cruel hunter slew them all one after another. But, just as the doe
breathed her last, a giant sprang out of the ground, shook his fist
vehemently at the Sabbath-breaker, and exclaiming that the harmless
animals were already avenged, vanished with them underground!
The lord of Grimmenstein, awed in spite of himself by these mysterious
words and by the sudden disappearance of the quarry he had slain, gave
up all thought of further hunting for that day and rode slowly home.
But when he entered his wife’s apartment, he found her and his children
dying from the very wounds he had inflicted upon the gentle doe and her
young.
Ever since then, when war or pestilence threaten the land, the lord
of Grimmenstein rises from his grave, blows a resonant blast upon his
hunting-horn, and again sets out to range through woods and valleys in
quest of game.
[Illustration: THE WILD HUNT.]
Besides this hunter and Sabbath-breaker, almost every valley and
hillside in Switzerland is said to be visited at times by some similar
wraith, sweeping by on the wings of the wind. But the apparition which
makes the most noise and causes most damage is undoubtedly that of
Odin, the Wild Huntsman himself, who often rushes through the land with
all his ghostly train of heathen deities.[2]
[2] See the author’s “Myths of Northern Lands.”
* * * * *
AFTER passing through the Wynigen tunnel, the train soon comes to
Burgdorf, an ancient and picturesque little city, with an old castle in
which Pestalozzi established a school toward the end of the eighteenth
century.
Tradition relates that dense forests once covered all this region,
which was infested by wild beasts of all kinds, not omitting an
immense, fire-breathing dragon, which had its abode in a cave in the
hill on which Burgdorf castle now stands.
Sintram and Baltram, the two sons of the Duke of Lenzburg, once
penetrated into this wilderness in pursuit of game, and discovering the
trail of this dragon, resolved to track him into his lair and rid the
country of such a pest. But when they drew near the mouth of the cave,
the dragon suddenly darted forth, and seizing Baltram, swallowed him at
one gulp! At this sight Sintram boldly dismounted, drew his sword, and
attacked the monster with such fury that he finally laid him low. Then,
slitting him open, he had the good fortune to find his brother still
alive and quite unharmed, thanks to the strong armour he wore.
The brothers were so proud of their victory over the monster, and so
grateful for their miraculous escape from its teeth and claws, that
they built a chapel on this spot, dedicating it to St. Margaret,
because she too once met and defeated a dragon. In this chapel they
placed a picture representing their fight with the Burgdorf monster,
and as they soon founded the town and castle, their name and fame still
endures in that section of the country.
* * * * *
IN the twelfth century, Burgdorf was the home of Berthold V. of
Zähringen, who conquered and brought into subjection the various
nobles in the Bernese Oberland. He built Fribourg on his own land, and
founded a new city on a rocky height almost entirely surrounded by the
Aare. History claims that he called this town Bern, in honour of his
favourite hero and ancestor, Dietrich of Bern (Verona).[3] But legend
states that, not knowing what name to bestow upon the new city, he
decided to call it after the first animal he slew in the chase.
[3] See the author’s “Legends of the Middle Ages.”
Sallying forth one day, he met and slew some bears (_Bären_), and
therefore called the city Bern. It is because the city is popularly
supposed to have thus obtained its name, that there is a bear in its
shield, and that these animals are conspicuous there in every form.
The most famous and imposing bears in Bern are the stone effigies
which long stood on either side of the city gates, and which now
guard the entrance to the Historical Museum; but the most amusing are
undoubtedly the live bears kept in a special pit.
According to some authorities these animals are the descendants of a
cub which the Duke of Zähringen brought back from his memorable hunting
expedition; according to others of a pair given to the town by René,
Duke of Lorraine. Besides, you may also hear it stated that a Swiss
soldier brought home a couple of cubs as trophy after the battle of
Novarre, in 1513, which were preserved in the city. In 1798, General
Brune carried off the Bern bears to the Jardin des Plantes in Paris,
and the present bruins are also said to have descended from those or
from a pair imported from Russia.
