Chapter VIII: A Startling Disclosure (7)

This village is very small, but at once tells its own tale; for the church stands, according to the fashion of “holy places,” in a large open space surrounded by good-sized houses, that serve as inns and resting-places for the crowds of pilgrims who flock here at stated periods. Now all was quiet and the church nearly empty; the Masses of the day--unfortunately for us--were long since over. After paying our visit to the Blessed Sacrament we wandered through the edifice, admiring its size and beauty, but unable to discover any sign of the shrine whose fame had brought us hither. At length George succeeded in finding the sacristan, a wrinkled, toothless octogenarian, who, as far as looks went, seemed quite ancient enough to have been himself a contemporary of “Bruder Klaus.” His German, too, was so intensely local, and consequently, to us, obscure, that we had the utmost difficulty in understanding him. But he pointed to the altar in the centre with an inscription in golden letters on its black marble frontal. And certainly it was worth looking at; for a more remarkable specimen of phonetic spelling is seldom to be found, exactly following the local dialect, even in its total disregard of grammar. On the other hand, this earnest simplicity in such strange contrast to the refined material that perpetuates it is deeply touching and in perfect keeping with everything connected with Blessed Nicholas and this pious people. It ran thus:

“Allhier Buwet die gebein des Seeligen
Bruder Claus von Flüe--dahero gesetzt da
Man die Kirche gebüwet anno 1679.”[196]

As soon as the aged sacristan felt satisfied that we had read the lines, without another word he drew back the picture over the altar as he might a curtain, and disclosed “Bruder Klaus” himself confronting us! Never shall I forget the thrilling sensation of beholding the hermit’s skeleton in kneeling posture right above the tabernacle and facing the congregation, clothed in his coarse habit, his hands clasped in prayer, the cavity of his eyes filled by two large emeralds, his nose by one enormous long, yellow topaz, while in the centre of the ribs, near his heart, hung a large jewelled cross, and round his neck a number of military orders. It was startling! We had expected from the word “gesetzt” to find him reposing in a shrine, and should have preferred, it must be confessed, to have seen more refinement and delicacy shown in the use of those precious stones as ornamentation. But were they not the precious stones of simple, firm faith and true love of God? This peasant population never had any pretension to “high art or learning.” Blessed Nicholas himself had naught but the refinement of that exalted piety which in itself transcends even the highest flights of human culture, and is, after all, the “one thing needful.” With such thoughts to guide us we could only admire and respect the desire, albeit crudely expressed, to show reverence to one whose own simple nature despised those “earthly treasures.” His countrymen, however, had that deep “art and learning” which taught them to appreciate Blessed Nicholas’ devotion to the Blessed Sacrament; for they could think of no resting-place more dear to him than that close to the dwelling of his Lord. Tender piety, too, prompted the offerings; but no votive tablets recorded their stories, as in the little church at Kaltbad, and we longed in vain to know their histories. The orders alone, we discovered, had been won in different countries by his descendants, and have been offered up by them, as well as various swords and trophies by other Unterwaldeners, in thanksgiving for the prayers and protection of the saintly hermit. A striking example of the enduring value of a noble, self-denying, God-fearing character it is thus to see the aid of this simple peasant still sought and the influence of his memory so powerful on the minds and better natures even of this material age. It was impossible not to pray that he may now more than ever watch over his beloved fellow-countrymen, and obtain for them that steadfastness in their faith and principles which they so sorely need during the terrible struggle they are now passing through. There is little else belonging to Blessed Nicholas to be seen--for was he not a hermit, and the poorest of saints?--but in a case near the wall the old clerk displayed his rosary and another habit, which we liked to fancy might have been made from the piece of stuff presented to him by the town of Freyburg after his successful intervention at the diet of Stanz.

Our thoughts now turned to his hermitage at Ranft, but only to meet with severe disappointment. It was too far for “ladies to walk,” said every one, and no horses could be had without previous orders, of which no one had once thought. Had we only slept here, instead of stopping at Sarnen, all would have been easy, and we should, moreover, have been able to have heard Mass at the shrine. The “Engel” of Sachslen was larger than, though scarcely so inviting as, the “Golden Eagle” of Sarnen, yet he would at least have watched over our spiritual interests; and “when one undertakes a pilgrimage,” exclaimed George, “ladies should despise comforts.”

“It was Herr H----’s plan,” retorted Caroline, determined that we should not be blamed, “and _we_ should not be ungrateful; for remember that he had also to think of us Protestants! All we can now do is to warn other pilgrims, and advise them to come on here straight.”

It was provoking beyond measure to be thus deprived by mismanagement of this point in our visit. But Mr. C---- and George were determined not to give it up; they would go on foot, and report all to us, if only we would wait patiently for a few hours. Where was the use of further grumbling? Like good children, we cried out, “What can’t be cured must be endured,” and, summoning all the piety we could command to our aid, we offered up the disappointment in the spirit of true pilgrims in honor of “Bruder Klaus,” and bade our friends “God speed” and depart.

