Coblence is situated at the extremity of a level plain watered
by the Moselle and Rhine. It is placed in the angle formed by the
junction of those two rivers. Immediately opposite to the town is the
strong fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, which has the reputation of being
impregnable: it is much doubted whether this fortress would be found
as strong as it is represented to be, now the art of gunnery has been
so much improved; yet it would certainly be a formidable obstacle
to an attacking army. Coblence itself is strongly fortified, and,
together with Ehrenbreitstein, is garrisoned by about 4000 men. Every
year troops are gathered from other garrisons to the neighbourhood of
Coblence, where they encamp and rehearse all sorts of field evolutions.
During the earliest period of the Roman Empire a castle was built
by the Romans at the confluence of the Rhine and Moselle. This
fortress fell into the hands of the Franks towards the end of the
fifth century. Gradually a town arose round the fortress, till the
space between the rivers was filled; then two suburbs were built,
one called Thal Coblenz, or Coblence in the Valley--this was on the
right bank of the Rhine; the other, on the left bank of the Moselle,
was called Klein (little) Coblenz.
After a time the town passed into the possession of the Electors of
Trèves, and they built a palace and fortified it.
The bridge over the Moselle is of Roman origin; but it has frequently
been repaired and partially rebuilt, being subject to great pressure
from the breaking up of the ice on the Moselle, when parts of Coblence
are frequently inundated.
Ehrenbreitstein is built on the site of an ancient Roman tower, which
is described in old maps as "Turris adversus Germaniam Magnam." The
Archbishops of Trèves built a palace under the walls of this castle,
which was by that time much enlarged and strengthened. The palace
still remains.
During the Thirty Years' War, the garrison of Ehrenbreitstein was
reduced to such straits for provisions, that on one occasion, at a
banquet given by the General Commanding to his officers, there were
served up to table sixteen mules, eight dogs, and eighty rats,--the
latter delicate animals costing twenty sous each: in addition to these
appetising viands, a morsel of bread was served out to each guest,
the flour to make which cost one hundred florins a bushel.
At the French Revolution, Coblence became the capital of the Department
of the Rhine and Moselle; in 1814 it was given to Prussia, and is now
the capital of the Rhenish Provinces of Prussia, and the seat of the
Government of those Provinces.
Old Coblence was built along the right bank of the Moselle; and its
formerly important suburb of Little Coblence formed with it one town,
immediately connected by the bridge. This bridge was entirely rebuilt
by the celebrated Elector Baldwin of Trèves. It is recorded of him,
that he, by his influence, procured the election of his brother Henry
to the Imperial throne; and after his brother's death he placed the
crown on the head of the Duke of Bavaria: his nephew also was raised
to the throne of Bohemia. He travelled into Italy with the Emperor,
and was on that occasion surrounded by all the chivalry of the Moselle,
the Counts of Elz, Von der Leyen, &c. &c.; in short, he seems to have
equalled in power and magnificence any prince of the age. Yet he was
outwitted by Lauretta of Sponheim.
The bridge was formerly the great centre of gaiety, and the place
most resorted to for exercise and fresh air. Here, on the first day
of the new year, came the chief magistrate to receive tribute from
the different communities that owed him allegiance. The Seigneurs
presented cheeses or a couple of fowls; the Religieuses of Oberwerth
a cake, and those of the Chartreuse a quarter of a hundred of eggs.
On the occasion of this ceremony the senators and magistrates were
allowed to snowball each other; but the bailiffs of the Elector were
not permitted to take a part in this exercise.
A reunion of the authorities also took place on the bridge on
the eve of St. Walpurgis. Then the two burgomasters of Coblence
and Little Coblence arrived, each with a bouquet of lilies freshly
gathered. Lavender and thyme that had been plucked in the woods near
Coblence were also made into bouquets and presented to the wives and
daughters of the principal citizens.
The Walpurgis eve was, according to the old stories, the great day
when the witches assembled from all parts, and rode abroad on the
wind, or else bestrode their housewifely brooms. On one of the annual
reunions upon the bridge a handsome and well-dressed cavalier, holding
a bouquet of the fairest flowers in his hand, was seen wending his
way through the crowd. The eyes of all the young maidens were turned
with admiring glances upon the cavalier's handsome face, and great
was the jealousy when he stopped before Lieschen, and presented his
bouquet to her. The plaited tails of their hair became more and more
agitated, and meaning looks were exchanged as Lieschen (who, the men
said, was lovely, but who, the girls said, was an impudent thing) was
led by the hand through the crowd, her conductor being the handsome
young stranger; but all their jealousy turned into pity when, the
next morning, it was found that Lieschen had vanished. Doubtless the
young man was a spirit of evil, who had carried her off to destruction.
