“For I was born at Bingen,—at Bingen on the Rhine.”’
“For I was born at Bingen,—at Bingen on the Rhine.”’
“He then repeated slowly and in a deep, tender voice the beginning of a poem that almost every schoolboy knows:—
‘A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears;But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade’s hand,And he said, “I nevermore shall see my own, my native land:Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine;For I was born at Bingen,—at Bingen on the Rhine.”’
‘A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears;But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade’s hand,And he said, “I nevermore shall see my own, my native land:Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine;For I was born at Bingen,—at Bingen on the Rhine.”’
“Bingen is a town of about seven thousand inhabitants, and is engaged in the wine trade. We visited the chapel of St. Rochus, on a hill near the town, because one of our party had somewhere read that Bulwer had said that the view from St. Rochus was the finest in the world.
“Again upon the river, all the banks seemed filled with castles, villages, and ruins. Every hill had its castle, every crag its gray tower. We drifted by the famous Mouse Tower, which stands at the end ofan island meadow fringed with osier twigs. It is little better than a square tower of a common village church, nor is there any truth in the story that Southey’s poem has associated with it. Poor Bishop Hatto, of evil name and memory! He died in 970, and the tower was not built until the thirteenth century. For aught that is known, he was a good man; he certainly was not eaten up by rats or mice. The legend runs:—
Bishop Hatto and the rats
“In the tenth century Hatto, Bishop of Fulda, was raised to the dignity of Archbishop of Mayence. He built a strong tower on the Rhine, wherein to collect tolls from the vessels that passed.
“A famine came to the Rhine countries. Hattohad vast granaries, and the people came to him for bread. He refused them, and they importuned him. He bade them go into a large granary, one day, promising them relief. When they had entered the building, he barred the doors and set it on fire, and the famishing beggars, among whom were many women and children, were consumed.
“The bishop listened to the cries of the dying for mercy as the building was burning.
“‘Hark!’ he said, ‘hear the rats squeak.’
“When the building fell millions of rats ran from the ruins to the bishop’s palace. They filled all the rooms and attacked the people. The bishop was struck with terror.
‘“I’ll go to my tower on the Rhine,” replied he;“’Tis the safest place in Germany:The walls are high, and the shores are steep,And the stream is strong, and the water deep.”‘Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll windows, doors, and loopholes there.‘He laid him down and closed his eyes;But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.‘He listened and looked; it was only the cat:But the bishop he grew more fearful for that;For she sat screaming, mad with fearAt the army of rats that were drawing near.‘For they have swam over the river so deep,And they have climbed the shores so steep;And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.‘They are not to be told by the dozen or score;By thousands they come, and by myriads and more:Such numbers had never been heard of before,Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.‘Down on his knees the bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As, louder and louder drawing near,The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.‘And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below,And all at once to the bishop they go.‘They have whetted their teeth against the stones;And now they pick the bishop’s bones:They gnawed the flesh from every limb;For they were sent to do judgment on him!’
‘“I’ll go to my tower on the Rhine,” replied he;“’Tis the safest place in Germany:The walls are high, and the shores are steep,And the stream is strong, and the water deep.”
‘Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,And he crossed the Rhine without delay,And reached his tower, and barred with careAll windows, doors, and loopholes there.
‘He laid him down and closed his eyes;But soon a scream made him arise:He started, and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow, from whence the screaming came.
‘He listened and looked; it was only the cat:But the bishop he grew more fearful for that;For she sat screaming, mad with fearAt the army of rats that were drawing near.
‘For they have swam over the river so deep,And they have climbed the shores so steep;And up the tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.
‘They are not to be told by the dozen or score;By thousands they come, and by myriads and more:Such numbers had never been heard of before,Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.
‘Down on his knees the bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did tell,As, louder and louder drawing near,The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.
‘And in at the windows, and in at the door,And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below,And all at once to the bishop they go.
‘They have whetted their teeth against the stones;And now they pick the bishop’s bones:They gnawed the flesh from every limb;For they were sent to do judgment on him!’
“We passed ruin after ruin which the boatman said were ‘robber castles.’
“‘And what do you mean byrobbercastles?’ asked Herman.
“‘The old lords of the Rhine used to collect tolls from the vessels that passed their estates. The tax was regarded as unjust, and hence the lords were themselves called robbers, and their castles robber castles.’
“One of these castles, called thePfalzgrafenstein, is said to resemble a stone ship at anchor in the river. It was formerly a rock, with one little hut upon it, and it was associated with a touching incident of history.
“Louis le Debonnaire, the son of Charlemagne, became weary of state-craft and the crown. He felt that his end was near. He desired to die where he could hear the waves of the Rhine. He was taken to this rock, and there with the ebb of the river his troubled life ebbed away.
“Most of the old castles are built on the narrows of the river. These narrows are between high rocks and rocky hills. They are in the Middle Rhine, or between Mayence and Bonn. The Middle Rhine has some thirty conspicuous castles on its banks. It is sometimes called the Castellated Rhine, and its narrows are termed the Castellated Rhine Pass.
VIEW ON THE RHINE.
“On, on we drifted. Every high rock seemed a gateway to some new scene of beauty; wonder followed wonder.
“And now the water seemed agitated. Dark rocks projected into the river; the view was intercepted.
“The boatman conversed in an animated way with me, and I looked up to a high rock with an interested expression and an incredulous smile.
“He turned to us quietly and said,—
“‘This is the Lorelei Pass.’
“He presently added,—
“‘That is the Lorelei.’
The Lorelei sits on a rock, combing her hair
THE LORELEI.
