"Allez Fuchs! allez lustig!" cried the impatient postilion to his
horses, in accents, which, like the wild echo of the Lurley Felsen,
came first from one side of the river, and then from the other,--that
is to say, in words alternately French and German. The truth is, he was
tired of waiting; and when Flemming had at length resumed his seat in
the post-chaise, the poor horses had to make up the time lost in dreams
on the mountain. This is far oftener the case, than most people
imagine. One half of the world has to sweat and groan, that the other
half may dream. It would have been a difficult task for the traveller
or his postilion to persuade the horses, that these dreams were all for
their good.
The next stopping-place was the little tavern of the Star, an
out-of-the-way corner in the town of Salzig. It stands on the banks of
the Rhine; and, directly in front of it, sheer from the water's edge,
rise the mountains of Liebenstein and Sternenfels, each with its ruined
castle. These are the Brothers of the old tradition, still gazing at
each other face to face; and beneath them in the valley stands a
cloister,--meek emblem of that orphan child, they both so passionately
loved.
In a small, flat-bottomed boat did the landlady's daughter row Flemming
"over the Rhine-stream, rapid and roaring wide." She was a beautiful
girl of sixteen; with black hair, and dark, lovely eyes, and a face
that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this particular!
Some of them speak not. They are books in which not a line is written,
save perhaps a date. Others are great family bibles, with all the Old
and New Testament written in them. Others are Mother Goose and nursery
tales;--others bad tragedies or pickle-herring farces; and others, like
that of the landlady's daughter at the Star, sweet love-anthologies,
and songs of the affections. It was on that account, that Flemming said
to her, as they glided out into the swift stream;
"My dear child! do you know the story of the Liebenstein?"
"The story of the Liebenstein," she answered, "I got by heart, when I
was a little child."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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