Trarbach was an interesting little town, of perhaps fifteen hundred
inhabitants. It was one of the most perfect specimens of its class
existing, and the fire that burnt it to the ground has robbed many a
tourist of subjects for his sketch-book that can scarcely be replaced.
The streets of the town were very narrow and winding, the houses
projected over their bases in every variety of irregularity: they
were nearly all built of wood frames, filled up with plaster, as
those in the villages are; but frequently this plaster was covered
with many-coloured tiles, rounded at the edges. The general effect
was a sort of green shot with red tints, and being glazed, these
tiles reflected blue from the sky, and broken lights and hues of all
sorts, giving a very gay and pleasing appearance. The casements were
filled with glass that was nearly as green as the tiles, and from
the windows hung out lengths of cloth; or bright flowers in their
pots filled the openings, when not occupied by the faces of gossips,
who carried on quick conversation with others below in the street,
or else in the opposite windows, almost within reach of their arms.
A little canal wound about, following the course of the streets. This
was covered over with flat stones; but many apertures allowed your feet
to slip in, if a careful watch was not kept. The pavements required
the same caution, as holes were abundant, and cabbage-stalks plentiful.
Here and there houses more modern, or of greater pretension than
others, had large windows and walls built of stone. The church was
placed on an eminence, and had many gables, quite in keeping with the
little walled town over which it presided. Squeezed into a space too
small for its wants, the town overlapped the old walls and formed
different suburbs, the chief of which lay on the banks of a brook
which here dashes down through the steep valley into the river.
Busy and flourishing, Trarbach was quite a gay city compared to the
clusters of houses that call themselves Stadts and Dorfs on the banks
of our river, and in the valleys surrounding.
High up on a lofty cliff directly over the town are the ruins of
the Gräfinburg Castle. In bygone days this castle belonged to the
powerful Counts of Sponheim, and was built with funds procured in
the following manner from an Archbishop of Trèves, and named after
the sharp-witted Countess.
THE BISHOP'S RANSOM.
The Count of Sponheim dying, his beautiful wife, Lauretta, was left
with her young son to contend against the malice of the Archbishop
Baldwin of Trèves, who claimed her territory for himself, with no
right but that of "the strong hand;" Baldwin deeming that a young
widow would not be able to support the claims of her son against an
Elector and Prince-Bishop.
The Archbishop formally excommunicated her as a first step, on her
contumaciously refusing to surrender her rights to a usurper. The
beautiful Countess laughed at this proceeding, and being assisted by
many good knights, defied all his efforts.
One fine day in May, the Bishop, who was lodging in Trarbach, embarked
in a boat for Coblence, and much enjoying the voyage, stood talking
and planning with his adherents how best he might surprise the Countess
of Sponheim, whose castle of Starkenburg rose from the rocks overhead.
While thus scheming, the Bishop perceived on the bank a number of men,
who seemed armed, and awaiting his coming. Hastily, therefore, his
lordship gave orders to quicken their pace; but suddenly a great shock
threw Baldwin and many of his friends down on their knees. This was
caused by the bow of the boat coming quickly against a strong chain,
which was placed by the Countess's orders just under the water,
reaching from shore to shore. Before the Bishop and friends could
recover their footing the Countess's adherents were on them, and the
whole party made prisoners and marched up to the Castle of Starkenburg.
The angry Bishop was led into the presence of the beautiful lady. At
first the Prelate demanded that he should instantly be freed, and
spoke of the rights of the Church, the shameless treachery of the
whole proceeding, and the risk his captors ran of damnation.
At all this the lady but smiled, and the Bishop's heart melted within
him as he gazed on her beauty.
The days sped away, and the Archbishop Baldwin finding the beautiful
Countess was not to be moved by his threats, nor yet won by his love,
bethought him at length of his people, who pined for so gentle a
shepherd; therefore he sent off to Trèves, asking his flock for a
ransom, which the Countess insisted his lordship should pay before
he set out, "as some slight compensation," she said, "for the loss
of his presence. Moreover," her ladyship added, "that the Archbishop
was something indebted for the use of her larder and cellar."