Who has not heard it, repeated it in verse, echoed it in song?It is the best known of the Rhine tales, not because it is the most interesting, but because it is associated with the noblest scenery of the river, with poetry and music. It is hardly equal to such legends as the “Drachenfels” and the “Two Brothers,” but it is lifted into historic prominence by its associations.Still the story is richer in incident than the mere song would indicate. The origin and development of the popular legend is as follows:—In the shadowy days of the Palatines of the Rhine,—shadowy because of ignorance and superstition,—the boatmen among the rocks above St. Goar on the Rhine used to fancy that they could see at night the form of a beautiful nymph on the “Lei,” or high rock of the river. Her limbs were moulded of air; a veil of mist and gems covered her face; her hair was long and golden, and her eyes shone like the stars. Her robe was blue and glimmering like the waves, decked with water flowers and zoned with crystals. She was most distinctly seen by pale moonlight.They called this recurring vision of mist and gems Lore, the enchantress. They believed that her favor brought good luck, but her ill will destruction.Nothing could be more natural than for the simple fishermen to think that they saw a form of mist, very bright and lovely, above the rocks at night, when once the story had been told them.In the days of superstition such a story was sure to grow.It was said that this Undine of the Rhine, the enchantress Lore, had a most melodious and seductive voice. When she sang those who heard her listened spellbound. If the boatmen displeased her, she entranced them by her song, and drew them into the whirlpools under the rocks, where they disappeared forever. To the landsmen who offended her, she made the river appear like a road, and led them to fall over the rocks to destruction. With all her beauty and charms, she was the evil genius of the place.Herman, the only son of the last Palatine, a youth of some fifteen summers, was delicate in health. Instead of devoting himself to chivalrous exercises, he gave his attention to music and song.One night he and his father were descending the Rhine, when he felt an inspiration come over him to sing. His voice was silvery and flute-like, and breathed the emotional sentiment of the heart of youth. As the boat drewnear the Lei, Lore, the enchantress, heard the song, and she herself became spellbound by the sentiment and deep feeling expressed in the mellifluent music.She tried to answer him, but her voice failed.As Herman grew to manhood his ill health disappeared, and his character changed. He became rugged and manly, and abandoned the arts for the chase, horsemanship, and the preparations for martial contests.He became a renowned hunter. He rode the wildest steeds, and ventured into places and merrily blew his horn where no huntsman dared follow him.The enchantress Lore, from the time she had heard his song, disappeared from the rocks. The change that came over his person and character seemed like enchantment: was the siren invisibly following him?And now a strange thing began to startle him by its mystery. When alone, crossing a wild mountain or a ravine, he would seek to keep up a communication by shouting through his hands,—“Hillo-ho-o-o-o!”Immediately a sweet voice would answer,—“Ho-o-o-o!”He would follow the sound.“Hillo-ho-o-o-o!”“Ho-o-o-o!”It always led him towards the Lei.He became alarmed at this occurrence. He believed that he was followed by a spirit, and that a spell was upon him, which boded destruction. He resolved to abandon the chase and devote himself to the arts again.He was sitting by the window of the castle on a summer evening. A purple mist lay on the forests and river, and the moon poured her light over it, making all things appear like an enchanted realm.He heard a nightingale singing in the woods. Did ever a bird sing like that? He listened. There was a witchery in the song. He rose and went into the woods. The song filled the air like a shower of golden notes. He followed it. It retreated. He went on. But the song, more and more enchanting and alluring, floated into the shadowy distance. He found himself at last on the Lei.He beheld there a dazzling grotto, full of stalactites, and a nymph of wondrous beauty on a coral throne. He felt his being thrill with love. He was about to enter the grotto, when, oh thought of darkness and horror! the recollection of the enchantress came to him, and he crossed his bosom and broke the spell. He hurried home with a beating heart.But the temptation and vision had proved fatal to him. He was never himself again. He dreamed constantly of Lore. All his longings were for her.At eve he would hear the same nightingale singing. He would long to follow the voice. It inflamed his love. His will, his senses, all that made life desirable, were yielding to the fatal passion.He went to a good priest for advice.“Father Walter, what shall I do?”“Shake off the spell, or it will end in your ruin.”One day Herman and the priest went fishing on the Rhine. The boat drifted near the Lei. The moon rose in full splendor in the clear sky, strewing the water with countless gems.Herman took a lute and filled the air with music.It was answered from the Lei. Oh, how wonderful! The air seemed entranced with the spiritual melody. Herman was beside himself with delight. The priest also heard it.“The Lore! In the name of the Virgin, let us make for the shore!”
Who has not heard it, repeated it in verse, echoed it in song?
It is the best known of the Rhine tales, not because it is the most interesting, but because it is associated with the noblest scenery of the river, with poetry and music. It is hardly equal to such legends as the “Drachenfels” and the “Two Brothers,” but it is lifted into historic prominence by its associations.
Still the story is richer in incident than the mere song would indicate. The origin and development of the popular legend is as follows:—
In the shadowy days of the Palatines of the Rhine,—shadowy because of ignorance and superstition,—the boatmen among the rocks above St. Goar on the Rhine used to fancy that they could see at night the form of a beautiful nymph on the “Lei,” or high rock of the river. Her limbs were moulded of air; a veil of mist and gems covered her face; her hair was long and golden, and her eyes shone like the stars. Her robe was blue and glimmering like the waves, decked with water flowers and zoned with crystals. She was most distinctly seen by pale moonlight.
They called this recurring vision of mist and gems Lore, the enchantress. They believed that her favor brought good luck, but her ill will destruction.
Nothing could be more natural than for the simple fishermen to think that they saw a form of mist, very bright and lovely, above the rocks at night, when once the story had been told them.
In the days of superstition such a story was sure to grow.
It was said that this Undine of the Rhine, the enchantress Lore, had a most melodious and seductive voice. When she sang those who heard her listened spellbound. If the boatmen displeased her, she entranced them by her song, and drew them into the whirlpools under the rocks, where they disappeared forever. To the landsmen who offended her, she made the river appear like a road, and led them to fall over the rocks to destruction. With all her beauty and charms, she was the evil genius of the place.
Herman, the only son of the last Palatine, a youth of some fifteen summers, was delicate in health. Instead of devoting himself to chivalrous exercises, he gave his attention to music and song.