Anna and the two young ladies, soon discovering pretty points of view, settled themselves to sketch, while Mrs. C---- and I took a ramble through the village. Though without any pretension to an Alpine character, none is more genuinely Swiss than Sachslen. Leaving the square, we wandered among the detached houses, scattered here and there in the most capricious manner on the slope of a hill that rises gently behind, and which, dotted with timber throughout its fresh pastures, forms a most beautiful background to the picture. The wood-work, delicately, nay elaborately, carved, the windows glazed in many instances with bull’s-eye glass, the low rooms with heavy cross-beams, are all many centuries old, perhaps from the very days of Blessed Nicholas; but beyond all doubt the “Holy Cross,” “Engel,” and other hostelries, of which the place is chiefly composed, owe their origin to his memory. Photographs of the church and the hermitage hung in the window of the “library” of the village, which was opened for us, after some delay, by an active, tidy matron. “These are quiet days and few purchasers,” she said in an apologetic tone. “But the ladies would find it very different on feast days; on the 21st of March above all. Then ten and twelve thousand people often come from all quarters; every house far and near is full, stalls are erected in the square, and the church is crowded from morning till night. This is the _Litany_ chanted during the processions,” she added, handing us a small book, which also contained “Prayers by Brother Klaus,” collected from old writings by a priest. Nothing could be more beautiful or simple than the latter; but the _Litany_ in particular was a pre-eminently striking composition, every sentence showing that remarkable union of patriotism and piety which runs through the whole being of every Swiss Catholic. It begins by invoking the hermit, simply as “Blessed Brother Klaus,” to “Pray for us,” and, going on through every phase of his life, implores his intercession in a more emphatic manner wherever his love of country or of justice had been most conspicuous. And here it must be remembered that Blessed Nicholas has as yet only been beatified. Hence those who style him “saint” transgress the proper limits, which are never forgotten by the Swiss themselves. For this reason it is that in no prayer is he ever addressed except as “Blessed Nicholas,” and in popular parlance ranks no higher than their “dear Bruder Klaus.” But that he may some day be canonized is the fond hope of every Swiss Catholic, and one, it is said, which can be justified by many miracles.

Mrs. C---- and I carried off the _Litany_, etc., and, sitting down on a bench near the church, drew out other books we had with us, determined to refresh our memories regarding this great servant of our Lord.

Of these, two small documents, written during his lifetime, are the most interesting. One is a _Memoir_ by John von Waldheim, a gentleman from Halle in Germany, giving an account of his visit to Brother Nicholas in February, 1474, and found in the Wolfenbüttel Library; the other a similar report of his pilgrimage to the Hermit of Ranft, addressed to the clergy and magistrates of the town of Nuremberg, by Albert von Bonstetten, canon of Einsiedeln, whom the historian, J. von Müller, calls “the most learned Swiss of his age,” and found in the archives of the town of Nuremberg in 1861, and wherein he states that, “as so many fables had been circulated about the hermit, he felt convinced they would be glad to know what he had himself seen.” Other contemporaries also allude to their visits; but these two, though short, bear such internal evidence of truth in the quaint freshness of their style and language, place us so completely face to face with all concerned, give such a picture of Blessed Nicholas’ humility and unsophisticated nature, and such an insight into the habits of thought of that period, that no others equal them, and we can only regret that space does not permit of more than merely a passing quotation.

All authorities agree that Blessed Nicholas was born in this then obscure hamlet on March 21, 1417. Zschokke, however, alone mentions that his family name was Löwenbrugger--a fact ignored by others, so completely had “Von der Flüe,” or “of the Rocks,” become his own, even during his lifetime. Yet all his biographers begin by explaining that this cognomen “came from his living at the rocks of Ranft.” Bonstetten also naïvely asks “how any inhabitant of this region can avoid coming into the world except under some one rock or another.” His parents were very poor, and Nicholas labored hard, in the fields especially, from his tenderest years. Grown to manhood, he married young, had ten children, and became distinguished above his fellows, in his public and private capacity, as “a model son, husband, father, and citizen.” He even served as soldier, like others, in the Thurgau war, where he was equally noted for deeds of valor and for compassion towards the sick and wounded. So high was his reputation amongst his neighbors that they several times elected him Landamman and resorted to him as arbitrator in their disputes. “The virtues he displayed to all around him,” writes Bonstetten, “were quite marvellous. For a long time he continued to lead this honorable existence, considerate, affectionate, true to every one, importunate to none.” At length a yearning for greater perfection became stronger than all else, and at fifty years of age he determined to seek for closer union with his Lord. Several of his children were already married and settled in the neighborhood. To those that remained and to his wife he handed over the house that he had built and the fields he had cultivated from early youth upwards, and, taking leave of his family and of all that he held most dear, he left his home for ever. Von Waldheim states that he at first intended merely to wander as a pilgrim from one holy place to another, but that, “on reaching Basel, he had a revelation, which made him choose a hermit’s life in preference, and in consequence of which he turned back to Unterwalden and to his own house. He did not, however, allow himself to be seen by wife, children, or any one, but, passing the night in his stables, he started again at dawn, penetrated for about a quarter of a mile into the forest behind Sachslen, gathered some branches of trees, roofed them with leaves, and there took up his abode.” At all events, it was in this spot, known as “the solitude of Ranft,” at the opening of the Melchthal, that he passed the remaining twenty years of his saintly life.

