Ze Bade stoht e Schlössli,
Ze Bade stoht e güldi Hus,
Es lueged drei Mareie drus.
Die eine spinnt Side,
Die andere schnützelt Chride,
Die dritt schnit Haberstrau,
B’hüet mir Gott das Chindle au!”
* * * * *
AT Wettingen, the building now occupied by the Normal School was once
an old abbey founded in 1227 by Henry, Count of Rapperswyl. This
nobleman was so good and pious that he spent most of his time in
pilgrimages, thereby winning the nickname of The Wanderer. Returning
from the Holy Land, he once found himself in imminent danger of
perishing in the waves, and fixing his eyes upon a bright star which
suddenly shone through a break in the stormy sky, he made a solemn vow
to build a monastery at Wettingen should his life be spared.
This prayer was evidently heard, for the storm soon abated and the ship
came safely to land. When the Count of Rapperswyl therefore reached
home, he founded the abbey, which, in memory of his vow, and of the
star he saw at sea, was called Maria Stella, or Meer Stern, the Star of
the Sea.
* * * * *
THE handsome old castle of Hallwyl, the ancestral home of a noble
Swiss family of the same name, stands on the road between Lucerne and
Lenzburg, near the Lake of Hallwyl.
A lord of Hallwyl had three sons, and as the two elder ones died early,
the third had to drop his clerical studies and prepare to fulfil his
duties as future head of his house. Although this young man duly
married and had a fine son, it seems that he never ceased to regret
his interrupted priestly career, but, surrounded by monks of all kinds,
spent his time in religious practices and in poring over homilies and
church records.
None too strong to begin with, these long vigils and fasts so
undermined his health, that he finally became dangerously ill. One
day, fearing that he was about to die, he vowed he would send his
son on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land should he recover. True to this
promise, the lord of Hallwyl no sooner left his bed than he recalled
his son, who was fighting under Rudolf of Hapsburg, and bade him set
out immediately for the Holy Sepulchre. The young man, who thought his
services more needed at home, nevertheless prepared to obey, for a
vow was a sacred matter and children in those days rarely ventured to
question parental orders.
At parting the old lord of Hallwyl broke his ring in two, telling the
young man that when death overtook him he would leave his half to his
father confessor. The latter would administer the estates carefully,
giving them up to none but the man who established his right to them by
producing the other half of the broken ring.
It took twenty years for John of Hallwyl to fulfil his father’s vow.
During that time the old man died, and the monks took possession of
castle and estates. They were so determined not to give them up again,
however, that they not only announced the death of young Hallwyl, but
turned out of his castle an orphaned relative to whom he had been
betrothed in her infancy according to his mother’s wish. Alone and
friendless,--for she refused to yield to the monks’ suggestions and
enter a convent,--this young girl would have died of want, had not the
lord of Müllinen, a friend of her betrothed, offered her a home with
his mother and sister in his own castle.
Clémence gratefully accepted this kind proposal, and as she had been a
mere babe when John of Hallwyl started out on his perilous journey, she
did not prove faithless to him when she unconsciously fell in love with
his noble friend.
Now it happened that John of Hallwyl was not dead, as many supposed. On
the contrary, he was even then on his way home to claim his estates.
The monks, hearing this by accident, and determined to keep his
property, hired highwaymen to lie in wait for him and murder him before
he could reach Hallwyl and make himself known. This bold plan might
have succeeded, had not the lord of Müllinen chanced to hunt near
the place where the highwaymen were ambushed. Hearing the noise of a
fight, he spurred rapidly forward, and perceiving a knight on the point
of succumbing to a large force, made such a gallant charge that the
robbers fled.
When Müllinen bent over the prostrate form of the man he had rescued,
he found him grievously wounded, and had him carefully carried home.
There, when the traces of blood had been gently removed, he recognised
in the stranger his long-absent friend. Of course, he and the ladies
now vied with each other in caring for Hallwyl, who, becoming aware
during his convalescence of the affection existing between his friend
and betrothed, generously released her and bade them be happy together.
As soon as he was sufficiently recovered he presented himself before
the monks to claim his inheritance. They, however, pretended not
to recognise him, but politely declared that if he could produce a
fragment of ring exactly fitting the one entrusted to their keeping by
the last lord of Hallwyl, they would gladly surrender the castle to him.
