When the Squire rode up to her door, the housewifely frau was busy preparing the soup, which forms so essential an item of dinner in Germany. “Good day! God be with you!” said he. “And with you also, mein Herr!” replied she; “what brings your honourable and ever-to-be-delighted-in presence to the door of my humble abode?”
Then followed the explanation of how the Squire would honour the buxom Elsbeth by making her his wife; but the frau, nettled at the Squire’s manner, demurred,—thinking much greater ceremony should have been observed in asking the hand of the Belle of Dieblich.
The Squire, not expecting any obstacle, was astonished, then angry; but at that moment the Beauty entered, and he addressed himself for an answer to her. She laughed in his face, and averred that he had better marry her mother; so off rode the Squire, vowing vengeance.
It was, however, a very dear joke for the mother; the Squire hurried off to Coblence, and there denounced her for a witch. Her friends and her daughter’s lovers came forward to plead in her favour, and swore that she was a godly old woman, who never had harmed man or beast.
The false-swearing Squire swore to the contrary, and said these neighbours of hers were bewitched. The Court, of course believing a rich man rather than a number of poor ones, ordered the old woman to be put to the rack; there she confessed sins of which she had never been guilty, and then she was burnt.
Elsbeth, afraid she should meet the same fate, jumped into the river.
The wicked Squire rode thoughtfully home, beginning to fear that he had not gained peace of mind, though he had had his revenge. He came in sight of his house, and perceiving a storm was arising, pushed on with all haste; but it is in vain to fly from our fate: the lightning flashed out, and his horse starting, reared,—then bounding forward, it hurled its rider with force to the ground. Thus perished the swearer of lies.
At Winningen the inhabitants are Protestants, and are, says M. de Bourdelois, “distinguished for their religion, language, and manners, above their Romanist brethren.” The vine is nearly the sole object of culture. Formerly, at Pentecost, a very great fête was held in the neighbouring forest, at which was collected all the nobles and knights, burgomasters and aldermen, of the district; the Lord of Elz gave a huge tun of wine, and the monasteries of St. Martin and Marienrod sent the eatables, to this gigantic pic-nic.
The people living at this part of our river, especially a little lower down, near Lay, have been subject to terrible disasters, caused by the ice which collects here in winter, and then, suddenly breaking up, floods the whole country. In 1670 the Lahn, being unfrozen, and swollen with the rain that had fallen in the Taunus range, rushed down, and sweeping past Coblence, forced its way up the Moselle; thus causing great icebergs to form in our river, which killed the vines and swept away orchards, houses, men, beasts, and boats, all in one chaos of general destruction. In 1709, thrice the ice became melted and then froze again, each time spreading disaster abroad; Coblence, Güls, Lay, and Moselweiss, all severely felt the effects.