THE BELLS OF THE RHINE.
LEGENDS OF THE BELLS OF BASEL AND SPEYER.--STORY OF THE HARMONY
CHIME.--THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU.
One evening, after the story-telling entertainments, Mr. Beal was
speaking to the Class of the great bell of Cologne which has been cast
from the French cannon captured in the last war.
"It seems a beautiful thing," he said, "that the guns of war should be
made to ring out the notes of peace."
"There is one subject that we did not treat at our meetings," said
Charlie Leland,--"the bells of the Rhine."
"True," said Mr. Beal. "A volume might be written on the subject.
Almost every belfry on the Rhine has its legend, and many of them are
associated with thrilling events of history. The raftmen, as they
drift down the river on the Sabbath, associate almost every bell they
hear with a story. The bells of Basle (Basel), Strasburg, Speyer,
Heidelberg, Worms, Frankfort, Mayence, Bingen, and Bonn all ring out a
meaning to the German student that the ordinary traveller does not
comprehend. Bell land is one of mystery.
"For example, the clocks of Basel. The American traveller arrives at
Basel, and hurries out of his hotel, and along the beautiful public
gardens, to the terrace overlooking the Rhine. He looks down on the
picturesque banks of the winding river; then far away his eye seeks
the peaks of the Jura.
"The bells strike. The music to his ears has no history.
"The German and French students hear them with different ears. The old
struggles of Alsace and Romaine come back to memory. They recall the
fact that the city was once saved by a heroic watchman, who confused
the enemy by causing the bells to strike the wrong hour. To continue
the memory of this event, the great bell of Basel during the Middle
Ages was made to strike the hour of one at noonday.
"The bells of Speyer have an interesting legend. Henry IV. was one of
the most unfortunate men who ever sat upon a throne. His own son,
afterward Henry V., conspired against him, and the Pope declared him
an outlaw.
"Deserted by every one, he went into exile, and made his home at
Ingleheim, on the Rhine. One old servant, Kurt, followed his changing
fortunes. He died at Liege.
"Misfortune followed the once mighty emperor even after death. The
Pope would not allow his body to be buried for several years. Kurt
watched by the coffin, like Rizpah by the bodies of her sons. He made
it his shrine: he prayed by it daily.
"At last the Pope consented that the remains of the emperor should
rest in the earth. The body was brought to Speyer. Kurt followed it.
It was buried with great pomp, and tollings of bells.
"Some months after the ceremonious event Kurt died. As his breath was
passing, say the legendary writers, all the bells began to toll. The
bellmen ran to the belfries; no one was there, but the bells tolled
on, swayed, it was believed, by unseen hands.
"Henry V. died in the same town. He was despised by the people, and he
suffered terrible agonies in his last hours. As his last moments came
the bells began to toll again. It was not the usual announcement of
the death of the good, but the sharp notes that proclaim that a
criminal is being led to justice; at least, so the people came to
believe.
[Illustration: THE SILENT CASTLES.]
"One of the most beautiful stories of bells that I ever met is
associated with a once famous factory that cast some of the most
melodious bells in Holland and the towns of the Rhine. I will tell it
to you.
THE HARMONY CHIME.
Many years ago, in a large iron foundry in the city of Ghent, was
found a young workman by the name of Otto Holstein. He was not
nineteen years of age, but none of the workmen could equal him in
his special department,--bell casting or moulding. Far and near the
fame of Otto's bells extended,--the clearest and sweetest, people
said, that were ever heard.
[Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE, GHENT.]
Of course the great establishment of Von Erlangen, in which Otto
worked, got the credit of his labors; but Von Erlangen and Otto
himself knew very well to whom the superior tone of the bells was
due. The master did not pay him higher wages than the others, but by
degrees he grew to be general superintendent in his department in
spite of his extreme youth.
"Yes, my bells are good," he said to a friend one day, who was
commenting upon their merits; "but they do not make the music I will
yet strike from them. They ring alike for all things. To be sure,
when they toll for a funeral the slow measure makes them _seem_
mournful, but then the notes are really the same as in a wedding
peal. I shall make a chime of bells that will sound at will every
chord in the human soul."
