Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands;

by Hezekiah Butterworth

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE BELLS OF THE RHINE.

  LEGENDS OF THE BELLS OF BASEL AND SPEYER.--STORY OF THE HARMONY CHIME.--THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU.

  One evening, after the story-telling entertainments, Mr. Beal wasspeaking to the Class of the great bell of Cologne which has been castfrom the French cannon captured in the last war.

  "It seems a beautiful thing," he said, "that the guns of war should bemade to ring out the notes of peace."

  "There is one subject that we did not treat at our meetings," saidCharlie Leland,--"the bells of the Rhine."

  "True," said Mr. Beal. "A volume might be written on the subject.Almost every belfry on the Rhine has its legend, and many of them areassociated with thrilling events of history. The raftmen, as theydrift down the river on the Sabbath, associate almost every bell theyhear with a story. The bells of Basle (Basel), Strasburg, Speyer,Heidelberg, Worms, Frankfort, Mayence, Bingen, and Bonn all ring out ameaning to the German student that the ordinary traveller does notcomprehend. Bell land is one of mystery.

  "For example, the clocks of Basel. The American traveller arrives atBasel, and hurries out of his hotel, and along the beautiful publicgardens, to the terrace overlooking the Rhine. He looks down on thepicturesque banks of the winding river; then far away his eye seeksthe peaks of the Jura.

  "The bells strike. The music to his ears has no history.

  "The German and French students hear them with different ears. The oldstruggles of Alsace and Romaine come back to memory. They recall thefact that the city was once saved by a heroic watchman, who confusedthe enemy by causing the bells to strike the wrong hour. To continuethe memory of this event, the great bell of Basel during the MiddleAges was made to strike the hour of one at noonday.

  "The bells of Speyer have an interesting legend. Henry IV. was one ofthe most unfortunate men who ever sat upon a throne. His own son,afterward Henry V., conspired against him, and the Pope declared himan outlaw.

  "Deserted by every one, he went into exile, and made his home atIngleheim, on the Rhine. One old servant, Kurt, followed his changingfortunes. He died at Liege.

  "Misfortune followed the once mighty emperor even after death. ThePope would not allow his body to be buried for several years. Kurtwatched by the coffin, like Rizpah by the bodies of her sons. He madeit his shrine: he prayed by it daily.

  "At last the Pope consented that the remains of the emperor shouldrest in the earth. The body was brought to Speyer. Kurt followed it.It was buried with great pomp, and tollings of bells.

  "Some months after the ceremonious event Kurt died. As his breath waspassing, say the legendary writers, all the bells began to toll. Thebellmen ran to the belfries; no one was there, but the bells tolledon, swayed, it was believed, by unseen hands.

  "Henry V. died in the same town. He was despised by the people, and hesuffered terrible agonies in his last hours. As his last moments camethe bells began to toll again. It was not the usual announcement ofthe death of the good, but the sharp notes that proclaim that acriminal is being led to justice; at least, so the people came tobelieve.

  THE SILENT CASTLES.]

  "One of the most beautiful stories of bells that I ever met isassociated with a once famous factory that cast some of the mostmelodious bells in Holland and the towns of the Rhine. I will tell itto you.

  THE HARMONY CHIME.

  Many years ago, in a large iron foundry in the city of Ghent, was found a young workman by the name of Otto Holstein. He was not nineteen years of age, but none of the workmen could equal him in his special department,--bell casting or moulding. Far and near the fame of Otto's bells extended,--the clearest and sweetest, people said, that were ever heard.

  HOTEL DE VILLE, GHENT.]

  Of course the great establishment of Von Erlangen, in which Otto worked, got the credit of his labors; but Von Erlangen and Otto himself knew very well to whom the superior tone of the bells was due. The master did not pay him higher wages than the others, but by degrees he grew to be general superintendent in his department in spite of his extreme youth.

  "Yes, my bells are good," he said to a friend one day, who was commenting upon their merits; "but they do not make the music I will yet strike from them. They ring alike for all things. To be sure, when they toll for a funeral the slow measure makes them _seem_ mournful, but then the notes are really the same as in a wedding peal. I shall make a chime of bells that will sound at will every chord in the human soul."