One night he and his father were descending the Rhine, when he felt an inspiration come over him to sing. His voice was silvery and flute-like, and breathed the emotional sentiment of the heart of youth. As the boat drewnear the Lei, Lore, the enchantress, heard the song, and she herself became spellbound by the sentiment and deep feeling expressed in the mellifluent music.
She tried to answer him, but her voice failed.
As Herman grew to manhood his ill health disappeared, and his character changed. He became rugged and manly, and abandoned the arts for the chase, horsemanship, and the preparations for martial contests.
He became a renowned hunter. He rode the wildest steeds, and ventured into places and merrily blew his horn where no huntsman dared follow him.
The enchantress Lore, from the time she had heard his song, disappeared from the rocks. The change that came over his person and character seemed like enchantment: was the siren invisibly following him?
And now a strange thing began to startle him by its mystery. When alone, crossing a wild mountain or a ravine, he would seek to keep up a communication by shouting through his hands,—
“Hillo-ho-o-o-o!”
Immediately a sweet voice would answer,—
“Ho-o-o-o!”
He would follow the sound.
“Hillo-ho-o-o-o!”
“Ho-o-o-o!”
It always led him towards the Lei.
He became alarmed at this occurrence. He believed that he was followed by a spirit, and that a spell was upon him, which boded destruction. He resolved to abandon the chase and devote himself to the arts again.
He was sitting by the window of the castle on a summer evening. A purple mist lay on the forests and river, and the moon poured her light over it, making all things appear like an enchanted realm.
He heard a nightingale singing in the woods. Did ever a bird sing like that? He listened. There was a witchery in the song. He rose and went into the woods. The song filled the air like a shower of golden notes. He followed it. It retreated. He went on. But the song, more and more enchanting and alluring, floated into the shadowy distance. He found himself at last on the Lei.
He beheld there a dazzling grotto, full of stalactites, and a nymph of wondrous beauty on a coral throne. He felt his being thrill with love. He was about to enter the grotto, when, oh thought of darkness and horror! the recollection of the enchantress came to him, and he crossed his bosom and broke the spell. He hurried home with a beating heart.
But the temptation and vision had proved fatal to him. He was never himself again. He dreamed constantly of Lore. All his longings were for her.
At eve he would hear the same nightingale singing. He would long to follow the voice. It inflamed his love. His will, his senses, all that made life desirable, were yielding to the fatal passion.
He went to a good priest for advice.
“Father Walter, what shall I do?”
“Shake off the spell, or it will end in your ruin.”
One day Herman and the priest went fishing on the Rhine. The boat drifted near the Lei. The moon rose in full splendor in the clear sky, strewing the water with countless gems.
Herman took a lute and filled the air with music.
It was answered from the Lei. Oh, how wonderful! The air seemed entranced with the spiritual melody. Herman was beside himself with delight. The priest also heard it.
“The Lore! In the name of the Virgin, let us make for the shore!”
Herman's eyes were fixed on the rock
Herman’s eyes were fixed on the rock. There she sat, the siren!The priest plied the oar, to turn the boat back.But nearer, nearer drifted the boat to the rock.Nearer and nearer!The moon poured her white light upon the crags.Nearer and nearer!There was a shock.The boat was shivered like glass.Walter crossed himself, and floated on the waves to the shore.But Herman—he was never seen again!
Herman’s eyes were fixed on the rock. There she sat, the siren!
The priest plied the oar, to turn the boat back.
But nearer, nearer drifted the boat to the rock.
Nearer and nearer!
The moon poured her white light upon the crags.
Nearer and nearer!
There was a shock.
The boat was shivered like glass.
Walter crossed himself, and floated on the waves to the shore.
But Herman—he was never seen again!
Mr. Beal’s narrative nearly filled the evening. A few stories were told by other members of the Club, but they were chiefly from Grimm, and hence are somewhat familiar.
Charlie Leland closed the meeting with a free translation of a poem from Kerner.
Justinus Kerner was born in Ludwigsburg, in 1786. He was a physician and a poet. He belonged to the spiritualistic school of poets, and his illustrations of the power of mind over matter, in both prose and poetry, are often very forcible. The following poem will give you a view of his estimate of physical as compared with mental power:—IN THE OLD CATHEDRAL.In the vaults of the dim cathedral,In the gloaming, weird and cold,Are the coffins of old King Ottmar,And a poet, renowned of old.The king once sat in power,Enthroned in pomp and pride,And his crown still rests upon him,And his falchion rusts beside.And near to the king the poetHas slumbered in darkness long,But he holds in his hands, as an emblem,The harp of immortal song.Hark! ’tis the castles falling!Hark! ’tis the war-cry dread!But the monarch’s sword is not lifted,There, in the vaults of the dead!List to the vernal breezes!List to the minstrels’ strain!’Tis the poet’s song they are singing,And the poet lives again.
Justinus Kerner was born in Ludwigsburg, in 1786. He was a physician and a poet. He belonged to the spiritualistic school of poets, and his illustrations of the power of mind over matter, in both prose and poetry, are often very forcible. The following poem will give you a view of his estimate of physical as compared with mental power:—
In the vaults of the dim cathedral,In the gloaming, weird and cold,Are the coffins of old King Ottmar,And a poet, renowned of old.The king once sat in power,Enthroned in pomp and pride,And his crown still rests upon him,And his falchion rusts beside.And near to the king the poetHas slumbered in darkness long,But he holds in his hands, as an emblem,The harp of immortal song.Hark! ’tis the castles falling!Hark! ’tis the war-cry dread!But the monarch’s sword is not lifted,There, in the vaults of the dead!List to the vernal breezes!List to the minstrels’ strain!’Tis the poet’s song they are singing,And the poet lives again.
In the vaults of the dim cathedral,In the gloaming, weird and cold,Are the coffins of old King Ottmar,And a poet, renowned of old.
