IV.
The cloister, Marienburg, lay in a valley at some distance from the castles, and there Angela found peace. A wall was soon built up between the two forts Sternberg and Liebenstein, a silent witness of the enmity between the two brothers.
Banquet followed banquet in the newly built castle, and the beautiful Grecian won great triumphs among the knights of the Rhine.
But sorrow seemed to have taken possession of Sternberg castle. Henry had not wished to move the maiden from her purpose, but from the time of her departure, his strength faded away. At the foot of the mountain he caused a cloister to be built, and a few months later he passed away from this world, just on the same day that the bells were tolling for Angela's death.
The lord of Liebenstein was not granted a lasting happiness with his beautiful wife. She fled with a knight who had long enjoyed the lavish hospitality at castle Liebenstein. Conrad, overcome by sorrow and disgrace, threw himself from a pinnacle of the castle into the depths below.
The strongholds then fell into the hands of Knight Brömser of Rüdesheim, and since that time have fallen into ruins. The church and cloister still remain in the valley, and are the scene of many a pilgrimage.
RHENSE
The Emperor Wenzel
In the middle of a beautiful meadow at Rhense near Coblenz stands the famous historical "king's chair." Here, where the lands of the three great prelates of Cologne, Mayence and Treves join together, the princely Seven met to choose the new ruler who was to direct the destiny of the Holy Roman Empire.
Here Charles IV. was chosen by the free will of the Electors; here also the Seven elected Wenzeslaus of the house of Luxemburg, Charles' son, emperor. During his life-time Charles had exerted himself very much over the election of his first-born son, and he even made a pilgrimage with him to Rhense on the Rhine where, at the renowned "Königsstuhl," the chancellor of the kingdom, Archbishop of Mayence, often held important conferences with their Graces of Treves and Cologne, and the Count Palatine.
This Wenzeslaus of Bohemia had a great predilection for the Rhine and its wines, and later on, when, less by his own merits, than by the exertions of his father and the favour of the electors, he became German emperor, his brother inheriting the sandy country of Brandenburg, he had even then paid more honours to the Rhine wine than any other of its lovers. It afforded him a greater pleasure than the enjoyment of wearing a crown. Finding that a good drink tasted better at the place of its origin, he often visited the brave Count Palatine of the Rhine who dwelt in this blissful country, and who had more casks in his cellar than there are saints' days in a year.
This proof of imperial confidence was by no means disagreeable to the very noble Elector Ruprecht of the Palatinate, and he neglected no opportunity of striving to ingratiate himself more and more in the emperor's favour.
Gallant Ruprecht would not unwillingly have exchanged his little Palatinate crown for an imperial one. Sometimes when his royal guest, becoming very jovial from the wine he had taken, confessed that the high dignity of emperor was becoming troublesome to him, the count agreed with him frankly, and never failed to let his imperial master know that the electors were discontented at his careless administration, and would be well pleased if he retired. Emperor Wenzel listened to all he said with perfect indifference, continuing in the meantime to revel in his wine.
One day the emperor was sitting with his gay companions at the Königsstuhl in Rhense. They were all very merry, as the cup of Assmannshäuser wine had already been passed round many times. This delicious vintage was very pleasing to Wenzel, and the other drinkers could not find words enough to praise it.
While the goblets were being handed round, and sounds of joviality filled the royal hall, the emperor stood up suddenly and, addressing himself to the count, said in a very light-hearted tone.
"I think the crown which was set on my head would not be very unsuitable to you. Well, I offer it to you, if you are able to place before me and my companions here, a wine which tastes better than this Assmannshäuser."
There was a cunning twinkle in the count's eyes as he beckoned to his page. After a while a servant rolled in a great cask, from which the cups were at once filled. The count stood up and presented the first goblet to the emperor.
"That is my Bacharacher wine, noble lords. Taste it; I can wait for your judgment without fear."
