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[Illustration]
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
AND OTHER LEGENDS
Retold by
MARIE H. FRARY
and
CHARLES M. STEBBINS
With Illustrations by Herbert E. Martini
Stebbins and Company
New York
Publishers
Copyright, 1909
by
Stebbins and Company
PREFACE
Legends have a fascination for all classes of people, but they possess
a peculiar charm for children. They constitute, in fact, a form of
literature particularly fitting to the mental world of the child.
In them fact and fancy are happily blended. Around the bare facts
of recorded or unrecorded history, are woven the poetic ideals of a
romantic people.
Nothing could be more worth a child’s reading than a story of the past
that conveys not only an idea of the everyday life of real people,
but represents them also as striving after ideals in various forms of
beauty.
No influence is greater than the moral force of beauty. In the present
volume the purpose of the writers has been to present only such
legends as reveal simplicity, strength, and beauty. These qualities
make their inevitable appeal to the child fancy.
The subject matter of the book has been graded for children of eight
or ten years. It is, therefore, well suited for use as a supplementary
reader in the fourth or fifth grade.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CRYSTAL PALACE 7
THE ANGEL PAGE 13
THE GNOME’S ROAD 21
THE LORELEI 26
THE SUNKEN CITY 31
THE BIRD OF PARADISE 39
THE BELL OF ATRI 48
THE POT OF HOT PORRIDGE 53
THE SILVER BELL 57
THE TWO BAKER BOYS 66
THE EMPEROR’S WOOING 70
THE MAGIC RING 76
CHARLEMAGNE’S GENEROSITY 83
THE SILVER BRIDGE 89
THE PET RAVEN 93
THE NIGHT OF THE STOLEN TREASURE 101
THE WATER SPRITES 106
THE GIANT MAIDEN 109
THE SWAN KNIGHT 113
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
Many, many years ago there lived in the village of Zurdorf, a queer
little old woman. She was a very kind old lady and a good nurse. Often
she was called upon to care for the boys and girls of the village.
They quite enjoyed being ill because she knew so many interesting
stories. She told them of great knights and ladies, of castles and
fairies, of the wood nymphs and the water sprites; but best of all was
the story of old Father Rhine.
One night as she sat knitting, a knock came at the cottage door. She
opened it and there stood a strange man, carrying a lantern of curious
pattern. He did not speak, but motioned to her to follow him.
The night was dark, and the rain was pouring down in torrents. Great
pools were found in the streets. Aunt Margot, as the children called
the old lady, hesitated to follow the stranger. It was not, however,
because she was afraid of the storm, but because the man was a stranger.
He motioned to her again. She saw that his face was kindly, and so
decided to follow him. Down the dark street they passed, splashing
through the deep pools of water.
Suddenly the water became deeper, and began to eddy about Margot’s
ankles. She became frightened and was about to turn and flee.
“I can go no farther,” she shouted; “what manner of man art thou, and
whither wouldst thou lead me?”
The old man did not answer, but caught Margot in his arms and plunged
into the river Rhine. It had risen from its banks, and its eddying
waters had frightened Margot.
Down, down, through cold green waters they sank. It seemed to Margot
as if she were going down forever. She closed her eyes and ceased to
struggle.
At last they seemed to have passed out of the water, and Margot opened
her eyes. She found herself in a wonderful crystal palace. Precious
stones glittered all about her. The ornaments were of silver and gold.
As soon as she had recovered from her wonder, she was led into an
immense chamber. Here on a bed of crystal, with silken coverings, lay a
beautiful golden haired nymph, who was ill.
“I have brought you here,” said the old man, “to care for my beautiful
wife. Nurse her tenderly back to health, and you shall never regret it.”
The lovely nymph was so good to look upon that old Margot took great
delight in caring for her. She tended her so gently and so faithfully
that the golden haired lady improved rapidly. She was soon quite well.
In soft whispers she told the old nurse that her husband was a mighty
water spirit. Mortals called him Father Rhine. She had lived on the
earth and was the only daughter of the Lord of Rheidt.
One day when she was at a village dance, there appeared before her
a strange man. He was clad in foamy green. He asked her to tread a
measure with him. Round and round they whirled until they reached the
water edge. Suddenly he plunged with her into the stream, and brought
her to the crystal palace, where he made her his happy wife.
“And now, kind nurse, we must soon part,” said the beautiful lady.
“When Father Rhine offers to reward you, accept from him only your
usual fee, no matter how much he urges you to take more. He loves
honesty, but loathes greed.”
Just then Father Rhine appeared. Seeing his beloved wife quite well
again, the river god beckoned to the nurse to follow him. He led her
through many halls of the great castle. Finally they came to his
treasure chamber. Here all around lay great heaps of gold, silver, and
precious stones.
The water god was very grateful to the good nurse for saving his
wife; so he bade her help herself. The old woman gazed upon the
jewels longingly. How well she could use them to help the poor! She
remembered, however, what the beautiful golden haired lady had told
her. So she selected only a small fee such as she always received. The
mysterious man urged her to take more, but she firmly refused.
