The Life of the Moselle
by Octavius Rooke · English · Gutenberg #44913 · 376,679 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Life of the Moselle
Author: Octavius Rooke
Illustrator: Henry Noel Humphreys
Octavius Rooke
Release date: February 14, 2014 [eBook #44913]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THE MOSELLE ***
THE
LIFE OF THE MOSELLE,
From its Source in the Vosges Mountains
To
Its Junction with the Rhine at Coblence.
BY
OCTAVIUS ROOKE,
Author of "The Channel Islands, Pictorial, Legendary, and Descriptive."
Illustrated with Seventy Engravings from
Original Drawings by the Author.
Engraved by T. Bolton.
LONDON:
L. BOOTH, 307 REGENT STREET.
1858.
Ein donnernd Hoch aus voller Brust
Ersling zum Himmel laut,
Dir schönem, deutschem Moselstrom,
Dir, deutschen Rheines Braut!
Julius Otto.
THIS BOOK IS
DEDICATED TO
His Wife
BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The beautiful scenery of the Moselle has too long been left without
notice. It is true, some of our Artists have presented to us scenes
on the banks of this river; but English travellers are, for the most
part, ignorant how very charming and eminently picturesque are the
shores of this lovely stream.
"The Rhine! the Rhine!" is quoted by every one, and admired or abused
at every fireside, but the Moselle is almost wholly unexplored. Lying,
as she does, within a district absolutely overrun with summer-tourists,
it is altogether inexplicable that a river presenting scenery
unsurpassed in Europe should be so neglected by those who in thousands
pass the mouth of her stream. When the Roman Poet Ausonius visited
Germany, it was not the Rhine, but the Moselle which most pleased him;
and although glorious Italy was his home, yet he could spare time to
explore the Moselle, and extol the loveliness of her waters in a most
eloquent poem.
The Moselle, which rises among the wooded mountains of the
Department des Vosges, never during its whole course is otherwise
than beautiful. Below Trèves it passes between the Eifel and Hunsruck
ranges of mountains, which attain to the height of ten or twelve
hundred feet above the level of the river.
In the Thirty Years' War the Moselle country suffered severely from
the ravages of the different armies; but there still remain on the
shores of this river more old castles and ruins, and more curious
old houses, than can elsewhere be found in a like space in Europe.
Having in the following pages endeavoured to lay before English readers
the interesting scenery of the Moselle, I trust, that although in
summer my countrymen do not mount her stream, fearful, perhaps,
of discomfort; yet that by the fireside in winter the public will
not object to glide down the river, in the boat now ready for them
to embark in; and hoping that they will enjoy the reproduction of a
tour that afforded me so much pleasure,
I subscribe myself
Their humble servant,
THE AUTHOR.
Richmond, December 1857.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SOURCE 1
II. REMIREMONT AND EPINAL 12
III. TOUL AND NANCY 24
IV. METZ 39
V. FROM METZ TO TRÈVES 65
VI. TRÈVES 70
VII. RIVER INCIDENTS 99
VIII. PIESPORT 110
IX. THE VINTAGE 125
X. VELDENZ 133
XI. BERNCASTEL 144
XII. ZELTINGEN AND THE MICHAELSLEI 153
XIII. TRARBACH 165
XIV. ENKIRCH AND THE MARIENBURG PROMONTORY 173
XV. BERTRICH 185
XVI. BREMM, NEEF, AND BEILSTEIN 197
XVII. COCHEM 207
XVIII. CARDEN AND ELZ 219
XIX. OLD CASTLES 235
XX. GONDORF AND COBERN 249
XXI. CHANGE OF THE SEASONS 261
XXII. COBLENCE AND JUNCTION WITH RHINE 269
ILLUSTRATIONS,
FROM SKETCHES BY OCTAVIUS ROOKE;
THE BORDERS AND FLORAL DECORATIONS BY NOEL HUMPHREYS;
THE ENGRAVINGS BY T. BOLTON.
FRONTISPIECE.
DEDICATION.
PAGE
THE SOURCE 1
THE SPIRIT OF THE MOSELLE AND HER ATTENDANTS 4
THE CONFLUENCE 12
NURSES AT EPINAL 20
RIVER FALL 23
BATHING AT TOUL 24
REAPING 31
JOAN OF ARC 38
AQUEDUCT AT JOUY 39
METZ 52
ENVIRONS OF METZ 64
ROMAN BRIDGE AT TRÈVES 65
INITIAL 70
PORTA NIGRA 71
ROMAN BATHS 84
FOUNTAIN 95
ROMAN MONUMENT, IGEL 98
FERRY 99
WOMAN FERRYING 102
BOAT-BUILDING 103
DITTO 104
HAY-LADING 106
BEDDING 106
BOAT WITH CASK 107
CHURCH 109
PIESPORT 110
THE VINTAGE 125
GIRLS TENDING VINES 132
VELDENZ 133
GIRL AT SHRINE 143
BERNCASTEL BY MOONLIGHT 144
OLD HOUSES, BERNCASTEL 147
THE GERMAN MAIDEN 152
THE GRÄFENBURG 153
TRARBACH 165
CONFLAGRATION AT TRARBACH 170
LILIES 172
MARIENBURG 173
ENKIRCH 175
MERL 183
BERTRICH 185
KÄSEGROTTE 192
ALF-BACH 195
THE OLD CHURCH 196
BEILSTEIN 197
NEEF 199
KLOSTER STUBEN 203
COCHEM BY MOONLIGHT 207
CLOTTEN CASTLE 216
FISHING 218
INITIAL 219
TOLL-HOUSE 224
CARDEN 226
GATE AT CARDEN 227
CASTLE OF ELZ 231
SKETCH AT CARDEN 234
BISCHOFSTEIN 235
ALKEN 243
THURON CASTLE 245
ASCENDING SPIRIT 248
GONDORF CASTLE 249
LOWER CASTLE AT GONDORF 252
THE PROCESSION 257
ST. MATTHIAS CHAPEL 260
WINTER SCENE 261
TOWING 268
MARKET, COBLENCE 269
SPIRITS OF THE MOSELLE AND RHINE 287
CHAPTER I.
At a short distance from Bussang, a little town in the Department des
Vosges in France, is the source of the Moselle; trickling through the
moss and stones that, together with fallen leaves, strew the ground,
come the first few drops of this beautiful river.
A few yards lower down the hill-side, these drops are received into a
little pool of fairy dimensions; this tiny pool of fresh sweet water
is surrounded by mossy stones, wild garlic, ferns, little creepers
of many forms, and stems of trees.
The trees, principally pine, grow thickly over the whole ballon (as the
hills are here called); many are of great size; they shut out the heat
of the sun, and clothe the earth with tremulous shadows--tremulous,
because the broad but feathery ferns receive bright rays, and waving
to and fro in the gentle breeze give the shadows an appearance of
constant movement.
Here, then, O reader, let us pause and contemplate the birth-place of
our stream; leaving the world of stern reality, let us plunge together
into the grateful spring of sweet romance; and while the only sounds
of life that reach our ears are the rustling of the leaves, the
buzz of the great flies, the murmur of the Moselle, and the distant
ringing of the woodman's axe, let us return with Memory into the past,
and leaving even her behind, go back to those legendary days when
spirits purer than ourselves lived and gloried in that beautifully
created world which we are daily rendering all unfit for even the
ideal habitation of such spirits.
And reverie is not idleness; in hours like these we seem to see
before us, cleared from the mists of daily cares, the better path
through life--the broad straight path, not thorny and difficult,
as men are too prone to paint it, but strewed with those flowers and
shaded with those trees given by a beneficent Creator to be enjoyed
rightly by us earthly pilgrims.
Life is a pilgrimage indeed, but not a joyless one. While the whole
earth and sky teem with glory and beauty, are we to believe that
these things may not be enjoyed? Our conscience answers, No; rightly
to enjoy, and rightly to perform our duties, with thankfulness,
and praise, and love within our hearts, such is our part to perform,
and such the lesson we are taught by the fairy of the sweet Moselle.
BIRTH OF THE MOSELLE.
The fair Colline slept in sunshine, when from the far horizon a
rain-cloud saw her beauty, and with impetuous ardour rushing through
the sky he sought the gentle Colline, wooed her with soft showers,
and decked her with jewelled drops and bright fresh flowers.
She soon learnt to love the rugged cloud, and from their union sprang
a bright streamlet which, cradled in its mother's lap, reflected her
sweet image. Then, as the time passed on, the little one increased
in strength, and leapt and danced about its mother's knee. Larger and
stronger grew the streamlet until its tripping step became more firm,
and then it passed into the valley, catching reflections from the
things around. And onward went this fairy stream, her source watched
over by a mother's love; and her cloud-father fed her as she passed
between her grassy banks.
Then girlhood came, and sister streams flowed in, and, whispering
to her, told their little tales of life: so now, her mind enlarged,
she onward flows, sometimes reflecting on the things of earth, but
oftener expanding her pure bosom to catch the impress of the holy sky;
and all the tenants of the sky loved to impart their infinite beauties
and their glory to the pure stream.
The age of girlhood passes now away, and she becomes a fair maiden,
to gaze on whose beauties towers and cities, castles, spires, and
hills, come crowding, and line her path, each giving her the gift of
its own being.
Now come the mountains, too, with their crowns of forest waving on
their heads, and do homage to her beauty: she gives a sweet smile to
all, lingering at every turn to look back upon her friends; but yet
she tarries not, her duty leads her on,--nor worldly pomp, or pride,
or power, can keep her from her appointed path; she leaves them
all behind, and swelling onwards through the level plain, receives
the approving glance of heaven, and meets her noble husband Rhine,
who, long expecting, folds her in his arms. And thus her pilgrimage
complete, her duty ended, she calmly sleeps that happy sleep which
wakes only in eternity.
Such is the history of the birth and life of the Moselle. We have
now to wander from her birthplace here, in the Vosges mountains,
to where she joins her glorious husband Rhine beneath the walls of
Ehrenbreitstein. From time to time we shall linger by the roadside,
to pluck a flower from legendary lore; from time to time we shall
stop to secure a chip from the great rock of history: storing thus
our herbal and our sack as well as our portfolio, we shall follow the
many bendings of our graceful river, which, womanlike, moves gently
and caressingly along, soothing and gladdening all things.
The fairy and the river are as one, life within life; ever flowing
on, yet always present; ever young, and yet how old; ever springing
freshly mid the hills and woods, yet ever ending the appointed course.
One life is material, earthly, but still sweet and beautiful; the
other life is born of the first, but far exceeds it,--it is the
life poetic, whose other parent is the human mind: this life, which
leaves the parent life behind, floats upwards on its glorious wings
and reaches the highest realms of heaven, carrying with it the souls
of those who read this life aright----
Lying here beneath the pines, we recall those old days of the past
when, on the borders of our river, only forests waved, amid whose
depths tribes of wild warriors dwelt apart,--their only amusement
hunting, their only business war, they scorned to cultivate the soil
save for their actual necessities.
In this neighbourhood lived the Leuci, whose capital was Toul; lower
down, the Mediomatrices had their chief city, Metz; and beyond these
again came the Treviri, occupying the country about Trèves.
All these were members of that great German family which gave
sea-kings to Norway, conquerors to imperial Rome, and at a later day
that champion (Charles Martel) who stayed the tide of Moslem conquest
near Poitiers; thus Christianising half Europe, and probably saving
all earth from Mahomet's false creed.
Rugged and strong were these old Germans--the huge pines well
represent them; glorious in strength, stern in duty, upright, sombre,
and picturesquely magnificent: they are recorded as having been of
great size, with blue eyes and light hair, inured to every hardship,
and never laving aside their arms.
Owning no superior, yet when once they had elected a chief, and
raised him aloft upon their shields, they obeyed him implicitly; if
unsuccessful in battle they would kill themselves rather than survive,
believing that those who died on the battle-field were received by
the Walkyren, or heavenly maidens, who hovered over the fight and
chose lovers from the dying warriors.
What a picture of barbaric grandeur and indomitable will is given us
in the last act of one of their more northern naval heroes! Being
mortally wounded in a fight in which he had conquered his enemies,
he caused himself to be placed on board his vessel with the bodies of
his slain enemies around him, and all his plunder piled into a throne,
on which he sat,--then the sails were set, the pile was lighted, and
the blazing vessel putting out to sea, he sought his heaven--Walhalla.
This Walhalla was supposed to contain a great battle-field, on
which the warriors fought their foes all day, receiving no hurt;
and at evening they returned to carouse and enjoy the caresses of
the Walkyren.
Of these immediate tribes, however, Cæsar relates, that "they only
worshipped the forms of the gods they could see and whose beneficence
they felt, such as the sun, moon, and fire; of others they had never
heard." Doubtless, in after days, they adopted many of the Roman
divinities, but at the time of which we speak they adored their Creator
on the mountain tops; and when Christianity was introduced they built
their churches on the tops of hills, and even now the sacred edifices
are usually placed on eminences. Some remnant of the old hill-worship
still remains, for the Mass is annually read to the Sens shepherds
on the Alps; and not long ago the Saint John's fire was yearly lit
upon the hill-tops.
Christmas was their most holy time; for then, they said, the gods
walked on earth.
The oak and the alder were objects of especial reverence; for from
the former man was made, and woman from the latter.
They considered all trees, and flowers, and plants, and stones,
and even animals, to be inhabited by beings of a superior order,
who came from an intermediate heaven and hell.
Lakes, rivers, and springs, were held in special veneration; and
Petrarch relates, that even in the fourteenth century the women at
Cologne bathed in the Rhine to wash away their sins.
Strangely in their natures were intermixed the gentle and the savage,
the cruel and the terrible, with the honourable and brave. Side by side
we find human sacrifices and a festival in honour of the first violet;
men who had been mutilated, and sickly children were sunk in morasses,
or otherwise destroyed; and we find them with a pure love for woman,
whom they held in the highest reverence. Their women were brought
up in the strictest seclusion, scarcely seeing any stranger,--an
injury offered to female modesty was punished by death, and fines
for injuries done to them were heavier than for those to men.
Maidens were portionless, so only married for their merits or their
beauty: they seldom married before their twentieth year, and the
husband had generally reached his thirtieth; they had but one husband,
and the historian Tacitus observes, speaking of them, "as she can
have but one body and one life, so she can have but one husband."
Prophetesses were frequent, and great confidence placed in their
predictions,--they were called Alrunæ, and lived apart in the recesses
of the forests.
They had many ways of interpreting the will of the gods, but of
all interpreters the horse was considered the most sacred; white
horses were peculiarly venerated, and maintained at the expense of
the community, expressly to interpret the divine will,--even the
priests themselves considered that they were but the ministers,
while the horses were the confidants of the gods.
The priests, as in all semi-barbarous countries, were the real
governors of these uncurbed Germans: no control but theirs was
submitted to; even in camp they alone had the right to bind and flog,
and in all public assemblies they kept order: these functions they
assumed as ministers of the supreme, invisible Being. There was,
however, no priestly caste, and each head of a family could perform
religious offices for his own household.
Thus we find, at this earliest period of the known history of our
river--its banks occupied by a brave, hardy race, given to dissipation
and war, and governed by priests whose bloody sacrifices were offered
to a supreme Being, worshipped through His great emblems of sun,
fire, and water--they enjoyed a life of action, and looked forward
to a death of glory.
Under this rugged nature appear the gentler attributes of love and
veneration; and a belief in Fairies, Kobolds, Nixies, and all the
different classes of superior existences with which they supposed
the whole world to teem.
Savage and grand, loving and honourable, we shall, if we examine
history, find them first engaging the Romans on equal terms, then
for a while giving place to the conquerors of the world, but ever
holding themselves superior to them, not adopting their habits but
merely borrowing their knowledge to render themselves more fit to
encounter them; and finally, we shall find them supplanting these
world-conquerors, and seizing for themselves that crown and dominion,
the fairest portion of which remains with the German race to this
present day. And, moreover, it is this German race that has carried
civilisation over the whole earth, and whose descendants, the English
people, are rapidly populating the great continents of America and
Australia.
Back from the train of old history our thoughts return as the evening
closes in by the source of our sweet river, and we bend our steps
down through the dim woods. The white butterflies flap past, heavily,
as though feeling the last moments of their short lives are fleeting
fast; frequently above our heads starts out a projecting mass of rock,
from whose summit a great pine towers up, first leaning forward,
then shooting upwards, its top seems piercing the blue sky.
Ever and anon open out green dells, filled with bright foxgloves and
other beautiful flowers; through these dells trickle tiny rivulets
that swell the course of our young stream, which through the woods
we hear gurgling and gushing on, falling from stone to stone, and
wearing many a little pool in the rough ground.
Occasionally we pass a heap of fresh-cut wood, and across our path lie
huge trunks of the fallen forest giants; a resinous odour is strongly
mixed with the scent of the wild flowers,--one flower, from which the
mountain bees make their delicious honey, is peculiarly fragrant and
very frequent; occasionally the rivulet is quite hid by the luxuriant
carpets of the false forget-me-not that line its banks.
At length we pass from the forest to the cultivated land: the little
valley opens into a wider one, which is surrounded by mountains of
diverse forms steeped in sunlight; the sun declines, and wreaths of
blue smoke ascend from the châlets on the hill-sides, where the evening
meal is being prepared for the active, hard-working peasantry, who,
with loads of all sorts on their heads, pass by, saluting politely
as they go us and each other.
The young stream dances along by the roadside, and thus we enter
Bussang, and close our first chapter of this fairy life.
CHAPTER II.
From Bussang to Remiremont our infant stream gurgles plashingly
along; sometimes it conceals itself in little tranquil pools, where
the large trout lie deep beneath the roots of the overshadowing
trees; sometimes it falls with a gentle splash over an obstruction,
leaping, as we do in early life, over all difficulties with a smile,
even seeming to enjoy that which at a maturer age too often frets and
chafes us, though we conceal our chagrin under an unruffled surface.
Sometimes our stream passes, broken into ripples, over smooth shiny
pebbles,--here the trout from time to time suddenly dart up and
seize their insect food; and sometimes it glides between green banks
which hem it in (fair setting for so bright a gem): here it is blue,
reflecting the sky above.
Through the sultry summer days, hours spent splashing in this little
stream, or dreaming on its banks, are most delicious,--but beware,
O bather! of the shining pebbles that gleam mid the blue tide, for
Beneath the waters bright
The glitt'ring pebbles lie,
Like nymphs whose eyes the light
Shines on with brilliancy:
Like wicked water-sprites
These rounded pebbles trip
The bather, who delights
His body here to dip.
The timid foot is placed
Upon the tempting stone,
Then downward in all haste
The luckless wight is thrown.
And when he wrathful tries
His footing to regain,
The sprites, with shining eyes,
Just trip him up again.
The scenery down the valley is altogether charming, occasionally grand,
but oftener sweetly beautiful; the hills are of considerable height,
some cultivated in patches of grain-crops, some covered with trees,
while others again are brightly green with turf, except where grey
rocks crop out and break the outline. Farther off the large shadowy
mountains rise, calmly shutting in the minor hills, the valley, and the
stream; the fleecy clouds float gently on, and rest upon their summits.
Groups of trees half hide the houses which frequently appear within
the valley; the numerous bridges are generally of wood, some covered
as in Switzerland.
The peasant women, in great straw hats or little close caps, work hard
amidst the fields storing the hay crop; the oxen yoked together munch
their fill of sweet fresh grass, that has grown in the well-watered
meadows; round them the children play, piling the hay upon each
other until, overcome by the heat, they hasten off to bathe in our
cool stream.
Here, at a short distance above Remiremont, is the confluence of two
branches of our river; and river the Moselle now becomes. Leaving
her infant days she glides forth, with all the sunny joyousness of
girlhood, through the valleys of Remiremont and Epinal, then on through
the undulating plain, past Toul, to meet her confidant the Meurthe.
Remiremont is a well-built, clean town, with rivulets flowing
constantly on both sides the roadway; it contains a fine church,
near which are the buildings that formerly held the celebrated Dames
de Remiremont, of whom the following account is given.
In the seventh century a monk named Amé arrived at the court of King
Theodobert of Austrasia; moved by his preaching, one of the principal
officers of the king, named Romaric, embraced the monastic life, and
gave an estate to found a monastery of nuns: the mountain on which
this monastery was built was called "Mons Romarici," hence the modern
name of Remiremont.
