Chapter X: Night the Sixth

THE BEAUTIFUL RHINE.--COBLENTZ.--A ZIGZAG TO WEIMAR.--GOETHE AND
SCHILLER.--THE STRANGE STORY OF FAUST.--FAUST IN ART.--THE SEVEN
MOUNTAINS.--THE DRACHENFELS.--THE STORY OF THE DRAGON.--STORIES OF
FREDERICK THE GREAT.--THE UNNERVED HUSSAR.

Mr. Beal occupied much of the time this evening. He thus continued the narrative of travel:--

* * * * *

"From St. Goar to Boppard, two stations at which the Rhine boats call, is about an hour's run; but the journey is an unfailing memory. The rocky walls of the river, the continuous villages, the quaint churches amid the vineyards and cherry orchards, the mossy meadows about the mountains, the white-kerchiefed villagers, present so many varied and delightful objects, that the eye feasts on beauty, and wonders expectantly at what the next turn of the river will reveal. The rock shadows in the water contrast with the bright scenes above the river, and add an impression of grandeur to the effect of the whole, like shadows on the cathedral walls that heighten the effect of the rose-colored windows. Beautiful, beautiful, is the Rhine.

"Grand castles, perched on high cliffs and mountain walls, surprise us, delight us, and vanish behind us, as the boat moves on;--the Brother Castles, Marksburg, the mountain palace Solzenfels, with their lofty, gloomy, and barbaric grandeur, reminding one always of times whose loss the mind does not regret.

"And now a beautiful city comes in view, nestled at the foot of the hills, and protected by a stupendous fortress on the opposite side of the river. The fortress is Ehrenbreitstein, the Gibraltar of the Rhine, capable of holding an army of men. It is a great arsenal now, well garrisoned in peace as in war; in short, it may be called the watch on the Rhine.

"The lovely city under its guns, on the opposite side of the river, is Coblentz. It is a gusset of houses, a V-shaped city, at the confluence of the Rhine and Moselle. The Romans called it the city of the Confluence, or Confluentia; hence, corrupted, it is known as Coblentz.

"It is the half-way city between Cologne and Mayence, and a favorite resting place of tourists. The summer residence of the King of Germany is here.

"From Coblentz we made a détour into the heart of Germany, going by rail to Weimar, once called the Athens of the North. It was once the literary centre of Germany. Here lived Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Herder. What the English Lake District, in the days of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Christopher North, and De Quincey was once to England, what Cambridge and Concord have been to America in the best days of its authors and poets, Weimar was to Germany at the beginning of the present century. We went there to visit the tombs and statues of Goethe, and to gain a better knowledge of the works of these poets from the associations of their composition.

"Weimar is a quaint provincial-looking town on the river Ilm. It has some sixteen thousand inhabitants, and is the residence of the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar. The grounds of the palace are wonderfully beautiful. They extend along the river, and communicate with a summer palace called Belvedere.

"We visited the tombs of the two great poets. They are found beneath a small chapel in the Grand Ducal burial vault. The Grand Duke Charles Augustus desired that the bodies of the two poets should be interred one on each side of him: but this was forbidden by the usages of the court.

"In the old Stadtkirche, built in 1400, are the tombs of the ancient dukes, now forgotten. Among them is that of Duke Bernard, who died in 1639. He was the friend of Gustavus Adolphus, and one of the most powerful of the leaders of the Reformation.

"Goethe, the most gifted of the German poets, and the most accomplished man of his age, was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main, in 1749. In 1775 he made the intimate acquaintance of Charles Augustus, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, who induced him to take up his residence at Weimar, the capital. Here he held many public offices, and at last became minister of state. He died at the age of eighty-four.

"Goethe's most popular work is a novel called _The Sorrows of Werther_, but his great and enduring work is _Faust_, a dramatic poem, in which his great genius struggles with the problems of good and evil.

"His life was full of beautiful friendships. In 1787 Schiller, the second in rank of great German poets, was invited to reside at Weimar. Goethe became most warmly attached to him, and the two pursued their high literary callings together. The literary circle now consisted of Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, Herder, and the Grand Duke. It was the golden age of German literature.

THE STRANGE STORY OF FAUST.

No myth of the Middle Ages has had so large a growth and so long a
life as this.

It has been made the subject of books, pamphlets, and articles
almost without number. The Faust literature in Germany would fill a
library.

In painting, especially of the Holland school, the dark subject as
prominently appears. It is also embodied in sculpture.

