Cloister Laach: a legend of the Rhine. And other sketches

Chapter I

" I wist not, what can be the reason, So mournful myself I find ; But a tale of the olden season, I cannot get out of my mind." COULD stones speak, what tales would they not unfold ! Yet they are ever speaking, telling the great mystery of the past, and it is man alone who is to blame in the matter, for turning a deaf ear to the silent, mighty preaching going on around. Who that has turned his face towards the glorious Rhine can resist the soft pleadings oi the surrounding scenery ? Can force back and utterly still, as it were, the deep waves of poetry which overwhelm the soul with its flood ? Who again, I ask, can gaze upon the calm stillness of the Laacher Sea, with its sweet, magical influence, and not pause to inquire its records? And yet that same magical influence is so soothing, so satisfying, that we would fain content ourselves with what the eye beholds, and question of naught beyond.

But besides the still blue waters, the beech woods, the smiling sky, and the noble Church and Abbey on the western shore, there are traces of a subterranean power, speaking of days when all was not so peaceful and still. Extinct volcanoes still remain, together with vast streams of lava long since grown cold ; in fact, everything bears witness to a time when nature was not quiet and smiling as at the present — but then, it all took place long, long ago, and the recollection of it is buried in the dim ages of the past. To that past, troublous as it was, I would fain call your attention. In those same dim ages (being, in fact, some period of the ninth century) a rocky islet rose high in the middle of the broad, blue lake before us. No vestige of green clung to its sides ; and yet there, on its topmost rocky summit, it pleased Pfalzgraf Heinrich to build his stronghold or castle.

A ruffian he was, and an outlaw, as we should have it — then, in those days, he was denounced as a murderer, a plunderer, a destroyer ofthe public peace — so men shunned him, and none save those of his own reckless, bloody band ever scaled those rocky heights; unless, as was sometimes the case, a poor prisoner was forced up against his will, there to be made confess as to the secret wealth he was supposed to possess, and then either die a lingering death all untended and uncared for, or be pitched headlong into the smiling waters beneath. It was a still evening in summer time, and the bloody Heinrich was away on the opposite shore, when his young son, a pale, fair youth, with eyes of the same hue as the skies above his head, gazed absently from the aperture in the wall of the Castle, which served for a window in those days of primitive comfort.

There was naught of the ruffian about him, for he was the image of his gentle mother, who had died in giving him birth, and perhaps it was in remem brance of his love for the innocent partner of his early manhood that Heinrich bore with the lad's ways. True, he sometimes taunted him ; for his softness calling him woman ; but then he never forced him to join in his lawless pursuits, never even suffered him to leave the Castle, for fear, it was said, that he should, upon learning the depth of his father's guilt, leave both him and his protection in utter disgust. This evening the lad yawned and sighed as though the lone liness he endured was becoming oppressive to him; but even as he stood looking out towards the glowing western sun shining through the beechen glades on the opposite shore, he espied his father's light skiff gliding rapidly over the water.

" Alone ! " murmured Ehrenfried — then a moment after, as he discerned a small figure crouched in the vessel's stern — " No, not alone ; but it looks like a child this time." Presently a grating sound was heard, the boat was along side the rocks, and Heinrich, the ruffian, landed himself and his victim in safety. He was not rough to the little helpless maiden (for maiden it was, though not quite the child the youth had supposed), for her blue eyes and delicate cheek spoke to him of his own Minna, and for the sake of the dead he was gentle to the living. "See here, Ehrenfried!" and he addressed his son, who stood at the Castle door ready to receive him, "is a prisoner for thee at last. Methinks thou canst manage her, woman though thou art ; " and he gave the maiden into his son's keeping. After that the days rolled on, and young Ehrenfried, while he did all in his power to render the captivity of his prisoner less irksome than it would otherwise have been, succeeded alike in gaining her confidence.

She told him that she and her father had lived all alone on the western shore, in a tiny hut, (in truth it was little more, though she. herself, called it a Chapel), until the great lord came upon that unhappy day, at a time when her lather was abroad collecting firewood, and bore her off. She knew not his reason for so doing, neither did Ehren fried ; but often they stood looking out in the direction of her home, and when the sun set the beechen glade in a rosy glow, Adelheid would comfort herself with the thought that her father was even then praying as was his wont to the Blessed Virgin and her Dear Son for himself and her, and at such times would softly cross herself, and believe that very soon she should be restored once more to his aged arms. As for Heinrich, he had gone away again on the same evening as his arrival, so that had it not been for Adelheid, Ehrenfried would have been left as usual quite alone.