A community of monks was established shortly after, near the nunnery,
and St. Amé governed both; he dying, Romaric succeeded him: but
now the female monastery was governed by an abbess,--it is said,
a daughter of Romaric.
To this monastery Charlemagne came to enjoy the pleasures of the
chase, and here the unhappy Waldrada, wife of Lothaire II., came to
die after her long persecution by the Church.
In the tenth century the Huns penetrated here, and ravaged the
monastery; a few years after it was totally destroyed by fire;
after this event it was rebuilt at the foot of the mountain: the two
communities now separated, the ladies entering on their new abode,
and the monks retiring to the mountain.
The ladies lived such scandalous lives that Pope Eugenius reproached
them with dishonouring the religious habit; his complaints were
useless, and the ladies soon threw off even the appearance of
religieuses, and remained bound together by a sort of female
feudality. The abbesses were people of the best families, and none
were admitted as members of the community but those who could prove
themselves of noble blood on both sides for two hundred years.
The abbess ranked as a princess of the Empire, and held a feudal
court,--a drawn sword was carried before her by one of the officers,
of whom she had many in her service; she received her investiture from
the hands of the Emperor himself, and had many rights over different
parts of the surrounding country, her power often clashing with that
of the Dukes of Lorraine.
The Dukes were bound to appear before the monastery on the 15th
of July of each year, and to carry on their shoulders the shrine
of St. Romaric; they then signed, in a large book plated with gold
and kept for that purpose, a confirmation of all the privileges of
the abbey. In consideration of these services, however, they gained
certain solid advantages.
One of the most violent quarrels between "les Dames" and the Dukes of
Lorraine was owing to Duke Charles III. refusing to carry the saint's
relics on his shoulders; eventually the ladies gave up the point on
consideration of receiving, in lieu, an annuity of 400 francs.
In 1637 Duke Charles IV. besieged the town, which had been garrisoned
by the French with fifteen companies of the regiment of Normandy. These
soldiers being driven to extremity, declared, rather than submit
without conditions, they would burn the abbess, abbey, and all the
ladies, as well as the citizens; the ladies despatched six of their
number to the Duke, who, overcome by the tears of beauty, granted an
advantageous capitulation to the Norman rascals.
Next year Turenne appeared before the city, which the Duke had left
feebly garrisoned; but the abbess, mindful of the Duke's kindness,
so stoutly defended it, that after three assaults Turenne retired
with considerable loss. After this the abbess obtained from the French
king a promise of neutrality.
The power of these extraordinary "Dames de Remiremont" lasted
(though somewhat shorn) until the tide of the French Revolution
swept away for a time even the name of the town, which was called
Libremont. The church and buildings still remain, the last remnants
of this extraordinary community.
Having climbed the hills above Remiremont and seated ourselves amid
the heather and ferns, the valley in folds of bright green extends
itself beneath; the hills around are varied and beautiful, clumps of
trees adorn the meadows, and great shadows steal along, presenting
to our eyes a constant succession of moving pictures.
One of these shadows we watch roll down the distant mountain-side,
leaving it bright and glowing with the grain,--then, coming onwards,
it rests upon a great clump of trees, whose contrasted darkness lights
up the grass beyond: they in their turn are left behind, and, now
quivering in light, they stand backed by the sombre mountain wrapped in
a succeeding veil; these clouds roll on, and others quickly following,
give to the valley an appearance similar to that of a rolling prairie:
now they approach, and envelope the hill on which we sit in gloom;
but shortly all again is clear, the sky above is pure, the air is
sweet; the meadows glory in their abundance, and our river, bending
and turning, now to the far side of the valley, now towards the town,
freshens the heated herbage with its limpid stream.
From the valley, beautiful though it be, we turn our eyes to the more
glorious beauty of the
NOONDAY CLOUDS.
Over our heads the sunbeams quiver,
The air is filled with heat and light,
While at our feet the shining river
Sparkles with thousand dimples bright.
The distant hills, in sombre masses,
Sleep calmly on amidst the haze;
A mighty cloud through heaven passes,
And from the earth arrests our gaze.
For in the shadows of that cloud,
We seem to see extending far
Valleys and hills, where seraphs bow'd,
Praising their great Creator are.
Praising for ever "Him on high."
Those glorious seraphs also pray,
That from this planet crime may die,
From man and earth sin pass away.
The shades of these hills of central air,
The gales that spring 'mid their lake,
Spread over our earthly valleys fair,
From our souls the weariness take;
And hope reviving emits its glad beam,
Which brightens our hearts, as sun does the stream.
Where we sit the ground is heaped into all sorts of forms, and covered
with ferns and heather,--from the latter rushes a large covey of
whirring partridges, and swoops into the valley.
Above, the still forest sends down its treasures of bark and firewood,
which are borne in creaking waggons down the steep ascent; the oxen
stagger beneath the weight, while the drivers shout encouragement,
and their great dogs look calmly from the overhanging bank upon the
busy scene.
All the environs of Remiremont are beautiful, and the town itself is a
favourable specimen of a French country town: it is much better paved
than those towns usually are, and the principal street has arcades
under the first floor, beneath whose shade it is pleasant to sit during
the midday heat, and hear the water rushing through the tiny canals.
In the little busy inns people come and go rapidly, the fashionable
watering-place of Plombières being only some twelve miles distant:
the tables d'hôte at these inns are wonderful, the number of dishes,
the rapidity with which they are served, and the really excellent
cookery. Most of the diners are men, and they one and all make love to
the woman who, in conjunction with a lad, waits on some twenty guests,
and yet finds time to parry all their jokes with sharp repartee.
Here may be seen a good specimen of the false politeness of the
French,--they never help themselves to the vin ordinaire without
filling up their neighbour's glass, whether he wants more or not, and
they almost invariably pick out the choice morsel from the dish which
the aforesaid neighbour eyes with longing looks: one, an epicure,
reaches over you to secure the oil and pepper, with which to make
additions to some vile sauce he is compounding for a coming dish;
another will have something out of its proper turn, which irritates
the handmaid; all eat voraciously, and with knives scoop up superfluous
gravy, endangering the fair proportions of their mouths. After dinner
(which is at twelve), cards and coffee fill the time until a little
gentle exercise brings them to a second dinner at seven, when the
knives play their part again.
Travelling in the smaller diligences is very miserable, but the little
rattling carts that can be hired are worse and slower. Journeying,
again, brings out the politeness of the French men,--who secure the
best seats if possible, never giving them up to ladies, and fill the
vehicle with very bad tobacco smoke.
Leaving them to the smoke and dust, we will go down into the meadows,
and walk with our fresh river through the fields it waters on its
passage to the gay town of Epinal.
On a slight elevation at the entrance of the town is a public garden
of fine old beech-trees, that shade seats and walks; rough grass lawns
fill the intervening spaces. Here plays a military band on Sundays
and fête-days, and the young men sun themselves in the eyes of the
fair ladies, who in many-hued attire float up and down, ostensibly
listening to the military music, but really to that of the voices of
their admirers.
Here on all days play the children, and on the grass sit the
picturesquely-dressed nurses, with great bows in their hair and
snowy sleeves puffed out upon their arms. It is a pleasant lounge and
of considerable extent; on one side is the river, the main body of
which falls over a wear, while a portion of the water is conducted
through the town in a clear stream, which reunites itself with the
main body below the town: thus an island is formed, and Epinal stands
on both banks as well as on this island, several bridges joining the
different quarters.
There is near the end of the town a very beautiful old church; on
the hill above, was formerly a strong castle, only a few stones of
which now remain: the hill is covered by a private garden commanding
fine views.
Epinal is on the site of a very ancient town that was twice destroyed
by a fire and pillage; the modern town arose round the walls of a
monastery founded in 980 A.D. by a Bishop of Metz, and enlarged in
the following century.
The ladies of this monastery appear to have rivalled the "Dames de
Remiremont" in leading scandalous lives, if not in power; and when,
in the thirteenth century, a Bishop of Toul undertook to re-establish
the primitive rules among them, they refused to take any vow, and
ended by secularising themselves, but still kept in some measure
aloof from the world: they had two dresses, one for the convent,
the other for society. They existed as a community till last century.
As a Bishop of Metz had founded this monastery, his successors
assumed the sovereignty of the town, and one of them, in the thirteenth
century, caused it to be fortified. This sovereignty was often disputed
by the townspeople on the one hand, and by certain seigneurs, who
had been declared guardians of the monastery, on the other: thus many
disputes arose; at last it was agreed that the town should be ceded
to the Dukes of Lorraine, and to this house it remained attached.
Frequently taken by the French, and as often retaken, it suffered
much from war, but was always constant to its ducal rulers until
Lorraine became finally incorporated in France. At the present day
it is bustling, dirty, thriving, and ill-paved.
And now away, over the hills and valleys. The river swells on beneath
or past us, leaving Thaon, Châtel, Charmes, and many other towns and
villages behind; on it flows, falling over wears and circling many
islands, wearing its course along until it leaves the Department des
Vosges and enters on that of the Meurthe.
Laughing and gay, we shall in the next chapter find "the fair girl"
basking amid the corn-fields that adorn her course near Toul.
CHAPTER III.
"Oh, pleasant land of France!" sings the poet; and a pleasant land it
is, especially when, as now, the tall and yellow grain is spreading
over its fair plains. As we approach Toul the reapers are at work;
the women and children are busy binding or spreading out the sheaves
fast as the men can cut them,--all is gay and happy; the sun glowing
on the grain makes the whole land seem an El Dorado, and we appear
to move in one of the golden dreams of fairyland.
Coming on our river again, which has serpentined along, loitering to
water those fruitful plains of "old Lorraine," we find her stream
shrunk within its pebbly bed; for the sun has drunk from earth her
moisture, and the fire element rules now for the good of man, where the
water, moistening the earth, had produced the germ within her bosom.
The contrast of the burning sun and corn makes our dear river seem
the cooler and the fresher. All down its course the bathers are
wading refreshingly about: in a side-stream, shaded by tall poplars
and guarded from eyes inquisitive by rows of piled-up firewood,
bathe the women, maids, and girls; in long loose dresses floating,
with hair wreathed lightly round their glistening heads, they toss
the glittering drops upon each other, and laugh, and scream, and sing:
here, hand-in-hand, with tottering gait, they struggle up against the
stream, slipping and tumbling at each forward step,--then, the desired
point reached, merrily they float down, and the blue tide sparkles
with their beauty. Upon the bank are some timidly adventuring their
hesitating feet before they plunge into the element; some bind their
hair, preparing; others, having bathed, unbind, and the long tresses
stream over the fair shoulders: blithely thus they pass the time,
and defy the hot old sun upon the river's bank.
A little further, and the green slopes of the fortifications sweep up,
and the cathedral towers stand high above the invisible town; beyond
the towers is a great flat-topped hill, whose smaller brethren stretch
south-wards: in all, the same flatness of the summit is perceptible.
The river makes a great bend after passing Toul; she seems to have
come so far, to see the old capital of the Leuci, and finding there
little to arrest her progress or detain her steps, she hastens off
to hear from her girlish friend, the Meurthe, the history of Nancy,
whose walls the latter guards.
Before we go with our Moselle to hear the tales of Nancy, we must
first listen to a simple story from French every-day life, near Toul.
ADÈLE AND GUSTAVE.
Once more War stalked the land; again France was aiming, and calling
on her sons to fight a foreign foe: but this time her quarrel was a
righteous one, for side by side with England she appeared, to guard
the weak against the oppression of the strong.
Adèle's heart was beating with anxiety when the day for drawing
the fatal numbers had arrived,--those numbers that should determine
whether Gustave left her for the battle-field or remained to marry,
as had been agreed between them and their parents.
Gustave, however, though he dearly loved his sweet fiancée, loved more
that empty trumpet glory, a grand word, and one that chains the hearts
of men,--but, like the drum and trumpet, its appropriate adjuncts,
only expressing a hollow though a ringing sound.
Such was the glory Gustave dreamt of,--not true glory, not heroism
in daily life, not the dying in defence of what we love,--but the
rush and the glitter, the pomp and the pride, the excitement and the
turmoil of the imagined war.
Little thought he of the days of severe privation, the nights
of watching, the constant petty troubles, and the lingering pains
brought on by disease engendered by a soldier's life; and still less,
it is to be feared, did his mind dwell on the number of Adèles this
ruthless war leaves mourning and trembling, while their husbands,
friends, and lovers, fight and die afar. He only thought of glory
in the abstract; perhaps also of a time when, a high grade won,
triumphant he should return and lay his spoil at Adèle's feet.
And he was drawn; his friends begged him to let them purchase a
substitute,--he, with his ambition and his love for them combined,
would not allow that they should thus impoverish themselves; but,
being strongly urged, he turned to where Adèle silently was grieving,
and left the choice to her.
Poor Adèle, knowing well his secret heart, and fearing that he
would only fret and chafe at home,--perhaps, too, being herself a
little tainted with his love for glory,--wept, but said, "Go, then,
dear Gustave; never shall a French girl counsel her lover to desert
his country."
So, while many a tear and secret prayer are poured out for his welfare,
Gustave goes.
The land rings with martial preparations; on all sides is the
excitement of the coming war: the eagles and the banners are raised
high; and all the air is filled with the grand anthem, "Partant pour
la Syrie."
Part II.
Gustave wrote often: first he was learning his drill, then he had
finished his initiation and was in favour with his superiors, often
being able to assist with his clear head and ready pen.
Soon after these, a letter came to say the regiment was to hasten to
Marseilles, there to embark for Eastern service.
A long silence, and a battle had been fought upon the plains of Alma:
his name was not in the lists of killed and wounded,--those fearful
lists that break the hearts of many; it is not those fighting, but
those left behind we ought to pity.
Then came a day of joy: Gustave had performed one of those daring
feats of which the Russian war gave so many instances,--he had been
promoted; and Adèle's eyes sparkled, and her bosom heaved, as friends
came flocking in offering their congratulations.
The long winter was rolling on; still the enemy, with desperate
courage, defended the beleaguered city; and men died fast of fatigue,
and cold, and want, both within and without the walls.
Gustave was strong and healthy, never sick or suffering; but, alas! a
day came when, after a night sortie gallantly repelled by the French,
who followed the enemy nearly into the very town, it was found that
he had not returned; and his men reported that he had fallen mortally
wounded close to the city walls: they had endeavoured to bring him
off, but the task was too difficult, and he was left to breathe his
last where he had fallen.
The Colonel himself wrote to his friends, and a decoration was
forwarded; but did those words of praise, did that cold cross, repay
Adèle for her lost lover? Often, when no eye but that of God was on
her, she sat with these treasures in her lap, but from her eyes the
tears would flow, and the cross and words were dimly seen through
the descending drops,--no, Adèle was not consoled, though he had died
for France; hollow were to her the words, "Mourir pour la Patrie."
Part III.
Peace was with the earth again; the dear-bought peace, that found
parents and children, wives and sisters, mourning for those the war
had snatched from their embrace.
Around the walls of Toul the harvest had been gathered; the last few
sheaves were loaded on the carts as the declining sun sank down;
the horses or oxen, gaily decked, moved slowly towards the city;
round the waggons the children danced, and thus the maidens sang as
in the olden time:--
THE HARVEST SONG.
Our labour all is done;
We've finished with the sun,
Who now, in the far west
Low sinking, goes to rest.
The golden grain is stored;
The Great God be adored,
Who sent the sun and rain
To swell the golden grain.
The stalwart oxen strong
Drag the great wain along;
The last ray from the sun
Shines on our work now done.
Twine, then, the garlands gay;
Let, then, the music play;
And gaily dance till morn,
And fill the flowing horn:
For now the grain is stored,
The Great God be adored,
Who sent the sun and rain
To swell the golden grain.
Adèle entered not into their joy, her heart was like her
lover--dead. As they go with the last waggon towards home suddenly
a shout is heard--a crowd comes on--she hears her name called--many
voices seem to say "Gustave!"--the crowd gives way.
Well-known eyes are looking into hers as she awakes to
consciousness--his arm is round her, and his heart is beating
against hers.
Alive, though grievously wounded, he had been taken care of by a
noble foe; and at the termination of the war, released, he had come
back; one empty sleeve was pinned against his breast, but there she
placed the cross,--he smiled fondly on her, but looking at it sighed,
thinking perchance glory may be bought too dear.
And now by the Moselle's banks Adèle nurses her invalid husband, and
peace for the moment reigns in France. But, alas and alas! many another
Adèle will mourn many another Gustave, before mankind have learnt to
fulfil the wish contained in Jeanette's song, and be content to
"Let those that make the quarrel be
The only ones to fight."
Toul contains little to detain us except its fine cathedral; it is
"dullest of the dull," no movement in its streets; a railroad hurries
past her gates, but few of the passengers enter them; her history
alone is interesting: built before history for this portion of the
globe began, she was, when visited by the Roman eagles, the capital
of the warlike Leuci.
Erected at a very early period into a bishopric, its Bishops were its
rulers; nominally subject to these Bishops and the Counts of Toul, the
burghers seem actually to have enjoyed all the rights of a free city,
and eventually the town was reckoned one of the free Imperial cities.
In a quarrel which arose between these burghers and their bishop,
Gilles de Sorcy, in the thirteenth century, three arbiters were named
to settle the dispute. It appeared, that formerly the townspeople
had been obliged to find food for the Bishop's table during the
month of April; this custom had fallen into disuse, but now Gilles
claimed arrears and its continuance: the burghers, in their turn,
claimed certain gifts from the Bishop on his entrance into the city.
It was agreed that the town should pay to the Bishop sixteen pounds,
money of Toul, each year; and he, on his part, was to distribute,
on his solemn entry into the city, forty measures of wine, eight
hundred pounds of bread, and an ox boiled (?) whole, with parsnips.
By this award it would appear that neither party had the upper hand,
but that the power was nearly equally divided.
At the death of Gilles dissensions broke out, and in A.D. 1300
the people placed themselves under the protection of the King of
France. Disputes now arose between the French monarchs and the German
emperors, as Toul was an Imperial free city; but the French were the
more active, and the city was considered under their protection.
Occasionally the citizens had to be recalled to a sense of their
allegiance by burning their suburbs or occupying their town. Finally,
in the sixteenth century, Toul was formally ceded to France, and
in A.D. 1700 Louis XIV. pulled down the old walls, and erected the
fortifications within which the town now stagnates.
The great canal connecting the Rhine and Marne runs parallel with
the Moselle to Frouard, near which place the Meurthe falls in: the
country is pleasant, diversified by hill and dale, and richly wooded.
Beyond Liverdun, railroad, road, canal, and river, run side by
side,--fire, earth, water, and air, all rendered thus subservient
to man.
And now the Meurthe runs in; full of gay confidence, this friend
imparts her knowledge to our stream.
She tells her of a city beautifully laid out with gardens of great
trees, beneath whose shade gay dames and damsels walk, while music
fills the air; hard by the numerous fountains play; and the old palace
of King Stanislas, who enriched the town with many a stately building,
is near. The shops and cafés, the theatre and walks, all render Nancy
a cheerful and agreeable abode.
Within the old town is the curious palace of the ancient Dukes,
containing a museum, where all sorts of relics are preserved.
Old towers stud the walls; and statues, groves, and churches ornament
the town: in the ducal chapel are the tombs of the Dukes of Lorraine,
who were powerful sovereign princes. This chapel is very beautiful.
Nancy appears to have been at the height of its lustre during the
reign of Stanislas, who received the Duchy of Lorraine, in lieu of
his own kingdom of Poland, from the French monarch; at his death the
duchy finally reverted to France, and became extinct in 1766.
Stanislas and his queen, in 1699, took part in a very curious ceremony
called "The Fête des Brandons," annually practised in Nancy.
This fête was thus conducted: on a certain day all the newly-married
couples, of whatever degree, were obliged, under pain of penalty,
to go out of the city gate and fetch a fagot; these fagots were,
to save them the trouble of going to the wood, sold to them outside
the gates, where a sort of fair was held, in which they purchased
ribands, pruning-knives of white wood, &c.; they returned, with
their fagot bound with the ribands, and the husband with one of the
pruning-knives hanging to his button, to the Halle des Cerfs in the
ducal palace: from there they went in procession to the market-place,
and formed a pile with the fagots; they then inscribed their names
at the Hôtel de Ville, in a book kept for that purpose, and received
certain privileges for the coming year.
