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226
LEGEND OF THE CASTLE OF NUREMBERG.
in some such way as Hugh Miller has
done in “ My Schools and Schoolmas
ters,” I shall have to linger about the
cottage I know not how long; for feel
ing, as I have said, how much is done
by the time the boyhood is over and
the youth begins — if such a distinction
can be made — I can see now how
[March,
many things must have been imM
mately at work beside that sweet, good
home, and what was there. Manners
and customs, traditions, stories, reli
gion, superstition, scene, and incident,
all had their place in the lad’s life, and
must have their place in the man's
story — if it is ever told.
LEGEND OF THE CASTLE OF NUREMBERG.
{From the German?)
BY MRS. E. E. EVANS.
MONGST the many legends and suffered terribly from the ravages of
historical traditions attached to wolves, until, in desperation, the in
the old castle of Nuremberg, is habitants assembled in force and
a
curious story of an event which took drove them out of their haunts, kill
place about the middle of the thir ing meantime as many as possible*
teenth century. The castle was at Those that escaped, to the number of
that time governed by Count Frederic several hundred, retreated to the moun
III. of Hohenzollern, who lived there tains, and from thence made frequent
in princely state with his wife, the descents upon the scattered farms in
Countess Elizabeth, and their six the valleys, so that scarcely a day
children. It was a happy family. The elapsed without some person having
wedded pair lovec[ each other tenderly, been destroyed.
and took pride in the strength and
The most horrible event of this
bravery of their sons and the modest kind occurred three days before Mich
beauty of their daughters. Their re aelmas, In the forests of St. Sebald
tainers were faithful, the citizens of ’ and St. Lawrence (so named from the
the already famous city of Nuremberg two cathedrals of Nuremberg) lived a
held them in honor, the land was no class of peasants who made it their
longer disturbed by war, and through sole business to raise bees and collect
the vigilance and courage of the honey, which was in great demand,
Nurembergers the once dreaded inva as foreign sugars had not yet begun
sions of banded robbers had been to be imported. To such an extent was
brought to an end.
the pursuit carried, that the great forest
Thus peaceful and prosperous was tract was spoken of in the legal in
the existence of this noble family in struments of that period as “ the impe
the year 1264. At that period, John, rial bee-garden,” and the bee-farmers
the elder son, was eighteen and his were allowed to pay their government
brother Sigmund sixteen years old. taxes in honey. For some reason, the
They were skilled in every knightly magistrate having charge of such
accomplishment, and had already won matters issued an order for the tax to
distinction by their exertions in cer be paid three days before Michaelmas,
tain fierce encounters with the rob instead of on the day itself, when it
bers.
would really become due; and in
In the autumn of that year the vil obedience to the command, a certain
lages in the vicinity of Nuremberg bee-farmer, living on the northern
A
�HEPl
LEGEND OFTHE CASTLE OF NUREMBERG.
22]
border of St. Sebald’s forest, went
At this moment the parents of the
with his wife to Nuremberg, distant murdered children came in sight of
about seven miles, each carrying a their desolated home. A sorrowful
BB*ge wooden tub of honey bound by presentiment had caused them to
a strap across their shoulders.
hasten their steps, so that they had
As their cottage stood in a solitary accomplished the last few miles in
place, they could not leave their fam- half the time usually required; but
ily in the care of any neighbor; but the first glance assured them that they
they expected to return in six hours at were too late, and their cries of grief
furthest, and so went away without were so harrowing that the wolves ran
misgiving, having repeatedly charged away in fear.
their eldest child, Wolfgang, a bright
As if it were impossible that the
boy eight years old, to watch over still smoking bones lying before them
his brother of four and his little sister could be the remains of their beloved
of two years, and on no account to go children, the father and mother went
outside of the house—promising, if he raving into the house, and called with
should prove faithful, to reward him despairing voices: “Children, come!
