The Lake of Zug, the home of prehistoric lake-builders, is beautifully situated at the foot of the Rigi, and separated from the Lake of Lucerne by a narrow strip of land. At one end of this small sheet of water is the city of Zug, the capital of the canton of the same name, and at the other extremity, the pretty city of Arth, at the foot of the Rossberg.

This mountain is famous for its landslides, which have cost many lives and buried whole villages at its foot. The legend ascribes these cataclysms to the hard-heartedness of the people, who incurred the anger of the dwarfs by refusing them hospitality, as was the case at Roll on the Lake of Thun. The city of Zug has twice been undermined by the lake. The first time, in 1435, two whole streets sank down into the water; but while science attributes such accidents to perfectly natural causes, legend tries to account for them in a more poetic way.

In the centre of the lake, far down below the surface of the water, nixies and water-nymphs are supposed to dwell in a marvellous palace all hung with gleaming crystal stalactites, paved with silver and gold, and brightly lighted by the sparkle of precious stones encrusting its walls. The dainty inhabitants of this sub-aqueous palace seldom rise to the surface of the lake, except at night, when they are seen in the moonlight, dancing here and there over the waves, floating gently ashore, or hovering along grassy banks, where they love to spread out their mist like veils.

These nymphs occasionally appear at village dances, where they can be distinguished from mortal maidens by their superior beauty, and by the ever wet hem of their long white gowns. One of these nymphs fell violently in love with the handsome young son of a magistrate of Zug, and besides meeting him at dances on the green, held nightly trysts with him on the edge of the lake.

The youth was deeply enamoured with the dainty nymph, and when she rose out of the waves one evening with reddened eyelids, he insisted upon knowing the cause of her grief. The sprite now told him that her father, having discovered her infatuation for a mere mortal, had forbidden her to have any further intercourse with him, unless he were willing to follow her down into her father’s abode and live with her there in happy wedlock. The young man, on hearing this, vowed he would be only too happy were such a course possible to him, but gently explained that the element in which she lived was not adapted to human lungs. The nymph, however, declared such an obstacle could easily be removed, and immediately proffered a magic draught, which would enable him to breathe in the water as easily as in the air. The enamoured youth quickly seized the cup she tendered, and after quaffing the crystal clear, tasteless fluid it contained, sank with her down into the depths of the lake.

Delighted with his new powers, and with the wonders he saw on all sides, the youth was very happy for a while, but homesickness finally seized him in the crystal palace. When the nymph tenderly inquired what was the matter, he sadly confessed that he longed to see his parents and friends once more, and that he would never be entirely happy unless he could attend divine service regularly in his parish church.

At these words the nymph’s sweet face darkened, but it was soon illumined again by a brilliant idea which she vowed she would put into immediate execution. That evening, for the first time, she left her beloved, and stealing into the sleeping city, replaced all the drinking water in the houses of two streets by the same magic fluid she had given to the youth. Then, plunging into the lake again, she called all her father’s minions to her aid, and gently and noiselessly undermined those houses. When the people were sound asleep the next night, she drew them softly down to the bottom of the lake.

On awakening in this new element, on the morrow, they found all their surroundings unchanged, and took up their life where they had left it off when they went to sleep the night before. The youth could now hold constant intercourse with his former neighbours and friends, attend service whenever he pleased, and he and all the others are still as happy as the day is long, for the magic draught has endowed them with the immortality which all water spirits enjoy.

When the waters are very clear, you can still see the spire of the sunken church and the gables of the old houses, and people gifted with particularly keen eyes and lively imaginations can detect the stir of busy life in the streets, catch the sound of ringing bells, and the deep solemn tones of an organ, gently accompanying the chants of the sunken congregation.

On the spot where the boundaries of ZÜrich, Zug, and Schwyz converge, stands the Hohe Rhonen, the goal of charming excursions; for from the top of this mountain one can enjoy a fine view of the lake, the Sentis, and the Toggenburg and Glarus mountains.

Part of the Hohe Rhonen consists of fine pastures, and a legend claims that a miser once tried to cheat a widow and several orphans out of their portion of this soil. To establish his claim to the pastures, the wicked man not only resorted to forgery, but as the judge still seemed doubtful of the justice of his claims, boldly volunteered to swear on the spot itself that it was rightfully his. The judge accepted this offer, and accompanied by plaintiff, defendant, and several witnesses, wended his way up the mountain to the disputed alp. Standing on a huge granite boulder which lay there, the miser took his oath, holding up three fingers as usual, and when the judge cried, “Woe upon thee, if thou swearest falsely!” boldly added, “If I have committed perjury, may these fingers sink into this hard stone as easily as into water!”