"Then wilt thou deal in magic," said his friend, laughing; "and the
Holy Inquisition will have somewhat to do with thee. No human power
can turn a bell into a musical instrument."
"But I can," he answered briefly; "and, Inquisition or not, I will
do it."
He turned abruptly from his friend and sauntered, lost in thought,
down the narrow street which led to his home. It was an humble,
red-tiled cottage, of only two rooms, that he had inherited from his
grandfather. There he lived alone with his widowed mother. She was a
mild, pleasant-faced woman, and her eyes brightened as her son bent
his tall head under the low doorway, as he entered the little room.
"Thou art late, Otto," she said, "and in trouble, too," as she
caught sight of his grave, sad face.
"Yes," he answered. "When I asked Herr Erlangen for an increase of
salary, for my work grows harder every day, he refused it. Nay, he
told me if I was not satisfied, I could leave, for there were fifty
men ready to take my place. Ready! yes, I warrant they're ready
enough, but to be _able_ is a different thing."
His mother sighed deeply.
"Thou wilt not leave Herr Erlangen's, surely. It is little we get,
but it keeps us in food."
"I must leave," he answered. "Nay, do not cry out, mother! I have
other plans, and thou wilt not starve. Monsieur Dayrolles, the rich
Frenchman, who lives in the Linden-Strasse, has often asked me why I
do not set up a foundry of my own. Of course I laughed,--I, who
never have a thaler to spend; but he told me he and several other
rich friends of his would advance the means to start me in business.
He is a great deal of his time at Erlangen's, and is an enthusiast
about fine bells. Ah! we are great friends, and I am going to him
after supper."
"People say he is crazy," said his mother.
"Crazy!" indignantly. "People say that of everybody who has ideas
they can't understand. They say _I_ am crazy when I talk of my chime
of bells. If I stay with Erlangen, he gets the credit of my work;
but my chime must be mine,--mine alone, mother." His eyes lighted
with a kind of wild enthusiasm whenever he talked on this subject.
His mother's cheerful face grew sad, as she laid her hand on his
shoulder.
"Why, Otto, thou art not thyself when thou speakest of those bells."
"More my real self, mother, than at any other time!" he cried. "I
only truly live when I think of how my idea is to be carried out. It
is to be my life's work; I know it, I feel it. It is upon me that my
fate is woven inextricably in that ideal chime. It is God-sent. No
great work, but the maker is possessed wholly by it. Don't shake
your head, mother. Wait till my 'Harmony Chime' sounds from the
great cathedral belfry, and then shake it if you can."
His mother smiled faintly.
"Thou art a boy,--a mere child, Otto, though a wonderful genius, I
must confess. Thy hopes delude thee, for it would take a lifetime to
carry out thine idea."
"Then let it take a lifetime!" he cried out vehemently. "Let me
accomplish it when I am too old to hear it distinctly, and I will be
content that its first sounds toll my dirge. I must go now to
Monsieur Dayrolles. Wish me good luck, dearest mother." And he
stooped and kissed her tenderly.
Otto did not fail. The strange old man in his visits to the foundry
had noticed the germs of genius in the boy, and grown very fond of
him. He was so frank, so honest, so devoted to his work, and had
accomplished so much at his early age, that Monsieur Dayrolles saw a
brilliant future before him. Besides, the old gentleman, with a
Frenchman's vanity, felt that if the "Harmony Chime" _could_ be
made, the name of the munificent patron would go down to posterity
with that of the maker. He believed firmly that the boy would some
day accomplish his purpose. So, although the revolt of the
Netherlands had begun and he was preparing to return to his own
country, he advanced the necessary funds, and saw Otto established
in business before he quitted Ghent.
In a very short time work poured in upon Otto. During that long and
terrible war the manufacture of cannon alone made the fortunes of
the workers in iron. So five years from the time he left Von
Erlangen we find Otto Holstein a rich man at twenty-four years of
age. But the idea for which he labored had never for a moment left
his mind. Sleeping or waking, toiling or resting, his thoughts were
busy perfecting the details of the great work.
"Thou art twenty-four to-day, Otto," said his good mother, "and
rich beyond our hopes. When wilt thou bring Gertrude home to me?
