Stories of the Rhine Country/The Lorelei
“THERE, LIKE A LILY FROM THE RIVER, SAT THE BEAUTIFUL WATER-NYMPH, LORELEI”
STORIES OF THE
RHINE COUNTRY
THE LORELEI
The Rhine, the Rhine, the beautiful River Rhine!
Do you know where it is? A tiny stream, it starts from the dark, wood-clad mountains of Switzerland — a little country across the sea.
Slowly it finds its way out of the great forest. It flashes into silver when it sees the great sun. It leaps away down the mountains. It hurries through to quiet valleys, babbling and bubbling to itself.
When it reaches Germany, this little brook of the mountains has grown to be a magnificent river. Smooth and sunny, it ripples past busy towns and villages. Pretty little homes dot its
banks. Happy children play beside it. Grape vineyards lie along the slopes, and their ripening fruit fills the air with fragrance.
Sometimes the Rhine grows deep, and dark, and narrow. It plunges headlong over high precipices. Full of queer curves and mysterious windings, it creeps along between wild, steep mountains, covered with thick, gloomy forests.
Up and down its waters go great streamers. They are filled with people of all nations, who have come to see the famous Rhine country. Do you know why it is so much talked about? Not only because of its beauty, but because so many wonderful stories are told about it.
Somewhere, in this lovely Rhine land, lives one of our “Seven Little Sisters” — Louise, the Child of the Rhine. Do you remember, in that beautiful story, we read of the “solemn old castles”?
They are all along the dark mountains on each side of the Rhine. Some are so far up on the peaks that they seem like real “castles in the air.” Others cling to the side of the steep, rocky slopes. Surrounded by forests, they look as if they grew there.
Long, long ago, they echoed to the sound of children's footsteps. High-born ladies swept their silken trains up and down the ancient halls. Often was heard the clank of spurred boots, and the sharp clash of arms, when brave knights went forth to war.
They are empty now and deserted, these grim old castles. Vines creep over the crumbling walls. Mice scurry through the dim rooms, and bats flit about tower and turret. And the great Rhine, as it winds along, buries their secrets under its hurrying water.
It is about these same “solemn old castles” of Rhineland, with their caves and rocks and forests, that I am going to tell you stories — stories so old and strange and full of mystery that no one knows where they came from. So they are called traditions or legends.About half way between Bingen and Coblenz, the bed of the Rhine grows suddenly narrow. The river is very deep and quiet. Great cliffs on either side shut out the glad sunlight. The spot is dim and full of mystery.
On the right bank rises a huge cliff, like a tall tower. This is the famous Lorelei rock. Listen! As you say the word “Lorelei,” the lonely Echo, who always lives here, repeats it after you — “Lorelei! Lorelei!” — once, twice, seven times. Fainter and further, it dies away at last into the deep silence of the forest.
Long ago, it is said, below the great Lorelei rock in the river-bed, there stood a wonderful palace. It was built, from glittering base to flashing spire, of pure crystal.
In this beautiful palace lived a lovely water nymph. She was called Lorelei, and was the daughter of old Father Rhine.
During the day she was never seen; but at night when the great red moon rose over the mountains, all in her white, white garments spangled with gems, Lorelei climbed the rock. There, with a comb set thick with costly jewels, she sat and combed her beautiful golden hair.
And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair,
With gold in her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair.
With a golden comb she combs it,
And a wild song singeth she,
That meets the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.
Slowly, back and forth, through her long, loose hair, she drew the comb. And while she combed, she sang. Such a song! Wild and sweet, it floated down through the dark and filled the night with its entrancing music.
No words can tell its tenderness. Clear and low, it echoed from rock to rock. It mingled with all the night-sounds of the forest — the startled cry of a bird in its little nest, the wind in the leaves, the waves on the shore.The water-nymphs, who lived in the Rhine, might come and enjoy, with safety, this wonderful music. But woe to the human being, be he prince or fisherman, who paused in his boat to listen to the siren's song. Lost in its magic sweetness, he forgot time, place, home, friends — everything. His boat, being no longer guided, was wrecked in the dangerous channel, and he perished in the dark, swift waters.
One after another of the brave mariners and fishermen met this untimely death. And still not one among them had a near view of the charming Lorelei.
