Legends of Zug

The Lake of Zug, the home of prehistoric lake-builders, is beautifully

situated at the foot of the Rigi, and separated from the Lake of

Lucerne by a narrow strip of land. At one end of this small sheet of

water is the city of Zug, the capital of the canton of the same name,

and at the other extremity, the pretty city of Arth, at the foot of the

Rossberg.

This mountain is famous for its landslides, which have cost many lives

and buried whole villages at its foot. The legend ascribes these

cataclysms to the hard-heartedness of the people, who incurred the

anger of the dwarfs by refusing them hospitality, as was the case at

Roll on the Lake of Thun. The city of Zug has twice been undermined by

the lake. The first time, in 1435, two whole streets sank down into the

water; but while science attributes such accidents to perfectly natural

causes, legend tries to account for them in a more poetic way.

In the centre of the lake, far down below the surface of the water,

nixies and water-nymphs are supposed to dwell in a marvellous palace

all hung with gleaming crystal stalactites, paved with silver and gold,

and brightly lighted by the sparkle of precious stones encrusting its

walls. The dainty inhabitants of this sub-aqueous palace seldom rise

to the surface of the lake, except at night, when they are seen in

the moonlight, dancing here and there over the waves, floating gently

ashore, or hovering along grassy banks, where they love to spread out

their mist like veils.

These nymphs occasionally appear at village dances, where they can be

distinguished from mortal maidens by their superior beauty, and by

the ever wet hem of their long white gowns. One of these nymphs fell

violently in love with the handsome young son of a magistrate of Zug,

and besides meeting him at dances on the green, held nightly trysts

with him on the edge of the lake.

The youth was deeply enamoured with the dainty nymph, and when she

rose out of the waves one evening with reddened eyelids, he insisted

upon knowing the cause of her grief. The sprite now told him that

her father, having discovered her infatuation for a mere mortal, had

forbidden her to have any further intercourse with him, unless he were

willing to follow her down into her father’s abode and live with

her there in happy wedlock. The young man, on hearing this, vowed he

would be only too happy were such a course possible to him, but gently

explained that the element in which she lived was not adapted to human

lungs. The nymph, however, declared such an obstacle could easily be

removed, and immediately proffered a magic draught, which would enable

him to breathe in the water as easily as in the air. The enamoured

youth quickly seized the cup she tendered, and after quaffing the

crystal clear, tasteless fluid it contained, sank with her down into

the depths of the lake.

Delighted with his new powers, and with the wonders he saw on all

sides, the youth was very happy for a while, but homesickness finally

seized him in the crystal palace. When the nymph tenderly inquired what

was the matter, he sadly confessed that he longed to see his parents

and friends once more, and that he would never be entirely happy unless

he could attend divine service regularly in his parish church.

At these words the nymph’s sweet face darkened, but it was soon

illumined again by a brilliant idea which she vowed she would put into

immediate execution. That evening, for the first time, she left her

beloved, and stealing into the sleeping city, replaced all the drinking

water in the houses of two streets by the same magic fluid she had

given to the youth. Then, plunging into the lake again, she called all

her father’s minions to her aid, and gently and noiselessly undermined

those houses. When the people were sound asleep the next night, she

drew them softly down to the bottom of the lake.

On awakening in this new element, on the morrow, they found all their

surroundings unchanged, and took up their life where they had left it

off when they went to sleep the night before. The youth could now hold

constant intercourse with his former neighbours and friends, attend

service whenever he pleased, and he and all the others are still as

happy as the day is long, for the magic draught has endowed them with

the immortality which all water spirits enjoy.

When the waters are very clear, you can still see the spire of the

sunken church and the gables of the old houses, and people gifted with

particularly keen eyes and lively imaginations can detect the stir of

busy life in the streets, catch the sound of ringing bells, and the

deep solemn tones of an organ, gently accompanying the chants of the

sunken congregation.

* * * * *

ON the spot where the boundaries of Zürich, Zug, and Schwyz converge,

stands the Hohe Rhonen, the goal of charming excursions; for from the

top of this mountain one can enjoy a fine view of the lake, the Sentis,

and the Toggenburg and Glarus mountains.

Part of the Hohe Rhonen consists of fine pastures, and a legend claims

that a miser once tried to cheat a widow and several orphans out of

their portion of this soil. To establish his claim to the pastures, the

wicked man not only resorted to forgery, but as the judge still seemed

doubtful of the justice of his claims, boldly volunteered to swear on

the spot itself that it was rightfully his. The judge accepted this

offer, and accompanied by plaintiff, defendant, and several witnesses,

wended his way up the mountain to the disputed alp. Standing on a huge

granite boulder which lay there, the miser took his oath, holding up

three fingers as usual, and when the judge cried, “Woe upon thee, if

thou swearest falsely!” boldly added, “If I have committed perjury, may

these fingers sink into this hard stone as easily as into water!”

