THIRD PART.

Lo! a ship comes o'er the ocean, Near Franconia's coast approaching, Foreign sails and foreign pendant. At the rudder sits a pale man, Clad in black and monkish robes. Hollow, like a mournful wailing, Sounds the strange speech of the pilgrims, Sound their prayers, and cries of sailors. 'Tis the ancient Celtic language From the Emerald Isle of Erin; And the vessel bears the pious Missionary Fridolinus. "Cease thy grieving, dearest mother; Not with sword nor with the war-axe Shall thy son gain fame and honour: Other ages, other weapons-- Faith and Love are my sole armour. For the love I bear my Saviour I go forth unto the heathen; Celtic blood impels me onward. And in dreams I've seen a vision-- A strange land and pine-clad mountains, A clear stream with a green island, Most as fair as my own country; Thither points the Lord His finger, Thither sails now Fridolinus." With a few choice Irish comrades, Filled with earnest, calm devotion, Fridolin sailed o'er the ocean; Came into the Frankish Empire, Where at Paris reigned King Clovis. Smiling spake he to the pilgrims: "I had never great affection For the saints and monkish orders; Since, however, the accursèd Allemanic lances whistled Nearer me than I thought pleasant On the battlefield of Zulpich, I have changed my mind entirely-- Even kings will pray in danger. Where you wander I'll protect you. And unto your special notice Recommend the Allemanni: They are stubborn and thick-headed, They are still most dogged heathen; Try to make them good and pious." Farther on the little band went, To the land of the Helvetians; There began their serious labour, And the holy cross was planted At the foot of snow-clad Säntis, Planted by the Bodensee. When descending from the Jura Fridolinus saw the ruins Of Augusta Rauracorum-- Roman walls--there still projected From the rubbish mighty columns Of the Temple of Serapis. But the Altar and the Cella Were o'ergrown with tangled brambles; And the ox-head of Serapis Had been built in o'er the stable By an Allemanic peasant, Whose forefathers had most likely Killed the last priest of Serapis. Seeing this then, Fridolinus Crossed himself and travelled onward, By the green banks of the river. Evening came, and far already Had the pious man now wandered. There beheld he, how the river Flowed in two divided branches; And in the green waters smiling Rose before him a small island, Sack like lying in the river. (Hence the peasants, who are never Over squeamish in comparing, Called the isle Sacconium.) Evening came; the larks were singing Fish sprang snapping from the water; Through the heart of Fridolinus Thrilled a thankful pious gladness. On his knees he sank down praying, For he recognised the island As the vision of his dreaming-- And he praised the Lord in Heaven. Oft, 'tis true, have many of us Mortals in these modern ages Also dreamt of tranquil islands, Where we happily might nestle, And the weary heart refresh with Forest calm and Sabbath quiet. Many also go with ardent Longing on the journey, but when Nearing as they hope their island, Suddenly it fades before them, As in southern climes the airy Image of the fay Morgana. Full of wonder, a wild native Sculled the stranger to the island, On a raft made of rough pine logs. Wild the island: limes and alders In low marshes here were growing; On the shore with pebbles covered, Also stood huge ancient willows; And some scattered huts with thatched roofs. Here in summer, when the salmon Are migrating up the river, Eager fishermen stand waiting With their long sharp pikes to spear them. Unremitting to his labour Went the saint--soon stood his log-house On the solid ground erected; Near the house the cross he planted. When the bell at dusk of evening Rang out far, Ave Maria! And he prayed devoutly kneeling; From the Rhine vale, many people Timidly looked at the island. Fierce and stubborn were these Almains. Once the Roman gods they hated; Now Franconia's God they hated, Who at Zulpich, like a tempest, Had o'erthrown their mighty host. When the lazy master idly Took his rest on winter evenings, And, with eager zest, the women Set their tongues in busy motion, And of this and that they gossiped-- How the jug of milk had curdled, How the hut was struck by lightning, How a youth was badly injured By a boar's sharp tusk when hunting-- Then in warning spoke the crafty Aged Allemanic grandam: "No one else have we to blame but Him who dwells on yonder island-- That old pallid, praying stranger. Trust ye not, I pray, the new God Of the Franks, nor false King Clovis!" And they feared the pious stranger. Once, upon the summer solstice, They all came unto his island, Drank there--after