Before the gates of the old Roman town of Bonn rises a mountain of
moderate height, called Kreuzberg, or "Crossmountain."
In early mediaeval times pious pilgrims went to this sacred place, in
order to kneel on the holy steps of the old convent church so rich in
memories of the martyrs, or to pray in the chapel. On the same spot at
the beginning of the fourth century, the great saints of the Theban
legion, Cassius, and his companions Florentius and Melusius, died for
the Christian faith.
These martyrs were the guardian saints of the country round Bonn. Many
a prayer sent up to them had graciously been fulfilled, since the time
when St. Helena, the pious mother of Constantine, erected a chapel to
their honour on Kreuzberg.
Once upon a time a simple peasant from the neighbouring country went
on a pilgrimage to St. Cassius' burial place.
He came to ask the kind martyr for assistance in his distress.
Dransdorf was his village, formerly called Trajan's village, because
the general, who later on became Emperor Trajan, is said to have had a
villa there.
A bad harvest had brought troubles on the peasant, but he firmly
believed that through the intercession of St. Cassius he would receive
money enough in one way or another to enable him to pay his many
debts.
On arriving at Kreuzberg, he began his religious exercises by
confessing his sins to one of the monks belonging to the order of St.
Francis. Then according to custom he knelt in succession on one sacred
step after the other till he reached the chapel. His wife had
carefully put a candle in his pocket which he now lighted before the
image of St. Cassius. Having thus fulfilled all the duties prescribed
by the church, he turned homewards, well content with himself.
When he crossed the principal square of the town, where already at the
time the magnificent Minster stood, he entered this church to pray
once more, and to put another coin into the poor-box.
Twilight was creeping through the aisles, and a pilgrimage being not
at all an easy thing, our peasant soon fell asleep over his
prayer-book.
He only awoke, when, somebody pulled him by his sleeve. It was the
sexton with a big bunch of keys.
At first the peasant gazed drowsily at the unwelcome intruder, then
with astonished eyes he looked round about him, until at last it
dawned upon him, that he must get up and leave the church. Rousing
himself he made the sign of the cross, and left the Minster with
tottering steps. The night winds rustled in the old limetrees of the
square and seemed to whisper strange tales into the ears of the late
wanderer.
The peasant crossed the open space sulkily, and steered his way
towards the Sternthor, which led to Dransdorf. An ancient Roman tower,
the remains of the high fortifications erected by the soldiers of
Drusus eighteen hundred years ago, stands in the narrow lane, leading
from the minster-square to the Sternthor. To the tired wanderer this
tower seemed a splendid shelter, all the more so, as it would not cost
him a penny.
He entered it, and tired out with the weary day, he was soon fast
asleep as if he had never been stirred up from the bench in the
Minster. No sexton with noisy keys was to be feared, and yet in his
sleep the countryman had the sensation of somebody tapping him on the
shoulder. He sat up and looked round. To his amazement he beheld a
magnificent warrior standing before him, clad in a coat of mail with a
Roman helmet on his head. Two companions in similar array stood by his
side.
They nodded genially down to him, and it struck him that he had
already seen them somewhere else. After some moments he remembered the
pictures of St. Cassius and his friends in the chapel on Kreuzberg.
There was no doubt the three holy martyrs stood in person before him.
Our good peasant was so much awed at this discovery that he could not
utter a word, but on a sign from his mysterious visitors, he followed
them at a respectful distance.
They marched towards the Sternthor, straight into the building, the
walls of which were as thick as the rooms were long in the peasant's
humble little cottage. In the middle of a high vault there was a table
covered with sparkling gold.
At this unusual sight the peasant opened his eyes very widely indeed;
but his astonishment changed into keen delight when one of his ghostly
visitors filled his left pocket and another his right with the
glittering metal. Meanwhile the third man took a tumbler from the
middle of the table, and presented it to him with an encouraging
smile.
He thought their language was very much like that which the vicar of
the village church used in reading the service. Though the simple man
could not understand a word of their conversation, he interpreted the
kind invitation quite correctly, and shouting out a merry, "Vivat!" as
a salute to his hosts, he emptied the tumbler at one big draught.
The whole building resounded with the echo, "Vivat!" The three
warriors looked pleased and answered in a cheerful voice, "Vivat,
Vivat!"
All at once it seemed to the peasant as if the vault was filled with a
multitude of Roman soldiers who all called out to him, "Vivat!" as if
happy to hear a sound of their native language in the country of the
north.
The man from Dransdorf became quite high-spirited, and kept on
shouting, "Vivat, Vivat!" Suddenly startled by the noise he made, he
awoke and found himself lying on the floor of the Roman tower in the
Sterngasse.
The events of the night only seemed to him like a strange dream. But
when he felt in his pockets he found them stuffed with real golden
coins of a strange ancient stamp.
Our friend's joy became quite uproarious. After having sent up a
heartfelt thanksgiving to St. Cassius, he gave vent to his delight by
shouting through the quiet streets at the top of his voice, "Vivat,
Vivat!"
A watchman stood on duty by the Sternthor, when the jocund peasant
passed by. He made a step forward and, reaching out his arm, he gave
the merry man a rude knock with his lance. Unmindful of this rough
admonition, the peasant related the event in the Roman tower to the
watchman, and finished his story by inviting the stern man of duty to
an early draught at the nearest inn.
Rumours of the wonderful events spread far and wide, and soon every
town and village knew the tale. The small lane leading from the
Minstersquare to the Sternthor was called "Vivat" lane, and bears that
name to the present day.
Some years ago a heavy winter gale destroyed the old Roman tower that
had so long withstood the vicissitudes of time. The people of Bonn
however did not wish to obliterate the memory of this curious story,
and therefore named the street running parallel with "Vivat"
lane--"Cassius Graben."