On the day of the dedication of the Church all the young people danced
on the bridge.
The air inhaled on this bridge was held to be of peculiar salubrity,
and an old locksmith, who lived to the age of 120, considered that the
length of his life was entirely owing to his daily walk on the bridge;
and he believed that he might have lived to a much greater age had
not he been prevented one day from taking his accustomed exercise.
LEGEND OF THE MOSELLE BRIDGE.
A youth stood leaning on the parapet of the Moselle Bridge. He
thought of the numerous stories then rife in those regions, in which
water-spirits played so conspicuous a part. As he silently gazed,
and his young heart yearned for something to love--something more
pure and ethereal than the Sannchens and Lisbeths of every-day life,
a gentle Spirit arose from the waters--a Spirit of purity raised by
the Spirit of Love.
"Dreamer," said the pure Spirit of Water, "day after day and night
after night I hear thy sighs and complaints. Thy tears fall down into
the stream, and cause me to pity thee. Nay more, I could love thy
sad heart were I a mortal; but, unlike thee, my poor youth, I live
for ever. I was old when thy fathers were young, and young shall I
be when thou art departed."
Then broke forth the youth:--"Ever young, ever glorious art
thou! Receive but my love, and I shall be contented to pass from my
mortal existence at once."
"Nay," gravely replied the pure Spirit, "thou thinkest alone of thy
love and thy pleasure; know this for thy good,--all like thee of mortal
race must perform the duties of their lives before their great reward
is gained. If then thou truly lovest me, and earnestly fulfillest the
work appointed thee to do, faithfully and steadfastly pursuing the
straight path in life, then will I, when thy years are full, receive
thee in my arms, for so only canst thou gain perpetual youth and be
a fit associate for even such as I, who am but a handmaiden of the
Queen Moselle, who herself is but one of the lesser Spirits of the
Universe. Go, and be just, and honourable, and brave; be kind to all,
and liberal to the poor; so shalt thou gain immortal youth and me."
The Spirit was gone, and the bright waves shone in the moonlight;
the youth returned, silent and thoughtful, towards the city.
Year after year went by, and every night a solitary figure appeared
at the same spot on the bridge, until the snows of a century crowned
the brows of him who was still in heart but a youth; then his radiant
bride appeared, and the pure-hearted man was wafted away on the bosom
of the pure Water Spirit.
Still on the waters live spirits, beautiful and pure as that which
appeared to the youth, but as yet no other mortal has been found
who, at his death, could claim by his own spotless life an immortal
bride. And if it is the case that scarce one is sinless enough to
claim even a handmaiden among spirits, who shall take his place with
those higher hosts that fill the sky? Who shall dare aspire to the
central heaven itself?
The Germans of the present time are quite as much given to amusement
as their forefathers were; on every possible occasion they indulge
in pic-nics, dances, fairs, processions, and festivals of all
sorts. Christmas and New-year's Days are perhaps the greatest holidays
in the year, but Carnival time is also universally kept as a fête,
the same as in Italy.
In summer, excursions into the country are the most favourite
amusements; people of all classes, high and low alike, indulge in
these excursions. Some of the villages on the Moselle are particularly
frequented by the people of Coblence. Güls, Moselweiss, and Lay are
often crowded with pleasure-seekers of the poorer class, while the
richer are met with at much greater distances; crowned with wreaths,
and laughing and singing, these latter seem to pass very merry days
in the woods, exploring old castles, &c. Certainly our pic-nics
in England are but dull affairs in comparison, but then our belles
are on such occasions better dressed, and it might hurt their fine
clothes if they went romping about as the German girls do; besides,
the impropriety would be shocking.
Coblence is, on the whole, an uninteresting town; it has all
the disadvantage of being a garrison without any particular
redeeming point; the rivers are quite shut out from the town by the
fortifications, and can only be seen by going on to the bridges:
however, the hotels, which are very good, command views of the Rhine
from their windows; and the Belle Vue may be especially mentioned,
as affording most animated scenes to those who occupy its apartments,
it being just opposite to the bridge of boats, where promenaders sun
themselves and military are always crossing and recrossing.