They all drank, and every face beamed with pleasure. The opinions were undivided in favour of the fiery Bacharacher. The emperor rose and loudly declared he preferred it to the Assmannshäuser. He could not praise it too highly, nor drink enough of it.
"This wine is worth more than a thousand crowns!" said he, enthusiastically. Wenzel kept his word and ceded his crown to Ruprecht of the Palatinate who, in his turn, made the emperor a present of six waggon-loads of Bacharacher wine.
CASTLE LAHNECK
The Templars of Lahneck
On the opposite side of the Rhine from Coblenz, and towering above Lahnstein, rises Castle Lahneck, a keep shaped somewhat in the form of a pentagon. Lahneck succumbed to the hordes of Louis XIII. in the same year as the castle of Heidelberg was destroyed. The following stirring tale is associated with Lahneck.
It was the Templars of Jerusalem who erected this fortress whose imposing watch-tower rises nearly 100 feet above the main building. The riches of the Templars led to their destruction. The contemptible French king, Philip the Fair, by making grave complaints to the Pope obtained an order for the abolition of this much-abused order, and dragged the Grand Master with fifty of his faithful followers to the stake. Everywhere a cruel policy of extermination was immediately adopted against the outlawed knights, the chief motive of the persecutors being rather a desire to confiscate the rich possessions of the Templars than any religious zeal against heretics and sinners.
Peter von Aspelt, Archbishop of Mainz, had cast envious eyes on proud Lahneck which sheltered twelve Knights-Templars and their retainers. Alleging some faulty conduct on the part of the soldiers of the cross, he gave orders that the castle should be razed, and that the knights should exchange the white mantle with the red cross for the monk's cowl, but to this the twelve as knights sans peur et sans reproche issued a stout defiance. This excited the greed and rage of the archbishop all the more. From the pontiff, whom with his own hands he had successfully nursed on his sick-bed at Avignon, Peter von Aspelt procured full power over the goods and lives of the excommunicated knights of Lahneck. He then proceeded down the Rhine with many vassals and mercenaries, and presented the Pope's letter to the Templars, at the same time commanding them to yield. Otherwise their castle would be taken by storm, and the inmates as impenitent sinners would die a shameful death on the gallows. The oldest of the twelve, a man with silvery hair, advanced and declared in the name of his brethren, that they were resolved to fight to the last drop of their blood, and further, that they were quite prepared to suffer like their brethren in France. And so the fight between such fearful odds began. Many soldiers of the Electorate fell under the swords of the knights and their faithful servants, but ever the furious archbishop ordered forward new bands to fill the gaps. Day by day the ranks of the defenders became thinner. Prominent everywhere in this hand to hand struggle were the heroic forms of the twelve Templars, in white mantle with blood-red cross. At last, at a breach which had been defended with leonine courage, one of the noble twelve sank beneath his shattered shield, and closed his eyes in death. A second shared his fate, then a third. The others, bleeding from many wounds and aided by the sorely diminished remnant of their retainers, redoubled their brave efforts, but still death made havoc in their ranks. When, on the evening of the day of fiercest onslaught the victorious besiegers planted their banner on the captured battlement, the silver-haired veteran, the former spokesman, stood with blood-flecked sword among the bodies of his fallen comrades, the last survivor. Touched by such noble heroism the archbishop informed him that he would be allowed to surrender; but calling down the curse of heaven on worldly churchmen and their greed of land, he raised on high his sword and rushed upon his foes. Pierced with many wounds the last of the twelve sank to the earth, and over the corpse of this noble man the soldiers of Mainz pressed into the fortress itself.
Peter von Aspelt preserved Lahneck as a place of defence and residence for an officer of the Electorate of Mainz, and nominated as first holder of the post, Hartwin von Winningen. The castle remained in the possession of the Electorate of Mainz for 300 years, but the sad story of the twelve heroic Templars is remembered in the neighbourhood of Lahneck to this day.
