The Nightingale Valley at Honnef

Honnef is one of the most lovely little spots on the earth, nestling

sweetly at the foot of the old Drachenfels. The mountain protects it

from the icy winds of the north, and the breezes blow gently in the

valley, which may be called the German Nice.

When the setting sun reminds the wanderer on the Drachenfels of coming

darkness, and he strolls down through the valley of Honnef, the songs

of numerous nightingales sound in his ears. This has been the

meeting-place of these songsters for many a long year, and there is an

old legend which gives us the reason.

There was a time when they used to sing in the forest round the old

Abbey Himmerode, as they now do in the valley of Honnef.

The pious monks, walking about in the cloister gardens in holy

contemplation heard their seductive songs: the penitents in their

cells, mortifying the flesh heard them also. Their alluring warble

mingled itself with their murmured prayers; and in the heart of many a

monk, who had long since renounced the world and its pleasures, the

remembrance of them was gently awakened, and sweet sinful things were

whispered into the holy brother's ears.

Then one day it happened that St. Bernhard came to the Abbey

Himmerode, to examine the brother's hearts. He was greatly distressed

to find that many a holy soul had turned from the path of peace, and

the cause of this also became known to him. In a violent passion the

holy man strode out into the forest surrounding the cloister, and

raising his hand angrily towards the seductive singers, he cried.

"Go from here! Ye are a curse to us." St. Bernhard had spoken

threateningly, and lo! with a great stir in the branches, a throng of

numberless nightingales rose from the bushes, filled the forest once

more with their glorious song, and fled with a great flapping of

wings.

They settled down in the valley of Honnef, and no excommunication has

driven them from there. Those who wander there are not averse to the

pleasures of the world like St. Bernhard, and every one after his own

manner reads a different meaning in their song.

Legends of the Rhine · 第 126 / 150 题