Hearing this, John of Hallwyl immediately presented the broken ring,
and the monks sent for the casket in which they preserved the token
left by the deceased. To John’s surprise and indignation, however, it
failed to fit his half of the circlet, and the monks called him an
impostor and dismissed him empty-handed.
Hallwyl and his friend now rode back to Müllinen, determined to appeal
to the feudal court of Aargau for justice. There, both parties were
called upon to expose their case and take their oath, but as the judge
was entirely at a loss to decide which was right, he decreed the matter
should be settled by a judiciary duel between John of Hallwyl and a
champion selected by the monks.
On the appointed day, and in the presence of all the lords and ladies
of the country, Hallwyl met his opponent in the lists, and after a
fearful struggle and the display of almost fabulous strength and
courage succeeded in defeating him. Then, while the monks’ champion lay
where he had fallen, slowly dying from his many wounds, he suddenly
confessed aloud that he and a band of assassins had been hired to
waylay and kill Hallwyl on his return home.
Before he could add another word he expired, but the monks one and all
solemnly declared that the poor man was raving, for they had always
been willing to relinquish possession of the Hallwyl estates to any one
who produced the right token. The mendacity of this statement was soon
proved, however, for a dying jeweller confessed that he had been hired
to make an exact copy of the broken ring, but altering its shape in
such a way that the fragment in the young man’s possession would fail
to fit it.
John of Hallwyl, having thus recovered his estates, soon went off to
war again, and only when weary of fighting came home, married, and
brought up several sons whose descendants still live in different parts
of the country to-day.
The ring of Hallwyl is noted in Swiss art and literature, and the above
story forms the theme of poems, paintings, and historical romances,
which, bearing an unmistakable mediæval imprint, have a peculiar and
enduring charm of their own.
* * * * *
AT the foot of the Wülpelsberg, on the right of the beautiful Aare
valley, are the Schinznach sulphur baths, so frequently visited by
French and Swiss sufferers from skin diseases.
One of the favourite walks from this point leads up the mountain to the
ruins of Hapsburg Castle, the most famous of all Swiss strongholds.
Founded in 1020, it is the cradle of the imperial family of Austria,
in whose hands it remained for more than two centuries. Then, by
papal decree, it passed out of their keeping, and was Swiss property
until the Canton of Aargau presented it as a wedding gift to Rudolf,
the prince imperial, on his marriage with a Belgian princess. Only one
crumbling tower of the famous castle now stands, but the ruins are
surrounded by such a halo of history, legend, and romance, that they
are particularly attractive to all visitors.
The founders of this castle, the Counts of Altenburg, trace their
genealogy back to the seventh century, when their ancestors ruled in
Alsacia and Alemannia. Rich and influential even at this early date,
these noblemen sought to extend their possessions by every means in
their power. Their repeated encroachments upon their neighbours’
dominions were not accepted without protest, however, and when the
emperor, in answer to frantic appeals for justice, bade them relinquish
the territory to which they could lay no rightful claim, they assumed
so defiant an attitude that an armed struggle soon ensued. The upshot
of this conflict was that the grasping noblemen were despoiled of
the main part of their estates, forced to leave Alsacia, and they
took refuge in Helvetia, where they had already acquired some
property. There they built new homes at Wohlen, Altenburg, and Muri,
where, by fair means and by foul, they continued their policy of
self-aggrandisement until their shattered fortunes were fully restored.
The sun of prosperity shining brightly over their heads once more,
these noblemen again openly defied the imperial authority. But, taught
by experience, they wisely resolved to prepare for future emergencies
by erecting an impregnable fortress, in which they and their dependents
could successfully resist even the emperor’s forces.
Gazing about them for the most favourable site for their projected
stronghold, the Altenburgs finally decided upon the Wülpelsberg.
Tradition relates, however, that while they were still hesitating
where to build their future castle, Count Radbod of Altenburg went out
hawking one day. While he was flying his birds in the Aare valley,
one of them got away, and refusing to obey his call, flew off to a
neighbouring height. Loath to lose his favourite bird, Count Radbod
set out in pursuit of it, scrambled up the wooded slopes of the
Wülpelsberg, nor paused until he caught the truant hawk, which was
perched on the topmost ridge of the mountain.