The city of Bern was laid out for the Duke by his henchman von
Bubenberg, who, foreseeing its importance, made it twice as large as
he was told. The Duke in wrath then demanded what he meant by this
disobedience, but von Bubenberg soon proved that he was right, for so
many settlers poured into the new place that only a narrow space could
be allotted for each house. All the buildings were made from the wood
growing within the new city limits, which gave rise to the distich,--
“Holz, lass’ dich hauen gern,
Die Stadt muss heissen Bern.”
(Wood, let yourself be felled readily,
The city must be called Bern.)
Bern became independent soon after its foundation, bravely withstood
two sieges made by the redoubtable Rudolf von Hapsburg, and some time
after defeating the Burgundian forces at Laupen, in 1339, joined the
Swiss Confederation, of which it is now the head.
In the middle of the fifteenth century, the citizens began the
construction of the beautiful cathedral, which, owing to lack of
funds, remained incomplete for centuries and has only recently been
crowned by its wonderful spire. In front of this building now stands
the equestrian statue of Rudolph von Erlach, the hero of Laupen; but
here, too, once stood a large wooden statue of St. Christopher. It was
placed there after a silver communion service had been stolen from the
cathedral, for the people believed that the giant saint would mount
faithful guard over ecclesiastical property. But when in spite of his
presence there, the communion service again fell a prey to thieves,
great indignation was felt in town.
To punish St. Christopher for his lack of vigilance, he was banished
to a niche in a tower bearing his name, where, as a further mark of
disgrace, and because he stood directly opposite the fountain of
David, he was dubbed Goliath. At that time a tradition was current
in Bern that when St. Christopher _heard_ the town clock strike the
noon hour, he invariably rained _weckli_ (local rolls) down upon the
people. To fix this saying in the minds of a younger generation, a
lady of the town ordered a large number of _weckli_ cast down upon
the waiting school children at the stroke of twelve, one day before
the tower was razed and the statue removed. The benevolent woman who
played this innocent trick upon the delighted little ones, celebrated
her one-hundredth birthday at Bern, in 1897, when the cathedral chimes
pealed forth at noon a gay carillon in her honour.
When the quaint Christopher tower was torn down, in the middle of the
nineteenth century, the head of the gaudily coloured statue of the
saint was removed to the city Museum, where it now forms part of a
collection of local antiquities.
South of the Cathedral, and extending all along one side of the
building, is a beautiful broad terrace, commanding a marvellous view of
the whole range of the Bernese Alps. On this shady place stands a fine
statue of the founder of the city, with Bruin as his shield-bearer.
At the edge of the terrace, set deep in the wall, is a tablet
commemorating the miraculous escape of a student, whose frightened
horse vaulted over the parapet in 1654. Theobald Weinzäpfli, for such
was the student’s name, not only survived the fall which killed his
steed, but became pastor of Kerzerz, where he died forty years later.
From the terrace, besides the matchless background of glaciers, there
is a fine view of the pyramidal Niesen, darkly outlined against them,
and of the winding Aare, which passes through the Lake of Brienz and
that of Thun at the foot of this mountain. At one end of the Lake of
Thun, where the Aare has its outlet, and less than an hour’s railway
journey from Bern, stands the picturesque little city of Thun, with
its ancient castle. At the other extremity, on a narrow strip of land
between the two lakes, rises Interlaken, the goal of all Swiss tourists.
* * * * *
LEGEND claims that in the days when St. Peter was preaching in Rome,
he converted there an English traveller, who received in baptism
the name of Beatus. Longing to publish the good tidings he had
received, this pious man set out from Rome, and preaching as he went,
finally came to the shores of the Lake of Thun. There he found a large
population of thrifty people still devoted to the Scandinavian religion
practised by their ancestors.
[Illustration: THE OLD ST. CHRISTOPHER TOWER.]
The spot was so lovely, and the task awaiting him so urgent, that
Beatus resolved to make a prolonged sojourn; but he was so busy caring
for souls that he had no time to build himself a hut. He therefore
determined to take up his abode in some cave, and searching for one
which might answer his purpose, climbed the mountain on the north side
of the lake. Far up the slope, he descried a large cavern, which he was
about to enter. But he suddenly found himself face to face with a huge
dragon, whose eyes were as big and round as cart-wheels, whose claws
were as long and as hard as grappling-hooks, and whose long, tapering
body and tail were covered with scales so thick that no weapon could
pierce them! This monster lashed its tail, opened wide its capacious
jaws, and spat forth such a torrent of fire and smoke that Beatus
thought his last hour had surely come. Alone and unarmed, resistance
was impossible, and as flight would have been equally vain, Beatus
commended his soul to God and made a hasty sign of the cross.
