Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands. The Rhine to the Arctic. A Summer Trip of the Zig-Zag Club Through Holland, Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden

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.

“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

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 away from 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 title The 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 that she will take care of you and give you good advice. I wish you to do nothing without her consent. Do you understand?”

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 the blockhead!” 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.

THE UNNERVED HUSSAR

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 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.

CHAPTER XI.

COLOGNE

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.

“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 in the 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.

THE MYSTERIOUS ARCHITECT

In the thirteenth century – so the story goes – Archbishop Conrad determined to erect a cathedral that should surpass any Christian temple in the world.

Who should be the architect?

He must be a man of great genius, and his name would become immortal.

There was a wonderful builder in Cologne, and the Archbishop went to him with his purpose, and asked him to attempt the design.

“It must not only surpass anything in the past, but anything that may arise in the future.”

The architect was awed in view of such a stupendous undertaking.

“It will carry my name down the ages,” he thought; “I will sacrifice everything to success.”

He dreamed; he fasted and prayed.

He made sketch after sketch and plan after plan, but they all proved unworthy of a temple that should be one of the grandest monuments of the piety of the time, and one of the glories of future ages.

In his dreams an exquisite image of a temple rose dimly before him. When he awoke, he could vaguely recall it, but could not reproduce it. The ideal haunted him and yet eluded him.

He became disheartened. He wandered in the fields, absorbed in thought. The beautiful apparition of the temple would suddenly fill him with delight; then it would vanish, as if it were a mockery.

One day he was wandering along the Rhine, absorbed in thought.

“Oh,” he said, “that the phantom temple would appear to me, and linger but for a moment, that I could grasp the design.”

He sat down on the shore, and began to draw a plan with a stick on the sand.

“That is it,” he cried with joy.

“Yes, that is it, indeed,” said a mocking voice behind him.

He looked around, and beheld an old man.

“That is it,” the stranger hissed; “that is the Cathedral of Strasburg.”

He was shocked. He effaced the design on the sand.

He began again.

“There it is,” he again exclaimed with delight.

“Yes,” chuckled the old man. “That is the Cathedral of Amiens.”

The architect effaced the picture on the sand, and produced another.

“Metz,” said the old man.

He made yet another effort.

“Antwerp!”

“O my master,” said the despairing architect, “you mock me. Produce a design for me yourself.”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You shall give me yourself, soul and body!”

The affrighted architect began to say his prayers, and the old man suddenly disappeared.

The next day he wandered into a forest of the Seven Mountains, still thinking of his plan. He chanced to look up the mountain side, when he beheld the queer old man again; he was now leaning on a staff on a rocky wall.

He lifted his staff and began to draw a picture on a rock behind him. The lines were of fire.

Oh, how beautiful, how grand, how glorious, it all was!

Fretwork, spandrels, and steeples. It was– it was the very design that had haunted the poor architect, that flitted across his mind in dreams but left no memory.

“Will you have my plan?” asked the old man.

“I will do all you ask.”

“Meet me at the city gate to-morrow at midnight.”

The architect returned to Cologne, the image of the marvellous temple glowing in his mind.

“I shall be immortal,” he said; “my name will never die. But,” he added, “it is the price of my soul. No masses can help me, doomed, doomed forever!”

He told his strange story to his old nurse on his return home.

She went to consult the priest.

“Tell him,” said the priest to the old woman, “to secure the design before he signs the contract. As soon as he gets the plan into his hand let him present to the old man, who is a demon, the relics of the martyrs and the sign of the cross.”

At midnight he appeared at the gate. There stood the little old man.

“Here is your design,” said the latter, handing him a roll of parchment. “Now you shall sign the bond that gives me yourself in payment.”

The architect grasped the plan.

“Satan, begone!” he thundered; “in the name of this cross, and of St. Ursula, begone!”

“Thou hast foiled me,” said the old man, his eyes glowing in the darkness like fire. “But I will have my revenge. Your church shall never be completed, and your name shall never be known in the future to mankind.”

“The Cathedral of Cologne is unfinished, and its architect’s name is unknown. It may harm the story, but it is but just to say that many of the old cathedrals of Europe are in these respects like that of Cologne.

