The steamers that ply on the Moselle are few in number, but very well
appointed. Sometimes in summer there is not enough water to enable
them to travel, and often a good bump is experienced from some hidden
rock. On one occasion we knocked quite a good-sized hole in the bottom,
and tore off a large piece of one paddle-wheel; but there was not the
slightest danger, as the water was not deep enough for us to sink into
it, so we pumped away for some time, and patched up the hole. Shortly
after we met the down-steamer, which had likewise started a leak,
and we were all much amused at the solemnity with which our captain
handed over to his friend a pump, which he knew would not work,
as he had tried it in vain in our boat. It was received with gratitude.
There was a waiter on board this boat, whose sole object in life
seemed to be to cheat the passengers; his powers of addition were
very great, and only surpassed by his effrontery. There is a printed
tariff for everything, so his attempts were generally unsuccessful;
but, like a gallant fellow, he returned again and again to the charge,
nothing abashed; we frequently met this individual, and although he
must, after the first two or three attempts, have found out that we
were not to be done by him, yet up to our last settlement he tried
to overcharge; poor fellow, it was, we suppose, an innocent mania,
like some people have for pocketing lace. The living is good, and
the boats not at all crowded, which is better for the passengers than
the Company; and the officers are very polite.
A straight reach of the river brings us to Neef, which is completely
embosomed in trees, and the hills at its back are covered with
vines. On the opposite bank the bare rock abruptly approaches the
water; from it a road has been blasted.
The Government are yearly improving the navigation of our river,
by blowing up rocks and damming the stream.
There is a legend connected with Neef, nearly similar to that of
St. Brelade's Church in Jersey, which we have already laid before
our readers in Channel Islands. The following is the Moselle version:--
THE ANGEL WORKMEN.
On the hills above Neef is a graveyard, still used for its original
purpose. In this formerly stood a chapel, which was built here for
the following reasons:--
In olden times the chapel of Neef fell into a ruinous state,
and collections were made all about the Moselle country to enable
the village to rebuild their chapel. The holy communities in the
neighbourhood gave liberally, and soon sufficient being collected,
the work was begun.
To the surprise of the builders, every morning they found their
yesterday's labour undone, and the stones and other materials carried
up to where the graveyard now is.
The Pastor ordered night-watches to guard the new works, and punish
the guilty offenders.
The night closed around them, and the hours wore on without anything
happening to alarm the watchmen, when suddenly one exclaimed that
the stars were moving towards them. The eyes of all then beheld
luminous flakes, which, coming nearer and nearer, grew into angels,
with bright shining wings, and love on their brows.
The angels approached and gathered the stones, then bore them to the
hill-top, after which they receded again into heaven.
The materials thus consecrated were used for the purpose so clearly
pointed out, and the chapel was raised on the top of the hill,
instead of being hid in the valley beneath.
A sharp turn to the left brings us to Bremm, an old rotten town,
with a good church. The people of Bremm seem more squalid than those
of any other town on the Moselle; whether they merely wish to be in
keeping with their houses or not, we did not ascertain.
Opposite Bremm is a fair promontory, on whose sloping green turf
the ruins of Kloster Stuben are seen. The hills on the left-hand
bank bend round in the form of a horse-shoe, and the river flows
at their base. The hills are very superb, of considerable height;
and their grand sombre mass contrasts with the green fields around
Kloster Stuben.
This horse-shoe form constantly occurs on the Moselle; and not only is
the bend of the stream in the form of a horse-shoe, but the enclosed
space is usually shaped precisely as it would be had it been formed
of soft lava, and stamped by the gigantic foot of a horse. Perhaps the
Wild Huntsman rode here while the volcanoes were still in full force.
The first Abbess of Kloster Stuben was Gisela the Fair; her father,
a knight, built the cloister, and endowed it as a resting-place for
his poor daughter Gisela, who thus lost her lover:--
GISELA.
The fair Gisela sat in her bower, waiting impatiently for her knightly
bridegroom.
The sun watched with her all day, but at last, growing weary, sank
westwards.
Still Gisela watched--for love never wearies--and at length she had
her reward; for, rounding the cliffs, a noble bark came gallantly on,
and nearer and nearer it glided until she could see her loved knight,
who stood looking eagerly up.
On seeing Gisela he shouted, and all his friends waved their hands. His
ardour could not be restrained to the vessel's slow motion, and
landwards he sprang to embrace his fair bride; but the leap was too
great, and the good knight sank down, overpowered by the weight of
his armour, and never rose more.
Gisela wept not, but her bosom became cold as the waters that closed
over the head of her lover, and she passed from the world into the
cloister of Stuben.
Another legend of Kloster Stuben we may call
A LIBEL ON NIGHTINGALES.
