illumined again by a brilliant idea which she vowed she would put into
immediate execution. That evening, for the first time, she left her
beloved, and stealing into the sleeping city, replaced all the drinking
water in the houses of two streets by the same magic fluid she had
given to the youth. Then, plunging into the lake again, she called all
her father’s minions to her aid, and gently and noiselessly undermined
those houses. When the people were sound asleep the next night, she
drew them softly down to the bottom of the lake.
On awakening in this new element, on the morrow, they found all their
surroundings unchanged, and took up their life where they had left it
off when they went to sleep the night before. The youth could now hold
constant intercourse with his former neighbours and friends, attend
service whenever he pleased, and he and all the others are still as
happy as the day is long, for the magic draught has endowed them with
the immortality which all water spirits enjoy.
When the waters are very clear, you can still see the spire of the
sunken church and the gables of the old houses, and people gifted with
particularly keen eyes and lively imaginations can detect the stir of
busy life in the streets, catch the sound of ringing bells, and the
deep solemn tones of an organ, gently accompanying the chants of the
sunken congregation.
* * * * *
ON the spot where the boundaries of Zürich, Zug, and Schwyz converge,
stands the Hohe Rhonen, the goal of charming excursions; for from the
top of this mountain one can enjoy a fine view of the lake, the Sentis,
and the Toggenburg and Glarus mountains.
Part of the Hohe Rhonen consists of fine pastures, and a legend claims
that a miser once tried to cheat a widow and several orphans out of
their portion of this soil. To establish his claim to the pastures, the
wicked man not only resorted to forgery, but as the judge still seemed
doubtful of the justice of his claims, boldly volunteered to swear on
the spot itself that it was rightfully his. The judge accepted this
offer, and accompanied by plaintiff, defendant, and several witnesses,
wended his way up the mountain to the disputed alp. Standing on a huge
granite boulder which lay there, the miser took his oath, holding up
three fingers as usual, and when the judge cried, “Woe upon thee, if
thou swearest falsely!” boldly added, “If I have committed perjury, may
these fingers sink into this hard stone as easily as into water!”
Saying these words, he thrust his fingers downward, and to his horror
and dismay felt them sink into the stone up to the second joint! But
although they entered so easily, he could not draw them out again,
and standing there, a convicted perjurer, had to confess his sin. He
had scarcely ceased speaking, when he was hidden from sight by a dark
cloud, a terrible cry was heard, and when the rock again became visible
to the amazed spectators, the man had disappeared, carried off to Hades
by the Devil. But the stone, with the imprint of his perjured digits,
is still known as the Three Finger Stone, and remains there as a
constant warning against falsehood and treachery.
* * * * *
NOT very far from the Hohe Rhonen, but in the canton of Schwyz, stands
the church of Einsiedlen, a famous place of pilgrimage ever since the
ninth century. The legend claims that the spot is particularly holy
because Our Lord once drank from the fountain with fourteen mouths,
while journeying through the country to preach the gospel.
Besides, Meinrad, Count of Sulgen, having vowed to spend the rest of
his life in prayer, came to this lovely valley long years ago. Here he
built a little chapel to contain a wonder-working image of the Virgin,
which he had received from one of the princess-abbesses of Zürich.
Meinrad also built a small hut close by this chapel, and as this was
generally called his hermitage (Einsiedelei), its name was given to
the town which has since arisen on that spot.
Meinrad was known far and wide for his piety as well as for his
charity, and all the gifts he received from strangers were immediately
lavished upon the poor. Years were spent by the hermit in penance,
prayer, and works of mercy, and when very old, the death angel suddenly
appeared to him one day in the chapel, to announce that his end was
near.
Meinrad, who had longed for Heaven for many a year, received this
warning with solemn joy, and after returning thanks went out of the
chapel, to feast his eyes once more upon the lovely landscape. While
he sat near his hermitage, two tame ravens which he had brought up
came to nestle in his lap, and he gently stroked them with his aged
and trembling hands. While he sat there quietly, two robbers suddenly
sprang out of the thicket, and exclaiming that they had come for the
treasures accumulated during all these years, drove their daggers deep
into his heart.