Returning to the palace, they danced in the court, and the young men
pelted peas under their feet; which "being," says the chronicler,
"very hard, occasioned the dancers many falls, which caused great
hilarity among the spectators."
At seven in the evening they had a grand supper at the Hôtel de Ville,
and afterwards the bonfire was lit and fireworks sent up.
During the blazing of the bonfire the new-married had the right of
proclaiming from the balcony of the Hôtel de Ville, "Les Valentins
et les Valentines," i.e. they called out the names of any of their
unmarried friends with the following words, "Qui donne-t-on à
M----?" "Mademoiselle ----" was answered by another, and the crowd
took up the names, expressing their approbation or otherwise.
In the course of the next week the Valentin was to send to his
Valentine a bouquet, or other present; if she accepted it, she
appeared, with the cadeau, at the toilette of the Duchess, on the
following Sunday; if no present had been sent by the Valentin, his
neighbours lit a fire of straw in front of his house, as a sign of
their displeasure.
The ladies were to give a ball to their Valentins, and if they did
not do so, a straw-fire was lit before their houses.
These fires were called "Brûler le Valentin," or "Valentine," and
showed "the new-married" had made a mistake in their choice for
the unmarried. The chronicle finishes by saying, "the people were so
pleased at seeing Stanislas and his queen taking a part in their fête,
that they did not pelt peas under their feet when dancing."
Nancy is not a town of very ancient date like its neighbours, Metz
and Toul; it dates only from the eleventh century, and even then it
was merely "a castle with a few houses clustered round."
Here Joan of Arc, born at Domremy, near Toul, was first presented by
the Sire de Baudricourt to Duke Charles II., who gave her a horse and
arms, and sent her to Chinon to the King, Charles VII. of France,
to whom Joan made use of the following words:--"Je vous promets de
par Dieu, premier qu'il soit un an, tous les Anglais hors de royaume
je mettrai, et vous certifie que la puissance en moi est."
After her barbarous murder the King ennobled all her family, males
and females, in perpetuity; and they retained this privilege into
the seventeenth century, when a parliamentary decree confined the
honours to the males.
Many in Lorraine believed that Joan was not really burnt: this belief
gave rise to several impostors, one of whom was so successful that she
deceived even Joan's brothers, and under her assumed name married a
certain Seigneur des Armoises: another was for some time believed in,
and fêted accordingly, but at last, being confronted with the King,
he posed her by asking what was the secret between them.
In 1445 the Duke of Suffolk arrived at Nancy to demand the hand of
Marguerite, René's beautiful daughter, for Henry VI. of England; René
willingly consented to this honour, and Marguerite went forth to pass
her troubled life in camps and battles, until, after the murder of
her husband and son, she returned to Lorraine, and died in 1482, near
St. Mihiel. She was remarkable, says the historian, for her virtues,
her talents, her courage, her misfortunes, and her beauty.
Charles the Bold besieged and took Nancy in 1475; contrary to his usual
custom, he was most affable to the citizens, wishing to make Nancy the
capital city of the new kingdom he proposed carving out for himself
from the adjoining states; but his quarrel with the Swiss arrested
the progress of these schemes, and in his absence René II. retook the
city, the garrison capitulating: after the capitulation the governor
sent René a pâté of horseflesh, and told him that for several days
they had been reduced to such nourishment.
Immediately afterwards Charles re-appeared, and again besieged
the city; René departed to procure assistance from the Swiss,
the garrison promising to hold out for two months; and in keeping
this promise it suffered great hardships,--the walls were in ruin,
a terrible disease appeared within the town, and no less than four
hundred men were frozen to death on Christmas night only.
At length René and the Swiss arrived; then the celebrated battle was
fought in which Charles was slain. It is said that before the fight
commenced he feared for the result, as, in putting on his helmet, the
crest fell to the ground. René re-entered his capital by torchlight
the same night.
Under its Duke, Charles IV., Nancy suffered much from war, and endured
several sieges; at length it was finally incorporated in the French
Empire in 1766.
CHAPTER IV.
Sweet age of girlhood's prime,
When glad, and gay, and free,
Loving and loved by all,
Life flows on joyously;
Ere yet earth's cares have dimm'd
Eyes bright with happiness,
Or thrown a shade of gloom
O'er the imagined bliss
Of coming life, which in
Dim future seems to shine,
Lit up by present hope
As jewels light the mine.
O fair Moselle! O sweetest Maid!
Who, dancing on midst sun and shade,
Hast left thy distant mountain home,
Through woods and valleys thus to roam;
May no sad shade thy life o'erspread,
No storm break o'er thy beauteous head,
But ever may thy fair wave glide
Peaceful, as when Meurthe's sparkling tide
Flows in, and gently whispering its tale doth tell
To thee, O Queen of Rivers, radiant Moselle!
It is a rich green valley where these waters meet, where the Meurthe
dies, and dying, gives her waters to increase those of her friend.
Bountifully watering the valley's soil, our river flows through the
department named after her, Moselle, and forms a large island, where
the ancient Roman aqueduct formerly strode over.
Of this aqueduct sixteen arches and one column still remain on the
right bank, at the village named Jouy aux Arches; from the gardens
above, the river is seen glittering through the valley, which is
framed into pictures by the huge arches.
Of course a legend exists that the Devil built this aqueduct. He had
promised to do it, for some unknown consideration, before cock-crow;
the cock, however, crowed too soon, and the Devil, irritated with the
cock and himself, kicked down an unoffending arch: the uncompleted
aqueduct soon became ruinous.
Another legend makes Azita (a daughter of Noah) the builder of these
arches; she, being a cautious lady, erected them in order that,
if another flood came, she might climb up and be safe.
This aqueduct, which was six leagues long, poured its waters into a
vast bason, where representations of naval engagements were given by
the Romans. It was already a ruin in the tenth century.
Jouy is about six miles from Metz, which is esteemed the strongest city
in France, and is garrisoned by twelve thousand men. As we approach
the town the beautiful cathedral is seen looming large above the
other buildings; it was commenced in the eleventh century, and not
completed until the sixteenth: it is elegant in its proportions and
beautiful in its detail; another older church is incorporated into it,
and its windows are filled with very beautiful stained glass.
Approaching the town, the river breaks into two branches, and
another stream comes in, all helping to fortify the old capital of
the Austrasians.
The history of Metz is one of the most interesting that can be studied;
its first appearance in history is as the capital of the Mediomatrices,
and early it became the see of a Christian Bishop.
In the fifth century, Attila with his Huns swept like a pestilence over
Europe, and Metz was sacked and burnt; to the Romans, Attila was "the
Scourge of God," to his countrymen little less than a god himself. At
length he was defeated by the allied Germans and Romans on the plains
of Chalons, after losing two hundred thousand men; but even then his
power was unbroken, and in a few months he was before Rome, which
city he was induced to spare by the intercession of the Pontiff, Leo,
who, arrayed in priestly robes and surrounded by his clergy chanting
hymns, sought him in his camp. Soon after he retreated northwards,
and was murdered by his wife, Criemhilda, who was of German origin:
with him fell his vast empire, and the Huns disappeared beyond the
Black Sea. This extraordinary century saw the rise and fall of three
separate kings and tribes. First came Alaric, king of the Visigoths,
who overran the Roman Empire and took Rome itself by storm, A.D. 410;
but soon after, dying suddenly, his kingdom perished with him. His
body, it is said, was laid in the bed of an Italian river, from which
the stream had been diverted; an immense treasure was placed around
him, and the stream returning to its natural course, the labourers
were murdered, and thus the secret of his burial-place was hid for
ever. After him came Attila; and lastly, Odoacer, sprung from the
Heruli, became the King of Italy, dethroning Romulus Augustus, the
last Roman Emperor: he perished too, being murdered in 493 by orders
of Theodoric the Ostrogoth.
During all these wars, and midst the crash of falling empires,
rose slowly the sun of Christianity, and soon its penetrating beams
dispersed the night that had obscured earth since the Roman splendour
had passed away. Now a king was baptized, and anon a martyr died, both
events alike serving to spread the religion of peace; and on the ruins
of Paganism is now built up the Church of Christ, and a new period
of the world's history begins with the downfall of the Roman Empire.
The history of Metz at this early period is the history of the
Austrasian kingdom, of which it was the capital.
At the beginning of the fifth century, a nation called the Franks
appeared upon the scene of history: this nation was a powerful
confederacy of German tribes, and came from the north-western parts
of Germany.
They took possession of the neighbouring lands as far as the Moselle,
and, the half of them settling on that river, were called the
Salii. Gaul soon after being abandoned by the Romans, the Salii became
an entirely independent nation, and about A.D. 420, being emulous of
the fame of the great Gothic King (Alaric), they for the first time
elected a king over themselves, and composed the celebrated Salique
law. This king is handed down to us under the name of Pharamond,
but it is very doubtful whether such a person ever existed; he was
succeeded by Clodion, whose successor, Merowig, was the founder of
the Merovingian dynasty: his grandson, Clovis, was the real founder of
the kingdom of the Franks; he died "leaving a kingdom more extensive
than that of modern France."
He divided his territories into four parts, but his son Clotaire
reunited them. Clovis was baptized a Christian in A.D. 493; he was
ever the champion of the Church against the great Arian heresy, and
has received, therefore, from the Church's hands, a meed of praise,
certainly unwarranted, "as he had on all occasions shown himself a
heartless ruffian, a greedy conqueror, and a bloodthirsty tyrant;"
his great power was only attained by wading through a sea of blood,
flowing not only from enemies, but also from his nearest relatives
and friends.
Clotaire, who is recorded as having been "cruel and licentious,
even for a Merovingian," dying, the kingdom was again divided by his
sons into four parts, Sigebert receiving Austrasia, with Metz for
his capital.
He married the beautiful Brunhilda, daughter of Athanagildis, king
of the Visigoths; and his brother, Chilperic, married her sister:
this sister was murdered at the instigation of Fredegunda, to whom
Chilperic was shortly after married. Then began a series of murders
and bloodshed between the rivals Brunhilda and Fredegunda.
Never, says the historian, has one family amassed such a heritage of
crime as King Clovis and his descendants,--the cruelties and murders
of his sons were far exceeded by those of his grandsons, their wives,
and successors. The history of this period is a chaos of murders,
treachery, and license. The kings lived each with several wives and
concubines, murdering each other and committing every crime; while
the queens caused those who opposed their power to be assassinated,
poisoned even their own sons, and sowed dissensions on all sides,
leading as vile lives as their husbands. Thus the Merovingian race
fell under the weight of its own crimes, and, long before its final
extinction in 752, it possessed but the shadow of authority, the real
power being in the hands of subjects, termed Mayors of the Palace,
who, from being mere house-stewards, rose to be leaders of the armies
and presidents of the councils of their effeminate monarchs.
It is curious to find this debased family, through all their misdeeds,
crimes, and impotency, still regarded with affection and veneration by
the mass of their subjects; and although mere puppets in the hands of
the Mayors, the people must have been unaware of their loss of dignity,
and their eyes must have been systematically blinded by a fictitious
state being preserved round these nominal kings. The following legend
of Theolinda will exemplify this; the Sigebert referred to is Sigebert
III., son of Dagobert I., who was the last of the family that exercised
anything like independent authority.
THEOLINDA.
On the banks of the Moselle, Theolinda was the fairest shepherdess;
happy in love and beauty, she sat by the river's bank, Alcidor's arm
around her. While sitting thus they were surprised by the approach
of Sigebert and his Queen, who were passing a few days in a solitary
castle which stood near the banks of the Moselle, surrounded by groves.
The King asked Alcidor if he would wish to serve in the army as a
knight's squire; and the Queen offered Theolinda to place her among her
ladies, where she would be "as a rose among wild flowers." Both humbly
declined, urging that love was sufficient for them, but professed
that they were ready to lay down their lives, if needful, for their
King: he smiled and left them, assuring them of his protection and
assistance, should they need it.
The hordes of the Vandals were threatening Austrasia, and Sigebert
stood on the defensive, feeling his weakness; his general took up a
strong position in the Vosges mountains, and there awaited the enemy.
The news of these events reached the quiet valleys of the Moselle,
and Alcidor hastened to fulfil his promise to the King, and joined
the army that was gathering in the forest of Ardennes; being known
as a brave man, and perfectly acquainted with the intricacies of the
forest, he was appointed to command a body of bowmen.
A battle ensued, and Alcidor, with his war-cry of "Theolinda,"
drove all before him, but in the heat of the battle a javelin struck
his heart; the battle was lost, and Theolinda heard the news from
a grey-haired shepherd: she dropped senseless to the ground, but
recovering, hastened to the royal camp.
The King was sitting in his council-chamber, surrounded by his
courtiers, in the city of Metz, when a knight came in and said,
"Gracious prince! while setting the watch a virgin approached me; she
was majestically handsome and mild. First I took her for a divinity,
but she addressed me in the following words,--'Permit me to speak to
the General before the King quits the council-chamber.'"
"Admit her," quoth the King.
And Theolinda entered, looking mildly and steadfastly around.
"Poor shepherdess!" said the King, "thy faithful lover hath fallen;
his memory will ever be dear to us. What can I do for thee?"
"Oh, King," replied Theolinda, "last night I saw him in my dreams,
and he told me that by the decree of Heaven I am ordained to stop
the career of the barbarian hordes. Wheresoever I cast my looks there
shall the dark-red banner fail; the lilies shall advance carried by
thy general, I preceding. Thus the white dove shall precede the army
and victoriously soar aloft like the royal eagle; and I am come,
my King, to lead thy warriors to victory."
The King, without hesitation, exclaimed, "I feel the power of her
words, and grant Theolinda's request."
Arrayed in glittering armour, and a white plume on her head, Theolinda
preceded the King's army: the King, on a fleet horse, flew from rank to
rank encouraging, and victory crowned their efforts; the routed Vandals
fled; and peace and prosperity returned to the banks of the Moselle.
Returning in triumph, the festive train proceeded to the Cathedral,
and all being assembled within the sacred edifice, the King asked,
"Where is the heroic maid that saved the country?"
At these words the ranks of the guards opened, and Theolinda appeared;
her arms were bright as the morning-star, her eyes were clear and
serious, roses adorned her floating hair. The King addressed her thus:
"Be a member of the most noble order; Pharamond's sword knights thee."
The virgin humbly bent her knee, he touched her with his sword, and
knights and people shouted, "Hail! all hail! blessed be the saviour
of her country!"
One only request she made, which was, that at her death her ashes
should be laid with those of the dead Alcidor; and then, heedless of
remonstrance, departed to live the life of a hermit in the wilderness;
and many suffering pilgrims wandered to her for consolation.
Many years in pious seclusion she lived; at length Alcidor again
appeared to her in a dream, and said, "Thy time of probation is ended;
follow me now to the regions of eternal bliss!" She inclined her head
and died. They laid her, as she had requested, with Alcidor.
In many points of view this legend is curious and interesting;
perhaps, could we tear the veil from history, we might find that these
Merovingians were not so black as they are painted, or, at any rate,
that it was owing to some redeeming points that they lived thus in
their subjects' hearts. Curious especially is this legend, inasmuch
as in all probability it may have incited Joan of Arc to perform
her deeds, the similarity of the two stories being remarkable; and
there can be but little doubt that this legend was rife at Joan's
day in this district, near which she lived: in any case, the legend
is touchingly simple and beautiful; it is given at great length in
"Traditions of the Countries of the Rhine," by Dr. Aloys Schreiber.
The Bishops of Metz early played an important part in history. Arnulph,
who flourished about 622, was almost a king in power, and from him
descended Charles Martel, whose son Pepin became in name, as his
father had long been in fact, King of France.
Pepin's son Charlemagne, we are told, held his court at Thionville
(about twenty miles lower down the Moselle). Here he was accompanied by
his seven beautiful daughters; all taught to work in wool, to ride, and
to hunt, in order that they might not be corrupted by idleness: they
all supped with him, and when he journeyed rode after him on horseback.
Charlemagne was said to have been seven feet high, and his arm was
as mighty as his genius; wisdom and dignity sat on his brow; his seal
was the handle of his sword, and he was wont to say, "With my sword I
maintain all to which I affix my seal." He died in 814, and was buried
sitting upright as on a throne, and clothed in his imperial robes.
His successor, Louis, convoked the States at Thionville in 835; no
less than eight Archbishops and thirty-five Bishops attended on this
occasion, so numerous had become the Christian prelates. In 869 Charles
the Bald was crowned at Metz, the Bishops of Metz and Toul being
especially mentioned; and in his grandson's reign we find a Bishop
Wala, of Metz, killed before the gates of that city, while fighting
bravely in its defence against the Norsemen, who at this period made
frequent incursions into France and the adjoining countries. Bishops
had ceased to be pastors, and become warriors and temporal princes.
The Bishops of Metz were long able to maintain their authority
in the city, though often the citizens disputed it. In Henry the
Fowler's reign, Metz became a free imperial city; and in the twelfth
century a Maître Echevin, with twelve councillors, was established,
and for centuries this form of government was adhered to: thus the
Bishops were superseded by a Republic. They still, however, enjoyed
considerable power, being the principal parties in the election of
the Maître and his council.
A curious legend of Metz is handed down to us from the beginning of
the thirteenth century.
THE MIRACULOUS SHIRT.
In Metz there lived a lady named Florentina, whose husband, Alexander,
was going to the Crusades; she presented him, on his departure,
with a miraculous shirt, which would always retain its purity (a
great comfort in a crusade).
The Knight was taken prisoner, and being put to labour, the Sultan
remarked the extraordinary circumstance of a prisoner being always
in a clean shirt, and inquired the reason. Alexander told him it
was a miraculous shirt, which would always remain as spotless as his
wife's virtue.
The Sultan despatched a cunning man to undermine the lady's virtue,
as he thought ill of the sex.
The emissary was quite unsuccessful.
Florentina having learnt from the cunning man her husband's
condition, disguised herself as a pilgrim, and reached the place of
his captivity. She then, by her singing, so charmed the Sultan, that,
at her request, he made her a present of a slave who she selected. This
was her husband; and she gave him his liberty, and received in exchange
from him a piece of the miraculous shirt, he not recognising his wife.
Florentina hastened back to Metz, but Alexander arrived there first,
and was informed by his friends of his wife's long absence during his
captivity. When she arrived, he bitterly reproached her (although
the shirt had not become dirty). She explained, and produced the
piece he had given her, thus showing how she had been employed;
and so they lived happily together.
Very quaint is this legend, and we are at a loss to understand the
origin of so curious an invention. The following is a story of the
same date, and, though not belonging to Metz, serves to illustrate
this period:--
A Thuringian Count, who was married, being taken prisoner in the East,
the Sultan's daughter fell in love with him, gave him his liberty,
and fled with him to Europe, he promising to marry her.
On arriving at home he presented her to his Countess, and with the
consent of all parties, and the Pope's sanction, wedded her also, and
they all three lived very happily together. At Erfurt may be seen the
three effigies, the Count in the centre: the tombs have been opened,
and one of the skulls was found to be like an Asiatic's, thus in some
measure corroborating the truth of this remarkable tale.
We have now emerged from what may be termed the ancient history of
Metz, and the more detailed accounts of the modern period give us a
series of sieges, battles, and plots, from which we will select those
appearing the most interesting.
In 1354 the Emperor Charles IV. remained some time at Metz,
and returned there again two years after, when he held a Diet, at
which the Archbishops of Trèves, Cologne, and Mayence, and the four
lay-Electors, were present. At this Diet additions were made to the
celebrated Golden Bull, which was then published, and remained the
law of the Empire until the nineteenth century. Metz was now at the
height of its glory. Now, say the "Annals," Metz was resplendent with
knights, princes, dukes, and archbishops. The Emperor, clothed with
the imperial ensigns, and surrounded by the great officers of state,
the naked sword in his hand and the crown on his head, attended
service in the Cathedral.
A party in the town wished to raise a tumult, and deliver the city
to the Emperor; but the Cardinal de Piergort representing the infamy
of such treachery, the Emperor sent for the chiefs of the city and
gave up to them the traitors, who, when night-time came, were drowned
in the river. The Emperor departed, and then followed a series of
discords unimportant except to the actors.
