TRITHEMIUS AND THE EMPEROR.
One very dark night a man wrapped in a mantle, so as to conceal his features, entered the cloister at Spanheim, and demanded to see the Abbot.
Trithemius (the Abbot) advanced to meet his visitor, who he immediately recognised as the Emperor Maximilian. The Emperor requested him to raise the shade of his first wife, Mary; upon which Trithemius took him by the hand, and leading him out of doors, pointed to two bright constellations in the form of staves, which were shining in the sky, and addressed him as follows:—
“You see there, my Prince, the two principles of government; by ruling with the one, bad princes beat down their subjects beneath their feet, and cause those little stars, which represent drops of blood and tears, to flow; in that garden where the seeds of time are ripening, this staff will stand like a parched trunk, but the other staff will flourish green as a palm-tree, unhurt by the heat of the summer’s day; for this last is a righteous sceptre, a staff of pure gold, serving to support and strengthen those who lean trustfully upon it, and use it to benefit their subjects. Choose, then, O Monarch, with which staff thou wilt rule.”
While the Priest thus spoke another star shone forth, and directing the Emperor’s attention towards it, Trithemius again addressed him.
“I see, O King, a young and smiling face beam from the newly-risen star. Tearless and blissfully it smiles on you, wearing the look of your glorified wife. Pain and tears are left behind her in the grave, on which they blossom like pale roses. Mary beckons to you from on high to join her in the gardens of God.
“Choose, then, thy sceptre, O Prince. Erect to thy loved wife a monument of deeds. To act is a ruler’s duty. We priests have had bestowed upon us a magic virtue; it consists in wiping away your tears, and animating you to tread the right path with the sceptre of blessings in your hand.
“Be strong, be wise, my Prince, and receive my blessing on your noble path. Farewell.”
The Prince, perceiving the value of the counsel he had received, departed through the night, which now was luminous, with the words of truth.
The promontory on which Trittenheim is situated is clothed with fruit-trees, and rivals in fertility the opposite shore, on which, a little lower down, Neumagen is situated.
Before reaching Neumagen we pass a little chapel, erected at the spot where, according to tradition, the waters of the Moselle ceased to be tinged with the blood shed at Trèves in the massacre of Christian martyrs.
Neumagen enjoys a most agreeable site. Sheltered by the hills which rise at its back, it faces the bold cliffs that now have arisen on the left bank of our river. On ascending the hills at the back of the town we find ourselves on a level platform, with the Moselle on one side of us and the Drohn on the other; beyond these, other table-lands swell into hills, and varied outlines of distant mountains curve into the sky.
On this elevated table-land a refreshing breeze blows, even on the most sultry days, and the tender blue lines of the receding hills give an air of coolness which is delicious to the heated pedestrian. Such variety of scenery as the walking tourist meets on the Moselle is scarcely to be exceeded; hill and dale, mountain, river, wood, and plain, all are there combining their charms.
It was over these hills that Constantine was marching when, at break of day,[1] the fiery cross appeared in the sky, with the inscription, “In hoc vince.” Wonder arose in the minds of Constantine and his legions, but none could interpret the meaning of the celestial sign. At night, in a dream, Constantine saw Jesus with a cross in his arms, like to that he had seen in the heavens; and the vision commanded him to attach a mark of the same form to his standard, telling him that by so doing he should vanquish all his enemies.
Arriving at Trèves, Constantine, mindful of his dream and the celestial sign, called together cunning artificers; and a cross, surmounted with a crown of gold and jewels, was set upon the lance from which the purple standard of royalty floated.
And all his enemies were conquered, in accordance with the words spoken to him in his dream. So Christianity triumphed over idolatry.
* * *
Walking across the promontory that lies between Neumagen and Piesport, we found the ground covered with the delicate autumn crocus, whose jewels sparkled among the grass; and apples, with their ruddy hues, lay beneath the trees, from which they had abundantly fallen.
Piesport is confined by the mountain at its back to one narrow, straggling street; it possesses a handsome church, from which we saw, soon after our arrival, issue forth a long procession. First came men, two and two, clad in blue frocks; then children, followed by women in like order; these preceded the old priest and choristers; then again came men; and, lastly, old women. The procession wound its chanting stream along, round the little town, and returning, made the circuit of the church and re-entered the edifice. The object of the ceremony was to charm rain from the sky by their chanting. The performers and assisters ill the scene gossiped and chatted to each other in the intervals of singing, and the poor old priest seemed quite wearied, and glad to return to his church. The singing did not in any way influence the weather, certainly for some weeks.
