Only a short stretch of wood, and the torrent of the Mühlenthal lay between him and his castle; but although the knight fancied he knew every inch of the ground, he soon lost his way. Instead of crossing the swollen stream at the usual place, he plunged into its waters at the most dangerous point, only to find a watery grave within sight and sound of home. One of his faithful retainers, however, managed to escape from the torrent, and sadly bore the sorrowful tidings to the poor widow.
When the Lady of Munot learned how her spouse had perished, she put on mourning which she never laid aside, and to prevent other belated travellers from meeting a similar fate, hung a silver bell in the castle tower and had it rung for an hour every night.
The mournful toll of this little bell at nightfall not only served to guide travellers safely through the forest, and keep the knight’s memory green, but also reminded his former vassals to say a prayer for the rest of their dead master’s soul.
LEGENDS OF ZÜRICH.
Zürich, the old Roman Turicum, on either side of the Limmat at the point where it flows out of the green-hued lake, is the capital of the canton of the same name, and noted alike for the beauty of its situation and for its famous University.
In the days of the early Christian persecution, Felix and Regula, the patron saints of Zürich, were beheaded near this town. Strange to relate, though, immediately after the execution, both martyrs picked up their severed heads, tucked them under their arms, and stalked off to the spot where the minster now stands, where they wound up their marvellous performances by burying themselves comfortably! On the spot where they suffered martyrdom Charlemagne erected a memorial pillar, above which he hung a bell, saying that it could be rung by any one who had been wronged, and that they should receive immediate justice.
During one of his visits to Zürich, Charlemagne took up his abode in the Choristers’ House, and while he sat there at table one day he suddenly heard a loud peal from the bell of justice. He immediately despatched a servant to see what wrong had been done, and was greatly annoyed when the man reported that careful search had failed to reveal the presence of any living creature. A few moments later the bell rang again, but when the servant once more announced that no one was there, the emperor bade his guards hide near the pillar, and seize the miscreant who dared to pull the bell of justice in mere fun.
Before long the bell sounded a third time, and a few moments later the guards rushed into the emperor’s presence with faces blanched with fear, to report that a snake had coiled itself around the pillar, and seizing the rope in its teeth, tugged until the bell rang forth loud and clear. The emperor immediately rose from table, saying he must see this phenomenon with his own eyes, and followed by all his court went down to the pillar. As he drew near, the snake came forward to meet him, and rising upon its coiled tail, bowed low before the monarch in evident recognition of his exalted station. Then, dropping down to the earth once more, it crept away, turning from time to time, and making signs as if to invite the emperor to follow. The serpent’s actions were so eloquent that Charlemagne, understanding them, obediently followed it down to the edge of the water, where, parting the reeds, the snake showed him its nest, in which sat an enormous toad.
Charlemagne now bade his guards seize and kill the intruder, and when the snake had bowed its thanks and contentedly coiled itself around its eggs, he went back to his interrupted meal, loudly praising the bell by means of which even dumb animals could appeal for justice.