At the same moment the monster crept back into its den with a cry of
rage and terror; and Beatus, perceiving that it had quailed at the
sign of the cross, immediately determined to use so potent a weapon to
rid the country of this emissary of Satan. He therefore took up his
post at the mouth of the Beatushöhle, where he mounted guard night
and day, fasting and praying persistently. The presence of this holy
man, the constant sound of fervent supplication, and the sight of the
awe-inspiring sign of the cross every time it moved, so worked upon the
dragon’s nerves, that it exploded on the eighth day, and vanished in a
cloud of stinking smoke.
The Evil One having thus departed, Beatus took possession of the cave,
which he fitted out to serve as a hermitage. From one of the trees on
the bank of the lake, he fashioned a rude skiff, in which he rowed from
point to point along the shore, often preaching from his boat as his
Master had done on the Sea of Galilee.
By the blessing of God, Beatus’ words bore rich fruit, and conversions
became so numerous that Satan was alarmed, and determined to make
another attempt to kill or drive away the zealous missionary. He
therefore stirred up fearful storms every time Beatus left his cave,
caused brooks to swell and overflow whenever he tried to cross them,
rolled rocks down the mountain to obstruct his pathway, and after many
vain trials, succeeded in breaking his oars and making his poor skiff
almost useless.
One day, when Beatus came down to the lakeside, he perceived that the
waves rose to such a height that it would be impossible for him to
cross the lake to officiate at Einigen as he had promised. Loath to
disappoint the faithful anxiously awaiting him, Beatus spread out his
cloak upon the bank and sat down upon it, hoping that the storm stirred
up by the Evil One would soon abate sufficiently to enable him to cross
without imminent danger.
While sitting there, inwardly praying, a gust of wind suddenly stole
under his outspread cloak; and a moment later Beatus found himself
soaring through the air, high over the tossing lake, and was soon
gently deposited on the greensward near the little church. The people
welcomed him gladly, listened to his teachings, and practised the
Christian virtues so diligently that the place where they assembled for
worship was soon known far and wide as Paradise.
The concourse of people there became daily greater, and as Beatus was
often busy elsewhere, he bade his disciple Justus take charge of the
services whenever he failed to appear at the appointed time. Now, it
seems that while Beatus himself was very eloquent, his disciple was
extremely prosy and long-winded; and Satan, perceiving this, determined
to claim, on the judgment day, the souls of all those who slept through
the sermon and thus missed the final benediction. He therefore entered
the little church at Einigen one Easter morning, seated himself
directly under the pulpit, and spreading out a ram-skin on his lap,
prepared to take down the names of all who dozed during the service.
Although Beatus was expected to preach on that day, and an unusually
large congregation was present, he had not yet appeared when the little
bell ceased ringing; so Justus mounted the pulpit and began to expound
the Scriptures in his stead.
The place was overcrowded, the weather quite warm; and as the worthy
man’s teachings were even more uninteresting than usual, one auditor
after another nodded and slept. Beatus, who had been detained by a work
of mercy, slipped unperceived into the church shortly after the sermon
had begun, and seating himself modestly in a corner, lent a reverent
and attentive ear to his colleague’s halting discourse.
Looking up, however, he suddenly became aware of the fact that the
whole congregation was fast asleep, and that the Evil One was jotting
down their names with fiendish glee. While Beatus was hesitating
whether to be guilty of the sin of disturbing divine service by making
a noise which would wake the imprudent sleepers, or whether he should
leave their souls in such a dangerous predicament without making an
effort to save them, he perceived that the Devil had almost reached the
bottom of his ram-skin, and had not space enough left to inscribe all
the remaining names.