In 1365, companies of countrymen, and pillagers set free by the peace
of Bretigny, succeeded each other in attacking Metz, and ravaging the
neighbourhood. With some difficulty they were defeated and dispersed.
No sooner were these petty wars ended, than a larger one broke out
with the Lorrainese; and the Count de Bar advanced to Metz and defied
the Messins to combat, sending them a bloody gauntlet. The citizens,
however, declined the conflict, and peace was concluded.
In 1405 an émeute took place in the town, and the people rising
turned out the magistrates, and replaced them with their own
representatives. Soon, however, the ancient rulers managed to reinstate
themselves, and took a bloody vengeance on their enemies.
In 1407, the Duke de Bar resolved to take Metz by surprise. He secretly
fitted out a train of boats, filled with arms and munitions of war,
and sent a large body of soldiers, who secreted themselves near the
town. All was prepared, and on the morrow an attack was to be made,
when a sudden panic seized the attacking party, and they fled, leaving
their boats and munitions, by which the Messins learnt the peril they
had escaped.
In 1444, a furious war was waged between the Duke of Lorraine and the
Messins: the Duke was assisted by his brother-in-law, Charles VII. of
France. The quarrel originated in some money claims that the city had
on the Duchess of Lorraine, which claims she refused to satisfy. The
irritated Messins seized on the lady's baggage between Pont-à-Mousson
and Nancy, as she was performing a pilgrimage to the former. The
Duke, in revenge, besieged the city, and the burghers ravaged his
territories. Much blood was shed on both sides, until at last peace
was made between the belligerents by the King, who received a sum of
money from the Messins. So powerful was this republic, that it could
single-handed wage war with a sovereign prince.
A few years after, when the celebrated War of Investitures took place,
the Messins were called on to fight for Adolphe of Nassau, the nominee
of the Pope. They pleaded their privileges and the late ruinous wars,
and begged to remain neutral. The Pope, in consequence, excommunicated
the city; a great number of the clergy obeyed the Papal Bull, and
left in procession for Pont-à-Mousson, with the cross and banners at
their head. For three years this extraordinary state of things lasted,
during which time the churches were empty and the dying unshriven. At
length the Pope took off the interdict, and the priests and canons
returned, but the Messins had to pay dearly for their opposition to
ecclesiastical power.
About this period the wily Louis XI. of France thought the time
was come for joining Metz to his dominions; he accordingly wrote a
kind, mild letter to the citizens, suggesting that they should put
themselves under his protection, and thus secure their peace. The
citizens wrote back cautiously, but expressed their surprise at the
King's proposition; he, fearing to incense and thus throw so powerful
a city into alliance with the noblesse that were taking part against
him, disowned his herald, and denied the letter he had sent.
The next event was an endeavour to take Metz by storm, on the part
of the Duke of Lorraine, and it very nearly succeeded. Early in the
morning of the 9th April, 1473, while the Messins still slept, ten
thousand Lorrainese arrived near the walls from Pont-à-Mousson, having
marched during the night; with them was a certain Krantz, nicknamed
"La Grande Barbe," who had constructed a peculiar waggon, filled with
casks, which was capable of sustaining the weight of a portcullis,
and thus preventing its closing when once it had been raised.
Disguised as merchants, Krantz and some of his companions,
with a train of waggons filled with casks, among which was the
peculiarly-constructed one, appeared before the city gates, and were
admitted; the waggons entered, and the particular one was halted
immediately beneath the portcullis, the pretended merchants then
rushed on the guardian of the gate and killed him.
Being joined by a select body of five hundred men, who quickly entered,
La Grande Barbe raised the shout of "Ville gagnée!" adding, "Slay,
slay, women and children; spare none! Vive Lorraine!"
The awakened burghers rushed in disorder from their beds, knowing
what these sounds portended, and all was lost but for the presence of
mind of a baker named Harelle, who lived near the gate under which the
waggon was stationed. He ran to the house over the gate, and succeeded
in lowering the side portions of the portcullis, so that horsemen
could not enter, and foot soldiers only by creeping under the waggon.
Then rushing into the streets, Harelle rallied and encouraged the
citizens, and finally routed the Lorrainese, slaying La Grande Barbe
and two hundred of his companions, the rest escaping by flight.
In a few minutes all was over; the assaulters dead or flown, the
gates reclosed, and the assembled Council preparing to prosecute the
war. Thus the clear-headed baker saved the good city of Metz.
In 1473 the Emperor Frederick III. visited the town, and the keys being
presented to him, he promised solemnly to preserve the liberties of
the citizens. He then, accompanied by his son, Maximilian, entered
in state, followed by the Archbishop of Mayence, and other princes
and prelates.
The Messins had been so harassed by attempts at surprise that they
now were ever on their guard against them; and so fearful had they
become, that when the Emperor, in visiting their church, came to
the great bell, and expressed a wish to hear it sound, they declined
respectfully, saying it was an old custom only to sound it thrice in
the year. This they did, fearing it might be meant as a signal of
attack on their hardly-maintained liberties. They also had, during
the Emperor's visit, 2000 men constantly under arms, ready to obey
the Maître Echevin's orders at a moment's notice; and they kept strict
guard over the gates.
While Frederick was with them the Messins refused to admit Charles
the Bold, with more than five hundred horsemen. He was furious,
but the Emperor agreed to meet him at Trèves instead; and afterwards
Duke Charles had no time or opportunity to revenge himself on Metz,
but rather conciliated that powerful city, and when he took Nancy
sent a present of cannon and other spoil to the Messins, who were
delighted at the misfortune of their old enemies, the Lorrainese.
In 1491 another attempt was made by the Duke of Lorraine to gain
possession of the town. Surprise and stratagem having previously
failed, he now tried treachery, and secured the services of a certain
Sire Jehan de Landremont, who induced one of the gatekeepers, named
Charles Cauvellet, a Breton by birth, but who had acquired the rights
of citizenship, to join the plot.
All was easily arranged, thanks to Cauvellet, who had the keys of the
city. A day was fixed on, but it turning out so rainy that the river
flooded the approaches to the town, a fresh day was named; in the
meantime Cauvellet's conscience pricked him, and he confessed the plot
to the Maître Echevin. His life was spared, but the Sire de Landremont,
after his sentence had been read at every cross-street in the town,
he being led about on horseback for this purpose, was strangled,
drawn, and quartered. He died with a smile on his countenance, saying
he only regretted having been unsuccessful.
A peace was soon after patched up between René and the Messins.
Though so long resisting, the city was doomed eventually to fall by
treachery, and the time at length arrived.
In 1552, Henry II. of France entered Lorraine, and occupied
Pont-à-Mousson. On the 10th of April he presented himself before the
gates of Metz, which is styled in the annals of the day "a great and
rich imperial city, very jealous of its liberties." Although Henry
had taken the most rigorous measures to suppress Protestantism in his
own dominions, he here appeared as the champion of that religion,
and entered into a secret treaty with the Protestant Princes, who
agreed that he should occupy Metz, Courtrai, Toul, and Verdun, as
Vicar-Imperial. Henry, wishing to gain immediate possession of Metz,
engaged his ally, the Bishop, to bribe the inhabitants of the "Quartier
du Heu," and raise dissensions among the garrison. These preparations
made, the Sieur de Tavannes arrived before that quartier, and harangued
the people, telling them that the good King Henry was fighting for
their liberties, and they could not do less than allow him to lodge in
their town with his body-guard of five hundred men. "Surely that was
not too much to grant to their defender?" The people, half-persuaded,
allowed a body of men to approach and commence filing through the
gate, but seeing that instead of five hundred there were nearly five
thousand drawing near, they wished to close the gate; but Tavannes
continued to speak them fair until upwards of seven hundred picked
men had entered, when a Swiss captain, who held the keys for Metz,
seeing the number, threw the keys at Tavannes' head, exclaiming in
the idiom of the country, "Tout est choué."
Thus was Metz taken, kings and nobles thinking any treachery fair
against mere bourgeois. Of course Henry kept it for himself, not the
Protestant interest; and henceforward it remained a portion of the
French dominions.
Before the Emperor Charles V. allowed so important a free city quietly
to revert to France, he sent Alba with a large army to besiege it,
he remaining at Thionville to watch proceedings, his health being
too bad to allow him to prosecute the siege in person.
The town was defended by the young Duke of Guise, who turned out all
the women, old men, and children, and pulled down half the town in
order the better to defend the other half; working himself in the
trenches, he by his example so encouraged his soldiers and citizens,
that they sustained all the assaults of the Imperialists.
Charles V., seeing that the siege did not progress, and that the
breaches were repaired as fast as made; finding also that his own army
was rapidly wasting with cold and sickness, reluctantly ordered Alba
to raise the siege; the Duke retired, leaving his tents and sick,
together with a great quantity of baggage and munitions: to the
credit of the conquerors, they treated the sick with great kindness,
contrary to the usual custom at that period. Charles departed, saying
that he perceived "Fortune, like other women, accorded her favours
to the young, and disdained grey locks."
In 1555, the people of Metz became exceedingly discontented at the
Governor's taking-away many of their ancient liberties; this gave
rise to the
PLOT OF THE CORDELIERS.
A Cordelier, named le Père Léonard, guardian of a convent, engaged
many of the leading townspeople in a conspiracy to retake Metz from
the French.
For this purpose, having first persuaded his brother monks to join him,
he introduced into the convent, which had walls capable of defence,
arms and soldiers.
He then agreed with the Governor of Thionville to open an entrance
into the town for a body of Imperialist troops on a given night;
at the same time, to distract the French, the town was to be fired
in several places.
Vieilleville, the Governor of Metz, hearing that a Cordelier was
constantly seen in conversation with the Governor of Thionville,
became suspicious, and suddenly visiting the convent, found the arms
and concealed men; he also seized Père Léonard as he entered the city
on his return from Thionville, and learning from him that a body of
Imperial troops was to march to Metz that very night, despatched
a force, which, taking them by surprise, routed them and cut them
to pieces.
The monks, from whom by promises and threats he had extorted a full
disclosure of the plot, he threw into a dungeon, telling them they
should be hanged next day, and might confess to each other.
On the dungeon being opened in the morning, it was found that the
monks, enraged with the Superior, who had drawn them into the plot, had
killed him and maimed his four advisers; these latter were, with ten of
their brethren, hanged, and the ten youngest were exiled from the town.
In 1631, Metz capitulated to Gustavus Adolphus; he remained there all
the winter, and presented the Bishop's library to his Chancellor,
Oxenstiern, who sent it off to Sweden; but the vessel sank and the
books were lost.
The only other extract from the history of Metz we shall here give
is of a different character.
Louis XV. arrived at Metz with a strong army, in order to oppose
Charles of Lorraine, whose duchy he had given to Stanislas of Poland.
Louis, who was accompanied by his mistress, the Duchess of Châteauroux,
and her sister, was taken mortally ill; previously there had been
erected a wooden gallery, which led, along the sides of four streets,
from the Duchess's apartments to those of the King: this gallery
was now given up at the angry remonstrances of the people, who were
much scandalized by the proceedings, and the sisters proceeded to
the King's residence, where they shut themselves into an apartment
adjoining that of the dying monarch.
The Duke de Richelieu, who was in league with the Duchess, was First
Lord of the Bedchamber, and would not allow any of the Princes to
have access to the King.
The town urged the King's Confessor to remonstrate with him, but he
refused; then the Bishop of Soissons undertook the task, and threatened
the King that he would not administer the last sacrament to him if he
refused to dismiss his mistresses. The doors were thrown open between
the King's room and that where the Duchesses sat, anxiously waiting
the turn of events.
At length the King was induced to order them to depart, and they fled
into the country.
Contrary to all expectation, and in consequence of a strong dose
administered by a quack, the King recovered, after he had been given
over by his doctors and received the last sacrament. The Duchesses
were recalled.
Metz at the present day is the chief town of the Department of the
Moselle; it is situated on both banks and the island formed by the
embranchment of the river: its picturesque streets are connected by
several bridges, from which the views are very striking.
It has excellent bathing establishments, fine cafés, a theatre,
good shops, and above all a promenade, almost unequalled in beauty;
it is situated on very high ground, densely shaded with great trees:
seats, and flowers, and grass are there; the military bands play in the
evening; the ladies are handsome and well-dressed, and from the walks
the view extends for many miles over the green plains of the Moselle;
the different branches of the river shine in the valley; the sun sets
over the hills which westward bound the view, its golden light streams
through the foliage and suffuses the whole valley; little boats glide
up and down the stream; merry voices sing in the distance; and thus,
with music, beauty, and sunshine, we leave the old Austrasian capital.
CHAPTER V.
Leaving Metz, and all its soldiers, ramparts, and ditches far behind,
our river, passing through a level country, arrives at Thionville. This
town was in the diocese of Trèves, and dependent on the Parliament of
Metz. Here Charlemagne had a favourite palace; and here, in a solemn
assembly, he parted his vast estates between his three sons.
Its history is like that of Metz, made up of sieges, assaults, and
surprises, but of less importance and less interest. It was always a
strong place, and at the present day its fortifications, constructed
by Vauban and Cormontaigne, are amongst the strongest in Europe: it
lies in a level plain, and is uninteresting, though rather picturesque.
The Moselle rolls on, and in about twelve miles reaches Sierck, a
clean little town, on its right bank; and then we pass from France
to Prussia, and our river becomes German, its future beauty beginning
to dawn as it approaches Trèves. Two streams here increase the volume
of her waters--a smaller one on the left, and the Saar on the right.
There is one peculiar charm about the banks and neighbourhood of
the Moselle, found equally at its source near Bussang, and amidst
the German hills, this is, the number and variety of the beautiful
wild-flowers with which its whole course teems, and with which our
river is, as it were, garlanded.
MOSELLE FLOWERS.
Where the Mosel [1] murmurs low,
As its waters gently flow
Through the woods and flow'ry dells,
There a wood-nymph hidden dwells.
Hidden she from mortal view,
Yet her footsteps may be traced
Where the night has scattered dew.
And the boughs are interlaced.
If her feet have pressed the ground,
There the blooming flowers are found;
These gifts mark where she has strayed,--
Thus we trace the fairy maid.
The violet and lily grow.
The wild-rose and the tiny pink.
And the brilliant corn-flowers blow.
Hard by the gentle river's brink;
The foxglove waves its lofty head
Above the trickling streamlet's bed;
The wild convolvulus doth twine
Its graceful arms around the vine.
The snapdragon and mignonette.
The clematis and flox,
In ev'ry vale are frequent met;
And springing from the rocks,
The broom, the fern, and sweet red heather.
Profuse are found in groups together.
The raspberry, strawberry, and thyme,
Over every hill do climb;
And in ev'ry wild retreat
We find the honeysuckle sweet.
Blackberries, with fruit and thorn,
With the wild hop intertwine;
All these flowers the woods adorn,
And their loveliness combine.
So the wood-nymph's steps we trace,
As she roams from place to place,
Scattering beauty o'er the ground;
Thus the earth with flowers is crowned.
Only a few of the flowers that we find growing there are enumerated in
the above; moreover, they are more beautiful than wild flowers usually
are, attaining to great size; the enothera, harebells, and campanulas,
with wild geraniums, and a host of others, go to swell the list.
Before the Saar runs in, the red rocks of Trèves appear on the
left bank, jutting over the trees, close to the river's course;
then they retire inland, until the old Roman bridge is reached;
there they again approach, and from their heights the remnant of old
Trèves is spread out, environed by its avenues and studded with its
churches and ruins. The river is beneath; and the eight-arched bridge,
complete as in the golden days of Rome, clasps the waist of our river
as a zone encircling that of a young girl just budding into womanhood.
And so, our graceful woman-stream at Trèves ceases her girlhood and
becomes more beautiful, more reflective, and more graceful; the hills
draw near, and the vineyards sparkle among the rocks; her handmaidens,
the brooks, wait at every turn to tend her, increasing her beauty;
and following in her train, pass along in glorious procession, the
trees bending and the rocks falling back before the might of innocence
and love.
Strong in innocence, with virgin bosom unsullied, nothing less bright
than heaven's reflection ever having rested there; but mightier
still in love,--abounding love,--that causes her to feed the earth
and fertilise the soil wherever she passes; so that man, receiving
at her hands his daily food, thanks and blesses her, and praises,
through her, her Creator.
We, the lookers-on, or lighter toilers, should bless her surely not
less than the poor vine-dresser or digger of the soil. True, for one
she has carved the rock into sunny platforms, and for the other she
has left upon the rocks a thick coating of productive earths; but to
us she has given that brighter gift of higher value far,--the impress
of God's beneficence, not merely through material food and drink,
but through the superior senses which feed the mind.
It is impossible to wander from the source of our Moselle, to muse
over the rise and fall of the nations and cities on her banks, to
look upon her rocks and flowers, to glide adown her stream, to stand
amidst the ruined walls of her old towers, to watch the seed-time and
harvest on her banks, the clustering bunches and the brilliant glow of
the wine and corn, with all the lesser incidents adorning her;--it is
impossible to view all these, to ruminate and gaze, to live with her
and be of her in all her windings, all her sunshine and refreshing
shade, and not imbibe a portion of her spirit; a portion, larger as
we look deeper and think more, of her innocence and peace of mind,
which, laid up within our hearts, as the corn and wine within the
store, will give us at a future time joy and gladness.
Harvest-time passes, and the vintage ends; but when the long winter
comes, their productiveness is present, and the stores laid up are
found to be indeed true treasures.
CHAPTER VI.
"Augusta Trevirorum" of the Romans, "Trier" of the Germans, and
"Trèves" to English, is, or at any rate claims to be, the most
ancient city of Europe; according to the legend it was founded by
a Prince Trebeta, who was driven out of his Asiatic possessions by
Semiramis. He is described as having been a wise and strong prince,
who built a magnificent palace of vast strength on the heights over
the Moselle, opposite to the town, which he called after his own
name: these things he did 1300 years before the foundation of Rome;
and on the "Rothen Haus" in Trèves are still the words, "Ante Romam
Treviris stetit annis mille trecentis." A picture, said to represent
this Prince Trebeta, is in the Town-hall: he is sitting on his father's
lap, with the spires of the Cathedral in his hand.
Very interesting is Trèves; and if we cannot place confidence in Prince
Trebeta and his days, we must turn to that surer period when it was
the capital of the Roman dominions beyond the Alps, and received the
name of Augusta of the Trevii; these Trevii being the German tribe
residing around this part of the Moselle.
Under its Roman name Trèves rose to the height of its glory; it
was then celebrated for the number of its magnificent temples, its
splendid palaces, its amphitheatre and baths. Remnants of this past
splendour still exist; such as portions of the baths and amphitheatre,
the bridge, and especially the Porta Nigra, which is one of the finest
Roman ruins extant.
Trèves was frequently the residence of the Roman Emperors, and
its inhabitants had all the privileges of Roman citizenship. In
the last half of the third century Galienus held his court here;
and here Maximian was attacked by the Franks, whom he defeated. Here
Constantine the Great, when celebrating a victory that he had gained
over the Franks, caused two of the captive princes to be thrown
to wild beasts in the arena. They met their death with smiles,
and shortly after the whole of the German nation rose to avenge
them. Constantine disguised himself, and entering the hostile camp,
gave the enemy false information, which led to their total defeat,
A.D. 310. The simple-minded Germans were no match for the Romans
in fraud; they deemed any ambuscade, or advantage taken against an
enemy, dishonourable, and we even find them sending messages to their
opponents of the day and hour upon which they intended to attack them.
The cruelty of throwing captives to wild beasts, however, we find
surpassed by a German named Magnentius, who, having become a Roman
soldier, set himself up for Emperor in opposition to Constantius. This
Magnentius, on the eve of the great battle of Marsa, sacrificed
a maiden, and mixing her blood with wine, gave his army to drink,
and invoked his gods, pouring a libation of this fiendish drink in
their honour. He was totally defeated, and killed himself.
The Western Empire of the Romans fell, and Germans walked the streets
of Rome, supplanting with their fresh vigour the worn-out strength
of that wonderful empire, on the ruins of which their leaders planted
their feet, which at first slipped and stumbled, but eventually found
a firm basis, on which was erected what we call Modern History.
Many legends are given us by the German poets connected with Trèves;
the following are the most remarkable:--
LEGEND OF THE GREAT CANAL FROM TRÈVES TO COLOGNE.
