Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands - Hezekiah Butterworth (notion reading list .txt) 📗
- Author: Hezekiah Butterworth
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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 the castles on the hills. The lords of the Rhine that once heard them are gone 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. The woods are as green as of old. The rafts go drifting down the light waves as on feet of air. But the river of history is changed, and one feels the spirit of the change with deep sadness as one listens to the bells.”
THE LIGHTS HAVE GONE OUT IN THE CASTLE.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.
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.
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 were closed by a story by Master Lewis.
“I do not often relate stories,” he said; “but I have a German story in mind, the lesson of which has been helpful to my experience. It is a legend and a superstition, and one that is not as generally familiar to the readers of popular books as are many that have been told at these meetings. I think you will like it, and that you will not soon forget 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.
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