Most luxurious was the fresh well-water, the tree-shade, and the rest: a cigar also lent its “enchantment to the view,” which embraced a reach of the river, with the woods on its shores, glowing in the noonday haze. Close to us was an ancient château, with its high-peaked roof and many gables; a tower was at one end, and over the roof appeared the church spire. The brook trickled past, and the pollard willows on its green banks marked its course down to the river. The château is now only used as a farm, and the upper part was stored with hay. Formerly it was the residence of a knight, who held it in fief from the Archbishop of Trèves.
Our river lay so still, so clear, so blue beneath us; she also seemed resting till the heat should pass. The mountains, towers, and towns were watching as she slept over the glorious beauty of our Fairy Queen Moselle. As of old, in her earliest days, the freshness of purity still was in her waters,—still innocence and beauty were combined in her azure form; but who shall describe the glory of her maturity, the loveliness of her now perfected form?
It was noontide, and no foot was stirring. The birds had ceased their songs, the trees were motionless, and the still mountains were repeated in the stream, as though they had plunged from their burning heights headforemost into the cool wave.
And thus we sat and mused: speech would have been desecration. Peace was on the earth! What sermons Nature preaches!—always eloquent and simple. How she touches our hearts, and teaches us the truth; while human eloquence, with all its art, fails to impress or rouse us from our state of apathy! What lessons may be learnt, what blessings gained, in a summer’s ramble by rivers’ banks, and through the mighty forest, where the silence is more eloquent than words; or on the mountain-tops, where earth seems already left behind, and the sky appears almost within our reach!
A little below Pommern, where a large island ends, we crossed to Treis, and went through the meadow valley to the base of the rock on which Treis Castle stands. It was a good climb to the summit, and the path appeared as unfrequented as the forest round the princess who slept until an adventurous knight woke her with a kiss.
The castle of Treis belonged to a very ancient family, who sent knights to the Holy Land under Godfrey de Bouillon. Afterwards it passed into the hands of Queen Richenza of Poland, who gave it to the Convent of Brauweiler, and it was henceforth garrisoned for the Church by dependants of the Archbishop of Trèves.
On one occasion, the Pfalz-graf of the Rhine sent word to the Governor of the castle that the Church did not want forts, as it was sufficiently protected by the Divine power. The Governor acquainted the Bishop, and he excommunicated the Pfalz-graf for his impiety (a step the bishops always seem to have taken in their personal quarrels). The Pfalz-graf, however, did not care for the Bishop’s threats, and took the castle.
The angry Bishop assembled an army, and marched to retake this Church property. He soon appeared before the castle, and, with his crucifix in his hand, summoned it to surrender, and upbraided the Pfalz-graf for seizing it.
The Pfalz-graf, seeing the army of the Bishop was too numerous for him to contend with successfully, began to think the Bishop’s arguments were strong ones, so he quietly gave up the castle.
The poet ends by saying what may be thus almost literally translated:—