From Cochem, an easy walk brings the tourist within reach of no less than seven castles,—viz. Beilstein, Cochem, Winneburg, Clotten, Treis, Elz, and Pyrmont. The first four we have already noticed: in this chapter we will make a walking tour to the other three named.
Leaving Clotten behind us, we walked on, under a broiling sun, to Pommern. At the back of Pommern is a long, winding, narrow valley, through which the Pommerbach runs. Where it enters the Moselle, the banks of our river are covered with turf and shade-spreading trees. Under these latter we lay, enjoying the cool after our hot, dusty walk. The brook was nearly dry, so we made an agreement with a wild-looking girl, who was watching some cows drink in the river, that she should for the sum of twopence sterling fetch us a pannikin of fresh, cold water, we stipulating to look after her cows in the meanwhile. [220]We found our task rather difficult, as the cows were a most unruly set of brutes, who, not recognising our authority, wished to make their way into the adjoining gardens. At length, however, the water arrived, and the bargain was completed.
Most luxurious was the fresh well-water, the tree-shade, and the rest: a cigar also lent its “enchantment to the view,” which embraced a reach of the river, with the woods on its shores, glowing in the noonday haze. Close to us was an ancient chateau, with its high-peaked roof and many gables; a tower was at one end, and over the roof appeared the church spire. The brook trickled past, and the pollard willows on its green banks marked its course down to the river. The chateau is now only used as a farm, and the upper part was stored with hay. Formerly it was the residence of a knight, who held it in fief from the Archbishop of Trèves.
Our river lay so still, so clear, so blue beneath us; she also seemed resting till the heat should pass. The mountains, towers, and towns were watching as she slept over the glorious beauty of our Fairy Queen Moselle. As of old, in her earliest days, the freshness of purity still was in her waters,—still innocence and beauty were combined in her azure form; but who shall describe the glory of her maturity, the loveliness of her now perfected form?
It was noontide, and no foot was stirring. The birds had ceased their songs, the trees were motionless, and the still mountains were repeated in the [221]stream, as though they had plunged from their burning heights headforemost into the cool wave.
And thus we sat and mused: speech would have been desecration. Peace was on the earth! What sermons Nature preaches!—always eloquent and simple. How she touches our hearts, and teaches us the truth; while human eloquence, with all its art, fails to impress or rouse us from our state of apathy! What lessons may be learnt, what blessings gained, in a summer’s ramble by rivers’ banks, and through the mighty forest, where the silence is more eloquent than words; or on the mountain-tops, where earth seems already left behind, and the sky appears almost within our reach!
A little below Pommern, where a large island ends, we crossed to Treis, and went through the meadow valley to the base of the rock on which Treis Castle stands. It was a good climb to the summit, and the path appeared as unfrequented as the forest round the princess who slept until an adventurous knight woke her with a kiss.
The castle of Treis belonged to a very ancient family, who sent knights to the Holy Land under Godfrey de Bouillon. Afterwards it passed into the hands of Queen Richenza of Poland, who gave it to the Convent of Brauweiler, and it was henceforth garrisoned for the Church by dependants of the Archbishop of Trèves.
On one occasion, the Pfalz-graf of the Rhine sent word to the Governor of the castle that the Church [222]did not want forts, as it was sufficiently protected by the Divine power. The Governor acquainted the Bishop, and he excommunicated the Pfalz-graf for his impiety (a step the bishops always seem to have taken in their personal quarrels). The Pfalz-graf, however, did not care for the Bishop’s threats, and took the castle.
The angry Bishop assembled an army, and marched to retake this Church property. He soon appeared before the castle, and, with his crucifix in his hand, summoned it to surrender, and upbraided the Pfalz-graf for seizing it.
The Pfalz-graf, seeing the army of the Bishop was too numerous for him to contend with successfully, began to think the Bishop’s arguments were strong ones, so he quietly gave up the castle.
The poet ends by saying what may be thus almost literally translated:—
“The Cross a perfect victory gained,
“Thus was its mightiness maintained.”
This castle is curiously constructed. It is placed on the summit of a neck of land, both sides of which are precipitous. The keep is at the outer extremity of this neck, and the high rock on which it stands towers perpendicularly from the valley to the height of some four hundred feet. The main part of the castle was on the neck of land, and at the inner end of the neck was a very strong gate-tower and other buildings. These three portions of the castle were joined together by strong walls: but if the [223]gate-tower was forced the garrison could first of all defend the centre, which was divided by a great ditch from the gate-tower; and, finally, they could retire into the keep, which formed a castle in itself. Thus the assailants had to take three separate fortresses.
The tower and considerable fragments of the other parts of this castle still remain, wrapped in solitude. The old hall can still be traced. Where the knights caroused and the ladies smiled is now the haunt of the owl, who sleeps among the branches of ivy that are gradually forcing out the stones from the old walls.
IVY-GIRT RUINS.
From the ruined, crumbling wall,
Ancient fragments downwards fall,
No longer held in iron grasp
By ivy hands, which twining clasp
Those ancient towers and turrets grey,
To which their girdling brings decay.
As an old nation, tottering to its fall,
Doth foreign legions to its armies call,
A time triumphant! then the hireling Band,
That erstwhile strengthened, seize on the command.
Alike the ivy and the friend
Their aid insidious freely lend,
And gradual push their fibres in,
Until the tower or land they win,—
Until the yoke is firmly placed,
Or firm the twigs are interlaced;
Then dies all freedom from the conquered land,—
Then is the ancient tower compelled to stand,
Supporting by its strength the plant whose sway,
Like despot monarch’s, brings it sure decay.
Years wear away, the despot’s crown
Is green with laurel of renown. [224]
In slavery the nation groans:
Griped by the iron twigs, the stones,
Disjointed from their firm array
By tyrant plants’ (or monarchs’) sway,
Fall crashing down, and in like ruin hurled
Are walls, and stones, and conqu’rors of the world;
Oppressors and oppressed all equal share
The curse inhaled in slavery’s foul air.
Treis boasts a fine church and good inns. Carden is a town of size, and many of the buildings deserve notice, the first is the old toll-house, the landing-place.
Toll-house.
Toll-house.
[225]
On the hill opposite Carden is a chapel high upon a rock: the road leading to it has at intervals shrines, at which the religious processions halt on their way to the chapel. Through the vineyards inland of the town there is also a road, with shrines at every ten yards; this likewise leads up to a Calvary chapel. Carden, in the number of its religious edifices, surpasses all the other small towns on the river.
Many of these buildings are now secularised into barns and outhouses, but the church of St. Castor has just been repaired, as also a small, elegant chapel, that stands close to the river.
[Contents]
LEGEND OF ST. CASTOR.
For many years St. Castor lived in the forest, eating nothing but herbs, and drinking only from the clear spring. He taught the Gospel to all, and was much reverenced by his hearers.
The people, who were living in rough huts in the forest, now collected by St. Castor, built a village, and raised a church to the glory of God. His work completed, the Saint died; and in the course of centuries men forgot where his body had been laid, until a certain priest dreamt, and in his dream it was revealed to him where the Saint slept. Thrice this dream was repeated; so, going to the Bishop of Trèves, the priest told him what had occurred. Search was then made, and the bones of the Saint were discovered; and over them was raised the stately church [226]which we see at the present day, and which is dedicated to this good Saint.
Brauer’s Inn is good, and Carden is a very interesting old place. The space near the church is s............