from cochem, an easy walk brings the tourist within reach of no less than seven castles,—viz. beilstein, cochem, winneburg, clotten, treis, elz, and pyrmont. the first four we have already noticed: in this chapter we will make a walking tour to the other three named.
leaving clotten behind us, we walked on, under a broiling sun, to pommern. at the back of pommern is a long, winding, narrow valley, through which the pommerbach runs. where it enters the moselle, the banks of our river are covered with turf and shade-spreading trees. under these latter we lay, enjoying the cool after our hot, dusty walk. the brook was nearly dry, so we made an agreement with a wild-looking girl, who was watching some cows drink in the river, that she should for the sum of twopence sterling fetch us a pannikin of fresh, cold water, we stipulating to look after her cows in the meanwhile. [220]we found our task rather difficult, as the cows were a most unruly set of brutes, who, not recognising our authority, wished to make their way into the adjoining gardens. at length, however, the water arrived, and the bargain was completed.
most luxurious was the fresh well-water, the tree-shade, and the rest: a cigar also lent its “enchantment to the view,” which embraced a reach of the river, with the woods on its shores, glowing in the noonday haze. close to us was an ancient chateau, with its high-peaked roof and many gables; a tower was at one end, and over the roof appeared the church spire. the brook trickled past, and the pollard willows on its green banks marked its course down to the river. the chateau is now only used as a farm, and the upper part was stored with hay. formerly it was the residence of a knight, who held it in fief from the archbishop of trèves.
our river lay so still, so clear, so blue beneath us; she also seemed resting till the heat should pass. the mountains, towers, and towns were watching as she slept over the glorious beauty of our fairy queen moselle. as of old, in her earliest days, the freshness of purity still was in her waters,—still innocence and beauty were combined in her azure form; but who shall describe the glory of her maturity, the loveliness of her now perfected form?
it was noontide, and no foot was stirring. the birds had ceased their songs, the trees were motionless, and the still mountains were repeated in the [221]stream, as though they had plunged from their burning heights headforemost into the cool wave.
and thus we sat and mused: speech would have been desecration. peace was on the earth! what sermons nature preaches!—always eloquent and simple. how she touches our hearts, and teaches us the truth; while human eloquence, with all its art, fails to impress or rouse us from our state of apathy! what lessons may be learnt, what blessings gained, in a summer’s ramble by rivers’ banks, and through the mighty forest, where the silence is more eloquent than words; or on the mountain-tops, where earth seems already left behind, and the sky appears almost within our reach!
a little below pommern, where a large island ends, we crossed to treis, and went through the meadow valley to the base of the rock on which treis castle stands. it was a good climb to the summit, and the path appeared as unfrequented as the forest round the princess who slept until an adventurous knight woke her with a kiss.
the castle of treis belonged to a very ancient family, who sent knights to the holy land under godfrey de bouillon. afterwards it passed into the hands of queen richenza of poland, who gave it to the convent of brauweiler, and it was henceforth garrisoned for the church by dependants of the archbishop of trèves.
on one occasion, the pfalz-graf of the rhine sent word to the governor of the castle that the church [222]did not want forts, as it was sufficiently protected by the divine power. the governor acquainted the bishop, and he excommunicated the pfalz-graf for his impiety (a step the bishops always seem to have taken in their personal quarrels). the pfalz-graf, however, did not care for the bishop’s threats, and took the castle.
the angry bishop assembled an army, and marched to retake this church property. he soon appeared before the castle, and, with his crucifix in his hand, summoned it to surrender, and upbraided the pfalz-graf for seizing it.
the pfalz-graf, seeing the army of the bishop was too numerous for him to contend with successfully, began to think the bishop’s arguments were strong ones, so he quietly gave up the castle.
the poet ends by saying what may be thus almost literally translated:—
“the cross a perfect victory gained,
“thus was its mightiness maintained.”
this castle is curiously constructed. it is placed on the summit of a neck of land, both sides of which are precipitous. the keep is at the outer extremity of this neck, and the high rock on which it stands towers perpendicularly from the valley to the height of some four hundred feet. the main part of the castle was on the neck of land, and at the inner end of the neck was a very strong gate-tower and other buildings. these three portions of the castle were joined together by strong walls: but if the [223]gate-tower was forced the garrison could first of all defend the centre, which was divided by a great ditch from the gate-tower; and, finally, they could retire into the keep, which formed a castle in itself. thus the assailants had to take three separate fortresses.
the tower and considerable fragments of the other parts of this castle still remain, wrapped in solitude. the old hall can still be traced. where the knights caroused and the ladies smiled is now the haunt of the owl, who sleeps among the branches of ivy that are gradually forcing out the stones from the old walls.
ivy-girt ruins.
