The king’s daughters, who both became abbesses, long dwelt at Baldern Castle, whence, however, they went down to the Frauenmünster whenever the bell rang for prayers. They even attended the midnight services there, and when it was very dark a stately stag invariably walked before them carrying a flaming torch between its antlers.
At the foot of the southern slope of the Albis—a green mountain near Zürich—lies the little lake of Türl or the Türlersee. Tradition claims that this valley once belonged to the lords of Schnabelberg, whose castle stood on the height still bearing that name. They intrusted the care of their lands to an unprincipled steward who once induced a miser to sell his daughter for a piece of rich land down in the valley. This iniquitous bargain had no sooner been concluded than the inhuman father hastened down to view his new farm; but while he was inspecting it, a fearful storm arose. Thunder-bolts, repeatedly striking the mountain, detached great masses of stone, which, in falling, made a dam across the valley.
In a few moments the rain, pouring down the mountain side in swift torrents, filled all the hollow made by this dam, covering every inch of land the miser had received in exchange for his child. Terrified by this visitation from Heaven, the unjust steward not only let the maiden go unharmed, but paid a rich dower to the convent she entered, and mended his evil ways as much as he could.
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Near the Lake of Türl once lived a lady named Kriemhild, who was jealous because her neighbours’ lands were more productive than her own. In hopes of ruining their crops, she bade a Salamancan student flood their fields. The latter, scorning magic arts for so simple a task, dug a deep ditch, which, allowing the waters of the lake to escape, would accomplish his evil purpose just as well.
St. Verena, passing by there accidentally, discovered his purpose, and before he could complete his task whisked him and Kriemhild off to the Glarnisch in Glarus, where both are condemned to dig in the ice and snow until they have made plants bloom in the desolate spot still known as St. Verena’s or Vreneli’s garden. As for the ditch it is still to be seen, and in memory of Kriemhild’s evil intentions it still bears her name.
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Only a short railway journey from Zürich is the ancient castle of Kyburg, which rises between Winterthur and Frauenfeld. It once belonged to a family of the same name, a side branch of the famous house of Welfs or Guelfs. To account for this name, tradition relates that a Kyburg having married Irmentrude, Charlemagne’s sister-in-law, went to live with her in a castle near Altorf.
One day, a poor woman came to this castle begging for food, and sadly yet proudly exhibited triplets, whose recent arrival into the world prevented her working as usual for her living. The Countess of Kyburg, seeing these children, sternly refused all help to the woman, declaring no faithful wife had ever been known to bear so many children at once, and that she would not encourage vice in her lands by giving alms to women of bad lives.
The virtuous peasant woman, justly offended at this harsh speech, turned angrily away. But she paused a moment at the gate, to call Heaven to prove that she had always been true to her marriage vows by giving the Countess twelve children at a birth. The Countess paid little heed to this curse, but many months later she was terrified by the simultaneous arrival of twelve sons, all exactly alike, and all unmistakable Kyburgs.