Still surrounded by very high hills, the course of our river winds
onwards past Starkenburg, from which the Countess pounced down on the
crafty Archbishop. The pathway to Enkirch extends, under fruit-trees,
a little way inland, to where the ferry-boat crosses the river.
Passing from Bertrich to Traben one day, we heard, on arriving near
Enkirch, sounds of music and lowing of cattle. People in shoals, too,
were crossing the river, filling the boats of all sizes. We found it
was Fair-day in Enkirch, so, joining a party of brightly-dressed girls,
we went over to see all "the fun of the Fair."
At these Kermes, or Fairs, the amusements are much like those on
similar festivals in England. Goods of all sorts are exposed in little
old booths, round which the gossiping purchasers stand. Ribbons and
gingerbread, shawls, pottery, and cheap dresses, are the principal
objects of purchase; also spikes for the back of the hair of unmarried
girls, and little embroidered pieces of velvet or cloth.
The amusements consist chiefly in dancing and drinking; there are
not many shows, but "the round-about" plays its full part, and even
women and men ride, as well as the children.
The dancing is carried on with the greatest possible spirit; in fact,
it seems a matter of duty. The "Schottische," or something very much
like it, seems to be the favourite dance; but waltzing in the old
style has many adherents.
The girls are smartly dressed, and very lively and pleasant; they and
their lovers drink freely of the light wine of the country, and grow
a little more lively as the day turns into night.
Strangers at these places are considered as part of the show, and
stared at amazingly; but when addressed, the peasants are perfectly
civil, and seem glad to talk: they are, for the most part, well
informed,--far more so than farm-labourers in England usually are.
When the Kermes is over, the holiday-makers in groups embark in their
boats, or walk merrily home, often singing in parts as they go. Some
of the men take rather more wine than is good for them, but a quarrel
very seldom occurs.
Enkirch is a small town of 2000 inhabitants, containing nothing
remarkable. A great deal of wine is made near there, and its situation
is very agreeable; surrounded as it is by hills, the summer showers
often break over it, cooling the air, and freshening the sail.
From Enkirch a very pleasant path leads us to Entersburg, famous for
the legend of
THE VALLEY OF HUSBANDS.
On the heights over the little hamlet of Burg are still to be
seen some remnants of an old castle. Here a Robber-Knight once had
his residence. This Knight made it his profession to capture all
travellers, and carry them off to his dungeon, from which they were
only released on procuring a very large ransom.
For a long time this trade was most prosperously carried on, but at
length (success perhaps begetting envy, as usual,) a certain nobleman
vowed vengeance on the depredator, and swore to destroy him and his
castle. For this purpose he set out with a large force, and surrounded
the Robber-Knight's tower.
The robbers fought furiously, yet were forced to retreat into their
fort by the superior force of the nobleman.
The chief then being short of provisions, consulted his wife (as all
prudent men should), and she concocted a plan. The lady then mounted
the tower, and addressing the nobleman, said that the stronghold
should be given up if he would allow her to carry out a bundle of
whatever she wished. To this modest request the besieger readily gave
his assent, and the lady came forth with a heavy bundle placed in a
basket, which she carried with difficulty.
The besiegers allowed her to pass, and rushed into the fort, slaying
the robbers who there were collected.
The lady and bundle were all that escaped; and so this courageous
and sharp-witted woman saved the life of her husband.
The valley is still called the Manne-thal, or Valley of Husbands.
Below Burg, on the left bank, is Reil, most charmingly snuggled in
trees; a road from it leads up to the forest, through which passes
a good road to Alf. This road keeps along the crest of the hill,
past the neck of the Marienburg promontory, then descends into Alf.
The views from this road are superb. Through the openings of oak-trees
are seen distant landscapes, that, sleeping in sunshine, seem gems
to adorn the green girdle which Nature binds round the earth.
The fairy Moselle seems tranquilly sleeping through noontide, while
in the heavens the fleecy white clouds are protecting our gentle river
from harm; and their brightness reflected in her, seems a sweet dream
sent from above, which gladdens the heart of the sleeper.
There is a dip in the long neck of land that leads towards Zell,
which enables us to see a distant reach of our river; thus, standing
quite still, three different windings are seen, and by taking a very
few paces, a fourth (beyond Alf) comes in view.
Comparisons are more or less odious, as every one knows, and has
written when young; but, considering the raptures in which people
annually indulge on the Rhine, it is, to say the least of it, wonderful
that scarcely any visit our lovely river, which certainly will not
suffer by being compared with the grander and manlier stream.
The Convent of Marienburg dates from the twelfth century. Owing to
its situation, it was always sought by conflicting parties as a strong
post in war-time, which so interfered with its usefulness as a place
of repose for the weary in mind, that Pope Leo X. had it abolished, and
the twelve canonesses received each a pension of twenty-five florins of
gold, a half tun of wine, and three sacks of corn; so with these goods
of the world they contented themselves for the loss of their convent.
At this present time the ruins of the convent and church are still
standing, and within them an inn and a bright little garden, where
refreshments are served by the landlady and her two daughters: the
father is one of the Foresters, and his house is adorned with arms
of all sorts. In the garden is a large room, surrounded with spoils
of the chase, and stuffed animals of all sorts and sizes. The young
ladies play the guitar and sing national songs, so a day may be
pleasantly spent there in the old German style.
There is a little chapel still fitted up; as they open the door
the interior is gloomily seen, but a window throws a strong light
on a misshapen image of some cadaverous saint. The effect is quite
startling, especially if you have been listening to the tales of the
hermits and ghosts who delighted to live and to wander here. Here is
one of the stories, called
THE PALE NUN.
