Legends of Neuchâtel
A younger son of one the Counts of Neuchâtel, wishing to found a family
of his own, went to settle in 1155 in the picturesque Val de Ruz in
the Jura mountains. Here he selected a tall and jagged rock, washed by
the Seyon, as the site of his new stronghold, the Castle of Vallangin.
Owing to its position, it was almost impregnable; but it was a very
dismal abode, for the heights of Chaumont at the south overshadowed it,
cutting off much sunlight, while the dense pine forests around it did
not tend to lessen the gloom.
The Val de Ruz was so fertile, however, that the lords of Vallangin
soon grew rich and powerful, ruling wisely over the many peasants
who came to settle there under their protection. At the end of the
thirteenth century their vassals already numbered many thousands, and
included all classes of society.
Rollin, lord of Vallangin, was but sixteen years of age, when two
of his most powerful vassals renounced their allegiance to him and
prepared to despoil him of his property. With that end in view, they
armed their retainers and sallied forth to attack their young master.
The friends of the latter, however, getting wind of this plot, hastily
assembled the noblemen, clergy, and peasants who were still faithful
to their lord, and consulting with them took active measures to meet
and conquer the foe. Young Rollin himself, supported by the lords of
Neuchâtel, of Colombiers, and of Vauxtravers, set out at the head of
his army, and meeting the two faithless lords on the plain of Coffrane,
defeated their forces in pitched battle, and secured the persons of the
recreant vassals.
Many men perished on both sides in this encounter; and hundreds of
years later, a staff of command lost in this battle was ploughed up by
a farmer and placed in the Museum of Neuchâtel, where it is carefully
preserved as a relic of the fight.
Rollin, having seized the faithless vassals, had them brought before
him, and sternly informed them that in his anger at hearing of their
treachery, he had vowed nothing short of two heads would ever satisfy
him. At these words the guilty lords trembled and grew pale, for they
felt their last hour was near. Their despair was such that when Rollin
bade them reveal the place where they had concealed their treasures,
they offered no resistance, but meekly obeyed. Before long, therefore,
two huge heaps of silver lay at Rollin’s feet. He gazed at them a few
moments in silence, then addressed the culprits, saying:
“I swore I would have two heads, and this solemn vow cannot be
recalled. But, as I have never yet sentenced a guilty man to death, I
am loath to shed your blood. I will therefore spare you, on condition
that two silver heads be cast from this metal, to take the place of
those which you have forfeited, but which I allow you to retain. You
shall also recover your freedom and go home in peace, but I hereby warn
you that should you ever prove faithless again it will be bloody and
not bloodless heads which I will claim!”
The delinquent lords, happy to escape their death sentence, solemnly
presented two heavy silver heads to the young lord of Vallangin. These
were placed by his order on the high altar of the collegiate church
at Neuchâtel, where they remained until the days of the Reformation,
when an ignorant iconoclast, deeming them idols, removed them from the
altar. Since then no trace of the silver busts has been seen.
* * * * *
EARLY in the fourteenth century, some of the vassals of the lord of
Vallangin went to settle in the lovely valleys of the Jura Mountains,
where, joined by a few families from Burgundy, they founded Le Locle
and La Chaux-de-Fonds. These two colonies speedily increased in numbers
and wealth, and the towns thus founded are now important centres for
the manufacture of watches and jewelry.
Many of the people of the Canton of Neuchâtel having turned Protestant,
Wilhelmine of Bergy, grandmother of one of the lords of Vallangin, a
stanch Catholic, sadly forsook the castle which she had entered as
a happy young bride, to go and live like a hermit in the village of
Gezard, which was her dowry.
This lady, already eighty years of age, was lamed by gout and quite
feeble, but she nevertheless took great interest in the peasants around
her, whom she often visited and frequently helped by her good advice.
One day, sitting among the women of the village who were diligently
spinning, she heard them comment bitterly upon their sad lot, saying it
was very hard that among all the fields they tilled, there was not a
single acre which they could call their very own and which was entirely
free from taxation.
Emboldened by the kindly interest the old lady showed in their remarks,
they finally ventured to beg her to give them part of her land, to
have and to hold without being asked for tithes or rent in exchange.
Wilhelmine, who could not dispose of the land otherwise, then said:
“My good women, your request shall be granted. You shall have one half
of the land which I can walk around in one day.” Saying these words,
the old lady painfully rose from her seat, and tottered slowly back to
her humble dwelling.