At that very moment the Devil became aware of the selfsame fact, but,
notoriously quick at devising expedients, he immediately seized the
skin between his teeth, and began tugging at it with all his might so
as to stretch it sufficiently to serve his purpose. In his haste he
gave a jerk which, tearing the skin, threw his head backward, hitting
the pulpit such a resonant bang that every man, woman, and child in the
congregation awoke with a start.
Beatus, the only one who had seen the accident, disgraced himself by
laughing aloud; and the Devil, perceiving he had defeated his own ends,
flounced angrily out of the church, and vanished with a yell, while the
people sank on their knees and frantically prayed to be forgiven for
yielding to fatigue.
Beatus, we are told, was duly punished for laughing in church, for
when he again spread out his mantle, expecting to be wafted across the
lake, as usual, it remained stationary, and although he ultimately died
in the odour of sanctity and was duly canonised, he ever after had to
resort to ordinary means of transportation. The cave in which Beatus
dwelt on the Beatenberg, and which still bears his name, has been
uninhabitable since his day. From its mouth now pours forth a noisy
stream during the spring months, and after heavy falls of rain.
* * * * *
MANY steamboats daily furrow the lake over which St. Beatus was wont to
fly on his mantle; and after passing the romantic town of Oberhofen,
directly opposite Einigen, where Justus preached, they come to Spiez,
where stands a tower of the old castle of Strättlingen. A lord of that
name is said to have been suddenly converted, while out hunting, by the
sight of a stag bearing a luminous crucifix between its wide antlers.
During the Christian persecutions under Hadrian, this Strättlingen took
refuge in Burgundy, where he greatly distinguished himself during a
quarrel with France.
It seems that the two kings had decided that their difference should
be settled by a duel between champions of their selection. The king of
France, however, produced a giant so strong that no Burgundian dared
meet him; and when Strättlingen volunteered to fight, the king of
Burgundy was duly grateful.
Reaching the lists before his antagonist, Strättlingen sat down to
await his coming, which he dreaded so little that he quietly fell
asleep. When the giant came, he gazed in angry astonishment at a rival
snoring as peacefully five minutes before the redoubtable encounter
as if he were merely taking a nap before dinner. Convinced that some
miracle lay behind this marvellous composure, the giant gazed at his
foe more closely still, and declared himself ready to acknowledge his
defeat without striking a blow, because the Archangel Michael stood
beside the sleeping champion, ready to battle for him.
In reward for the great victory thus won in his sleep, the Burgundian
king gave Strättlingen his daughter’s hand in marriage, a large estate
on the Lake of Thun, and great treasures. Part of this wealth was
employed by Strättlingen in erecting the castle which still bears his
name, and which long remained in the possession of his family. One of
his descendants, Wernhardt von Strättlingen, was known far and wide for
his great charity, and when a shivering pilgrim knocked at his gate one
cold winter morning, he unhesitatingly bestowed upon him a brand-new
cloak and bade him enter and spend the night in the castle.
When morning came, pilgrim and cloak had vanished, and the lady of
Strättlingen, who was very economical and far less charitable than
her spouse, reproached him bitterly for wasting such a good cloak
upon an ungrateful scamp. Although her scolding was vehement and oft
renewed, the husband bore it patiently, and when about to set out on
a pilgrimage, parted amicably with her, giving her half his ring and
telling her she might marry again at the end of five years, if in the
meantime he did not return to claim her by producing the other half of
the circlet.
This arrangement made, Strättlingen set out for Garganum, where he
had heard that St. Michael, his patron saint, had recently alighted.
Arriving there, he had a vision of St. Michael himself, who gave him
his blessing. But on the way home, Strättlingen was cast into a prison
in Lombardy, where he languished four whole years. Throughout this long
captivity Strättlingen’s faith never wavered; and when came the time
set for his wife’s remarriage should he not return, he fervently prayed
that she might be preserved from bigamy.
At that moment the pilgrim appeared in his cell, wrapped in the mantle
he had given him, and humbly confessed that he was a demon sent to
Strättlingen to entrap him into a reckless act of charity, in hopes
that the scolding his wife was sure to administer would cause him to
sin. The demon next went on to explain that he was now sent by St.
Michael to convey him home. Then he proceeded to carry out the orders
he had received from the archangel, and did it so skilfully that a
few minutes later the lord of Strättlingen stood at his castle gate,
wrapped in the cloak he had given the pilgrim five years before.