For more than a hundred years the people of Cologne had been
endeavouring to raise a Cathedral that should eclipse all others. The
master-builder was busy making measurements for the arch of the
great door, when one of his apprentices jeeringly said the building
would never be finished, but ever remain in fragments. Thereupon
the master waxed wroth and dismissed the apprentice, who departed,
saying: "Woe to thee, O my master! never shall thy work be finished;
sooner shall I complete a canal from here to Trier, than shalt thou
place a tower upon thy cathedral."
Years passed on, and the Cathedral was rapidly approaching to
completion, when the master saw a huge worm creep from the ground. This
was the fiend, by whose assistance the apprentice had made a canal
from Trèves to Cologne: the apprentice appeared to the astonished
master and said, "Lo, my canal is complete, while thy church is yet
a fragment!" and water flowed from the canal, on which a duck came
swimming from Trèves.
The water rose and encompassed the master, who thus perished, and his
cathedral is still unfinished; but the wicked apprentice fared still
worse, for the great worm strangled him, and he is doomed evermore
to haunt the cathedral, measuring the uncompleted works.
The canal thus formed was used to send wine from Trèves to Cologne,
without the trouble of putting it into casks. [2]
Not less wonderful is the following:--
LEGEND OF THE DOM [3] OF TRÈVES.
While meditating over his undertaking, the contractor for the building
of the Dom was accosted by a gentlemanlike stranger in red, who said
to him in a hearty tone, "Cheer up, for I can help you; but first
tell me for what purpose you wish so large a house."
The contractor, delighted, guessed who the stranger was, and replied
in artful words that he wished to raise this house for a gambling
and drinking palace.
"Hurrah!" said the man in red, "just what I am fond of!" and they
agreed upon terms and went to work.
The building went bravely on, until the Red Man seeing altars and
such-like things arising, with which he was then unacquainted, asked
what it all meant; but being told that these were tables for dice,
was satisfied.
One day, returning from the roof to which he had been carrying
up large stones, the Red Man saw the Bishop consecrating the new
church; then the bells tolled solemnly, and Satan found he had been
outwitted. He rushed at an altar, and endeavoured to tear it down,
but left a claw sticking into it, it having been consecrated; then
with a yell he fled, and the contractor mocked him, shouting "Never
build more churches without a written agreement."
The conversion of the heathen Trevii to Christianity was, according
to the legend, thus effected:--
The people of Trèves worshipped a statue of marble, from whose mouth
oracles proceeded; troops of pilgrims came to Trèves to hear from
this idol's lips answers to their questions: but now a foreign priest
appeared before the crowd, and with a crucifix in his hand he spoke
to them of Christ the Son of God; the people, leaving their idol
for the Truth, flocked to his feet, in spite of the threats of the
heathen priests.
Thus Saint Eucharius converted the Trevii.
The Moselle country was especially resorted to by hermits, who lived
in recesses of the mountains; of these Saint Antony was the first.
Saint Nicolas was the patron of the bridge, and his statue stands
beneath the stone crucifix which adorns it. On one occasion, a mariner,
whose ship was in great danger of being cast away beneath the bridge,
called on the Saint, and vowed an offering of a taper as big as his
mast should he escape.
He landed in safety, but finding himself secure snapped his fingers
at the Saint, saying, "Nicolas, thou wilt not have so much." The
Saint replied not.
Again this mariner's vessel coming down the stream was in danger of
the bridge; once more he cried on Nicolas, but the water checked his
cry, and man and ship were lost.
There is another legend of the Moselle bridge, which we will call--
THE RING.
A certain man of noble family, after leading a glorious life,
committed fratricide; repenting of his crime he left his country,
and after many years arrived at Trèves.
At sunset he stood upon the Moselle bridge, and there, kneeling before
the crucifix, wept; his tears flowing into the stream beneath: an Angel
swept by, and left him a palm-twig from heaven. He exultingly cried,
"Lord, forgive my sins before my end--never will I cease to repent
my grievous sin;" then, throwing his ring, which he had taken from
his brother, into the river, he prayed that if he were forgiven it
should be returned to him.
Rising, he retired into a monastery, and eventually became a Bishop. A
fisherman one day arrived and offered him a fish; he took it, thinking
it a mark of reverence.
At dinner the cook approached and presented him with a ring, which
he had found within the fish.
The Bishop perceived it was his own, and exclaiming, "Heaven has sent
it to me as a proof of forgiveness!" expired.
THE CRUCIFIX IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
In the market-place at Trèves there stands a column, with a crucifix
on its summit. An inscription on it gives the following miracle as
the cause of its erection.
The Huns were swarming over Germany, burning and destroying all things:
their march was as a pestilence; but the people of Trèves were gay and
merry, as if no danger threatened,--they rioted in wine, and luxury.
One man only, within the city, still remained sober and prudent, and he
dreamt that he saw a great monster descending from the Marcusberg and
crawling its hideous length towards Trèves; arriving at the Moselle,
the loathsome monster rolled into its blue waves, and caused them so
to swell that the city was overflowed.
Awaking, this good man ran to the Archbishop and told his dream,
explaining its meaning to be that the Huns were marching on the city
by the Marcusberg; the Archbishop only laughed at him, at which he
grew angry: but soon better thoughts possessed him, and he prayed
Heaven to avert the impending ruin.
The sky grew black and dreadful; a nameless horror came upon the
people, and falling down they implored pardon for their sins, and
crosses fell from heaven.
Then, believing, they marched out to the Marcusberg, and finding the
Huns vanquished them.
Two new powers arose in Europe during the last days of the Roman
Empire: the one, as we have before said, planted its feet on the ruins
of Imperial Rome, and henceforth wielded her temporal authority,--this
was the German, or Frankish power; the other, amidst the fallen temples
overthrown by the German conquerors, raised up a fairer temple and a
purer worship,--this was the Church of Christ. At first over-shadowed
by the more gorgeous worship and grander temples of the false gods
of Paganism, the new Church had to struggle for a mere existence;
but these being overthrown, the remnants of Paganism soon melted away
before the innate majesty of truth, and the fanes of superstition
crumbling into dust, afforded a sure foundation for the new and
mightier edifice.
These two powers, at the extinction of the Western Empire, ruled
nearly the whole of Europe: neither was as yet concentrated, both had
many heads, and it was not until the two powers coalesced that either
attained that temporal influence which they have since possessed. Hand
in hand, we find these two powers progressing in might and influence;
sometimes a temporary quarrel would separate, but common interest
invariably reunited them.
It is in its infancy that the Church of Christ shines with its purest
light; and it is, consequently, to this period that the mind loves to
revert, and dwell on "that happy spring time" when the Fathers of the
Church went forth among the heathen, gathering the nations into one
family, the centre and head of which was God. How wonderful to watch
"the little star appearing in the East," and rising over the ruins
and decaying temples of old Rome, till gradually the whole air was
filled with the "light of truth!"
Alas! that a time should come when, waning from its throne on high, the
Church fell so low in the person of its ministers and adherents, that
we find the chroniclers of the fifteenth century recording that "Nuns
did what the Devil was ashamed to think; and that Abbots, by means of
their poverty, became the greatest proprietors; of their obedience,
mighty princes; and of their chastity, husbands of all women;" and we
hear of men complaining that they were not rich enough to become monks.
It is needless, however, here to give an account of those vicious
customs that arose within the bosom of the Church of Rome, and
eventually caused what we have quoted; we will rather turn to
the legends of the earlier period, many of which are singularly
beautiful. Among them we shall find many things which at first sight
may provoke a smile, but on reflection we shall arrive at the meaning
of what must be taken merely as an allegory.
For instance, we are told that "King Sigebert appointed St. Goar to
the Bishopric of Trèves, and the Saint entering the King's saloon,
hung his cloak over a sunbeam, to prove that he was enlightened by
God." This would probably be an illustration of the power of faith,
and so with the other legends of the time. Here we shall only select
a few that are immediately connected with Trèves.
LEGEND OF ORENDEL. [4]
The great King Eigel resided at Trèves. He was supreme over twelve
kingdoms; his favourite son was Orendel.
Orendel having reached his thirteenth birth-day was invested with a
sword, and vowed before the Virgin to be "a true chevalier on earth,
and a defender of widows and orphans;" then proceeding to his father,
he begged of him a wife, that the kingdom might have a queen.
His father told him there was none in all his kingdoms worthy to be
his spouse; but at Jerusalem there lived a beautiful Queen, Breide
by name, to whom the holy grave belonged: her he must seek, and could
he succeed in wedding her, his happiness would be complete.
Orendel, transported with the account of this virgin queen, prayed
his father to prepare him ships. His father consented, and three
years were spent in preparing for the expedition.
Then in a great assembly the young King, who wished none but volunteers
to go with him on his journey, spake aloud: "Where are ye, O courageous
Kings! who will risk with me the voyage to the Holy Tomb?" and eight
brave kings stepped out, each with a thousand knights.
Again King Orendel spake out: "Where are ye, Dukes and Counts! who
will join me in my voyage for the honour of God and the Holy Tomb?" and
a thousand nobles offered.
Once more spake Orendel: "Be warned, O Kings, and Knights, and
Nobles! ye will suffer hell's heat and distress before ye reach the
Tomb. Come not unwillingly, nor unarmed." Nothing daunted, all girded
their swords, and prepared for the long journey.
Thus went King Orendel forth from Trèves, surrounded by his kings and
knights, a golden cross grasped firmly in his hand, and the people
cheering. Embarking, he was carried by the Moselle upon his course,
and in the Holy Land he found his "Breide."
THE GREAT MASSACRE.
Varus, the governor of Gaul, caused so many Christians to be massacred
in Trèves that the Moselle ran red with blood, until it reached
Neumagen. For this he was condemned to ramble restlessly about the
city after his death, and to do deeds of kindness, assisting every
one requiring his aid in Trèves. In this character he is called
"the City Ghost."
In after days a penitent from Trèves sought absolution from the
Pope. The latter ordered him to fetch a piece of earth from Trèves;
and on the penitent's again presenting himself with the earth, the
Holy Father prayed, and pressed it in his hands, and blood dropped
therefrom immediately.
"This blood," said the Holy Father, "was shed by martyrs in Trèves,
who loved Christ so heartily that they gave their lives for him,
and thus became protectors of their city.
"Go; thou art absolved for their sakes. And tell thy people what thou
hast seen and heard, that so they may be increased in their faith."
ST. MATERN.
St. Matern was the first Bishop of Cologne, and was much beloved. He
died young, and the mourning people sent to Rome to pray St. Peter
for comfort.
St. Peter gave a staff to the emissaries, and bid them beat upon the
earth where Matern's bones were laid; at the same time they were to
call on him to rise, as it was not yet time for him to rest, but he
must still combat for the sake of God.
This was done; and Matern, who had been dead forty days, arose,
and administered three bishoprics at once; viz. Tongern, Trèves,
and Cologne.
THE FIRST FOUNDLING HOSPITAL.
The first institution of this nature is said to have been in Trèves,
and was thus established: Saint Goar was a very pious man, harming
none, but the wicked calumniated him to the Bishop of Trèves.
The Bishop ordered him to appear before him, and, to test his power,
asked him to declare who was the father of a child that had been
exposed near the Cathedral.
The Saint bending prayed, and touched the child's lips; whereon
the child spoke, and the uttered word was "Rusticus," which was the
Bishop's name.
The Bishop grew pale, the calumniators slunk away, and St. Goar,
turning to the Bishop, said, "Perceivest thou not thy duty? As the
Church embraces with tender arms erring children, so must thou, the
head of thy Church, foster such poor children, and bring them up in
the fear of God."
The city of Trèves and surrounding country fell under the sway
of the Archbishops of the diocese, who were usually more warriors
than priests, if we may judge by their acts. Here is a picture of a
brother-Archbishop, who flourished in 1169:--"Christian of Mayence
is said to have spoken six languages, and was celebrated for his
knightly feats of arms. He was daily to be seen with a golden helmet
on his head, armed cap-à-pié, and mounted on his war-horse, the
archiepiscopal mantle floating from his shoulders, and in his hand
a heavy club, with which he had brained thirty-eight of his enemies."
There were at this time four orders of nobility:--the Ecclesiastical,
comprising Bishops, Abbots, and other Church dignitaries. The remaining
three orders may be classed as follows:--
First, the old and proud families who still retained their free
grants of lands; these despised alike Princes and Bishops, Court and
Ecclesiastical dignitaries.
The second order was formed of the nobles belonging to the different
orders of knighthood; these collectively enjoyed the power of
individual princes.
The remaining order consisted of the feudal aristocracy; these were
the court nobility, who filled all the offices of state, and although
bound by oath to support their princes, they were often leagued
together in arms against them.
These four powers were in constant hostility, and from the skirts of
the second and last crept forth a fifth disturbing force; this was made
up of what are ordinarily termed the Robber-Knights, the ruins of whose
castles are frequent on the Moselle and Rhine. In consequence of their
depredations, the princes and nobles were forced to erect strongholds
to protect their towns and villages; hence arose the numerous towers
whose ruins adorn the banks of the Moselle and other rivers.
Most of the later legends are connected with these Robber-Knights;
and the history of their petty wars with the Archbishops of Trèves
and the Counts of Sponheim (the latter being lords of a large tract
of country), is the history of the Moselle during the middle ages.
The Counts of Sponheim, too, were generally at variance with the
Archbishops of Trèves, and both these powers with the Archbishops of
Cologne; so we plainly see the necessity of the walls, which still
exist in fragments round the old towns and villages; and while we
quietly sketch the picturesque gate and water-towers, our minds revert
to the days when the poor burghers guarded them with jealousy.
The burghers eventually, however, carried the day; and as they
increased in power the Robber-Knights were gradually swept away,
leaving only the blackened walls of their old keeps to mark where they
had plied their trade of robbery. See in the following story how the
citizens of Trèves paid off a certain Robber-Knight, named Adalbert,
whose castle was situated near their town, meeting violence with fraud.
THE ANIMATED WINE-CASKS.
Adalbert, from his castle of Saint Cross, disturbed by robbery the
city of Trèves. The city swore vengeance.
A certain brave knight, named Sicco, offered to destroy both Adalbert
and his castle by cunning. This offer was gladly accepted, and the
clergy blessed the cunning knight.
On a very hot day, when all within the Saint Cross castle were dozing,
a stranger appeared at the gate, and begged the warder to give him a
cup of wine, as he had travelled far, being just arrived from Italy,
and was on his way to his castle on the Moselle.
The refreshment was given him, and the grateful traveller requested the
warder to tell his master that his kindness would not be unrewarded,
as he was the owner of a fair vineyard, and when he arrived at
home he would send him some casks of his best wine in return for
his hospitality.
Before long a troop of peasants were seen approaching the castle,
escorting several carts laden with casks, which, however, were filled
with armed men instead of strong wine.
The warder challenged the procession, and Sicco, who was disguised as
a peasant, said that they were sent by the pilgrim to whom Adalbert
had been so hospitable, and who now forwarded them in conformity with
his word.
The door was opened, and Adalbert himself conducted the carts into
the court-yard; then Sicco drew his sword, and gave the signal to his
followers by slaying Adalbert, and the men, being liberated from the
casks, rushed on the garrison and slew them all; then the castle was
burnt. On the ruins a church was built.
The Crusades gave a new impetus to arts and sciences, bringing
the luxury and refinement of the East into contact with the almost
barbaric simplicity of the Western nations; and from the eleventh
century we find the legends assume a different character, saints and
hermits giving place to knights and ladies, and minstrels sing lays
of love and pleasure in place of dwelling on the old themes of war
and religion. Instead of descriptions of lives passed in deserts,
and celestial visions, we have pictures of tournaments and tales of
robbers, ghosts, and stirring adventures of all sorts, mingled with
dreams of Eastern luxury.
Popular fury having been raised by the preaching of Peter the Hermit
and others, it expended itself in the first place on those more
immediately within its reach; and in Trèves the Jews were so persecuted
that they frequently committed suicide, after slaying their children:
multitudes of them also embraced Christianity, only to resume their
real faith when the storm had passed.
In the two succeeding centuries many curious laws were enacted to
suit the times,--those relating to trial by combat are among the most
remarkable; we will merely instance one: If a woman of the lower
classes had been violated, but the matter could not be proved, the
accused man was buried up to his middle in the earth, and a stick,
an ell long, put into his hand; thus he fought the woman, who was
armed with a stone tied up in her veil.
Coiners were at this period boiled in kettles.
In addition to courts of law, there were now established courts of
love; these were composed of select women and knightly poets, who
with extraordinary sagacity gave judgment in love affairs.
The service of the fair formed an essential part of
knightly customs. To insult, or in any way injure a woman, was
disgraceful. Woman--the ideal of beauty, gentleness, and love--inflamed
each knightly bosom with a desire to deserve her favours, by deeds of
valour and self-denial. She was worshipped as a protecting divinity,
and knights undertook any task, however difficult, at the merest
hint that it would be acceptable, even deeming themselves happy to
die for her sake, and so win her approbation.
Love became an art, "a knightly study," and this submission to
the gentle yoke of woman, bred in humility and religion, chiefly
contributed to humanise and civilise the manners of the age; and we may
thank the German element for superseding the grosser and more sensual
manner in which woman was regarded previously to the rising of that
nation. The historian concludes his remarks on this subject by saying,
"Fidelity was the essence of true love; and such were lovers then."
In the thirteenth century arose an institution immediately allied
with the neighbourhood of our river; this was the Fehm-gerichte,
or Secret Tribunal. Engelbert, an Archbishop of Cologne, was the
first president and founder of this secret court. It was in the first
instance composed of a number of honourable men of every class, who
joined together for the purpose of judging and punishing all evildoers;
its measures were chiefly directed against the licentious nobles and
robber-knights; its proceedings were necessarily secret, as, were the
names of the judges known, they would have been objects of vengeance
to all the turbulent spirits of the day. In the fourteenth century
this association numbered a hundred thousand members, all bound by
a solemn oath, and known to each other by a secret sign.
No ecclesiastics, except the spiritual lord; no Jews, women, or
servants, were admitted as members; nor were these amenable to the
court, all accused being judged by their peers. Accusations brought
before this court were only such as would not have been received by
the more legal tribunals.
The accused was summoned to appear three times; and if he did not
then come forward, judgment was passed on him by default, the oath
of the accuser being considered sufficient proof of his guilt,
and the condemned criminal was secretly and mysteriously deprived
of life. His body was always found with a dagger, on which were the
letters S. S. G. G., [5] plunged into it.
As an instance of the working and rude justice of this tribunal,
we read the following:--
"A certain Baron Wolfgang von Cronenburg ravished a nun, and bade
defiance to the laws, in his castle; but even here the arm of this
secret society reached him, and he was found dead. The nun being
pregnant by him was released from her vows, and the possessions of
her ravisher bestowed on her and her son."
An extraordinary pilgrimage was founded about the end of the thirteenth
century by an Archbishop of Trèves; the pilgrims were to go to the
grave of Saint Willibrod at Epternach, and there join in a general
dance in her honour. During this dance the pilgrims of all ranks
were linked together; first they advanced, then retired, afterwards
ziz-zagging off to the right and left. This custom was kept up for
many years, and is still in existence in a modified form. [6]
In 1473, Trèves was selected by Charles the Bold and the Emperor
Frederick III. as the place where they should meet and settle the
marriage of Mary of Burgundy with Maximilian, the son of Frederick;
Charles was on his side to be invested with the rank of King, and
receive the title of King of Burgundy.
Frederick arrived, magnificently attended; but Charles, surrounded
by his nobles from the rich country of Flanders, outshone the
Emperor. The latter invested Charles with the Duchy of Guelders,
and a day was fixed for his coronation as King; but before the day
arrived Frederick quietly took boat and dropped down the Moselle, being
probably instigated by the French emissaries [7] to take this step.
The disgust of Charles defrauded of a crown, and of the towns-people
disappointed of a spectacle, must have been excessive.