But although _he_ had withdrawn from the world, that world soon followed him. Before long the fame of his sanctity spread abroad; above all, rumors were circulated that he never tasted earthly food, and that his life was sustained solely by the Blessed Eucharist, which some authorities say he received once a month, others on every Friday. This celestial favor, however, was at first the cause of great suffering to Blessed Nicholas. Calumnies were heaped upon him, insults offered. Still, he remained impassive, taking no heed of men. Some would not doubt him. “Why should they suppose that a man who had so long lived amongst them, whose honor had been so well tried and recognized, and who had abandoned the world merely to lead a hard life in the desert, would now try to deceive them?” But others declared that he only wanted to impose on the vulgar, and that he had food brought to him secretly. “What did the landamman and elders do,” says Bonstetten, “in order to prevent their being accused of playing the part of dupes? They selected trusty men, made them take an oath to speak the truth, and placed them as guards round the hermitage, to watch whether food was brought to Nicholas from any quarter, or whether he procured any for himself.” For a whole month this severe surveillance was maintained; but in the end it only proved in a most convincing manner that the hermit neither ate nor drank anything except that nourishment with which our Lord himself provided him. Two Protestant writers, J. von Müller and Bullinger, give details of this inquiry, of which they raise no doubt; and some years after it took place, during the lifetime of Blessed Nicholas, the following entry was made in the public archives of Sachslen:

“Be it known to all Christians, that in the year 1417 was
born at Sachslen, Nicholas von der Flüe; that, brought up in
the same parish, he quitted father, mother, brother, wife,
and children to come to live in the solitude called Ranft;
that there he has been sustained by the aid of God, without
taking any food, for the last eighteen years, enjoying all his
faculties at this moment of our writing, and leading a most
holy life. This we have ourselves seen, and this we here affirm
in all truth. Let us, then, pray the Lord to give him eternal
life whenever he shall deign to call him from this world.”

As a natural consequence of this investigation, a strong reaction at once occurred. The villagers built him a chapel with a cell adjoining, and soon the Bishop of Constance came to consecrate it.

But the bishop was also determined to test the fact of his total abstinence, and ordered him to eat in his presence. Various are the versions concerning this event, the majority asserting that Blessed Nicholas was seized with convulsions the instant he swallowed the first mouthful. But J. von Waldheim, who seems to have experienced no difficulty in asking direct questions, gives us the hermit’s own words on the subject, brimful of truthfulness and humility. After stating that he had been entertaining Nicholas by an account of his own pilgrimages to holy places, and amongst others to the sanctuary of Blessed Mary Magdalen, in whose honor the Ranft chapel was dedicated, and having brought tears into the eyes of the venerable hermit by the beautiful legends regarding her which he told him, Waldheim proceeds:

“I said: ‘Dear Brother Nicholas! in my own country, as well as
here, I have heard it maintained that you have neither eaten
nor drunk anything for many years past. What may I believe?’
‘God knows it!’ he answered, and then continued: ‘Certain folk
asserted that the life I lead proceeds not from God, but from
the evil spirit. In consequence my Lord the Bishop of Constance
blessed three pieces of bread and a drop of wine, and then
presented them to me. If I could eat or drink, he thought I
should be justified; if not, there could no longer be any doubt
that I was under the influence of the devil. Then my Lord the
Bishop of Constance asked me what thing I considered the most
estimable and meritorious in Christianity. ‘Holy obedience,’ I
answered. Then he replied: ‘If obedience be the most estimable
and meritorious thing, then I command you, in the name of
that holy virtue, to eat these three pieces of bread and to
drink this wine.’ I besought my lord to dispense me from this,
because this act would grieve me to excess. I implored him
several times, but he continued inflexible, and I was obliged
to obey, to eat and to drink.’ I then asked Brother Nicholas,”
continued Waldheim: ‘And since that time you have neither eaten
nor drunk any thing?’ But I could extract no other answer from
him save the three words, ‘God knows it.’”

Numberless were the reports concerning his mysterious ways. He often went to Einsiedeln, yet it was said that no one ever met him on the road!

“How does he get there?” asks Waldheim. “God alone knows.” His appearance, too, was said to be unearthly.

Waldheim had heard, too, that his body was emaciated and devoid of natural warmth, his hands icy, and his aspect like that of a corpse. He lays particular stress, therefore, on the fact that Nicholas possessed a natural bodily heat, like any other man, “in his hands especially, which I and my valet Kunz touched several times. His complexion was neither yellow nor pale, but that of one in excellent health; his humor pleasant, his conversation, acts, and gestures those of an affable, communicative, sociable, gay being looking at every thing from the bright side. His hair is brown, his features regular, his skin good, his face thin, his figure straight and slight, his German agreeable to listen to.”