The king once sat in power,Enthroned in pomp and pride,And his crown still rests upon him,And his falchion rusts beside.
And near to the king the poetHas slumbered in darkness long,But he holds in his hands, as an emblem,The harp of immortal song.
Hark! ’tis the castles falling!Hark! ’tis the war-cry dread!But the monarch’s sword is not lifted,There, in the vaults of the dead!
List to the vernal breezes!List to the minstrels’ strain!’Tis the poet’s song they are singing,And the poet lives again.
The Beautiful Rhine.—Coblentz.—A Zigzag to Weimar.—Goethe and Schiller.—The Strange Story of Faust.—Faust in Art.—The Seven Mountains.—The Drachenfels.—The Story of the Dragon.—Stories of Frederick the Great.—The Unnerved Hussar.
MR. BEAL occupied much of the time this evening. He thus continued the narrative of travel:—
“From St. Goar to Boppard, two stations at which the Rhine boats call, is about an hour’s run; but the journey is an unfailing memory. The rocky walls of the river, the continuous villages, the quaint churches amid the vineyards and cherry orchards, the mossy meadows about the mountains, the white-kerchiefed villagers, present so many varied and delightful objects, that the eye feasts on beauty, and wonders expectantly at what the next turn of the river will reveal. The rock shadows in the water contrast with the bright scenes above the river, and add an impression of grandeur to the effect of the whole, like shadows on the cathedral walls that heighten the effect of the rose-colored windows. Beautiful, beautiful, is the Rhine.
“Grand castles, perched on high cliffs and mountain walls, surprise us, delight us, and vanish behind us, as the boat moves on;—the Brother Castles, Marksburg, the mountain palace Solzenfels, with their lofty, gloomy, and barbaric grandeur, reminding one always of times whose loss the mind does not regret.
“And now a beautiful city comes in view, nestled at the foot of thehills, and protected by a stupendous fortress on the opposite side of the river. The fortress is Ehrenbreitstein, the Gibraltar of the Rhine, capable of holding an army of men. It is a great arsenal now, well garrisoned in peace as in war; in short, it may be called the watch on the Rhine.
The fortress on the hillside over the river
EHRENBREITSTEIN.
“The lovely city under its guns, on the opposite side of the river, is Coblentz. It is a gusset of houses, a V-shaped city, at the confluence of the Rhine and Moselle. The Romans called it the city of the Confluence, or Confluentia; hence, corrupted, it is known as Coblentz.
Steps wind up between a rock wall and trees
GOETHE’S PROMENADE.
“It is the half-way city between Cologne and Mayence, and a favoriteresting place of tourists. The summer residence of the King of Germany is here.
“From Coblentz we made a détour into the heart of Germany, going by rail to Weimar, once called the Athens of the North. It was once the literary centre of Germany. Here lived Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Herder. What the English Lake District, in the days of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Christopher North, and De Quincey was once to England, what Cambridge and Concord have been to America in the best days of its authors and poets, Weimar was to Germany at the beginning of the present century. We went there to visit the tombs and statues of Goethe, and to gain a better knowledge of the works of these poets from the associations of their composition.
“Weimar is a quaint provincial-looking town on the river Ilm. It has some sixteen thousand inhabitants, and is the residence of the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar. The grounds of the palace are wonderfully beautiful. They extend along the river, and communicate with a summer palace called Belvedere.
“We visited the tombs of the two great poets. They are found beneath a small chapel in the Grand Ducal burial vault. The Grand Duke Charles Augustus desired that the bodies of the two poets should be interred one on each side of him: but this was forbidden by the usages of the court.
“In the old Stadtkirche, built in 1400, are the tombs of the ancient dukes, now forgotten. Among them is that of Duke Bernard, who died in 1639. He was the friend of Gustavus Adolphus, and one of the most powerful of the leaders of the Reformation.
“Goethe, the most gifted of the German poets, and the most accomplished man of his age, was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main, in 1749. In 1775 he made the intimate acquaintance of Charles Augustus, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, who induced him to take up his residence at Weimar, the capital. Here he held many public offices, and at last became minister of state. He died at the age of eighty-four.
“Goethe’s most popular work is a novel calledThe Sorrows of Werther, but his great and enduring work isFaust, a dramatic poem, in which his great genius struggles with the problems of good and evil.
“His life was full of beautiful friendships. In 1787 Schiller, the second in rank of great German poets, was invited to reside at Weimar. Goethe became most warmly attached to him, and the two pursued their high literary callings together. The literary circle now consisted of Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, Herder, and the Grand Duke. It was the golden age of German literature.
No myth of the Middle Ages has had so large a growth and so long a life as this.It has been made the subject of books, pamphlets, and articles almost without number. The Faust literature in Germany would fill a library.In painting, especially of the Holland school, the dark subject as prominently appears. It is also embodied in sculpture.But it is in poetry and music that it found a place that carried it over the world. It was made the subject of Marlowe’s drama, of Goethe’s greatest poem, and it is sung in three of the greatest operas of modern times.But to the legend.About the year 1490 there was born at Roda, in the Duchy of Saxe-Weimar, a child whose fame was destined to fill the world of superstition, fable, and song. He was named John Faustus, or Faust.He studied medicine, became an alchemist, and was possessed with a consuming desire to learn the secrets of life and of the spiritual world.He studied magic, and his thirst for knowledge of the occult sciences grew. He wished to know how to prolong life, to change base metals to gold, to do things at once by the power of the will.One night, as he was studying, the Evil One appeared before him.“I will reveal to you all the secrets you are seeking, and will enable you to do anything you wish by the power of the will alone—”Dr. Faustus was filled with an almost insane delight.“—On one condition.”“Name it.”“That I shall have your soul in return.”“When?”“At the end of twenty-four years—at this time of night—midnight.”“I shall have pleasure?”
No myth of the Middle Ages has had so large a growth and so long a life as this.
It has been made the subject of books, pamphlets, and articles almost without number. The Faust literature in Germany would fill a library.
