The Hoof Mark on the Wall, A German
If you visit the Castle of Nuremberg, in South Germany, you are certain
to be shown a mark, said to be that of a horse's hoof, on the top of the
outer wall; and the following story will be told to you, to account for
Some four hundred years ago there was constant war between the Count of
Gailingen and the citizens of Nuremberg, and, after numerous encounters,
the Count had at last the misfortune to fall into the hands of his
enemies, and was at once imprisoned in one of the gloomy dungeons of
This was bad enough, but worse was to follow, for, on the meeting of the
magistrates, the young Count was sentenced to be beheaded, and the
sentence was to be carried out on the following day.
First of all, however, according to an old Nuremberg custom, the
condemned man was allowed to have a last request granted—whatever that
request might be.
'Let me.' said the Count, 'once more mount my faithful charger, and ride
him round the courtyard of the castle.'
No sooner said than done! The beautiful black steed, that had so often
carried his master to victory, was saddled, and horse and master met
once more under the open sky.
The Count patted the horse's arched neck, and leapt into the saddle; the
horse began to prance and kick up his heels, as he had been taught to
do. This made such a dust that the attendants were glad to shelter
themselves in the guard-room.
'Let the Count enjoy himself; it is his last chance,' said his jailers.
'Our walls are too high for escape, and we can take things easily.'
So they troubled themselves but little over either horse or rider, and
the Count felt that now or never was his chance.
The walls were very high, and beyond them was a wide ditch, so that his
jailers were right in thinking escape impossible. Yet 'impossible' is an
unknown word to some men, and the Count was one of these.
He bent down caressingly over his horse's mane, and whispered some words
in his ear. Whether the good beast really understood or not cannot be
said, but the next minute there was a rapid gallop across the courtyard.
The Count dug his spurs deeply into the sides of his steed, and the
latter, with a supreme effort, bounded up, and reached the wide brim of
the castle wall. An instant's pause, and he had leaped the wide ditch,
and in a few seconds more both horse and rider were out of reach of all
This story must be true, say the Nuremberg people, for there stands
the print of the horseshoe on the wall to this day!