from the ruined, crumbling wall,
ancient fragments downwards fall,
no longer held in iron grasp
by ivy hands, which twining clasp
those ancient towers and turrets grey,
to which their girdling brings decay.
as an old nation, tottering to its fall,
doth foreign legions to its armies call,
a time triumphant! then the hireling band,
that erstwhile strengthened, seize on the command.
alike the ivy and the friend
their aid insidious freely lend,
and gradual push their fibres in,
until the tower or land they win,—
until the yoke is firmly placed,
or firm the twigs are interlaced;
then dies all freedom from the conquered land,—
then is the ancient tower compelled to stand,
supporting by its strength the plant whose sway,
like despot monarch’s, brings it sure decay.
years wear away, the despot’s crown
is green with laurel of renown. [224]
in slavery the nation groans:
griped by the iron twigs, the stones,
disjointed from their firm array
by tyrant plants’ (or monarchs’) sway,
fall crashing down, and in like ruin hurled
are walls, and stones, and conqu’rors of the world;
oppressors and oppressed all equal share
the curse inhaled in slavery’s foul air.
treis boasts a fine church and good inns. carden is a town of size, and many of the buildings deserve notice, the first is the old toll-house, the landing-place.
toll-house.
toll-house.
[225]
on the hill opposite carden is a chapel high upon a rock: the road leading to it has at intervals shrines, at which the religious processions halt on their way to the chapel. through the vineyards inland of the town there is also a road, with shrines at every ten yards; this likewise leads up to a calvary chapel. carden, in the number of its religious edifices, surpasses all the other small towns on the river.
many of these buildings are now secularised into barns and outhouses, but the church of st. castor has just been repaired, as also a small, elegant chapel, that stands close to the river.
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legend of st. castor.
for many years st. castor lived in the forest, eating nothing but herbs, and drinking only from the clear spring. he taught the gospel to all, and was much reverenced by his hearers.
the people, who were living in rough huts in the forest, now collected by st. castor, built a village, and raised a church to the glory of god. his work completed, the saint died; and in the course of centuries men forgot where his body had been laid, until a certain priest dreamt, and in his dream it was revealed to him where the saint slept. thrice this dream was repeated; so, going to the bishop of trèves, the priest told him what had occurred. search was then made, and the bones of the saint were discovered; and over them was raised the stately church [226]which we see at the present day, and which is dedicated to this good saint.
brauer’s inn is good, and carden is a very interesting old place. the space near the church is surrounded by funny-looking, high-peaked old houses, a group of which we here give.
the highly picturesque and interesting castle of elz is about four miles distant from carden. it is situated on a great rock in a narrow valley, and surrounded on three sides by the elz brook, that nearly encircles the rock. the hills surrounding are higher than the rock the castle is on, and completely shut it in. they are densely covered with forests, full of roe-deer: hares, foxes, and occasionally wolves, are shot there in winter.
the lord of the castle sometimes comes there to shoot, or to fish in the elz brook, which is swarming with trout.
we slept in carden, so as to have the whole day [227]to explore the valley of elz; and early the following morning we set off over the hills, passing out from the town under one of its little old gateways, several of which still remain.
coming suddenly on elz as we gained the top of the mountain above it, the view was very striking; we might have been living in the dead centuries, it looked so perfectly habitable; and yet there was such a quaint look about it, it seemed scarcely real. soon after we met some of the count’s people going out with dogs and guns: they were dressed after the fashion of huntsmen whose representatives appear nowadays only in theatres,—at least, so we thought until now.
on reaching the castle, we found it more ruinous [228]than we at first had supposed. on ringing a bell we were admitted, and shown over the rooms, in which are preserved many old pieces of armour, arms, pictures, and furniture; also spoils of the chase.
the shapes of the rooms, and the staircases leading to them, are wonderful: two american artists were hard at work, sketching interiors and old furniture.
we read of a knight, george of elz, so far back as the tenth century, figuring at a tournament at magdebourg; and the family holding this castle were always of the highest consideration. but they appear to have been a very turbulent race, and much given to quarrelling amongst themselves, even on some occasions slaying each other; and a family agreement was signed by three of the brothers, who seem to have all resided at elz, which concluded with the following extraordinary terms:—“he of us who shall during this peace kill either his brother or son (from which god defend us!) shall be forced to quit the house, and neither he nor his heirs shall have any rights over the castle of elz, unless expiation for such mortal sin shall be made. he of us who shall disable one of the others, or his wife or child, shall quit the house and never return. he of us who shall wound or stab the other, shall be banished the house for a month.”
this wonderful treaty provided that they should assist each other against their common enemies, and they appear to have done so.
