I trust your worship is too
religious a man, and too sound a Catholic, to pass any hallowed
station without endeavouring to obtain some share of the benefits
which it is the means of dispensing to those who are ready and willing
to deserve them. More especially as all men, of whatever trade and
degree, hold respect to the holy saint who patroniseth his own
mystery; so I hope you, being a merchant, will not pass the Chapel of
Our Lady of the Ferry, without making some fitting orison."
"Friend Bartholomew," said Philipson, "I have not heard of the shrine
which you recommend to me; and, as my business is pressing, it were
better worth my while to make a pilgrimage hither on purpose to make
mine homage at a fitter season, than to delay my journey at present.
This, God willing, I will not fail to do, so that I may be held
excused for delaying my reverence till I can pay it more respectfully,
and at greater leisure."
"May it please you not to be wroth," said the guide, "if I say that
your behaviour in this matter is like that of a fool, who, finding a
treasure by the road-side, omits to put it in his bosom and carry it
along with him, proposing to return from a distance on a future day,
of express purpose to fetch it."
Philipson, something astonished at the man's pertinacity, was about to
answer hastily and angrily, but was prevented by the arrival of three
strangers, who rode hastily up from behind them.
The foremost of these was a young female, most elegantly attired, and
mounted upon a Spanish jennet, which she reined with singular grace
and dexterity. She wore on her right hand such a glove as that which
was used to carry hawks, and had a merlin perched upon it. Her head
was covered with a montero cap, and, as was frequently the custom at
the period, she wore on her face a kind of black silk vizard, which
effectually concealed her features. Notwithstanding this disguise,
Arthur Philipson's heart sprang high at the appearance of these
strangers, for he was at once certain he recognised the matchless form
of the Swiss maiden by whom his mind was so anxiously occupied. Her
attendants were a falconer with his hunting-pole, and a female, both
apparently her domestics. The elder Philipson, who had no such
accuracy of recollection as his son manifested upon the occasion, saw
in the fair stranger only some dame or damsel of eminence engaged in
the amusement of hawking, and, in return to a brief salutation, merely
asked her, with suitable courtesy, as the case demanded, whether she
had spent the morning in good sport.
"Indifferent, good friend," said the lady. "I dare not fly my hawk so
near the broad river, lest he should soar to the other side, and so I
might lose my companion. But I reckon on finding better game when I
have crossed to the other side of the ferry, which we are now
approaching."
"Then your ladyship," said Bartholomew, "will hear mass in Hans'
Chapel, and pray for your success?"
"I were a heathen to pass the holy place without doing so," replied
the damsel.
"That, noble damsel, touches the point we were but now talking of,"
said the guide Bartholomew; "for know, fair mistress, that I cannot
persuade this worthy gentleman how deeply the success of his
enterprise is dependent upon his obtaining the blessing of Our Lady of
the Ferry."
"The good man," said the young maiden, seriously, and even severely,
"must know little of the Rhine. I will explain to the gentleman the
propriety of following your advice."
She then rode close to young Philipson, and spoke in Swiss, for she
had hitherto used the German language, "Do not start, but hear me!"
and the voice was that of Anne of Geierstein. "Do not, I say, be
surprised--or at least show not your wonder--you are beset by dangers.
On this road, especially, your business is known--your lives are laid
in wait for. Cross over the river at the Ferry of the Chapel, or Hans'
Ferry, as it is usually termed."
Here the guide drew so near to them that it was impossible for her to
continue the conversation without being overheard. At that same moment
a woodcock sprang from some bushes, and the young lady threw off her
merlin in pursuit.
"Sa ho--sa ho--wo ha!" hollowed the falconer, in a note which made the
thicket ring again; and away he rode in pursuit. The elder Philipson
and the guide himself followed the chase eagerly with their eyes, so
attractive was the love of that brave sport to men of all ranks. But
the voice of the maiden was a lure, which would have summoned Arthur's
attention from matters more deeply interesting.