The abuses of the Romish Church now culminated, and Luther, hurling his
bolt against the Roman Bishop, drove the faith of the times into two
opposite extremes,--infidelity and superstition. Men's minds became
unhinged; none knew what to believe; fantastic visions of every kind
dazzled the eyes of all; the devil seemed to walk on earth, and men who
believed in little else sought his protection. Now was the time when
people believed that certain charms rendered their bodies invulnerable;
and bullets, which never missed, could be cast. Gold was supposed to be
obtainable by skill; and above all, the elixir of life, which should
enable the possessor to lengthen his term of existence at pleasure,
was eagerly sought. One charlatan asserted that gold could be extracted
from Jews, and that the ashes of twenty-four of this nation would yield
one ounce. In the preceding century a Bishop of Lausanne had believed
in the efficacy of a spiritual anathema for driving away grasshoppers
and mice, and soon after a Bishop of Coire cursed cockchafers.
The burning of witches formed one of the most remarkable features of
the age of the Reformation; it had commenced at an earlier period,
but became general in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
In the fourteenth century the Council of Trèves condemned the
belief in witches, and declared their supposed nightly expeditions
to be a fabulous invention; but in the fifteenth century the belief
came suddenly back with fresh force, Pope Innocent VIII., in 1485,
affirming the existence of witches.
Old women were more persecuted by the Lutherans than they had been by
the Inquisition. They were accused of being in league with the devil,
and with his help raising storms, depriving cows of milk, carrying off
corn through the air, striking men and cattle dead, or afflicting them
with sickness, exciting love by potions, and unnatural hate by spells.
For all these, and many other imaginary crimes, poor old women were
dragged from their homes and subjected to different ordeals. Firstly,
came the shaving of the head; and if any mole or scar was found, she
was proclaimed a witch. Secondly, if no mole or scar, she was usually
tried by either water or weight; if the former, her right thumb was
tied to her left great toe, and her left thumb to her right great toe,
and she was thrown into the water: if she floated, she was a witch;
if weight was the test, little shrivelled-up women had no hope,
for they were generally declared under weight, and tortured till
they confessed. Under these tortures they confessed whatever their
persecutors thought fit, and were then burned. There were many other
ordeals practised in different places.
The Archbishop of Trèves, in 1589, sentenced so many women to the
stake, that in two districts only two women remained. This Archbishop
also condemned the Rector of the University of Trèves as a sorcerer.
Towards the end of the seventeenth century, Trèves suffered much
from the different armies that repeatedly traversed her territories;
and in the beginning of the eighteenth century, one of its Electors
had the temerity to declare war against Louis XIV., without waiting
for the decision of the Empire.
Louis determined to seize on the person of the Elector, who he
jeeringly named the "Little Curé of Trèves." For this purpose
he despatched a regiment of Hussars from Sarre-Louis, with orders
to bring him dead or alive. The Hussars endeavoured to surprise the
Elector while hunting; but a certain Postmaster warned him of the plot
and he fled to Ehrenbreitstein, closely followed by the Hussars. The
Elector rewarded the Postmaster, by ordering that whenever he came
to Ehrenbreitstein he should be allowed to eat and drink his fill of
whatever he chose, that was in cellar or larder.
In 1803 the spiritual Electorates were abolished, and Trèves included
in France. It now forms a portion of Rhenish Prussia.
Having touched on the leading historical events connected with Trèves,
from the earliest times to the present century, we will take a survey
of the city as it now exists.
Formerly Trèves occupied a large space on both sides of the Moselle,
but it has in later years been confined to the right bank of the
river; indeed, it cannot properly be said to be on the Moselle at
all, for the principal part of the town is at some distance inland,
and everywhere walls shut it out from the stream, only a few detached
houses appearing on the banks.
Completely modernised, Trèves yet possesses a certain look of age,
owing probably to its walls with avenues of trees surrounding, and an
air of decay visible throughout its streets and squares. The later
style of houses are of the time of Louis XV., and many of them are
good specimens of sufficiently ornamented dwellings.
The Market-place presents a most animated appearance on the great
market-days; and it is with difficulty we can force our way through
the crowd on those days, owing to a fashion the women have of wearing
their baskets on their backs; which unwieldy things are unmercifully
pushed into the ribs of the passer-by, and while he tries to recover
his breath after the concussion his incautious foot probably receives
a solid sabot on its tenderest part. In the Market-place stands an
elegant fountain, opposite to which is the Rothen Haus, formerly the
town-hall: this building is now a comfortable inn, well placed for
studying costumes and customs.
Within sight of the Market-place is the famous Porta Nigra; what its
original use was is a matter of vague conjecture, the learned in such
subjects not being able to agree in their opinions. During the middle
ages it was used for ecclesiastical purposes, and was fitted up as
two churches, one above the other, in which service was regularly
performed: the Prussian authorities have restored it to its original
state, and it is very well preserved, and is certainly quite one of
the most interesting Roman buildings extant.
There are (as we stated at the commencement of this chapter) many other
reminiscences of the Roman rule to be seen in Trèves, the principal of
which are the bridge, the amphitheatre, and the baths: of the latter
a considerable portion still remains, but of the amphitheatre only
the form is left, with a mere fragment of wall at the entrance. It,
in common with the other ruins in Trèves, is well kept and preserved.
The old palace of the Archbishops is now a barrack, and only
interesting from its associations.
The Liebfrauen Kirche is a beautiful Gothic edifice, with noble arches
of extreme lightness and delicacy of appearance; the doorway is richly
carved; and, altogether, this church is as beautiful a specimen of
its order of architecture as can be found.
The Cathedral is a fine building and stands side by side with the
Liebfrauen Kirche, which it far exceeds in size but to which it
is inferior in beauty; it is, nevertheless, a good specimen of the
Byzantine style, and from its proximity to the Liebfrauen Kirche we are
able, at a glance, to contrast the different orders of architecture.
In this Cathedral is deposited the coat of our Saviour, "woven without
seam from top to the bottom;" and here flocked, so lately as 1844,
no less than one million one hundred thousand persons to gaze on
the wonderful garment, which was exhibited to the faithful for eight
weeks and then returned to its coffer.
There are many other churches in and around Trèves, one of which the
commissionaires think very grand, and accordingly march their slaves,
the sight-seers, off to visit it, and expect them to fall into raptures
with a whitewashed, high-roofed ball-room, covered with tawdry,
coarsely-painted arabesques, and indifferent pictures; the slaves
generally gratify their tyrants by falling into unbounded raptures,
and nearly twist their necks off to get a look at the paintings on
the ceiling: latterly, little looking-glasses have been provided,
to save them from getting cricks in their necks.
About six miles from Trèves, on the Luxembourg road, is a village
called Igel. Here is preserved a very curious stone obelisk, covered
with carvings of figures and inscriptions: as usual, there is a
considerable dispute as to its origin and purpose, but it undoubtedly
is a very curious relic of bygone days, and is not without beauty in
design and execution.
Luxembourg is a very strong place, so scientifically fortified that it
is most difficult for an uninitiated person to find his way into it;
and having done so, the town is so wretchedly stupid and dull that
the visitor generally comes to the conclusion that he has taken a
good deal of trouble for nothing, and hastens to make his way out:
which task he finds not less difficult than the entry. From the walls
very striking views might be seen, only the sentries order you off
immediately, especially if you have so deadly an implement as a
sketch-book in your hand; however, we have no particular cause to
expatiate on Luxembourg, as it is only one small feeder of our river.
CHAPTER VII.
That portion of our river which lies between Trèves and Coblence is
the most beautiful, and the part usually visited by the few who allow
themselves the enjoyment of seeing scenery yet unspoiled by Art. The
Moselle at this present time is much what the Rhine was half a century
ago. No great roads line the banks, cutting off the quaint houses
of the old towns and villages from the river-side; and the towns and
villages themselves are, with some few exceptions, far more picturesque
than those on the Rhine. Their old water-towers and walls still lave
their bases in the stream, as those of St. Goarshausen-on-Rhine did
until a few years back, when the new road drove them inland.
In places where the rocks approach closely to the river, the usual
arrangement of the houses is in one long street, with behind it
ruined towers perched at intervals upon the ascending walls, which
straggle through the vineyards, till the rise becomes too sudden for
them to climb or intruders to pass over. Where the space is larger,
the houses are clustered among walnut-trees, which grow to an immense
size. Perhaps the greatest charm of all in descending our river is the
absence of those swarms of mere sight-seers who infest the Rhine,--the
trifling discomforts of a more unfrequented route being sufficient
to deter these garrulous butterflies from "doing" the Moselle; and
as yet Murray has not given in detail the number of turrets to each
castle on this river, for eager watchers to "tell off" as the steamer
breasts the stream. Still it is remarkable how few of all those that
pass the mouth of the Moselle at Coblence ascend its waters.
We now invite those who cannot in person see "the blue Moselle"
to embark their minds in our skiff, and as we glide along we will
tell them tales of the old time, when the ruined towers above our
heads clanged with the tramp of armed men, and echoed to songs of
love and wine.
Trèves and its bridge are shut out by the trees, and the river nymphs
surround us with garlands and with song.
Now our boat adown the stream
Floats, as in a happy dream,--
Thoughts to fancy's kingdom go,
There, like waters, tranquil flow;
Airy palaces they build
Where our kindred spirits dwell,
Who with woven sunbeams gild
Regions that we love so well.
Rippling now the gentle waves
(Gay sunshine our pathway paves),
Sing to us as on we glide
Down the swiftly-glancing tide:
"Happiness and harmless mirth
Innocently we enjoy,
So the denizens of earth
May, like us, their time employ,--
Working we sing,
In leisure hours we play;
O'er toil we fling
A garland ever gay."
O'er our heads the dark rocks rise,
Stern their mass the stream defies,--
Round their base the dark wave flows,
Battling, silently, she goes:
Thus in life, too frequent, rocks
Stand before us in our way;
And their bulk our passage blocks,
Bidding us our course to stay.
Shall we at their bidding turn,
Fearful of their aspect stern?
No: for patiently we may
Round, or through them, win our way.
The little incidents seen on the banks of the river as we move along
are eminently picturesque, and give life and reality to what we should
otherwise almost imagine to be a dream of beauty, rather than real
actual scenes, where toil and labour are at work. Such foregrounds,
too, for artists! Here is a woman mowing: further down, one impels
a heavy boat along by means of a pole: there red cows stand, half
in the water, half on a grassy slope, with the reflected green of
which their red contrasts. Again, as we approach a village, some
of the maidens are seen drawing water; while others, in groups and
attitudes that present endless studies, wash their gay clothing,
or bleach long strips of brownish linen.
Boat-building is carried on at nearly every village, and the smoke from
the accompanying fire wreathes among the walnut-trees. In reality,
the people work hard; but it is difficult to divest our minds of the
idea that they are merely sauntering about, and forming groups for
their own amusement and the delight of others. All is so complete in
loveliness, that it seems unreal.
The ribs of the great flat-bottomed boats look like skeletons of
some curious animal, which the apparent loungers are examining at
their ease; and the nearly completed barge seems to be a sort of
summer-house, in which the idler can sit, or under which he may smoke
his pipe in the shade,--for, of course, all smoke. Usually the long
stem with the earthenware or china bowl is the medium by which the
fragrant weed is inhaled, but sometimes a few inches of coarse stick
(in appearance) is the substitute.
These boats, when finished, are used for all sorts of purposes. The
want of good roads, and the fact of the stream being less rapid
than that of the Rhine, as well as the absence of steam-tugs, makes
the Moselle more lively with barges and small boats, especially the
latter; though, of course, there being only three or four steamers
on the whole distance (about 150 miles) between Trèves and Coblence,
the absence of those puffing drawbacks to tranquil enjoyment renders
the Moselle more quiet on the whole.
The larger barges carry iron, earthenware, charcoal, bark, wine,
and general cargoes; while the smaller ones are filled with market
produce of all sorts going to be sold in the larger towns, and numbers
of these small boats are kept at each village for the residents
to cross to their farms or vineyards on the opposite bank. There
are also ferry-boats, large enough for carts and oxen, or horses,
at nearly every cluster of houses.
Often watching these great boats with their miscellaneous lading, or
waiting our own turn to cross, we have been struck by the contrast
between the young fair children with flaxen hair and the careworn
countenances of the parents, whose skin is nearly as brown as that of
a Maltese boatman, his approaching to claret-colour. The peasantry
are, as far as we could judge or learn, a simple, contented race,
working hard, and in bad seasons ill-fed.
THE FERRY.
On grassy bank the village stands,
The crowds returning, throng
The ferry-boat, which quickly lands,
Impelled by arms so strong.
The heavy boat is filled with men,
With women, and with carts;
Amongst the crowd the children
Move with their lightsome hearts.
The women's brows are stamped with care,
The men with toil are worn;
But midst them stand those children fair,
Those happy newly-born.
The doom of man, "for life to toil,"
Rests on the parents both,
But on that young, fresh, virgin soil,
Even the Sun is loth.
His hot red hand too fierce to press,
Where innocence and love
Call for a mother's sweet caress
And from the sky above
Speak unto us, who labour here,
This message through them sent:
"Live, love, and worship, in God's fear;
"To labour be content;
"So shall ye live, and dying, shall not miss
"The life immortal, in the realms of bliss!"
The different seasons of the year, of course, bring different incidents
on our river into existence, each in its proper turn. The hay-harvest
is a very lively time upon its banks; everywhere the green slopes
are rid of their superfluous load, and boats cross and recross the
river with the sweet-scented cargoes, some of which are stored,
some transferred to larger bottoms for transportation down the stream.
Later comes the corn-harvest, then the boats are freighted with the
golden ears; soon after an equally busy time sets in, when every
sort of boat is seen piled with small branches of the oak: the leaves
are stripped from the branches so brought home, and, being carefully
dried, they form an excellent material with which the people stuff
their mattresses, this making, as they assert, much warmer and softer
beds, than straw. Every village possesses a right of cutting bedding
at some place, and the different inhabitants have days allotted them
by the authorities, on which they may help themselves.
The winter draws near and the vintage sets in, then all boats are
employed on this absorbing service; the little boats, with large casks
on board, look in the distance very much like gondolas: wherever the
eye rests, nothing is seen that has not some connexion with the great
event of the year on the Moselle. However, the vintage has a chapter
to itself, so we will not dwell upon it here.
Carrying firewood is the last great occupation of the year for the
smaller boats, and it is well for those who can procure a good supply
of fuel, for the winter is cold and severe; unfortunately, too, wood
is very scarce and dear, and though somewhat cheaper on the Moselle
than in most parts of Germany, yet a good fire is quite out of the
reach of the poorer classes, and they scrape together every morsel
to enable them to feed the iron stoves which warm their cottages.
The river is in parts so shallow that breakwaters are built out
from the banks, in order to deepen the centre of the stream; this,
of course, makes the water run swifter, and it requires great toil
of many horses to tug the barges up the stream. Floating down these
rapids is agreeable enough, and the descent is made with very little
labour, towns and villages succeeding each other on the banks, the
approaches to them being lined with fruit-trees, of which the walnut
and cherry are the most conspicuous.
The cherries are excellent, and so plentiful that children will often
refuse a handful when offered, having previously gorged themselves
at home. Numbers are exported, going by river to Coblence, and so on
down the Rhine.
Apricots are also abundant in good seasons. They are grown on
standard trees.
Garden produce of all sorts abounds, and apples and pears drop unheeded
to the ground.
Through incidents like these, on bank and river, we glide on. We have,
perhaps, halted during the midday heat at some inviting spot, where the
cool shadows reposed beneath the walnuts; now the evening draws near,
and rounding a corner, our resting-place for the night appears. The
thin mist rising from the river obscures the base of the church, whose
sharply-pointed spire is conspicuous above the trees; lights fall in
tremulous lines from the high windows, and in the air is the sound of--
CHURCH MUSIC.
From the church the anthem pealing,
O'er the wave is gently stealing:
Now it swells, now dies away,
Making holy harmony.
The spire from out the trees
Our eyes directs on high;
The sounds which swell the breeze,
The heavens to us bring nigh;
For while we listen to the song
Of glory rais'd to "Him on high,"
Our thoughts soar up, and dwell among
Those realms where Immortality,
In angel forms and bright array,
Before God's throne for ever pray,
And Hallelujahs joyous raise
To their "Almighty Maker's" praise.
CHAPTER VIII.
From Trèves to Trittenheim the scenery of our river, although very
pleasing, has not yet attained to its full beauty; the Moselle, woman
as she has become, is still scarcely matured in beauty; many charms are
hers already, but until approaching Neumagen her life does not reach
the fulness of its summer glory. Then, indeed, the full enchantment
of her beauty breaks upon us, as, often in life, we have been in the
habit of seeing a lovely girl pass from childhood into the graces
of early womanhood, we admire and love; but at some future day we
suddenly perceive that the lovely girl has become a glorious woman,
replete with every grace. The change seems to take place in a day,
even in an hour: some incident, trifling perchance in itself, has awoke
the spirit, and the lately shy and timid girl has become a woman in
spirit as in name; losing none of the happy loveliness of her earlier
years, she has acquired a dignity and nameless, indefinable grace,
which completes her beauty and robs us of our hearts.
Such has our Moselle become when she winds among the mountains past
Neumagen and Piesport.
The promontory at the back of Neumagen is divided into two parts by
the little river Drohn. It is supposed by many that it was on the
bank of this little stream that the celebrated Palace of the Thirty
Towers stood. This palace, built by the Archbishop Nicetius of Trèves,
is supposed to have been most beautiful, and formed entirely of marble,
with pleasure-grounds sloping to the stream and river. The description
given of these gardens by the poet, Venantius Fortunatus, reads more
like an Eastern account of those gardens of Paradise sometimes for a
moment unveiled to the wanderer in the Arabian desert. Bishofstein
(lower down the stream) also claims the honour of being on the
site of the Palace of the Thirty Towers, but it does not in any way
answer the description. Whether the banks of the Drohn were the site
of this marble palace or not, the beauty of the situation certainly
gives it a claim to have been so, and the Archbishops did possess a
country-house near Neumagen.
A few miles below Trèves we pass Pfalzel, which lies on the left bank;
this little town is interesting, as it is said to be the site of the
beautiful legend of Genoveva, handed down to us in so many different
versions.
LEGEND OF GENOVEVA.
The Pfalz-graf Siegfried was married to a lovely and virtuous lady,
named Genoveva, and they lived together in great happiness and content,
until a wicked courtier, named Golo, whose attentions the lady had
repulsed, plotted how he might ruin her in her lord's esteem.
To this end he poisoned the Pfalz-graf's mind against his virtuous
wife, and so, deeming her guilty of crimes she never even imagined,
her lord drove Genoveva from his castle, that so she might be slain
of wild beasts or die of hunger.
Genoveva, as she passed out from the castle gates, threw her
wedding-ring into the water, that so the crime of her lord might be
lessened, as he was thus released from the marriage-tie.
Time passed on, and Siegfried, being on a hunting excursion, wished
for food and rest; he therefore ordered a tent to be pitched on the
banks of a stream. No sooner was this done than two fishermen arrived
with a great fish, which they presented to the Pfalz-graf; the fish
being opened, a ring was found, which the Pfalz-graf no sooner saw
than he perceived it was that of his dead wife.
Returning home he was much troubled at this circumstance, and falling
asleep he dreamt that he saw a dragon persecuting Genoveva, who still
was dearer to him than all the world beside. He related this dream
to Golo, who pacified him for a time: but again he dreamt, and in
his dream he hunted a pure white hind, following, and persecuting it
remorselessly; awaking, he felt that the hind was Genoveva, and he
was indeed a cruel huntsman, who had chased a spotless deer to death.
He ordered everything to be prepared for the chase,--why, he knew not,
but felt the dream must be followed out; Golo was seized with agony
when the Pfalz-graf set forth, and secretly followed his master's
steps.
A spotless hind was found, and the Pfalz-graf eagerly followed on her
track, wounding her with an arrow; on sped the hind, until, with a
last bound, it forced its way through the bushes, and fell bleeding
and exhausted at Genoveva's feet.
Siegfried followed close, and threw himself on his knees before his
injured wife, who had been wonderfully preserved from death, and,
together with the child to which she had given birth, nourished by
the poor deer, which now was dying of her wounds.
Pointing to her babe, Genoveva showed that in every feature it was
the counterpart of her lord: thus was Golo's treachery made manifest,
and his head, being struck from off the body, was exposed upon the
castle walls.
