On a hill within the bounds of Riedisheim stands, amid the vineyards, a chapel that does not appear especially old and is dedicated to Saint Mark. Inside it, there is no longer any trace of its original purpose.
The people say that this chapel, together with the well standing opposite it, is the last remnant of a great convent of nuns that stood on this spot many centuries ago. Its patron saint, Saint Mark, had bestowed his favor so abundantly upon the convent and its inmates that their fields grew more fruitful by the day and their wealth increased continually. The peasants of Rixheim and Riedisheim eagerly competed for the convent wheat, whose surplus was sold each year by the steward; for people said that a very special virtue lay hidden in it. Besides the saint’s blessing, one thing above all contributed to this wealth: a hen that laid for the nuns every day a basket full of golden eggs. No wonder, then, that amid such plenty the convent women finally became unfaithful to their vows, surrendered themselves to worldly pleasures, and led a godless life day and night. Where sin is committed so boldly, heaven’s punishment does not fail. After a night of wild debauchery, a dreadful earthquake destroyed the convent, and of all that wealth nothing remained but the little chapel and the half-ruined well opposite it, beside which the weary field worker now takes his midday rest.
Once each year, on a certain night and at a certain hour, a noise is heard in the little chapel. One hears pattering and rustling, slipping and moaning, and a clear “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!” sounds through the open windows. That is the convent hen laying her golden eggs. A belated traveler who has the courage to enter the chapel at that hour may gather the eggs without resistance and take them home. Yet he must not let himself be confused by the ghostly nun who haunts the place and would try, by all manner of tricks and illusions, to throw him off his purpose, unless he has the precaution to recite aloud three Our Fathers while gathering the eggs. If he undertakes the task in this way, he becomes rich from that very moment.
A little peasant, who is still alive, was once in his youth caught by a terrible thunderstorm while walking late in the evening from Mulhouse to Rixheim, and he resolved to wait it out in the chapel before which he happened just then to be passing. It was exactly the right night and the right hour. For in the vivid flash of lightning, the peasant saw the priceless hen sitting on a full basket of eggs, looking at him with clever eyes and uttering her lovely “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!” “Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!” he cried in the excess of his delight. But just as he boldly reached out, he received a fearful slap on the left cheek. At the same time, he distinctly felt someone removing the shoes from his feet, and before he could recover from his fright, he found himself, he knew not how, on the road to Rixheim, running barefoot to his little hut as if all hell were after him. The fool had forgotten to say the Lord’s Prayer. The next morning, in bright sunshine, he dared once more to visit the chapel: the hen, together with basket and eggs, had vanished without a trace; but in one corner stood, completely filled with water, the shoes he had lost the evening before. Thus had the malicious nun played her trick on the poor little peasant.
This nun also haunts the Rixheim field-path and plays all manner of pranks on unwary travelers. She blocks one man’s road with thorns and hedges, and leads another astray. But if the lost wanderer manages to embrace a cross with both arms — and fortunately there are many in that countryside — the haunting vanishes and he soon finds himself back on the right way.