Chapter II. Again

the sunset glow, the fiery grove, and the still placid waters stretching around the islet like molten gold : again the sweet, magical influence, and once again the youth and the maiden stand side by side on the rocky ledge close by the Castle wall, looking far away in the direction of the Chapel, where lived Zwengen, Adelheid's father. Strange discordant sounds broke upon the stillness of the evening air ; for the wretched Heinrich's band of outlaws had returned, and were now feasting and singing their coarse, wild songs ; as though their way was the right way, and that in following it they had lost sight of the purer light and joy of the glad though sin-stricken world. Ehrenfried and his companion could but hear them, and yet it interfered not with their thoughts, or marred the beauty of Love's young dream.

Aye, Love had come to them both, — sweet, pure, holy bliss, as like to the love of Paradise as aught of earth can be. She was the first maiden, he the first youth, either had ever seen ; for Zwengen was somewhat of a hermit, who lived for God alone ; and Adelheid, while ministering to him, and pursuing her simple duties, had but caught occasional glimpses of the rough charcoal burners, so that Ehrenfried, with his gentle ways and native courtesy of manner, was so entirely new to her that her heart went out to him at once. So they stood beneath Love's halo, yearning for a life apart from the reckless creatures below; and yet, as it were, they heeded not their uproarious merri ment, for present bliss occupied them, a bliss unspeakable and full of joy. It was Ehrenfried who first spoke — " Adelheid, my father, rough though he is, and brutal somewhat in his manner and dealings, yet loved my mother ; and I love you too in the same way — say, shall we not love and cling to each other all our lives ?

" And as he bent over her his heart beat violently, and the colour came and went in his pale cheek. Truly, now, as he often told himself, he was learning what life really meant. " Yes, yes, Ehrenfried ! It will be happiness more than I can tell ; " and Adelheid wound her arms about her lover's neck. " We will, when we get away from here, seek my father's blessing ; for, oh ! he is a holy man, and can make us one, even as he and my mother were one before us. Ah ! I should much have liked to have known my mother ! She was lovely, my Ehrenfried ; at least, so I have heard my father say." But the youth could fancy none fairer than Adelheid, and he told her so. A wild thought, however, was helping to fill his mind just then, which was no other than a resolve to leave the Castle, and to tread the unknown opposite shore.

He had till now strictly obeyed his father's injunctions and as he feared to swim, and there was never a boat left behind while the others were away, he had had no chance as yet of disobeying ; but now with this new dream before him, and to please the maiden he loved so dearly, he was willing to risk anything, even to sailing off in broad day-light, with the chance of being pursued and overtaken by the ruffianly band below. Still it behoved him to be quick, for his father might return, and then even Ehrenfried's heart would fail of the task before him. So he pointed to a boat lying near, and told Adelheid of his scheme. True, he trembled a little; for Heinrich had threatened dire vengeance if he ever left the Castle ; but Adelheid's innocent pleasure, the glad sparkle of her eye, and his own sense of what his life would be if some day his companion should be taken from him, as would most probably be the case, prompted him to go on, and do even as he had said.

So together they stepped into the light skiff, and Ehren fried, who had often gone short rows with his father, pushed off from the rocky islet ; together they glided over the sunlit waters, and the drunken inmates ofthe Castle perceived them not. At length they stood upon the soft turf, here and there interspersed with huge boulders and masses of lava, which had either fallen, or been carried by some force of nature from the old lava streams above. At length they felt that they were free ; for in the bliss each felt in the other they seared not the bloody Heinrich's wrath, now that they stood 'neath the shadow of the tall beeches. So they sat down far up the slope among the trees, and heeded not that the sun was gone, and that dark, fierce clouds were towering up high in the summer sky. By and bye the storm came, heavy rain, thunder and lightning.

No shelter was near : so they went but higher up and then sat down as before to face the awful grandeur. The waters which had so lately looked calm and peaceful, were now lashed with fury and covered with foam — and lo ! behold ! in the midst of it all, a tiny skiff, and in it a man — Ehrenfried knew whom — it was his father. And still the thunder rolled louder and louder, the lightning became more vivid, even blinding their eyes, and still they sat on ; for what would have appalled us but frightened them, so used were they to such scenes. Worse and worse the storm grew, becoming more intense each moment — still they sat on and watched, still the tiny skift tossed hither and thither. Then came a fearful crash, when the whole glade appeared to be on fire, and Adelheid shrieked, while Ehrenfried covered his eyes in very terror ; but with the crash the storm king seemed to have spent his power, and very soon the turbulent sounds died away in the far distance.