Then the great water god took her by the hand and led her through a
long dark corridor. Suddenly she found herself again in the cold water
of the Rhine. Slowly he rose with her through the dark flood. Up and up
they went until she found herself, dripping but safe, on the shore near
her own house. As he beckoned adieu to her, Father Rhine flung a whole
handful of gold into her lap. Then he plunged into the river again and
was gone.
Ever since that time the little people of the village have loved to
hear of the wonders of the crystal palace beneath the flood. So the
good nurse tells it over and over again. And she never forgets to show
the handful of gold which, she says, is the same Father Rhine gave her.
THE ANGEL PAGE
A handsome lad once sought a brave and noble knight, asking leave to
serve him as page. The knight was greatly charmed by the graceful
manners of the young lad, and was pleased with his unusual request. He
granted the lad’s prayer, and never once did he have cause to regret it.
The little page did every duty with great cheerfulness and skill. He
was so devoted to his master that he was able to foresee almost every
wish. It was not long before he had won his master’s love, and the two
became constant comrades.
The years passed swiftly by. The knight had never before been so happy,
and never so successful. Everything seemed to turn out just as he
wished it. Nothing had gone wrong since the day that the little page
had entered his gate.
One day as the two were riding along the banks of the Rhine, they
noticed a band of robbers coming toward them. These men had often
sought to harm the good knight. The band was so large that it was easy
to see that the brave knight could make no headway against them. There
seemed to be no way of escape.
“Would to God,” cried the brave man, “that you were safe within my
castle walls, my faithful little page! We are lost, my lad, but we must
sell our lives as dearly as possible. Let us die like heroes. Do you
get behind me, my page, and, if possible, I bid you flee.”
“My dear master,” replied the little page, “follow me. I will show you
a way to escape. Follow me.”
The page put spurs to his horse and galloped along the river bank.
Suddenly he turned the unwilling steed directly into the rushing
stream.
“Rash boy, come back!” called the knight, dashing forward with the hope
of overtaking the daring page. “Better die fighting bravely than perish
miserably in the river. Come back, my page, come back!”
“Have no fear, my dear master, but follow me,” still cried the little
page.
The sound of his voice rose so confidently above the noise of the wind
and waves that the knight obeyed, hardly knowing what he was doing. A
few minutes later the horses had found a firm footing in the river.
Guided by the faithful little page, the knight safely forded the
stream. He reached the farther shore just as his enemies came down to
the water’s edge.
The angry robbers urged their steeds into the deep water, but no trace
of ford could be found and they were forced to give up the pursuit.
The knight’s love for the little page was greatly increased after this,
and the little page, too, seemed to love his master more and more. He
was only happy when in his master’s presence or when doing some errand
for him.
A short time after this happy escape from death the knight’s beautiful
wife became suddenly ill. The knight loved her as he loved his own
life, and was in great sorrow for fear that she might die.
Many wise doctors were called to her bedside, but they could do
nothing. They declared that there was only one thing that would cure
her--the milk of a lioness. That could not be obtained because there
were no lions in the country.
The rumor of this strange remedy spread rapidly through the castle. It
came to the ears of the faithful little page. He at once sprang to his
feet and rushed out of the hall. An hour later, before any change had
taken place in the lady’s condition, the page returned to the castle.
He went directly to the bedside of his mistress and sat down, flushed
and panting. But in his hand he bore a cup full of the milk of a
lioness, which was given to the patient at once. In a few moments the
color crept back into the lady’s pale cheeks. A new light came into
her eyes and she sank into a sweet sleep. When she awoke she was fully
cured. All her strength had come back, and she was very happy.
Then the good knight went to seek the little page. He poured out to him
his thanks. He could not say enough to express what he felt for his
faithful servant. He wished to know all about it.
“Tell me, my sweet, faithful page,” he urged, “how you were able to get
this remedy, which all my wealth could not procure.”
“My noble master,” replied the page, “I knew that a lioness was lying
with her cubs in an Arabian den, and so I--”
“Arabia!” exclaimed the knight, interrupting the page, “Arabia! Did
you find your way there and back in one short hour?”
“Yes, my dear master,” replied the little page, “that is the truth.”
And he fixed his beautiful, truthful eyes on his master’s pale,
wondering face.
“My lad, who are you then?” suddenly asked the knight, a nameless fear
gnawing at his heart. “Who are you? Speak; tell me everything.”
“Master, my noble master, ask not who I am nor whence I came,” cried
the little page, sinking down at the knight’s feet, and raising his
beseeching hands. “Do not ask me. Let me remain by your side, my good
master. Remember that no harm has come to you since I have been in your
service.”
“My page, stop this pleading and tell me what I ask. Who are you?”
continued the knight, paying no attention to the little page’s
beseeching look.
“A spirit, O my master, a spirit of light, who for you and yours left
a home in the realms above. But now I must leave you, my master.
Farewell; farewell.”
“Lad, lad, my sweet lad, leave me not. Stay with me still,” cried the
knight. “Ask what reward you please, but do not forsake me. Remain, my
faithful little page, for I cannot live without you.”
“You have asked me what I am and whence I came, and have mentioned a
reward. The charm, my dear master, is broken, and now I must leave you.