The peasant women, whose hearts had swelled with joy at her first
words, but whose hopes had been shattered by the conclusion of her
speech, sadly watched her limp out of sight, and then murmured
regretfully,--
“The poor mistress is so old and weak, that with the best intentions in
the world, she will hardly be able to creep around a single acre!”
Early the next morning, while darkness yet veiled the landscape, and
the nightingale’s song still pulsated in the quiet air, Wilhelmine of
Bergy painfully rose from her couch, and set out on her self-appointed
journey, supported on one side by a trusty staff and on the other by a
strong young servant maid.
The two women slowly crept out into the darkness, and wandering along
the dewy meadows saw the night gradually make way before the first
gleams of silvery light. Then they beheld the mountain tops change from
blue to silver gray, then turn dazzling white, and suddenly blush and
glow beneath the first rays of the rising sun.
The larks rose straight up into the blue, singing their triumphant
morning hymn; the bees and butterflies hovered around them, but all the
lovely sights and sounds of early morn could not beguile the old lady
to take even a moment’s rest, and she hobbled bravely on. The peasants,
rising from their hard beds to partake of frugal fare before beginning
a long day’s work, stared in speechless amazement at their aged
mistress, already well on her way, and gazed anxiously at the feeble
form, wondering how long her strength and energy would last.
All through the bright morning hours, Wilhelmine plodded on without
a pause; and it was only when the sun stood directly overhead, that
she stopped for a moment under a tree to partake of food and of
strengthening drink. Then, while the peasants stretched out in the cool
shade to enjoy their midday rest, the old lady again stepped out into
the quivering sunshine to continue her task. All through the glowing
heat of afternoon, and long after the sun had set and the shades of
evening had fallen, Wilhelmine crept on with faltering steps and ebbing
strength, but with undiminished energy and determination. Darkness
had long set in when she finally reached the village once more, and
entering a hut where burned a small rushlight, and where the people had
assembled by her order, she cried in weak but joyful accents,--
“My children, I have walked around a thousand acres! Five hundred of
these belong to you, free from all taxes from this time forth. Do not
blame me if your share is somewhat small, for I have done all I could
to help you, but alas! although my spirit is willing, my aged feet
could carry me no farther.”
Having said these words, old Wilhelmine tottered back to her own house,
where she lay down so exhausted that she never found the strength to
rise from her bed again. But the people whom she had benefited never
ceased to be grateful to her; and when she died, in 1543, six years
after this wonderful walk, they mournfully followed her to her last
resting-place, shedding abundant tears while softly reminding each
other of the many steps taken in their behalf by her weary old feet.
* * * * *
UNTIL the end of the eighteenth century, the city of Neuchâtel
boasted a ghost whose apparition was the invariable precursor of
a conflagration in town. Shortly before any signs of fire were
perceptible, this spectral old woman passed swiftly along the streets,
frantically wringing a cloth all dripping with blood until she vanished
in a lurid mist in the direction of the lake.
No one now living remembers ever having seen this ghost, but old people
in Neuchâtel solemnly aver that the woman was frequently seen by their
ancestors, and that a fire always broke out shortly after her visit.
They add that the ghost was the unfortunate widow of Walter, Count of
Rochefort, publicly accused of forgery, and beheaded, in 1412, on the
shores of the lake, on the very spot where the wraith always melted
away in a crimson cloud. It is said that the Count’s widow, having
secured his blood-stained shirt, constantly exhibited it to her sons,
urging them to avenge their father, who, according to her assertions,
had been wrongfully accused, and condemned without sufficient proof of
guilt.
The implacable widow finally prevailed upon these young men to take
a fearful revenge by secretly setting fire to the city; and it is a
fact that Neuchâtel was almost destroyed by what is known as the great
conflagration of 1450. Since then, either through remorse or to parade
her spite, the old woman’s spectre heralded every conflagration, until,
weary of destruction, or frightened away by effective modern methods
of fighting fires, she ceased to haunt the city and frighten the
inhabitants.
* * * * *
D. J. RICHARD started the manufacture of watches in Le Locle and La
Chaux-de-Fonds, but the principal legend relating to that industry
refers to Jacques Droz, the clever inventor of mechanical clocks, of
music boxes, and of a writing automaton.