Occasionally the bridge of boats is opened, and steamers, each tugging
a fleet of from two to six, or even seven vessels, beat up the stream;
or else a gigantic floating village of wood comes gliding down,
quite filling the aperture, and looking as if it would carry away
the whole bridge. It is wonderful the skill with which these unwieldy
rafts are managed.
In the town there are good shops, but not much outward display;
and though, as we have mentioned, not in itself very interesting,
yet there are many and beautiful excursions to be made from it:
the society is said to be agreeable.
Near the junction of the rivers is the church of Saint Castor;
it stands in a large open space, and is a stately and interesting
building: it contains a handsome monument to one of the Electors
of Trèves.
The palace is a large house, not remarkable in any way; in it is a
chapel where English service is performed, as there are a good many
English constantly residing here, as well as the swarms of summer
visitors. Most of the more important buildings are near the Moselle
Bridge, or between it and the church of Saint Castor; that is to say,
they are in the old part of the town.
Near the Castor Church, in the large square, is the monument erected by
the French to commemorate their invasion of Russia. To the inscription
recording the object of raising the monument, the Russian General
who in his turn invaded the Rhine provinces, added--
"Vu et approuvé par nous,
Commandant Russe de la Ville de Coblence.
"Janvier 1ère, 1814."
The monument is a remarkably ugly lump of stone, which perhaps was
meant for a fountain, but there is no water.
Very few historical associations belong to Coblence, and those that do
are not particularly interesting, so we will turn back to the legends.
LEGEND OF MARIAHILF. [10]
Near the Moselle Bridge stood a chapel, piously dedicated to the
Mother of God and her Son. Within the chapel were images of both
Mother and Son.
Here resorted many pilgrims, especially those who suffered under bodily
infirmities: among others came a certain man who was paralytic, and
given over to death by his physicians. With great labour and trouble
he contrived to totter into the chapel by the aid of his staff.
The pilgrims were singing a hymn, in which the words, "Help us, Maria,"
occurred frequently. The poor cripple endeavoured to join in the hymn,
but could not, he was so weak.
At last he made a great effort, and the words from his lips were
scarcely audible, but immediately he was relieved: his voice returned
to him, and his limbs became strong again; so that he no longer needed
his staff, which he therefore presented to the chapel.
SAINT RITZA.
Ritza lived in Little Coblence, just opposite to the Church of
St. Castor. When the bells tolled for morning prayers she used to walk
over the waters to attend at the service, returning by the same road.
One day the waves were high, and the sky full of storms; she hesitated,
and finally gathered a vine-branch, with which she endeavoured to
assist her tottering steps: but faith had deserted her, and she sank
deeper and deeper into the waves--the prop was utterly useless; then
she thought on her Saviour and prayed for assistance; instantly she
rose again from the waters, and, casting away the false prop, gained
the opposite shore.
After her death Ritza was canonised, and her bones were laid in the
Church of St. Castor.
Another legend also relates how prayer saved those who had faith. It
was on the occasion of a great flood, which submerged a large portion
of the town, the people prayed at a shrine and the waters dispersed;
then on the sands, by the bridge, a figure was found, which all
declared to be the Virgin: it was taken up, and with great pomp placed
in a chapel. In after days this image was again thrown into the water
by the enemies of Coblence, but again it was washed on to the shore;
and, according to the legend, it is now placed near the harbour,
where it watches over the safety of the good city of Coblence.
The other stories of Coblence are of a more material character. One
tells us of
CORPORAL SPOHN.
The great Corporal Spohn is still well remembered in Coblence; he
was one of the most faithful of men. He saved the life of the Emperor
Napoleon at the battle of the three Emperors. Napoleon had advanced
too boldly, and was in imminent danger of being taken prisoner by the
Cossacks; if not, which was more likely still, killed by those wild
soldiers. Corporal Spohn having noticed the desperate position of
Napoleon, ran up, and an agreement was hastily made, by which Spohn
mounted the white horse of Napoleon, who escaped then unnoticed.
The Emperor was saved as a corporal; and the Corporal died as an
emperor.
Ever since Spohn has been called the Great Corporal, and Napoleon
the Little Corporal.
HENRY AND BERTHA.
Henry was expecting his dearly beloved Bertha to arrive at Coblence;
he, therefore, stood watching most anxiously on the old bridge over
the Moselle. At last the boat which contained her came into view,
and she waved her kerchief to her constant lover.