In return for the things that I have done for you so cheerfully and so
lovingly, I ask you to place a silver bell in the midst of the forest.
Its tinkling sound may guide many weary travelers and help them to find
their way home. Dedicate the bell to God and to his angelic host, O
master; and now receive my last farewell.”
The little page suddenly vanished. No one saw him leave the hall nor
pass through the castle gates, and no trace of him was ever found. The
angel page had faded from mortal sight and returned to his home above.
He had gone back to live with spirits as good and faithful and pure as
himself.
The knight at once had the silver bell placed in the forest. But he
could not forget his faithful page. He sought for him everywhere, and
when at evening the silver tones of the little bell rang out in the
quiet air they seemed to him like the words of an angel, and filled his
heart with restless desire.
The noble knight seemed to lose all interest in life. His strength
began to fail; his step grew slow and feeble; and one day when the
shades of night were falling and the first tinkle of the little bell
came to his ear, he softly murmured “My page, my faithful little page”;
and he went to live with the spirit he had learned to love so well.
[Illustration]
THE GNOME’S ROAD
On the high hill above the Rhine still stand the ruins of an old
Castle. Here Kuno Von Sayne once lived. Kuno was a very proud young man
for he was a member of a very noble family.
He had fallen in love with the beautiful daughter of the surly old
Lord of Faulkenstein. At last he succeeded in winning the love of the
maiden, but of her father he had great fear.
After many months of hoping and fearing, he decided to go to the old
Lord and ask for his daughter’s hand. One beautiful morning he set out
on his mission, to the Castle of Faulkenstein. This Castle was perched
far up on the heights that rose above a small river.
It was a long journey, and he had almost lost his courage when he
reached the place. However, he went at once into the presence of the
Lord of Faulkenstein and boldly made known his wish.
The grim, old Lord looked at him long and closely, then in tones that
were terrible to poor Kuno spoke.
“I will,” he said, “consider the matter if you will promise to do one
thing for me.”
Without waiting to find out what he was to do, Kuno eagerly consented.
“Then,” said the Lord of Faulkenstein, “you may wed my daughter on
condition that you build a convenient road over the jagged rock to the
village. You are to ride up that road on your war horse before sunrise
to-morrow morning.”
Poor Kuno was speechless. Nothing was to be said, for he knew how
impossible was the task. Many months of hard labor would scarcely
accomplish the great work.
Sadly he made his way down the rocks again. He had not been able to
catch even a glimpse of the fair Irmangarde, his beloved, so he sat
down upon a rock in the valley and began to reproach himself for his
stupidity.
Suddenly he was aroused from his thoughts by a small voice calling to
him.
“Kuno, Kuno Von Sayne,” it said.
He looked up and there before him stood the King of the Gnomes.
“Despair not,” said the kindly little man. “Myself and my subjects will
gladly help so good a knight; so away to the inn where you left your
steed. Before sunrise to-morrow morning the road shall be ready.”
At this the King of the Gnomes waved his hand. A great mist rose
and covered the hill and valley with its dense vapor. Thousands of
dwarf-like creatures now sprang out of the ground on all sides. They
began using axes, hammers, and spades with great good will. All night
long Kuno Von Sayne heard the crashing of great forest trees, and the
breaking of stones. Now and then he heard a loud rumble like thunder;
there was a continual clatter and crashing throughout the whole night.
At dawn he came from his room, and was greeted by the inn-keeper.
“A great storm must have raged over the valley last night,” said the
latter. “I was kept awake all the night by the noise.”
Kuno did not pause to listen to the man’s tales, but loudly called
for his horse. He mounted and rode rapidly away to the foot of the
mountain. Far above him loomed the Castle of Faulkenstein. How Kuno’s
heart leaped with joy. There, indeed, was a road leading up to the
Castle. True to his promise, the King of the Gnomes had built a broad,
convenient road through the forest and over the rocks. Kuno galloped
boldly up, exchanging smiles with the kindly dwarfs who peered at him
from behind every rock and tree. From the ramparts of the Castle,
stepped the beautiful Irmangarde.
Kuno dashed over the arched bridge the dwarfs were just finishing and
greeted her gaily. The dwarfs raised a glad shout of triumph. The
Knight of Faulkenstein was awakened by the shout. He looked out, and
there, stretching far out from the Castle, saw the newly built road. He
thought he must still be dreaming, and rubbed his eyes again and again.
When, however, he saw the beaming face of Irmangarde and Kuno, he knew
that he had been outwitted. So as the first sunbeams fell upon the
Castle, lighting up the gladdened heart and blushing cheeks of the
maiden, Kuno claimed her as his bride. The Lord of Faulkenstein was
proud to accept a man who could do such wonderful things as Kuno had
accomplished during the night.
THE LORELEI
Count Ludwig was the only son of the Prince Palatine. He lived with
his father in the castle at Stahleck. The young count had heard many
marvelous tales of the beautiful Lorelei and he determined to go in
search of her.
One evening he stole from his father’s castle to sail down the
Rhine. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the Siren Lorelei. The stars
were twinkling softly overhead, and the bark slowly drifted down the
river. Darker and darker grew the waters as the bed of the Rhine grew
narrower. But the young count did not notice this. His eyes were fixed
on the rocks far above, where he hoped to see the beautiful nymph.