But what saw they before them? The water was still angry and troubled ; but the little skiff and the island home ? ah, they were gone — gone for ever ! But above the violence of the storm voices reached them from the depths of the sea : voices, as of men singing, singing, alas, as they would ever have to sing in expiation of their CLOISTER LAACH cruel, lawless lives. Shocked and alarmed the lovers hastened away, earthquakes had taken place there and might again ; but whither should they flee ? Adelheid cried out, "The Chapel! The Chapel!" and towards its holy shelter they ran. Others were there before them, rough, black men, whom they knew to be the charcoal burners of the forest ; but, oh, what a sight met their gaze ! Dead in front of his altar lay the holy Zwengen : a sword cut had severed his head from his body ; and the charcoal-burners said that it was the rash deed of the Knight who, hastening from the hut, had endeavoured to cross the sea in the storm, and met his fate in the revengeful waters.

Chapter III. The

land on either shore of the Laacher belonged to Pfalzgraf Heinrich ; but not upon the western side could Ehrenfried and his bride make their home : not thus close to the spot of the murder of the holy Zwengen : so after the two were made one, a stately castle arose on the eastern boundary of the blue sea, and there they lived on in peace and unity. One child came to them, whom they named Heinrich, after his bloody grandsire, hoping that through him, the curse of their family would be removed. So they lived on, and died as they had lived, happy in themselves and in the good Providence who guided their course, and Heinrich II. was master of the Pfalzgrafenburg in their stead. Again it was summer, the time when the mysterious, inexplicable, is strongly felt by all who linger on the shores c 17 CLOISTER LA AC H. of the Laacher.

Heinrich II. was waxing old, and his wife. (another Adelheid) was gliding softly through the autumn of life ; and as yet they had done nought to ensure a blessing ■to their race. A Church and Cloister were what they wished to rear, but where should their site be ? Not on the spot ■where the good Zwengen had met his death, lest the violent deed should tarnish the purity of their gift. No child had blessed their marriage; yet while they were content and had adopted an orphan as heir to their vast possessions, each confessed to the other, that doubtless their negligence in removing the stain of their grandsire's guilt was the cause. So they sat, this aged couple on the Castle Balcony, talking upon the same old subject, and while they talked the stars shone peacefully, and twilight shadowed the landscape.

The pale moon at length appeared above the dim horizon, and the spirit of music and poetry glided through the soft air. Suddenly a light, bright and flaming, moved hither and thither through the beeches, and the thought, like an inspi ration, filled both their minds, that where the light rested, the holy building should be reared. It stopped its flitting just where the old Chapel had mouldered and sunk to decay ; and Heinrich and his wife knew then, of a surety, that the spot was sacred in memory of the old man's life. So they hastened with the building; for old age was already at the door of the Pfalzgrafenburg, and death, alas, entered soon after : too soon for them to see the accomplish ment of their long cherished scheme ; but the Church was completed, and in it their bones were laid to rest until the Great Day.

Sifried the heir, or Sifried Pfalzgraf as he was called, possessed not the generosity and holy zeal of his predecessor, and grudged the Church and Cloister their rich endowments. The building of the latter advanced therefore but slowly ; but before its completion a holy brotherhood came and took possession of it as their dwelling place, and one of the distant! kinsmen of Pfalzgraf was placed by Sifried at their head. The Abbot of Hafflingen was not however destined to please his patron : he was a worthy man, one who pleased his Maker before his Master, and ere long the latter plotted to take his life. The good Abbot was wary and cautious in his movements, however, and seldom left the walls of the Cloister, until one fatal night in the depth of winter. The facts are these. The lake being frozen and covered with snow, Sifried feigned illness, and sent to the Abbey a humble request that the Abbot would attend him and perform the last Christian rights for his sin laden soul.

Suspecting nothing, the good father seated himself in a sledge drawn by two other holy men, and went off prepared to act the part of the Good Samaritan over again. Across the frozen waters and almost to the Castle gates they went, thos e innocent, unsuspecting men ; and then one whom they knew and trusted whispered to them of deceit and intended murder — too late for them to flee ! and yet they hastened back, reached even the western bank, and then when hope and courage had alike failed them, a fearful crash and cry as of mortal anguish fell on their ears. Looking back they beheld the ice parted, and the wicked band of pursuers gone — swallowed up in the icy waters of the lake. So perished these ungodly men, and ever after the fearful song of the dead waxed louder and louder ; and the sea held one more secret within its bosom.