Thou hast been betrothed now for three years, and I want a daughter
to comfort my declining years. Thou doest thy betrothed maiden a
grievous wrong to delay without cause. The gossips are talking
already."
"Let them talk," laughed Otto. "Little do Gertrude or I care for
their silly tongues. She and I have agreed that the 'Harmony Chime'
is to usher in our marriage-day. Why, good mother, no man can serve
two mistresses, and my chime has the oldest claim. Let me accomplish
it, and then the remainder of my life belongs to Gertrude, and thou,
too, best of mothers."
"Still that dream! still that dream!" sighed his mother. "Thou hast
cast bell after bell, and until to-day I have heard nothing more of
the wild idea."
"No, because I needed money. I needed time, and thought, too, to
make experiments. All is matured now. I have received an order to
make a new set of bells for the great cathedral that was sacked last
week by the 'Iconoclasts,' and I begin to-morrow."
[Illustration: BELL-TOWER, GHENT.]
As Otto had said, his life's work began the next day. He loved his
mother, but he seemed now to forget her in the feverish eagerness
with which he threw himself into his labors. He had been a devoted
lover to Gertrude, but he now never had a spare moment to give to
her,--in fact, he only seemed to remember her existence in
connection with the peal which would ring in their wedding-day. His
labors were prolonged far over the appointed time, and meanwhile the
internal war raged more furiously, and the Netherlands were one vast
battle-field. No interest did Otto seem to take in the stirring
events around him. The bells held his whole existence captive.
[Illustration: BELL TOWER OF HEIDELBERG.]
At last the moulds were broken, and the bells came out of their
husks perfect in form, and shining as stars in Otto's happy eyes.
They were mounted in the great belfry, and for the test-chime Otto
had employed the best bell-ringers in the city.
It was a lovely May morning; and, almost crazed with excitement and
anxiety, Otto, accompanied by a few chosen friends, waited outside
the city for the first notes of the Harmony Chime. At some distance
he thought he could better judge of the merits of his work.
At last the first notes were struck, clear, sonorous, and so
melodious that his friends cried aloud with delight. But with finger
upraised for silence, and eyes full of ecstatic delight, Otto stood
like a statue until the last note died away. Then his friends caught
him as he fell forward in a swoon,--a swoon so like death that no
one thought he would recover.
But it was not death, and he came out of it with a look of serene
peace on his face that it had not worn since boyhood. He was married
to Gertrude that very day, but every one noticed that the ecstasy
which transfigured his face seemed to be drawn more from the sound
of the bells than the sweet face beside him.
"Don't you see a spell is cast on him as soon as they begin to
ring?" said one, after the bells had ceased to be a wonder. "If he
is walking, he stops short, and if he is working, the work drops and
a strange fire comes in his eyes; and I have seen him shudder all
over as it he had an ague."
In good truth, the bells seemed to have drawn a portion of Otto's
life to them. When the incursions of the war forced him to fly from
Ghent with his family, his regrets were not for his injured
property, but that he could not hear the bells.
He was absent two years, and when he returned it was to find the
cathedral almost a ruin, and the bells gone no one knew where. From
that moment a settled melancholy took possession of Otto. He made no
attempt to retrieve his losses; in fact, he gave up work altogether,
and would sit all day with his eyes fixed on the ruined belfry.
People said he was melancholy mad, and I suppose it was the truth;
but he was mad with a kind of gentle patience very sad to see. His
mother had died during their exile, and now his wife, unable with
all her love to rouse him from his torpor, faded slowly away. He did
not notice her sickness, and his poor numbed brain seemed
imperfectly to comprehend her death. But he followed her to the
grave, and turning from it moved slowly down the city, passed the
door of his old home without looking at it, and went out of the city
gates.
After that he was seen in every city in Europe at different
intervals. Charitable people gave him alms, but he never begged. He
would enter a town, take his station near a church and wait until
the bells rang for matins or vespers, then take up his staff and,
sighing deeply, move off. People noting the wistful look in his eyes
would ask him what he wanted.
