Three more castles now claim our attention; they were all places of great importance. Bischofstein appears to have been, as its name denotes, garrisoned for [236]the Bishop (of Trèves), while Thuron and Ehrenburg were held by adherents of the Count Palatine, or other enemies of the Elector of Trèves.

Pursuing our course down the river, we left Moselkern by a path running through gardens, whose hedgerows are vines trained on a lattice-work. We found the peasants digging up fine potatoes, so congratulated them on their crop, and also on the appearance of the grape bunches; but people are never satisfied, and they said, “Yes, it is very good for the wine, and the corn, and potatoes, but the garden greens are all burnt up with the sun:” we thought of the wretched farmer, whose potatoes were all so large there were no little ones for the pigs.

Bischofstein is finely placed on a spur of the rugged mountain; beneath it is a chapel and farmhouse: vines grow in the castle-yard, and wherever a shelf of level ground can be made into soil fit for their cultivation.

There is a great white stripe round the middle of the tower, which the popular belief attributes to a deluge which submerged all the valley, and only stayed its course when half up the tower of this castle; the account given in the following tale is more probable:—
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THE BISHOP’S SERMON.

The country round Bischofstein was swarming with robber-knights and pillagers of every degree, to such an extent, that the Archbishop Johann of Trèves sent [237]out a strong band of knights, who took up their abode in the castle of Bischofstein.

The knights stayed the ravages, and soon the robbers found their occupation gone, and good living on plunder a thing of the past; so they took counsel together as to what should be done.

The robbers determined that Bischofstein must be taken and the knights in its garrison slain; therefore, with the utmost secrecy, a plan was concocted by which they succeeded in entering the castle by stealth: thus they were able to seize on the knights and their servants, and they slew every one.

A poor peasant who was in the fort contrived to escape, and he carried the tidings to the Archbishop, who sent out an army, which arrived at the fort and found all the robbers sleeping, quite drunk: these they quickly despatched, and the fort was regarrisoned.

Then the Bishop Johann caused a white line to be made round the wall of the tower, that all rogues should see, and by noting the fate of the robbers preserve themselves from the stern hand of justice. “Thus,” said the Bishop, “I preach them a sermon by which evildoers from sin may be saved; if they heed not this warning, the sword must preach in its turn.”

Hatzeport, which we pass on the way to the castle of Ehrenburg, is a well-built, well-to-do place, with a fine church. It stands at the entrance of one of the innumerable valleys that break the great ridges of mountain that shut in the course of our river. [238]

Crossing from thence to the village of Brodenbach, we enter a gorge of the hills which conducts us to the beautiful valley, at the far end of which the castle of Ehrenburg seems hanging in air.

The contrast of the sweet smiling valley, with its brook murmuring along, makes the stern fortress more gloomy. Leaving the valley, we gradually ascend by a footpath, until at length we reach where the draw-bridge formerly stood; now there is but the stone pillar that used to sustain it.

Some rough steps lead up to the gate-tower, and a ring at the bell brought a chubby-faced child, that looked much out of place amid the ruins. We entered, and an old dreamy man took the place of the child; he led us through a ruined garden that surrounded a tower of immense thickness, entering which he slowly led us by a winding road, that would admit six men to mount abreast, up to the summit of the tower.

To our surprise we now were on a piece of level ground; this tower, which was the only entrance, having been built on a lower ledge of rock.

The garden we were in was neatly kept and full of vegetables; at its extremity stood the castle, from the centre of which, and on a still higher piece of rock, the donjon keep, with its twin towers, rose up: these towers are circular, and joined by a double wall.

All round outside the walls was air; the valley seemed far away: for hundreds of feet, a pebble that [239]we dropped fell down, striking nothing till it came into the depths of the valley. Much of the ruin still remains, and the old man showed us how we might ascend to the top of the twin towers.

There we sat wrapped in solitude, the valleys far beneath us, and the hills spread out like a raised map, with here a tint of green where trees should be, and there a grey patch for rock, while over them shone out a bit of molten silver where our river flowed: so was the whole country charted out for us, and here for hours we sat, our senses drinking with delight from the pure well of fresh, sweet pleasure raised by our most novel situation.

The old man sat still beneath us; and the records in our hand told us what the old guide could not, the legends of the place.

The Knights of Ehrenburg were vassals of the great Counts of Sponheim, and very powerful in council and war; the last of the race was Count Frederick, who, according to the Chronicle of Limburg, burnt down a great part of Coblence: his reason for so doing appears in the following legend:—
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THE LAST KNIGHT OF EHRENBURG.

Count Frederick of Ehrenburg was the last of his race, his father had died while he was yet young. Feeling his castle to be lonely without a companion, he looked far and near to find a fair lady whom he might love and bring home to be mistress of Ehrenburg. [240]

Having found a suitable lady, he begged her hand from her father, saying that he would give her his castle, his name, and his sword as a dower; but the grim old warrior replied, that though his castle was strong and name great, yet his sword was too bright, too glittering, and new; and added, that his daughter’s husband must be able to show some marks of hard fighting on sword or on person. The old warrior further suggested that the young Count should burn Coblence, as he had a feud with that town.

Count Frederick retired and collected his friends, with whom he made many inroads on the burghers of Coblence, and at length he succeeded in burning a part of the town.

He immediately repaired to his loved lady’s castle, when, to his great annoyance, he found the fair one was flown. Having heard of her father’s wicked promise, that he would give her in marriage when Coblence was burnt, she had retired from the world, and in a nunnery was endeavouring to atone for the crime of her father.

The young Count raged and swore, and eventually took to his bosom a different lady, but no children were granted them, so he was the last of his race.

The records go on to relate how this last Count, having no son of his own, adopted one of the sons of a friend; this boy’s name was Walter, and he met with the adventure described in the tale called— [241]
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THE TIMELY WARNING.

It was Carnival in Coblence—all the world was there; the streets were thronged with masks, shows and processions were in all the public places; music, dancing, and merriment, reigned supreme.

Walter, the adopted son of the Count of Ehrenburg, longed to visit the gay scene, but the Count had never yet permitted him to go so far away; at length, by dint of importunity, he got leave to set out, but was strongly cautioned to meddle with no one, and avoid all disputes or quarrels: with two stout men-at-arms he went forth.

When arrived at Coblence, he went first to an hotel by the shore; in the windows of this hotel stood the young Count of Isenburg with a beautiful girl, and many of the Count’s servants were loitering about the doors of the inn.

The Count of Isenburg, on seeing young Walter, commenced forthwith to mock h............