In painting, especially of the Holland school, the dark subject as prominently appears. It is also embodied in sculpture.
But it is in poetry and music that it found a place that carried it over the world. It was made the subject of Marlowe’s drama, of Goethe’s greatest poem, and it is sung in three of the greatest operas of modern times.
But to the legend.
About the year 1490 there was born at Roda, in the Duchy of Saxe-Weimar, a child whose fame was destined to fill the world of superstition, fable, and song. He was named John Faustus, or Faust.
He studied medicine, became an alchemist, and was possessed with a consuming desire to learn the secrets of life and of the spiritual world.
He studied magic, and his thirst for knowledge of the occult sciences grew. He wished to know how to prolong life, to change base metals to gold, to do things at once by the power of the will.
One night, as he was studying, the Evil One appeared before him.
“I will reveal to you all the secrets you are seeking, and will enable you to do anything you wish by the power of the will alone—”
Dr. Faustus was filled with an almost insane delight.
“—On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That I shall have your soul in return.”
“When?”
“At the end of twenty-four years—at this time of night—midnight.”
“I shall have pleasure?”
FAUST SIGNING.
“Pleasure.”“Gold?”“Gold.”“I shall know the secrets of nature?”“The secrets of nature.”“I may do what I like at will?”“At will.”“I will sign the compact.”“Sign!”Faust signed his name to a compact that was to give the Evil One his soul for twenty-four years of pleasure, gold, and knowledge, that were to come to an end at midnight.“I will give you an attendant,” said the Evil One, “to help you.”He caused a dark but very elegant gentleman to appear, whom he presented to Faust as Mephistopheles.Dr. Faustus and Mephistopheles now began to travel into all lands, performing wonders to the amazement of all people wherever they went.In a wine-cellar at Leipsig, where he and Mephistopheles were drinking, some gay fellows said,—“Faust, make grapes grow on a vine on this table.”“Be silent.”There was dead silence.
“Pleasure.”
“Gold?”
“Gold.”
“I shall know the secrets of nature?”
“The secrets of nature.”
“I may do what I like at will?”
“At will.”
“I will sign the compact.”
“Sign!”
Faust signed his name to a compact that was to give the Evil One his soul for twenty-four years of pleasure, gold, and knowledge, that were to come to an end at midnight.
“I will give you an attendant,” said the Evil One, “to help you.”
He caused a dark but very elegant gentleman to appear, whom he presented to Faust as Mephistopheles.
Dr. Faustus and Mephistopheles now began to travel into all lands, performing wonders to the amazement of all people wherever they went.
In a wine-cellar at Leipsig, where he and Mephistopheles were drinking, some gay fellows said,—
“Faust, make grapes grow on a vine on this table.”
“Be silent.”
There was dead silence.
Faust and Mephistopheles fly out of the window
FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES.
A vine began to grow from the table, and presently it bore a bunch of grapes for each of the revellers.“Take your knives and cut a cluster for each.”There was an explosion. Faust and Mephistopheles were seen flying out of the window; thewindowis still shown in Leipsig. The vine had disappeared, and each of the revellers found himself with his knife over his nose, about to cut it off, supposing it to be a cluster of grapes.The wonders that it is claimed that Dr. Faustus did in the twenty-four years fill volumes. The Faust marvels have gathered to themselves the fables of centuries.The twenty-four years came to an end at last. Faust became gloomy, and retired to Rimlich, at the inn, among his old friends.The fatal night came.“Should you hear noises in my chamber to-night, do not disturb me,” he said, on parting from his companions to go to his room.Near midnight a tempest arose,—a wild, strange tempest. The winds were like demons. It thundered and the air was full of tongues of lightning.At midnight there was heard a fearful shriek in Faust’s chamber.The next morning the room was found bespattered with blood, and the body of Faust was missing. The broken remains of the alchemist were discovered at last in a back yard on a heap of earth.This was the village story. It grew as such a dark myth would grow in the superstitious times in which it started. Goethe created the character of Marguerite and added it to the fable. The transformation of Faust from extreme old age to youth was also added. The opera makers have greatly enlarged even the narrative of Goethe; in the latest evolution, Mephistopheles is summoned into the courts of heaven and sent forth to tempt Faust, and Faust is shown visions of the Greek vale of Tempe and Helen of Troy.Faust has come to be a synonym of the great problem of Good and Evil; the contest between virtue and vice, temptation and ruin, temptation and moral triumph. It is not a good story in any of its evolutions, but it is one that to know is almost essential to intelligence.
A vine began to grow from the table, and presently it bore a bunch of grapes for each of the revellers.
“Take your knives and cut a cluster for each.”
There was an explosion. Faust and Mephistopheles were seen flying out of the window; thewindowis still shown in Leipsig. The vine had disappeared, and each of the revellers found himself with his knife over his nose, about to cut it off, supposing it to be a cluster of grapes.
The wonders that it is claimed that Dr. Faustus did in the twenty-four years fill volumes. The Faust marvels have gathered to themselves the fables of centuries.
The twenty-four years came to an end at last. Faust became gloomy, and retired to Rimlich, at the inn, among his old friends.
The fatal night came.
“Should you hear noises in my chamber to-night, do not disturb me,” he said, on parting from his companions to go to his room.
Near midnight a tempest arose,—a wild, strange tempest. The winds were like demons. It thundered and the air was full of tongues of lightning.
At midnight there was heard a fearful shriek in Faust’s chamber.
The next morning the room was found bespattered with blood, and the body of Faust was missing. The broken remains of the alchemist were discovered at last in a back yard on a heap of earth.
This was the village story. It grew as such a dark myth would grow in the superstitious times in which it started. Goethe created the character of Marguerite and added it to the fable. The transformation of Faust from extreme old age to youth was also added. The opera makers have greatly enlarged even the narrative of Goethe; in the latest evolution, Mephistopheles is summoned into the courts of heaven and sent forth to tempt Faust, and Faust is shown visions of the Greek vale of Tempe and Helen of Troy.