At last, one bold, handsome fisherman resolved to see her or die in the attempt. So one night, in the full of the moon, he climbed the cruel cliff.
There, all in her white robes, like a lily from the river, sat the beautiful water-nymph. She smiled at him. She held out her slender hand in welcome. She was lovelier, even, than his dreams had told him — so lovely, that night after night, the fisherman scaled the rock to sit for an hour by her side.
Lorelei sang to him. She told him secrets of the Rhine. She showed him where to cast his net. He obeyed her, and each day his net was full of fish.
But one dark night the brave fisherman did not return from the rock. His mates searched for him. They dragged the river for his body — in vain. Never more was he seen in his boat on the Rhine. Never again did he climb the moonlit cliff.
But the river rippled on. And far above, under the stars, the Lorelei still sang her wonderful song. Perhaps she had carried the bold fisherman away to dwell forever with her in her coral caves under the quiet waters.
Now Count Ludwig, the only son of Prince Palatine, heard of the wondrous sweetness and beauty of the Lorelei. How he longed for such a glimpse of the lovely creature! At last, one night, he left the castle unseen, and sailed away down the quiet river. The stars twinkled from the dark sky, and peeped back at him from the dark stream.
Suddenly, far, far above him, there was the flash of white drapery. And then he saw Lorelei herself! Her golden hair fell about her like a veil woven of moonlight. She bent over the ledge, and beckoned him with bewitching sweetness. Her eyes shone like stars, and she sang — oh, how she sang!
The Count listened — was enraptured. In imagination, while she sang, he saw green caves paved with pink shells. He heard the soft, far-away murmur of still water on lonely shores. All about him, above him, below him, rippled waves of golden moonlight — he seemed floating in light.
Then, a fierce, grating, grinding sound! His frail boat struck against a jagged rock. It was upset. The Count was drowned.
Prince Palatine was wild with grief at the death of his only son. He sent some of his strongest warriors to scale the Lorelei rock. He told them to capture the strange maiden, who was the cause of so much sorrow.
The gallant captain stationed men all about the rock. Then, with his brave knights, he climbed to the summit. There sat the lovely Lorelei. She crooned a faint, sweet melody to herself as she combed her yellow hair.
Four armed men surrounded her. There seemed no way of escape unless she plunged headlong into the river. “Surrender!” cried the valiant knights.
Slowly Lorelei lifted her dreamy eyes. She waved her white hands. The grim old warriors stood motionless in their places. They could move neither hand nor foot. They could make no sound. They were spellbound.
Lorelei drew off her wonderful gems. One by one, sparkling, burning, flashing, she dropped them into the river. THen murmuring some strange spell she began to dance.
Her white robes shone, her long hair floated in the moonlight. Drowsily, dreamily, round and round, she whirled to her own mystic song. The strong knights could not take their eyes from the slender, swaying figure. They listened while she sang of pink pearl chariots and prancing steeds.
Suddenly, a great bubbling and seething arose. The Rhine had heard the call of his beloved child. The river began to rise. It rose higher and higher, until the warriors felt the cold waters swirling around their feet.
Then a cream-crested wave swept toward them. In its green depths was a magnificent chariot, like a great, glistening sea-shell. It was drawn by white-maned horses. With a light bound, Lorelei sprang into the magic coach. She was borne swiftly over the side of the cliff into the water. Then the waters went down. The warriors could move again. They ran to the edge of the cliff. They peered over. Drops of water shone like gems on the rocks. But there was no sweet face. There was no beckoning hand, no gleam of golden hair. The beautiful Lorelei was gone.
And never since, one rock or shore, has she been seen. Never more does she play with her hair in the light of the moon. But sometimes, even yet, just at midnight, when all the forest is still and solemn under the moon, it is said that belated travelers hear the low, murmuring music of Lorelei's song.
Maybe, some day when you go sailing on the Rhine, you will see the great rock which still bears the name of the lovely Lorelei. But look as you will, you will not see the golden-haired siren. And the peasants will tell you that she is still angry at the conduct of the warriors, and that never more will she leave her glittering cave-palace under the Rhine.
“OTHER CASTLES CLING TO THE SIDES OF THE STEEP, ROCKY SLOPES”
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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