Suddenly he saw a shimmer of white drapery and golden hair. At the same
time he heard the faint, sweet sound of an alluring song. As he drew
nearer, the melody became more distinct. The moonbeams fell upon the
maiden and seemed to make her even more beautiful. She bent over the
rocky ledge and beckoned him to draw nearer.
The count and boatman were spellbound by the vision above them, and
they paid no heed to the vessel. Suddenly the boat struck against the
rocks and went to pieces. The men struggled against the swift current,
and all escaped except the young count. Him the Lorelei took down
to her magic palace below the river to be her lover forever. Many
different stories about the young count’s fate were related by the men
who escaped.
The Prince Palatine was deeply grieved over his only son’s death. He
blamed the beautiful Lorelei and longed for revenge. Finally he sent
for one of his greatest warriors.
“You are to capture this wicked creature who has caused so much woe,”
he said. “Take a band of armed men and post them at once all around
the rock, so that the nymph cannot escape.”
The great warrior did as he was commanded. At the head of a band of
armed men he climbed noiselessly up the moonlit cliff and presented
himself before the charming Lorelei. There she sat, as usual, combing
her golden hair and crooning her matchless song. The men hemmed her in
on all sides. They left no mode of escape except by the steep descent
to the river.
“We command you to surrender,” said the captain of the band.
The nymph made no reply, but gracefully waved her white hands. The grim
old warriors suddenly felt as if rooted to the spot. They could neither
move nor speak.
There they stood motionless with dilated eyes fixed upon the Lorelei.
They saw her remove all of her jewels and drop them one by one into
the Rhine beneath her feet. Then she whirled about in a mystic spell,
chanting her magic tunes. They could understand nothing of it except
now and then a word about white-maned steeds and pearl shell chariots.
When the song and dance were ended, the waters of the Rhine began to
seethe and bubble. Higher and higher they rose, until they reached the
top of the cliff.
The petrified warriors felt the cold tide surge about their feet.
Suddenly they saw a great white-crested wave rolling rapidly toward
them. In its green depths they beheld a chariot drawn by white-maned
steeds. Into this car the Lorelei sprang and quickly vanished over the
edge of the cliff into the river.
In a few moments the angry waters had sunk to their usual level. The
brave warriors discovered that they could move once more. They rubbed
their eyes and looked about them. No trace of the sudden rise except
the water drops along the face of the cliff could be seen. These shone
in the moonlight like diamonds.
The Lorelei has never since then appeared on the cliff. But boatmen
have often heard the faint sweet echo of her alluring song, wafted
toward them on the summer breeze at midnight. It is said that she
remains in her beautiful palace and gardens below the green Rhine,
enjoying the companionship of her earthly lover.
THE SUNKEN CITY
There was once, we are told, a fine tract of land where now roll the
waves of the Zuyder Zee. On the very spot where now the fishermen
anchor their boats and fish, there stood a beautiful city. It was
protected from the sea by great dykes.
The name of the city was Stavoren, and the people who lived there were
very wealthy. Some of them were so wealthy that they laid their great
halls with floors of gold and silver. But in spite of their wealth they
were selfish, thoughtless, and hard hearted. For the poor people they
cared nothing.
The richest person among them was a maiden lady. She had palaces,
farms, ships and counting-houses--everything that one could desire. But
she thought of nothing except how she might increase her store. With
this in mind she one day summoned the captain of her largest vessel.
When he came she bade him sail away to procure a cargo of the most
precious things of earth, and to return within the year. Not knowing
exactly what she wished, the captain questioned her, but she simply
repeated her order and sent him away at once.
The captain set sail from Stavoren without knowing where he was going.
After leaving the harbor he called his officers together and asked
their advice. Each had a different opinion as to what were the most
precious things of earth.
The captain was plunged into greater doubt than ever. He thought over
the question for many long hours, smoking his pipe and scratching his
head. At last he said to himself that nothing could be more precious
than wheat, which is the staff of life.
Accordingly he purchased a cargo of grain, and returned happily to
his native town, arriving long before the year had passed. The haughty
lady had in the meantime told all her friends that her vessel had gone
in search of the most precious thing of earth. She would not tell her
closest friend what that most precious thing might be. So everybody was
very curious.
When one day her captain appeared suddenly before her and told her that
he had brought a cargo of wheat, her pride vanished. She flew into a
terrible rage and commanded that every kernel be cast into the sea at
once. The captain was shocked at this order and plead with her to allow
him to give the wheat to the poor. She repeated her command.
“I will come down to the port myself,” she said, “to make sure that
every kernel is cast into the sea.”
The captain made his way sadly back to his vessel. As he did so he met
several beggars by the way and told them that a cargo of wheat was to
be cast into the sea. By the time the lady reached the dock the poor
had gathered there from all parts of the city, hoping to secure some of
the grain.
When the lady approached, many imploring hands were extended toward
her, but all was in vain. Angry and proud, she made the sailors cast
all the wheat into the sea. The captain, powerless to prevent this
sinful waste, looked on in quiet rage. When the last kernel had
disappeared beneath the water he turned to his haughty mistress.
