In the morning the Baron sought his wife in vain.  He found instead a missive telling of her ghastly experience, intimating her intention of retiring to a nunnery, and closing with an earnest appeal to her husband to repent of his crimes.

The Baron, moved with remorse and terror, followed Amina’s example; he sought in the mountain solitudes a hermitage where he might end his days in peace, and having found such a cell, he confided his little son to the care of the pastor of Wedenschied, and retired from the world in which he had played so sorry a part.

The Blind Archer

Another legend connected with the ruined stronghold of Fuerstenberg is the following.  Long ago, in the days when bitter feuds and rivalries existed between the owners of neighbouring fortresses, there dwelt in Fuerstenberg a good old knight, Sir Oswald by name, well versed in the arts of war, and particularly proficient in archery.  He had one son, Edwin, a handsome young man who bade fair to equal his father in skill and renown.

Sir Oswald had a sworn foe in a neighbouring baron, Wilm von Sooneck, a rich, unscrupulous nobleman who sought by every possible means to get the knight into his power.  At length his cunning schemes met with success; an ambush was laid for the unsuspecting Oswald as he rode past Sooneck Castle, attended only by a groom, and both he and his servant were flung into a tower, there to await the pleasure of their captor.

And what that nobleman’s pleasure was soon became evident.  Ere many days had elapsed Oswald was informed that his eyes were to be put out, and soon the cruel decree was carried into execution.

Meanwhile Edwin awaited the coming of his father; and when he came not it was at first concluded that he had been captured or slain by robbers.  But there were no evidences forthcoming to show that Sir Oswald had met with such a fate, and his son began to suspect that his father had fallen into the hands of Baron Wilm, for he knew of the bitter hatred which he bore toward the knight of Fuerstenberg and of his cunning and malice.  He therefore cast about for a means of verifying his suspicions, and eventually disguised himself as a wandering minstrel, took his harp—­for he had great skill as a musician—­and set off in the direction of Sooneck.  There he seated himself under a tree and played and sang sweetly, directing his gaze the while toward a strong tower which seemed to him a likely place for the incarceration of prisoners.  The plaintive charm of the melody attracted the attention of a passing peasant, who drew near to listen; when the last note of the song had died away, he seated himself beside the minstrel and entered into conversation with him.

“Methinks thou hast an interest in yonder tower,” he said.

“In truth it interests me,” responded Edwin, nevertheless veiling his concern as much as possible by a seeming indifference.  “Is it a prison, think you?”