But it is in poetry and music that it found a place that carried it
over the world. It was made the subject of Marlowe's drama, of
Goethe's greatest poem, and it is sung in three of the greatest
operas of modern times.

But to the legend.

About the year 1490 there was born at Roda, in the Duchy of
Saxe-Weimar, a child whose fame was destined to fill the world of
superstition, fable, and song. He was named John Faustus, or Faust.

He studied medicine, became an alchemist, and was possessed with a
consuming desire to learn the secrets of life and of the spiritual
world.

He studied magic, and his thirst for knowledge of the occult
sciences grew. He wished to know how to prolong life, to change base
metals to gold, to do things at once by the power of the will.

One night, as he was studying, the Evil One appeared before him.

"I will reveal to you all the secrets you are seeking, and will
enable you to do anything you wish by the power of the will alone--"

Dr. Faustus was filled with an almost insane delight.

"--On one condition."

"Name it."

"That I shall have your soul in return."

"When?"

"At the end of twenty-four years--at this time of night--midnight."

"I shall have pleasure?"

"Pleasure."

"Gold?"

"Gold."

"I shall know the secrets of nature?"

"The secrets of nature."

"I may do what I like at will?"

"At will."

"I will sign the compact."

"Sign!"

Faust signed his name to a compact that was to give the Evil One his
soul for twenty-four years of pleasure, gold, and knowledge, that
were to come to an end at midnight.

"I will give you an attendant," said the Evil One, "to help you."

He caused a dark but very elegant gentleman to appear, whom he
presented to Faust as Mephistopheles.

Dr. Faustus and Mephistopheles now began to travel into all lands,
performing wonders to the amazement of all people wherever they
went.

In a wine-cellar at Leipsig, where he and Mephistopheles were
drinking, some gay fellows said,--

"Faust, make grapes grow on a vine on this table."

"Be silent."

There was dead silence.

A vine began to grow from the table, and presently it bore a bunch
of grapes for each of the revellers.

"Take your knives and cut a cluster for each."

There was an explosion. Faust and Mephistopheles were seen flying
out of the window; the _window_ is still shown in Leipsig. The vine
had disappeared, and each of the revellers found himself with his
knife over his nose, about to cut it off, supposing it to be a
cluster of grapes.

The wonders that it is claimed that Dr. Faustus did in the
twenty-four years fill volumes. The Faust marvels have gathered to
themselves the fables of centuries.

The twenty-four years came to an end at last. Faust became gloomy,
and retired to Rimlich, at the inn, among his old friends.

The fatal night came.

"Should you hear noises in my chamber to-night, do not disturb me,"
he said, on parting from his companions to go to his room.

Near midnight a tempest arose,--a wild, strange tempest. The winds
were like demons. It thundered and the air was full of tongues of
lightning.

At midnight there was heard a fearful shriek in Faust's chamber.

The next morning the room was found bespattered with blood, and the
body of Faust was missing. The broken remains of the alchemist were
discovered at last in a back yard on a heap of earth.

This was the village story. It grew as such a dark myth would grow
in the superstitious times in which it started. Goethe created the
character of Marguerite and added it to the fable. The
transformation of Faust from extreme old age to youth was also
added. The opera makers have greatly enlarged even the narrative of
Goethe; in the latest evolution, Mephistopheles is summoned into the
courts of heaven and sent forth to tempt Faust, and Faust is shown
visions of the Greek vale of Tempe and Helen of Troy.

Faust has come to be a synonym of the great problem of Good and
Evil; the contest between virtue and vice, temptation and ruin,
temptation and moral triumph. It is not a good story in any of its
evolutions, but it is one that to know is almost essential to
intelligence.

"Returning to Coblentz, we passed our sixth night on the Rhine. We there hired a boatman to take us to Bonn. Between Coblentz and Andernach we passed what are termed the Rhine Plains. These are some ten miles long, and are semicircled by volcanic mountains, whose fires have long been dead.

"We now approached the Seven Mountains, among which is the Drachenfels, famous in fable and song. These are called: Lohrberg, 1,355 feet; Neiderstromberg, 1,066 feet; Oelberg, 1,429 feet; Wolkenberg, 1,001 feet; Drachenfels, 1,056 feet; Petenberg, 1,030 feet; Lowenberg, 1,414 feet.