“As surely as there is a God above us,” he exclaimed, “you will be
punished for this sin. The time will come when you, the wealthiest
person in Stavoren, will long for a few handfuls of this wasted wheat.”
The lady listened to his words in haughty silence. When he had
finished, she took a costly ring from her delicate hand and cast it
into the sea.
“When this ring comes back to me,” she said, “I will believe what you
say and fear that I may come to want.”
A few hours afterward the lady’s cook was preparing dinner for her. He
was opening a large fish which had just been brought from the sea, when
to his surprise his eyes fell upon the costly ring. He immediately sent
it to his proud mistress. When she recognized it she turned very pale.
Shortly afterward there came a report that one of her counting-houses
had been ruined, and another report of disaster came that same evening.
All her counting-houses were ruined. Her fleet had been destroyed at
sea; her palaces were burning; and her farms were laid waste by storms.
In a few hours everything that she had possessed was stripped from her.
The palace in which she lived burned down during the night, and she
barely escaped with her life.
Now she was desolate, indeed! The rich people of the city cared nothing
for her now that her money was all gone. The poor people whom she
had treated with contempt allowed her to die of hunger and cold in a
miserable shed.
The city of Stavoren did not profit by the sad end of the haughty lady.
The rich people continued to enjoy life and to neglect the poor. It did
not matter to them what happened to their wretched fellow creatures.
They, like the haughty lady, were truly selfish.
As time went on the sand began to increase in the port, so that it
was soon impossible for ships to come to anchor. It grew worse and
worse. The waves washed the sand up until a great sand-bar rose above
the waters and all further commerce was stopped. It was not very long
before the sand bank was covered with little green blades. The people
gazed upon it in surprise.
“It is the Lady’s Sand,” they declared. “For it is the wheat that she
had cast into the sea that is growing there.”
The wheat grew very rapidly, but bore no fruit. It did not matter to
the rich even if traffic had ceased. They did not suffer. The poor,
however, were greatly distressed, for they now had nothing to do. They
besought help from the rich, but their prayers fell upon deaf ears.
Not long afterward a little leak was discovered in the dyke which
protected the city. Through this the sea water crept into the city
reservoir, spoiling all the drinking water.
The rich people only laughed, saying that they would drink champagne,
since water was not to be had. But what were the poor to do? They
crowded around the gates of the rich, imploring a sup of beer, but were
rudely driven away.
“It would be a good thing,” said the rich, “if these wretched
creatures should actually die. Of what use are they to themselves or to
any one else?”
The rich of Stavoren had had their last chance to do good. That very
same night when the revelers had returned to sleep, the sea broke down
the weakened dykes. Bursting in, it covered up the whole town.
Over the spot where Stavoren once stood the waves now glitter in the
bright sun light or plunge and dash when the cold winds come sweeping
in from the sea.
Boatmen come rowing up from the desolate little fishing town which
now bears the name of the ancient city. When the waters are smooth
they rest upon their oars to point out far beneath them the spires and
turrets and palaces of Stavoren.
The streets of the old town as it lies beneath the waves, once so
populous, are deserted. The market place is empty. No sound is to be
heard except when some inquiring fish, swimming through the belfries,
strikes one of the bells with his tail. Then there is heard a sad sound
which seems to be tolling the knell of the sunken city.
THE BIRD OF PARADISE
There once lived in the monastery at Heisterbach a kindly monk, of
great learning and simple manners. He had studied for many years that
he might settle some doubts that troubled him.
He had observed that people grow tired of even the best of things. They
desire to behold new scenes, to hear new music, and to taste new dishes.
“I wonder if it will be so in Heaven,” he said to himself. “Shall we
not grow weary of beauties and joys of Heaven in the endless flow of
ages?”
This question perplexed him sorely; but he was unable to answer it to
his satisfaction. Wearied with the doubt, he decided to put it away
from him if possible. So one beautiful sunny morning in summer he
turned his steps toward the woods that stretched away for miles back of
the monastery.
It was such a morning as makes one glad to be alive. Silvery clouds
were floating like great white ships across the blue sky. The gentle
breeze was playing among the branches of the trees. Flowers were
blooming and birds were singing happily everywhere.
Earth seemed to breathe forth peace and joy for all mankind. Beauty and
blessing were everywhere. Yet, with all this to gladden him, Alfus was
not satisfied. His heart was not at ease.
“Alas!” he sighed, “how all is changed! The rapture with which I first
looked upon this lovely scene, is gone. The beauty with which it once
greeted me is no more. Why must it be so?”
As Alfus was pondering on this thought he wandered on, paying no
attention to the path he was following. Hour after hour passed and
still he walked on, until finally he became weary and decided to rest.
He sat down on a mossy bank and began to look about him.
It was a beautiful spot, and one which he had never visited before,
although he thought he was familiar with every place in the forest. The
trees were tall and leafy. The branches stretched out forming beautiful
arches above him. At his feet were delicate ferns and wild flowers of
many different colors. He heard the drowsy hum of the bee and saw a
beautiful butterfly flitting about from flower to flower.