Over-persuaded by the Abbess and sisters, Marie had entered the
convent, forsaking her lover, the Knight Carl of Zant, and all her
worldly possessions.
The vows were taken and the days wore on, the kind attentions and
former solicitude of the nuns vanished, and poor Marie found her life
one long monotony; then she remembered her lover, and the wings of
the poor prisoned bird were hurt by the wires of the cage.
At length she bethought her that her possessions, not herself, were
the objects desired by the Abbess; so she fell at the feet of this
lady, and offered to give all that she had to the convent, if only she
might depart. The haughty Superior severely replied, that her goods
had all passed to the cloister, and inflicted a penance for the carnal
desires that she said were wickedly filling the heart of the nun.
From this time forth Marie rapidly drooped like a poor blighted flower,
whose beauty and gladness departed, remains on its stem with bowed
head and but a semblance of life.
One morning a fisherman found her dead body at rest within the
Moselle. The Knight Carl being informed of her fate set off for the
Holy Land, and there died fighting the battles of faith.
The Pale Nun may often be seen, with her wan face lit up by the moon,
as she glides noiselessly through forest and ruin.
The ruins are placed on the summit of the neck of land, and Murray's
"Guide-book" compares the view at this place to one on the Wye, and
with justice; indeed, those who are acquainted with the beautiful
Wye will find the Moselle has many points of resemblance to her
young sister in England, but she is in every respect more lovely
and graceful.
This promontory is about three miles in length, and scarcely five
hundred yards across in the narrowest place. It is a spur of the Eifel
mountains, or hills, as they are called, according to the fancy of
the speaker. The promontory is two or three hundred feet over the
bed of the river, and near the ruined cloister the slope is almost
precipitous, just affording spaces for vines, which flourish extremely
on the south side. The forest extends over the base of the promontory,
and then gives place to the corn-fields and meadows.
The Eifel is a volcanic range, which is thrown up in peaks and great
rugged masses. Formerly, these were volcanoes or craters, but now
they are merely objects of interest in the landscape, shining above
the level of the forest, which climbs round their bases. This level
varies in height, but is always some hundreds of feet above the river;
and from the table-land break little valleys, completely embosomed
in trees, and glittering with brooks. In the next chapter we shall
visit one of these valleys.
On the upper or south side of Marienburg, and immediately opposite,
is Punderich, famous for nothing except the following legend:--
THE GOLD CROWN.
A little way out of the village of Punderich stands a small chapel,
within which, on a stone altar, is a figure of the mother of God. A
crown of silver shines on her head, and a white veil flows over
her shoulders.
A long while ago the Virgin was crowned with a crown of pure gold;
but a wicked knight, named Klodwig, who owned many forts on the banks
of the river, passed by. When he was near to the chapel a great storm
arose, and the fierce thunder crashed round him. Seeing the chapel he
sought refuge there, and guided his horse up to the altar. Thankless
for shelter, on perceiving the crown he snatched it down from the
image's head, and placed it upon that of his courser.
No sooner was the sacrilege committed than off started the courser,
and fled frantically over the fields; the guilty knight, seeing the
river before him, endeavoured to throw himself down from his horse,
but before he could accomplish his purpose the river received them,
and down sank the gold crown, the knight, and his charger.
At the end of the Marienburg promontory, round which we are now
passing, is the village of Kaimt, and on the opposite shore stands
the bright town of Zell.
Zell is a flourishing place, extending along the bank of the river;
its general aspect is cheerful and new, but here and there an old house
with little quaint pinnacles reminds us of the age of the place. These
little old houses seem squeezed into corners by the pretentious
new-comers, whose elbows push into the ribs of the poor old fellows,
until their timbers or ribs are bulged out by the pressure.
There is a round tower above, and lines of poplars reach out of the
town; the mountain overhead is full of ravines, and bushes of stunted
growth here and there appear on the surface. A little higher up stream,
where the river turns round, resuming her course to the north, the
hills are most beautiful; for, covered with trees, the shadows as
the day lengthens creep on, and break into masses the huge cliffs
and sons of the forest.
Zell is renowned for the bravery of its inhabitants, which at one
time had passed into a proverb.
The village of Kaimt, from whose gardens the vine-wreaths sweep down
just over our heads as we pass, was always unlucky; as the weaker in
war go to the wall, so, being close to the strong fort of Zell and
the fortified cloister of Marienburg, Kaimt was generally burnt by
one or other of the contending parties, and always plundered by both.
Soon we reach Merl, where the Knight Carl of Zant lived, who loved
the Pale Nun of Marienburg. Many other distinguished families lived in
this town, which is very old, and full of quaint houses; its situation
is very delightful: sheltered from cold by the vine-covered mountain
behind, it looks out on the bend of the river, with Marienburg opposite
and Alf in the distance.
Before arriving at Alf is Bullay. This charming town is celebrated for
its fêtes and its gaiety; on one of its fêtes, a noble and numerous
company being collected, the host of the party, a relation of the
Knight Carl of Zant, filled a huge bumper and asked one of his guests,
named Frederick of Hattstein, if he could drink it down at a draught,
as he thought he seemed afraid of his wine.
Frederick being a very strong man (not liking to be mocked), seized a
full cask that stood in the room and lifted it up; then exclaiming,
"I take this draught in honour of the Elector of Trèves, my good
master;" he finished the ohme.
Excited by this, and not wishing to be outdone by a stranger, the
host and his brother each seized a like cask, and emptied them in
honour of the Emperor and the Abbess of Marienburg: these three are
still known as the three topers of Bullay.
Without answering for the truth of this story, we believe it is an
undoubted fact, that in the "old times" German nobles daily drank a
portion of wine equal to about sixteen of our bottles.
We now arrive at Alf.