The old man fell to the ground lifeless, the ravens flew croaking away,
and the thieves, picking up the corpse, threw it into the chapel, so
as not to have it continually under their eyes while they made their
search. With feverish haste they next turned over every article in
the little hermitage, ripped open the straw pallet, peered into the
depths of the one crock, and dug up the floor; but to their chagrin no
treasure was forthcoming. Thinking the holy man might have concealed
his wealth in the chapel, they now betook themselves thither; but no
sooner had they crossed the threshold than they paused aghast, feeling
their hair slowly rise up on end.
The chapel, which had been so dark a while ago, was now illumined by
lights burning on the altar; the corpse was carefully laid out at its
base, with tapers burning all around it, and close by stood the two
crows, mounting solemn guard over their dead master. But when the
murderers, recovering a little from their first surprise and terror,
ventured to take a step forward, these faithful birds forsook their
post, and so furiously attacked the intruders with beak and claws that
they soon drove them out of the chapel.
Terrified by this attack, the robbers fled over the mountains to
Zürich, and did not feel quite safe until seated in a little inn where
they were wont to linger for hours. They were drinking hard, hoping
to forget their recent uncanny experiences, when in through the open
window suddenly flew two ravens which circled wildly around their
heads, croaking loudly and threatening to pick out their eyes. The
criminals, with a common impulse, ducked their heads, and groaning
aloud, exclaimed: “Meinrad’s watchers! Meinrad’s watchers!”
These words, and the mysterious behaviour of the birds, which could
not be driven away for some time, so aroused the suspicions of the
city magistrates, that they sent both men to prison until they could
ascertain whether Meinrad were still safe. That same evening, however,
a traveller reported the murder of the hermit, whom he had found dead
in the chapel, and when the judges summoned the prisoners they had
to confess their crime. In punishment for slaying a hermit whom all
revered like a saint, the murderers were first broken on the wheel and
then burned at the stake.
A monastery was soon erected on the site of Meinrad’s hermitage; and
since then a beautiful church, a fine abbey, and many inns and hotels
have been built for the accommodation and edification of tourists and
pilgrims who visit Einsiedlen in great numbers.
THURGAU
The canton of Thurgau, bordering on the Lake of Constance, is less
frequently visited by tourists than almost any other, because it
consists principally of arable land and thriving manufacturing towns.
It is not, however, without romantic interest; but most of its legends
are only slight variations of those already mentioned in connection
with other places.
In the days of Charlemagne a Thurgau giant named Kisher joined the
imperial forces, and went with them to fight against the Huns and
Avars. Such was the size and strength of this warrior that he waded
across every river, however deep, and when his horse hesitated to
follow him, dragged it after him by its tail, crying, “Comrade, you
must come along too!”
In presence of the enemy this mighty giant remained unmoved, and
placing himself at the head of the army, mowed down the foe as calmly
and steadily as if he were cutting hay in his native country. The
battle over, Kisher strung seven or eight of his victims on his lance,
and flinging it across his shoulder, tramped home as coolly as if
returning from a day’s hunt with his game. Such were his prowesses that
Charlemagne declared that, as he was a host in himself, his name should
be changed from Kisher to Einheer, which means an army.
* * * * *
IN going from Romanshorn to Constance, one passes the village of
Güttingen with its old castle. The lords of this place, equally noted
for their wealth and avarice, had several other castles, one of which
stood so near the lake that the waves constantly dashed against its
walls.
Once, when there was a great famine in the land, the starving people,
knowing their lords had great quantities of food stored away in their
granaries, surrounded the castle and began to clamour loudly for
grain. The lords of Güttingen, who were living on the fat of the land
themselves, would not give anything to the poor, and, weary of their
importunate cries, determined to get rid of them once for all.
They therefore bade their hungry vassals assemble in an empty old barn,
where they assured them their pangs would soon be stilled. The people,
thinking their masters were about to distribute food, thronged into
this place; but when it was full, almost to overflowing, the cruel
lords of Güttingen bade their servants close the doors and set fire to
the building. When the bright flames rose all around them, the poor
victims loudly begged for mercy; yet although their pitiful cries would
have touched any one else, the lords of Güttingen quietly sat there on
their steeds, and laughed aloud when one of them sarcastically cried,
“Just hear those mice squeak!”