  "Then wilt thou deal in magic," said his friend, laughing; "and the Holy Inquisition will have somewhat to do with thee. No human power can turn a bell into a musical instrument."

  "But I can," he answered briefly; "and, Inquisition or not, I will do it."

  He turned abruptly from his friend and sauntered, lost in thought, down the narrow street which led to his home. It was an humble, red-tiled cottage, of only two rooms, that he had inherited from his grandfather. There he lived alone with his widowed mother. She was a mild, pleasant-faced woman, and her eyes brightened as her son bent his tall head under the low doorway, as he entered the little room. "Thou art late, Otto," she said, "and in trouble, too," as she caught sight of his grave, sad face.

  "Yes," he answered. "When I asked Herr Erlangen for an increase of salary, for my work grows harder every day, he refused it. Nay, he told me if I was not satisfied, I could leave, for there were fifty men ready to take my place. Ready! yes, I warrant they're ready enough, but to be _able_ is a different thing."

  His mother sighed deeply.

  "Thou wilt not leave Herr Erlangen's, surely. It is little we get, but it keeps us in food."

  "I must leave," he answered. "Nay, do not cry out, mother! I have other plans, and thou wilt not starve. Monsieur Dayrolles, the rich Frenchman, who lives in the Linden-Strasse, has often asked me why I do not set up a foundry of my own. Of course I laughed,--I, who never have a thaler to spend; but he told me he and several other rich friends of his would advance the means to start me in business. He is a great deal of his time at Erlangen's, and is an enthusiast about fine bells. Ah! we are great friends, and I am going to him after supper."

  "People say he is crazy," said his mother.

  "Crazy!" indignantly. "People say that of everybody who has ideas they can't understand. They say _I_ am crazy when I talk of my chime of bells. If I stay with Erlangen, he gets the credit of my work; but my chime must be mine,--mine alone, mother." His eyes lighted with a kind of wild enthusiasm whenever he talked on this subject.

  His mother's cheerful face grew sad, as she laid her hand on his shoulder.

  "Why, Otto, thou art not thyself when thou speakest of those bells."

  "More my real self, mother, than at any other time!" he cried. "I only truly live when I think of how my idea is to be carried out. It is to be my life's work; I know it, I feel it. It is upon me that my fate is woven inextricably in that ideal chime. It is God-sent. No great work, but the maker is possessed wholly by it. Don't shake your head, mother. Wait till my 'Harmony Chime' sounds from the great cathedral belfry, and then shake it if you can."

  His mother smiled faintly.

  "Thou art a boy,--a mere child, Otto, though a wonderful genius, I must confess. Thy hopes delude thee, for it would take a lifetime to carry out thine idea."

  "Then let it take a lifetime!" he cried out vehemently. "Let me accomplish it when I am too old to hear it distinctly, and I will be content that its first sounds toll my dirge. I must go now to Monsieur Dayrolles. Wish me good luck, dearest mother." And he stooped and kissed her tenderly.

  Otto did not fail. The strange old man in his visits to the foundry had noticed the germs of genius in the boy, and grown very fond of him. He was so frank, so honest, so devoted to his work, and had accomplished so much at his early age, that Monsieur Dayrolles saw a brilliant future before him. Besides, the old gentleman, with a Frenchman's vanity, felt tha
t if the "Harmony Chime" _could_ be made, the name of the munificent patron would go down to posterity with that of the maker. He believed firmly that the boy would some day accomplish his purpose. So, although the revolt of the Netherlands had begun and he was preparing to return to his own country, he advanced the necessary funds, and saw Otto established in business before he quitted Ghent.

  In a very short time work poured in upon Otto. During that long and terrible war the manufacture of cannon alone made the fortunes of the workers in iron. So five years from the time he left Von Erlangen we find Otto Holstein a rich man at twenty-four years of age. But the idea for which he labored had never for a moment left his mind. Sleeping or waking, toiling or resting, his thoughts were busy perfecting the details of the great work.

