  Bonn.—Holy Cologne.—The Story of the Mysterious Architect.—“Unfinished and Unknown.”—Visit to Cologne Cathedral.—The Tomb of the Magi.—The Church of Skulls.—Queer Relics.—The Story and Legend of Charlemagne.—The Story and Legend of Barbarossa. WE emerged from the majestic circle of the Seven Mountains, the most beautiful part of the Rhine scenery, and broad plains again met our view. The river ran smoothly, the Middle Rhine was passed, Bonn was in view, and there we dismissed our boatman. “We stopped in Bonn only a short time. We went to the Market-place and walked past the University, which was once a palace. “We took the train at Bonn for Cologne, in order to pass rapidly over a part of the Rhine scenery said to be comparatively uninteresting. “Holy Cologne! “The Rome of the Northern Empire! The ecclesiastical capital of the ancient German church! “The unfinished cathedral towers over the city like a mountain. ‘Unfinished?’ Everything has a legend here, and a marvellous one, and the unfinished cathedral stands like a witness to such a tale. CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE. “Above Cologne the river runs broad, a blue-green mirror amid dumpy willows and lanky poplars, and the windmills on its banks throw their arms about like giants at play. The steamers swarm in “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 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! THE MYSTERIOUS ARCHITECT. “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 “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. ST. MARTIN’S CHURCH, COLOGNE. “Leaving the tomb,—a pile of jewels,—we went out, and near the “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. “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. The Saxons were heathens. They honored a great idol called the Irmansaul. They were opposed to Charlemagne, and constantly threatened his frontiers. Charlemagne invaded their country, overthrew the great image, and after many struggles reduced the people to submission. In accordance with the rude customs of the time, he compelled them to accept Christianity and receive baptism. He is said to have baptized the prisoners of war with his own hand. He divided Saxony into eight bishoprics, and supported the bishops with guards of soldiers. We should look upon such missionary work as this as very questionable to-day, although enlightened nations of this age have sometimes adopted a policy in dealing with other countries that is as open to criticism and censure. The Pope of Rome became involved in troubles with the Lombards. He appealed for help to the victorious King of the Franks, the recognized champion of the Church. Charlemagne crossed the Alps, conquered Lombardy, and crowned himself with the iron crown of the ancient Lombard kings. CHARLEMAGNE IN THE SCHOOL OF THE PALACE. He now became the most powerful monarch in the world. He gained great victories over the Moors in Spain, and it was in one of the mountain passes there that the chivalrous young Roland, of heroic song, perished. His lands stretched from the Baltic Sea to the Mediterranean. In the year 800 he went to Rome. It was Christmas Day. He entered the basilica of St. Peter’s to attend Mass. He approached the altar, and bowed to pray. The Pope secretly uplifted the crown of the world and placed it upon his head. The people shouted, “Long live Charles Augustus, crowned of God, Emperor of the Romans!” From this time Charlemagne was the Kaiser, or CÆsar, of the Holy Roman Empire on the Tiber and the Rhine. The Rhine was loved by Charlemagne. He lived much on its borders, and he was buried near it, in a church that he had founded, at Aix-la-Chapelle. “I’d dwell where Charlemagne looked down, And, turning to his peers, Exclaimed: ‘Behold, for this fair land I’ve prayed and fought for years.’ Then all the Rhine towers shook to hear The earthquake of their cheers. “That day the tide ran crimson red (But not with Rhenish wine); Not with those vintage streams that through The green leaves gush and shine: ’Twas blood that from the Lombard ranks Rushed down into the Rhine. “’Twas here the German soldiers flocked, Burning with love and pride, And threw their muskets down to kiss The soil with French blood dyed. ‘The Rhine, dear Rhine!’ ten thousand men, Kneeling together, cried.” There is a beautiful legend that Charlemagne visits the Rhine yearly and blesses the vintage. He comes in a golden robe, and crosses the river on a “By the Rhine, the emerald river, How softly glows the night! The vine-clad hills are lying In the moonbeams’ golden light. “And on the hillside walketh A kingly shadow down, With sword and purple mantle, And heavy golden crown. “’Tis Charlemagne, the emperor, Who, with a powerful hand, For many a hundred years Hath ruled in German land. “From out his grave in Aachen He hath arisen there, To bless once more his vineyards, And breathe their fragrant air. “By Rudesheim, on the water, The moon doth brightly shine, And buildeth a bridge of gold Across the emerald Rhine. “The emperor walketh over, And all along the tide Bestows his benediction On the vineyards far and wide. “Then turns he back to Aachen In his grave-sleep to remain, Till the New Year’s fragrant clusters Shall call him forth again.” THE STORY AND LEGEND OF BARBAROSSA.Frederick of Germany was a very handsome man. There was a tinge of red in his beard, and for that reason he came to be called Frederick Barbarossa. He was an ambitious man, and he went to Rome to be crowned. CHARLEMAGNE INFLICTING BAPTISM UPON THE SAXONS. Barbarossa was constantly at war with popes and kings: he gained victories and suffered reverses; but his career was theatrical and popular in those rude times, and he was regarded as a very good monarch as kings went. THE GERMANS ON AN EXPEDITION. He once held a great peace festival at Mentz, to which came forty thousand knights. A camp of tents of silk and gold was set up by the Rhine, and musicians, called minnesingers, delighted the nobles and ladies with songs of heroes and knights. The songs and ballads then sung became famous, and this festival may be said to be the beginning of musical art in music-loving Germany. Europe was now startled with the news that the Saracens under Saladin had taken Jerusalem. Barbarossa was about inaugurating a new war with the Pope; but when this news came he and the Pope became reconciled, and he resolved to go on a crusade. He was an old man now, but he entered into the crusade with the fiery spirit of youth. His war-cry was,— He won a great victory at Iconium. There was a swift, cold river near the battle-field, called Kaly Kadmus. A few days after the victory, Barbarossa went into it to bathe. He was struck by a chill and sank into the rapid current, and was drowned. He was seventy years of age. His body was found and interred at Antioch. Of course the Germans attached to Barbarossa a legend, as they do to everything. They said that he was not dead, but had fallen a victim to enchantment. He and his knights had been put to sleep in the Kyffhauser cave in Thuringia. They sat around a stone table, waiting for release. His once red, but now white, beard was growing through the stone. They also said that the spell that bound Barbarossa and his knights would some day be broken, and that they would come back to Germany. This would occur when the country should be in sore distress, and need a champion for its cause. Ravens flew continually about the cave where the monarch and his knights were held enchanted. When they should cease to circle about it, the spell would be broken, and the grand old monarch would return to the Rhine. They looked for him in days of calamity; but centuries passed, and he did not return. The legend is thus told in song:— “The ancient Barbarossa By magic spell is bound,— Old Frederick the Kaiser, In castle underground. “The Kaiser hath not perished, He sleeps an iron sleep; For, in the castle hidden, He’s sunk in slumber deep. “With him the chiefest treasures Of empire hath he ta’en, Wherewith, in fitting season, He shall appear again. “The Kaiser he is sitting Upon an ivory throne; Of marble is the table His head he resteth on. Like living fire it shines, And groweth through the table Whereon his chin reclines. “As in a dream he noddeth, Then wakes he, heavy-eyed, And calls, with lifted finger, A stripling to his side. “‘Dwarf, get thee to the gateway, And tidings bring, if still Their course the ancient ravens Are wheeling round the hill. “‘For if the ancient ravens Are flying still around, A hundred years to slumber By magic spell I’m bound.’” The seven evenings with historic places on the Rhine had proved a source of profitable entertainment to the Club. It was proposed to continue the plan, and to follow Mr. Beal’s and the boys’ journey to the North. “Let us add to these entertainments,” said Charlie Leland,— “(1) A Night in Northern Germany. We will call it a Hamburg Night. “(2) A Night in Denmark. “(3) A Night in Sweden and Norway.” The proposal was adopted, and Master Beal was asked to continue the narrative of travel, and all the members of the Club were requested to collect stories that illustrate the history, traditions, manners, and customs of these countries. |
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