Before long the roof fell in and the clamours ceased; but from the
smoking ruins suddenly came hosts of mice, which, running straight
to the Güttingen castles, devoured everything they could find. The
lords themselves, terrified at the sight of these pests, fled to their
Wasserburg, or Castle in the Water. But the mice pursued them there
too, and having disposed of everything else, pounced upon them. In a
few moments heaps of clean picked bones were all that was left of these
heartless lords, whose castle shortly afterwards sank into the lake.
There its ruins can be seen when the water is very low, and some people
claim you can still hear mice gnawing the bones of those cruel men if
you listen very attentively.[14]
[14] For similar legends of Bingen and others of this
section, see the author’s “Legends of the Rhine.”
* * * * *
A COUNT of Seeheim eloped with a maiden of Kyburg because her father
objected to their union. The lovers, dreading the Count of Kyburg’s
wrath, placed themselves immediately under the protection of the Abbot
of Reichenau, who promised to aid and watch over them, and pronounced
their nuptial benediction.
The bride, having a fortune of her own, soon built a castle near the
boundary of her father’s land, carefully providing it with strong walls
so that he could not molest her or her beloved spouse. For some time
after the two families lived on a war footing, but in course of time a
complete reconciliation took place.
In memory of this feud and of its happy termination, the town which
rose around the new castle received the name of Frauenfeld, and the
coat of arms of that city still bears the effigy of the faithful woman.
She is represented controlling a lion, which fierce animal is intended
to represent the race from which she sprang, and whose wrath she
successfully defied and subdued.
ST. GALL AND APPENZELL
St. Gall, capital of the canton of the same name, which entirely
surrounds that of Appenzell, is noted for the famous abbey founded
in 614 by St. Gallus, an Irish monk. He had come into this unsettled
region to preach the gospel, and when his disciple Hiltiboldus urged
that they would be exposed to the attacks of the bears, wolves, and
boars, quietly answered, “If God is with us, who can be against us?”
The snakes which had infested that region departed for good and all at
the saint’s command, and his disciple soon discovered that even the
wild beasts of the forest stood in awe of so holy a man. One evening,
while Gallus was praying at the foot of a rustic cross, a bear came
down the mountain to devour his provisions. St. Gallus, perceiving the
theft, quietly bade the bear earn the food he had eaten, by bringing
wood to keep up his fire. The crestfallen Bruin humbly fulfilled this
penance, and when the saint told him henceforth to remain on the
heights, never ventured down into the valley again.
One day Gallus’s disciple discovered an apple-tree far up the mountain,
and climbing up shook down some fruit to carry home to his master. But
when he slid to the ground again, he was dismayed to find a huge bear
on the other side of the tree greedily munching the fallen apples. The
disciple’s first impulse was to flee, but remembering that his master
was fond of fruit, he determined to secure some for him. Taking his
staff, therefore, he scratched deep marks at right angles with the
tree, and then gravely informed the bear that while he was welcome to
the apples on his side of the line, those which fell on the other were
reserved for St. Gallus. Strange to relate, the bear understood this
speech, and as long as the apples lasted never ventured to touch one on
the saint’s side of the line, although he devoured all those on his own!
The cell and cross of St. Gallus were the nucleus of a monastery and
school, which for several centuries had no rival in Europe. Kings and
emperors were wont to visit it, and the abbey, enriched by their gifts
and concessions, daily increased in importance and wealth.
Within the walls of this edifice dwelt men noted for their learning,
and countless scribes spent their lives there, patiently copying
and illuminating manuscripts which, but for their efforts, might
have been lost to mankind. Some of these manuscripts still remain in
the abbey library; among others, a thirteenth century copy of the
Niebelungenlied, Germany’s famous epic. Innumerable scholars visited
the school and abbey at St. Gall, which is said to have been the scene
of a comical encounter between the abbot and Charlemagne, almost an
exact counterpart of the story of King John and the Archbishop of
Canterbury.[15]
[15] See the author’s “Legends of the Rhine.”