COBLENZ
Riza
In the first quarter of the 9th century, when the pious Ludwig, son of Charlemagne, was struggling with his misguided children for the imperial crown, a church was built in Coblenz to St. Castor, the missionary who had spread christianity in the valley of the Moselle. The four-towered edifice arose on a branch of the Rhine.
The palace of the Frankish king stood at this time on the highest south-western point of Coblenz, on the site of a former Roman fort, and near by was a nunnery, dedicated to St. Castor. In this building lived Riza, a daughter of Ludwig the Pious, who had early dedicated her life to the church. Every day this king's daughter went to mass in the Castor church on the opposite side of the Rhine. So great grace had Riza found in the sight of Our Lord, that like His disciple of old on the sea of Genesareth, she walked over the Rhine dry-footed to the holy sacrament in St. Castor's. One day, the sacred legend goes on to say, the stream was agitated by a storm. For the first time doubt entered the maiden's heart as her foot touched the waves. Prudently tearing a prop from a neighbouring vineyard, she took it with her for a staff over the troubled waters. But after a few timid steps, she sank like St. Peter on the Galilean lake. In this wretched plight she became full of remorse for her want of faith in God. She flung the stick far away, and lifting her arms towards heaven, committed herself to the sole protection of the Almighty. At once she rose up from the waves, and arrived, with dry feet as heretofore, on the other side. More than ever after this did Riza, this saintly daughter of a saintly king, strive to excel in those works which are pleasing to God. She died within the cloister, and her bones were laid in the Castor church, near the burial-place of the saint. Soon the popular imagination canonised Riza, and her marble tomb is still to be seen in the North transept of the Castor church at Coblenz.
VALLEY OF THE MOSELLE
The Doctor's wine of Bernkastel
The wine of Bernkastel is called "Doctor's wine," or even shorter still "Doctor," and it has been known by this singular name for more than five hundred years.
About the middle of the fourteenth century Bishop Bohemund lay ill of a very violent fever at Bernkastel. The worthy man was obliged to swallow many a bitter pill and many a sour drink, but all without avail. The poor divine began at last to fear the worst. Despite his high calling and his earnest search after holy things, his bishopric on the lovely Moselle pleased him better than any seat in heaven. He caused it to be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of his diocese, that whoever should be able to cure him of this terrible fever, be he layman or learned doctor, should receive his pastoral blessing, and a rich present into the bargain.
At that very time, a brave old warrior lived at Treves, who heard about the suffering bishop and had pity on him in his great need.
Moreover this gray-haired veteran, whose name has not come down to posterity, was very much indebted to the bishop, for once, many years before, Bohemund had saved him from the hands of the enemy in a skirmish near Sponheim.
The noble old soldier was much distressed to hear that the holy man was suffering so terribly. He remembered too, that once he himself had been attacked by violent fever and had fought hard with death, and that his friends had talked about pills and certain bitter drinks, but he had sent them all away and had called his servant, desiring him to bring him a good bowl of fiery Bernkastler wine. When he had taken a hearty drink,—no small matter for one lying ill of fever—he awoke out of a deep sleep twelve hours later, the fever completely gone.
Why should not this same Bernkastler cure, thought he, have the same effect on the worthy prelate?
After considering for a time, the old knight set out quite alone from his castle in the forest of Soon to visit his spiritual benefactor, taking only a little cask with him.
Bohemund, lying on his sick bed, is said to have cast a very suspicious look at the good man who stated that he could cure him, but who carried all his medicines and mixtures in a little cask on his shoulder. The knight however, making a sign to the officious servants and attendants to leave the chamber, informed the reverend gentleman of what he was about to do. He then calmly took the plug out of the cask, and gave the sick man a drink of the sparkling wine which he had brought with him.
The bishop readily swallowed the wine at one draught. Another was administered to him soon after, and the eminent prelate fell into a deep sleep.
The next day the people of Treves heard with great joy that the fever had completely disappeared.
The bishop on awaking took another stout draught, and sang out of the depths of his grateful heart:—
"This famous wine restored my health,
Sure, 'tis a splendid doctor."