Saying these words, he thrust his fingers downward, and to his horror

and dismay felt them sink into the stone up to the second joint! But

although they entered so easily, he could not draw them out again,

and standing there, a convicted perjurer, had to confess his sin. He

had scarcely ceased speaking, when he was hidden from sight by a dark

cloud, a terrible cry was heard, and when the rock again became visible

to the amazed spectators, the man had disappeared, carried off to Hades

by the Devil. But the stone, with the imprint of his perjured digits,

is still known as the Three Finger Stone, and remains there as a

constant warning against falsehood and treachery.

* * * * *

NOT very far from the Hohe Rhonen, but in the canton of Schwyz, stands

the church of Einsiedlen, a famous place of pilgrimage ever since the

ninth century. The legend claims that the spot is particularly holy

because Our Lord once drank from the fountain with fourteen mouths,

while journeying through the country to preach the gospel.

Besides, Meinrad, Count of Sulgen, having vowed to spend the rest of

his life in prayer, came to this lovely valley long years ago. Here he

built a little chapel to contain a wonder-working image of the Virgin,

which he had received from one of the princess-abbesses of Zürich.

Meinrad also built a small hut close by this chapel, and as this was

generally called his hermitage (Einsiedelei), its name was given to

the town which has since arisen on that spot.

Meinrad was known far and wide for his piety as well as for his

charity, and all the gifts he received from strangers were immediately

lavished upon the poor. Years were spent by the hermit in penance,

prayer, and works of mercy, and when very old, the death angel suddenly

appeared to him one day in the chapel, to announce that his end was

near.

Meinrad, who had longed for Heaven for many a year, received this

warning with solemn joy, and after returning thanks went out of the

chapel, to feast his eyes once more upon the lovely landscape. While

he sat near his hermitage, two tame ravens which he had brought up

came to nestle in his lap, and he gently stroked them with his aged

and trembling hands. While he sat there quietly, two robbers suddenly

sprang out of the thicket, and exclaiming that they had come for the

treasures accumulated during all these years, drove their daggers deep

into his heart.

The old man fell to the ground lifeless, the ravens flew croaking away,

and the thieves, picking up the corpse, threw it into the chapel, so

as not to have it continually under their eyes while they made their

search. With feverish haste they next turned over every article in

the little hermitage, ripped open the straw pallet, peered into the

depths of the one crock, and dug up the floor; but to their chagrin no

treasure was forthcoming. Thinking the holy man might have concealed

his wealth in the chapel, they now betook themselves thither; but no

sooner had they crossed the threshold than they paused aghast, feeling

their hair slowly rise up on end.

The chapel, which had been so dark a while ago, was now illumined by

lights burning on the altar; the corpse was carefully laid out at its

base, with tapers burning all around it, and close by stood the two

crows, mounting solemn guard over their dead master. But when the

murderers, recovering a little from their first surprise and terror,

ventured to take a step forward, these faithful birds forsook their

post, and so furiously attacked the intruders with beak and claws that

they soon drove them out of the chapel.

Terrified by this attack, the robbers fled over the mountains to

Zürich, and did not feel quite safe until seated in a little inn where

they were wont to linger for hours. They were drinking hard, hoping

to forget their recent uncanny experiences, when in through the open

window suddenly flew two ravens which circled wildly around their

heads, croaking loudly and threatening to pick out their eyes. The

criminals, with a common impulse, ducked their heads, and groaning

aloud, exclaimed: “Meinrad’s watchers! Meinrad’s watchers!”

These words, and the mysterious behaviour of the birds, which could

not be driven away for some time, so aroused the suspicions of the

city magistrates, that they sent both men to prison until they could

ascertain whether Meinrad were still safe. That same evening, however,

a traveller reported the murder of the hermit, whom he had found dead

in the chapel, and when the judges summoned the prisoners they had

to confess their crime. In punishment for slaying a hermit whom all

revered like a saint, the murderers were first broken on the wheel and

then burned at the stake.

A monastery was soon erected on the site of Meinrad’s hermitage; and

since then a beautiful church, a fine abbey, and many inns and hotels

have been built for the accommodation and edification of tourists and

pilgrims who visit Einsiedlen in great numbers.