The mountain behind Piesport is entirely covered with vineyards. These celebrated vineyards were considered the best on the Moselle in the earlier part of last century; but having gained this reputation for their wine, the cultivators introduced a worse sort of grape, which bore more fruit, in order to make a greater quantity of wine; but, fortunately for the place, a new Curé, who was appointed in 1770, induced them to restore the old sort of vine, and thus regain the reputation they were rapidly losing.
Having succeeded in getting up nearly to the summit of the mountain without un coup de soleil, we got among groves of picturesquely-formed oak, many of the trees being of considerable size. Throwing ourselves down beneath their grateful shade, a fine view of the surrounding district is before us. This view we have endeavoured to lay before our readers in the vignette at the head of the chapter. The spire of the church at Piesport is seen cutting against the bed of the river, and the peep of distance gives a good idea of the peculiar formation of the hills.
The hills of the Moselle are not hills in the ordinary acceptation of the word, as they all form part of a high table-land, which extends from near here to beyond Andernach-on-Rhine, on the left bank, and on the right to Bingen. The range on the right bank are called the Hunsruck mountains; that on the left bank, the Eifel. Through the great table-land thus formed flow the Rhine and Moselle; thus the banks of both rivers are very similar in formation, and average about the same height: but the Moselle, being a much smaller river, of course her banks appear more mountainous; the ranges also approach nearer to the stream, and the lateral valleys are far more frequent.
It is astonishing at first, after climbing unceasingly for an hour, to find one’s self standing on a gently undulating plain waving with grain, and forest-trees growing in masses. The river is then seen to be in a gorge, worn by the perpetual action of her waters, and we have only attained to the natural level of the country.
This level is, however, broken by many other gorges, each containing its stream, bounding downwards to our river. Towards the horizon also (as we have mentioned in describing the view above Neumagen) the table-land generally rises into higher ranges; thus there is never any monotony about the scenery, which is enlivened by the spires of churches, and busy labourers at work in what seemed to us like Jack and the Bean-stalk’s country. It so strongly resembles the description given, where the immortal Jack climbs up and up his bean-stalk, until at length he arrives at the level of a new world.
In autumn, when the weeds, &c. are being burnt, the scenes on this table-land are very striking. Far as the eye can reach wreathe up the columns of white smoke, spreading a purifying smell of burning, and wrapping the view in a filmy veil that increases its beauty.
The name of Piesport is derived from Pipini Portus, the place having been thus called from being an allod of the Carlovingian house, of which Pepin was the founder.
Clausen, which lies at a short distance from Piesport, contains a miraculous picture of the Virgin, which was originally brought from Trèves by the zealous Saint Eberhard, whose hermitage stood in the forest.
The Saint built a chapel, and in it he placed this wonderful picture: here many miracles were performed; on one occasion a paralytic man was completely restored to the use of his limbs: he threw away his crutches, and walked home, no longer requiring the horse that had brought him.
The miracles wrought in the Saint’s little chapel gave great offence to the constituted Priest of Clausen, and eventually the picture was removed to his church; but it ceased to perform miracles, its virtue was gone, and now it is only regarded with veneration on account of its former celebrity.
Having now arrived in the heart of the wine-district, we will proceed to give some little account of the vintage, which occupies all attention and employs all hands in these parts.
And, with the merry peasants, we will sing the praise of their good genius:—
THE VINE.
The vine! the vine!
Hurrah for the vine!
That gives us wine—
Bright, joyous wine;
Hurrah for the merry vine!
O maiden mine,
Press out the wine
With feet that shine
Like gems in mine,—
Press out the glorious wine!
The clusters press
With firm caress
Of glist’ning feet,
That merry meet:
Flow freely forth, O wine!
Then, maiden sweet,
With full lip meet
My offer’d kiss;
Complete my bliss,
And quaff with me the wine.
So love and wine
Shall thus combine,
And no alloy
Shall mar our joy,
As thus we quaff the wine.
So, sing the vine—
Hurrah for the vine!
That gives us wine—
Bright, joyous wine;
Hurrah for the merry vine!
[1] According to Eusebius.