TALES OF THE GERMAN HEARTH.

Otago Witness, Issue 1894, 9 March 1888, Page 34

TALES OF THE GERMAN HEARTH.

THE RUSTED KNIGHT.

There was once a very rich and distinguished knight, who lived in feasting and revelry, and was proud and hard toward the pool. For this reason God caused as a punishment his whole left side to become withered and covered as with rust. His left arm rusted and his left leg, and in like manner the body to the waist. Only the face remained free. Then the knight placed a glove on his left baud, sewed it fast at the wrist, and never took it off by night or day, so that no one should see how badly he was rusted. Then he went over in his mind his past career, and resolved to begin a new course of life. He dismissed all his old associates, and took to himself a fair and pious wife. This lady had indeed heard ill accounts enough of the knight, but because his face remained good she believed, even in his absence, very little of what she had heard, and -when he -was by her and spoke lovingly with her, nothing of it at all. Bui after the marriage, on the first night, .she discovered why it was that he never took the glove from his left hand, and she was seized with horror. She let him not see, however, that she had perceived anything, and in the morning said that she was going into the wood to pray in a little chapel that stood there. But beside the chapel was a hermitage, in which dwelt an aged hermit who had made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and was so holy that people came to him from far and wide. From him she meant to ask counsel.

When she had told the hermit all, the holy man went into the chapel ' and prayed there a long time, and coming back said to the lady :

" You may yet redeem your husband, but it is hard. Should you begin the task and leave it uncompleted, you yourself must also rust. Much wrong has your husband in his lifetime committed, and proud and hard has he been toward the poor ; but if you will go bagging for him, barefoot and in rags, like the very commonest beggar -wife, till you have begged the sum of a hundred gold florins, then your husband will be forgiven. You will take him then by the hand, go with him into the church, and lay the hundred gold florins in the church plate for the poor. Then the rust will vanish, and he will be again as sound as before." " Then I will do it ! " said, the young knight's lady. " Should it be ever so hard for me, and sh.ou.ld it last ever so long, I

Then the people often stood still aocl gazed at the pooy young beggar-wife lcl the wonderfully beautiful child, and they gave her moxe than before. She, however, was consoled, and wept no longer, for s " e knew now that she would jcertainly release bey husband if she but persevered. But when his wife did not return the knight in his castle was deeply troubled, for he said to himself—" She has/ learned all, and has therefore left me." He went first into the wood, to the hermit*

will release my husband, for he is only out, wardly rusted— of that lam quite sure,"

Then the hermit dismissed her, and sfc 6 went away deep into the heart of the woo^. Before long she met an old mother who \va s gathering birch broom. She had on a tat* cered dirty gown, and over that a mantle that was made of as many different pieces as once the Holy Roman Empire; but as to what colour the pieces had originally been that was no longer to be seen, for rain and sunshine had already had much to do with the old mantle.

" If you will let me have your gown and cloak, old mother," said the lady, " I wjj| give you all the money I have with me and my silken dress into the bargain, .for \ should like much to become poor."

Then the old woman looked at her in sur, prise, and said : " I will soon do that 1 I will soon do that I my fine daughter, if you are in earnest, Long enough have I lived in the world, and many have I known who would fain become rich, but for anyone to wish to become poor that is something new to me 1 You will like it but ill, with your silken hands and the bit face of you."

But the lady had already begun to take off her dress, and looked at the same time so sad and so serious that the old lady saw very well that she was not joking. She therefore reached her the gown and mantle, helped her to put them on, and asked then :

" What will you do now, my fine daugh 1 ter ? "

" Beg, mother," answered the lady.

" Beg I Well, you needn't take on about that — that is no shame. At the gate of Heaven many a one must do it that has never learned it down here. But I must first teach you the beggar song : Begging and canting, Huug'riog and wanting, Summer and winter time This is the beggar's rhyme. Hnsb thou hap, but a scrap Gire for the beggar's dole, Bread in the begging sack, Soup in the bowl. Wallet of leather, Rags hung together, And sorely worn shoes, Carry we beggar folk — Wliat we have begged Is spent in a booze ! "A sweet song, isn't it?" said the old woman.

With that she threw the silken clothes about her, sprang into the thicket, and waa soon lost to view.

The lady, however, pursned her wav through the wood. After some time him met a farmer, who was out to sock a maid, for it was about the harvest time, and he was short of hands. Then the lady stood still, held out her hand, and said :

" ' Have you Imp, but a scrap give for the beggar's dole 1 ' "

But she did not say the rest of the verses, for they did not please her.

The farmer looked ac her, and as lie saw that, spite of her rags, she was sound and healthy, he asked her whether she would not serve as maid with him.

" I will give you at Easter a coke, at Martinmas a goose, and at Christmas a dollar and a new gonrn. Are you content with that?"