  "Thou art twenty-four to-day, Otto," said his good mother, "and rich beyond our hopes. When wilt thou bring Gertrude home to me? Thou hast been betrothed now for three years, and I want a daughter to comfort my declining years. Thou doest thy betrothed maiden a grievous wrong to delay without cause. The gossips are talking already."

  "Let them talk," laughed Otto. "Little do Gertrude or I care for their silly tongues. She and I have agreed that the 'Harmony Chime' is to usher in our marriage-day. Why, good mother, no man can serve two mistresses, and my chime has the oldest claim. Let me accomplish it, and then the remainder of my life belongs to Gertrude, and thou, too, best of mothers."

  "Still that dream! still that dream!" sighed his mother. "Thou hast cast bell after bell, and until to-day I have heard nothing more of the wild idea."

  "No, because I needed money. I needed time, and thought, too, to make experiments. All is matured now. I have received an order to make a new set of bells for the great cathedral that was sacked last week by the 'Iconoclasts,' and I begin to-morrow."

  BELL-TOWER, GHENT.]

  As Otto had said, his life's work began the next day. He loved his mother, but he seemed now to forget her in the feverish eagerness with which he threw himself into his labors. He had been a devoted lover to Gertrude, but he now never had a spare moment to give to her,--in fact, he only seemed to remember her existence in connection with the peal which would ring in their wedding-day. His labors were prolonged far over the appointed time, and meanwhile the internal war raged more furiously, and the Netherlands were one vast battle-field. No interest did Otto seem to take in the stirring events around him. The bells held his whole existence captive.

  BELL TOWER OF HEIDELBERG.]

  At last the moulds were broken, and the bells came out of their husks perfect in form, and shining as stars in Otto's happy eyes. They were mounted in the great belfry, and for the test-chime Otto had employed the best bell-ringers in the city.

  It was a lovely May morning; and, almost crazed with excitement and anxiety, Otto, accompanied by a few chosen friends, waited outside the city for the first notes of the Harmony Chime. At some distance he thought he could better judge of the merits of his work.

  At last the first notes were struck, clear, sonorous, and so melodious that his friends cried aloud with delight. But with finger upraised for silence, and eyes full of ecstatic delight, Otto stood like a statue until the last note died away. Then his friends caught him as he fell forward in a swoon,--a swoon so like death that no one thought he would recover.

  But it was not death, and he came out of it with a look of serene peace on his face that it had not worn since boyhood. He was married to Gertrude that very day, but every one noticed that the ecstasy which transfigured his face seemed to be drawn more from the sound of the bells than the sweet face beside him.

  "Don't you see a spell is cast on him as soon as they begin to ring?" said one, after the bells had ceased to be a wonder. "If he is walking, he stops short, and if he is working, the work drops and a strange fire comes in his eyes; and I have seen him shudder all over as it he had an ague."

  In good truth, the bells seemed to have drawn a portion of Otto's life to them. When the incursions of the war forced him to fly from Ghent with his family, his regrets were not for his injured property, but that he could not hear the bells.

  He was absent two years, and when he returned it was to find the cathedral almost a ruin, and the bells gone no one knew where. From that moment a settled melancholy took possession of Otto. He made no attempt to retrieve his losses; in fact, he gave up work altogether, and would sit all day with his eyes fixed on the ruined belfry.

  People said he was melancholy mad, and I suppose it was the truth; but he was mad with a kind of gentle patience very sad to see. His mother had died during their exile, and now his wife, unable with all her love to rouse him from his torpor, faded slowly away. He did not notice her sickness, and his poor numbed brain seemed imperfectly to comprehend her death. But he followed her to the grave, and turning from it moved slowly down the city, passed the door of his old home without looking at it, and went out of the city gates.

  After that he was seen in every city in Europe at different intervals. Charitable people gave him alms, but he never begged. He would enter a town, take his station near a church and wait until the bells rang for matins or vespers, then take up his staff and, sighing deeply, move off. People noting the wistful look in his eyes would ask him what he wanted.