Alas! before he could clasp her the boat overturned, and Bertha was
struggling beneath an arch of the bridge. Henry rushed down to save
her, but just as he arrived at the edge of the water she uttered his
name and went down.
Marking the place, Henry dashed in and seized on her loosened hair,
which floated on the surface of the agitated river: thus he succeeded
in saving her life, and gaining from the stream a loving wife.
One more tale we found under the head of "Legends of Coblence,"
so we conclude the scene therein depicted took place at this town;
it is called
THE POET'S DEATHBED.
Max of Schenkendorf is well known in Germany by his songs on those
combats for liberty, of which so many took place in his Fatherland. The
Poet was in the last stage of consumption.
It was the morning of his birthday. Max lay sleeping in bed, but his
wife had arisen, and was now busy adorning his chamber with flowers
in honour of the Poet's birthday.
Having arranged all the bouquets, she made up a garland of evergreens,
which she placed softly on the brow of the sleeper, fervently praying
that it might become an emblem of new laurels which her husband should
gain in this new year of his life.
As she leant over him to place the wreath on his head, she tenderly
kissed the lips of the sleeper, and softly she murmured, "Oh, would
I could kiss you to health!"
The decorations now were completed, and softly the wife stept from
the husband's bedside, softly she passed from the chamber.
But as she went out an unbidden guest entered there--Death came over
the threshold and took the wife's place. Death strode up to the bed
and laid his chill hand on the feverish brow of the sleeper: closer
and closer then wound those arms which supplanted for ever those of
the wife--closer and closer, until icy and rigid became the frame of
the Poet.
An hour slowly passed, and the fond wife re-entered. Max now was lying
a corpse, crowned with the wreath that she had placed upon his living
brow. In agony she cried, "Wake, O wake, my own, my beloved! Depart
not from her who lives but in thee! One word, but one----"
The smile was on his lips, but the spirit was gone, leaving only its
imprint on the cold clay.
"Weep, not, O woman!" said his spirit to her, "weep not for the clay
that lies here; the shackles are broken; what earth could not hold,
nor love longer detain, can neither be fettered by Death: the body is
dead, but the soul lives for ever; it lives in thy love and thy heart;
it lives in the sky."
This is the last of our legends; and with a few remarks on the habits
and customs of the part of Germany near our river we will come to the
conclusion of our last chapter. Not without regret shall we end; for
it is a pleasant task, in these cold short days of winter, to record
that which brings to our remembrance the long bright days of summer;
especially as that summer was spent among such lovely scenes.
The Germans bear the character of being an honest, hardworking,
intelligent people, very domestic in their habits, even to
exclusiveness; the different classes assort together less than they
do in England, but passing communication is freer and less constrained.
During the many weeks we passed on the Moselle, and in a former
excursion on our river, we never once encountered a family of tourists
of the upper class of Germans. At Bad Bertrich there were some, but
they were there because it is a watering-place--not because it is
beautiful; and as soon as the season was over away they all went, as
if they were afraid to remain at a Bad out of the fashionable season,
although the weather was much more suitable for country pursuits than
it had been during the season.
This same fashion arrays the dumpy young ladies of Germany in a most
strange deformity of inflated petticoats. Bad enough as these things
are in England and France, in Germany they are much worse.
The gentlemen are, in general, agreeable, and more truly polite than
the French; but French ladies certainly have the advantage over their
sisters in Germany.
The poorer classes still bear the stamp of the old German
character. They are frugal, hard-working, honest, and cheerful. They
are well-mannered and well-informed for their class. They also exhibit
considerable neatness and taste in their dress. No pleasanter object
can be met in a summer-day's ramble than a group of the mädchen,
with their hair neatly folded, smooth on the brow and plaited behind,
with the smart embroidered cloth or velvet head-dress, and the gilt
paper-cutter passed through the hair; neat shoes and blue stockings are
shown by the sensible length of the petticoats, and a gay handkerchief
sets off the firm bust. Their figures are lithe and upright, though
somewhat thick and substantial. The paper-cutter in the head is
supposed to represent a nail of the Cross.
As housewives, the Germans are doubtless unsurpassed by any other
nation; the houses are clean, the stoves shine brightly, and they
are for ever washing clothes in the river. We cannot applaud the
way in which they cook their meat generally, but their puddings are
admirable. At Cochem our landlady used to send us up souffléd puddings
that would have done credit to the Palais Royal. On the Moselle
the old-fashioned spinning-wheel is to be seen in every village,
and knitting is always taken in hand when walking or superintending
household affairs.