Another legend of Pfalzel tells of a wicked nun, who, by the devil's
aid, worked a magic garment and presented it to the Archbishop;
immediately on putting it on horrible desires seized on him, and he
felt as if the fiend were dragging him to perdition. Throwing it off,
others tried it, and on all it had the same effect; being therefore
convinced of the iniquity of the worker, the Archbishop turned the
nun out of the convent, but finding that her sister nuns were as
bad as she, he was compelled to treat them all in a similar manner:
the garment, however, still exists, and is worn by many.
Inland of Pfalzel is Rammstein, where a certain Count of Vianden (like
Adalbert of St. Cross) came to an untimely end by an overfondness
for wine. He had once taken the Bishop prisoner and put him into
fetters; this the latter never forgot or forgave, so, knowing the
Count's fondness for wine, he, one very sultry day, sent a string of
carts filled with barrels past the walls of the Count's strong castle;
down swooped the Count's followers, like beasts of prey as they were,
and carried off the convoy; then they all set to work drinking,
in the true German fashion.
While thus carousing, the armed followers of the Bishop suddenly
surprised them, and the castle was taken and burnt; the Bishop
shouted to the Count, who in his turn was put in fetters, "Behold
the consequence of raising thy hand against the Lord's anointed!"
Near Pfalzel several brooks run into the Moselle; one on the same
bank, named the Kill, passes Rammstein, and flowing through a charming
valley, waters a large strip of most productive garden-ground, which
extends from the Moselle to some distance inland.
These lateral valleys are very frequent on our river. We can scarcely
wander along her banks for a quarter of a mile but a recess in
the neighbouring hills is seen, through which a little stream comes
dancing. Penetrating into the gorge we find busy little mills at work,
and are led into scenery which at every turn seems to increase in
beauty. We shall hereafter have to describe some of these lateral
valleys, so need not now dwell on their delights.
On the opposite shore, which is watered by another stream, is
Grünhaus, and above it Grüneberg. From these vineyards come the most
highly-prized wines of the Moselle, though many think the wines of
Zeltingen more delicate in flavour.
Past little islands, and through rich fields filled with garden
produce, we glide on, following the serpentine course of our river. The
wood-embosomed villages peep at us as we go by, each group of houses
has its church rising in the midst: gradually the banks grow steeper,
hills swell up inland, and here and there come down to look on the
Moselle. These reconnoiterers retire, and having told their chiefs
of the approach of the glorious stream, at Trittenheim we find the
right bank covered with mountain-giants, come to do homage to the
spirit of the waters.
At Trittenheim is one of those flying bridges, almost peculiar to the
Moselle. It is thus formed: two strong towers are built, one on each
side of the stream; from the summits of these towers, attached to
great posts built into the solid wall, stretches a rope, which falls
in a curve over the river; a stout cord attached to a swivel, which
runs freely along the rope, descends to the surface of the river, and
to it is fastened a barge, which propelled by the action of the swift
running stream, and guided by the boatman, passes from side to side at
his pleasure, carrying heavy loads, with little labour to the ferryman.
Where the breadth of the river admits, these sort of flying bridges are
used; in other parts, those with which the reader is probably familiar
on the Rhine are in operation; and again, where the stream is sluggish,
barges unattached to any rope are poled up stream, and floated across.
Trittenheim was the birth-place of the celebrated Trithemius, famous
for his many writings and his learning. He, in common with all learned
men of his time (end of fifteenth century), was considered a sorcerer,
and the Emperor Maximilian applied to him to raise the spirit of
his deceased wife, Mary of Burgundy. This he is said to have done,
and the dead Princess reappeared in all the charms of her youthful
beauty: but a more probable account of this transaction is given in the
following version, taken from the beautiful poem in the Mosel sagen.
TRITHEMIUS AND THE EMPEROR.
One very dark night a man wrapped in a mantle, so as to conceal
his features, entered the cloister at Spanheim, and demanded to see
the Abbot.
Trithemius (the Abbot) advanced to meet his visitor, who he immediately
recognised as the Emperor Maximilian. The Emperor requested him to
raise the shade of his first wife, Mary; upon which Trithemius took
him by the hand, and leading him out of doors, pointed to two bright
constellations in the form of staves, which were shining in the sky,
and addressed him as follows:--
"You see there, my Prince, the two principles of government; by ruling
with the one, bad princes beat down their subjects beneath their feet,
and cause those little stars, which represent drops of blood and
tears, to flow; in that garden where the seeds of time are ripening,
this staff will stand like a parched trunk, but the other staff will
flourish green as a palm-tree, unhurt by the heat of the summer's
day; for this last is a righteous sceptre, a staff of pure gold,
serving to support and strengthen those who lean trustfully upon it,
and use it to benefit their subjects. Choose, then, O Monarch, with
which staff thou wilt rule."
While the Priest thus spoke another star shone forth, and directing
the Emperor's attention towards it, Trithemius again addressed him.
"I see, O King, a young and smiling face beam from the newly-risen
star. Tearless and blissfully it smiles on you, wearing the look of
your glorified wife. Pain and tears are left behind her in the grave,
on which they blossom like pale roses. Mary beckons to you from on
high to join her in the gardens of God.
"Choose, then, thy sceptre, O Prince. Erect to thy loved wife a
monument of deeds. To act is a ruler's duty. We priests have had
bestowed upon us a magic virtue; it consists in wiping away your tears,
and animating you to tread the right path with the sceptre of blessings
in your hand.
"Be strong, be wise, my Prince, and receive my blessing on your noble
path. Farewell."
The Prince, perceiving the value of the counsel he had received,
departed through the night, which now was luminous, with the words
of truth.
The promontory on which Trittenheim is situated is clothed with
fruit-trees, and rivals in fertility the opposite shore, on which,
a little lower down, Neumagen is situated.
Before reaching Neumagen we pass a little chapel, erected at the spot
where, according to tradition, the waters of the Moselle ceased to
be tinged with the blood shed at Trèves in the massacre of Christian
martyrs.
Neumagen enjoys a most agreeable site. Sheltered by the hills which
rise at its back, it faces the bold cliffs that now have arisen on
the left bank of our river. On ascending the hills at the back of the
town we find ourselves on a level platform, with the Moselle on one
side of us and the Drohn on the other; beyond these, other table-lands
swell into hills, and varied outlines of distant mountains curve into
the sky.
On this elevated table-land a refreshing breeze blows, even on the
most sultry days, and the tender blue lines of the receding hills give
an air of coolness which is delicious to the heated pedestrian. Such
variety of scenery as the walking tourist meets on the Moselle is
scarcely to be exceeded; hill and dale, mountain, river, wood, and
plain, all are there combining their charms.
It was over these hills that Constantine was marching when, at break of
day, [8] the fiery cross appeared in the sky, with the inscription, "In
hoc vince." Wonder arose in the minds of Constantine and his legions,
but none could interpret the meaning of the celestial sign. At night,
in a dream, Constantine saw Jesus with a cross in his arms, like
to that he had seen in the heavens; and the vision commanded him to
attach a mark of the same form to his standard, telling him that by
so doing he should vanquish all his enemies.
Arriving at Trèves, Constantine, mindful of his dream and the
celestial sign, called together cunning artificers; and a cross,
surmounted with a crown of gold and jewels, was set upon the lance
from which the purple standard of royalty floated.
And all his enemies were conquered, in accordance with the words
spoken to him in his dream. So Christianity triumphed over idolatry.
Walking across the promontory that lies between Neumagen and Piesport,
we found the ground covered with the delicate autumn crocus, whose
jewels sparkled among the grass; and apples, with their ruddy hues,
lay beneath the trees, from which they had abundantly fallen.
Piesport is confined by the mountain at its back to one narrow,
straggling street; it possesses a handsome church, from which we saw,
soon after our arrival, issue forth a long procession. First came men,
two and two, clad in blue frocks; then children, followed by women in
like order; these preceded the old priest and choristers; then again
came men; and, lastly, old women. The procession wound its chanting
stream along, round the little town, and returning, made the circuit
of the church and re-entered the edifice. The object of the ceremony
was to charm rain from the sky by their chanting. The performers and
assisters ill the scene gossiped and chatted to each other in the
intervals of singing, and the poor old priest seemed quite wearied,
and glad to return to his church. The singing did not in any way
influence the weather, certainly for some weeks.
The mountain behind Piesport is entirely covered with vineyards. These
celebrated vineyards were considered the best on the Moselle in the
earlier part of last century; but having gained this reputation for
their wine, the cultivators introduced a worse sort of grape, which
bore more fruit, in order to make a greater quantity of wine; but,
fortunately for the place, a new Curé, who was appointed in 1770,
induced them to restore the old sort of vine, and thus regain the
reputation they were rapidly losing.
Having succeeded in getting up nearly to the summit of the mountain
without un coup de soleil, we got among groves of picturesquely-formed
oak, many of the trees being of considerable size. Throwing ourselves
down beneath their grateful shade, a fine view of the surrounding
district is before us. This view we have endeavoured to lay before
our readers in the vignette at the head of the chapter. The spire of
the church at Piesport is seen cutting against the bed of the river,
and the peep of distance gives a good idea of the peculiar formation
of the hills.
The hills of the Moselle are not hills in the ordinary acceptation of
the word, as they all form part of a high table-land, which extends
from near here to beyond Andernach-on-Rhine, on the left bank,
and on the right to Bingen. The range on the right bank are called
the Hunsruck mountains; that on the left bank, the Eifel. Through
the great table-land thus formed flow the Rhine and Moselle; thus
the banks of both rivers are very similar in formation, and average
about the same height: but the Moselle, being a much smaller river,
of course her banks appear more mountainous; the ranges also approach
nearer to the stream, and the lateral valleys are far more frequent.
It is astonishing at first, after climbing unceasingly for an hour,
to find one's self standing on a gently undulating plain waving
with grain, and forest-trees growing in masses. The river is then
seen to be in a gorge, worn by the perpetual action of her waters,
and we have only attained to the natural level of the country.
This level is, however, broken by many other gorges, each containing
its stream, bounding downwards to our river. Towards the horizon
also (as we have mentioned in describing the view above Neumagen)
the table-land generally rises into higher ranges; thus there is
never any monotony about the scenery, which is enlivened by the
spires of churches, and busy labourers at work in what seemed to
us like Jack and the Bean-stalk's country. It so strongly resembles
the description given, where the immortal Jack climbs up and up his
bean-stalk, until at length he arrives at the level of a new world.
In autumn, when the weeds, &c. are being burnt, the scenes on this
table-land are very striking. Far as the eye can reach wreathe up
the columns of white smoke, spreading a purifying smell of burning,
and wrapping the view in a filmy veil that increases its beauty.
The name of Piesport is derived from Pipini Portus, the place having
been thus called from being an allod of the Carlovingian house,
of which Pepin was the founder.
Clausen, which lies at a short distance from Piesport, contains
a miraculous picture of the Virgin, which was originally brought
from Trèves by the zealous Saint Eberhard, whose hermitage stood in
the forest.
The Saint built a chapel, and in it he placed this wonderful picture:
here many miracles were performed; on one occasion a paralytic man
was completely restored to the use of his limbs: he threw away his
crutches, and walked home, no longer requiring the horse that had
brought him.
The miracles wrought in the Saint's little chapel gave great offence
to the constituted Priest of Clausen, and eventually the picture was
removed to his church; but it ceased to perform miracles, its virtue
was gone, and now it is only regarded with veneration on account of
its former celebrity.
Having now arrived in the heart of the wine-district, we will
proceed to give some little account of the vintage, which occupies
all attention and employs all hands in these parts.
And, with the merry peasants, we will sing the praise of their good
genius:--
THE VINE.
The vine! the vine!
Hurrah for the vine!
That gives us wine--
Bright, joyous wine;
Hurrah for the merry vine!
O maiden mine,
Press out the wine
With feet that shine
Like gems in mine,--
Press out the glorious wine!
The clusters press
With firm caress
Of glist'ning feet,
That merry meet:
Flow freely forth, O wine!
Then, maiden sweet,
With full lip meet
My offer'd kiss;
Complete my bliss,
And quaff with me the wine.
So love and wine
Shall thus combine,
And no alloy
Shall mar our joy,
As thus we quaff the wine.
So, sing the vine--
Hurrah for the vine!
That gives us wine--
Bright, joyous wine;
Hurrah for the merry vine!
CHAPTER IX.
On the Moselle the vintage is still conducted in the old-fashioned
way, much of the wine being still pressed from the bunches by the
feet. The clusters, which have been carefully cut from the trees,
are placed in the baskets (which the people seem always to wear on
their backs), and borne down the hill-side to the village, where
they are tumbled into great tubs, in which they are crushed, if not
by the feet, by wooden mallets.
The long toil of carrying up great basketsful of dressing for the
roots, of hacking round the vines, of carefully tying up the boughs
and tending them in every possible way, repairing the walls and steps,
and placing beneath the fruit-bunches flat stones to refract the heat
on to their lower sides, is ended; all having prospered, joy is at
its height, for plenty will fill the homes of the cultivators during
the coming winter.
The peasantry suffer great hardships in bad years; and, unfortunately,
these more frequently recur than good.
Having, week after week, toiled up and down the nearly perpendicular
cliffs, and worked amid their vineyards unmindful alike of sun and
rain, it is very sad to think that generally the gain is small for so
much labour; and even in good years, although the peasantry benefit
considerably, yet it is not they, but the wine-buyers, who make the
principal profit.
In every village may be seen one or two houses, evidently occupied by
a class far above the peasantry. To these houses are attached large
cellars, through whose open doors we sometimes see great casks piled
up; the owners of these dwellings are small merchants, who buy up
the grapes from the poorer people, paying by the weight. They are the
real gainers by a good year, for they rule the prices of the market;
and by advancing sums when necessary to the peasants, the latter
are in a measure bound to accommodate them. That all do benefit is,
however, an undoubted fact; and the happy vintage-time is the most
joyful season of the year upon our river's banks.
THE HARVEST.
The green leaves wither with the autumn's breath;
The brown leaves falling, pass from life to death.
The winter, stealing on with silent feet,
Hastens the yearly cycle to complete.
But on our river's banks no sorrows dwell,
No sigh is breath'd for summer on Moselle;
For autumn's glory throws its ripening beam
Upon the cluster'd vine, whose branches teem
With the rich fulness of the luscious prize,
Which each year gives to man, ere yet it dies.
The evening spreads its shadow over earth,
From ev'ry vineyard comes the sound of mirth;
High spring the fiery rockets into air,
And hearty shouts the vintage-time declare.
The ruddy fires illumine ev'ry hill,
Reports of arms the throbbing valleys fill;
These from the river back are lustrous thrown,
Those by the rocks repeated thunder on.
Thus is the grape-god welcom'd to his throne.
And Bacchus rules, in vintage-time, alone.
With sounds like these the great harvest of the year is ushered
in. Rejoicing and merriment rule all hearts; the voice breaks forth
in song, and the dance is followed by unwearied feet. Every thought
for months past has been directed to the vine. Other harvests have
been stored, with thankfulness, but the vintage has ever been the
great subject of conversation in every cottage and at every well. The
tedious watches are at an end, for, thickly clustered on every tree,
the grapes are ready for the gatherer's hand.
Our river is now more beautiful than ever: the panorama at our feet
is gorgeous with crimson and gold; groups of children pile the grapes
into the baskets; boats, laden with the rich treasure, are passing
to and fro; and from them we hear the voices of the rowers, which,
re-echoing from the rocks, roll away into distance, filling the great
valley with songs of happiness:--
From the Mosel's clust'ring hills
Freely flows the sparkling wine;
Midst them cooling water-rills,
Through the greenwoods pleasant shine.
These sweet draughts of beauty give
To the charmèd eyes of men;
Let us hasten, then, and live
With woods and rivulets again;
Our eyes shall feast on streams, our lips on wine;
We'll quaff by night--by day we'll garlands twine.
And with these garlands gay
The lovely maids we'll crown;
So joyous pass the day--
The night in goblets drown:
Life thus shall roll its days and nights along,
We'll pass the hours away with cup and song.
The whole course of the Moselle is more or less sheeted with
vineyards. Wherever a shelf of rock is accessible, or can be made so,
there are the vines. Within the old walls of the mouldering castles
are vineyards; upon the nearly level ground are fields of vines;
hanging from every wall, and climbing round every window, are the rich
green leaves and graceful tendrils of this wine-giving plant. And
yet there is no sameness; from the peculiar formation of the hills
there is always some outjutting crag or overhanging precipice, with
roof of trees, to break the lines of the vineyards. Great masses
of forest still remain in many places, reserved for fire-wood and
other purposes: the vineyards, too, are for the most part formed of
old vines; their foliage, consequently, is more luxuriant. Owing to
these reasons the vine does not assume on the Moselle that monotonous
appearance that it presents in many parts of the Rhine, and generally
in France. Interspersed with the vines are numbers of wild flowers,
of which the white convolvulus is the most conspicuous; its graceful
flower contrasts beautifully with the deep rich green of the supporting
plant, and where the vines festoon, wreaths of unsurpassed loveliness
are formed.
Piesport is considered the centre of the wine district, and its wine
bears a high reputation, though other names bear a higher price, and a
few of the wines are better flavoured. Almost all the Moselle wine is
white, and has a scented flavour and exquisite bouquet; it is thought
by many superior to Rhine wine, but it will not bear transport so well.
Even the most ordinary table-wine has generally a sparkling freshness,
most grateful to the drinker, as it assuages his thirst much better
than other wines; but what we term "sparkling Moselle" is only to be
obtained in Trèves or Coblence, and even then it is not like our idea
of that wine: therefore it must, like port and sherry, be prepared
expressly to suit English palates.
Some of the red wine is tolerable, but not to be compared to the
red wines of the Rhine and the Ahr valley; it has something of the
roughness of the latter, but not its flavour.
They have in many places in Germany what is termed the "Grape
Cure." The season for this begins as soon as the grapes are ripe
enough to be eaten; and the cure consists simply in munching as many
bunches as the patient can possibly swallow,--about fourteen pounds
being considered a fair day's eating for one person: nothing else is
to be taken. Whether this cramming cures the patient of anything but
love for grapes is doubtful; but it must have that effect, so it is
perhaps properly called "Grape Cure."
Little paths lead up to the hill-sides through the vineyards. Often
steps in the solid rock have had to be cut, and the labour and
perseverance must have been immense. When the vintage approaches,
these paths are closed by great bundles of thorn, and other signs
and marks are put up to warn off intruders.
In bad years more vinegar is made than wine; often even they do not
attempt to make the latter.
The completion of the vintage is celebrated as it began, by firing
and shouting, dancing and singing, and then the toil of tending the
vines recommences; but if the season has been propitious, the result
may be easily read in the features of the peasants, which are now for
a time released from the anxious contracted look they wore through
the summer and earlier part of the autumn.
So much in celebration of wine; but, ever mindful of our beautiful
Moselle, we will close this vintage chapter, with its praise of
wine, with a few lines in praise of water, and thus preserve that
happy balance between the two fluids which is the true secret of
enjoyment. Both are good; both are gifts to be rightly used and
thankfully enjoyed: but if the palm is to be given to one over the
other, it should not be to the usurper Wine, who generally sits upon
his sister's throne.
PRAISE OF WATER.
Many sing in praise of Wine,
Many toast the bounteous Vine;
But I will sing in praise of Water,
Earth's fairest, best, and sweetest daughter.
Many love the grape to sip,
Carrying goblets to the lip;
But I will rather seek the spring,
Its pure delights will rather sing.
Wine will cheer, but also steep
Senses in a troubled sleep;
Water ever thirst assuages,
Cooling us when fever rages.
Wine, like man its maker, flows,
Joy mixt up with many woes;
So water, made by "Him above,"
For ever flows a stream of love.
CHAPTER X.
A little below Piesport the course of our river is obstructed by a
huge mass of nearly perpendicular rock, descending so abruptly into
the water, that no path can be made round its base. From the top of
this tremendous rock the best view on the whole river is obtained. From
there the eye can follow the windings of the stream as it serpentines
through the hills, for many miles.
Unable to force her way through, the river bends off to the right,
and wins by concession what she cannot gain by force, affording a
lesson to her sex; teaching them to encircle by affection, instead
of battling against the rock. By the latter course she may at length
succeed in her desires, but not without fretting and chafing the hard
rock, causing many a line upon its once smooth brow; and, finally,
when the way is worn, the passage forced, will not the sullen rock
for ever hang, darkening with its shadow the stream conqueror, and
threatening to fall and overwhelm the persevering brawler? while, by
the course here taken, the glad wave circles with her bright arms the
lordly rock, and the sunlight on his face is reflected in her bosom;
while the light from her gay, happy breast, is thrown back upon his
manly front.