The bird duly secured and hooded, Count Radbod--who had been too intent
upon its capture to pay any attention to his surroundings--looked
about him to find his bearings, and remained spell-bound before the
magnificent view he now beheld.
At his feet lay the Birrfeld,--a plain where Constantius Chlorus fought
a bloody battle against the Alemans in 303. Many thriving villages
now dot this part of the country, and their gables and church spires
rise here and there among flourishing fruit trees. But the modern
traveller’s glance rests by preference upon the peaceful hamlet where
Pestalozzi, founder of the kindergarten and prince of educators, spent
the last few years of a useful life.
Count Radbod gazed enraptured at the extensive forests, and the
picturesque valleys of the Aare, the Limmat, and the Reuss, tracing the
course of these mountain streams to the point where they meet and merge
into one, near the site of the old Roman station, Vindonissa. Then his
eyes rested upon the green hills rising in ever widening circles around
him, while above and behind them towered the Alps, like a host of
snow-clad angels mounting silent guard over the matchless landscape.
Charmed with the prospect before him, and quickly perceiving the
strategic value of the location, Count Radbod immediately determined to
build his fortress on the spot where he had caught his hawk, calling
it the Hawk’s Castle, or Habichtsburg, in memory of the circumstances
under which this decision had been reached.
The castle was therefore duly begun, the walls being built strong and
thick so as to resist every attack. Still, only a small part of the
funds furnished by the family for the erection of the stronghold was
devoted to that purpose, for Radbod wisely used the main portion to
acquire numerous friends, vassals, and servants, who promised to stand
by him and his in time of danger.
The castle was not entirely finished when Radbod’s brother, Bishop
Werner, announced his visit to inspect the work. Upon receipt of this
news, Count Radbod summoned his dependents, bade them hide in the
neighbourhood, and noiselessly surround the fortress at a given signal.
Then he went to meet the Bishop and escort him up to the new castle.
Werner sincerely admired the location and strength of the building, but
found fault because it was not flanked by outer walls and towers, and
because the interior was so bare of all ornamentation. He finally asked
Radbod somewhat testily what had become of all the money sent him,
for it was self-evident it had not all been expended on the fortress.
Radbod good-naturedly bade the bishop cease his grumbling and go to
bed, promising to prove on the morrow that every penny had been wisely
invested in making the castle impregnable and in strengthening their
position in the land.
At sunrise, on the following day, Werner rose from his couch, and going
to the window gazed in speechless admiration at the view. But while
he stood there, feasting his eyes upon the flame-tipped glaciers, his
attention was suddenly attracted by shadowy forms, which, starting
up from behind every rock, shrub, and tree at his feet, stealthily
surrounded the castle. In terror lest the imperial forces--whose coming
he always dreaded--should have stolen a march upon him, and lest he and
his brother should fall into the enemy’s hands, the bishop rushed to
the door to give the alarm. But on the threshold he met Count Radbod,
who, smiling at his fright, quietly said,--
“Rest without fear, my brother. The men you see yonder are your vassals
and mine, fully armed for our defence. I acquired their services with
the funds entrusted to my care, for I knew strong walls would prove of
little avail, unless defended by stout hearts and willing hands.”
This answer, and the sight of the brave men now drawn up in military
array for his inspection, more than satisfied the bishop, who,
accepting Radbod’s invitation, betook himself to the great hall of the
castle, where he received the oath of fealty and the respectful homage
of the new retainers of his race. Since then, all the members of the
old Altenburg family have been known as the counts of Habsburg, or
Hapsburg, a modification of the old Habichtsburg.[9]
[9] See the author’s “Legends of the Rhine.”
The Hapsburgs throve apace in their new home, their power increasing
until even the freemen of the land humbly besought their protection
in exchange for the payment of certain taxes. But the ascendency thus
gained by these noblemen made them more arrogant and tyrannical than
ever, so that they finally considered themselves owners of the land,
and lords of the free people they were gradually exasperating by their
arbitrary treatment.
