The streets of the town were very narrow and winding, the houses projected over their bases in every variety of irregularity: they were nearly all built of wood frames, filled up with plaster, as those in the villages are; but frequently this plaster was covered with many-coloured tiles, rounded at the edges. The general effect was a sort of green shot with red tints, and being glazed, these tiles reflected blue from the sky, and broken lights and hues of all sorts, giving a very gay and pleasing appearance. The casements were filled with glass that was nearly as green as the tiles, and from the windows hung out lengths of cloth; or bright flowers in their pots filled the openings, when not occupied by the faces of gossips, who carried on quick conversation with others below in the street, or else in the opposite windows, almost within reach of their arms.
A little canal wound about, following the course of the streets. This was covered over with flat stones; but many apertures allowed your feet to slip in, if a careful watch was not kept. The pavements required the same caution, as holes were abundant, and cabbage-stalks plentiful.
Here and there houses more modern, or of greater pretension than others, had large windows and walls built of stone. The church was placed on an eminence, and had many gables, quite in keeping with the little walled town over which it presided. Squeezed into a space too small for its wants, the town overlapped the old walls and formed different suburbs, the chief of which lay on the banks of a brook which here dashes down through the steep valley into the river.
Busy and flourishing, Trarbach was quite a gay city compared to the clusters of houses that call themselves Stadts and Dorfs on the banks of our river, and in the valleys surrounding.
High up on a lofty cliff directly over the town are the ruins of the Gräfinburg Castle. In bygone days this castle belonged to the powerful Counts of Sponheim, and was built with funds procured in the following manner from an Archbishop of Trèves, and named after the sharp-witted Countess.
THE BISHOP’S RANSOM.
The Count of Sponheim dying, his beautiful wife, Lauretta, was left with her young son to contend against the malice of the Archbishop Baldwin of Trèves, who claimed her territory for himself, with no right but that of “the strong hand;” Baldwin deeming that a young widow would not be able to support the claims of her son against an Elector and Prince-Bishop.
The Archbishop formally excommunicated her as a first step, on her contumaciously refusing to surrender her rights to a usurper. The beautiful Countess laughed at this proceeding, and being assisted by many good knights, defied all his efforts.
One fine day in May, the Bishop, who was lodging in Trarbach, embarked in a boat for Coblence, and much enjoying the voyage, stood talking and planning with his adherents how best he might surprise the Countess of Sponheim, whose castle of Starkenburg rose from the rocks overhead.