Saying these words, he thrust his fingers downward, and to his horror and dismay felt them sink into the stone up to the second joint! But although they entered so easily, he could not draw them out again, and standing there, a convicted perjurer, had to confess his sin. He had scarcely ceased speaking, when he was hidden from sight by a dark cloud, a terrible cry was heard, and when the rock again became visible to the amazed spectators, the man had disappeared, carried off to Hades by the Devil. But the stone, with the imprint of his perjured digits, is still known as the Three Finger Stone, and remains there as a constant warning against falsehood and treachery.

Not very far from the Hohe Rhonen, but in the canton of Schwyz, stands the church of Einsiedlen, a famous place of pilgrimage ever since the ninth century. The legend claims that the spot is particularly holy because Our Lord once drank from the fountain with fourteen mouths, while journeying through the country to preach the gospel.

Besides, Meinrad, Count of Sulgen, having vowed to spend the rest of his life in prayer, came to this lovely valley long years ago. Here he built a little chapel to contain a wonder-working image of the Virgin, which he had received from one of the princess-abbesses of ZÜrich. Meinrad also built a small hut close by this chapel, and as this was generally called his hermitage (Einsiedelei), its name was given to the town which has since arisen on that spot.

Meinrad was known far and wide for his piety as well as for his charity, and all the gifts he received from strangers were immediately lavished upon the poor. Years were spent by the hermit in penance, prayer, and works of mercy, and when very old, the death angel suddenly appeared to him one day in the chapel, to announce that his end was near.

Meinrad, who had longed for Heaven for many a year, received this warning with solemn joy, and after returning thanks went out of the chapel, to feast his eyes once more upon the lovely landscape. While he sat near his hermitage, two tame ravens which he had brought up came to nestle in his lap, and he gently stroked them with his aged and trembling hands. While he sat there quietly, two robbers suddenly sprang out of the thicket, and exclaiming that they had come for the treasures accumulated during all these years, drove their daggers deep into his heart.

The old man fell to the ground lifeless, the ravens flew croaking away, and the thieves, picking up the corpse, threw it into the chapel, so as not to have it continually under their eyes while they made their search. With feverish haste they next turned over every article in the little hermitage, ripped open the straw pallet, peered into the depths of the one crock, and dug up the floor; but to their chagrin no treasure was forthcoming. Thinking the holy man might have concealed his wealth in the chapel, they now betook themselves thither; but no sooner had they crossed the threshold than they paused aghast, feeling their hair slowly rise up on end.

The chapel, which had been so dark a while ago, was now illumined by lights burning on the altar; the corpse was carefully laid out at its base, with tapers burning all around it, and close by stood the two crows, mounting solemn guard over their dead master. But when the murderers, recovering a little from their first surprise and terror, ventured to take a step forward, these faithful birds forsook their post, and so furiously attacked the intruders with beak and claws that they soon drove them out of the chapel.

Terrified by this attack, the robbers fled over the mountains to ZÜrich, and did not feel quite safe until seated in a little inn where they were wont to linger for hours. They were drinking hard, hoping to forget their recent uncanny experiences, when in through the open window suddenly flew two ravens which circled wildly around their heads, croaking loudly and threatening to pick out their eyes. The criminals, with a common impulse, ducked their heads, and groaning aloud, exclaimed: “Meinrad’s watchers! Meinrad’s watchers!”

These words, and the mysterious behaviour of the birds, which could not be driven away for some time, so aroused the suspicions of the city magistrates, that they sent both men to prison until they could ascertain whether Meinrad were still safe. That same evening, however, a traveller reported the murder of the hermit, whom he had found dead in the chapel, and when the judges summoned the prisoners they had to confess their crime. In punishment for slaying a hermit whom all revered like a saint, the murderers were first broken on the wheel and then burned at the stake.

A monastery was soon erected on the site of Meinrad’s hermitage; and since then a beautiful church, a fine abbey, and many inns and hotels have been built for the accommodation and edification of tourists and pilgrims who visit Einsiedlen in great numbers.