But the good Abbot, what of him? He was saved, and standing there beneath the blue heaven, he waved the holy Sacrament on high, and prayed heartily for those his enemies who were thus gone out of sight while time should last. Sifried, who had not himself taken any real part in the crime, but only planned for others the infamous deed, was so alarmed by this interposition of Providence, that he gave up all thoughts of injuring the Abbot, and instead, the noble Pfalzgrafenburg was utterly destroyed ; for the sight from its windows of the buildings on its opposite shore, proved such a daily torture to him, that he could bear it no longer. Therefore he spent the remainder of his days far away, and died as may be supposed, and Pfalzgraf Wilhelm inherited his father's lands and cruel antipathies.

At length came one of the same line, yet bearing a different name; and in 1156, A.D., the Cloister stood complete. For a time the house was richly endowed and knew no lack ; but by-and-bye funds grew low with the holy men, and they sold some portion of their lands to Arnold, Archbishop of Coin. Then again, years after, the Cloister itself fell into private hands, and with poverty came, as is usual, decay ; but Friedrich Wilhelm IV. saved it from utter ruin, and it still stands complete and beautiful, a pure and noble specimen of the old Romanesque style. Who that standing by the clear waters, with the blue sky over head and the tender green leaves of the beeches whispering all around : with the ancient Church and Cloister speaking of the dim, hazy past, and the saddening mysterious influence of the scene stealing over him, can yet resist the poetic spirit of the place, may truly be said to possess no soul to appreciate nature ; and no heart to sympathise with his fellow man.

Else, with all around testifying to the deeds and lives of those dead and passed away ; with God's works CLOISTER LAACH. spread out as a living picture before him — a picture, which no other spot can vie with in the whole world — his fancy would receive light and strength, his whole being rise within him, and his soul give utterance to one deep song of praise, mingled with a prayer for the days yet to come. And the midsummer glory still smiles upon all this changeful beauty — still whispers of bright days to come, and so the scene of that frosty Christmas-tide is forgotten in the joy, brightness, and golden glow of the present. So it is ever — so it will be throughout eternity — the past will be past, and the present will still be flowing on, on, on. The past with its brightness, the past and its misery, gone for ever ! but like Heinrich Pfalzgraf we may rear a remembrance — not of stones, perhaps — but of goodly deeds and gentle words, which not only the midsummer glory of earth may kindle with its golden glow, but a brighter halo, even the Light of God, which proceedeth from Him " Who sitteth upon the throne." '■ I remember one that perished : sweetly did she speak and move : Such a one do I remember, whom to look on was to love." Tennyson.

Chapter I. The

midsummer sun shone down in all its glory upon the dingy High Street of the sleepy little town of Christchurch. Even the shop windows had a dozy appear ance, owing to their being so small compared with those of our modern towns. The good people of the place were, no doubt, indulging in an afternoon nap, and the shopmen and girls were resting with a semblance of work about them the while. " George Bernard, Draper, &c," figured in letters of gold over on one of these establishments; but George Bernard seldom showed himself in Christchurch, for having another and a larger house in a neighbouring town, he left this to the care of his foreman, and the girls whom he chose to place under him. This shop, like -the rest, was without customers ; the before-mentioned foreman sat nodding behind his desk, and the shop-girls moved lazily about putting things away.

One — the youngest there — was dainty as a princess. Her black dress fitted her to a nicety. She was neither tall nor short, and her figure was lithe and willowy, all graceful bends, no matter how she moved ; but her face — ah, her face was a. study — so fair and childlike, yet so full of soul that no one could dream for a single second that she was aught but pure and sweet, no thought of falseness or guile could well associate itself with her. She moved lazily, dreamily, like the rest ; for the heat was oppressive, and the houses on the opposite side shut out the view of green fields and waving trees ; shut out as well, to a certain extent, the fresh, pure air ; but a shadow passed the doorway, slowly too., as though some one were gazing in reluctant to go away. Louisa was standing just where the light fell strongest — one arm raised to push a tiny box in its place, while face and figure were illumined with the golden light of that midsummer day.

