flavor of medieval towns may be likened to that of those rare old ports
which are said to taste of the grave; a flavor indefinable, exquisite.
Rothenburg has it; and it is with Rothenburg, that little gem of
medievalism, that Nuremberg is likely to be compared in the mind of the
modern wanderer in Franconia. But tho Rothenburg may surpass her greater
neighbor in the perfect harmony and in the picturesqueness of her
red-tiled houses and well-preserved fortifications, in interest at any
rate she must yield to the heroine of this story.

For, apart from the beauty which Nuremberg owes to the wonderful
grouping of her red roofs and ancient castle, her coronet of antique
towers, her Gothic churches and Renaissance buildings or brown riverside
houses dipping into the mud-colored Pegnitz, she rejoices in treasures
of art and architecture and in the possession of a splendid history such
as Rothenburg can not boast. To those who know something of her story
Nuremberg brings the subtle charm of association. While appealing to our
memories by the grandeur of her historic past, and to our imaginations
by the work and tradition of her mighty dead, she appeals also to our
senses with the rare magic of her personal beauty, if one may so call
it. In that triple appeal lies the fascination of Nuremberg....

The facts as to the origin of Nuremberg are lost in the dim shadows of
tradition. When the little town sprang up amid the forests and swamps
which still marked the course of the Pegnitz, we know as little as we
know the origin of the name Nürnberg. It is true that the chronicles of
later days are only too ready to furnish us with information; but the
information is not always reliable. The chronicles, like our own
peerage, are apt to contain too vivid efforts of imaginative fiction.
The chroniclers, unharassed by facts or documents, with minds "not by
geography prejudiced, or warped by history," can not unfortunately