We rode on the boat to Godesberg, and Rolandseck and Heisterbach, and Johannisberg, and Niersteiner, and all the other places which are recorded on the wine-card at a Kansas City hotel. The very names are enough to make a Kansas man file an information with the county attorney. Each town has its brand of wine, its old castles, its flourishing business, its comfortable hotels, and its legends of olden times. Most of the legends tell of the triumph of True Love, but here is an exception:
An old knight whose castle at Schoenberg was an important place in the feudal system of tax collection, had seven beautiful daughters. He died; these seven girls ruled in the castle, and all they cared for was a good time. They went hunting, gave late supper parties, and were much talked about; but their beauty and the castle of their inheritance kept them popular with the men. Many knights asked them to marry, but each and every suitor was given the merry ha-ha by the maiden he sought. Knights even fought and killed each other, disputing as to the merits of the sisters, and the ladies made such funerals the scenes of great enjoyment. Finally the knights had a mass meeting, and resolved that the seven sisters be required to select husbands. When this news was conveyed to the sisters they said this was just what they wanted. They proposed that they would give a picnic, to which all the would-be husbands should be invited, and after lunch they would announce the knights of their choice. The picnic day came, and it rained in the morning as it always does on picnic days. The knights came with their swords and their lunch-baskets and stood around throwing balls for the cigars and shaking for the lemonade, until the skies cleared and it was announced that the seven sisters would be in at once or as soon as they had finished dressing. Then came another hour’s wait. Suddenly a boat appeared around the bend, and in it were the Seven, all decked out with big hats and rhinestone buckles. The eldest sister stood up in the boat, screaming as it rocked, and said: “We don’t care to marry any of you country jakes. We are going to Cologne to visit a cousin, and there we propose to have a good time without being obliged to throw down some knight who wants a bride and a meal ticket every so often.” The other sisters joined in singing the old-time version of “Goodby, my lover, goodby,” and the boat sailed for Cologne. The knights cussed, and laid the blame onto each other; but suddenly a storm arose, and the boat began to bob around in the waves. The seven sisters screamed, but it did them no good. The boat upset, and all on board were drowned.
This legend teaches flirtatious young ladies not to trifle with the home boys.
On the spot where the boat went under, seven pointed rocks appear above the surface of the water even up to today. I saw them, and I guess that proves the legend.
I have always believed that Kansas people make a mistake in neglecting the legend crop. For example, a good legend about Elmdale Park in Hutchinson would cause thousands of people to visit it and pay 10 cents apiece, besides buying post-cards and printed copies of the beautiful story, which might go something like this:
Once upon a time there lived in the First Ward a man and his wife who had an only daughter. They were the only father and mother she had, so honors were about even on that point. They loved this Daughter so much that when she grew up she was not taught to sew or to cook, but to play the piano and to sing “Love Me and the World is Mine.” She was very beautiful as she sat on the front porch reading the latest novel, “The Soul of My Soul,” while her mother fried the beefsteak for supper. Suitors came from far and near, one of them a brakeman on the Missouri Pacific, and another an assistant chief clerk in a hash foundry. But her choice fell upon a handsome young knight she met at Elmdale Park, who wore an open-faced vest and a Brazilian diamond on his shirt front, but who had quit school in order to go to work and then forgot about it. He saw the clean home and he smelled the fried steak and thought the young lady did it all, when in fact the young lady could not boil an egg. They were married, and he at once came to live with his wife’s folks. The old Father developed an unexpected trait, and insisted that the Bridegroom should pay board, which he proudly refused to do, took his bride and went to Wichita. There he was offered a position as chamber-maid in a livery stable and the Girl found it necessary at odd times to do the laundry work for a small boarding-house. Thus they lived for nearly two years, when she borrowed a postage stamp and wrote home: “I have a Divorce and two children.” The father and mother promptly sent her enough money to pay her fare, and she returned to the castle of her childhood. But she had learned a lesson. The next time she got married she did not pick up a friend in Elmdale Park, but made him show her his bank book and his receipt for dues in the Modern Woodmen. At the place in Elmdale Park where she met her first soul-mate she planted a cottonwood tree, which is there yet, and under its shade lovers now meet, remember this legend and buy post-cards which tell the story.
THE HANDSOME KNIGHT SHE MET IN ELMDALE PARK