Ellustrated Article.

OLD STORIES OF THE RHINE CASTLES.

By Roger Calverley.

FOR THE OLIO.

NOTH GOTTES.

A STORY OF THE RHEINGAN.

Theocrine. 'Tis now no time For me to think of bymeneal joys. Can he, (and pray you, sir, consider it!) That gave me life and faculties to love, Be, as he's now, ready to be devour'd By ravenous wolves, and, at that instant, I But entertain a thought of those delights In which, perhaps, my ardour meets with yours? Duty and piety forbid it, sir!

Beauf., jun. But this effected, and your father free, What is your answer?

MASSINGER'S Unnatural Combat.

AFTER having descended from the forest of Niederwald, you reach Rudesheim. In approaching it by water, you enjoy one of the most lovely views in the whole range of the Rhine. This pretty town extends its buildings all along the river bank, and at the furVOL. IX.

See page 375.

thest end, the vanes, pinnacles, and turrets of the ancient family castle of the knightly Brömsers add the most picturesque ornament to the landscape. The Rochusburg displays itself on the left; in front is the town of Bingen, immediately opposite to which, on its craggy but vine-covered cliff, appear the remains of the castle of Ehrenfels,while the dismal ruins of the Mausethurm, or Tower of Rats, are seen sullenly mouldering on its traditionary isle. It is on the mountain behind Rudesheim that the vineyards are situated which produce the choice wine to which it gives a name.

The old castle of Rudesheim is of a square form, and its interior has been restored in admirable taste by the present possessor. It is said to have stood at the head of a bridge which connected it with the Drusithor of the Roman fort at Bingen, on the other side of the river. Conrad Brömser, who flourished somewhere about the end of the tenth century, married an heiress of the house of Rudesheim. In the grand saloon of the castle, you find portraits of numerous members of that family, who are

246

represented two and two, husband and wife, on the same canvas, with their titles, the dates, and the armorial bearings, each with its little legend in verse: and in the state chamber is exhibited the great bridal bed, adorned with sculptures and paintings from the Old Testament. With this castle is connected the following story.

If ever earthly love was pure, if ever earthly love was happy, it was that which sprang, grew, and blossomed in the bosoms of Siegefroy of Ehrenfels, and Oranthe of Rudesheim. It was at the period when St. Bernard preached the Crusade at Spire, that the lady's father, John Bromser of Rudesheim, following the example of many other knights of the Rheingan, assumed the cross and repaired to Palestine. In his absence, his only child Oranthe resided at Rudesheim and Ehrenfels alternately, under the tutelage of Siegefroy's widowed mother. The amity between the two houses of Rudesheim and Ehrenfels might be said to be traditionary it descended from father to son, and the memory of man could not record its violation. When John Bromser, therefore, left the towery borders of his own noble river, for the palmy wildernesses of Palestine, the arrangement that placed Oranthe, a beautiful little maiden of fifteen, under the care of the widow of Ehrenfels, was considered by both parties as a matter of course. To the knight of Rudesheim it was a source of satisfaction that, in leaving his castle and domain, in order to follow what he conceived a summons from heaven, he had provided so satisfactory a protection for his beautiful child: while the matron of Ehrenfels glowed with affectionate pride at the artless enthusiasm of the youthful Oranthe, when, after the first agony of grief on her sire's departure had exhausted itself, she flung her white arms around her protectoress, and declared that while her father was absent Rudesheim should cease to be her home.

"All that is left me to love is at Ehrenfels," exclaimed the maiden, "and at Ehrenfels will I strive to be loved even as I love!"

When fair Oranthe made this declaration, she was hanging fondly on the bosom of the lady of Ehrenfels, her bright hair, flung in silky luxuriance, veiled her cheek and waved over her neck; but when, after receiving a kiss of maternal tenderness from her guardian, she shook back those sunny clusters, and raised her soft blue eyes that

still swam with tears, a sudden change of emotion appeared to thrill through her frame; on cheeks pale with grief a rich crimson was suffused, and even the instantly drooping eye could not extinguish the sudden light that flashed there. Siegefroy ought not to have been so near when that unguarded speech was uttered, and it was still worse of him to allow such a provoking smile to play round his full red lips ;-true, he and Oranthe had been companions from children, but then, love! it is an awkward thing to talk about at any time, and still more awkward when young ladies talk of it, and awkwardest of all when they are overheard by him they have, of all others, coupled with the idea in their little hearts. Siegefroy of Ehrenfels was ten years older than Oranthe of Rudesheim, which places him, at the period we write of, in the blooming prime of five-and-twenty.Now, Siegefroy was superb in masculine beauty, in height, a youthful Titan, with muscular symmetry that Antinous might have envied, united, of course, with perfect elegance of maintien; and within this goodly temple dwelt the kindest, gentlest, noblest heart that ever conferred a benefit or forgave a wrong.