Returning thus unexpectedly and unrecognised, Strättlingen perceived
that wedding preparations were even then being made. Amid the throng
of guests, he stepped up to the table unseen and dropped his half of
the ring into his wife’s cup. When she raised it to her lips to drink,
she found this pledge, and looking eagerly around her, recognised
her husband in his pilgrim’s garb and fell upon his neck. Instead of
a wedding feast, a banquet of reunion was now held in the great hall
at Strättlingen, and as thank-offering for his miraculous return, the
count built the church of St. Michael at Einigen.
This church was secretly dedicated by the archangel himself, who
graciously made that fact known to the noble builder. The latter is
said to have founded a dozen other churches in the neighbourhood,
besides one large monastery. After a time, however, he began to pride
himself upon his piety and great gifts to the church, and in punishment
for this sin, fell desperately ill.
During this illness he saw the archangels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel
wrestling with the Devil for the possession of his soul. But they
finally agreed to decide the matter in a strictly impartial way by
weighing Strättlingen’s good and bad deeds in opposite scales. Held by
one saint and filled by another and by the Devil, the scales wavered
for a moment. Then the one containing the virtues seemed inclined to
kick the beam, until St. Michael rested his hand heavily upon it.
Seeing this, the Devil slyly clung to the bottom of the scale in which
he was specially interested. But his black and claw-like fingers
appearing over the edge of the scale, betrayed his stratagem to St.
Michael, who, drawing his sword, drove him away.
This curious legend is illustrated by a painting which long graced
the church in Lauterbrunnen, and the various legends told above are
carefully preserved in the curious chronicle of the church at Einigen.
* * * * *
OPPOSITE Spiez, at the foot of the Ralligenstock, and near the
present town of Ralligen, there was once a village named Roll, whose
inhabitants were noted all along the lake shore for their selfishness
and pride.
One night when the wind was blowing very hard and after it had rained
persistently for several days, a little dwarf came into the village,
and knocking at every door humbly begged for shelter. All rudely
refused to receive him, except an aged couple living at the end of the
village. They bade him enter, gave him the best food that they had in
the house, and would gladly have let him sleep in their own bed, had
he only been willing to tarry with them over night. But the dwarf told
them he still had much to do, and bidding them farewell, ran through
the place again, crying that it would soon disappear.
Before morning a terrible storm broke, the lightning struck the top
of the Ralligenstock, and all at once the awestruck people heard the
rumbling sound of a great landslide. Peering hastily out of their
window, the charitable couple saw their little guest gliding rapidly
down the mountain side on a huge rock, which he seemed to steer like a
sled. Guiding this rock close to their hut, he brought it to a sudden
standstill there, making it serve as a bulwark for the tiny house where
he had been so hospitably entertained. The rest of the earth and stones
swept all the other houses and inhabitants of Roll into the lake, in
punishment for their pride and lack of hospitality. But we are told
that the little cabin so miraculously spared, stood on the very site of
the present castle of Ralligen.
* * * * *
ON the same side of the Lake of Thun, and not very far from Ralligen,
is the charmingly situated town of Merligen. According to somewhat
malicious legends, the people there were none too intelligent. They
once built a beautiful City Hall, but discovered only too late that
they had forgotten to provide any windows, and that it was pitch dark
inside. As it was impossible to transact business in utter obscurity,
the city council immediately declared light must be brought in without
delay, and bade each of the councillors procure a bagful. All therefore
betook themselves in a body to a sunny meadow, opened wide their sacks,
and when they saw them full of sunlight, closed them tight and bore
them off to the City Hall. But although one bagful after another of
golden sunshine was carried in there, and all were opened at once, the
hall, to their great surprise and disappointment, remained as dark as
ever.
There once stood a nut tree close by the lake at Merligen. It bent
so far over the water that the people fancied the topmost branches
wanted a drink, so they determined to help it reach the water. The
chief magistrate climbed the tree, and seizing the highest bough, bade
another citizen catch hold of his legs. This done, a third clung to
the second, and continuing thus the people formed a living chain which
reached down into the lake. The last man now cried,--
“Are you all ready? Shall we pull?”