  "I am seeking,--I am seeking," was his only reply; and those were almost the only words any one ever heard from him, and he muttered them often to himself. Years rolled over the head of the wanderer, but still his slow march from town to town continued. His hair had grown white, and his strength had failed him so much that he only tottered instead of walked, but still that wistful seeking look was in his eyes.

  He heard the old bells on the Rhine in his wanderings. He lingered long near the belfries of the sweetest voices; but their melodious tongues only spoke to him of his lost hope.

  He left the river of sweet bells, and made a pilgrimage to England. It was the days of cathedrals in their beauty and glory, and here he again heard the tones that he loved, but which failed to realize his own ideal.

  When a person fails to fulfil his ideal, his whole life seems a failure,--like something glorious and beautiful one meets and loses, and never again finds.

  "Be true to the dreams of thy youth," says a German author; and every soul is unhappy until the dreams of youth prove true.

  One glorious evening in midsummer Otto was crossing a river in Ireland. The kind-hearted boatman had been moved by the old man's imploring gestures to cross him. "He's mighty nigh his end, anyhow," he muttered, looking at the feeble movements of the old pilgrim as he stumbled to his seat.

  Suddenly through the still evening air came the distant sound of a melodious chime. At the first note the pilgrim leaped to his feet and threw up his arms.

  "O my God," he cried, "found at last!"

  "It's the bells of the Convent," said the wondering man, not understanding Otto's words spoken in a foreign tongue, but answering his gesture. "They was brought from somewhere in Holland when they were fighting there. Moighty fine bells they are, anyhow. But he isn't listening to me."

  No, he heard nothing but the bells. He merely whispered, "Come back to me after so many years,--O love of my soul, O thought of my life! Peal on, for your voices tell me of Paradise."

  The last note floated through the air, and as it died away something else soared aloft forever, free from the clouds and struggles of life.

  BRESLAU.]

  His ideal was fulfilled now. Otto lay dead, his face full of peace and joy, for the weary quest of his crazy brain was over, and the Harmony Chime had called him to his eternal rest.

  And, past that change of life that men call Death, we may well believe that he heard in the ascension to the celestial atmosphere the ringing of welcoming bells more beautiful than the Harmony Chime.

  "I will relate another story," said Mr. Beal.
"It is like the HarmonyChime, but has a sadder ending."

  THE BELL-FOUNDER OF BRESLAU.

  There once lived in Breslau a famous bell-founder, the fame of whose skill caused his bells to be placed in many German towers. According to the ballad of Wilhelm Mueller,--

  "And all his bells they sounded So full and clear and pure: He poured his faith and love in, Of that all men were sure. But of all bells that ever He cast, was one the crown, That was the bell for sinners At Breslau in the town."

  He had an ambition to cast one bell that would surpass all others in purity of tone, and that should render his own name immortal.

  He was required to cast a bell for the Magdalen Church tower of that city of noble churches,--Breslau. He felt that this was opportunity for his masterpiece. All of his thoughts centred on the Magdalen bell.

  After a long period of preparation, his metals were arranged for use. The form was walled up and made steady; the melting of the metals in the great bell-kettle had begun.

  The old bell-founder had two faults which had grown upon him; a love of ale and a fiery temper.

  While the metals were heating in the kettle, he said to his fire-watch, a little boy,--

  "Tend the kettle for a moment; I am overwrought: I must go over to the inn, and take my ale, and nerve me for the casting.

  "But, boy," he added, "touch not the stopple; if you do, you shall rue it. That bell is my life, I have put all I have learned in life into it. If any man were to touch that stopple, I would strike him dead."

  FINISHING THE BELL.]

  AT THE INN.]

  The boy had an over-sensitive, nervous temperament. He was easily excited, and was subject to impulses that he could not easily control.

  The command that he should not touch the stopple, under the dreadful penalty, strongly affected his mind, and made him wish to do the very thing he had been forbidden.

  He watched the metal in the great kettle. It bubbled, billowed, and ran to and fro. In the composition of the glowing mass he knew that his master had put his heart and soul.

  It would be a bold thing to touch the stopple,--adventurous. His hand began to move towards it.

