Autumn had long been turning the green leaves to gold. A tinge of
yellow first appeared upon the trees; then warmer and brighter grew
the foliage; the vintage came and ended; the corn-harvest was long
stored away, and, like the Roman Empire, more gorgeous in decay than
in its prime. The forest stood crowned with a thousand hues,--crowned
like a sacrifice of old prepared for death,--prepared to offer up at
Nature's shrine the loveliness she gave.
The most gorgeous of the seasons, Autumn is still the saddest. We
look on the fallen leaves and think of friends departed; the useless
heaps that lie around the stems remind us of our lost time, and
as the winter comes age seems stealing on our brows. Who can say,
I shall see spring again? Yet the lesson thus taught us is for our
good. Time moves on and brings us to eternity; therefore, is it not
well for man that Nature warns him of the lapse of Time?
Nor is winter to us an unpleasant or unprofitable period. In winter
we meet again our friends, we gather round our hearths, or meet by
theirs those that we love; old friendships are renewed, old ties
are strengthened, and by the cheerful fireside we repeat tales of
old times,--tales of days that made our country famous; in gaining
which fame our fathers bled, and we their descendants receive fresh
strength to emulate their deeds.
In the old days, upon our river's bank, the Germans deemed Christmas
more sacred than all other times; for then, they said, "The gods
walked upon the earth."
So should it be. At Christmas, we should with the old year bury our
quarrels and our cares; and as our religion teaches, look forward
with a sure hope and certain faith to the new year, which assuredly
will dawn.
In the dark days of Paganism we can well imagine how men's minds were
affected with the gloom of impending winter; but we are no longer
fearful of the coming time, now that we know eternity is open and
that we shall live hereafter.
THE SUCCESSION OF THE SEASONS.
The day succeeded night, and eve the morn,
In those far ages back ere Man was born;
Then only Elves and Fairies played
Beneath the leafy covert's shade,
And all was Summer, and the bright sun shone
On this fair world, and ruled it for his own;
For Winter there was none, nor cold
Nor cloud in those bright days of old.
The birds and flowers for ever bloomed and sang,
The springs perpetual from the dark rock sprang;
Time strode with even step along,
His path begirt with flowers and song.
The dainty Elves and Fairies wandered free,
Passing their hours in mirth and harmless glee,
Until at length of sunshine they
Grow weary, and for some new thing pray.
Then Autumn first into the world was sent,
And all the Elves and Fairies were content;
But soon they learnt that, Change begun,
Its onward course would ever run.
Succeeding Autumn, cold, dark, Winter's reign
Commenced; the Elves wished Summer back again,
Fearing no more its light to see,
Dreading lest thus Eternity
Should Time have swallowed up, and, falling fast,
Their fairy tears were shed for pleasure past,
As ours too often vainly fall,
Seeking our lost ones to recall;
Till Spring the wintry earth revived again,
Refreshing all things with its gentle rain.
Then danced the Elves, then sang the Fairies gay,
And so the winter clouds all passed away;
Henceforth the seasons in succession rolled,
And new years hastened to supplant the old.
Thus let us learn when coldest winter chills,
And darkest night with fear our bosom fills,
To trust in His unfailing love, and turn
Our hearts to where, with thankfulness, we learn
That, as the Spring and Summer cold succeed,
And morning to the night,
So will His mercy wandering footsteps lead
From darkness into light.
Between Cobern and Winningen our river makes its last great bend at
a point where a splendid mass of rock towers up on the left bank. It
is the last of the Eifel family of Giants we encounter; for, beyond
Winningen, the scenery on that side becomes softer in character,
smaller hills become undulations, and then, as we get close to
Coblence, these slope into the garden with which the plain is covered.
The first cluster of houses we encounter after leaving Cobern is
Dieblich. It lies quite back from the stream, and looks anything but a
place that would be especially selected by witches to carry on their
spells and incantations; yet so infected (say the Chronicles) was
this town with witches, that in a short time twenty-five individuals
were burnt there, who all confessed that they were in the habit of
meeting on a neighbouring mountain and worshipping a goat, who was
an incarnation of the Evil One.
They also confessed to having emptied cellars, cursed cattle, raised
storms, destroyed the harvests, and performed all the feats usually
attributed to those unfortunates. The key to the true causes of their
being persecuted lies, perhaps, in the following tale, which, if true,
clears the memory of one witch of Dieblich. Spite, envy, jealousy,
or some other evil passion being, in all probability, the denouncer
of the unfortunate witches in nine cases out of ten.