In those days, the greatest of all the Hapsburg race, Rudolf III., was
born in the castle, the emperor being his sponsor. At twenty-one, owing
to the early death of his father, Rudolf became head of the family,
and began that career of warfare and conquest for which he is noted
in history. Afraid of nothing, and ready to grasp at everything, his
neighbours soon learned to dread him, and the Bishop of Basel--with
whom he had a feud--expressed the general opinion of his congeners by
crying out once in comical dismay,--
“Sit firm upon Thy throne, O Lord God, or the Count of Hapsburg will
crowd Thee, too, out of it!”
Still, Rudolf was so frank and genial, that he won many friends and
adherents, and his sturdy warriors were particularly devoted to him,
because he shared all their fatigues, cheerfully partook of their
frugal fare, and was even seen by their camp fire diligently mending
his worn garments.
When Rudolf could not compass his ends by force, he frequently resorted
to ruse. For instance, wishing to take a castle on the Uetliberg near
Zürich, which was owned by a Robber-Knight who despoiled all the
citizens passing along that way, he devised the following stratagem.
Thirty tall and strong horsemen, mounted upon sturdy steeds, were
directed each to take a companion behind him, and ride up the mountain.
A force of thirty men had no terrors for the Robber-Knight, who
boldly sallied forth with his garrison to attack them. But when he
found himself face to face with double that number, he fled in terror
followed by all his retainers. Rudolf’s small force now entered the
wide-open gates of the castle, and after disposing of its occupants and
riches, razed it to the ground.
While administering his affairs in person, Rudolf proved a kind and
just master, and often sat under the linden-tree at Altorf, to award
justice to the freemen of Uri, who had chosen him as their umpire.
But while he was away, upholding the tottering fortunes of the
Hohenstauffens, or extending his domains, his bailiffs and stewards
ruled with a rod of iron over the estates he had won. Such were their
exactions, that the people of Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwald, who had
long prided themselves upon their independence, finally determined to
recover their freedom. In 1245 they openly rebelled, but while Uri
recovered its lost liberty, and was again allowed to depend directly
from the crown, Schwyz and Unterwald were compelled to remain under the
overlordship of the Hapsburg race.
THE FOREST CANTONS
Rudolf von Hapsburg’s many possessions included an old castle on the
Ramflue, which, although it is said to have been founded by the Romans,
was known as Neu Hapsburg. Charmingly located on the banks of the Lake
of Lucerne, this castle was a favourite resort of Rudolf, who went
thither, in the intervals of fighting, to hunt the chamois and the deer.
Tradition claims that Rudolf once set out for the chase from Neu
Hapsburg, mounted upon his favourite steed, and followed by one squire,
who rode an inferior horse, and therefore had some trouble in keeping
up with his rapid pace. While crossing a beautiful green meadow,
Rudolf’s attention was suddenly attracted by a tinkling sound. His
curiosity aroused, he spurred ahead in the direction of the noise,
and soon beheld a priest carrying the Sacrament, and preceded by a
sacristan dutifully ringing a little bell.
At this sight, Rudolf immediately dismounted. Then, kneeling, he did
respectful homage to the Blessed Body of our Lord, and in that humble
posture watched the little procession pass along its way. A few moments
later, he sprang up surprised, for the priest had come to a sudden
standstill. After a brief period of evident hesitation, Rudolf saw him
set the Host down upon a neighbouring stone, and begin to remove his
sandals and gird up his cassock. Hastening toward him, Rudolf perceived
that recent heavy rains had so swollen the mountain torrent which
flowed through the meadow, that the rude bridge had been entirely swept
away. No other means of crossing being available for many miles, the
priest had determined to wade through the ice-cold waters, for that was
his only chance of reaching the dying man who had begged for the last
sacrament.
After vainly trying to dissuade the priest from a struggle with the
cold and rushing stream, Rudolf, impressed by the good man’s devotion
to duty, suddenly offered him his steed. The priest demurred at first,
but realising he might not reach his parishioner in time if he had to
wade through every torrent, he gratefully accepted the offer. Rudolf
then helped him mount the fiery steed, and, once safely across the
torrent, saw him speed away to the dying man, whom he reached just in
time to bestow the last consolations of religion and thus smooth his
path to the grave.