The old monastery life so ably depicted in “Ekkehard,” by Von Scheffel,
with its descriptions of the herdsmen and hermit on the Sentis, have
surrounded that region with a halo of romance for all who have enjoyed
the perusal of the book.
* * * * *
THE Sentis, with its cap of snow, is the highest mountain in Appenzell,
and the goal for travellers who wish to make a whey cure or to
enjoy an excursion to its summit. From the top of this mountain the
view embraces the Lake of Constance, southern Germany, the Tyrolean
Mountains, and the Alps in Glarus and Bern. All the way up are various
pastures with their low châlets, where butter and cheese are constantly
made and carried down the steep paths for consumption in the valleys.
The Sentis, like all other mountains where cattle go to pasture, is
supposed to be haunted by mountain-folk, who, when well treated, always
helpful to mortals.
The Devil, too, plays his part in the Sentis legends, for one of them
claims that a lazy herdsman once called upon him to take his cattle, so
that he need no longer run after them when they strayed into dangerous
places. The words were no sooner uttered than a hurricane swept down
the mountain, and the terrified peasant saw Satan, riding on the wind,
drive his cows over the edge of the abyss. In sudden repentance he made
a sign of the cross, fell on his knees, and cried that he had sinned
grievously. At those words the wind ceased, the Devil vanished; but
ever since then the pasture, which had been known as the Glücksalp, or
Lucky Alp, has been called Im Fehlen, or In Sin.
* * * * *
ANOTHER legend claims that the Devil once came striding across northern
Switzerland with a huge bag slung over his shoulder. In this sack
he had packed away a large number of houses, together with their
inhabitants, and was carrying them away with the intention of removing
them for ever from Swiss soil. While taking a leap over the Sentis,
however, he burst a hole in his bag, and the houses all tumbled down
in Appenzell, where they still stand in irregular groups, just as they
fell.
* * * * *
THE same story which is told of the Alphorn at Meiringen is also
told of the heights near the much frequented baths of Ragatz, in the
southern part of the canton of St. Gall. Not very far from this resort,
and on the same wild stream, the Tamina, are the no less noted baths of
Pfäfers, and farther up the gorge an ancient abbey of the same name, to
which legend ascribes the following origin:--
In the beginning of the eighth century St. Pirminius and his disciple
Adalbert preached the gospel in the eastern part of Switzerland. Their
efforts were rewarded with such success that they determined to build a
chapel and monastery in this part of the country. Wishing to secure the
Pope’s consent and blessing for this undertaking, Pirminius set out for
Rome, bidding Adalbert in the meantime select a suitable site and begin
clearing ground.
After much search Adalbert decided upon a lovely sheltered valley,
where the sun shone brightly, where grass and fruit-trees were
abundant, and where limpid waters flowed gently through meadows and
forests. He and his converts now began felling trees, but while doing
so Adalbert’s axe suddenly slipped, inflicting a deep wound in his
sandalled foot. The blood gushed forth, staining the chips around, and
while all were trying to check its flow, a white dove suddenly alighted
near them, and catching up a gory chip, flew off to a neighbouring
tree. At the same moment Adalbert’s blood stopped running, the wound
closed, and in a moment he felt no more pain.
This miraculous cure seemed to all connected in some way with the dove;
so when the bird flew slowly away with the chip, Adalbert determined to
follow it. Flitting from tree to tree and from rock to rock, the dove
entered the cold and dark Tamina gorge, and penetrating ever farther,
finally perched on a sombre pine, and dropped the bloody chip at its
foot. Returning to his companions, Adalbert now told them he must await
Pirminius’ return, and relate these marvels to him so that he might
interpret them if he could.
When the saint came back from Rome and learned what had happened, he
immediately cried that Providence had sent them a sign, wishing them
to build a church and abbey on the spot where the dove had dropped
the bloody chip. He added that such a wild, desolate region was more
fitted to encourage a life of constant penance, labour, and prayer than
the valley flowing with milk and honey first chosen by Adalbert. By his
orders the Abbey of Pfäfers was begun, and to this day its seal bears a
white dove carrying a bloody chip in its beak, in memory of the miracle
to which it owes its location.