ancient custom-- Mead from their enormous tankards; And they tried to seize the stranger, But he had gone down the river. "We will leave this pallid man, then, Tokens that we've held our feast here!" Soon some lighted brands were flying In the hut of Fridolinus; And they sprang rejoicing through the Flames in singing, "Praised be Woden!" From the distance gazed with pleasure The old grandam, and her face shone Ghastly in the lurid light. Fridolinus, when returning, Saw his hut laid waste in ashes; And he said, then smiling sadly: "Lord, I thank thee for these trials, As they but increase my courage." Then he built anew his dwelling, And soon found an entrance open To the rough hearts of his neighbours. First the children, then the women, Listened to his gentle language; And some of the stubborn fellows Looked approval, when he showed them How in Erin, his own country, They could spear the salmon better; When he sang them ancient legends-- How, upon the Caledonian Cliffs, had raged a mighty battle With the Romans; and how Fingal Overthrew young Caracalla. Then they said: "A strong and mighty God has sent this man here to us; And a good God, for this stranger Bringeth blessing on our fishing." And in vain the grandam warned them: "Trust ye not, I pray, the new God Of the Franks and false King Clovis!" Yes, he touched these hearts so rugged Taught to them the Christian doctrine; And they understood that giving Is more blessed than receiving; That it was the Son of God who On the cross for men did suffer. Hardly had a year passed over-- 'Twas Palm-Sunday--when descended, From the slopes of all the mountains, A great throng, who then rowed over To the isle of Fridolinus. Peacefully there on the island, Sword, and shield, and axe they laid down; And the children gaily gathered For themselves the willow blossoms And sweet violets by the river. From his hut came Fridolinus, Fully robed in priestly vestments; By his side walked his companions Who had come from distant places: Gallas from Helvetia; also From the Bodensee Columban. And they led down to the shore then The great throng of the converted, And baptised them in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. She alone did not come with them To the isle of Fridolinus, She the old and stubborn grandam; And she said: "No new gods need I, As my life is fast declining. I'm contented with the old ones, Who to me are kind and gracious, Who once gave me my dear husband-- My good, noble Siegebert. When'er Death from here should take me, I could never hope to find him; And for him my heart is yearning. In the woods I must be buried, Where the mandrake grows 'neath fir-trees Which with mistletoe are covered. I don't wish a cross on my grave, Shall not envy it to others." On that very day, however, Fridolin laid the foundations Of the cloister and the city; And his work waxed ever greater, And afar throughout the country Was the holy man revered. When again he paid a visit To King Clovis' court, in Paris, On his right the king did place him, And then solemnly donated The whole island to his cloister, And, besides, large tracts of country; Even a great saint became he. Have ye never heard the legend Of the court-day, and Count Ursus, Which the statues o'er the church door Have preserved e'en to the present? A great saint, indeed, became he, And is still the Rhineland's patron. To this day prevails the custom That the peasants have their first-born By the name of Fridli christened. * * * * On the sixth of March young Werner Gaily parted from the glebe-house; Gratefully he shook the hand of The good pastor, who sincerely Wished him a most pleasant journey. And the old cook was completely Reconciled unto the stranger; Bashfully she cast her eyes down To the ground, while deeply blushing, When young Werner, out of mischief, Kissed his hand to her, when leaving. Barking ran the two St. Bernards A long distance with our rider. Bright and warm the sun was shining On the town of Fridolinus; Solemn peals afar resounded, From the organ of the minster, As young Werner through the gate rode. Quickly found he first good shelter For his horse, and then he walked on To the crowded lively market, Went up to the old Cathedral, And he stood with head uncovered By the portal, where was passing Then the festive long procession. Through the war the precious relics Of the Saint had been well hidden In old Laufenburg's strong castle. They had often in the city Missed their presence with much sorrow. Now that peace once more was settled, They were striving with fresh ardour To do honour to their saint. At the head of the procession Came gay troops of merry children. But when they too