We are told that in the eighteenth century, the King of Spain once
came to La Chaux-de-Fonds, and having heard of Jacques Droz’s clever
contrivances, went with his suite to visit the inventor’s workshop.
There the King examined everything, and was particularly charmed by
a clock upon which stood figures of a negro, a shepherd, and a dog.
Whenever the clock struck, the shepherd played a soft air upon his
pipe, while his dog frisked joyfully around him.
This artistic contrivance so delighted both King and courtiers, that
one and all loudly expressed their wonder and admiration. Jacques Droz
listened quietly to their exclamations, then turning to the King, he
smilingly informed him that the tiny dog was the faithful guardian of
his master’s property, as could readily be seen if any one attempted to
lay hands upon the apples in a basket at the shepherd’s feet.
The King, wishing to test the dog’s watchfulness, now attempted to
abstract an apple, but no sooner had he touched it than the mechanical
dog began to bark with such fury that the royal pet hound, springing
forward, answered him. The monarch, startled by this unexpected
development, stepped back in amazement, while his suite fled, making
repeated signs of the cross. None of the Spanish grandees, with the
exception of the minister of the navy, remained in the shop, so when
the King had recovered from his momentary fright, he laughingly bade
that official ask the negro what time it was, adding that after the
wonders they had seen, it would not surprise him in the least to hear
the darky talk. The minister, therefore, politely inquired the time of
day, but as the question was put in Spanish, he received no reply until
Jacques Droz suggested that he should repeat it in French, for the
negro understood no other tongue.
The minister therefore translated his question with a somewhat
sceptical smile, but when the negro courteously answered: “Messieurs,
il est trois heures moins un quart!” (“Gentlemen, it is a quarter of
three”), he too bolted from the room in terror, crying that the clock
must be the work of the Evil One himself!
The legend claims that the King of Spain purchased this wonderful piece
of mechanism, but we are told that Jacques Droz merely constructed
musical clocks for him. The Spaniards, however, were not the only ones
who fancied the watchmaker had made a pact with Satan, for his own
countrymen used to look askance at him, and frequently averred that he
was a sorcerer.
* * * * *
THE watchmaking industry has long been the great source of gain in
western Switzerland, and clocks and watches are shipped from there to
all parts of the world. The valleys of Le Locle and La Chaux-de-Fonds
being very near the frontier, watches and jewelry are constantly
smuggled into France over the mountain paths to avoid paying duty upon
them.
In the days of post chaises, this smuggling assumed such proportions
that the chief of the French police determined to make a special effort
to check it. He therefore journeyed in person to Switzerland, and
visiting one of the largest manufactories, selected a case full of fine
watches. He then bargained with the manufacturer to pay for the goods
only on condition that they were delivered free from duty at a certain
address in Paris, and solicitously inquired whether the dealer thought
he could pass them across the boundary safely? The merchant smilingly
answered that the job presented no insurmountable difficulties, and
took leave of his customer, promising that the watches should reach
Paris as quickly as he did.
The chief of police, delighted with this answer, went back to the inn,
where he gave orders to prepare for immediate departure. Seated in
his carriage and rolling rapidly homeward, he congratulated himself
upon the clever way in which he had managed; for all the custom-house
officers had been duly warned to guard the frontier with special care,
as a large number of watches were to be smuggled over within the next
twenty-four hours. Their zeal had further been stimulated by the
promise of a large reward should they secure watches and lawbreaker,
while speedy punishment was to be the lot of any man who allowed them
to escape.
At the frontier, the chief of police made a short halt, and thrusting
his head out of the carriage window, again admonished the officer
there to be very vigilant. The latter, promptly recognising his
superior, confidently answered that not a squirrel should cross the
frontier unseen, for all along the line were posted men eager to secure
the promised reward.
Satisfied by this assurance, the chief of police now gave orders to
drive on, and journeyed straight to Paris, stopping on his way only
long enough to change horses or partake of hasty meals.
When he entered his own house, although worn out by the long and
fatiguing journey, his first question was whether a parcel had arrived
for him from Switzerland. His servants promptly denied having seen
anything of the sort, so the chief of police threw himself down in an
armchair, gleefully exclaiming: “Then my men have managed to intercept
it at the frontier, and we will make such an example of the smugglers
that none will venture to continue this business!”