"I am seeking,--I am seeking," was his only reply; and those were
almost the only words any one ever heard from him, and he muttered
them often to himself. Years rolled over the head of the wanderer,
but still his slow march from town to town continued. His hair had
grown white, and his strength had failed him so much that he only
tottered instead of walked, but still that wistful seeking look was
in his eyes.
He heard the old bells on the Rhine in his wanderings. He lingered
long near the belfries of the sweetest voices; but their melodious
tongues only spoke to him of his lost hope.
He left the river of sweet bells, and made a pilgrimage to England.
It was the days of cathedrals in their beauty and glory, and here he
again heard the tones that he loved, but which failed to realize his
own ideal.
When a person fails to fulfil his ideal, his whole life seems a
failure,--like something glorious and beautiful one meets and loses,
and never again finds.
"Be true to the dreams of thy youth," says a German author; and
every soul is unhappy until the dreams of youth prove true.
One glorious evening in midsummer Otto was crossing a river in
Ireland. The kind-hearted boatman had been moved by the old man's
imploring gestures to cross him. "He's mighty nigh his end, anyhow,"
he muttered, looking at the feeble movements of the old pilgrim as
he stumbled to his seat.
Suddenly through the still evening air came the distant sound of a
melodious chime. At the first note the pilgrim leaped to his feet
and threw up his arms.
"O my God," he cried, "found at last!"
"It's the bells of the Convent," said the wondering man, not
understanding Otto's words spoken in a foreign tongue, but answering
his gesture. "They was brought from somewhere in Holland when they
were fighting there. Moighty fine bells they are, anyhow. But he
isn't listening to me."
No, he heard nothing but the bells. He merely whispered, "Come back
to me after so many years,--O love of my soul, O thought of my life!
Peal on, for your voices tell me of Paradise."
The last note floated through the air, and as it died away something
else soared aloft forever, free from the clouds and struggles of
life.
[Illustration: BRESLAU.]
His ideal was fulfilled now. Otto lay dead, his face full of peace
and joy, for the weary quest of his crazy brain was over, and the
Harmony Chime had called him to his eternal rest.
And, past that change of life that men call Death, we may well
believe that he heard in the ascension to the celestial atmosphere
the ringing of welcoming bells more beautiful than the Harmony
Chime.
"I will relate another story," said Mr. Beal. "It is like the Harmony
Chime, but has a sadder ending."
THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU.
There once lived in Breslau a famous bell-founder, the fame of whose
skill caused his bells to be placed in many German towers. According
to the ballad of Wilhelm Mueller,--
"And all his bells they sounded
So full and clear and pure:
He poured his faith and love in,
Of that all men were sure.
But of all bells that ever
He cast, was one the crown,
That was the bell for sinners
At Breslau in the town."
He had an ambition to cast one bell that would surpass all others in
purity of tone, and that should render his own name immortal.
He was required to cast a bell for the Magdalen Church tower of that
city of noble churches,--Breslau. He felt that this was opportunity
for his masterpiece. All of his thoughts centred on the Magdalen
bell.
After a long period of preparation, his metals were arranged for
use. The form was walled up and made steady; the melting of the
metals in the great bell-kettle had begun.
The old bell-founder had two faults which had grown upon him; a love
of ale and a fiery temper.
While the metals were heating in the kettle, he said to his
fire-watch, a little boy,--
"Tend the kettle for a moment; I am overwrought: I must go over to
the inn, and take my ale, and nerve me for the casting.
"But, boy," he added, "touch not the stopple; if you do, you shall
rue it. That bell is my life, I have put all I have learned in life
into it. If any man were to touch that stopple, I would strike him
dead."
[Illustration: FINISHING THE BELL.]
[Illustration: AT THE INN.]
The boy had an over-sensitive, nervous temperament. He was easily
excited, and was subject to impulses that he could not easily
control.
The command that he should not touch the stopple, under the
dreadful penalty, strongly affected his mind, and made him wish to
do the very thing he had been forbidden.
He watched the metal in the great kettle. It bubbled, billowed, and
ran to and fro. In the composition of the glowing mass he knew that
his master had put his heart and soul.
It would be a bold thing to touch the stopple,--adventurous. His
hand began to move towards it.
The evil impulse grew, and his hand moved on.