Faust has come to be a synonym of the great problem of Good and Evil; the contest between virtue and vice, temptation and ruin, temptation and moral triumph. It is not a good story in any of its evolutions, but it is one that to know is almost essential to intelligence.
“Returning to Coblentz, we passed our sixth night on the Rhine. We there hired a boatman to take us to Bonn. Between Coblentz and Andernach we passed what are termed the Rhine Plains. These are some ten miles long, and are semicircled by volcanic mountains, whose fires have long been dead.
“We now approached the Seven Mountains, among which is the Drachenfels, famous in fable and song. These are called: Lohrberg,1,355 feet; Neiderstromberg, 1,066 feet; Oelberg, 1,429 feet; Wolkenberg, 1,001 feet; Drachenfels, 1,056 feet; Petenberg, 1,030 feet; Lowenberg, 1,414 feet.
“The Drachenfels is made picturesque by an ancient ruin, and it is these ancient ruins, and associations of old history, that make the Rhine the most interesting river in the world. Apart from its castles and traditions, it is not more beautiful than the Hudson, the Upper Ohio, or the Mississippi between St. Paul and Winona. But the Rhine displays the ruined arts of two thousand years.
“The Drachenfels has its wonderful story. It is said that Siegfried killed the Dragon there. The so-called Dragon Cave or Rock is there, and of this particular dragon many curious tales are told.
“In the early days of Christianity the cross was regarded as something more than a mere emblem of faith. It was believed to possess miracle-working power.
“In a rocky cavern of the Drachenfels, in ancient times, there lived a Dragon of most hideous form. He had a hundred teeth, and his head was so large that he could swallow several victims at a time. His body was of enormous length, and in form like an alligator’s, and he had a tail like a serpent.
“The pagans of the Rhine worshipped this monster and offered to him human sacrifices.
“In one of the old wars between rival princes, a Christian girl was taken captive, and the pagan priest commanded that she should be made an offering to the Dragon.
“It was the custom of the pagans to bind their sacrifices to the Dragon alive to a tree near his cave at night. At sunrise he would come out and devour them.
“They led the lovely Christian maiden to a spot near the cave, and bound her to a tree.
“It was starlight. Priests and warriors with torches had conducted the maiden to the fatal spot, and stood at a little distance from the victim, waiting for the sunrise.
A CLEFT IN THE MOUNTAINS.
“The priests chanted their wild hymns, and the light at last began to break and to crown the mountains and be scattered over the blue river.
“The roar of the monster was heard. The rocks trembled, and he appeared. He approached the maiden, bound to an oak.
“Her eyes were raised in prayer towards heaven.
“As the Dragon approached the victim, she drew from her bosom a crucifix, and held it up before him.
“As soon as he saw it, he began to tremble. He fell to the earth as if smitten. He lost all power and rolled down the rocks, a shapeless mass, into the Rhine.
“The pagans released the girl.
“‘By what power have you done this?’ they asked.
“‘By this,’ said the maiden, stretching out the cross in her hand. ‘I am a Christian.’
“‘Then we will become Christians,’ said the pagans, and they led the lovely apostle away to be their teacher. Her first convert was one of the rival princes, whom she married. Their descendants were among the most eminent of the early Christian families of the Seven Mountains of the Rhine.
“Such is the fable as told by the monks of old. The figure of the power of the cross over the serpent, employed in early Christian writings, undoubtedly was its origin, but how it became associated with the story of the captive maiden it would be hard to tell.”
Master Lewis introduced the story-telling of the evening by anecdote pictures of
Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was born in 1712. He was a wilful youth, and his father subjected him to such severe discipline that he revolted against it, and, like other boys not of royal blood, formed a plan of running awayfrom home. His father discovered the plot, and caused his son’s most intimate friend, who had assisted him in it, to be put to death, and made the execution as terrible as possible. He early came to hate his father, his father’s religion, and everything that the old king most liked. His father was indeed a hard, stern man, of colorless character; but he managed the affairs of state so prudently that he left his undutiful son a powerful army and a full treasury, and to these as much as to any noble qualities of mind or soul the latter owed the resources by which he gained the titleThe Great.His mother was a daughter of George I. Frederick loved her, and from her he inherited a taste for music and literature, like many of the family of the Georges. He formed an intimate friendship with Voltaire, the French infidel writer, and interested himself in the French infidelity of the period, which was a reaction against the corrupt and degenerate French church.He entered the field as a soldier in 1741, and was victorious again and again in the two Silesian wars. The Seven Years’ War, begun in 1756, gained for him a position of great influence among the rulers of Europe. He was prudent, like his father; his government was wise, well ordered, and liberal, and he left to his successor a full treasury, a great and famous army, enlarged territory, and the prestige of a great name.The family affairs of kings during the last century were in rather a queer state, as the following story of Frederick’s marriage will show.The prince was told that his father was studying the characters of the young ladies of the courts of Europe in order to select a suitable wife for him. He admired talent, brilliancy, wit, and he said in substance to the Minister of State,—“Influence my father if you can to obtain for me a gifted and elegant princess. Of all things in the world I would hate to have a dull and commonplace wife.”His father made choice of the Princess Elizabeth Christine of Brunswick, a girl famous for her awkwardness and stupidity.The prince did everything in his power to prevent the marriage. But the old king declared that he should marry her, and the wedding ceremony was arranged, Frederick in the mean time protesting that he held the bride in utter detestation.Frederick had a sister whom he dearly loved, Wilhelmina. Two days after his marriage, he introduced the bride to her, and said,—“This is a sister whom I adore. She has had the goodness to promise thatshewill take care of you and give you good advice. I wish you to do nothing without her consent. Do you understand?”
Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was born in 1712. He was a wilful youth, and his father subjected him to such severe discipline that he revolted against it, and, like other boys not of royal blood, formed a plan of running awayfrom home. His father discovered the plot, and caused his son’s most intimate friend, who had assisted him in it, to be put to death, and made the execution as terrible as possible. He early came to hate his father, his father’s religion, and everything that the old king most liked. His father was indeed a hard, stern man, of colorless character; but he managed the affairs of state so prudently that he left his undutiful son a powerful army and a full treasury, and to these as much as to any noble qualities of mind or soul the latter owed the resources by which he gained the titleThe Great.
His mother was a daughter of George I. Frederick loved her, and from her he inherited a taste for music and literature, like many of the family of the Georges. He formed an intimate friendship with Voltaire, the French infidel writer, and interested himself in the French infidelity of the period, which was a reaction against the corrupt and degenerate French church.
He entered the field as a soldier in 1741, and was victorious again and again in the two Silesian wars. The Seven Years’ War, begun in 1756, gained for him a position of great influence among the rulers of Europe. He was prudent, like his father; his government was wise, well ordered, and liberal, and he left to his successor a full treasury, a great and famous army, enlarged territory, and the prestige of a great name.
The family affairs of kings during the last century were in rather a queer state, as the following story of Frederick’s marriage will show.
The prince was told that his father was studying the characters of the young ladies of the courts of Europe in order to select a suitable wife for him. He admired talent, brilliancy, wit, and he said in substance to the Minister of State,—
“Influence my father if you can to obtain for me a gifted and elegant princess. Of all things in the world I would hate to have a dull and commonplace wife.”
His father made choice of the Princess Elizabeth Christine of Brunswick, a girl famous for her awkwardness and stupidity.
The prince did everything in his power to prevent the marriage. But the old king declared that he should marry her, and the wedding ceremony was arranged, Frederick in the mean time protesting that he held the bride in utter detestation.
Frederick had a sister whom he dearly loved, Wilhelmina. Two days after his marriage, he introduced the bride to her, and said,—
“This is a sister whom I adore. She has had the goodness to promise thatshewill take care of you and give you good advice. I wish you to do nothing without her consent. Do you understand?”
VOLTAIRE.
The young bride, scarcely eighteen, was speechless. She expected “care” and “advice” from her husband, and not from his sister.Wilhelmina embraced her tenderly.Frederick waited for an answer to his question. But she stood dumb.“Plague take theblockhead!” he at last exclaimed, and with this compliment began the long and sorrowful story of her wedded life.She was a good woman and bore her husband’s neglect with patience. Strangely enough, in his old age Frederick came to love her; for he discovered, after a prejudice of years, that she had a noble soul.Frederick died in 1786. In his will he made a most liberal allowance for his wife, and bore testimony to her excellent character, saying that she never had caused him the least discontent, and her incorruptible virtue was worthy of love and consideration.She survived the king eleven years.
The young bride, scarcely eighteen, was speechless. She expected “care” and “advice” from her husband, and not from his sister.
Wilhelmina embraced her tenderly.
Frederick waited for an answer to his question. But she stood dumb.
“Plague take theblockhead!” he at last exclaimed, and with this compliment began the long and sorrowful story of her wedded life.
She was a good woman and bore her husband’s neglect with patience. Strangely enough, in his old age Frederick came to love her; for he discovered, after a prejudice of years, that she had a noble soul.
Frederick died in 1786. In his will he made a most liberal allowance for his wife, and bore testimony to her excellent character, saying that she never had caused him the least discontent, and her incorruptible virtue was worthy of love and consideration.
She survived the king eleven years.
Willie Clifton related a true story.
A man once entered the vaults of a church by night, to rob a corpse of a valuable ring. In replacing the lid he nailed the tail of his coat to the coffin, and when he started up to leave, the coffin clung to him and moved towards him.Supposing the movement to be the work of invisible hands, his nervous system received such a shock that he fell in a fit, and was found where he fell, by the sexton, on the following morning.Now, had the fellow been honestly engaged, it is not likely that the blunder would have happened; and even had it occurred, he doubtless would have discovered at once the cause.But very worthy people are sometimes affected by superstitious fear, and run counter to the dictates of good sense and sound judgment.A magnificent banquet was once given by a lord, in a very ancient castle, on the confines of Germany. Among the guests was an officer of hussars, distinguished for great self-possession and bravery.Many of the guests were to remain in the castle during the night; and the gallant hussar was informed that one of them must occupy a room reputed to be haunted, and was asked if he had any objections to accepting the room for himself.He declared that he had none whatever, and thanked his host for the honor conferred upon him by the offer. He, however, expressed a wish that no trick might be played upon him, saying that such an act might be followed by very serious consequences, as he should use his pistols against whatever disturbed the peace of the room.He retired after midnight, leaving his lamp burning; and, wearied by the festivities, soon fell asleep. He was presently awakened by the sound of music, and, looking about the apartment, saw at the opposite end, three phantom ladies, grotesquely attired, singing a mournful dirge.The music was artistic, rich, and soothing, and the hussar listened for a time, highly entertained. The piece was one of unvarying sadness, and, however seductive at first, after a time lost its charm.
A man once entered the vaults of a church by night, to rob a corpse of a valuable ring. In replacing the lid he nailed the tail of his coat to the coffin, and when he started up to leave, the coffin clung to him and moved towards him.
Supposing the movement to be the work of invisible hands, his nervous system received such a shock that he fell in a fit, and was found where he fell, by the sexton, on the following morning.
Now, had the fellow been honestly engaged, it is not likely that the blunder would have happened; and even had it occurred, he doubtless would have discovered at once the cause.
But very worthy people are sometimes affected by superstitious fear, and run counter to the dictates of good sense and sound judgment.
A magnificent banquet was once given by a lord, in a very ancient castle, on the confines of Germany. Among the guests was an officer of hussars, distinguished for great self-possession and bravery.
Many of the guests were to remain in the castle during the night; and the gallant hussar was informed that one of them must occupy a room reputed to be haunted, and was asked if he had any objections to accepting the room for himself.