with a present of some gingerbread, come, children! here are your ginger
for which it seems Nuremberg was cakes ! ” With what joy did they rush
even at that early day^ as now, cele to the door when they heard a child’s
brated. voice in reply! But it was the lament
The three children remained hap ing voice of the neighbor’s boy, now
pily together till about five o’clock in descending from the tree, who ex
the afternoon, when Wolfgang saw plained to the distracted parents the
from the window a little friend, the horrible circumstances of the death
son of a neighboring bee-farmer, ap of their darlings. After many mo
proaching the house, and was soon ments of speechless agony, the woman
coaxed by this playfellow to come out broke the deathly stillness by saying
on the green before the door. His to her husband, with the calmness of
brother soon followed, and the little insanity: “Come, Henry, let us go to
girl, not liking to be left alone, started Nuremberg and take our children
in pursuit. Suddenly two wolves ap away from the magistrate, and if he
peared. The visitor climbed quickly refuses to give them to us, we will
up a large linden tree which stood be- carry off his children and throw them
fore the house and called loudly to to the wolves!” “Alas! why did he
Wolfgang to follow him. But the dqmand the honey-tax this year before
brave boy, more anxious for his it was due! ” sighed the heart-broken
brother and sister than himself, caught father; saying which, he, without
tliSdittle girl in his right arm, seized knowing what he did, threw the dear
Rudolf with his left hand, and remains into the tub which still hung
hastened with them to the cottage upon his back, and involuntarily tot
door. Just as he was about to cross tered after his wife toward Nurem
the threshold, one wolf fastened upon berg.
his shoulder, threw him down, and
As soon as they reached the city, the
immediately buried its sharp teeth in miserable pair rushed to the magis
his vitals. The other wolf tore to trate’s house, demanding imperiously
pieces the little Rudolf, who till his of the guard at the door: “Where is
last breath called out incessantly: the bailiff with the children?” The
“Father! mother! oh, God!’’ After man replied insolently: “At the castle
that both the destroyers fell upon the with the Count. What do you want
sister, who had broken out into fright of him at this late hour?” The
ened crying, which was soon silenced woman flew to the castle, and sprang
in death.
up the brilliantly-lighted staircase into
�228
LEGEND OF THE CASTLE OF NUREMBEttk
the noble hall, where the Count and a
company of his favorite frjends, among
whom was the magistrate, were cele
brating the eighteenth birthday of his
elder son, John.
A tender and thoughtful mood had
taken possession of all minds; for just
before the Watchman upon the tower
had announced, with a blast of his
trumpet, the beginning of the last
hour before midnight, the eventful
moment when, eighteen years before,
the Countess, wavering between life
and death, had given successful birth
to her first child. It was then that
the bereaved mother darted amidst
the group of boys and girls playing
in the hall, snatched up one child
after another, and cried out, as she
sought in vain for the familiar little
faces: “Emma, Rudolf, Wolfgang
—where are you, then?” Every one
asked: “Who is she?” “Whom does
she seek?” But she paid no atten
tion to their questions, and the dread
ful tragedy was first guessed from the
words of the bee-farmer, who now
came into the hall, threw the bloody
bones upon the floor, and said:
“There, my noble lords, take your
last tax from me, a poor unhappy
father! ”
This event made a deep impression
upon the family and their guests. The
two young noblemen, moved by the
purest sympathy, declared their inten
tion to summon the whole community
to go out in a body and free the poor
farmers from the frightful plague of
wolves. Before the company broke
up, a wolf-hunt was agreed upon for
the next day; and, before sunrise, the
young counts rode away at the head
of thirty experienced huntsmen and
more than a hundred vigorous serv
ants, who led between twenty and
thirty fierce hunting-dogs in leash.
The precaution had been taken to
close all the forest paths; and by sun
set eighteen wolves, besides six boaas,
five deer, and ten foxes, were killed.
The hunt raged fiercest around the
cottage of the unfortunate bee-farmer.
[March!
He had himself conducted Count John
to the spot, and at the sight of his
children’s toys, lying scattered around
the door, had burst into loud lamen
tations. The cheeks of the Count also
were moistened with manly tears; and
with his eyes raised to heaven, he
swore not to rest until he had sum
ceeded in extirpating all dangerowl
wild beasts from the forest. Just then
he saw two wolves, maddened by hun
ger, licking the spot which had yester
day been wet with the children’s blood.
Without horse or spear, for he had left
both by the linden tree beyond the
wolves, he rushed with the speed of
an arrow upon the beasts, and with a
single stroke of his drawn sword cut
off the head of one of them. The
other sprang .upon him, and had
already fastened its eager jaws in the
side of the brave youth, when one
of his dogs, which had followed him
slowly, flew at the throat of the wolf,
so that, occupied with its own danger,
it could not give the deadly bite. With
a desperate effort, the monster flung
off the faithful dog, and then sprang
upon the Count in a rage; but as
quickly was John’s sharp sword bur
ied in the beast’s entrails.
One may imagine the horror of Sig
mund when, the sudden noise having
called him out of the house, he com-l
prehended his brother’s recent peril;
and his joy when, on carefully exam
ining the wounded side, he found it
merely scratched and only slightly
bloody.
