Legends of the Rhine | Page 9

same time a heaven-gifted singer. Besides
devoting himself to science, he composed numerous pious verses which
he dedicated to the Holy Virgin. He also played the harp, and wrote
many beautiful songs in honour of the female sex.

In contrast to many contemporary poets, he considered "woman" a
higher title than "wife," which only signifies a married woman. So on
account of the chivalry displayed in his numberless poems and songs,
posterity gave him the name of "Frauenlob," under which title he is
better known than under his own name of Heinrich of Meissen.
The love and veneration which thankful women paid him was very
great, not only during his life-time, but even more so after his death.
Their grief was intense when it became known that the poet's voice
would never more be heard in this world. It was agreed to honour him
with such a burial as no poet had ever before received. The funeral
procession moved slowly and sorrowfully along the streets, the greater
part of the cortege being women in deep mourning who prayed for the
repose of the poet's soul. Eight of the most beautiful among them
carried the coffin, which was covered with sweet-scented flowers.
At the grave songs of lamentation were heard from women's gentle
voices. Precious Rhine-wine which had been the poet's favourite drink,
and which so often had inspired his poetry, was poured by hands of his
admirers over his grave, so profusely, the legend relates, that the
entrance of the church was flooded by the libation. But still more
precious than all these gifts were the tears, which on this memorable
day were shed by many a gentle lady.
The wanderer can still see the monument erected to this great
benefactor in the cathedral at Mayence, which represents the figure of a
beautiful woman in pure-white marble placing a wreath on the coffin of
the great singer, who had honoured women in the most chivalrous of
songs.

Bishop Willigis
[Illustration: Bischof Willigis in der Klosterschule--Nach dem Gemälde
von Lindenschmitt]
In the year 1000 there was a very pious priest in Mayence called

Bishop Willigis. He was only the son of a poor wheelwright, but by his
perseverance and his own merit he had attained to the dignity of first
priest of the kingdom. The honest citizens of Mayence loved and
honoured the worthy divine, although they did not altogether like
having to bow down to one who had been brought up in a simple
cottage like themselves.
The bishop once reproved them in gentle tones for thinking too much
of mere descent. This vexed the supercilious citizens, and one night
they determined to play Willigis a trick. They took some chalk and
drew enormous wheels on all the doors of his house.
Early next morning as the bishop was going to mass, he noticed the
scoffers' malicious work. He stood silently looking at the wheels, the
chaplain by his side expecting every moment that the reverend prelate
would burst forth in a terrible rage. But a gay smile spread over the
bishop's features and, ordering a painter to be sent to him, he told him
to paint white wheels on a scarlet back-ground, visible to every eye,
just where the chalk wheels had been drawn, and underneath to paint
the words, "Willigis! Willigis! just think what you have risen from."
But he did not stop there. He ordered the wheelwright to make him a
plough-wheel, and caused it to be placed over his couch in memory of
his extraction.
Thereafter the scoffers were put to silence, and the people of Mayence
began to honour and esteem their worthy bishop, who, though he had
been so exalted, possessed such honest common-sense.
White wheels on a red ground have been the arms of the Bishops of
Mayence ever since.

JOHANNISBERG
Wherever the German tongue is heard, and even further still, the king
of all Rhine wines, "Johannisberger" is known and sought after. Every
friend of the grape which grows on the banks of this river is well

acquainted with it, but few perhaps know of its princely origin. It is
princely, not because princes' hands once kept the key to Johannisberg,
but rather because princely hands planted the vine in the Rhine country,
and this royal giver was no other than Charlemagne, the all-powerful
ruler of the kingdom of the Franks.
Once in early spring Charles the Great was standing on the balcony of
his castle at Ingelheim, his eyes straying over the beautiful stretch of
country at his feet. Snow had fallen during the night, and the hills of
Rüdesheim were clothed in white. As the imperial ruler was looking
thoughtfully over the landscape, he noticed that the snow on one side of
Johannisberg melted quicker in the sun's rays than on