A few years later Père Bonstetten heightens this picture by a minuteness that rivals the _signalements_ of old-fashioned passports. He describes Brother Nicholas as being “of fine stature, extremely thin, and of a brown complexion, covered with freckles; his dark hair tinged with gray, and, though not abundant, falling in disorder on his shoulders; his beard in like manner, and about an inch long; his eyes not remarkable, except that the white is in due proportion; his teeth white and regular; and his nose in harmony with the rest of his face.”

And as we read this clear description, Mrs. C---- and I could not help regretting that posterity had not been satisfied with such a recollection, without having endeavored by emeralds and precious stones to fill up the voids which nature had since created; but when the motives had been so pure and loving, it was not for us to find fault with the manner of their reverence, nor do more than admire its earnestness and simplicity.

There seems to have been a certain difficulty in obtaining admittance to the hermit; for even Père Bonstetten had to be introduced by the landamman, and Von Waldheim took with him the Curé of Kerns. Brother Nicholas, it must be remembered, though an anchorite, was still not ordained; hence a priest was to him always a welcome visitor. His family, too, seem at all times to have had free access to him. Both writers commenced their visits by hearing Mass in his little chapel, where Brother Nicholas knelt behind a grating; but after their introduction he let them into his adjoining cell. Here he impressed them deeply by his humility, politeness, and gentleness, and both remark his sweet-toned voice and his kindliness in shaking hands with every one, “not forgetting a single person.” Père Bonstetten, more than Waldheim, seems to have retained his self-possession; for he says: “I kept my eyes wide open, looking right and left around the room, attentively considering everything. The cell was not half warm. It had two small windows, but no sleeping place, unless a raised portion at one end may be used for that purpose.” Nor could he see a table, nor furniture of any kind, nor sign even of a mattress on which this servant of God could ever repose. But he dwells with emphasis on his simplicity and truthfulness, saying that he answered his many questions, “not in the fashion of a hypocrite, but simply as became an unlettered man.”

And like these visitors came others from every quarter to see and consult him--magistrates to ask the advice of one who, in the words of the _Litany_, had been like that “just judge whose decisions were altogether dictated by conscience and justice,” and that “wise statesman who administered his offices solely for the honor of God and the good of his fellow-men”; soldiers to see the “brave warrior who took up arms for God and fatherland, and was a model of virtue to the army”; those in affliction to beg the prayers of that “most perfect follower of Jesus, who, by meditation on the life and sufferings of our Lord, had been so like unto him”; sinners to implore that “pious hermit, who left the world from desire of greater perfection,” to teach them how to subdue their passions. For all and each he had some word of comfort and exhortation. One of these pilgrims was so captivated by his heavenly admonitions that he resolved to remain near Blessed Nicholas and lead the same life. He built himself a chapel and cell close by, and soon became remarkable for his sanctity; but his antecedents are veiled in mystery, and he has descended to posterity simply as “Brother Ulrich, once a Bavarian gentleman.” Blessed Nicholas, however, evidently held him in high regard; for, after praising him warmly, he urged both Waldheim and Père Bonstetten to visit him before leaving Ranft. The naïve Waldheim takes no pains to conceal that he was prejudiced against poor Ulrich by reason of the mystery surrounding him; although “he is educated,” he says,“whereas Brother Nicholas is a simple layman who does not know how to read.” The learned monk of Einsiedeln, on the contrary, is at once prepossessed in his favor by the tincture of culture which he quickly detects. He notes that Ulrich “talks more and shows less dislike for the society of men than Brother Nicholas. No doubt,” he adds, “because he is more instructed. He is somewhat of a Latin scholar. At the same time, his books are in German. He showed them to me. I think that I perceived the _Gospels_ and the _Lives of the Fathers_ translated into German”--a fact which we may further note as a remarkable proof that such translations of the Gospels into the vernacular, mentioned thus incidentally by Père Bonstetten, were common before the days of printing, in the very midst of the so-called “dark ages.”

Amongst the many traits for which Blessed Nicholas was distinguished, Père Bonstetten records that conformity to the will of God and love of peace were pre-eminent. “He preaches submission and peace--that peace which he never ceases to recommend to the confederates.” And a time was coming when all his power and influence would be needed to preserve it. Some years after these two accounts were written, and while Blessed Nicholas and Brother Ulrich were praying and fasting in their “solitude at Ranft,” great deeds were being done in other parts of Switzerland. The battles of Grandson and Morat were fought and won, Charles the Bold driven back into Burgundy, and the rich spoils of his army became the property of the Swiss. But what union and heroism had gained victory and prosperity well-nigh destroyed. Soleure and Freyburg, in virtue of their hard fighting, claimed admission into the confederacy, which claim the older states disdainfully rejected; while the enormous Burgundian booty likewise became a fruitful source of discord. Numerous diets were held, without avail, for the settlement of these questions, each only increasing the trouble. At length a diet assembled at Stanz purposely in order to come to a final decision; but the disputes reached such a pitch that the deputies were about to separate, although the return to their homes would have been the signal for civil war. Blessed Nicholas, though so near, knew nothing of these proceedings until one morning, when one of his oldest and most esteemed friends unexpectedly arrived at the hermitage. It was the curé of Stanz; a worthy priest and a true patriot, who, in despair at the state of affairs, and mindful of Nicholas’ patriotism and love of peace, came to implore his help. Without an instant’s delay the hermit took up his staff, walked across the paths he knew so well, and marched straight into the hall at Stanz where the deputies were assembled. Zschokke, the Protestant writer, thus describes the scene:

“All with one accord rose from their seats as they beheld in
their midst this old man of emaciated aspect, yet full of
youthful vigor, and deeply venerated by every one. He spoke
to them with the dignity of a messenger from heaven, and in
the name of that God who had given so many victories to them
and to their fathers, he preached peace and concord. ‘You have
become strong,’ he said, ‘through the might of united arms.
Will you now separate them for the sake of miserable booty?
Never let surrounding countries hear of this! Ye towns! do not
grieve the older confederates by insisting on the rights of
citizens. Rural cantons! remember that Soleure and Freyburg
have fought hard beside you, and receive them into fellowship.
Confederates! take care, on the other hand, not to enlarge your
boundaries unduly! Avoid all transactions with foreigners!
Beware of divisions! Far be it from you ever to prefer money
to the fatherland.’ This and much more did Nicholas von der
Flüe say, and all hearts were so deeply touched, so stirred, by
the words of the mighty hermit, that in one single hour every
disputed point was settled. Soleure and Freyburg were that
day admitted into the confederacy; old treaties and compacts
were renewed; and at the suggestion of the pious Nicholas it
was decided that in future all conquered territory should be
distributed amongst the cantons, but booty divided amongst
individuals! This done,” continues Zschokke, “the hermit
returned to his wilderness, each deputy to his canton. Joy
abounded everywhere. From all the church-towers of the land
festive peals announced the glad tidings, from the furthest
Alps even unto the Jura.”

The cantons vied with each other in the effort to express their gratitude to Blessed Nicholas. But in vain; he would take nothing from them except a few ornaments for his small chapel. Freyburg alone was favored by his acceptance of a piece of stuff to repair his worn-out habit, which was then in shreds; and this it was which we liked to think identical with the relic shown to us by the old sacristan in the church at Sachslen. Bern, in a spirit widely different from that of its degenerate posterity, presented him with a chalice, which elicited from him a letter full of patriotism and tender Christian feeling: “Be careful,” he writes in answer, “to maintain peace and concord amongst you; for you know how acceptable this is to Him from whom all good proceeds. He who leads a godly life always preserves peace; nay, more, God is that sovereign peace in whom all can repose. Protect the widows and orphans, as you have hitherto done. If you prosper in this world, return thanks to God, and pray that he may grant you a continuance of the same happiness in the next. Repress public vice and be just to all. Deeply imprint in your hearts the remembrance of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. It will console and strengthen you in the hour of adversity.” Then, as if in prophetic strain to the proud town, he adds: “Many people in our day, tempted by the devil, are troubled with doubts on faith. But why have any doubts? The faith is the same to-day that it ever has been.”

What wonder, after all this, that, in spite of himself, Blessed Nicholas became the arbiter of Switzerland during the few remaining years of his life? Every dispute was referred to him, and, as one writer adds, “In that solitude, where he thought only of serving God, by the simple fact of his sanctity he became of all his compatriots the most pleasing to God and the most useful to his neighbor.” At length the holy hermit lay down on the bare ground, which had so long been his couch, and, full of years and honor, he “fell asleep in the Lord” on the 21st of March, 1487--on the very day that he had fulfilled seventy years of his most spotless and saintly life.