"The Drachenfels is made picturesque by an ancient ruin, and it is these ancient ruins, and associations of old history, that make the Rhine the most interesting river in the world. Apart from its castles and traditions, it is not more beautiful than the Hudson, the Upper Ohio, or the Mississippi between St. Paul and Winona. But the Rhine displays the ruined arts of two thousand years.

"The Drachenfels has its wonderful story. It is said that Siegfried killed the Dragon there. The so-called Dragon Cave or Rock is there, and of this particular dragon many curious tales are told.

"In the early days of Christianity the cross was regarded as something more than a mere emblem of faith. It was believed to possess miracle-working power.

"In a rocky cavern of the Drachenfels, in ancient times, there lived a Dragon of most hideous form. He had a hundred teeth, and his head was so large that he could swallow several victims at a time. His body was of enormous length, and in form like an alligator's, and he had a tail like a serpent.

"The pagans of the Rhine worshipped this monster and offered to him human sacrifices.

"In one of the old wars between rival princes, a Christian girl was taken captive, and the pagan priest commanded that she should be made an offering to the Dragon.

"It was the custom of the pagans to bind their sacrifices to the Dragon alive to a tree near his cave at night. At sunrise he would come out and devour them.

"They led the lovely Christian maiden to a spot near the cave, and bound her to a tree.

"It was starlight. Priests and warriors with torches had conducted the maiden to the fatal spot, and stood at a little distance from the victim, waiting for the sunrise.

"The priests chanted their wild hymns, and the light at last began to break and to crown the mountains and be scattered over the blue river.

"The roar of the monster was heard. The rocks trembled, and he appeared. He approached the maiden, bound to an oak.

"Her eyes were raised in prayer towards heaven.

"As the Dragon approached the victim, she drew from her bosom a crucifix, and held it up before him.

"As soon as he saw it, he began to tremble. He fell to the earth as if smitten. He lost all power and rolled down the rocks, a shapeless mass, into the Rhine.

"The pagans released the girl.

"'By what power have you done this?' they asked.

"'By this,' said the maiden, stretching out the cross in her hand. 'I am a Christian.'

"'Then we will become Christians,' said the pagans, and they led the lovely apostle away to be their teacher. Her first convert was one of the rival princes, whom she married. Their descendants were among the most eminent of the early Christian families of the Seven Mountains of the Rhine.

"Such is the fable as told by the monks of old. The figure of the power of the cross over the serpent, employed in early Christian writings, undoubtedly was its origin, but how it became associated with the story of the captive maiden it would be hard to tell."

* * * * *

Master Lewis introduced the story-telling of the evening by anecdote pictures of

FREDERICK THE GREAT.

Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was born in 1712. He was a
wilful youth, and his father subjected him to such severe discipline
that he revolted against it, and, like other boys not of royal
blood, formed a plan of running away from home. His father
discovered the plot, and caused his son's most intimate friend, who
had assisted him in it, to be put to death, and made the execution
as terrible as possible. He early came to hate his father, his
father's religion, and everything that the old king most liked. His
father was indeed a hard, stern man, of colorless character; but he
managed the affairs of state so prudently that he left his undutiful
son a powerful army and a full treasury, and to these as much as to
any noble qualities of mind or soul the latter owed the resources by
which he gained the title THE GREAT.

His mother was a daughter of George I. Frederick loved her, and from
her he inherited a taste for music and literature, like many of the
family of the Georges. He formed an intimate friendship with
Voltaire, the French infidel writer, and interested himself in the
French infidelity of the period, which was a reaction against the
corrupt and degenerate French church.

He entered the field as a soldier in 1741, and was victorious again
and again in the two Silesian wars. The Seven Years' War, begun in
1756, gained for him a position of great influence among the rulers
of Europe. He was prudent, like his father; his government was wise,
well ordered, and liberal, and he left to his successor a full
treasury, a great and famous army, enlarged territory, and the
prestige of a great name.

The family affairs of kings during the last century were in rather a
queer state, as the following story of Frederick's marriage will
show.

The prince was told that his father was studying the characters of
the young ladies of the courts of Europe in order to select a
suitable wife for him. He admired talent, brilliancy, wit, and he
said in substance to the Minister of State,--

"Influence my father if you can to obtain for me a gifted and
elegant princess. Of all things in the world I would hate to have a
dull and commonplace wife."

His father made choice of the Princess Elizabeth Christine of
Brunswick, a girl famous for her awkwardness and stupidity.

The prince did everything in his power to prevent the marriage. But
the old king declared that he should marry her, and the wedding
ceremony was arranged, Frederick in the mean time protesting that he
held the bride in utter detestation.