His satisfaction did not last long, however, for, upon entering his
bedroom, he saw resting upon the top of the rest of his luggage a case,
which, upon investigation, was found to contain the very watches he had
purchased in Switzerland.
In his anger, the chief of police hotly inquired of his servants how
the parcel had come there; but none could give him any information,
further than that it had probably been brought in without their notice
by one of the men called to attend to his luggage.
The chief of police, angrier than ever, wrote scathing letters to all
the custom-house officers, who one and all declared they were ready
to stake their lives and reputations that no one, except himself, had
crossed the frontier without being subjected to a thorough search.
Still hoping to secure the man who had delivered the parcel in Paris,
and of reaching the smugglers through him, the chief of police now sent
for his coachman, to ask him whether he had seen any one carry the case
of watches into his house. To his amazement the coachman immediately
replied,--
“Indeed I did. I gave it to the man myself, and was very glad to see
the last of it, I can tell you!”
This answer astounded his master, who, upon asking for an explanation,
learned that while the coachman was preparing the carriage for
departure in the inn yard at La Chaux-de-Fonds, one of the waiters had
suddenly appeared with a box, saying his master wished him to stow
it away under his seat and keep it safely out of sight of every one
until they reached Paris. He added that the case contained articles
of great value which the chief feared might else fall into the hands
of highwaymen, who of course would not dream of looking under the
coachman’s seat for anything but oats. Thus cautioned, the coachman
had carefully hidden the box away; but throughout the journey he had
refused to lose sight of the carriage for an instant, lest his master’s
secret should be discovered, and his property stolen.
On receiving this explanation, the chief of police made a wry face,
for he now perceived how cleverly he had been outwitted by the
watchmaker. The latter, having discovered his customer’s identity in
some mysterious way, had defeated his purpose by bribing one of the
inn waiters to give the box to the coachman, thus making the chief of
police unconsciously smuggle his own goods across the frontier!
* * * * *
ANOTHER story runs that a Swiss naturalist often crossed the frontier
at Pontarlier, where he was greatly annoyed by a cross and over-zealous
French custom-house officer. The latter, for some inscrutable reason,
had conceived an intense dislike to the Swiss savant, whose luggage he
always examined with exaggerated care, although the naturalist was well
known as a man of unimpeachable integrity.
Exasperated by this rude treatment, the naturalist finally determined
to give this disagreeable official a lesson which he would not be
likely to forget in a hurry. The next time he stopped at Pontarlier,
therefore, besides his usual baggage, he had a tightly closed box,
which he handled with special care.
In answer to the customary question, he truthfully swore he had no
dutiable goods with him, but the custom-house officer, who had singled
him out as his victim, gruffly demanded his keys and proceeded to turn
his trunk topsy turvy as usual. To his evident chagrin, not the tiniest
object upon which he could exact payment was forthcoming, but leaving
the owner to rearrange his tumbled garments as best he might, the
officer took up the box, shook it hard, and asked what it contained.
“Natural history specimens,” quietly answered the naturalist.
This reply elicited a contemptuous snort from the officer, who declared
such a statement must be verified. The naturalist then protested
vehemently, swore it contained nothing contraband, and finally seeing
that he could not prevent the opening of the box, angrily cried,--
“Very well! Open the box if you choose, but don’t blame me for the
consequences!” and marched out of the office where the discussion had
taken place, slamming the door behind him with marked emphasis.
Left alone, the officer, armed with chisel and hammer, proceeded to
tear off the cover of the box, out of which squirmed and tumbled a
number of small snakes.
With a wild cry of terror, the custom-house officer rushed out of the
office, crying, “Snakes, snakes!” but as he was often tipsy, or “lost
his way in his master’s vineyard,”--as the local saying goes,--his
companions would not believe him, and fancied he was the victim of a
delusion natural to a man of his intemperate habits.
But one of his comrades venturing boldly into the office to convince
him of his mistake, came out again precipitately, crying that snakes
were really crawling all over the floor! The naturalist now stepped
forward, calmly offered to replace the reptiles--which were perfectly
harmless--in their box, and added that he had warned the officer not to
tamper with natural history specimens.
After that, the custom-house officers at Pontarlier were particularly
careful how they handled this savant’s luggage, and never again did
they venture to raise the cover of any box when he told them that it
contained materials for his collections.