He declared that he had none whatever, and thanked his host for the honor conferred upon him by the offer. He, however, expressed a wish that no trick might be played upon him, saying that such an act might be followed by very serious consequences, as he should use his pistols against whatever disturbed the peace of the room.
He retired after midnight, leaving his lamp burning; and, wearied by the festivities, soon fell asleep. He was presently awakened by the sound of music, and, looking about the apartment, saw at the opposite end, three phantom ladies, grotesquely attired, singing a mournful dirge.
The music was artistic, rich, and soothing, and the hussar listened for a time, highly entertained. The piece was one of unvarying sadness, and, however seductive at first, after a time lost its charm.
The hussar points his pistol at the mysterious women
THE UNNERVED HUSSAR.
The officer, addressing the musical damsels, remarked that the music had become rather monotonous, and asked them to change the tune. The singing continued in the same mournful cadences. He became impatient, and exclaimed,—“Ladies, this is an impertinent trick, for the purpose of frightening me. I shall take rough means to stop it, if it gives me any further trouble.”He seized his pistols in a manner that indicated his purpose. But the mysterious ladies remained, and the requiem went on.“Ladies,” said the officer, “I will wait five minutes, and then shall fire, unless you leave the room.”The figures remained, and the music continued. At the expiration of the time, the officer counted twenty in a loud, measured voice, and then, taking deliberate aim, discharged both of his pistols.The ladies were unharmed, and the music was uninterrupted. The unexpected result of his violence threw him into a state of high nervous excitement, and, although his courage had withstood the shock of battle, it now yielded to his superstitious fears. His strength was prostrated, and a severe illness of some weeks’ continuance followed.Had the hussar held stoutly to his own sensible philosophy, that he had no occasion to fear the spirits of the invisible world, nothing serious would have ensued. The damsels sung in another apartment, and their figures were made to appear in the room occupied by the hussar, by the effect of a mirror. The whole was a trick, carefully planned, to test the effect of superstitious fear on one of the bravest of men.In no case should a person be alarmed at what he suspects to be supernatural. A cool investigation will show, in most cases, that the supposed phenomenon may be easily explained. It might prove a serious thing for one to be frightened by a nightcap on a bedpost, for a fright affects unfavorably the nervous system, but a nightcap on a bedpost is in itself a very harmless thing.
The officer, addressing the musical damsels, remarked that the music had become rather monotonous, and asked them to change the tune. The singing continued in the same mournful cadences. He became impatient, and exclaimed,—
“Ladies, this is an impertinent trick, for the purpose of frightening me. I shall take rough means to stop it, if it gives me any further trouble.”
He seized his pistols in a manner that indicated his purpose. But the mysterious ladies remained, and the requiem went on.
“Ladies,” said the officer, “I will wait five minutes, and then shall fire, unless you leave the room.”
The figures remained, and the music continued. At the expiration of the time, the officer counted twenty in a loud, measured voice, and then, taking deliberate aim, discharged both of his pistols.
The ladies were unharmed, and the music was uninterrupted. The unexpected result of his violence threw him into a state of high nervous excitement, and, although his courage had withstood the shock of battle, it now yielded to his superstitious fears. His strength was prostrated, and a severe illness of some weeks’ continuance followed.
Had the hussar held stoutly to his own sensible philosophy, that he had no occasion to fear the spirits of the invisible world, nothing serious would have ensued. The damsels sung in another apartment, and their figures were made to appear in the room occupied by the hussar, by the effect of a mirror. The whole was a trick, carefully planned, to test the effect of superstitious fear on one of the bravest of men.
In no case should a person be alarmed at what he suspects to be supernatural. A cool investigation will show, in most cases, that the supposed phenomenon may be easily explained. It might prove a serious thing for one to be frightened by a nightcap on a bedpost, for a fright affects unfavorably the nervous system, but a nightcap on a bedpost is in itself a very harmless thing.
The sixth evening closed with an original poem by Mr. Beal.
Bonn.—Holy Cologne.—The Story of the Mysterious Architect.—“Unfinished and Unknown.”—Visit to Cologne Cathedral.—The Tomb of the Magi.—The Church of Skulls.—Queer Relics.—The Story and Legend of Charlemagne.—The Story and Legend of Barbarossa.
WE emerged from the majestic circle of the Seven Mountains, the most beautiful part of the Rhine scenery, and broad plains again met our view. The river ran smoothly, the Middle Rhine was passed, Bonn was in view, and there we dismissed our boatman.
“We stopped in Bonn only a short time. We went to the Market-place and walked past the University, which was once a palace.
“We took the train at Bonn for Cologne, in order to pass rapidly over a part of the Rhine scenery said to be comparatively uninteresting.
“Holy Cologne!
“The Rome of the Northern Empire! The ecclesiastical capital of the ancient German church!
“The unfinished cathedral towers over the city like a mountain. ‘Unfinished?’ Everything has a legend here, and a marvellous one, and the unfinished cathedral stands like a witness to such a tale.
CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.
“Above Cologne the river runs broad, a blue-green mirror amid dumpy willows and lanky poplars, and the windmills on its banks throw their arms about like giants at play. The steamers swarm inthe bright waters; at evening their lights are like will-o’-the-wisps. The long bridge of boats opens; a steamer passes, followed by a crowd of boats; it closes, and the waiting crowd upon it hurry over. The Rhine at night here presents a most animated scene.
“The river seems alive, but the city looks dead. There is a faded glory on everything. There are steeples and steeples, towers and towers. Cologne is said to have had at one time as many churches as there are days in the year. But life has gone out of them; they are like deserted houses. They belonged to the religious period of evolution, and are like geologic formations now,—history that has had its day, and left its tombstone.
“Cologne is as old as Rome in her glory,—older than the Christian era. She was the second great city of the Church in the Middle Ages.
“Cologne is full of wonders in stone and marble, wonders in legend and story as well; and among these the cathedral holds the first place, in both art and fable.