Frederick had a sister whom he dearly loved, Wilhelmina. Two days
after his marriage, he introduced the bride to her, and said,--

"This is a sister whom I adore. She has had the goodness to promise
that _she_ will take care of you and give you good advice. I wish
you to do nothing without her consent. Do you understand?"

The young bride, scarcely eighteen, was speechless. She expected
"care" and "advice" from her husband, and not from his sister.

Wilhelmina embraced her tenderly.

Frederick waited for an answer to his question. But she stood dumb.

"Plague take the _blockhead_!" he at last exclaimed, and with this
compliment began the long and sorrowful story of her wedded life.

She was a good woman and bore her husband's neglect with patience.
Strangely enough, in his old age Frederick came to love her; for he
discovered, after a prejudice of years, that she had a noble soul.

Frederick died in 1786. In his will he made a most liberal allowance
for his wife, and bore testimony to her excellent character, saying
that she never had caused him the least discontent, and her
incorruptible virtue was worthy of love and consideration.

She survived the king eleven years.

Willie Clifton related a true story.

THE UNNERVED HUSSAR.

A man once entered the vaults of a church by night, to rob a corpse
of a valuable ring. In replacing the lid he nailed the tail of his
coat to the coffin, and when he started up to leave, the coffin
clung to him and moved towards him.

Supposing the movement to be the work of invisible hands, his
nervous system received such a shock that he fell in a fit, and was
found where he fell, by the sexton, on the following morning.

Now, had the fellow been honestly engaged, it is not likely that the
blunder would have happened; and even had it occurred, he doubtless
would have discovered at once the cause.

But very worthy people are sometimes affected by superstitious fear,
and run counter to the dictates of good sense and sound judgment.

A magnificent banquet was once given by a lord, in a very ancient
castle, on the confines of Germany. Among the guests was an officer
of hussars, distinguished for great self-possession and bravery.

Many of the guests were to remain in the castle during the night;
and the gallant hussar was informed that one of them must occupy a
room reputed to be haunted, and was asked if he had any objections
to accepting the room for himself.

He declared that he had none whatever, and thanked his host for the
honor conferred upon him by the offer. He, however, expressed a wish
that no trick might be played upon him, saying that such an act
might be followed by very serious consequences, as he should use his
pistols against whatever disturbed the peace of the room.

He retired after midnight, leaving his lamp burning; and, wearied by
the festivities, soon fell asleep. He was presently awakened by the
sound of music, and, looking about the apartment, saw at the
opposite end, three phantom ladies, grotesquely attired, singing a
mournful dirge.

The music was artistic, rich, and soothing, and the hussar listened
for a time, highly entertained. The piece was one of unvarying
sadness, and, however seductive at first, after a time lost its
charm.

The officer, addressing the musical damsels, remarked that the music
had become rather monotonous, and asked them to change the tune. The
singing continued in the same mournful cadences. He became
impatient, and exclaimed,--

"Ladies, this is an impertinent trick, for the purpose of
frightening me. I shall take rough means to stop it, if it gives me
any further trouble."

He seized his pistols in a manner that indicated his purpose. But
the mysterious ladies remained, and the requiem went on.

"Ladies," said the officer, "I will wait five minutes, and then
shall fire, unless you leave the room."

The figures remained, and the music continued. At the expiration of
the time, the officer counted twenty in a loud, measured voice, and
then, taking deliberate aim, discharged both of his pistols.

The ladies were unharmed, and the music was uninterrupted. The
unexpected result of his violence threw him into a state of high
nervous excitement, and, although his courage had withstood the
shock of battle, it now yielded to his superstitious fears. His
strength was prostrated, and a severe illness of some weeks'
continuance followed.

Had the hussar held stoutly to his own sensible philosophy, that he
had no occasion to fear the spirits of the invisible world, nothing
serious would have ensued. The damsels sung in another apartment,
and their figures were made to appear in the room occupied by the
hussar, by the effect of a mirror. The whole was a trick, carefully
planned, to test the effect of superstitious fear on one of the
bravest of men.

In no case should a person be alarmed at what he suspects to be
supernatural. A cool investigation will show, in most cases, that
the supposed phenomenon may be easily explained. It might prove a
serious thing for one to be frightened by a nightcap on a bedpost,
for a fright affects unfavorably the nervous system, but a nightcap
on a bedpost is in itself a very harmless thing.

The sixth evening closed with an original poem by Mr. Beal.