The Roman Ghosts
Before the gates of the old Roman town of Bonn rises a
mountain
of moderate height, called Kreuzberg, or "Crossmountain."
In early mediaeval times pious pilgrims went to
this
sacred place, in order to kneel on the holy steps of the old convent
church
so rich in memories of the martyrs, or to pray in the chapel. On the
same
spot at the beginning of the fourth century, the great saints of the
Theban
legion, Cassius, and his companions Florentius and Melusius, died for
the
Christian faith.
These martyrs were the guardian saints of the
country
round Bonn. Many a prayer sent up to them had graciously been
fulfilled,
since the time when St. Helena, the pious mother of Constantine,
erected
a chapel to their honour on Kreuzberg.
Once upon a time a simple peasant from the
neighbouring
country went on a pilgrimage to St. Cassius' burial place.
He came to ask the kind martyr for assistance in
his
distress. Dransdorf was his village, formerly called Trajan's village,
because
the general, who later on became Emperor Trajan, is said to have had a
villa
there.
A bad harvest had brought troubles on the peasant,
but
he firmly believed that through the intercession of St. Cassius he
would
receive money enough in one way or another to enable him to pay his
many
debts.
On arriving at Kreuzberg, he began his religious
exercises
by confessing his sins to one of the monks belonging to the order of
St.
Francis. Then according to custom he knelt in succession on one sacred
step
after the other till he reached the chapel. His wife had carefully put
a
candle in his pocket which he now lighted before the image of St.
Cassius.
Having thus fulfilled all the duties prescribed by the church, he
turned
homewards, well content with himself.
When he crossed the principal square of the town, where
already
at that time the magnificent Minster stood, he entered this church to
pray
once more, and to put another coin into the poor-box.
Twilight was creeping through the aisles, and a pilgrimage
being not at all an easy thing, our peasant soon fell asleep over his
prayer-book.
He only awoke, when somebody pulled him by his
sleeve.
It was the sexton with a big bunch of keys.
At first the peasant gazed drowsily at the
unwelcome
intruder, then with astonished eyes he looked round about him, until at
last
it dawned upon him, that he must get up and leave the church. Rousing
himself
he made the sign of the cross, and left the Minster with tottering
steps.
The night winds rustled in the old lime-trees of the square and seemed
to
whisper strange tales into the ears of the late wanderer.
The
peasant crossed the open space sulkily, and steered his way towards the
Sternthor, which led to Dransdorf. An ancient Roman tower, the remains
of
the high fortifications erected by the soldiers of Drusus eighteen
hundred
years ago, stands in the narrow lane, leading from the minster-square
to
the Sternthor. To the tired wanderer this tower seemed a splendid
shelter,
all the more so, as it would not cost him a penny.
He
,entered it, and tired out with the weary day, he was soon fast asleep
as if he had never been stirred up from the bench in the Minster. No
sexton
with noisy keys was to be feared, and yet in his sleep the countryman
had
the sensation of somebody tapping him on the shoulder. He sat up and
looked
round. To his amazement he beheld a magnificent warrior standing before
him,
Clad in a coat of mail with a Roman helmet on his head. Two companions
in
similar array stood by his side.
They nodded genially down to him, and it struck
him that
he had already seen them somewhere else. After some moments he
remembered
the pictures of St. Cassius and his friends in the chapel on Kreuzberg.
There
was no doubt the three holy martyrs stood in person before him.
Our good peasant was so much awed at this
discovery that
he could not utter a word, but on a sign from his mysterious visitors,
he
followed them at a respectful distance.
They marched towards the Sternthor, straight into
the
building, the walls of which, were as thick as the rooms were long in
the
peasant's humble little cottage. In the middle of a high vault there
was
a table covered with sparkling gold.
At this unusual sight the peasant opened his eyes
very
widely indeed; but his astonishment changed into keen delight when one
of
his ghostly visitors filled his left pocket and another his right with
the
glittering metal. Meanwhile the third man took a tumbler from the
middle
of the table, and presented it to him with an encouraging smile.
He thought their language was very much like that
which
the vicar of the village church used in reading the service. Though the
simple
man could not understand a word of their conversation, he interpreted
the
kind invitation quite correctly, and shouting out a merry, "Vivat!" as
a
salute to his hosts, he emptied the tumbler at one big draught.
The whole building resounded with the echo, "Vivat!"
The three warriors looked pleased and answered in a cheerful voice,
"Vivat,
Vivat!"
All at once it seemed to the peasant as if the
vault
was filled with a multitude of Roman soldiers who all called out to
him,
"Vivat!" as if happy to hear a sound of their native language in the
country
of the north.
The man from Dransdorf became quite high-spirited,
and
kept on shouting, "Vivat, Vivat!" Suddenly startled by the noise he
made,
he awoke and found himself lying on the floor of the Roman tower in the
Sterngasse.
The events of the night only seemed to him like a
strange
dream. But when he felt in his pockets he found them stuffed with real
golden
coins of a strange ancient stamp.
Our friend's joy became quite uproarious.
After having sent up a heartfelt thanksgiving to
St.
Cassius, he gave vent to his delight by shouting through the quiet
streets
at the top of his voice, "Vivat, Vivat!"
A watchman stood on duty by the Sternthor, when
the jocund
peasant passed by. He made a step forward and, reaching out his arm, he
gave
the merry man a rude knock with his lance. Unmindful of this rough
admonition,
the peasant related the event in the Roman tower to the watchman, and
finished
his story by inviting the stern man of duty to an early draught at the
nearest
inn.
Rumours of the wonderful events spread far and
wide,
and soon every town and village knew the tale. The small lane leading
from
the Minstersquare to the Sternthor was called "Vivat" lane, and bears
that
name to the present day.
Some years ago a heavy winter gale destroyed the
old
Roman tower that had so long withstood the vicissitudes of time. The
people
of Bonn however did not wish to obliterate the memory of this curious
story,
and therefore named the street running parallel with "Vivat" lane
– "Cassius
Graben."
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