"Cross the Rhine," she again repeated, "at the Ferry to Kirch-hoff, on
the other side of the river. Take your lodgings at the Golden Fleece,
where you will find a guide to Strasburg. I must stay here no longer."
So saying, the damsel raised herself in her saddle, struck her horse
lightly with the loose reins, and the mettled animal, already
impatient at her delay, and the eager burst of its companions, flew
forward at such a pace, as if he had meant to emulate the flight of
the hawk, and of the prey he pursued. The lady and her attendants soon
vanished from the sight of the travellers.
A deep silence for some time ensued, during which Arthur studied how
to communicate the warning he had received, without awakening the
suspicions of their guide. But the old man broke silence himself,
saying to Bartholomew, "Put your horse into more motion, I pray you,
and ride onward a few yards; I would have some private conference with
my son."
The guide obeyed, and, as if with the purpose of showing a mind too
profoundly occupied by heavenly matters to admit a thought concerning
those of this transitory world, he thundered forth a hymn in praise of
St. Wendelin the Shepherd, in a strain so discordant as startled every
bird from every bush by which they passed. There was never a more
unmelodious melody, whether sacred or profane, than that under
protection of which the elder Philipson thus conferred with his son.
"Arthur," he said, "I am much convinced that this howling hypocritical
vagrant has some plot upon us; and I had well-nigh determined that the
best mode to baffle it would be to consult my own opinion, and not
his, as to our places of repose, and the direction of our journey."
"Your judgment is correct, as usual," said his son. "I am well
convinced of yonder man's treachery, from a whisper in which that
maiden informed me that we ought to take the road to Strasburg, by the
eastern side of the river, and for that purpose cross over to a place
called Kirch-hoff, on the opposite bank."
"Do you advise this, Arthur?" replied his father.
"I will pledge my life for the faith of this young person," replied
his son.
"What!" said his father, "because she sits her palfrey fairly, and
shows a faultless shape? Such is the reasoning of a boy--and yet my
own old and cautious heart feels inclined to trust her. If our secret
is known in this land, there are doubtless many who may be disposed to
think they have an interest in barring my access to the Duke of
Burgundy, even by the most violent means; and well you know that I
should on my side hold my life equally cheap, could I discharge mine
errand at the price of laying it down. I tell thee, Arthur, that my
mind reproaches me for taking hitherto over little care of insuring
the discharge of my commission, owing to the natural desire I had to
keep thee in my company. There now lie before us two ways, both
perilous and uncertain, by which we may reach the Duke's Court. We may
follow this guide, and take the chance of his fidelity, or we may
adopt the hint of yonder damsel-errant, and cross over to the other
side of the Rhine, and again repass the river at Strasburg. Both roads
are perhaps equally perilous. I feel it my duty to diminish the risk
of the miscarriage of my commission, by sending thee across to the
right bank, while I pursue my proposed course upon the left. Thus, if
one of us be intercepted, the other may escape, and the important
commission which he bears may be duly executed."
"Alas, my father!" said Arthur, "how is it possible for me to obey
you, when by doing so I must leave you alone, to incur so many
dangers, to struggle with so many difficulties, in which my aid might
be at least willing, though it could only be weak? Whatever befall us
in these delicate and dangerous circumstances, let us at least meet it
in company."
"Arthur, my beloved son," said his father, "in parting from thee I am
splitting mine own heart in twain; but the same duty which commands us
to expose our bodies to death, as peremptorily orders us not to spare
our most tender affections. We must part."
"Oh, then," replied his son, eagerly, "let me at least prevail in one
point. Do thou, my father, cross the Rhine, and let me prosecute the
journey by the route originally proposed."
"And why, I pray you," answered the merchant, "should I go one of
these roads in preference to the other?"
"Because," said Arthur eagerly. "I would warrant yonder maiden's faith
with my life."