His admiration was awakened. It seemed as if he saw a new beauty in the
things about him, and he forgot that he was tired. Suddenly there came
to him the song of a bird which seemed to be the sweetest he had ever
heard. He looked and saw the bird perched upon a tree nearby. It seemed
to pour forth its song in one strain of perfect happiness. It seemed
so thrilling and so beautiful that Alfus could not think it earthly.
With intense delight the monk leaned back against the mossy bank,
listening to the strain. The song lasted but a moment and ceased as
suddenly as it had begun. Alfus desired to hear it again. He looked for
the bird, and waited, but it was gone. Around him all was silence. Even
the breeze seemed to have ceased its rustling among the leaves of the
trees. The monk slowly rose and began his way back through the woods to
the monastery.
But how everything seemed to have changed. Could it be that he was in
a part of the woods he had never visited before? He, too, did not seem
to be the same. His steps were now halting and slow, and all his body
seemed feeble and stiff. As he looked at his beard he saw that it was
gray.
He walked on in amazement. The trees seemed to have become much larger
since he had entered the forest. Even the bushes had grown into tall
trees. He wondered if he were dreaming or if he had lost his mind.
[Illustration]
Slowly and painfully he picked his way back through the dense forest,
and after several hours of walking came to the open land. Eagerly he
looked up to the monastery, but that too had changed. It was older and
grayer than before and seemed to have increased in size. A new portion
had been added, and the entrance gate was not the same which had stood
there when he left in the morning. Everything looked older.
What could have happened? He had been gone but a few hours, yet all the
world had changed. It seemed as if he were in another century. Alfus
passed his hand across his eyes as if to clear his sight and anxiously
walked on. As he passed the fountain at the village he saw some women
washing, but they were new to him; yet he had known every man woman and
child for miles around. Whence had these strange faces come?
“Look,” cried one of them as the old man passed by. “This ancient monk
wears the dress of the order, yet his face is new to me; I have never
seen him before. Who can he be?”
To this strange remark Alfus paid no heed. He only hastened on the
faster. He was beginning to doubt his senses. He went directly to the
gate of the monastery. But this was much larger than it had been when
he had left. He rang the bell. The sound was no longer the same. The
silvery peal of the bell he had known had given place to the harsh
clang of a much larger one.
At length there came a young monk to open the door. Alfus was amazed.
It was a stranger--a man whom he had never seen before. He gazed at him
speechless.
“What has happened,” he said. “Why are all things so changed? Where is
Brother Antony? Why does he not open the door as usual?”
“Brother Antony!” exclaimed the monk. “There is no such person here.
I am the porter, and no one but me has opened this door for the last
twenty years.”
For a moment poor Alfus stood on the threshold as if petrified. Then
he beheld two monks slowly passing along the corridor. They, too, were
strangers, but he reached forward and clutched one of them by the gown.
“Brethren,” he cried in agony, “I beseech you speak. Tell me what has
happened. Only a few hours ago I left the monastery for a quiet walk in
the woods, and now when I come back, behold, all is changed. Where is
the Abbot? Where are my companions? Is there no one here who remembers
Alfus?”
“Alfus--Alfus,” repeated one of the monks thoughtfully to himself.
“There has been no one of that name here for a hundred years. There was
once a man by that name in the monastery, but he disappeared long ago.
I remember hearing about him when I was a small lad, but whether the
story is true or not, I cannot tell.
“He went one morning, as was often his custom, to walk in the forest
alone,” the monk went on, “and they never heard from him afterward. The
monks sought for him throughout the forest day after day, but no trace
of him could be found. He seemed to have vanished from the earth. The
Abbot thought that God must have borne him up to Heaven in a chariot of
fire like Elijah. He was a very holy man, indeed. But all this happened
so long ago, that it may be simply a story.”
At these words a sudden light seemed to shine in the face of poor
Alfus. He sank to his knees and clasped his trembling hands as if in
prayer.
“Now I understand, O God, that a thousand years are but as a day in thy
sight. A whole century passed while I held my breath to listen to the
song of the bird--the bird which sings at the gate of Paradise. Forgive
my doubts, O Lord, and grant that I may enter into thy rest.”
As the monks looked at Alfus they saw that a great calm had settled
upon his face. A radiant smile played about his lips. He sank back
gently upon a settle and the wondering monks crowded about him, but to
their astonishment he did not move, and when they looked more closely
they saw that his pure soul had flown away to his Heavenly mansion,
there to enjoy endless ages of unchanging happiness.
THE BELL OF ATRI
In olden times there lived in Italy a kind-hearted king. He was sorry
for any trouble that came to his people, and did all he could to make
them happy. Because of his goodness the people called him Good King
John.
“I wish all of my people to be just,” said the king. “And I wish every
one to be treated justly.”
Not all of his people were as good as King John himself. Many did
wrongs to their neighbors. And the neighbors complained to the good
King.
“I will set up a great bell in the market place,” said the King at
last. “If any one is wronged, let him ring the bell. He shall have
justice.”
So the King had a large bell set up in the market place, where any one
could ring it. Then he appointed a good judge to right the people’s
wrongs.