We had just reached this point, when, looking up, we beheld Mr. C---- and George advancing and exclaiming: “Such a pity you did not come--such a pity!” Breathlessly they told us that the distance had proved trifling; they found horses, too, on the way, and everything had been deeply interesting. The road had passed near “Bruder Klaus’” fields, crossed the rushing stream mentioned by Von Waldheim; and not only had they visited the chapel and cell of Blessed Nicholas, but also that of Brother Ulrich, exactly as described by the two mediæval pilgrims. The stone used by Blessed Nicholas as his pillow is there preserved; both places, kept in excellent repair and attended by a priest who resides on the spot, are much frequented and full of votive offerings of various kinds. At once it became a question of our starting thither, even at that advanced hour. Had Anna and I been alone, we should have upset all previous arrangements for this purpose; but charity and forbearance are the virtues most needed and most frequently brought into play when travelling with a large party. Smothering our annoyance, therefore, a second time, as best we could, and making a mental resolve to return some future day and see with our own eyes what our friends so vividly described, we adjourned to the Engel, and did full justice to the meal which its pleasant-faced hostess had prepared for us. In another hour we were on the road back to Stanz, but this time across the hills. Kerns, now speaking to our minds of Von Waldheim and Père Bonstetten, was first passed, succeeded before long by St. Jacob and its plain, the scene of the terrible battle with the French in 1798; and in two and a half hours the comfortable cottages of Nidwalden had gradually developed into, and terminated in, the pretty houses of its capital, Stanz. Here we now halted, in order to repair our omission of yesterday by a visit to the Rathhaus. It was opened for us after some delay by a bluff Nidwaldener, whose German was as unintelligible as that of the Sachslen clerk. But, in like manner, he supplied the defect by pointing to two curious and very ancient paintings which hung in the entrance lobby, one representing Blessed Nicholas taking leave of his wife and family before he went to Ranft, the other his appearance at the diet here. The deputies in the painting have all risen, whilst the emaciated hermit is addressing them boldly and earnestly. As we proceeded into the hall close by, it required no stretch of imagination to fancy that the scene had but just occurred in that spot, so exactly is the room of the same shape, the chairs and table of the same pattern, and all placed in the same position as in the old picture. Though not the same building, one may well believe that the present is only a reproduction of the former town-hall, simple and unpretending as it is, and yet invested with such deep interest. Three sides of the hall are hung with portraits of the landammans since 1521, and the fourth is decorated by various banners won on different patriotic occasions. Of these, we notice one that was taken at the battle of Kappel, where Zwingle met his death; another sent to the Unterwaldeners by Pope Julius II.; and a third recently presented by Zschokke, a native of these parts, representing William Tell shooting the apple off his son’s head--thus giving the sanction of this grave and graphic historian to the story we all so much love. Long did we linger in the hall, full of the day’s impressions; but the light was waning, and it was necessary to depart. Ere we reached Buochs the sun had set; it was dark when the steamer came up to the quay; and night had closed when we arrived at Brunnen and entered the brilliantly-lighted hall of the Walstätter Hof.

THE ASSUMPTION.

Crown her with flowers! She is the queen of flowers:
Roses for royalty and mignonette
For sweet humility, and lilies wet
With morning dew for holy purity.
Crown her with stars! She is the queen of stars:
They sparkle round her maiden path in showers
And stretch their beams of light in golden bars,
Making a pavement for her majesty.
Crown her with prayers! She is the queen of prayer:
With eager hands she gathers every one,
Wreathing them into garlands for her Son,
Holding them close with fond, maternal care:
Sweet flower--first planet in the realms above!
Crown her with love! She is the queen of love.

THE SCIENTIFIC GOBLIN.

By one of those freaks of fortune rare even in fairyland, the small people known as the Odomites had, in order to escape being devoured by a strolling giant named Googloom, made him their king. This ogre was of so wonderful an ugliness that babes died at the sight of him, and men and maids had gone into convulsions of merriment; but the majority of the Odomites, blessed with a wholesome fear, dared no more than laugh in their sleeves at bare memory of his face, avoiding as much as they could to see him. However, to make sure that all his people were as sober as himself, King Googloom issued an edict defining laughter as treason, under any pretext to be punished with death by slow torture. In cases of young and pretty maids this sentence was varied by the fact that the giant himself ate them up. Yet, spite of the terrors of his decree, hundreds of his subjects perished for want of self-control; and one man, whose fate became renowned as that of a voluntary martyr to free expression, died laughing involuntarily, notwithstanding his tortures, the giant Googloom being a witness of his execution.

When the realm of Odom was thus rid of all rebellion in the shape of quips, jokes, pranks, tricks, antics, capers, smiles, laughs, caricatures, chuckles, grimaces, Googloom yawned and rolled his eyes in a manner fearful to see, and, leaving his throne, made a tour through his dominions. Not a soul dared so much as smile in obeisance to him. Though he made his ugliest faces, to such a degree that the passing ravens were scared, not a single Odomite lifted up his head to grin for a moment. Over all the land reigned the shadow of funlessness. Googloom had become a dreadful chimera, a nightmare. Hardly knowing it, his people grew lean and pined away.

Googloom himself began to be weary of the prevailing dulness, even while he boasted that the land was never so sober and its population so orderly. “When will the old times return,” asked his sages of themselves, “when the land laughed and grew fat?” Googloom eyed with contempt the bones of the children that were served up at his banquets; and one day, seeing that the leanness of his people had extended to their crops, and yet unwilling to alter his decrees, mockingly proclaimed that anybody who could make him laugh at his own expense, or make anybody else laugh on the same terms, should have the privilege of laughing whenever he pleased.