He touched the stopple. The impulse was a wild passion now,--he
turned it.
Then his mind grew dark--he was filled with horror. He ran to his
master.
"I have turned the stopple; I could not help it," he said. "The
Devil tempted me!"
The old bell-founder clasped his hands and looked upward in agony.
Then his temper flashed over him. He seized his knife, and stabbed
the boy to the heart.
He rushed back to the foundry, hoping to stay the stream. He found
the metal whole; the turning of the stopple had not caused the metal
to flow.
The boy lay dead on the ground.
[Illustration: THE DAY OF EXECUTION.]
The old bell-founder knew the consequences of his act, and he did
not seek to escape them. He cast the bell; then he went to the
magistrates, and said,--
"My work is done; but I am a murderer. Do with me as you will."
The trial was short; it greatly excited the city. The judges could
not do otherwise than sentence him to death. But as he was penitent,
he was promised that on the day of his execution he should receive
the offices and consolations of the Church.
"You are good," he said. "But grant me another favor. My bells will
delight many ears when I am gone; my soul is in them; grant me
another favor."
"Name it," said the judges.
"That I may hear the sound of my new bell before I die."
The judges consulted, and answered,--
"It shall toll for your execution."
The fatal day came.
Toll, toll, toll!
There was a sadness in the tone of the bell that touched every heart
in Breslau. The bell seemed human.
Toll, toll, toll!
How melodious! how perfect! how beautiful! The very air seemed
charmed! The years would come and go, and this bell would be the
tongue of Breslau!
The old man came forth. He had forgotten his fate in listening to
the bell. The heavy clang was so melodious that it filled his heart
with joy.
"That is it! that is it; my heart, my life!" he said. "I know all
the metals; I made the voice! Ring on, ring on forever! Ring in holy
days, and happy festivals, and joy eternal to Breslau."
Toll, toll, toll!
On passed the white-haired man, listening still to the call of the
bell that summoned him to death.
He bowed his head at the place of execution to meet the stroke just
as the last tone of the bell melted upon the air. His soul passed
amid the silvery echoes. The bell rings on.
"Ay, of all bells that ever
He cast, is this the crown,
The bell of Church St. Magdalen
At Breslau in the town.
It was, from that time forward,
Baptized the Sinner's Bell;
Whether it still is called so,
Is more than I can tell."
"There is a sadness in the bells of the Rhine," continued Mr. Beal,
"as they ring from old belfries at evening under the ruins of the
castles on the hills. The lords of the Rhine that once heard them are
gone forever. The vineyards creep up the hills on the light trellises,
and the sun and the earth, as it were, fill the grapes with wine. The
woods are as green as of old. The rafts go drifting down the light
waves as on feet of air. But the river of history is changed, and one
feels the spirit of the change with deep sadness as one listens to the
bells."
THE LIGHTS HAVE GONE OUT IN THE CASTLE.
I.
The boatmen strike lightly the zither
As they drift 'neath the hillsides of green,
But gone from the Rhine is the palgrave,
And gone is the palgravine.
Play lightly, play lightly, O boatman,
When the shadows of night round thee fall,
For the lights have gone out in the castle,
The lights have gone out in the hall.
And the Rhine waters silently flow,
The old bells ring solemn and slow,
O boatman,
Play lightly,
Play lightly,
O boatman, play lightly and low.
II.
Awake the old runes on the zither,
O boatman! the lips of the Rhine
Still kiss the green ruins of ivy,
And smile on the vineyards of wine.
Play lightly, play lightly, O boatman,
When the shadows of night round thee fall,
For the lights have gone out in the castle,
The lights have gone out in the hall.
And the Rhine waters silently flow,
The old bells ring solemn and slow,
O boatman,
Play lightly,
Play lightly,
O boatman, play lightly and low.
[Illustration: ABOVE THE TOWN.]
III.
The lamps of the stars shine above thee
As they shone when the vineyards were green,
In the long vanished days of the palgrave,
In the days of the palgravine.
Play lightly, thy life tides are flowing,
Thy fate in the palgrave's recall,
For the lights have gone out in the castle,
The lights have gone out in the hall.