“We were impatient to visit the cathedral on our arrival at Cologne. The structure stood as it were over the city, like its presiding genius; and so it was. Wherever we went the great roofs loomed above us in the air.

“The interior did not disappoint us, even after all we had seen in other cathedral towns. It was like a forest: the columns were like tree stems of a vast open woodland, the groined arches appearing like interweaving boughs. The gorgeous windows were like a sunset through the trees. The air was dusky in the arches, but near the lofty windows vivid with color.

“It was Sunday. The service had begun. It was like a pageant, an opera. The organ was pouring a solemn chant through the far arches, like fall winds among the trees. There was a flute-like gush of music, far off and mysterious, like birds. It came from the boy-choristers. Priests in glittering garments were kneeling before the cupola-crowned altar; there rose a cloud of incense from silver censers, and the organ thundered again, like the storm gathering over the woods. At the side of the altar stood the archiepiscopal throne, half in shadow amid the tall lights, red and gold; amid the piles of barbaric splendor, canopies, carvings, emblems.

“We visited the chapels on the following day. In one of them a Latin inscription tells the visitor, —

“‘Here repose the three bodies of the holy magi.’

“The guide said, —

“‘This is the tomb of the Three Kings of Cologne.’

“‘The Wise Men of the East who came to worship at the cradle at Bethlehem.’

“‘Ask him how he got them,’ said Willie.

“‘The Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, recovered them and sent them to Milan. When Frederick Barbarossa took the city of Milan, he received them among the spoils and sent them to Cologne. The names of the Magi were Gaspar, Melchior, Balthazar.’

“‘Do you believe the legend?’ asked Willie.

“‘I do not know; we shall find things harder than this to believe, I fancy, as we go on.’

“And we did.

“Leaving the tomb, – a pile of jewels, – we went out, and near the outskirts of the city found the famous Church of Skulls, – a gilded ossuary, associated with a mediæval legend. It was full of cabinets of bones, said to be those of eleven thousand virgins slain for their faith by the Huns.

“Here we were shown —

“A part of the rod with which the Saviour was scourged.

“A thorn from the crown of thorns, – the Spicula.

“The pitcher in which Jesus turned water into wine.

“‘The Mediæval Church,’ said our English-speaking guide, who had little faith in the genuineness of the relics, ‘has exhibited some relics from time to time that would repay a long and arduous pilgrimage if they were what they purported to be; as, for instance, a feather of the angel Gabriel, the snout of a seraph, a ray from the star of Bethlehem, two skulls of the same saint, – one taken when the departed saint was somewhat younger, as flippantly explained to an astonished tourist, who found in two cities the same consecrated cranium.

“‘But of all the relics of which we ever read, some Germans who visited Italy in search of these precious mementos received the most remarkable.

“‘One of these gentlemen, having applied to an ecclesiastic for some memento of Scripture history which he could take back to Germany, was both astonished and delighted by receiving a carefully prepared package, which he was assured contained a veritable leg of the ass on which was made the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, when the people strewed palm branches in the way and shouted hosannas.

“‘He was enjoined to keep the treasure a secret until he reached home, which injunction he scrupulously obeyed.

“‘Arriving in Germany, he disclosed to his four companions the wonderful relic. They were much surprised, for each had been secretly intrusted with the same remarkable treasure. So it appeared that the ass had five legs, which, of itself, would have been something of a miracle.

“‘Whether these wiseacres ever visited the Latin kingdom in search of relics again I am not apprised.’

“Cologne is full of relics. The people regard them with reverence; they serve the purpose of scriptural object-teaching to them. But they only shock the tourist who has been educated to believe that religion is a spiritual life, and that Christ’s kingdom is a spiritual kingdom, and not of this world.”

Several of the stories related by the boys this evening were historical.

THE STORY AND LEGEND OF CHARLEMAGNE

Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, King of the Franks and Roman Emperor, was born, probably at Aix-la-Chapelle, in 742. His empire at first embraced the larger part of what is now France and Germany, but it extended under his wars until at last it nearly filled Europe, and he wore the crown of Rome and the West. Napoleon, at the height of his power, governed nearly the whole territory that was once ruled by the mighty Charlemagne.

He was one of the greatest and wisest men in the history of the world. He encouraged learning, and opened a school in his palace; he maintained morality and aimed to spread Christianity throughout the world.