Basel

Basel, the capital of the canton of the same name, was founded by the

Romans before Christ. After serving as one of their military posts, it

became a free town under the empire, and at the very beginning of the

sixteenth century joined the Swiss Confederation.

The centre of a bishopric founded by Charlemagne, this city was

already famous in his day for its churches, monasteries, and schools,

although the present cathedral was built only two hundred years later.

It suffered sorely from the great earthquake of 1356, when tradition

asserts that the building rocked so portentously that a huge bell of

pure silver was hurled from its spire straight into the Rhine. There

it still lies, and on clear days can be seen shining deep down under

the water. Sometimes, too, its sound can be heard there, for the

Rhine spirits--who are all good Christians--ring it regularly at the

appointed hours for prayer.

The old fortifications of the town have nearly all vanished, but the

fourteenth-century Spalenthor still stands. Between that gate and

the Spalenberg, the Spalen, a ghostly creature, is said to rush every

stormy night. None of the inhabitants can describe it exactly, for they

have only caught fleeting glimpses of it, although they have frequently

heard it pass.

This ghost is variously designated as a sea-horse, a pig, a dragon,

or a griffin, but if any one attempts to ascertain its exact nature,

by looking out of the window when the sound of its flying footsteps

is heard, he is duly punished by waking up on the morrow with a very

swollen face. A bold spirit, who once recklessly thrust his head far

out of the window to satisfy his curiosity, is said to have been

stricken with such sudden and exaggerated inflammation that the window

frame had to be removed before he could again draw in his head!

The two divisions of the town, on either side of the river, were long

at feud, and this division was commemorated by a statue on the old

bridge, which by means of a curious mechanism continually stuck out a

derisive tongue at the people on the other side. This image, locally

known as the “Lällenkönig” is now in the city museum. In reply to this

insult the people of the opposite side are said to have set up a rival

statue, which turned its back in the most contemptuous way to the

famous Lällenkönig.[8]

[8] For this and other legends of Basel, see the author’s

“Legends of the Rhine.”

* * * * *

NOT far from the Summer Casino stands the St. Jacob monument,

commemorating a battle of the same name fought in 1444. Tradition

declares that thirty days before this fight, the people of Basel were

warned of its approach by sudden noises high up in the air above them.

First came a rush, as of mailed steeds; then a clash like that of

contending armies, followed by a din of cries and groans. Although

nothing was visible, the people knew full well that Satan’s ghostly

train was already fighting in the air above them in anticipation of the

coming carnage.

When the fight at St. Jacob really took place, Burkard of

Landskron--whose ruined castle stands near Basel--sided with the

French. He fought all day with such fury that when evening came and the

battle was ended, he and his milk-white battle steed were all covered

with blood. Gazing around him, Burkard saw the ground strewn with

corpses, the grass and bushes drenched with blood, while the very brook

ran red with gore.

The warrior, who delighted in warfare, gazed enraptured at this awful

scene; then, patting his horse, he joyfully cried,--

“Ah, old fellow! you and I are bathing in roses to-day, are we not?”

These unfeeling words, which were answered by a gentle neigh from the

weary steed, fell upon the dying ears of a brave Swiss, who had gone

into battle echoing his companions’ dauntless cry, “Our souls to God,

our bodies to the enemy!”

Raising himself feebly, he fixed dim, resentful eyes upon the cruel

victor; then, recognising in him a bitter foe of his country, his heart

swelled once more in violent anger. Too weak to rise and strike another

blow with the sword which had done such good service that day, the

Swiss fumbled around for a moment, then, seizing a stone dyed red with

patriot blood, hurled it straight at Landskron, saying,--

“There, eat one of your roses, you fiend!”

The stone, flung with unerring aim, struck the warrior in the middle of

his forehead, and he fell with a crash to the ground, bathed in his own

life-blood. This last effort, however, entirely exhausted the patriot,

who, after seeing his enemy fall, sank back on the blood-stained sward,

where he breathed his last sigh.

The bravery of the small Swiss force which held out here, hour after

hour, against an army twenty or thirty times greater, so surprised

Louis XI. that he gladly made peace with the Swiss, who still consider

this battle their Thermopylæ.

* * * * *

NOT far from the ruined castle of Landskron, and near the village of

Ettingen on one of the spurs of the Jura mountains, are the remains of

the old castle of Fürstenstein, the home of a lord of Rothberg in the

fourteenth century.

A thoroughly virtuous knight, this nobleman married a good wife, and

both were equally devoted to their only child, a charming little girl

of about four years of age. One day the mother took the little maiden

out into the forest, where she let her run about to fill her basket

with wood-flowers, and with the tiny wild strawberries whose perfume

and flavour are so delicious. The mother sat down in the shade of a big

tree, where the little one came every few moments to exhibit some new

treasure; but the Lady of Rothberg sprang to her feet in terror when a

sharp cry rang suddenly through the air.

Rushing to the place where her child had stood a moment before, she now

beheld a frightfully steep precipice, but when she leaned far over the

edge, frantically calling the child, nothing but a loud echo replied.