Any one less fair would have shown to disadvantage, not so Louisa : she looked her best in the broad day, when the sun's rays flashing over her golden hair brought out the peculiar bronze tint which shadow almost hid from view. She made a pretty picture standing there ! The other girls,. who loved and petted her, saw it, and one other too, namely — the one whose shadow passed the doorway. Ralph Wilson was an independent gentleman of peculiar habits, living in Church Street. His house stood the nearest to the gates of the Priory Church ; his father and his grandfather had inhabited it before him, and now, in all probability, he was the last of the Christchurch Wilsons, and the place would fall into other hands — so said the gossips,. and so say I. In his youth he had travelled much, and possessing a taste for beautiful things, had naturally strengthened it in his intercourse with, and keen appreciation of, the frequenters of the City of Art, and the noble works of the Great Masters which Rome glories in possessing.

He actually had two paintings by Correggio (though how much baking and varnish added to their age and genuine appearance, it is hard to explain ; suffice it to say, that he was well content) and two Rubens, which would realize five thousand pounds any day, whenever their possessor chose to dispose of them. Now, these latter were real, and had been heir-looms in the family of a distant maiden cousin of Ralph's, who at her death had bequeathed them to him with her love. Rumour said that there had been a tender passage in the lives of these two; but the fact remains the same — the pictures were Ralph's, in virtue of the will, and there the story ends. As he plodded on his way — for nature had made one foot rather smaller and shorter than the other, which caused him to twist curiously to the right at every alternate step — he wondered which was the most rare, the living picture he had just seen, or his favourite Rubens.

Strange to say, his heart grew warm as he thought of this girl, and recalled her pretty innocent face ; but no thought of aught else in the future presented itself to his mind, and so, passing onward, we will leave him. Night seemed to be creeping on ere the shop girls were free to go and enjoy the sweet summer air, for with the cool of the evening came also scores of customers ; but at last they one and all took their leave : at last, too, the weary girls donned their hats for a few minutes' relaxation. Perhaps there was a double attraction for them out of doors (such was Louisa's case, at least), for as she reached the corner of the street a young man joined her, and side by side they sauntered on. " It is late," she presently remarked, " so that I cannot go far to-night. I hope you have not waited long?"

His silence surprised her. -5 " No, not long ; but, Louie, I may as well say it first as last — I am going away — father wants me at home." " Going away !" The houses on either side seemed to whirl round. In a moment she had recovered herself sufficiently to say, " Oh ! then, you will write me long letters, and that will be very nice ; and I shall think of you, dear, all the day long, just as I do now." '' Ah ! that brings me to what I was about to say " They were standing on the bridge now, and involuntarily both paused and looked downward into the dark waters. " I see no prospect of our ever being married — of course, it will be an awful blow to me — but really, Louie, it will be for your good ; for both our good, in fact, that we should forget each other." He paused and looked at her. In the fading light he could see that she was gazing down, down into the black depths beneath, and that was all.

" Of course, I shall never see any one like you in the whole wide world," he continued ; " but Louie, dear, you must forget me, and it will be for your good in the end." Then the girl turned upon him passionately. " George, do you say it will be for good ? Do you ask me to forget you ? Ale whom you have vowed to love more than the whole world, more than life itself. Oh, George, George ! " and her voice broke into a little piteous wail of anguish and murdered hopes. " Louie, dear," and he strove to draw her closer ; but she stood back, and her whole attitude spoke of angry defiance. " Louie, dear, I had no idea that you would feel it so ; but my father wishes me to wait awhile before I engage myself: he says that I do not yet know my own mind." "Your father!" and she spoke scornfully. "And as to waiting awhile, I tell you that you are engaged already !

" "Well, well !" He tried to soothe her ruffled feelings by his softer tone. " I will write to you sometimes, and by and-bye who knows but that we may come together. Cheer up, Louie ! Let us be friends." " George, it maddens me to hear you talk so. Tell me plainly what you mean and have done. Remember I will know, I have the right to know, why your father has dared to interfere." " Dared ? " he repeated angrily. " You forget that I am his only son ! " " I forget nothing, and I say the word again — why has he dared to come between us two ? " She began passionately, angrily, as one would scarcely have deemed it possible for her to speak, looking upon her as she stood on that same fair midsummer day ; but the two last words had a piteous ring in them, and she went on, eagerly, even laying her hand on his arm — -" George, dear, say that you love me — say it once more ; for indeed, indeed, I cannot live without your love !