Deep down, within the caverns of the earth,
Reigns Rubezahl, the Gnome;
Here reigned he, long before man had his birth,
Beneath the rocky dome.
Fires glowed around him, and the great hall shone
With fitful glare that from their flames was thrown.
Diminutive and swart his subject slaves
Grim-visaged stood around,
Collected in all haste from central caves,
Where, delving underground,
Ever these baneful sprites are doomed to toil,
And win from rocky beds their iron spoil.
Met thus within the murky council cave,
The Gnomes and their great King
Agree to stay the course of the pure wave
Which now is hastening
From her far mountain source with joyous tide,
To meet her husband Rhine, a fairy bride.
The scheme agreed upon was, by the fire
Enchainèd underground,
To raise within the earth commotion dire;
And thus with rocks surround
The pure stream, which hitherward was flowing
With beauty crowned and with heaven's light glowing.
So with his flame-sceptre King Rubezahl
Causes the earth to shake;
Back flow the streams, the neighb'ring mountains all
With fear and terror quake;
The lurid fires burst forth with horrid glare,
Defacing earth, defiling the glad air.
Thus were the Eifel mountains upwards thrown
From out the deep abyss;
Thus sought the Evil King to reign alone,
Driving from earth that Bliss
Which rapidly was gliding here to dwell
In the sweet person of the bright Moselle.
Joyously onward, from the Vosges hills speeding,
Dances the fairy stream;
Attendant rivulets her course are feeding,
Whose shining torrents gleam
Forth from the valleys, where they timid hide,
To join their life with hers and swell her tide.
Thus flowed she on, until her course was stayed
By the uplifted hills;--
Grim smiled the Fire-king at the fairy maid
And her attendant rills.
The Gnomes peeped forth from many a cavern hole,
And forged fresh fetters to enchain the soul.
Oh, short-lived triumph! never yet was sin
Allowed to conquer long;
Never was bounteous love thus hemmèd in
By evil spirits strong,
But it would win its way through hearts or stone,
Causing their power to yield before her own.
So wins her way around, with graceful bend,
The fairy stream Moselle;
And the Gnome King, and all his will attend,
Are forced their wrath to quell;
While she and her enleaguèd fairies throw
Over these Eifel hills, thus raised, a glow
Of more than earthly beauty, which exceeds
All else around her course;
Each Fairy gives her gift--the streamlet leads,
Above the hidden force
Of demons toiling in eternal night,
Its silv'ry thread, for ever glad and bright.
The Wood-Nymphs give their shadiest coverts green,
Spread out fresh turf and flowers,
And clothe the banks which the brooks glide between
With everlasting bowers.
Thus were the rocks thrown upward by the Gnome
Made pleasant spots for future man to roam.
In the most exquisite of these sweet vales
Gushes a healing fount,
A bounteous spring, whose water never fails
To flow from forth the mount.
Love so has banished Hate, and Beauty shines
Above the darksome toil of demon mines.
From Alf to Bad Bertrich an excellent road runs winding through a
succession of green valleys, shut closely in by the mountains, which
are covered with foliage. The Alf-bach, or brook, runs by the side
of the road; its waters turn the wheels employed in the iron-works,
which are embosomed in trees near the entrance of these secluded
valleys. So, after all, we find the fire-fiend is not extinguished,
but by the assistance of his friend Man is, as of old, still defacing
nature and enslaving a beautiful stream.
Six English miles of beauty bring us to Bad Bertrich itself. In all
probability, the tourist in Germany will here exclaim, "I never heard
of Bad Bertrich." Even so, we reply; and that constitutes one of its
greatest charms. While the English, and Russians, and French are all
swarming to Baden, to Ems, Schwalbach, Wildbad, and the legion of
baths with which all Germany teems, there is left neglected one of
the most beautiful places in Europe. There is plenty of shade, and
plenty of sun, and plenty of air, and yet "the Bad" is quite sheltered.
The village is very small and clean. There are several small inns, and
one good hotel, called Werling's. This hotel is kept by an unmarried
woman, who is one of the oddest, best-hearted old bodies possible. She,
however, is not the leading person in the establishment, as everything
is left to the waiter, a remarkable character.
This waiter is an exceedingly jolly old fellow, who, as the day
advances, becomes more and more deeply in liquor; his eyes close up
gradually, and his senses seem to be wandering. Now these symptoms
are not unusual to men in his state; but it is most unusual for a man
when so overcome to be able to wait on some twenty or thirty guests,
to bring what is wanted for each, and to (without any notes) keep
account in his head of what wine and food each has partaken. Yet all
this he does, and does it right well.
In the winter this hotel is shut up, and our old friend the waiter goes
hunting with two apoplectic dogs, that snore on chairs all the summer.
While we were there, his waiting, and drinking, and hunting were nearly
all brought to a sudden termination; for one night, while sitting at
supper, a tremendous smell of sulphur began to pervade the apartment,
and following our noses, we found that it came from a small room to
which the old waiter retired between courses to indulge in a sip. By
this time the smell was so strong, and on opening the door the air
became so dense, that it was all we could do to drag the old fellow
out. It then appeared that some visitors had given him a parcel of
fire-works to put safely aside, and he had for safety placed them
among matches and candle-ends, and somehow the whole had exploded.
Adjoining the inn is the bath-house, and around it a garden and
promenade. Close by is a fountain, where the public drink the
waters for nothing. The baths cost one shilling each, and are most
delicious. The water flows through all the time you are in, and
bubbles and seethes round your body: the after-effect is to freshen
and strengthen the frame, while the nerves are all soothed.