In the meantime, Rudolf patiently awaited the coming of his squire,
then mounting the latter’s palfrey went on his way. But, early next
morning, the priest appeared at Neu Hapsburg, leading the borrowed
steed by the bridle, and he warmly expressed his gratitude for the
timely loan of a mount whose strength and speed had enabled him to
reach and comfort a dying man. When he added, however, that he had come
to restore the animal to its owner, Rudolf impetuously cried: “God
forbid that I, or any of my men, should ever use again for war or the
chase the steed which bore the sacred Body and Blood of our Blessed
Lord!” Then he formally presented the horse to the priest, to have and
to hold for ever, bidding him use it for the fulfilment of his holy
duties.
Later, on that selfsame day, Rudolf visited a convent, where a nun
suddenly addressed him saying: “My lord, you honoured the Almighty
by the timely gift of your horse. This good deed will not remain
unrewarded, for it has been revealed to me that you and yours will
attain the highest temporal honors.”
The castle of Neu Hapsburg was destroyed by the inhabitants of Lucerne
in 1352, but since then the peasants have declared that the ruins are
haunted by the spirits of departed knights and ladies. A peasant girl,
rowing past there early in the morning and late at night, said she
often saw a gayly dressed company. Sometimes the knights and ladies
made friendly signs to her, but at others the men were all in armour
and terrified her by their threatening gestures. Encouraged by their
signs, she once stepped ashore to watch them play on the grassy slope
with disks of bright gold, which she vainly tried to catch in her apron
and carry home.
The nun’s prediction to Rudolf was duly fulfilled, for the priest
who had received his steed, having become chaplain to the Bishop of
Mayence, used his influence to such good purpose that he secured
Rudolf’s election to the imperial crown of Germany, in 1273. Schiller,
in his poem “The Count of Habsburg,” claims that at the coronation
feast at Aix-la-Chapelle an aged minstrel brought tears to the eyes of
all the guests by singing a touching ballad, describing the good deed
performed by the new emperor, when he was only a count.
Rudolf proved as successful as ambitious while seated on the German
throne, but as the imperial crown was elective and not hereditary, he
secured for his descendants Austria, Styria, and Carinthia. These
lands were won during a war with the king of Bohemia, and have ever
since formed the patrimony of the Hapsburg race, which has provided
many rulers for Europe, America, and India.
When Rudolf died in 1291, the imperial crown was disputed by two
candidates, until, by the death of one of them, it finally fell
into the hands of Albert of Hapsburg, Rudolf’s son. As grasping and
tyrannical as any of his race, Albert refused to let his nephew
John--the son of an older brother--have the Castle of Hapsburg, which
was his by right of inheritance. Embittered by this act of injustice,
and despairing of redress since the wrong was committed by the emperor
himself, John began to plot with several malcontents, biding his time
until he could take his revenge by slaying his uncle.
John was not the only one who complained of injustice. The freemen of
Helvetia also had good cause for resentment. On mounting the imperial
throne, Rudolf had refused to confirm Uri’s charter, and his bailiffs
and stewards ruthlessly exerted the power entrusted to them. Thus,
they gradually alienated the peaceful peasants, and drove them to the
verge of despair. Mindful of their former independence, and weary of
tyranny and extortion, the principal citizens of the cantons of Uri,
Schwyz, and Unterwald met, seventeen days after Rudolf’s death, and on
the 1st of August, 1291, took a solemn oath to stand by each other and
resist all foreign intervention, until they had recovered their former
freedom. This oath--the corner-stone of the Swiss Confederation--was
duly sworn by all the principal inhabitants, among which figure men
whose names are noted in legend as well as in history.
Tradition has richly supplemented the meagre historical data of this
epoch, thus giving us one of the most romantic, if not authentic,
chapters of Swiss history. The legend, which gradually arose, has been
the theme of Schiller’s tragedy of “William Tell,” of Rossini’s opera
of the same name, and a source of inspiration for countless poems,
pictures, and statues. Such is the popular belief in the tale, that
all the most famous places mentioned in it are always pointed out to
strangers, and kept alive in the memory of the public by more or less
picturesque monuments.
* * * * *