The news of the success of the ex
pedition soon reached the city, and
the Council began at once to make
preparations for a worthy reception
of the victors. Toward eight o’clock
in the evening, the hunters passed
within the walls through the Thier-*
gaertner gate. At the head of the
procession rode the bee-farmer upon
a snow-white horse from the castle
stables, and with bow and quiver
shrouded in crape. Behind him fifty
servants bore the slaughtered beasts
upon poles on their shoulders; while
�1870.]
AACAAT? OF THE CASTLE OF NUREMBERG.
fifty more walked on both sides with
blazing torches in their hands. Next
rode the young knights, John and Sigmund, upon two black horses; and be
hind them, three abreast, came thirty
noble archers. Lastly, by command
of the Council, twenty-five armorers in
glittering armor, and carrying torches,
brought up the rear.
When the procession had reached
St. Sebald’s Church, the chief magis
trate and two lords of the Council
thanked the brave young men in the
name of the inhabitants for deliver
ance from trouble and danger, and
invited them to supper in the great
saloon of the City Hall, which had
been duly adorned for the feast. As
the huntsmen entered the saloon they
were met by the daughters of the no
blest houses of Nuremberg, who placed
upon, the head of each a. garland of
flowers, to the sound of trumpets and
kettle-drums. Around the table were
already seated the parents of both the
crowners and the crowned, and at the
Jiead were the Count and Countess.
One can easily imagine the joyful
astonishment of the young men.
Feasting and dancing continued-till
‘midnight, and before the company
separated a second wolf-hunt was
arranged for the next day — Mich
aelmas.
By five o’clock the next morning the
two young knights were ready to re
pair to the rendezvous of their hunter
friends, when the Countess Elizabeth
came into their chamber with troubled
looks and eyes red with weeping, and
besought them, by their filial love, to
remain that day at home and not go
even outside of the castle. This request of their beloved mother greatly
surprised her sons. They declared
that only extraordinary reasons could
justify them in breaking their promise
to join the hunt, and wished to know
whether such reasons existed.
“A thousand reasons,” answered
the Countess, “and yet all based upon
a single dream.”
“I thought so, dear mother,” inter
16
229
rupted John; “ I feared that the knowl
edge of the wound in my side would
bring you bad dreams, and therefore
I wished to keep it secret.”
But the Countess solemnly replied:
“No, my son, so clearly and circum
stantially did no soul ever dream
through merely human causes. I saw
your dead bodies, torn with many
wounds, carried up the hill to the
castle. I tremble when I think of
that sight 1 ”
The two sons pressed their mother’s
hands with affectionate warmth, and
assured her that, in obedient respect
to the anxiety of a good mother, they
would keep out of danger, so far as
might be consistent with honor.
"Do you see, mother,” continued
Sigmund in a cheerful tone, “your
dream has already fulfilled its pur
pose, and you would not be willjjig to
bear the disgrace of having your sons
break their word and become a deris
ion to their companions through over
solicitude concerning the images of a
dream 1 ” .
After a moment of speechless sor
row, the mother fell hastily upon the
necks of her sons, covered their faces
with kisses and tears, and cried, with
a loud voice, “Farewell, my children I
God protect you, — I can do nothing
more! ” and hastened out of the room.
But, while still upon the threshold, she’
called back to them, with apparent
cheerfulness," Remember, be prudent;
and, above all things, do not forget to
take the two dogs with you.”
AVith imploring voice, John an
swered : “ Pray excuse us from taking
the dogs; it is agreed upon that they
shall be left at home.. They spoiled
our sport several times yesterday, and
excepting the service which one of
them rendered me, and which greater
vigilance on my part will henceforth
make unnecessary, they were of no
advantage. On that account, I left
them yesterday at the tower in the
suburbs.”
But the Countess said: “I com
mand you, as your mother, to take
�230
LEGEND OF THE CASTLE OF NURENHhS®^
the two faithful hounds, which have
twice saved your lives.”
The youths, though greatly vexed,
replied: “We will obey you.”
After she had left them, they went
thoughtfully down the castle stairs,
mounted their horses in silence, bade
two servants go before and release
Drusus and Nero, their two watch
dogs, and then rode slowly down the
castle hill and over the river Pegnitz
to the tower. On arriving there, they
ordered the servants to go on with the
dogs toward the gate, and charged
them, with unwonted earnestness, to
be very careful. While the keeper of
the tower addressed a few necessary
words to John, Sigmund rode to the
window, took from the sill a piece of
chalk, and wrote over the door: “In
obedience to our dear mother, we came
here against our will to-day, Michael
mas, 1264.—Sigmund.” And John,
at his brother’s request, though laugh
ing all the while at the singular fancy,
signed his name, “John,” underneath.