Youthful in years, and still more youthful in appearance, the petite figure of Oranthe looked fairy-like when Siegefroy was near; you would never think that two beings so unlike would fall in love with each other; yet, ór tradition foully lies, they perfectly "doated!"

If Oranthe wanted to detain Siegefroy from his beloved chase, it was but striking a few chords of a Rhenish melody upon her harp, and the boarspear would be instantly resigned. If Siegefroy desired to see Oranthe's cheek catching new colour in the woodland sports, he had but to lead, below her window, the little white jennet he had given her, and music, and embroidery, and even thrice-loved poesy itself was thrown aside, for an animated gallop by the side of Siegefroy. Oranthe had been taught the beautiful art of illuminating by the sisters of the Abbey of St. Clements; and Siegefroy (who would have thought it derogatory to have been able to write his own name,) used to lean over her with much enamoured attention, while her little white fingers were laying on the vermillion, the azure, and the gold, in large flourished capitals, or quaint devices, or elaborate portraitures, on the yellow glossy

parchment, that, in time, his own great hairy hand could go through all the variegated intricacies of the German text, both great and small. Siege froy, in return, was not slow in initiating Oranthe in all the mysteries of the tournament, the chase, and the menage. She could feather a shaft almost as well as himself, was the best horsewoman in the Rheingan; and though she was somewhat tardier in acquiring the science of the mews, yet, at length, it was discovered that no falconer near the Niederwald had such a cast of hawks as the Lady Oranthe of Rude sheim. All this attractive interchange of tastes was the growth of daily intercourse from infancy; and, it may be imagined, had not escaped the notice of the bluff John Bromser-be, good man, saw nothing in it however,-and, if he had, he would have seen more than the young couple themselves, for though their habits, their studies, their amusements were interwoven, though their voices were but echoes of each other, and their very hearts swelled into one, they as little suspected the true state of affairs, as they thought their castles were built on a volcano. Love; they never dreamt of it-how should they? Every thing went on in such an every day manner, that the wonder would be that things could be otherwise. Their very happiness was too much a matter of course to be an excitement. The sun shone too interruptedly on their youthful days, to let them reflect that it was the sun; nor was there any thing to diversify their monotony of bliss, save, ever and anon, the unfolding of some fresh blossomn in the Eden of their bosoms. Love was to them a fixed habit, and invested them like costly raiment on those who, from custom, think not of the splendours that enrobe them.

It was not until after the departure of Bromser for Palestine, when Siege froy and Oranthe became votaries of the same Penates, that the veil was torn away, and chroniclers do not hesitate to date this event from the speech and look, already set down in this true history. Siegefroy and Oranthe became declared lovers. It made no great difference. Their interviews, it is true, took place (oftener than they used to do) in the presence of the Lady of Ehrenfels, a matron in all the glorious beauty of meridian life. Oranthe did not accompany Siegefroy quite so often to the chase; and Siegefroy was more frequently to be seen in the old

baronial rooms of Ehrenfels, with Oranthe at his elbow, poring over the romaunts of the Gothic and Teutonic knights, in the massy chivalric tome that lay in the bay window; or listening, with her, to the lay of some trou❤ badour or Minnesinger, whom accident or choice had directed to the castle.

Meanwhile, the return of the Chevalier Bromser began to be anxiously sighed for by the young lovers; not that the most vague idea of any obstacle, on his part, could rationally be entertained for a moment; on the contrary, it almost consoled them for the delay, to think on the satisfaction the knight of Rudesheim would derive from the accomplishment of, what might well be deemed, his proudest wishes, the union of his daughter with the heir of his noble and hereditary friend. And thus three years fleeted away.

One boisterous night in March, when the wind, howling around the rock towers of Ehrenfels, made the turret vanes creak and the windows clatter; while the angry water-king chafed and roared along the banks of the Rhine, Siegefroy, with his noble mother and the fair Oranthe, was seated after supper in the great and gloomy castle-hall; the vast volumes of tapestry surged solemnly to and fro, as the gusts found their way under the massy hall door, or whistled through crevices in the high arches of the painted windows that shook in the storm. But a lofty and brilliant flame wavered, like a gigantic plume of crimson feathers, over the huge logs of wood on the hearth-every roar of the blast seemed to be a challenge cheerfully accepted by the huge blaze; it brightened, it curled, it leapt up the wide chimney as if, not contented with dispelling the gloom within, it wanted to fight the storm without. The wine and spices were still on the table of Dais, but the party had left it, and were seated on heavy carved chairs within the magic circle of the radiant hearth. There was not one of the three that had much to hinder their full enjoyment of that unaccountable feeling one experiences in listening to the menaces of the tempest, and the consolations of the bickering fire.