loudly prattled, Then their old and gray-haired teacher Pulled them by the ear and scolded: "Keep quite still, my little people! Take great care, for Fridolinus May be listening to your gabbling. He, a Saint severe and holy, Will complain of you in Heaven." Twelve young men came next, who bore the Coffin, rich with gold and silver, Which enclosed the Saint's remains. Bearing it they chanted softly: Thou who dwellest high in Heaven, Bless thy people and thy city, Stretch o'er us thy arms of mercy, Fridolinus, Fridolinus! Grant us further thy protection; From all danger mayst thou guard us, War and pestilence keep from us, Fridolinus, Fridolinus! Then the Dean and all the Chaplains Followed after--bearing tapers Came the youthful Burgomaster, Came the town's wise Corporation And the other dignitaries: Bailiff, Revenue-receiver, Syndic, Notary, Attorney, And the old Chief Ranger also. (He came only for decorum, For with Mother Church and Saints' Days He was not upon good footing, Prayed much rather in the forest.) E'en the Messenger and Sergeant Did not then, as was their custom, Take a morning draught together, But joined gravely the procession. Then in dusky Spanish mantles, Ornamented with white crosses, Came the great Teutonic Order, All the Knights and their Commander. Down the river stood in Beuggen The Teutonic Order's Castle Whence at early dawn of morning All these knights had come on horseback. Then came black-robed, grave and aged, Noble ladies of the Convent, And in front by the blue standard Walked the aged Lady Abbess, And her thoughts were: "Fridolinus, Though thou art so full of kindness, One thing thou canst ne'er restore me, 'Tis my youth, so fair and golden. It was charming fifty years since, When my cheeks were red like roses, And when many knights were captured In the meshes of my glances! Long have I done penance for this, And I hope it is forgiven. Deeply wrinkled is my forehead, While the cheeks and lips are faded. And the sunken mouth is toothless." Next the train of noble ladies Came the burghers' comely housewives, At the end the elder matrons. Only one in work-day garments Kept aloof from the procession, 'Twas the hostess from the ancient Tavern of the "Golden Button;" So demanded ancient custom. There--so learn we from the legend-- Stood once in those heathen ages An old tavern; Fridolinus, When he first upon the island Set his foot, had there sought shelter; But the landlord, a rude heathen, Spoke unto the holy man thus: "All you priests are good for nothing, But to vilify our old gods; And you seldom carry even One red farthing in your pocket. So begone from off my threshold!" Now the purse of Fridolinus Had indeed but little in it, And he had to take his night's rest Underneath the shady lindens In the meadow. But the angels Cared well for him, and he found out, On awaking, that his purse was Filled with golden Roman pieces. Then again the Saint did visit The inhospitable tavern, Took a meal, and paid in shining Money what the host demanded; And to shame him left moreover Seven gold coins as a present. Thus for an eternal warning To all landlords void of pity, Although ages had elapsed since, No one from the "Golden Button" Could join in the Saint's procession. As the flowers in the mown field Gaily bloom 'mid dried up stubble, So close by the elder matrons Walked the lovely group of maidens, Clad in snow-white festive garments. Many old men, as they saw them Passing by in youthful beauty, Thought: "Upon our guard we must be, For these maidens are as dangerous As a Swedish regiment." In the front they bore a statue Of Our Lady, dress'd most richly, In a purple velvet garment, Which they had presented to her, As a grateful holy offering, When the weary war was ended. In that lovely file the fourth one Was a slender, light-haired maiden; On her curls, a wreath of violets, Over which the white veil floated, And it covered half her features, Like the hoar-frost in the Spring-time Glistening on the early rosebud. With her eyes cast down she passed by Where young Werner now was standing. He beheld her. Had the sun then Blinded suddenly his eyesight, Or the fair young maiden's beauty? Although others still came past him, Rooted to the spot he stood there, Looking only at the fourth one, Gazed, and gazed; when the procession Turned the corner of a side street Still he gazed, as if the fourth one In the file he must discover. "He is caught!" so goes the saying In that country, when one's soul is By the wand of love enchanted; Love can never be our captive, We are wholly conquered by him. So beware, my young friend Werner! Joy and sorrow hides the saying: "He is caught!" I need not say more.