As the young knights rode away
from the tower, following their serv
ants along the road, they heard
suddenly, at some distance, a fright
ful scream; and in a few moments
more than a hundred men had gath
ered in a crowd. The young men
hurried on at a quick trot, and learned
'with horror, at the German House,
that their dogs had torn to pieces the
child of a scythe-smith in the neigh
borhood. It appeared that when the
servants had reached the spot, they
met the child, whom his mother, in
her anxiety to protect him from the
cold morning air, had covered with a
wolf-skin. The little boy had been to
buy dainties in a shop where hiS
mother had often fed him with sweets,
in spite of the anxious protestations
of the father. He had just emptied
his pockets, when the servants, with
the two fierce dogs, passed by the Ger
man House. Scarcely had the dogs
sighted the wolf-skin upon the child,
when, with one strong bound, they
freed themselves from the servants’
[March,
hands, and rushed with their sharp
teeth upon the unfortunate little one]
whom they had mistaken for a wolf.
As John and Sigmund passed
through the crowd standing around
the dead body, they met the careless
servants, who now held the dogs in
leash ; and springing from their horses,
they drew their swords and with one
blow killed both the animals^-whieM
in their irrational zeal, had believed
that they had done their duty, and had
come whining joyfully around their
enraged masters.
They then took the rope from1 the
dogs’ necks, tied the hands of the
thoughtless servants behind their
backs, and sent them to the castle
prison, under the charge of a body of
smiths armed with axes and ham
mers.
Afterwards, John knelt down beside
the mother, who had fallen on the
ground by her murdered child, took
her hand, and, weeping himself, tried
to comfort her.
While the eyes of nearly all the
by-standers testified to their sympa
thetic emotion, a meddlesome peasants
(whose neglected crops had once been
trampled down by the Count’s pack*
of hounds) pressed his way amidst the
throng and cried out: “Did I not tell
you so? Behold the wolves which
killed the bee-farmer’s children!”
These words, envenomed with the
poison of hell, fell fruitfully upon the
black soil of ignoble minds. The ear
lier awakened discontent increased a
curses filled the air ; and before the in
famous beginnings could be checked,
murderous hands laid John dead at
the feet of the despairing mother.
Sigmund, who had thrown himself
upon his brother, in the vain hope to
shield him from his fate, was snatched
away by a compassionate peasant, and
placed upon his horse, when he in
stinctively rode away from the scene
of danger; but he was speedily brought
back, and after a few moments’ delay
was murdered by his pursuers.
Then the bloody weapons fell from
�Legend of the
castle of Nuremberg.
the hands of the desperate scythesmiths, and all at once words of remorse and mutual reproach arose —
loudest, indeed, from the lips of the
wi^ffihed man who, through his hellish speech, had kindled the fire of
tumult. Dismayed at what they had
done, the people lifted up the dead
bodies, laid them upon litters, and,
with hypocritical lamentations, turned
toward the castle, followed by a great
many inhabitants of the inner city,
who, through curiosity or a desire to
be of some use, had hastened to the
scene of horror.
■ As yet, not the slightest knowledge
erf the terrible event had penetrated to
the noble family whom it most concerned. Even while the mournful
procession was approaching, Count
Frederic sat at breakfast, making
merry over the dream which his wife
had related to him; and she, tillable
to regard the subject in the light of a
jest, walked, with the young Countess
Hedwig, of Nassau, toward one of the
bowgyindows to conceal her tears from
her jncredulous husband. Suddenly
she cried out: “Oh, heavens, what do
I see! A great crowd of men are fill
ing the market-place ! This throng,
th^ymovements, mean nothing good.
They are coming nearer—they are
weeping! Do you not see, Hedwig,
the many handkerchiefs? They are
coming, with loud cries, up the castle
hill! Frederic! Hedwig! Oh, my
dreamt I ”
The Count, startled by the cry of his
wife, hastened to her help. Eut he
stood still, as though turned to stone,
B he saw from the window the crowd
approaching, bearing two litters and
leading Sigmund’s horse. Hedwig
turned fearfully pale. At last Count
Frederic broke the dreadful silence.