There was at this time living in one of the mountains of Odom a famous goblin named Gigag. His exceeding knowledge and invention, assisted by good-nature, had made him famous in the country round about; and notwithstanding the prejudices of some of the Od people, he was permitted to benefit them in various ways. For instance, he made them a stove which gave them both heat and light; an instrument that produced exquisite melodies whether you could play it or not; an accordeon that invented tunes of its own accord, for the help of composers; a portable bridge to be flung over chasms at pleasure; a drink that gave men’s eyes the power of microscopes, and another that inspired them with the capacity of telescopes; a fertilizer that brought up crops in seven days with care; a flying-machine to save all who laughed; and a pill to cure headache, heartache, rheumatism, dropsy, palsy, dyspepsia, epilepsy, consumption--everything short of death itself--and to cause lost hair, eyes, teeth, legs, and arms to grow again. There was also rumor that the goblin Gigag had tunnelled the whole kingdom through, and that goblin steeds and people could now travel at will an underground thoroughfare. But, for all these things, the Odomites were no better than before. Their taste in music was bad; they were blind as bats to their interests; they tumbled over precipices; they neglected their crops, and were too stupid to fly, if not too dull to laugh; and headaches, heartaches, and palsies were much the same as ever, because they disliked to take a pill that was not sugar-coated. In the end the scientific Gigag was thought to be a goblin of genius--one of those fine spirits who are always doing magnificent things to no purpose. Had he relied upon the effect of his mechanical or chemical exploits to make his way in the world, the well-meaning goblin would certainly have made a mistake. What, then, was the secret of that extraordinary power which the goblin Gigag exercised over the minds of those who came in contact with him? It was his expression.

All the variety of which the goblin countenance is susceptible seemed to be concentrated in that of Gigag. But its peculiarity was this: that his eyes grew piercing and dazzling at will, while his teeth enlarged, his mouth curved, and his nose elongated and turned at pleasure. It may well be supposed that no Odomite could resist a smile or survive the scorn of a countenance so effective; and we can only ascribe it to Gigag’s known forbearance that the so-called anticachination laws of Googloom were not a thousand times violated. But patience has its bounds. The national dulness which made Googloom yawn and sneer made Gigag almost swear. The reigning condition must be put an end to, or science itself would be powerless at length to amuse or to cure. Accordingly, he sped through his underground road, and came up at court by a secret path. Wearing a long, conical hat and a fanciful jacket, with doublet and hose, and elongating his features while he stretched himself to his full height, he stepped into the presence of the king, knocking down by the way a few insolent attendants who had excited his gaze. Bristling the few hairs of his upper lip, which resembled the mustache of Grimalkin, and bowing with the most obsequious of smiles, the goblin Gigag stood before the giant Googloom.

Never had that ogre seen a figure at once so lean and long, and a face so bright and cunning. He would have ordered it at once to his darkest dungeons, were it not for an unaccountable fascination which forced him to listen to Gigag while he proposed not only to make Googloom laugh at his own expense, but to make everybody else laugh at him on the same terms, and to solve the problem of perpetual motion by making the land of Odom merry ever afterwards. “I presume,” said he, “you have heard the story of the pig’s fiddle”; and he proceeded to tell a tale which for wit and fun would have made a thousand unicorns die laughing. But on the giant it had either no effect at all or had only raised his spirits to the point of being serious. Gigag clearly saw that he had failed by trusting to the merits of his story instead of using his great weapon of expression. “This is no ordinary case,” said the goblin to himself. “The problem is to make an immense creature laugh who has nothing of the sort in him. Perhaps the best thing to do is to torture him till he laughs in despair.” Spite of the giant’s disposition to put his visitor at once to the torture, he agreed that the accomplished goblin should call next day, and make him laugh, or else die by slow boiling. This the goblin heard with a mixture of scorn and amusement, curling his nose and showing his teeth in an aristocratic manner.

As the cunning Gigag left the king’s chamber to go to his quarters in a corner of the great palace, he took good care to scatter about two scientifically-prepared powders, one of which dissolved in the air, producing sleep, and the other by a similar change entered the nostrils, producing throughout the body tickling sensations and a disposition to low chuckling. When Gigag again came before Googloom, it was seen that none of the royal guards were fit for duty, and that throughout the palace and its grounds the disposition among courtiers, retainers, servants, pages, to laugh in their sleeves at the smallest incitement, was unmistakable. Even the kitchen cats had caught the infection, and mewed dispersedly.

“Now, O great Googloom!” said Gigag when all the court had assembled, “let me in three acts essay to complete that transformation by which thy people’s despair shall be turned to joy, and thy laughing face shall behold its own merriment.” At this moment the giant shook like one who is tickled all over, but cannot laugh, experiencing the greatest tortures without knowing what to make of them. To divert him the goblin related his favorite story of the merry owl, with such catcalls, crowing, mincing, and mewing, and withal such unearthly jest, that a thousand dogs would have died if they did not laugh. What wonder, then, that long before the witty Gigag had concluded a favorite page was so wrought upon by chuckling that, bursting his buttons, at length he laughed right out, which had such an effect upon all assembled that they chuckled, and then roared. “Ho, guards!” cried Googloom; but Gigag easily drew his attention to the second part of the programme--for the goblin had actually brought the giant to the point of complacency. “I propose now,” he said, “to show you the most ridiculous countenance that was ever seen, except one.” Hereupon he diminished and heightened his figure at intervals, while he curved his nose by degrees, lengthened his teeth as he pleased, and put upon his mouth such an expression of maddening humor that his spectators gasped with laughing, to the vast confusion of the helpless giant, who vowed with a feeble smile that the gifted Gigag was certainly the most ingenious man he ever knew.