Singing is constantly heard in the evening, and many of the little
coteries in the townlets by our river's side subscribe to hire a piano
from Coblence or Trèves, and by the aid of its music they make lively
the long hours of darkness in winter.
The priests seem respected, and on amicable terms with all classes,
but generally they do not hold the same social position that they do
in this country.
If the traveller on the Moselle is himself not over-exacting, and
ready to meet civility half-way, he will find all those he encounters
polite and pleasant, and he cannot fail of spending an agreeable time
on the banks of our charming river.
The Roman poet Ausonius, who about the year A.D. 370, when passing
through the dense forests that covered all Germany, suddenly came out
on the Moselle near Neumagen, was so struck with the beauty of the
river that he explored its course, and then wrote a poem thereon. The
palaces and the buildings he mentions have all passed away, but the
natural beauties remain; and the old castles that at the present time
adorn the tops of the hills quite make up for the towers that are gone.
Now, as then, the vine grows luxuriantly over the cliffs, the peaceful
river flows calmly on; and the people dwelling on its banks are simple,
loyal, and brave.
We have now reached and described Coblence, and with Coblence ends
the Life of the Moselle. We have sat with her beneath the forest
shade that shelters her birthplace in the Vosges mountains; we have
day after day wandered by her side as she bounded along in all the
freshness of her youth, or as, in later days, she floated on majestic
in her beauty; we have slept night after night, lulled by the ripple
of her waters; we have climbed among her mountains and her forests;
we have mused or sung amidst her ruins; we have dreamt of other days,
of olden times, of things that come not again save in such dreams;
we have also, it is to be hoped, in some measure, profited by our
communion with the great heart of Nature,--something, we trust, we
have learnt of that inner life which makes the very stones and earth
preach to us of their Divine origin.
By the Moselle we have found flowers growing, beautiful in their
forms and colours, but more beautiful in their uncultured wildness;
we have listened to the songs of the gay birds as we rested in the
woods; the clouds have fleeted through the pure blue vault, rain has
freshened earth and sun has ripened her fruits: all these, and many
other incidents, have striven to teach us to love and reverence the
great heart of Nature; that heart which, if the Painter, with all
his skill of colour or of handiwork, fail to express, he sinks back
into the mere copyist; if the Poet feel it not or love it not, his
bark is stranded on a barren shore; and what would music be without it?
If, then, the Moselle has whispered or suggested to us aught of this
heart, this inner life of Nature, let us preserve it within us pure
and beautiful, as all things in Nature are; so shall our summer's tour
have not been made in vain, nor useless been the life of the Moselle.
Standing at that spot where the Moselle and Rhine are met, we now
take leave of our dear river.
Night is in the heavens, the still cold night of winter; the stars
look down upon us with their eyes of love; the great fortress of
Ehrenbreitstein looms hugely over the Rhine stream, telling of war and
horrid strife, but on the shore of the Moselle rises a fair church,
telling of peace. The fortress shall crumble and decay, but the church
shall, in the end, remain when all else has passed away.
The light of the stars falls coldly on the waters; the air is chill
and frosty; if we look further, we perceive in the distance forms
of beauty floating on: dark is the night around, but the stars are
bright. So with us, all is often dark and dreary; the very light we
have, seems cold, but if we search earnestly into Nature's heart,
and follow her guidance, she will lead us where those faint shining
stars become great worlds of light; and they, the footstools of still
higher realms, shall guide us to Heaven itself.
THE END.
NOTES
[1] German name for the Moselle.
[2] The foundation of this legend is, that portions of canals have
been found between Trèves and Cologne, but it is supposed they were
separate canals, not portions of one large one; therefore, perhaps,
the duck did not swim all the way from Trèves.
[3] Cathedral.
[4] Grimm supposes Eigel and Orendel to be Ulysses and Laertes.
[5] Stock (stick), Stein (stone), Gras (grass), Grun (green).
[6] As the author was informed at Trèves.
[7] Query, Was this the origin of taking French leave?
[8] According to Eusebius.
[9] This extraordinary incident is related as a simple matter of fact,
which is well known in these parts.
[10] Maria of help.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Life of the Moselle, by Octavius Rooke