  The evil impulse grew, and his hand moved on.

  He touched the stopple. The impulse was a wild passion now,--he turned it.

  Then his mind grew dark--he was filled with horror. He ran to his master.

  "I have turned the stopple; I could not help it," he said. "The Devil tempted me!"

  The old bell-founder clasped his hands and looked upward in agony. Then his temper flashed over him. He seized his knife, and stabbed the boy to the heart.

  He rushed back to the foundry, hoping to stay the stream. He found the metal whole; the turning of the stopple had not caused the metal to flow.

  The boy lay dead on the ground.

  THE DAY OF EXECUTION.]

  The old bell-founder knew the consequences of his act, and he did not seek to escape them. He cast the bell; then he went to the magistrates, and said,--

  "My work is done; but I am a murderer. Do with me as you will."

  The trial was short; it greatly excited the city. The judges could not do otherwise than sentence him to death. But as he was penitent, he was promised that on the day of his execution he should receive the offices and consolations of the Church.

  "You are good," he said. "But grant me another favor. My bells will delight many ears when I am gone; my soul is in them; grant me another favor."

  "Name it," said the judges.

  "That I may hear the sound of my new bell before I die."

  The judges consulted, and answered,--

  "It shall toll for your execution."

  The fatal day came.

  Toll, toll, toll!

  There was a sadness in the tone of the bell that touched every heart in Breslau. The bell seemed human.

  Toll, toll, toll!

  How melodious! how perfect! how beautiful! The very air seemed charmed! The years would come and go, and this bell would be the tongue of Breslau!

  The old man came forth. He had forgotten his fate in listening to the bell. The heavy clang was so melodious that it filled his heart with joy.

  "That is it! that is it; my heart, my life!" he said. "I know all the metals; I made the voice! Ring on, ring on forever! Ring in holy days, and happy festivals, and joy eternal to Breslau."

  Toll, toll, toll!

  On passed the white-haired man, listening still to the call of the bell that summoned him to death.

  He bowed his head at the place of execution to meet the stroke just as the last tone of the bell melted upon the air. His soul passed amid the silvery echoes. The bell rings on.

  "Ay, of all bells that ever He cast, is this the crown, The bell of Church St. Magdalen At Breslau in the town. It was, from that time forward, Baptized the Sinner's Bell; Whether it still is called so, Is more than I can tell."

  "There is a sadness in the bells of the Rhine," continued Mr. Beal,"as they ring from old belfries at evening under the ruins of thecastles on the hills. The lords of the Rhine that once heard them aregone forever. The vineyards creep up the hills on the light trellises,and the sun and the earth, as it were, fill the grapes with wine. Thewoods are as green as of old. The rafts go drifting down the lightwaves as on feet of air. But the river of history is changed, and onefeels the spirit of the change with deep sadness as one listens to thebells."

  THE LIGHTS HAVE GONE OUT IN THE CASTLE.

  I.

  The boatmen strike lightly the zither As they drift 'neath the hillsides of green, But gone from the Rhine is the palgrave, And gone is the palgravine. Play lightly, play lightly, O boatman, When the shadows of night round thee fall, For the lights have gone out in the castle, The lights have gone out in the hall. And the Rhine waters silently flow, The old bells ring solemn and slow, O boatman, Play lightly, Play lightly, O boatman, play lightly and low.

  II.

  Awake the old runes on the zither, O boatman! the lips of the Rhine Still kiss the green ruins of ivy, And smile on the vineyards of wine. Play lightly, play lightly, O boatman, When the shadows of night round thee fall, For the lights have gone out in the castle, The lights have gone out in the hall. And the Rhine waters silently flow, The old bells ring solemn and slow, O boatman, Play lightly, Play lightly, O boatman, play lightly and low.

  ABOVE THE TOWN.]

  III.

  The lamps of the stars shine above thee As they shone when the vineyards were green, In the long vanished days of the palgrave, In the days of the palgravine. Play lightly, thy life tides are flowing, Thy fate in the palgrave's recall, For the lights have gone out in the castle, The lights have gone out in the hall. And the Rhine waters silently flow, And the old bells ring solemn and slow, O boatman, Play lightly, Play lightly, O boatman, play lightly and low.