of course, a castle inhabited by such a set of [229]quarrellers is haunted by the ghosts of those murdered; thus elz is particularly rich in such stories. but, in general, they are only commonplace ghosts,—just ladies knocked into the valley beneath for not kissing an importunate lover, or built into a wall by a jealous husband; or a mournful murderer, who howls through the long winter’s nights in expiation of his crimes here committed. in winter time the occupants must need large fires and a good cask of wine to keep out these troublesome spirits. a better one of these ghosts is a lady, who came by her death in the manner recorded in the following version of
[contents]
the perforated harness.
the lady bertha of elz was left by her brother, who had gone to fight in the holy land, to take care of the castle of elz; her lover, count edmund, had died, and she mourned for him whom she so dearly had loved.
one evening, when the stars were consoling her for the loss of her lover, she sat gazing on them, and tranquillity fell on her heart.
the hours silently passed, and the lady prepared for her rest, little thinking how near to its final repose life was passing. suddenly she saw glittering of helmets, and heard noises of clanking of armour below in the valley. rousing her attendants, bertha armed herself in a light suit of mail, and went forth with her esquires and adherents to oppose the [230]robbers, who came like caitiffs to attack a female by night.
advancing in front of her friends, the courageous lady addressed the leaders of the marauders, asking why thus they attacked her. an arrow, launched from an unseen bow, pierced her harness: this was the only reply. bertha fell dying, and her soldiers rushed on and defeated the foe.
the lady bertha was laid in a grave near the castle, over which a weeping willow still points out the spot; and in the still, starlight nights, she and her lover, happy in death, sit hand-in-hand, contented and silent.
the castle of elz was at length taken from its proper possessors by the archbishop baldwin of trèves, who, although outwitted by lauretta of sponheim, seems generally to have worsted his enemies.
there had been a long feud between the knights and the bishop, who at last vowed to reduce them to obedience. he accordingly besieged the castle in form, and, in order to cut off all supplies, caused a new castle to be erected on the rocks opposite (a fragment of it still exists). this new castle he filled with armed men, and at length the knights of elz agreed to own the warlike bishop for their liege lord, and henceforth they held the castle as vassals.
elz.
elz.
three or four miles higher up the valley of elz is the castle of pyrmont. it is romantically seated on rocks which border the stream that a little lower [232]down falls in a cascade into a deep pool. this fall is said to have been a favourite resort of the lady whose lover met the sad fate here recorded:—
jutta of pyrmont.
a minstrel came to the castle-gate,
and tidings ill he bore;
he told of the brave count fred’rick’s fate,—
the count was now no more.
for in the far italian land,
in lowly grave he lay;
slain by the loathsome headsman’s hand,
though spared in the bloody fray.
of all who loved the noble knight
only this page was left,
who now fulfilled, in woful plight,
his master’s last behest;
that he should seek far pyrmont’s walls,
and there his master’s fate,
in lady jutta’s lofty halls,
with speed and truth, relate
how many frays the count did win
till that sad field was fought,
where he and brave count conraddin
both prisoners in were brought;
how then the coward duke d’anjou
struck off his captive’s head,
and slew his followers so true
(all save this page were dead).
the lady jutta heard the tale;
no word the lady spake,
but still she sat, and deadly pale,
the whilst her heart did break.
[233]
to convent walls the dying maid
retired, her days to close;
soon in the grave her sorrow laid,
god sent her his repose.
retracing our steps down the valley of the elzbach, we found a good path leading through the bottom of the vale. little meadows bordered the brook which we were compelled to cross frequently, but the great stepping-stones afforded a sure footing over the stream in which the trout were greedily rising at flies. it was evening, and on our left the dense foliage was glowing in light, while the meadows and opposite hills were in shade with little puffs of grey spreading in thin lines among the trees.
at the mouth of the valley we came upon moselkern, and put up at a tidy little inn, where the young lady of the house rather despised two travellers who had no baggage but what their capacious pockets contained. she was a pretty girl, and doubtless a village belle, so had a right to give herself airs. she, however, relented, and became more polite, when we, regardless of expense, ordered the best wine, which cost at least eighteen-pence a bottle.
in all these inns, we observed that the landlord or his representative thought it a matter of necessity to sit and keep company with his guests, even if they did not talk.
moselkern we found to be a cheerful village, very prettily placed among the trees, just below where the elz brook falls into the moselle. between it and [234]the river is a broad, green piece of land, where boat-building is generally going on.
here the youth of the place bathe, and the inhabitants meet to discuss the prospects of the coming vintage, and rejoice or mourn over the past one.
there seemed to be a great leaning towards the french on the banks of our river. in most of the villages there is to be found some old soldier, who expatiates to his listeners on the glorious days of the old napoleon; and many of the better class of villagers speak a sort of mongrel french. even among the lowest, french expressions are common.