“Nothing will serve you, I perceive, O beautiful Googloom! except the light of science; and now I will show you the face of the most ridiculous man that ever was born.” Accordingly, by means of an instrument which he had invented, Gigag reflected upon a large canvas the features of Googloom! Unwittingly the giant smiled, for he had never seen so preposterous a face before; and the more he smiled, the more ridiculous it grew, till at last, after the giant himself had given way to laughter, it was so horribly funny that the whole court shrieked and shrieked again, and Googloom, losing all control, roared with such a volume and power of merriment that he toppled off his throne, and was crushed under its ruins. The people, seeing the faces of the courtiers and of each other, caught an infectious laughter, which prevailed throughout all Odom, and did not by any means cease when the goblin Gigag was called to the throne, and the reign of science began.

THE HAPPY ISLANDS.

“Tell me, brother, dearest brother,
Why it is thou aye dost weep?
Why thus, ever listless, sittest
Looking forth across the deep?

“Thy impatient steed is wond’ring
Why his master doth not come,
On his perch thy hawk is sleeping,
E’en thy hound’s deep voice is dumb.

“Yesternight there came a minstrel
With a glee-maid young and fair,
If mayhap their merry voices
Would beguile thy weary care.”

“Hawk may sleep, and hound may slumber,
My impatient steed must wait,
Nor care I to hear the minstrel
Who is resting at the gate.

“E’en the keen breeze of the mountains
Would not cool my fevered brow,
E’en the shrill note of the trumpet
Would not serve to rouse me now.

“Dost remember, that our father
Told us how his wond’ring eyes
Once beheld the Happy Islands
Far off on the ocean rise?

“Those fair Islands where no mortal,
As ’tis said, has ever been,
Though at evening in the westward
They at sunset oft are seen.

“Those blest Islands that so often
Were our aged minstrel’s theme,
That surpass the fairest fancies
Of a poet’s wildest dream.

“Where the Holy Grail lies hidden
Far from mortal quest or claim,
And the Tree of Life stands, guarded
By the Seraph’s sword of flame:

“Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling
Till the dawning of the day
When this world and all upon it,
Like a dream, will pass away.

“And our sire sailed towards those Islands,
Till their shore he drew so near
That the strains of heavenly singing
Fell upon his raptured ear.

“And as that immortal music
O’er his ravished senses stole,
An intense and eager longing
Took possession of his soul.

“When, lo! as entranced he listened,
Suddenly the mists of night,
Gath’ring round the Happy Islands,
Hid them from his anxious sight.

“Then all through that weary midnight
Stayed he waiting for the dawn,
But when day broke, lo! the Islands
With the mists of night had gone.

“From that day thou know’st he languished,
And could take nor food nor rest,
For he aye was thinking, thinking
On those Islands of the Blest.

“When he died, dost thou remember
We heard music from the sea,
That enchained us with the weirdness
Of its mystic melody?

“Scarce three days ago at sunset
I was sitting, thinking here,
When I saw those Happy Islands
In the west there, bright and clear.

“Words would fail to tell their beauty,
They were wrapt in golden haze,
And they glowed with such a radiance
That on them I scarce could gaze.

“And since that resplendent vision
On my raptured senses fell,
It has haunted and enthralled me
With the magic of its spell.

“I must go and seek those Islands
That far to the westward lie.
I hear distant voices calling,
I must find those isles or die.”

At the early dawn next morning
Young Sir Brian sailed away,
Mournfully his brother watchèd
On the shore the livelong day.

Long kept guard the weary watchers,
’Mid the tempest and the rain,
But ah! nevermore Sir Brian
To his home came back again.

It is said by some he perished
In the wild and stormy wave,
Where the sea-birds wailed the requiem
O’er his mist-enshrouded grave.

If perchance he reached those Islands,
Be ye sure that he stayed there;
For what earthly joy or beauty
With those Islands can compare?

Where the sun is ever shining
And the blossom doth not fade,
Where from quest of mortal hidden
The most Holy Grail is laid.

Where with flaming swords the Seraphs
Stand around the Tree of Life,
Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling
Who have conquered in the strife.

NOTE.--This poem is founded on an ancient Irish legend, to the effect that the Happy Islands, as they are called--that is, the temporal resting-place of the blessed, where yet stands the Tree of Life guarded by the cherubim--are situated in the ocean somewhere to the far westward of Ireland.

It is said they are sometimes to be seen at sunset from the coast o’ Galway.

Many have sought to find them, and some even have come near them, but just as they were approaching, either the night fell or a storm arose and drove them from the enchanted shores.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

LES DROITS DE DIEU ET LES IDEES MODERNES. Par l’Abbé François
Chesnel, Vicaire-Général de Quimper. Poitiers et Paris: Henri
Oudin. 1875.