And the Rhine waters silently flow,
And the old bells ring solemn and slow,
O boatman,
Play lightly,
Play lightly,
O boatman, play lightly and low.
The narratives of the evening devoted to the Bells on the Rhine were
closed by a story by Master Lewis.
"I do not often relate stories," he said; "but I have a German story
in mind, the lesson of which has been helpful to my experience. It is
a legend and a superstition, and one that is not as generally familiar
to the readers of popular books as are many that have been told at
these meetings. I think you will like it, and that you will not soon
forget it."
"TO-MORROW."
Once--many years, perhaps centuries ago--a young German student,
named Lek, was travelling from Leipsig to the Middle Rhine. His
journey was made on foot, and a part of it lay through the
Thuringian Forest.
He rested one night at the old walled town of Saalfeld, visited the
ruins of Sorenburg, and entered one of the ancient roads then
greatly frequented, but less used now, on account of the shorter and
swifter avenues of travel.
Towards evening he ascended a hill, and, looking down, was surprised
to discover a quaint town at the foot, of which he had never heard.
It was summer; the red sun was going down, and the tree-tops of the
vast forests, moved by a gentle wind, seemed like the waves of the
wide sea. Lek was a lover of the beautiful expressions of Nature, of
the poetry of the forests, hills, and streams; and he sat down on a
rock, under a spreading tree, to see the sunset flame and fade, and
the far horizons sink into the shadows and disappear.
"I have made a good journey to-day," he said, "and whatever the
strange town below me may be, it will be safe for me to spend the
night there. I see that it has a church and an inn."
Lek had travelled much over Germany, but he had never before seen a
town like the one below him. It wore an air of strange
antiquity,--as a town might look that had remained unchanged for
many hundred years. An old banner hung out from a quaint steepled
building; but it was unlike any of modern times, national or
provincial.
The fires of sunset died away; clouds, like smoke, rose above them,
and a deep shadow overspread the forests. Lek gathered up his
bundles, and descended the hill towards the town. As he was hurrying
onward he met a strange-looking man in a primitive habit,--evidently
a villager. Lek asked him the name of the place.
The stranger looked at him sadly and with surprise, and answered in
a dialect that he did not wholly understand; but he guessed at the
last words, and rightly.
"Why do you wish to know?"
"I am a traveller," answered Lek, "and I must remain there until
to-morrow."
"TO-MORROW!" said the man, throwing up his hands. "To-morrow! For
_us_," pointing to himself, "there is no to-morrow. I must hurry
on."
He strode away towards a faded cottage on the outskirts of the town,
leaving Lek to wonder what his mysterious answer could mean.
[Illustration: OLD PEASANT COSTUME.]
Lek entered the town. The people were strange to him; every one
seemed to be in a hurry. Men and women were talking rapidly, like
travellers when taking leave of their friends for a long journey.
Indeed, so earnest were their words that they seemed hardly to
notice him at all.
He presently met an old woman on a crutch, hurrying along the
shadowy street.
[Illustration: THE OLD CITY.]
"Is this the way to the inn?" he asked.
The old one hobbled on. He followed her.
"Is this the way to the inn? I wish to remain there until
to-morrow."
The cripple turned on her crutch.
"TO-MORROW!" she said. "Who are you that talk of to-morrow? All the
gold of the mountains could not buy a to-morrow. Go back to your
own, young man! they may have to-morrows; but my time is short,--I
must hurry on."
Away hobbled the dame; and Lek, wondering at her answer, entered
what seemed to him the principal street.
He came at length to the inn; a faded structure, and antique, like a
picture of the times of old. There men were drinking and talking;
men in gold lace, and with long purses filled with ancient coin.
The landlord was evidently a rich old fellow; he had a girdle of
jewels, and was otherwise habited much like a king.
He stared at Lek; so did his jovial comrades.
"Can you give a stranger hospitality until to-morrow?" asked the
young student, bowing.
"Until TO-MORROW! Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the innkeeper. "He asks for
hospitality until to-morrow!" he added to his six jolly companions.
"To-morrow--ha, ha, ha!" echoed one.
"Ha, ha, ha!" repeated another.