At this corner, too, the tree-groups teach us the same lesson; repeated
and beautified by the tender water hues, they, in lending beauty to
the stream, enhance their own, and give another of the innumerable
instances in which by nature we are shown how all things are adapted
and suited to their several stations; and, by aiding and assisting
one another, increase their own beauty or usefulness: thus should it
be in life.
REFLECTIONS.
The dark shades quiver
Where the tree-tops bend
Over the river,
To whose depths they lend
Their leafy beauty, which reflected lies
Within the wave, like love that never dies;
But ever from the loved one back is thrown,
Encircling him whose love is all her own.
On the promontory which we are now leaving behind us on the right
are several little villages, of which Emmel is the principal. It is
celebrated for a schism which took place there.
In 1790, the Directory at Paris wished the Curé of Emmel to take
the same oath they had compelled the French clergy to pronounce;
and on receiving the Curé's refusal, he was proscribed. All his
flock accompanied the Curé on his being driven forth, until he thus
addressed them: "I quit you, but my spirit will always remain with
you. At Bornhofen, whither I now go, I shall say the mass every
morning at nine, and you can in spirit join in the service."
They all promised so to do; and every day at nine the people collected
in the church, and said their prayers without a Curé.
After some years the Curé died, and a new one was appointed, but
the people of Emmel persisted in saying their prayers by themselves
without any assistance; and, in spite of all remonstrances, many
families remained schismatics until a few years back. It is doubtful
whether they have all returned to their former allegiance, even at
the present time.
Round the pebbly bed in which our river sings along her course where
her banks widen, then again beneath impending cliffs, we hurry on,
past Minnheim, Rondel, Winterich, and other little nests of vitality,
from which the labourers come forth to cultivate the fertile soil.
Two pretty legends are told of this district; the first is called
"The Cell of Eberhard;" the second, "The Blooming Roses;" and there
is an evident connexion between the two.
THE CELL OF EBERHARD.
A mother, being provoked, said to her unoffending child, "Go off
to the devil!" The poor girl, frightened, wandered into the woods,
then covered with snow.
Soon the mother, growing calm, became anxious about her child,
and sought her everywhere, but she could not be found: lamenting,
she wept all night.
At daybreak she arose, and induced her neighbours to join her in her
search; but no tracks were found in the freshly-fallen snow.
The mother then sought Eberhard's Cell, and wept and prayed till
four days and nights had passed. She now requested the priest to
say a mass for her lost child. No sooner had the priest raised the
Host on high, than a tender voice sounding from the forest said,
"Your little girl yet lives."
Out sprang the mother, and there, beneath the trees, she found
her little daughter, a nosegay of summer flowers in one hand and a
green twig in the other. With tears of joy the mother clasped her,
and asked her how she had been preserved.
"Dear mother," replied the child, "has always been with me. Dear
mother carried a light, and with her ran a little dog, white as the
snow, and so faithful and kind."
Then the mother perceived that the Virgin had guarded her child;
and she led the little girl into Eberhard's Cell, where they offered
the wreath at the Virgin's shrine.
Still blossoms the wreath, embalmed by love and thankful prayer.
THE BLOOMING ROSES.
Within the forest stood a little chapel, in which was a statue of
the Virgin. Hither came a young girl, and day by day adorned it with
fresh flowers. From the Madonna's arms the infant Jesus smiled upon
the child. Thus passed the spring and summer. The girl, devoted to her
occupation, and her heart filled with love for Jesus, thought less
and less upon the things of this world. One thought alone troubled
her as the autumn advanced; this was, that in winter she would not
be able to find flowers to adorn the chapel.
This sad thought weighed heavily on her till one day, when sitting
weaving a rose-wreath for the child Jesus, a voice said in her ear,
"Be not faint-hearted: are not the summer's blessings still present
with thee? let the present be sufficient for thee:" and so the girl
wove on with lightened heart.
When winter came and the roses faded, the young girl was lying on her
death-bed; her only sorrow was leaving the Virgin and child Jesus so
lonely in the forest.
Lo! at her death the hedges once more bloomed; and, in spite of snow
and frost, fresh roses blossomed in the forest. With these was the
pall decked, and on the gentle wings of their fragrance the spirit
of the young girl was wafted to the sky.
A funny story is told of an old lady at Winterich (which we are now
passing). The old lady had been the superior of a convent which was
suppressed by the French. Much grieved at this, the old lady was seized
with fits of melancholy, and when in these fits was in the habit of
knocking her head against the table. These knocks being often repeated,
and with considerable force, the part thus ill used became hard and
horny, until at length a regular ram's horn, with three branches,
protruded from the much-knocked head. The old lady cut them down;
but they only grew larger and harder, entirely covering one of her
eyes. A surgeon being called in, operated on the old dame, who,
although now eighty-eight years old, got well through the operation,
and lived for two years after, dying in 1836.
The hill called Brauneberg is now passed; the vineyards on it produce
a fine wine, called by its name.
At Muhlheim we must leave our river for a time, and explore the
charming valley of Veldenz, with its ruined castle placed on the
summit of a richly-wooded hill. The walk there is through miles of
vineyards edged with fruit-trees, and the valley below the castle is
emerald with well-watered grass.
The hills are a mass of forest, and the variously-shaped houses,
which are dropped at uncertain intervals along the bubbling stream,
form a pleasant picture of rural beauty.
Veldenz was a little principality in itself; formerly it was governed
by the Counts of the same name, but afterwards it was given to the
church of Verdun, and was then governed by fourteen magistrates,
elected by the different villages, and presided over by a prévôt,
probably appointed by the Bishop of Verdun.
LEGEND OF VELDENZ.
Irmina wept for her knightly lover, who had departed to fight the
Saracens. Her mother bade her dry her tears, for there was no lack of
lovers for a pretty girl like her; but Irmina replied with sobs, that
the ring which her knight had given her, and which she always wore,
united her to him for ever, and seemed to whisper words of love and
caress her hand.
Then the mother, fearing for her daughter's health, advised her to
throw off the ring, for her lover was surely dead, and it would be
wiser to take a live husband than mope for a dead lover.
Persuaded at length, Irmina cast her ring into the well, and seemed
to get the better of her melancholy; but one day the ring was drawn up
in the well-bucket, and the maid brought it in to her young mistress:
then her love likewise returned.
Her mother again persuaded her to cast away the fatal ring, and this
time it was buried deep in the earth; but a bean that was buried
there likewise, grew rapidly up, and carried the ring to the window
of Irmina's chamber.
Much frightened, Irmina yet rejoiced at recovering her ring, and
her love for the absent knight grew stronger than ever. Her mother
once more pressed her to destroy it, and this time proposed fire as
a means of being quit of the ring for ever.
"Do not, dear mother," said the maiden; "'twould be sin before
God. In spirit I am wedded to my absent knight, and, alive or dead,
none other husband will I have."
Still the mother persisted, and wrested the ring from her daughter's
hand; but before she could cast it into the flames the knight
stood alive in the room, and soon the ring was used for the purpose
of turning the wandering knight and the lady Irmina into a happy
bridegroom and bride.
A day's exploration of the Veldenz-thal, and other valleys into
which it leads, makes us acquainted with many agreeable walks and
charming scenes. The old castle itself is quite a ruin, but well worth
exploring, there being still a good deal of its stone-work remaining;
vineyards are found within and around its walls.
What enjoyment there is in finding one's self free to climb and saunter
amidst delicious scenery! Now we walk briskly along, returning the
"Guten tag" of the ever-polite peasants, who enunciate this phrase
from the bottom of their throats. The guten is not heard at all,
and the tag sounds as if, in the endeavour to swallow the word, the
performer choked, and was obliged, when half-strangled, to gasp it out.
At midday we halt, and luxuriate over our hard-boiled eggs and
bread and cheese, with green cloth ready spread, and gushing stream
sparkling from the rock. Then, as we lie back musing and dreaming,
what strange thoughts of the old times come into our heads! Peopled
by fancy, the old towers and walls again re-echo to the lutes and
voices of long-gone days.
And what a charming friend or mistress we find in Fancy! Most
beautiful of aërial beings, she gilds for us the darkest paths,
and smiles through every cloud upon her admiring followers.
FANCY.
I climb the hill,
And sit me in the shade;
Sitting I muse,
And, musing, woo the maid
Whose steps earth fill
With flower and loveliness
For those who use
Her kindness not amiss.
She softly sends
To me the gentle gale;
My brow she cools
With scented sweets, that sail
From where she bends
The tree-tops down below,
Mid which in pools
The tiny brooklets flow.
I woo her, she gently kisses me--
Thus goes day, as happy as can be.
Great peaks of jagged rock start out of the green hills that surround
Burg Veldenz. The stream at its base glitters through the foliage;
and the neat, well-kept farm-houses (unusual in this part) that are
sprinkled through the valley, make "Thal Veldenz" a perfect Arcadia.
Re-embarking at Muhlheim, and continuing our descent of the river,
into which three or four streams now now from the side-valleys, we
soon get a sight of the ruined castle above Berncastel, and rounding
the island opposite to Cus, the town itself, with its picturesque
houses and towers, comes into view.
Muhlheim is celebrated in verse for the sorrows of three sisters,
who, as young ladies will do, fell in love, one after another, as
each came to years of indiscretion. The eldest, being forbidden to
marry by her father, died in three months; the second, being also
forbidden, was obliged to be confined in a mad-house; still the
unrelenting old father treated his third and youngest daughter in
the same harsh manner, objecting to her very natural wish to marry a
brave young esquire: having more spirit than her sisters, or being
warned by their fate, this youngest ran away with her sweetheart,
and was disinherited by the old curmudgeon, who seems to have loved
nothing but his gold. We are not told the after-fate of the youngest,
or whether love made up for loss of gold.
CHAPTER XI.
Berncastel is a delightful, old, tumble-down-looking conglomeration of
queer-shaped houses; a mountain-stream hurries through its principal
street, if such a heterogeneous jumble of odd gable-ends and door-posts
may be called a street: but as it does duty for one, it must receive
the appellation.
This street should rather be spoken of in the past tense, for the
greater part of it was burnt in 1857; three times the town was on
fire in this year, a church and about forty houses being consumed
in the last and largest conflagration. As we shall have to revert to
these fires again, suffice it to say that the part of the old street
nearest the mountain was destroyed.
Berncastel contains some four thousand inhabitants; the tourist passing
in a steam-boat would hardly believe so many people were housed in
so small a space. This remark will apply to most of the towns and
villages on the Moselle, for only a few of the better class of houses
are visible from the water in general, the mass of buildings being
huddled out of observation as much as possible, and crowded under the
base of the impending hills; formerly these Burgs were all walled,
which accounts for the crushing.
This town dates from the tenth century, and at the end of the
thirteenth it was destroyed by a fire, in which the château of the
Bishop was burnt, together with many pictures and other valuable
objects, to the estimated worth of 70,000 rix thalers; it is now
inhabited by many rich people, to whom a great part of the fine
vineyards of the vicinity belong: there are also mines of gold,
silver, copper, and lead, which serve to enrich the community.
The vineyards are very extensive, and produce a very good wine; they
cover the mountain to a height of some hundreds of feet, and extend
for miles down the river. We are shown the estimation in which the
Berncasteler wine was formerly held in the following story of
THE BEST DOCTOR.
The lord of the château of Berncastel sat with his Chaplain drinking
his wine,--not sipping it, but pouring down huge bumpers, as was the
custom then.
Seeing his Chaplain did not drink, the Baron pressed him to do so,
assuring him that the fine Muscatel-Berncasteler would be good for
his health.
The Chaplain sighing, refused, saying, "It was not meet that he should
be drinking while his Bishop lay sick in the town at their feet."
"Sayest thou so!" cried the Baron; "I know a doctor will cure him;"
and quaffing down another mighty flagon he set off to the Bishop,
carrying a cask of the precious wine upon his own shoulders.
Arrived at the palace, he induced the invalid Bishop to consult the
doctor he had brought with him: the invalid tasted, and sipped, then,
finding the liquor was good, he took a vast gulp, and soon a fresh
life seemed glowing within him.
"That wine restores me," quoth the Bishop. "In truth, Sir Baron,
thou saidst well; it is the best doctor."
From that time the Bishop's health mended, and returning again and
again to the great phial--for he was in nowise afraid of its size--he
soon was quite cured; and ever after he consulted this doctor when
feeling unwell, keeping him always within easy reach.
Since this wonderful cure many patients have imitated the example of
the venerable Bishop, and a single barrel of Berncasteler-Muscateler
is considered sufficient to cure an ordinary patient. More must,
however, be taken by those who require it; and in all cases it has
been observed, that the patient so loves his good doctor he never is
willing to be separated from him for long. "Come and try the Doctor
Wine, O ye who suffer under a vicious system of sour beer!"
The little openings in Berncastel, for we cannot call them squares, are
rich in subjects for the painter of old houses; they look as if they
had walked out of one of Prout's pictures, and set themselves up like
stage-scenes for the oddly-costumed people to walk and talk between.
A good view is got from the ruined castle over the town; which not
in itself very interesting, is yet, on this account, well worth
a walk. When there, Cus lies at our feet, with the river rolling
between us and it. This Cus (pronounced Koos) was the birthplace of
the celebrated Cardinal Cusanus, who, report says, was a fisherman's
son: this is, to say the least of it, very uncertain; but doubtless he
was born in quite a low station of life, and by his abilities raised
himself to be Bishop of Brixen in the Tyrol, and a Cardinal.
He died in 1464; his body rests at Rome, and his heart is deposited
in the church of the Hospital which he founded at Cus, for the
maintenance of thirty-three persons who were to be not less than
fifty years of age, and unmarried; or if married, their wives were
to go into a convent.
Of these thirty-three, six are ecclesiastics, six nobles, and
twenty-one bourgeois; they all dine at a common table, and wear a
like habit of grey; they are presided over by a Rector, who is to
be always a priest of irreproachable manners, a mild and good man,
and not less than forty years old: all the inmates take a vow of
chastity and obedience to the orders of their superiors.
The Inn in Berncastel is a fair sample of the houses of refreshment
on the Moselle: the landlord dines with his guests; the dinner is
good, but ill-served, and is eaten at one o'clock, being followed
by supper at eight. Travellers come and go without the people of the
house seeming to care whether they stop long time or short; they are
charged according to their nation, English paying more than French,
and Germans less than either: however, the charges are not at all high,
except for private dinners and out-of-the-way things.
The original pie-dish bason is here found in full force, accompanied
by small square boards of napkins; the scantiness, combined with the
hardness of which, render them about as useful as a wooden platter
would be for the purpose of drying your face,--which, owing to
the fortunate construction of the bason, does not, luckily, become
very wet.
An agreeable fellow-diner informed us, that on the Moselle two codes
of law were in force,--the Prussian on the right bank, and the Code
Napoléon on the left: thus, in Berncastel a couple could not be
united in marriage without a church ceremony, while in Cus it was
optional. Our informant added that the ladies generally insisted on
a church marriage, not because they thought the ceremony necessary,
but to show off the grand array of their wedding-finery.
A tale is told at Cus of a Ghost who haunts the neighbourhood, and
sometimes visits the town; he is called
THE BAD MAURUS.
The departed Maurus, who now figures as a pernicious hobgoblin,
was formerly a resident of Cus; a drunkard and scoffer at all things
holy, this wretch filled up the measure of his iniquities by beating
his wife: so ill did he use her, that the neighbours were constantly
obliged to come in and save her from his brutality.
The thread of his evil life was summarily cut in this manner: one night
as he returned, drunk as usual, to his home, fully intending to beat
his wife if waiting up, and equally bent on thrashing her if she had
gone to bed, a man in black with a lantern kindly offered to show him
the way home: he eagerly accepted the offer, and his guide preceded
him; so the two went on, the black-hearted man led by the man in black.
In the morning Maurus was found lying dead at the foot of a rock;
they raised the body and brought it to his poor wife, who, forgetting
all his ill-usage, sorrowed for the death of her husband.
The widow ordered a suitable funeral, and the body was laid in the
churchyard, but on coming back from the funeral, Maurus was seen
looking from the garret-window, where he had been observing and
sneering at his own funeral: everybody was horrified, and Maurus
continued to haunt the upper story of his wife's house until three
priests exorcised the hobgoblin, and forced him into the country.
Here the mischievous rascal amused himself by shouting to the ferrymen,
"Fetch over! Fetch over!" They, thinking it the voice of a voyager,
willingly crossed; then Maurus jeered them, clapping his hands: at last
the priests attacked him again, and drove him into the forest. Still,
at times the wicked Maurus sneaks into town, and sits on the doorstep
of his old house, and his voice is yet heard in the forest, where he
wanders for ever.
A charming mountain walk of about four miles leads to Trarbach. Up
through the vines we climb, no longer wondering where all the wine
comes from; above the vines is a bare crest of heath-covered turf,
then a steep descent leads into the valley, at the mouth of which
Trarbach is placed: but by going this road, beautiful as it is,
more interesting scenery is omitted. The distance by river from
Berncastel to Trarbach is about fifteen miles, while by land it is
only, as we have said, about four, so great are the bendings of the
stream; which, however, we shall follow, being by no means tired of her
society. It was at Berncastel that the following verses were written,
after admiring the lovely effects there produced by the
MORNING MISTS.
I love the river when the sunshine gay
Kisses the waves, which joyful seem to play,
Dancing like elves so merrily around,
Rippling and gurgling with many a happy sound.
I love the river when the dewdrops fall,
When rocks re-echo to the herdsman's call,
Who, as the eve spreads darkly o'er the plain,
Returning, leads his cattle back again.
I love the river at that moonlight hour
When all bad spirits lose their evil power;
Calmly and holily she rides on high,
The waves soft murmur and the zephyrs sigh.
But most I love thee, O my gentle River!
When at glad morn the mists around thee quiver;
When round and o'er thee the faint-flowing veil
Now falls, now rises with the swelling gale.
As on her wedding morn the blushing bride,
With fleecy veil and white robe seeks to hide
From eager gazers, who in crowds attend,
Her beauty, and the very act doth lend
A greater charm, a new and crowning grace,
To which all other lesser charms give place:
Arrayed in veil and robe of pure white, she
Fit emblem is of virgin modesty.
O thy great beauty! thy enduring grace!
To which all other scenes and streams give place;
Causing all those who thy sweet waters know,
To praise their God, "from whom all blessings flow."
CHAPTER XII.
Early rising is absolutely indispensable to the tourist on the
Moselle. The steamers constantly start at five or six in the morning,
and if walking, the midday heat is too great to be encountered; added
to which, he would lose his pleasant rest-time by the sparkling stream.
From Berncastel, then, in the grey of early morning, we wander
forth. There are roads on both banks,--small pleasant by-roads,
through gardens and vineyards. As we proceed, and begin to think
that coffee and new-laid eggs would be no encumbrance, but rather
help to balance the system, a faint tinge of crimson appears over
the grey hills; little wreaths of mist break away from the mass of
watery vapour that clings to the river's banks, and curl upwards to
the light, and then with all its glory comes the
BREAK OF DAY.
How beautiful the first faint rays of light,
Gilding the clouds that, banishing the night,
Come like swift messengers, and drive away
From us the darkness, ushering in the day!
The day approaches, brighter and more bright;
The heavens seem bursting with the coming light;
Up flames the sun! and first the lofty hills,
The corn and uplands, with his lustre fills;
The shades retire, the birds melodious sing,
The glad earth turns to meet its gracious King;
Cool blows the wind, the water freshly flows,
All earth rejoices and in sunlight glows.
How strong and full of life we feel as (having break-fasted) we stride
along, drinking in with every breath the pure sweet air! "Guten morgen"
has not yet given place to "Guten tag," and the peasants are ascending
to their labour amid the vines; suddenly a strain of martial music
fills the air, and all look towards the trees through which now wind
a body of soldiers, with their helmets glittering in the light; gaily
they march along; the music ceases, and voices take up the strain,
which gradually sounds fainter as "the pomp of war" recedes into the
distance, until at length the air is left free to the songs of birds.
The birds, the flowers, the trees, the river,--all inoculate our
senses with their delig
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