Beside herself with grief, the unhappy mother rushed down the mountain

path, wildly imploring the Virgin to protect her babe. On reaching

the foot of the mountain, and the entrance to the ravine, she almost

fainted with joy, for her little girl came running joyfully forward to

meet her. The mother clasped the child rapturously to her breast, and

when the first emotion was over, and she had assured herself that her

darling was uninjured, she gently began to question her. The little

maiden artlessly related that she had gone very near the edge of the

precipice to pick a beautiful flower, and had suddenly fallen. But

before she could touch the ground, she was caught in the arms of a

beautiful woman, who gently set her down upon the soft grass, pointing

out the red strawberries which grew there in profusion and which she

had begun to pick for her father.

This miraculous rescue of their only child filled the parents’ hearts

with such gratitude that they built a rock chapel on the spot where the

little one fell. An image of the Virgin was placed in this building,

which soon became a resort for pilgrims coming from far and from near

to pray at the shrine of Maria im Stein. Later on, a Benedictine

abbey, Mariastein, was erected near here; and a fine church now rises

on the crag just above the rock-hewn commemorative chapel.

* * * * *

THE ruined castle of Waldenburg, near the village of the same name,

was once the home of an exacting nobleman, who required such hard and

continual labour from his numerous vassals, that they had no time to

till the fields destined to supply their families with food.

One poor man had been kept so persistently at work for his lord, that

his wife and children were in sore need. When a messenger came to

require further service, he desperately seized a dish, and holding it

out to him, declared he would work no more, unless that vessel were

filled thrice a day with wholesome food for his starving family.

When the messenger gave this answer to the cruel lord, the latter

immediately clapped the recalcitrant vassal into a damp prison, vowing

he should remain there until he died miserably among the toads and

other vermin which infested it.

The poor wife, driven almost frantic by the cries of her hungry

children, painfully wended her way up to the castle one cold winter

day, and meeting her master as he rode out of the gate on his way to

the chase, fell on her knees in front of him, begging for her husband’s

release.

The lord of Waldenburg, who did not even know the meaning of the word

compassion, roughly bade her rise, threatening to trample her under

foot like the rest of the dirt if she did not immediately get out of

his way. But the woman still knelt on, pleading for her husband and for

the hungry children who had no bread.

Motioning to his huntsman to give her one of the stones by the wayside,

the lord now mockingly cried,--

“There is bread for your children. It will last all the longer because

it is so hard; but when they have eaten it, you may come again, and I

will give you some more of the same kind.”

This unfeeling remark proved too much for the outraged mother and wife.

She sprang indignantly to her feet and cursed her master with trembling

lips, saying that she wished his whole body might be turned into stone

as hard and cold as his heart.

At that instant, the lord of Waldenburg felt a strange chill run

through his veins, his muscles suddenly stiffened, and before he could

move or even utter a sound, he and his steed were petrified. His

vassals, seeing Heaven had avenged them, now rushed into the castle,

freed the prisoners, took possession of all the money and food, and in

passing out again taunted the stone image of the man who had wronged

them so persistently.

This stone knight still mounts solemn guard near the entrance of his

former castle, although wind and weather have so disintegrated the once

hard rock that its primitive shape is now almost unrecognisable.

* * * * *

IN many parts of Switzerland, the noisy June bugs are known as thunder

bugs. Near Basel, as well as at Ormond, the following amusing story

is told of some simple peasants who dwelt in a deep valley. A long

drought had made the soil so hard and dry that the people feared their

harvests would be ruined unless they soon had rain. As their prayers

and processions proved alike unavailing, they longed to try some more

efficacious means of rain-making.

A joker, hearing their quandary, now gravely bade them go to Basel and

buy a little thunder at the drug-store there, assuring them that if

they only let it loose in their valley, the rain would soon follow. The

peasants, hearing this, immediately sent a deputation to the city, and

entering the largest and most fashionable apothecary shop, the rustic

spokesman confidentially informed the clerk that he had come to buy

some thunder.

The clerk, who was not devoid of humour, gravely asked a few leading

questions, then went into the rear of the store, saying he would get

what they wanted. Stepping out into the garden unseen, he caught a

few June bugs, and packed them carefully in a large pill-box. This he

wrapped up and solemnly delivered to the waiting peasants, making such

a very small charge that they openly regretted not having known sooner

that thunder could be purchased so cheap in Basel.

The men now set out on their return journey to the Frickthal, and as

the apothecary had gravely charged them not to open the box until they

reached their village, they passed the little parcel from hand to hand,

weighed and shook it, and grinned at each other with delight when they

heard a faint rumbling noise within it.

Their impatience to see what this thunder might look like so engaged

their attention that they did not notice dark clouds looming up behind

them, and when they reached the top of the mountain at the foot of

which lay their village, they determined to wait no longer and opened

the box. With a loud buzz and a bang, the June bugs, resenting their

imprisonment and violent shaking, now flew, as luck would have it,

directly over the village, while the deputation raced wildly down the

mountain side with empty pill-box!

The people were all on the market-place ready to receive them, and as

soon as they appeared, clamoured to see the thunder they had purchased.

The men sheepishly confessed what they had done, but declared all

would yet be right, because the thunder bugs had flown straight over

the village, and the rain would doubtless soon follow. Fortunately for

them, the first black cloud just then appeared over the top of the

mountain, and the people, perceiving it, gave a loud shout of joy. In

an almost incredibly short space of time, all the Frickthalers were

obliged to take refuge in their dwellings, for the rain came down in

torrents, drenching the soil which had been so parched, and thus saving

all the people from the threatened famine.