GLARUS AND GRISONS.
Near the city of Chur or Coire, and at the foot of the majestic
Calanda, are the ruins of several castles, among others that of
Haldenstein. Not very far from its crumbling walls is a fine spring
of clear water, where people claim a charming vision was often seen.
Dressed in a long white gown which fell in classic folds to her feet,
this lovely maiden was wont to linger on the sunniest spot by the edge
of the spring, dabbling her hands in its cool waters. A hunter once
came to this place, saw the beautiful maiden, and heard her weeping
softly. He immediately drew near and looked at her so compassionately
that she told him if he would only hold her hand and not let it go
until she bade him, he would release her from the baleful spell which
caused her tears.
The young man unhesitatingly took her slender white hand between his
own sunburned palms, but started at finding it as cold as ice. While
he held it tight, trying to communicate a little of his own warmth
to the chilled fingers, a tiny old man came out of the castle and
silently offered him a diamond basket full of gold. Although he could
easily have secured this treasure by stretching out one hand, the young
huntsman continued the task he had voluntarily undertaken, and was soon
rewarded by feeling a little warmth steal into the slender hand he held
so firmly. At the same time the girl’s sad eyes beamed with pleasure, a
slight flush stole into her pallid cheeks, and looking up at him, she
joyfully exclaimed,--
“I see I was not mistaken. You have proved trustworthy; so you may now
let go my hand, and take that basket as a token of my gratitude.”
The maiden softly drew her hand from his, gave him the treasure, and
vanished with a seraphic smile.
Since then the White Lady of Haldenstein has never been seen by
mortals, but the spring over which she mounted guard became known far
and wide for its curative properties. These lasted for many a year; but
although the spring still flows as clear as ever, it is said to have
now lost all its healing powers.
* * * * *
ON the way from Coire to Castiel one passes the awful Tobel, where a
huge dragon once took up its abode. Such were the ravages it made in
that region that the people of Castiel, Calfriesen, and Lüen solemnly
pledged themselves to provide it with a human victim every year on
condition that the monster left them unmolested the rest of the time.
The dragon in the Castieltobel agreed to this arrangement, and the
yearly victim was chosen by lot from each of the villages in turn. Now
it came to pass that a tall, muscular stranger soon came to settle
there with his only daughter, and when the lot fell upon her, he boldly
declared he would accompany her to the monster’s den, and slay it or
perish with her.
Leading the maiden by one hand, and holding his trusty sword tight
in the other, the brave man advanced cautiously, followed at a safe
distance by all the people, who wished to witness his encounter with
the dragon. They did not have to wait long, for, ravenous after a whole
year’s fast, the monster rushed eagerly forward to swallow its prey. It
had already opened wide its capacious jaws, when the desperate father
rushed toward it, thrust his sharp blade right into its throat, and
inflicted such a severe wound that the dragon expired a moment later.
Overcome with joy at having saved his beloved daughter, the father
now fell on his knees, and raising his hands to Heaven, gave solemn
thanks for her preservation. While he was in that attitude, a drop of
dragon-blood fell from his sword upon his head, and such was the deadly
nature of the venom that it instantly killed him. The village people
were so grateful to him for delivering them from this dragon, however,
that they generously provided for his daughter, and erected a church on
the very spot where he had breathed his last.
* * * * *
ABOUT half-way between Castiel and Davos is the village of Arosa, where
grows a fine tree from beneath whose roots gushes a living spring.
According to popular superstition, lucky people can find a golden key
in the hollow whence this water flows from the ground. As soon as
secured, one suddenly perceives a passage-way barred by an iron door,
which can only be opened by means of this golden key.
A herdsman, who once came to refresh himself at this spring, discovered
this key by great good fortune, and boldly opening the locked door,
found himself in a vast cave. There a dwarf bade him choose between a
heap of gold and diamonds, which would make him the wealthiest man in
the country; a golden cow-bell which would assure him the possession of
the finest cattle for miles around; or a lovely girl, whose eyes were
fixed imploringly upon him, and who softly whispered that he would find
true happiness only with her.