  The narratives of the evening devoted to the Bells on the Rhine wereclosed by a story by Master Lewis.

  "I do not often relate stories," he said; "but I have a German storyin mind, the lesson of which has been helpful to my experience. It isa legend and a superstition, and one that is not as generally familiarto the readers of popular books as are many that have been told atthese meetings. I think you will like it, and that you will not soonforget it."

  "TO-MORROW."

  Once--many years, perhaps centuries ago--a young German student, named Lek, was travelling from Leipsig to the Middle Rhine. His journey was made on foot, and a part of it lay through the
Thuringian Forest.

  He rested one night at the old walled town of Saalfeld, visited the ruins of Sorenburg, and entered one of the ancient roads then greatly frequented, but less used now, on account of the shorter and swifter avenues of travel.

  Towards evening he ascended a hill, and, looking down, was surprised to discover a quaint town at the foot, of which he had never heard.

  It was summer; the red sun was going down, and the tree-tops of the vast forests, moved by a gentle wind, seemed like the waves of the wide sea. Lek was a lover of the beautiful expressions of Nature, of the poetry of the forests, hills, and streams; and he sat down on a rock, under a spreading tree, to see the sunset flame and fade, and the far horizons sink into the shadows and disappear.

  "I have made a good journey to-day," he said, "and whatever the strange town below me may be, it will be safe for me to spend the night there. I see that it has a church and an inn."

  Lek had travelled much over Germany, but he had never before seen a town like the one below him. It wore an air of strange antiquity,--as a town might look that had remained unchanged for many hundred years. An old banner hung out from a quaint steepled building; but it was unlike any of modern times, national or provincial.

  The fires of sunset died away; clouds, like smoke, rose above them, and a deep shadow overspread the forests. Lek gathered up his bundles, and descended the hill towards the town. As he was hurrying onward he met a strange-looking man in a primitive habit,--evidently a villager. Lek asked him the name of the place.

  The stranger looked at him sadly and with surprise, and answered in a dialect that he did not wholly understand; but he guessed at the last words, and rightly.

  "Why do you wish to know?"

  "I am a traveller," answered Lek, "and I must remain there until to-morrow."

  "TO-MORROW!" said the man, throwing up his hands. "To-morrow! For _us_," pointing to himself, "there is no to-morrow. I must hurry on."

  He strode away towards a faded cottage on the outskirts of the town, leaving Lek to wonder what his mysterious answer could mean.

  OLD PEASANT COSTUME.]

  Lek entered the town. The people were strange to him; every one seemed to be in a hurry. Men and women were talking rapidly, like travellers when taking leave of their friends for a long journey. Indeed, so earnest were their words that they seemed hardly to notice him at all.

  He presently met an old woman on a crutch, hurrying along the shadowy street.

  THE OLD CITY.]

  "Is this the way to the inn?" he asked.

  The old one hobbled on. He followed her.

  "Is this the way to the inn? I wish to remain there until to-morrow."

  The cripple turned on her crutch.

  "TO-MORROW!" she said. "Who are you that talk of to-morrow? All the gold of the mountains could not buy a to-morrow. Go back to your own, young man! they may have to-morrows; but my time is short,--I must hurry on."

  Away hobbled the dame; and Lek, wondering at her answer, entered what seemed to him the principal street.

  He came at length to the inn; a faded structure, and antique, like a picture of the times of old. There men were drinking and talking; men in gold lace, and with long purses filled with ancient coin.

  The landlord was evidently a rich old fellow; he had a girdle of jewels, and was otherwise habited much like a king.

  He stared at Lek; so did his jovial comrades.

  "Can you give a stranger hospitality until to-morrow?" asked the young student, bowing.

  "Until TO-MORROW! Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the innkeeper. "He asks for hospitality until to-morrow!" he added to his six jolly companions.

  "To-morrow--ha, ha, ha!" echoed one.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" repeated another.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" chorused the others, slapping their hands on their knees. "To-morrow!"