THE FATE OF THE FALSE SWEARER.
An old country Squire who was unmarried, having been much struck
with the appearance of a young girl of Dieblich, determined to ask
her mother to give him the daughter in marriage; so he donned his
best suit and set off.
Now Elsbeth was, as she richly deserved, the belle of the place. Many
and many a head had been broken, and many a tall wine-bottle emptied,
in honour of her. The mother was naturally proud of her daughter's
attractions; indeed, perhaps, as mothers will do, she rather overrated
her merits.
When the Squire rode up to her door, the housewifely frau was busy
preparing the soup, which forms so essential an item of dinner
in Germany. "Good day! God be with you!" said he. "And with you
also, mein Herr!" replied she; "what brings your honourable and
ever-to-be-delighted-in presence to the door of my humble abode?"
Then followed the explanation of how the Squire would honour the
buxom Elsbeth by making her his wife; but the frau, nettled at the
Squire's manner, demurred,--thinking much greater ceremony should
have been observed in asking the hand of the Belle of Dieblich.
The Squire, not expecting any obstacle, was astonished, then angry;
but at that moment the Beauty entered, and he addressed himself for
an answer to her. She laughed in his face, and averred that he had
better marry her mother; so off rode the Squire, vowing vengeance.
It was, however, a very dear joke for the mother; the Squire hurried
off to Coblence, and there denounced her for a witch. Her friends and
her daughter's lovers came forward to plead in her favour, and swore
that she was a godly old woman, who never had harmed man or beast.
The false-swearing Squire swore to the contrary, and said these
neighbours of hers were bewitched. The Court, of course believing a
rich man rather than a number of poor ones, ordered the old woman to
be put to the rack; there she confessed sins of which she had never
been guilty, and then she was burnt.
Elsbeth, afraid she should meet the same fate, jumped into the river.
The wicked Squire rode thoughtfully home, beginning to fear that he
had not gained peace of mind, though he had had his revenge. He came
in sight of his house, and perceiving a storm was arising, pushed on
with all haste; but it is in vain to fly from our fate: the lightning
flashed out, and his horse starting, reared,--then bounding forward,
it hurled its rider with force to the ground. Thus perished the
swearer of lies.
At Winningen the inhabitants are Protestants, and are, says M. de
Bourdelois, "distinguished for their religion, language, and manners,
above their Romanist brethren." The vine is nearly the sole object
of culture. Formerly, at Pentecost, a very great fête was held in
the neighbouring forest, at which was collected all the nobles and
knights, burgomasters and aldermen, of the district; the Lord of
Elz gave a huge tun of wine, and the monasteries of St. Martin and
Marienrod sent the eatables, to this gigantic pic-nic.
The people living at this part of our river, especially a little lower
down, near Lay, have been subject to terrible disasters, caused by
the ice which collects here in winter, and then, suddenly breaking
up, floods the whole country. In 1670 the Lahn, being unfrozen, and
swollen with the rain that had fallen in the Taunus range, rushed
down, and sweeping past Coblence, forced its way up the Moselle;
thus causing great icebergs to form in our river, which killed the
vines and swept away orchards, houses, men, beasts, and boats, all
in one chaos of general destruction. In 1709, thrice the ice became
melted and then froze again, each time spreading disaster abroad;
Coblence, Güls, Lay, and Moselweiss, all severely felt the effects.
On the hills above Lay is the great drill-ground of Coblence; here
the large body of forces collected in Ehrenbreitstein and Coblence
are manoeuvred. From these heights, too, a remarkable view of the
windings of both Rhine and Moselle may be seen. Stoltzenfels and
Lahneck appear in the distance. Coblence, with long lines of trees
approaching it from all quarters, is just underneath the end of this
promontory of rock; the stone bridge of the Moselle and the boat-bridge
of the Rhine are observed; and the strong fortress of Ehrenbreitstein
is on the opposite side of the Rhine.
Just opposite to Güls the Hunsruck mountains recede inland from the
Moselle, and our glad river flows now through a plain. Her course is
nearly finished, her journey is almost accomplished; soon she will
unite her pure spirit and her being with the lordly Rhine. But one
other city standing on her banks has yet to be described; one other
chapter is required to finish the life of our sweet river.