"Again, young man?" said his father. "And wherefore so confident in
that young maiden's faith? Is it merely from the confidence which
youth reposes in that which is fair and pleasing, or have you had
further acquaintance with her than the late brief conversation with
her admitted?"
"Can I give you an answer?" replied his son. "We have been long absent
from lands of knights and ladies, and is it not natural that we should
give to those who remind us of the honoured ties of chivalry and
gentle blood, the instinctive credence which we refuse to such a poor
wretch as this itinerant mountebank, who gains his existence by
cheating, with false relics and forged legends, the poor peasants
amongst whom he travels?"
"It is a vain imagination, Arthur," said his father; "not unbefitting,
indeed, an aspirant to the honours of chivalry, who draws his ideas of
life and its occurrences from the romances of the minstrels, but too
visionary for a youth who has seen, as thou hast, how the business of
this world is conducted. I tell thee, and thou wilt learn to know I
say truth, that around the homely board of our host the Landamman were
ranged truer tongues, and more faithful hearts, than the _cour
plénière_ of a monarch has to boast. Alas! the manly spirit of ancient
faith and honour has fled even from the breast of kings and knights,
where, as John of France said, it ought to continue to reside a
constant inhabitant, if banished from all the rest of the world."
"Be that as it may, dearest father," replied the younger Philipson,
"I pray you to be persuaded by me; and if we must part company, let it
be by your taking the right bank of the Rhine, since I am persuaded it
is the safest route."
"And if it be the safest," said his father, with a voice of tender
reproach, "is that a reason why I should spare my own almost exhausted
thread of life, and expose thine, my dear son, which has but begun its
course?"
"Nay, father," answered the son with animation, "in speaking thus you
do not consider the difference of our importance to the execution of
the purpose which you have so long entertained, and which seems now so
nigh being accomplished. Think how imperfectly I might be able to
discharge it, without knowledge of the Duke's person, or credentials
to gain his confidence. I might indeed repeat your words, but the
circumstances would be wanting to attract the necessary faith, and of
consequence, your scheme, for the success of which you have lived, and
now are willing to run the risk of death, would miscarry along with
me."
"You cannot shake my resolution," said the elder Philipson, "or
persuade me that my life is of more importance than yours. You only
remind me that it is you, and not I, who ought to be the bearer of
this token to the Duke of Burgundy. Should you be successful in
reaching his court or camp, your possession of these gems will be
needful to attach credit to your mission; a purpose for which they
would be less necessary to me, who can refer to other circumstances
under which I might claim credence, if it should please Heaven to
leave me alone to acquit myself of this important commission, which,
may Our Lady, in her mercy, forefend! Understand, therefore, that,
should an opportunity occur by which you can make your way to the
opposite side of the Rhine, you are to direct your journey so as again
to cross to this bank at Strasburg, where you will inquire for news of
me at the Flying Stag, a hostelry in that city, which you will easily
discover. If you hear no tidings of me at that place, you will proceed
to the Duke, and deliver to him this important packet."
Here he put into his son's hand, with as much privacy as possible, the
case containing the diamond necklace.
"What else your duty calls on you to do," continued the elder
Philipson, "you well know; only I conjure you, let no vain inquiries
after my fate interfere with the great duty you have there to
discharge. In the meantime, prepare to bid me a sudden farewell, with
a heart as bold and confident as when you went before me, and
courageously led the way amid the rocks and storms of Switzerland.
Heaven was above us then, as it is over us now. Adieu, my beloved
Arthur! Should I wait till the moment of separation, there may be but
short time to speak the fatal word, and no eye save thine own must see
the tear which I now wipe away."
The painful feeling which accompanied this anticipation of their
parting was so sincere on Arthur's part, as well as that of his
father, that it did not at first occur to the former, as a source of
consolation, that it seemed likely he might be placed under the
guidance of the singular female, the memory of whom haunted him. True
it was, that the beauty of Anne of Geierstein, as well as the
striking circumstances in which she had exhibited herself, had on that
very morning been the principal occupation of his mind; but they were
now chased from it by the predominant recollection, that he was about
to be separated in a moment of danger from a father so well deserving
of his highest esteem and his fondest affection.