" No," answered the lady, " I must go abegging. The dear God will have it so;'

At this the farmer turned angry, swore at her and called her evil names, and asked jeeringly :

" The dear God will have it so, will He ? Perhaps you are Hia gossip, that you know all about it 1 A lazy skin, that's what you are i Good for the knout, too bad for the lout I"

Thereupon he went his way, left her standing, and gave her nothing. Then the lady saw very well thab begging was hard.

Nevertheless she went farther still, and after a while came to a place where there were cross roads, and two stones were standing. On one of those sat a boggarman, with his crutch. As she was now tired, sho thought to rest herself a moment on the vacant stone. Scarcely, however, had sho seated herself when the boggarman struck at her with his crutch, ami cried :

" Get out of thai, you strolling baggage! Would you take the custom from me, with your rags and your sugar-sweet face ? Thw place here I have rented. Bo off, will you, or you shall see what a fine fiddle-bow my crutch makes, antl your back a crazy fiddle!"

Then the ln/ly sighed, stood up, and \ven f < on as far as her feet would carry her. Afc last she came to a great strange city. Here she stayed, seated herself by the church door, and beggod, and at nights she slept on the church stops. So she lived there, day out, day in ; and one pcrsou who pa?sed would give her a penny, and another a farthing. Many, however, gave her nothing at all, or even called her ill names as the farmer had dono.

And. the hundred gold florins wore a lw£ time in being gathered, for alter she l'wl begged for three-quarters of a year she had laid by but one florin ; and even as the iirst> florin was full she bore a wondrously beautiful boy, to whom she gave the name " Yet Released," because* she hoped she would yet release her husband. She tore from the foot of her mantle a strip a good ell broad, so that the mantle now reached only to her knee, wrapped the babe in it, took him on her lap, and begged as before. And when the child would not sleep she rocked it, M& sang:

Sleep on thy mother's bosom, Poor beggar babe of mine ; Thy father in his castle Has all things rich and fine. His food and drink the rarest, His dress of s'lken grainHow were he grieved, my fairest, Could he behold us twain ! He needeth not to grievo bjw, Thou liest warmly thera r And that his woe may Wave him Is evermore my prayer.

to hear whether she had been to the chapel and prayed. But the hermit was very stern and severe with him, and said :

" Have you not lived in revelry and riot ? Have you not been wicked, hard, and proud toward the poor 1 And has not God for punishment caused you to become rusted on the left side ? Your wife would have done quite right if she had left you ! One must not lay a good apple and a bad one in the same basket, lest the good one should become foul also."

Then the knight sat himself on the ground, took off his helmet, and wept bitterly.

When the hermit saw this he grow more friendly, and said :

"As I see your heart is not yet rusted also, I will advise you : Do good, and go into all the churches. So you will find your wife again."

Then the knight left his castle and rode out into the world, and wherever he found poor he gave them rich alms, and wherever he came to a church he vrent in and prayed. But his wife he did not find. So nearly a year had passed when he came at last to the city where his wife sat by the church door and begged, and his first steps were to the church. His wife knew him while he was yet far off, for he was tall and stately, and bore an eagle's talon on his crest that shone far off in the sun.

Then she was startled, for she had as yet only gathered two gold florins, so that she could not jet release him. She drew the mantle down over her head, so that he should not recognise her, and crouched together as closely as she could that he might not see her snow-white feet, for the mantle reached only to her knees since she had torn the strip off for her child.

But as the knight strode past he heard her lightly sobbing, and when he looked at her patched and tattered mantle and the lovely child in her lap, it grieved him to the soul. Ho stepped up to iiur, and a-ked her what ailed her. But the wife made no reply, ami only sobbed the more the more she gave herself pains to suppress it.

Then the knight dicw Forth his purse, in which was much more than a hundred florins, laid it in her lap, and said :

" I give you all that I have with me, should I hare to beg my way home for it ! "

Then the mantle fell, without her wishing it, from the wife's head, and the knight saw that it was his own true faithful wife to whom ho had given Ihe gold. Without minding the rags, he fell on her neck and kissed her, and when he heard that the child was his own son, he kissed and fondled him, too.

But the wife took the knight, her husband, by the hand, led him into the church, and laid the money in the church plate for the poor. Then she said : " I wished to release you, but you hare released yourself." And so, indeed, it was, for as the knight came forth from the church the curse was lifted, and the rust that had covered his whole left side had gone. He lifted his wife, with her babe, upon his horse, went himself on foot beside them, and journeyed back to his castle, whore he lived with her in happiness for many years, aid did so much good that all people praised him. But the beggar rags that his wife had "worn he caused to be hung in a costly shrine, and every morning as soon as he had arisen he went and gazed long upon them, and said :

" This is my morning devotion, and no one can take it amiss of me, for afterwards I go into the church as well."