Harper's Young People, July 25, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

ST. ELIZABETH OF THURINGIA.

BY HELEN S. CONANT.

On a beautiful hill near the town of Eisenach, Germany, there stands an ancient castle, famous in history for the many remarkable events which have taken place within its walls.

It is called the Wartburg, and it was here, in 1521, that Martin Luther found shelter and protection after his return from the Diet of Worms. Within the secure walls of the old castle he spent a peaceful year, laboring on the translation of the Bible, which has brought light and joy to so many hearts. The room where he worked, with the table, book-case, and other furniture, is still carefully preserved.

The Wartburg is one of the oldest castles in North Germany. It was built about the middle of the eleventh century, by Count Lewis, a very powerful lord in Thuringia. It is said that one day the Count was out hunting, when a deer that he was pursuing led him to the foot of a steep rocky hill, where it plunged up the cliffs, and disappeared in the thick forest. The Count stopped, surrounded by his followers, and declared that although the hill had robbed him of the desired game, it should, in its turn, become his fortress and stronghold. This was a bold declaration, for the hill was the property of another Count, and it was against the laws of the great German empire that a man should build on soil which was not his. But Count Lewis had thought of this. He had twelve trusty knights, and at his command they worked many hours in the darkness, carrying soil in baskets from the lands of their master to the top of the hill, until enough was collected upon which to build a castle. Then Count Lewis went boldly to work, and erected the fortress which still crowns the heights above Eisenach.

The counts of Thuringia after this made the Wartburg their home, and it was here that St. Elizabeth passed her life in holy deeds. Her true history is that she was a daughter of a King of Hungary, and was born at Pressburg in 1207. When very young she was betrothed to Lewis, son of Count Hermann of Thuringia, and brought to the Wartburg to be educated. As she grew to womanhood she became remarkable for her charitable deeds, and the family of her young husband complained bitterly that she was wasting his property. Not long after her marriage her husband died while absent in the great army of the Crusaders, and Elizabeth with her three little children was driven away from the Wartburg, and compelled to beg for bread in the neighboring villages. But the people loved her so much that her husband's family were soon forced to restore her rights. The hardships she suffered, and the sacrifices she made, were too heavy for her to bear, and in 1231 she died, when only twenty-four years old. Four years after her death she was made a saint by Pope Gregory IX., and a multitude of beautiful legends were wreathed about her memory. Poets sung her praises, and the poor who had received food and clothing from her gentle hands remembered her loveliness and kindness through many generations.

A German poet of the thirteenth century wrote a life of St. Elizabeth in verse, which contains some pretty legends about her birth and life. In 1207 Count Hermann of Thuringia called a grand meeting of poets and minstrels at the Wartburg, and offered a prize to him who should compose the best poem. From far and near came poets to the competition, and a vast assemblage of noble lords and ladies were gathered to hear them sing the quaint ballads of that olden time. One evening the company were all in the great balcony of the castle, when, a poet, pointing with prophetic finger to the setting sun, declared that a daughter was at that moment born to the King of Hungary, who would become the wife of the son of Count Hermann, and whose wondrous virtue and charity would be remembered through all coming ages. Count Hermann at once dispatched messengers to the court of Hungary asking for the hand of the baby princess for his son, and the betrothal at once took place.

Another beautiful legend is about St. Elizabeth and the roses. Soon after Elizabeth's marriage to Lewis, the son of Count Hermann, a terrible famine came upon Thuringia. There was no bread, and the poor people of the country were compelled to eat roots and wild herbs to keep from starving. Their sufferings touched the tender heart of Elizabeth, and she commanded that bread should be baked in the great kitchens of her castle, which she daily distributed to the poor with her own hands. It is said that the lives of many hundreds of people were saved by her bounty. Her husband's family begged him to put a stop to this waste, as they called it, and to forbid his wife from any longer feeding the poor. It is said that he yielded to the wishes of his mother and sisters, and declared that no more bread should be sent out from the castle. So far the story is true. Now comes the pretty legend which has ever since caused St. Elizabeth to be pictured with roses in her hands.

Her kind heart could not rest while the poor people around her were dying of hunger. With a basket filled with bread she would go from the castle and distribute her bounty among the poor who crowded around her. One day when starting on this mission of charity, her basket on her arm, she met her husband, who stopped her, and sternly demanding what she carried in the basket, tore off the mantle which covered it. To the astonishment of both the basket appeared filled with fragrant roses, and on the forehead of Elizabeth, shone a glittering cross. Her husband was so overcome by what he recognized as a miracle that he gave orders that in future her noble charities should be done with perfect liberty, and he himself did all in his power to aid her in the generous task.

UP THE CREEK.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"It's a mighty good thing for us, Mort Hopkins, we took such an early start."

"Say, Quill, what do we want of those rollers?"

"Guess you'll find out 'fore we get the Ark around the dam."

"That's so. All ready? Shove her, now. Here we go. Don't she travel!"

"Mort, what was that long word you went to the foot on yesterday?"

"Me-an-der-ing."

"And you called it 'mean-drying,' and spelled it wrong. Tell you what, we're just going to meandrew now 'fore we get back."

"Guess Taponican Creek'll give us all the twists we want. It's as crooked as a ram's horn."

"Tisn't much wider some places, but the Ark will squeeze through 'most anywhere."

It would not, indeed, have required much of a flood to float a skiff of that size; but she was a pretty one, and it was no work at all for two stout boys of from twelve to thirteen years of age to "pole her along." There was not enough water where they now were to encourage the use of oars, but a pair of them lay in the stern, beside the fishing-poles and the bait and luncheon.

The day was one of those truly wonderful Saturdays that come to country boys in summer, and Mort Hopkins and Quill Sanders had all but slighted their breakfasts to get the early start they were now so pleased with.

"Mort, if Taponican Creek runs out of Pawg Lake, we'll find the place where it does."

"Guess we will. It's there, somewhere."

"We won't stop to fish along."

"No, sir! Not one of the boys knows where we're going."

"If they'd ha' known, they'd all have come, and chucked the Ark jam-full."

Mere passengers were not wanted on board of a ship that was clearly bound on a voyage of discovery. Extra cargo of any kind would have been bad for the fortunes of such a vessel.

The boys did not pole their boat up stream for more than twenty minutes before they came to a place where the banks gave the Taponican room to spread itself. Of course the wider it spread what water it had, the thinner the water became.

Right in the middle of a sparkling field of gurgling ripples the Ark ran suddenly aground.

"Overboard, Quill!" shouted Mort. "Guess Columbus had to wade before he found much."

"Noah didn't."

"His ark had a roof on it."

"Shove her, now. There she goes."

Their trousers were rolled up about as high as they would go, and the water was not very cold. The Ark drew less when its entire crew was out of it.

"Ah! ugh! Crab."

"Nipped you, did he? Oh, phew! what a clam shell! Stepped right down on it. Catch your crab?"

"He let go. Can't see him. Didn't he give my heel a dig, though! They're the ugliest, sassiest--"

"Jump in. She'll float now."

"Shove, or she'll go back, and get aground again."