"Ha, ha, ha!" chorused the others, slapping their hands on their
knees. "To-morrow!"
Then a solemn look came into the landlord's face.
"Young man," said he, "don't you know, have you not heard? _We_ have
no to-morrows; our nights are long, long slumbers; each one is a
hundred years."
[Illustration: OLD PEASANT COSTUME.]
The six men were talking now, and the landlord turned from Lek and
joined in the conversation eagerly.
The shadows of the long twilight deepened. Men and women ran to and
fro in the streets. Every one seemed in a hurry, as though much must
be said and done in a brief time.
Presently a great bell sounded in a steeple. The hurrying people
paused. Each one uplifted his or her hands, waved them in a circle,
and cried,--
"Alas! TO-MORROW! Hurry, good men, all, good women, all, hurry!"
What did it mean? "Have I gone mad?" asked Lek. "Am I dreaming?"
Near the inn was a green, parched and faded. In the centre was a
withered tree; under it was a maiden. She was very fair; her dress
was of silk and jewels, and on her arms were heavy bracelets of
gold. Unlike the other people, she did not seem hurried and anxious.
She appeared to take little interest in the strangely stimulated
activities around her.
Lek went to her.
"Pardon a poor student seeking information," he said. "Your people
all treat me rudely and strangely; they will not listen to me. I am
a traveller, and I came here civilly, and only asked for food and
lodging until to-morrow."
"TO-MORROW! The word is a terror to most of them; it is no terror to
me. I care not for to-morrows,--they are days of disappointments; I
had them once,--I am glad they do not come oftener to me. I shall go
to sleep at midnight, here where I was deserted. You are a stranger,
I see. You belong to the world; every day has its to-morrow. Go
away, away to your own people, and to your own life of to-morrows.
This is no place for you here."
Again the bell sounded. The hurrying people stopped again in the
street, and waved their hands wildly, and cried,--
"Haste, haste, good men, all, good women, all. The hour is near.
Good men, all, good women, all, hurry!"
[Illustration: OLD PEASANT COSTUMES.]
It was night now; but the full moon rose over the long line of
hills, and behind it appeared a black cloud, from which darted
tongues of red flame, followed by mutterings of thunder.
The moon ascended the clear sky like a chariot, and the cloud seemed
to follow her like an army,--an awful spectacle that riveted Lek's
gaze and made him apprehensive.
"A storm is coming," he said. "I must stay here. Tell me, good
maiden, where can I find food and shelter?"
"Have you a true heart?"
"I have a true heart. I have always been true to myself; and he who
is true to himself is never unfaithful to God or his fellow-men."
"Then you will be saved when the hour comes. They only go down with
us who are untrue. All true hearts have to-morrows."
The moon ascended higher, and her light, more resplendent,
heightened the effect of the blackness of the rising cloud. The
lightnings became more vivid, the thunder more distinct.
"You are sure that your heart is true?" said the maiden.
"By the Cross, it is true."
"Then I have a duty to do. Follow me."
She rose and walked towards the hill from which Lek had come. Lek
followed her. As he passed out of the town the bell sounded: it was
the hour of eleven.
The people stopped in the streets as before, waving their hands, and
crying,--
"Good men, all, good women, all, hurry! The hour is near. Good men,
all, good women, all, hurry!"
[Illustration: CITY GATE.]
The maiden ascended the hill to the very rock from which the student
had first seen the town, and under which he had rested.
"Sit you here," she said, "and do not leave the place until the
cocks crow for morning. A true heart never perished with the untrue.
My duty is done. Farewell!"
"But the tempest?" said the student. "This is no place of shelter.
Let me return with you, only until to-morrow."
There burst upon the hill a terrific thunder-gust. The maiden was
gone, the black cloud swept over the moon, and Lek could no longer
discern the town in the valley. Everything around him grew dark. The
air seemed to turn into a thick inky darkness.
Fearful flashes of lightning and terrific thunder followed. The
wind bent the forest before it; but not a drop of rain fell.
There was a moment's silence. The bell in the mysterious steeple
smote upon the air. It was midnight.
Another hush, as though Nature had ceased to breathe. Then a
thunder-crash shook the hills, and seemed to cleave open the very
earth.