The monks of Himmerode led dissolute lives, and Saint Bernard was
sent to reprove them, and endeavour to bring them back to a sense of
their duty.
In vain the Saint lectured--the monks were wicked as ever, and the
Saint in despair sought his chamber; there, opening his window,
he sat down to plan fresh arguments with which he might touch the
wicked hearts of the monks.
The music of the sweet nightingales swelled up to his ears, and
steeped his senses in bliss; but the Saint perceived, to his horror,
that wicked desires then arose in his breast: so, closing the window,
he hastened away. The thought then occurred to the Saint that, if the
songs of the nightingales thus affected so holy a man as himself they
must do infinite harm to the monks; he therefore (having the power)
banished the birds, and shortly the monks were reformed.
The Abbess of Stuben, who gently ruled over a religious body of nuns,
hearing the nightingales had been driven out, and were wandering in
search of a home, invited them to settle in the meadows and groves
that surrounded her cloister.
The birds gladly arrived, and their songs, which had harmed the wicked
monks' hearts, cheered and exalted the thoughts of the pure-hearted
nuns.
Nuns and nightingales are now alike departed, as well as the droning
old monks, whose notes we could better have spared.
There is a fine view from the cliffs behind the cloister, and the
walk hence to Beilstein is very agreeable, as the banks are all richly
wooded, and of a great height.
The river winds on past many a hamlet and burg; the forests and vines
succeed to each other; islands are passed, and the scene constantly
changes; spires rise among trees, old houses peep forth, cattle wade
in the stream, and our little skiff glides along until Beilstein
Castle appears, so beautifully placed, and so charmingly surrounded
by forest, that we at once stay the course of our boat, and pull out
our sketch-books. The townlet is nestled in walls, which are adorned
with several turrets, and over it stands up the sharp-pointed spire
of a church: the castle presides above all.
A great load of bark is slowly drifting down our river's sparkling
tide, and the boats are crossing and recrossing, filled with busy
husbandmen.
Where our boat now stands, once a gentle peasant girl found her death
and grave together, and with the latter peace, we trust.
THE SHIPMASTER'S DAUGHTER OF BEILSTEIN.
Kuno of Beilstein was struck with the beauty of a shipmaster's
daughter. She heard and responded to his love, believing the words
that he spoke.
The innocent dove cannot stand any chance with the hawk; so the poor
girl after a time found out, to her cost, when Kuno forsook her.
Madness seized on the brain of the wretched girl, and for a long
time her senses were wandering; but one morning in spring her memory
returned, and she begged her father to take her where she might gaze
on the castle of her false betrayer, for she loved him still.
Her father, who truly loved her, placed the poor girl in a boat, and
rowed up the river to where a good view of the castle was gained. She
gazed with tears on the spot, and prayed for the welfare of Kuno.
While gazing, a sound of horns and of dogs swept down the valley, and
as the shouting grew nearer Count Kuno was seen, with his young haughty
bride riding near him. Kuno, at seeing the girl in the boat, started,
and uttered her name. The young bride grew jealous, and questioned
the Count as to what he knew of the girl. He replied, she was nothing
to him; and, to pacify her, launched an arrow at his former love.
The shot took effect, and the father, rushing to save her, overbalanced
the boat, and both father and daughter sank down for ever.
Beilstein is not over-clean, although a stream runs through it;
but then it is the essence of picturesqueness, which more than makes
up. It seems to have been in former days a place of some importance,
but with the decay of the castle the town itself has decayed, and
the walls crumble down, and the houses are empty.
Many Jews live here, and it is said the dark-eyed Jewesses are very
beautiful, and extremely inquisitive about strangers, asking them
many questions.
A series of valleys--all wooded, and watered, and pleasant--lie at the
back of Beilstein. Unfortunately the inns are very poor, so it is not
a good place to stop at; but if not very fastidious, the accommodation
will suffice for two or three nights; and the white wine is good.
There still remain considerable portions of wall and fragments of
towers of the castle of Beilstein. Its situation is very happily
chosen for both beauty and strength. On the side over the town an
ascent is impossible. A narrow ridge connects the castle with the
neighbouring mountains; along this ridge is a path, which conducts us
through fruit-trees and vineyards to an old burial-ground, filled with
tombstones with Hebrew inscriptions. Here the Jews are buried apart.
On the opposite side of our river is Poltersdorf, or the village of
blustering fellows; so called, because its inhabitants were always
quarrelling with those of the neighbouring hamlets.
The scenery from Beilstein to Cochem is not to be surpassed on
our river. There are mountains, beautiful churches and villages,
trees, rocks, and water, with happy faces smiling from under their
picturesque head-dresses.
Arriving at Cochem, Herr Paoli, who talks French, and his wife, who
talks English, will attend to your comforts at the Hôtel de l'Union.