  Then a solemn look came into the landlord's face.

  "Young man," said he, "don't you know, have you not heard? _We_ have no to-morrows; our nights are long, long slumbers; each one is a hundred years."

  OLD PEASANT COSTUME.]

  The six men were talking now, and the landlord turned from Lek and joined in the conversation eagerly.

  The shadows of the long twilight deepened. Men and women ran to and fro in the streets. Every one seemed in a hurry, as though much must be said and done in a brief time.

  Presently a great bell sounded in a steeple. The hurrying people paused. Each one uplifted his or her hands, waved them in a circle, and cried,--

  "Alas! TO-MORROW! Hurry, good men, all, good women, all, hurry!"

  What did it mean? "Have I gone mad?" asked Lek. "Am I dreaming?"

  Near the inn was a green, parched and faded. In the centre was a withered tree; under it was a maiden. She was very fair; her dress was of silk and jewels, and on her arms were heavy bracelets of gold. Unlike the other people, she did not seem hurried and anxious. She appeared to take little interest in the strangely stimulated activities around her.

  Lek went to her.

  "Pardon a poor student seeking information," he said. "Your people all treat me rudely and strangely; they will not listen to me. I am a traveller, and I came here civilly, and only asked for food and lodging until to-morrow."

  "TO-MORROW! The word is a terror to most of them; it is no terror to me. I care not for to-morrows,--they are days of disappointments; I had them once,--I am glad they do not come oftener to me. I shall go to sleep at midnight, here where I was deserted. You are a stranger, I see. You belong to the world; every day has its to-morrow. Go away, away to your own people, and to your own life of to-morrows. This is no place for you here."

  Again the bell sounded. The hurrying people stopped again in the street, and waved their hands wildly, and cried,--

  "Haste, haste, good men, all, good women, all. The hour is near. Good men, all, good women, all, hurry!"

  OLD PEASANT COSTUMES.]

  It was night now; but the full moon rose over the long line of hills, and behind it appeared a black cloud, from which darted tongues of red flame, followed by mutterings of thunder.

  The moon ascended the clear sky like a chariot, and the cloud seemed to follow her like an army,--an awful spectacle that riveted Lek's gaze and made him apprehensive.

  "A storm is coming," he said. "I must stay here. Tell me, good maiden, where can I find food and shelter?"

  "Have you a true heart?"

  "I have a true heart. I have always been true to myself; and he who is true to himself is never unfaithful to God or his fellow-men."

  "Then you will be saved when the hour comes. They only go down with us who are untrue. All true hearts have to-morrows."

  The moon ascended higher, and her light, more resplendent, heightened the effect of the blackness of the rising cloud. The lightnings became more vivid, the thunder more distinct.

  "You are sure that your heart is true?" said the maiden.

  "By the Cross, it is true."

  "Then I have a duty to do. Follow me."

  She rose and walked towards the hill from which Lek had come. Lek followed her. As he passed out of the town the bell sounded: it was the hour of eleven.

  The people stopped in the streets as before, waving their hands, and crying,--

  "Good men, all, good women, all, hurry! The hour is near. Good men, all, good women, all, hurry!"

  CITY GATE.]

  The maiden ascended the hill to the very rock from which the student had first seen the town, and under which he had rested.

  "Sit you here," she said, "and do not leave the place until the cocks crow for morning. A true heart never perished with the untrue. My duty is done. Farewell!"

  "But the tempest?" said the student. "This is no place of shelter. Let me return with you, only until to-morrow."

&
nbsp; There burst upon the hill a terrific thunder-gust. The maiden was gone, the black cloud swept over the moon, and Lek could no longer discern the town in the valley. Everything around him grew dark. The air seemed to turn into a thick inky darkness.

  Fearful flashes of lightning and terrific thunder followed. The wind bent the forest before it; but not a drop of rain fell.

  There was a moment's silence. The bell in the mysterious steeple smote upon the air. It was midnight.

  Another hush, as though Nature had ceased to breathe. Then a thunder-crash shook the hills, and seemed to cleave open the very earth.