Many people rang the bell in the years that followed. All received
justice and went away happy. The bell was used so much that the rope
was worn away little by little. At last it became so short that many
people could not reach it. Then some one fastened a piece of grape vine
to the rope.
Now, there lived in Atri an old Knight. In his younger days he had
loved to hunt, and had kept many horses and dogs. Now he could hunt no
more, and so sold all his horses except the one he had liked best.
It happened that the old Knight began to think of nothing but money. He
wished to be very rich.
“What is the use of keeping this one horse?” he asked himself. “He
does nothing but eat and sleep. It costs too much to keep him. I will
turn him out to look after himself.”
So the faithful old horse was turned out into the street. It was in
the dry, hot summer, and there was little grass to be found. The horse
wandered about under the burning sun, getting a bite here and a bite
there.
In his wandering he came finally to the market place. He saw the vine
hanging to the bell rope.
“These leaves,” he thought, “are better than nothing, though they are
withered.”
He began to pull at the withered leaves. The very first pull set the
great bell to ringing loudly. The poor horse was so hungry that he
paid no attention to the ringing. He kept on eating, and the bell rang
louder and louder.
The judge heard the sounds, and wondered who was ringing the bell so
loudly. He put on his robe and hurried to the market place.
He was greatly surprised when he saw who had rung the bell. He felt
sorry for the poor creature, however.
“Even the dumb beast,” he murmured, “shall have justice. This is the
horse of the Knight of Atri.”
A large crowd of people had gathered in a few minutes. They told the
judge the story of the old horse. Their stories, however, did not
agree. The judge, therefore, decided to call the Knight himself.
The heartless old Knight said that the horse was useless to him, and
that he could not take care of him any longer. It cost too much money.
“Did he not always do his duty by you?” asked the judge. “Did he ever
refuse to carry you to the hunt, or to bring you safely home?”
The old Knight had to confess that the horse had always been faithful.
“The law decides, then,” cried the judge, “that you shall provide him
shelter and food as long as he lives.”
At this decision all the people clapped their hands and shouted loudly.
The old Knight ordered his servant to lead the horse back to the
stable. The people followed, cheering, because even a dumb animal could
get justice.
The fame of the bell of Atri spread abroad through all Italy.
To-day people know very little about the other things that Good King
John did. They simply remember him as the king who set up the bell of
justice at Atri.
[Illustration]
THE POT OF HOT PORRIDGE
In the beautiful land of Switzerland is a little town named Zurich. Not
far from here is the larger city of Strasburg. The people of Zurich had
long looked with envy on the larger city and wanted to become a part
of it. At last they decided to send an appeal to the magistrates. This
they did, but the great magistrate of Strasburg bluntly refused the
honor of such a union.
“Zurich is of no importance,” they said, “and besides it is too far
away to be of any help in time of need.”
When the councilors of Zurich heard the Strasburger’s answer, they
were very angry, indeed. They even talked of challenging the great
magistrates.
“No,” said the youngest of the Zurich councilors, “I will make them
eat their words. I pledge you my honor that I shall bring you a
different answer before long.”
The other councilors were glad to be relieved of the matter, so
they agreed and returned leisurely to their dwellings. The youngest
councilor went home in a great hurry. He went at once to the kitchen
and selected the biggest pot there.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked his wife.
“You will see,” he replied. “Fill it with as much oatmeal as it will
contain and cook it as quickly as possible.”
His wife wondered much at this strange command, but she bade her
servants build a roaring fire. This they did and soon the great pot of
oatmeal was cooking. Then such a time as they had stirring the oatmeal
to keep it from burning.
In the meantime, the youngest councilor ran down to the quay and
prepared the swiftest vessel. He collected a number of the best
oarsmen and when all was ready, bade two of them accompany him home.
He sprang breathless into the kitchen. The oatmeal was ready.
“Come boys,” he cried, “lift the vessel from the fire and run down to
the boat with it.”
He followed them closely and saw it placed in the boat. Then, turning
to the men, he exclaimed,
“Now, lads, row with all your might. We are bound to prove to those
stupid old Strasburgers that we are near enough to serve them a hot
supper in case of need.”
Aroused by these words, the youths bent to the oars. The vessel shot
down the Simwat, Aar, and Rhine, leaving town, village, and farms in
its wake. Never did it stop once till it reached the quay at Strasburg.
The councilor sprang ashore and bade the two youths follow with the
huge pot. He strode into the council hall and had them set it before
the assembled magistrates.
“Gentlemen, Zurich sends you a warm answer to your cold refusal,” he
exclaimed.
With open mouths the Strasburgers gazed at the still steaming pot. When
the young Zuricher explained how it got there they laughed heartily.
They were so amused with the wit and promptitude of their neighbors
that they voted at once to grant their request.
The papers for the alliance were signed and sealed. Then the great
magistrates called for spoons and ate every bit of the oatmeal. They
called it excellent, and it proved hot enough to burn more than one
councilor’s mouth.
Ever since then this huge iron pot has been known as the “pot of
alliance.” It has been carefully kept in the town hall of Strasburg,
where it can still be seen.