The bill for eating and drinking proved heavy, and the amount for the
loss of his pleasing society brought the sum total up to sufficient to
pay for the building the strong castle, whose ruins now crumble over
the good town of Trarbach: this castle proved an effectual barrier
against the Archbishop's encroachments.
At parting, the Prelate absolved the fair Countess of guilt, and took
away the excommunication under which she had laboured; so there is
probably no truth in the tale that her ladyship haunts the old ruin,
and constantly weeps for her crime of incarcerating so holy a man.
This castle of Gräfinburg was a most important fortress, and capable of
making a stout resistance, even in the days of cannon; for, in 1734,
the Marquis of Belle-Isle was sent by Louis XIV., with a strong army,
to ravage the territories of the Elector of Trèves, who escaped
by flight to Ehrenbreitstein. The Marquis laid siege to Trarbach,
and after a hard struggle, and enduring a fierce bombardment, the
garrison capitulated, and marched out with all the honours of war:
the castle was then rased to the ground by the Marquis, leaving only
the portion engraved at the head of the preceding chapter.
The burning of Trarbach, which happened last autumn, was a splendid
but melancholy sight; we chanced to be sleeping at Traben, a town
on the opposite side of the river, and from our windows we saw the
magnificent spectacle.
About four in the afternoon the fire first began, caused (it was said)
by some children playing with matches. As may be easily imagined, from
the fact of the very old houses, all built of wood, being crushed into
narrow streets and enclosed within walls, the flames spread rapidly;
so fast, indeed, they came on, that the poor people flying were forced
to throw down the goods they were trying to save and run for their
lives. The church, being on an eminence a little out of the town,
was thought quite secure, and in it were stored the effects from the
neighbouring houses until it was filled from roof-tree to floor.
The night now set in dark as pitch; still the fire crept on, reaching
its red forked tongue over the narrow streets, in spite of the water
which was freely supplied from the river; at last the church caught,
and the flames, bursting from windows and roof, consumed all the
goods that were stored, and destroyed the old building itself.
The sight was superb; the whole space, enclosed by the hills in which
the town lay, surged in great waves of fire: in this huge molten sea
great monsters appeared to be moving, whose shapes seemed writhing
with pain as those of the devils in hell.
The glare fell on the ruins of Gräfinburg, and the water reflected it
back. The houses were all burnt to the ground, excepting only those
seen in the view, and a very few others which lay in the outskirt. The
inhabitants laboured all night with the engines, but at six in the
morning, when we came away, great clouds of dull smoke still ascended
from where Trarbach had stood, but which now was only a ruin.
This fire was one of a series. In three succeeding days, Zell,
Zeltingen, and Trarbach were more or less burnt; and within a short
time Berncastel was thrice visited by the Fire-fiend. Many other
smaller fires also took place, and no one could give us the reason;
troops were sent out from Trèves, but nothing was ever elicited.
Traben, which was also partially burnt, is a curious enough place,
and has as bad pavement as any in Europe: the little inn there was
well spoken of by Murray, so now they charge very dear, and give
very indifferent food. When we speak of dearness on the Moselle,
we do not mean actually dear, for prices are far lower than those
on the Rhine; only when in one little inn we get our supper and bed,
with bottle of wine, for three shillings, we grumble at paying five
for the same in another, where nothing is better.
Not far from Traben is the place where Kloster Springiersbach formerly
stood in a solitude; here came crowds of pilgrims, for the place was
most holy, and inhabited by many pious monks: of one of these a legend
is told, called
THE LILY IN THE CHOIR.
A very pious monk lay dying upon his bed, around him his brethren
prayed for his soul; the dying man suffered from much pain, therefore
his dissolution would be a blessing for him. The monk had been too
weak to attend at his prayers in the chapel for many days past,
and lo! over the place where he had been accustomed to pray, a white
lily put forth its leaves. The holy man died, and the lily then burst
into flower: so passed the guileless soul of the man from earth into
heaven, and the pure blooming lily long marked the place where he
knelt in the chapel,--an image of him whose departure from earth we
now have narrated.