Lek crossed himself and fell upon his knees. The cloud passed
swiftly. The moon came out again, revealing the lovely valley. _The
village was gone._
In the morning a cowherd came up the hill at the rising of the sun.
"Good morrow," said Lek. "That was a fearful tempest that we had at
midnight."
"I never heard such thunder," said the cowherd. "I almost thought
that the final day had come. You may well say it was a fearful
night, my boy."
[Illustration: THE NECKAR.]
"But what has become of the village that was in the valley
yesterday?" asked Lek.
"There is no village in the valley," said the cowherd. "There never
was but one. That was sunk hundreds of years ago; if you saw any
village there yesterday it was that: it comes up only once in a
hundred years, and then it remains for only a single day. Woe betide
the traveller that stops there _that_ day. Unless he have a true
heart, he goes down with the town at midnight. The town was cursed
because it waxed rich, and became so wicked that there was found in
it but one heart that was true."
"Tell me about this strange village," said Lek, in fear and awe,
recalling his adventure. "I never before heard of a thing so
mysterious."
"It is a sorry story. I will tell it as I have heard it.
"The hills of Reichmanndorf used to abound with gold, and the people
of the old town all became rich; but their riches did not make them
happy and contented. It made them untrue.
"The more their wealth increased, the more unfaithful they became,
until the men met in the market-place daily to defraud each other,
and the women's only purpose in life was to display their vanity.
"At the inn were nightly carousals. The young men thought only of
their gains and dissipations. Men were untrue to their families, and
lovers to their vows.
"The Sabbath was not kept. The old priest, Van Ness, said masses to
the empty aisles.
"In those evil days lived one Frederic Wollin. He was a brave man,
and his soul was true.
"It was the custom of this good man to instruct the people in the
market-place. But at last none came to hear him.
"One day, near Christmas, the council met. Wine flowed; rude jests
went round. The question was discussed as to how these days of
selfish delights might be made perpetual.
"A great cry arose:--
"'Banish the holy days: then all our to-morrows will be as to-day!'
"Then Wollin arose and faced the people. His appearance was met by a
tumult, and his words increased the hatred long felt against him.
"'The days of evil have no to-morrows.' he said. 'He that liveth to
himself is dead.'
"'Give him a holy day once in a hundred years!' cried one.
"The voice was hailed with cheers. The council voted that all future
days should be as that day, except that Wollin and the old priest,
Van Ness, should have a holy day once in a hundred years.
"Christmas came. No bell was rung; no chant was heard. Easter
brought flowers to the woods, but none to the altar. Purple
Pentecost filled the forest villages with joy; but here no one cared
to recall the descent of the celestial fire except the old priest
and Wollin.
"It was such a night as last night when Van Ness and Wollin came out
of the church for the last time. The people were drinking at the
inn, and dancing upon the green. Spring was changing into deep
summer; the land was filled with blooms.
"A party of young men who had been carousing, on seeing Wollin come
from the church, set upon him, and compelled him to leave the town.
He came up this hill. When he had reached the top, he paused and
lifted his face towards heaven, and stretched out his hand. As he
did so, a sharp sound rent the valley, and caused the hills to
tremble. He looked down. The village had disappeared. Only Van Ness
was standing by his side.
"But as the villagers had promised Wollin a holy day once in a
hundred years, so once in a hundred years these people are permitted
to rise with their village into the light of the sun for a single
day. If on that day a stranger visits them whose heart is untrue he
disappears with them at midnight. Such is the story. You will hardly
believe it true."
The student crossed himself, and went on his journey towards the
Rhine.
"_They_ have one day in a hundred years," he said. "How precious
must that one day be to them! If I enter the ways of evil, and my
heart becomes untrue, shall _I_ have _one_ day in one hundred years
when life is ended and my account to Heaven is rendered?"
He thought. He read the holy books. He tried to find a single hope
for an untrue soul; but he could discover none.
Then he said,--
"The days of evil have no to-morrows,--no, not once in a hundred
years. Only good deeds have to-morrows. I will be true: so shall
to-morrows open and close like golden doors until time is lost in
the eternal." And his heart remained true.