The Herr Director is an old officer of engineers or artillery, and
speaks excellent English. He is a man of great taste, and has laid out
(at the expense of the Government) the walks and extensive grounds
of the place.
All over the woods and the valleys these walks wind through the shade;
and at all the best points of view are seats of wood or stone, covered
with bark. Often, too, summer-houses, with roofs that will keep the
showers from wetting the visitors, are met on the hills.
Bad Bertrich was well known to the Romans, who, in the fourth century,
erected a bath-house and other fine buildings. Remnants of these are
often turned up, and some are preserved.
In the fifteenth century these baths again became noted, but fell
again into disuse; but in 1769 the last Elector of Trèves had the
springs properly managed, and built the Kurhaus, which now stands.
The bathing establishment, hotel and village, are clustered together
at one end of a circular valley. Precipitous cliffs shut in this
beautiful valley, round which a brooklet runs singing. The cliffs
are covered with forests of oak, beech, and other fine trees. The
little paths that wind round them are bordered with mountain-ash,
through whose red clusters of berries the green carpet which lies in
the valley, with the water splashing around it, is seen.
Two eminences in the green valley are surmounted by the two churches:
one is Protestant, and the other (the old one) is for Roman Catholic
worship.
A pleasant little society of Germans collect at this place, and music
enlivens the air; but the season is considered quite over in September,
and the music then goes away.
Water to drink and water to bathe in, and plenty of fresh air and
exercise, will render a stay at Bad Bertrich most pleasant; added
to which there are plenty of excursions to make, plenty of pleasant
walks, and objects to sketch; and wild flowers and rocks to examine;
or shooting for those so inclined.
One of the shortest and most beautiful walks about Bertrich is to the
Käsegrotte, or cheese grotto: this is a cave supported by basaltic
pillars which look as if made of cheeses placed one on the top of the
other. By the side of the cave tumbles a rill of water, which flows
from a most beautiful little pool above; over the ravine is a rustic
bridge, exceedingly well-constructed: the banks are covered with trees.
LINES ON THE KÄSEGROTTE.
Pure and beautiful the streamlet flows,
Fresh from the earth it springs;
Like heavenly light that o'er earth glows,
And fans the angels' wings.
Within the grot a Spirit dwells,
Lovely, and pure, and sweet;
Hard by the streamlet gently wells,
Cooling the fair retreat.
So, hidden in the heart of man,
Is love for nature pure;
So, ever since the world began,
Has welled God's mercy sure.
Close to this grotto is a seat commanding an exquisite view of the
Alf-bach; its course is blocked with masses of stone washed down by
its torrent: these stones form the brook into a succession of little
pools, in which the setting sun reflects his brightness. Paths along
the brook lead through groves in which seats, beautifully placed,
are dedicated to different German poets.
Another little spring, called the Peter's Brunnen, on the side of the
hill opposite the village, is famous for the extreme clearness and
coldness of its waters; the water is collected into a cistern, and
sitting in the shade under the rock which holds these cold waters,
the air is cool even on the hottest day. A lion's head allows the
imprisoned spring to send forth its waters, which trickle and splash
into a bason underneath.
LINES ON THE PETER'S BRUNNEN.
Trickling gently, lightly falling,
The Water-Nymph to us is calling
From her hidden cool retreat,
Where the hill-drops fresh do meet;
And to us she seems to say,
"My commands on you I lay,
"That, while thus you near me stay,
"You shall drive all care away,
"And with my waters' murmur sweet
"Refresh your minds at my retreat."
The meadow that fills the valley of Bertrich is intersected with
walks, and gardens are being formed at the end farthest from the
village. Above these new gardens the Alf falls in a cascade over the
rocks; a part of the water is conducted into fish-ponds, that are to
be well stocked.
The Falkenlei is well worth visiting; it is a bare mass of rock,
that rears its head over the tree-tops on the summit of a mountain:
it is 160 feet high and 600 feet long; it is formed of basalt, and
is inhabited by foxes and falcons. It is supposed to be an extinct
volcano.
One of the best rambles is down the valley nearly to the village
of Alf, and then up the hills to Burg Arras; afterwards, explore
the Uesbach valley. But in all directions the walks are nearly
equally beautiful, and as only a visit can convey a proper idea of
Bad Bertrich, we will not endeavour to bring into mere words such
beautiful scenery: go and explore!
The first Knight of Arras was a brave man, who, at the time of the
Hunnish invasion, was a poor collier; he had twelve sons equally brave,
and they all fought so stoutly and well, that after the defeat of the
Huns the Pfalz-graf selected this collier as the bravest and best
warrior there, and causing him then to kneel down conferred on him
the order of knighthood and gave him this castle.
The Alf-bach, of which we here give a peep, falls into the Moselle at
the village of Alf, which is a cheerful old town; as usual, beautifully
placed between the river and brook: it contains very good little inns,
and is a good point to rest at.
EVENING SHADOWS.
The sun retires--the shades draw near--
Their lengthened forms now close appear;
With noiseless step they onwards speed,
Like Time, whose passage swift we heed
As little as the close of day,
Which vanishing from us away
Leads surely to eternity.
Oh, let the waning daylight teach
This lesson; whilst yet Time can reach,
Ere from our eyes is passed for ever
That day which life from death doth sever,--
"From earthly shadows let us fly,
"Let upwards soar our thoughts on high,
"To where Love reigns eternally."