  Lek crossed himself and fell upon his knees. The cloud passed swiftly. The moon came out again, revealing the lovely valley. _The village was gone._

  In the morning a cowherd came up the hill at the rising of the sun.

  "Good morrow," said Lek. "That was a fearful tempest that we had at midnight."

  "I never heard such thunder," said the cowherd. "I almost thought that the final day had come. You may well say it was a fearful night, my boy."

  THE NECKAR.]

  "But what has become of the village that was in the valley yesterday?" asked Lek.

  "There is no village in the valley," said the cowherd. "There never was but one. That was sunk hundreds of years ago; if you saw any village there yesterday it was that: it comes up only once in a hundred years, and then it remains for only a single day. Woe betide the traveller that stops there _that_ day. Unless he have a true heart, he goes down with the town at midnight. The town was cursed because it waxed rich, and became so wicked that there was found in it but one heart that was true."

  "Tell me about this strange village," said Lek, in fear and awe, recalling his adventure. "I never before heard of a thing so mysterious."

  "It is a sorry story. I will tell it as I have heard it.

  "The hills of Reichmanndorf used to abound with gold, and the people of the old town all became rich; but their riches did not make them happy and contented. It made them untrue.

  "The more their wealth increased, the more unfaithful they became, until the men met in the market-place daily to defraud each other, and the women's only purpose in life was to display their vanity.

  "At the inn were nightly carousals. The young men thought only of their gains and dissipations. Men were untrue to their families, and lovers to their vows.

  "The Sabbath was not kept. The old priest, Van Ness, said masses to the empty aisles.

  "In those evil days lived one Frederic Wollin. He was a brave man, and his soul was true.

  "It was the custom of this good man to instruct the people in the market-place. But at last none came to hear him.

  "One day, near Christmas, the council met. Wine flowed; rude jests went round. The question was discussed as to how these days of selfish delights might be made perpetual.

  "A great cry arose:--

  "'Banish the holy days: then all our to-morrows will be as to-day!'

  "Then Wollin arose and faced the people. His appearance was met by a tumult, and his words increased the hatred long felt against him.

  "'The days of evil have no to-morrows.' he said. 'He that liveth to himself is dead.'

  "'Give him a holy day once in a hundred years!' cried one.

  "The voice was hailed with cheers. The council voted that all future days should be as that day, except that Wollin and the old priest, Van Ness, should have a holy day once in a hundred years.

  "Christmas came. No bell was rung; no chant was heard. Easter brought flowers to the woods, but none to the altar. Purple Pentecost filled the forest villages with joy; but here no one cared to recall the descent of the celestial fire except the old priest and Wollin.

  "It was such a night as last night when Van Ness and Wollin came out of the church for the last time. The people were drinking at the inn, and dancing upon the green. Spring was changing into deep summer; the land was filled with blooms.

  "A party of young men who had been carousing, on seeing Wollin come from the church, set upon him, and compelled him to leave the town. He came up this hill. When he had reached the top, he paused and lifted his face towards heaven, and stretched out his hand. As he did so, a sharp sound rent the valley, and caused the hills to tremble. He looked down. The village had disappeared. Only Van Ness was standing by his side.

  "But as the villagers had promised Wollin a holy day once in a hundred years, so once in a hundred years these people are permitted to rise with their village into the light of the sun for a single day. If on that day a stranger visits them whose heart is untrue he disappears with them at midnight. Such is the story. You will hardly believe it true."

  The student crossed himself, and went on his journey towards the Rhine.

  "_They_ have one day in a hundred years," he said. "How precious must that one day be to them! If I enter the ways of evil, and my heart becomes untrue, shall _I_ have _one_ day in one hundred years when life is ended and my account to Heaven is rendered?"

  He thought. He read the holy books. He tried to find a single hope for an untrue soul; but he could discover none.

  Then he said,--

  "The days of evil have no to-morrows,--no, not once in a hundred years. Only good deeds have to-morrows. I will be true: so shall to-morrows open and close like golden doors until time is lost in the eternal." And his heart remained true.