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A long train of travelling carriages was about to cross the bridge which spans the Rhine at Strasburg, and separates Germany from France. It was the suite of the Count of Falkenstein, who was on his way to visit his royal sister. Thirty persons, exclusive of Count Rosenberg and two other confidential friends, accompanied the emperor.
For his part, he, very good-naturedly, showed them the best and shortest road to Falkenstein, the city where they were going; and easily proved that neither the chief secretary for geography, nor the general of the army, knew anything about the matter which, indeed, they did not.
Gisela avowed her love for Kurt, and Brömser sadly replied that he would willingly accede to the young peoples wishes, for Falkensteins father was his companion-in-arms, were he not bound by a solemn vow to dedicate his daughter to the Church. When Falkenstein at last understood that the knights decision was irrevocable he galloped off as if crazed.
His wife had early been taken from him by death, and Mechtildis, the only offspring of their marriage, was left under the protection of the neighbouring Falkenstein family. So the pious warriors marched by devious and dangerous routes to that land where Our Lord lived and suffered. In fierce battle with the Saracens many a noble knight closed his eyes forever.
After the loss of Mentz, misfortune still pursued the Spaniards on the Rhine. Shortly before the capture of that city, the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel had taken Falkenstein and Reifenberg, and the fortress of Koningstein surrendered to the Hessians.
"From a shoemaker's apprentice!" exclaimed Louis, with a supercilious smile. "It would be highly edifying to hear from the Count of Falkenstein how it happened that the Emperor of Austria was taught the nothingness of royalty by a shoemaker's lad!" "It came quite naturally, sire.
Other tales besides the foregoing have their scene laid in the castle of Falkenstein, notable among them being the legend of Osric the Lion, embodied in the following weird ballad from the pen of Monk Lewis: The Conference of the Dead
Falkenstein, crowning the summit of a mountain of granite, up which no carriage can be dragged but by the stout Hungarian horses trained to the work, has been handsomely bruised by the Turkish balls in its day; but it is now converted into a superb mansion; very grand, and still more curious than grand; for it is full of relics of the olden time, portraits of the old warriors of Hungary, armour and arms, and all the other odd and pompous things which turn an age of barbarism into an age of romance.
"He desired me to admit no one except a foreign count, whose name, your highness, I have been so unlucky as to forget." "Except Count Falkenstein." "Yes, your highness, I believe that is, I think it " "And you leave the count to wait here in the anteroom!" "I beg monsieur le comte a thousand pardons. I will at once repair my error." "Stay," said the emperor, imperatively.
In ten or fifteen minutes, his imperial majesty was seen coming down the staircase, and Monsieur Louis approached, with a low bow. "May I have the honor of speaking with Count Falkenstein?" "Certainly," said the count. "What is it?" "I wished to inform monsieur le comte, that my hotel is full to the garret.
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