THE SILVER BELL
In the ancient city of Speyer, there were in olden times two great
bells. Neither one of these was ever rung by human hands, but it is
said that an angel came down from Heaven at night to ring one of these
bells whenever a person died.
One of the bells was of iron. It was rung whenever the soul of a
sinful person took its flight. The other bell was of pure silver. It
had been placed in the tower by a baron. He had erected it with the
understanding that it should never be rung until there came a person
who really loved his fellow men.
When this bell was erected it was muffled by many bands, so that it
could give forth no sound until it had been placed carefully in the
tower.
It was agreed also, that if no person who truly loved his fellow men
should be found within the space of thirty-three years, the bell should
forever remain silent. It was to be a witness against the unkindness of
men.
The thirty-three years were now almost completed, and no one had been
found in the whole country of whom it could be said that he unselfishly
loved his fellows. Many kind deeds had been done; many brave and noble
services had been performed; but when examined closely, there always
seemed to be some selfish motive behind them.
The people of the valley had looked longingly day after day at this
bell, and had hoped and prayed that some one might appear for whom the
bell could be rung. All longed to hear its silver sound. It was said to
give forth the most enchanting music. But the summers and winters came
and went.
The young people who had seen the bell placed in the tower had grown
old. They had waited and waited, and hope began to sink in their
hearts. They began to think that they should never hear the sound of
the silver bell.
An awful pestilence broke out in the land. There was no one who knew
how to save the wretched people. Gloom settled down over the whole
city. It seemed to be threatened with utter destruction.
Again there were deeds of mercy done; again hearts bled with sympathy
for their fellows; again people strove to find out someone who was
truly unselfish in his charity. But upon examination it was found that
people pitied their friends, and neglected their enemies. They wept
for those near them, but were thoughtless of those whom they did not
know. Fathers and mothers were brave to protect their own children, but
careless about the children of other people. So, though there were many
noble deeds done, it was found that they were not the result of a deep
love for mankind in general.
During all this time the iron bell rang almost continually. It rang by
day, and it rang by night, until hope and cheerfulness were gone, and
despair and fear settled down upon every household.
The King of this land was a handsome youth, who had just come to the
throne. He had always had everything that his heart could desire; and
was not trained to bear hardships or to sympathize with the suffering
of others. No one hoped to find comfort in him, or relief from despair.
At night, however, when the city was sunk to its fitful rest, this
young king knelt in prayer for the poor and the wretched, and then rose
to answer his prayer by his own hand. With food and clothes he loaded
his horse and went forth alone through the city, disguised as a peasant.
Night after night he passed through the dark and wretched streets,
carrying his treasures to distribute among the poor. From evening
until daybreak he labored alone to relieve the suffering of his people.
Then as the last shadows fled he returned to his palace gate.
The people at last began to hope that a truly unselfish soul had
appeared. They had, however, very little time to think of this matter
or of the silver bell because of their wretchedness. The thought,
however, that there was some one to care for them was a source of
comfort to many. Joy was awakened in their hearts, and joy brought
strength to them, until at last people returned to forge and field to
perform their usual labors.
The man, however, who had come to them in their need had remained
concealed. No one had found out or even suspected who he was. Many
thought that an angel had come to them. Many others believed that it
was the work of some good soul, and hoped to find out who it was. They
began to believe that the silver bell might yet be rung.
At last they went to the king and besought him to issue a proclamation,
in order that he might find out the person who had bestowed so many
bounties upon them.
“Surely,” they said, “a truly unselfish soul has been among us,
although we know not who he is.”
“My good people,” replied the king, “be contented. Should it not be
enough that God has sent his servant to you in the hour of your need?”
“This king,” they murmured, “in his wealth and power, enjoying the
blessings of youth, has not known what we have suffered, and therefore
cannot appreciate our gratitude. While we were starving in our hovels,
he was sitting in his castle, quaffing wine. We can expect nothing from
him.”
“At least,” clamored others, “let the great bell be rung, for the
thirty-three years are now almost over. We shall never hear its notes
of gladness unless it be rung today.”
“No,” replied the king still, “but if you will, go and pray that the
Lord may send His angel down to ring the bell, if in His perfect
knowledge he sees a being who is worthy of the honor.”
That night many people waited before the church, praying that God in
His goodness might send a spirit from on high to ring the silver bell.
The night slowly passed away, and lo, the sun’s first rays were just
about to come up over the mountains. Suddenly the sun seemed to pause;
the dusk continued. Then there came, as it were, a splendor from the
clouds, the brightness of which rested on the church and its tower.
The waiting multitude all looked up in astonishment. The bell began to
peal. It sent forth its angelic notes--notes such as no human being had
ever heard before. The waiting people were enraptured. It seemed to
them as if all the Heavenly Host were singing for joy.
The song of the bell was of peace and good will toward men. The sounds
echoed and re-echoed among the mountains, and were borne away to the
farthest valleys.
Just as the first light of the sun peeped up over the horizon, the
splendors faded from the tower and in their stead there appeared the
figure of a man clad in light. Across the tower there seemed to be a
row of letters. The people looked up and read: “Behold, the man who
loved truly his fellow men.”