“Come, Elizabeth; come, Hedwig,”
he said, with a trembling voice, “let
us go and see what we have loved so
well; in death, also, they are dear to
us! ” ' .<•
Involuntarily, Elizabeth and HedESleaned upon his arms and tottered
231
down the stairs to meet the procession
which had just entered the court.
The bearers set down their burdens
and threw back the pall. Then, first,
the father exclaimed, in heart-broken
tones, “It is they !" and, in despair,
the mother repeated, “It is they!”
Many of the spectators, those who had
known the young Counts intimately,
and others, strangers, whose hearts
were tender in the presence of afflic
tion, shared, sobbing, the grief of the
unfortunate parents. At last a young
man, son of a wealthy merchant, in
whose breast compassion and the love
of justice held equal sway, called out
to the by-standers around the litters:
“ The blood of these worthy youths
shall be avenged seven-fold upon
the murderers!” Upon this arose a
fearful curse against the guilty ones,
and more than a thousand avengers
of blood started for the suburbs to exe
cute their stern purpose without delay.
As soon as the Count had aroused
himself from his stupor of sorrow
sufficiently to comprehend the cruel
design of the departing crowd, he
hastened after them at full speed,
placed himself in their way upon the
Pegnitz bridge, and implored them
not to add to his regrets by further
bloodshed. He could only restrain
them, however, by solemnly promis
ing that he himself would immedi
ately undertake the righteous punish
ment of the criminals. “ But, noble
Count, even to-day! ” cried the leader;
“otherwise we will yet hold a night
trial.” Frederic, shuddering at these
ominous words, promised this also;
and commanded, upon the spot, that
a summons should be sent to the
neighboring towns requiring five hun
dred armed knights to join him by a
forced march.
The generous Count gave this order
purposely in a loud voice, rightly sus
pecting that the murderers were within
hearing; and they, profiting by his
clemency, fled in all haste to Donau
worth,— thus sparing the bereaved fa
ther the painful necessity of expiating
/
�SAPPHO.
232
the blood of his sons by that of more'
than a hundred heads of families.
Nor did he revenge himself by the
spoliation of their possessions, but
pacified public sentiment by laying
upon each man a yearly tax of seven
farthings, from which charge of blood
money the city of Nuremberg was re
leased by Duke Frederic V., in the
year 1386.
The memory of this horrible tragedy
haunted continually the after lives of
the unhappy parents. Elizabeth died
in 1272; and Frederic mourned in
gloomy dejection, until, in 1273, the
election of his uncle Rudolph of Hapsburg to the throne of the German
Empire drew him into political life,
and the sacred interests of his native
land filled the heart which excessive
affliction had rendered dead to domes
tic happiness. '
The ashes of John and Sigmund are
said to lie in St. James’s Church, Nu
[March,
remberg, under the altar in the chapel
to the right of the main entrance ; and
so late as the beginning of the present
century, there was to be found in the
court of the ancient “ Moonlight Inn,”
a fresco painted in three compart
ments, illustrating the events narrated '
above. The centre picture showed the
two youths as they rode to the hunt,
with their followers; that on the right
hand, the dog which tore the smith’s
child ; and that upon the left, the mur
der of one of the brothers.
But the “Moonlight Inn” of old
times has been replaced by a modern
hotel bearing the same name, but con
taining no relic of ancient fresco; the •
altar in St. James’s Church is bare of
any inscription to the lamented youths
supposed to have been buried beneath,
and only in the old castle does the tra
dition still find a local habitation for
its pathetic incidents, which are “too
strange not to be true.”
SAPPHO.
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.
ILD-EYED at dawn she crouches on the cliff;
Her lyre amid the myrtles flung; dank hair
Blown from the pallor of a face that yearns
With infinite despair.
W
Slow scarlet heightens in the pearly east;
Foam blushes on the coiling billow’s rim;
Sunward along the roseate waters, now,
Fleet sea-birds waver dim.
Leucadia sparkles to arisen day,
A lyre among its myrtles gleaming clear,
Flaunted with echoes of a farewell song
Far centuries must hear.
Beautiful Hope, that diest as Sappho died,—•
Wofully falling to as chill a wave;
Forevei- to my dark heart may there float
A death-song from thy grave!
�
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
Publisher
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Legend of the Castle of Nuremberg
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Evans, E. E.
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [California]
Collation: 226-232 p. ; 24 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Publication information from KVK.
Publisher
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[s.n.]
Date
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1870
Identifier
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G5738
Subject
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Legends
Germany
Rights
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<img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (Legend of the Castle of Nuremberg), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
A language of the resource
English
Conway Tracts
German History