Meanwhile, that father dashed from his eye the tear which his devoted
stoicism could not suppress, and, as if afraid of softening his
resolution by indulging his parental fondness, he recalled the pious
Bartholomew, to demand of him how far they were from the Chapel of the
Ferry.
"Little more than a mile," was the reply; and when the Englishman
required further information concerning the cause of its erection, he
was informed, that an old boatman and fisherman, named Hans, had long
dwelt at the place, who gained a precarious livelihood by transporting
travellers and merchants from one bank of the river to the other. The
misfortune, however, of losing first one boat and then a second, in
the deep and mighty stream, with the dread inspired in travellers by
the repetition of such accidents, began to render his profession an
uncertain one. Being a good Catholic, the old man's distress took a
devotional turn. He began to look back on his former life, and
consider by what crimes he had deserved the misfortunes which darkened
the evening of his days. His remorse was chiefly excited by the
recollection that he had, on one occasion, when the passage was
peculiarly stormy, refused to discharge his duty as a ferryman, in
order to transport to the other shore a priest, who bore along with
him an image of the Virgin, destined for the village of Kirch-hoff,
on the opposite or right bank of the Rhine. For this fault Hans
submitted to severe penance, as he was now disposed to consider as
culpable his doubt of the Virgin's power of protecting herself, her
priest, and the bark employed in her service; besides which, the
offering of a large share of his worldly goods to the church of
Kirch-hoff expressed the truth of the old man's repentance. Neither
did he ever again permit himself to interpose any delay in the journey
of men of holy Church; but all ranks of the clergy, from the mitred
prelate to the barefooted friar, might at any time of day or night
have commanded the services of him and his boat.
While prosecuting so laudable a course of life, it became at length
the lot of Hans to find, on the banks of the Rhine, a small image of
the Virgin, thrown by the waves, which appeared to him exactly to
resemble that which he had formerly ungraciously refused to carry
across, when under charge of the sacristan of Kirch-hoff. He placed it
in the most conspicuous part of his hut, and poured out his soul
before it in devotion, anxiously inquiring for some signal by which he
might discover whether he was to consider the arrival of her holy
image as a pledge that his offences were forgiven. In the visions of
the night, his prayers were answered, and Our Lady, assuming the form
of the image, stood by his bedside, for the purpose of telling him
wherefore she had come hither.
"My trusty servant," she said, "men of Belial have burned my dwelling
at Kirch-hoff, spoiled my chapel, and thrown the sacred image which
represents me into the swoln Rhine, which swept me downward. Now, I
have resolved to dwell no longer in the neighbourhood of the profane
doers of this deed, or of the cowardly vassals who dared not prevent
it. I am, therefore, compelled to remove my habitation, and, in
despite of the opposing current, I determined to take the shore on
this side, being resolved to fix my abode with thee, my faithful
servant, that the land in which thou dwellest may be blessed, as well
as thou and thy household."
As the vision spoke, she seemed to wring from her tresses the water in
which they had been steeped, while her disordered dress and fatigued
appearance was that of one who has been buffeting with the waves.
Next morning brought intelligence that, in one of the numerous feuds
of that fierce period, Kirch-hoff had been sacked, the church
destroyed, and the church treasury plundered.
In consequence of the fisherman's vision being thus remarkably
confirmed, Hans entirely renounced his profession; and, leaving it to
younger men to supply his place as ferryman, he converted his hut into
a rustic chapel, and he himself, taking orders, attended upon the
shrine as a hermit, or daily chaplain. The figure was supposed to work
miracles, and the ferry became renowned from its being under the
protection of the Holy Image of Our Lady, and her no less holy
servant.
When Bartholomew had concluded his account of the Ferry and its
Chapel, the travellers had arrived at the place itself.