Oranthe's gentle heart, it is true, was filled with anxious thoughts on her far distant sire; and Siegefroy's impatience for Bromser's return began to be painful; while the lady, his mother, more versed in the bitter uncertainties of life, felt a daily increasing

anxiousness, that two hearts, already inseparably united, should be placed beyond the power of mischance to divide them. Surrounded, however, as they were, with so much that was prosperous and bright, the few clouds that now and then diversified, rather than deformed, the future, were not suffered long to alarm or oppress them; and, at the hour we are telling of, few castle hearths saw around them a group more disposed to enter into the spirit of the hours, than the Lord of Ehrenfels, his mother, and his betrothed.

"Lend me thy lute, Oranthe! the one I brought thee, the other day, from Mayence; let me see if I cannot charm away the uproar of these wild winds, ere they dash to pieces my father's shield on the coloured panes yonder, or blow down Charlemagne and his Paladins on the arras!"

"What will my father say," said Oranthe, laughing, as she placed the lute in her lover's hands, "what will my father think, when he finds Siegefroy of Ehrenfels turned Minnesinger in his absence?"

"Why, that his daughter was a witch, who, not content with turning her lover's head, and stealing his heart, had thrown a spell upon his fingers also," was Siegefroy's reply; and after a prelude on the instrument, he sang the following lay:

I said to the Nightingale, "Why, in vain
Is the night air hush'd for thy vesper strain ?"
And he answer'd, "I heard thy lady's lute,
And its exquisite melody made me mute."

I said to the Peacock," Unfold, unfold,

For the sun to emblaze it, thy purple and gold!"

But he said, "I have look'd on thy lady's face,
And it puts all my beautiful plumes to disgrace."

I spoke to the swan, as he floated along,
"Why art thou singing thy death-song?"
And he said," I have mark'd thy lady's mien,
And am going to die of despair and spleen."

I ask'd the Dove," On my lady's breast,
Why art so fain to make thy rest?"
But he answer'd, "My feathers are not so fair
As the snow-white soul that sojourns there.

And therefore I come to take my rest
On the beautiful bosom that I love best."

"Now, out upon thee, Siegefroy! for a most hyperbolical rhymester!" said his lady mother; whilst Oranthe appeared to be uncommonly busy about a favourite hawk, which she took down from its perch, smoothing its feathers and arranging its hood. "Can'st thou not give us some stirring tale, some legend of the old lords of the Rhine, or some achievement of the Croisade at least."

The words had scarcely past the lady's lips, when the great bell at the portal, down by the river, tolled, and its loud knell came heavily floating up the rocky site of the castle, borne on the hollow wind into the very hall.— Soon afterwards the seneschal entering announced that a Carmelite monk from Palestine, who had been a prisoner to the Saracens, and who stated himself to be the bearer of tidings nearly importing the families of Ehrenfels and Rudesheim, stood at the castle-gate, and requested his night's meal and a bed. Siegefroy ordered him to be admitted forthwith, and directed that after he had fully satisfied his hunger and thirst, he should be ushered into the hall. After about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, which to the imagination of Siegefroy and Oranthe seemed an age, the Carmelite made his appearance. It was with expectation stretched to agony that Oranthe saw a tall old man enter the hall, attired in the particoloured raiment of red and blue peculiar to his order, leaning on a staff higher than himself, and wearing in his broad slouched hat, which he reverently held in his hand, that emblem of the widowed Palestine, a faded palm branch. A more strikingly venerable figure it would be difficult to conceive: his hair was white as snow, and fell down his cheeks till it reached his thick moustache, which, equally white, actually veiled his lips, flowing over them till they mingled with a beard of the same hue, which descended to his girdle.

"The dew of blessing drop from heaven upon you, my children, and make you flourish as the cedars of Lebanon!" was the salutation that issued from the mass of beard, and seemed as if it spoke from a sepulchre.

"Welcome, holy father!" said Siegefroy," and doubly welcome if thou bring us tidings of the good knight of Rudesheim !"

"And thrice welcome," echoed Oranthe, "if those tidings be happy!"

"Sit, good father!" said the lady of Ehrenfels," sit and speak forth thy tidings, good or evil: and according to their colour, heaven make us thankful or resigned!"

"Listen, then!" said the Carmelite, laying aside his staff, and placing himself, without further entreaty on a huge pinnacle-backed chair, by the warmest corner of the capacious chimney vault:

Listen, and know that my tidings are good or ill only as you accept them. The chevalier of Rudesheim lives!"