Chapter VII

Marbach.--Maria-Taferl.--Pechlarn.--Wiedeneck.--Mölk.--Lubereck.--The Valley of the Wachau.--Schönbühel.--Aggstein.--The Teufel’s-Mauer.--Spitz, and the Ruin of Hinterhaus.--Church and Village of St. Michel.--Castle of Dürrenstein.--Narrow escape of Marshal Mortier during the Campaign of 1805.--Mautern.--Stein.--Krems.--Kloster Göttweih.--Trasenmauer.--Arrival at Tuln.

We had now been three days upon the water, during which time scarcely a cloud had speckled the deep blue of the sky. As the first light of morning, however, struggled through the little dingy casement of our humble hotel, we were disagreeably surprised at finding that the fog, which had risen the previous evening after sunset, still rolled heavily along the river, and threatened to continue the greater part, if not the whole of the day. We were still nearly two days’ journey from Vienna, and a change of weather, which might be portended by this unwelcome visitant, would probably make it four, five, or even six, before we could reach the capital, to say nothing of the disagreeables it would bring in its train. At the risk of losing the beauty of the prospect, therefore, we urged our immediate departure, but here we were met by a new difficulty. Our drunken steersman, who had lain all night in the boat, was now ill in _sober_ sadness, and quite incapable of steering us. A new pilot was to be found, and, after much parley and delay, our host of the gasthaus signified his consent to take the helm; but the fog, instead of dispersing, as we had faintly hoped, with the rising sun, appeared to increase in density; and not one of our boatmen could be prevailed on to trust himself afloat in it. After at least another hour’s delay, and considerable altercation, by dint of a little money, and promise of more, we induced three out of the four to venture on board, and, about eight o’clock, pushed off into the fog, by this time quite as thick, though not so yellow, as that which pervades Lombard Street on a November afternoon. Fortunately this part of the Danube is not fertile in fine views. The small village of Barthub and Mössling, on the left, and Hinterhaus, and the two Agens, on the right, have nothing to recommend them, either in a picturesque or historical point of view; and the distant prospect of Maria-Taferl we had afterwards an opportunity of enjoying. The river, from Bösenbeug and Ips, makes a bold sweep to the south as far as Säusenstein, that stands on a small promontory on the right bank, round which its waters boil and foam, and form what, in earlier times, was called the Charybdis Pogica. The ruin here is of a very late date. It was a mansion belonging to some ecclesiastic, and burned by the French in the last war. The Cistercian convent near it, called St. Lorenz in the Gottesthal, was founded by Eberhard von Walsee, in 1336. In the fifteenth century, it was attacked and plundered by some of the knightly robbers who infested the neighbourhood, and who are termed “_fratres hostiles_” in the old chronicles. The tombs of the family of Walsee, which became extinct in 1483, are still in existence here. On that of Reinprecht, the last of his race, is simply his motto, “Thue Recht,” with the words beneath it, “periisti amor,” in allusion to the termination of the feud between the Houses of Walsee and Schaumberg. All this; at least, says Herr Schultes, who had the advantage of visiting this spot in clearer weather--we saw neither ruin nor convent, nor tombs; but what we did see near this place was equally picturesque and striking. The sound of voices chaunting a kind of hymn, stole faintly on our ears, and, as it became more distinct, a boat appeared, like a phantom, in the fog, crowded with pilgrims, on their way to Marbach and Maria-Taferl. They were principally women, and sat huddled together round a priest, who, bare-headed, supported a crucifix, and occasionally chimed in, in a deep bass voice, with the quavering trebles of his companions. For a few minutes, they floated beside us, and then gradually melted again into the mist, as though they had been creatures of it, the hymn dying away in the distance.

Before we reached Marbach, the fog, to our great gratification, had evidently begun to disperse. It still covered the face of the water, but the blue sky was visible above it; and the sun, occasionally breaking through it, gave us a glimpse of this or that bank, according to the situation of the boat. The Markt of Marbach existed as early, at least, as the thirteenth century, as, in 1208, we hear of the Knights of Marbach. Almost every house in the place is an inn, as, lying under the lofty mountain, on which stands the most celebrated place of pilgrimage in Lower Austria--the church of Maria-Taferl, it is of course the place of rendezvous for the countless devotees who swarm from all parts of the empire to that holy shrine. The inhabitants of Vienna, in the middle of September, come on horseback, in every kind of vehicle, and even on foot, hundreds in a day, and return by the Danube. A great traffic is also carried on with these pious personages in crosses, amulets, rosaries, and holy images, pictures and books of all descriptions, by the inhabitants of Marbach; besides which, a number of beggars reside here, each of whom has his or her regular standing upon the path winding up the hill to the Maria-Taferl; and spend duly every evening, in eating and drinking, the large sums they have collected during the day. It has been calculated that upwards of a million and a half of florins are annually expended here; and the minister of the place told Herr Schultes that one year he himself had counted 135,000 pilgrims. A proverbial rhyme tends also much to the well doing of the inhabitants of Marbach:

“Wer nach Maria Taferl ein Wallfahrt maken thut
Diess ihm Maria Taferl macht aller wiedergut:”

which may be rendered,--

Who to Maria Taferl a pilgrimage hath ta’en,
To him Maria Taferl shall make all good again.

Expense, therefore, is the last thing considered; and the spirit of extravagance extends itself even to the townspeople, who lavish, in the pride of their well-filled purses, ridiculous sums upon the decoration of their houses, so that, according to another German proverb, says Schultes,--

“Was durch das Pfeifchen kommt, geht durch die Trommel davon.”

What comes through the fife goes away through the drum.

Our new steersman put into this little markt to buy some beer and bread; and the fog now rolling off in broken masses, enabled us to get a peep at the town, which seemed a strange jumble of alehouses and chapels, signs and crucifixes, all very gaily and fantastically painted, and forming, in short, a most consistent trysting-place for “_publicans_ and sinners.”

Maria-Taferl is to the pious Austrian what Maria-Einsiedel is to the Roman Catholic Swabian, and Maria-Oetting to the Bavarian of the same persuasion. The lovers of an extensive and beautiful prospect may, for an hour’s climbing, enjoy, from the summit of the mountain on which it stands, a splendid panorama of the Danube and great part of Lower Austria, the Alps of the Steyermark, and the whole chain of mountains from the lofty Schneeberg in the Wiener-Wald, to the frontier of Bavaria. The history of this celebrated place of pilgrimage may be bought for two kreutzers, a great deal more than it is worth, but that it is amusing and instructive to see how grossly the Roman Catholic priesthood are yet permitted to gull an ignorant, and consequently superstitious people.

The precious document sets forth with stating the well-known fact of the existence, from time immemorial, of a venerable oak-tree on the top of the mountain, in which was placed a figure of the crucified Redeemer. To this spot the inhabitants of Klein-Pechlarn, a small village in the neighbourhood, used to repair every Easter Monday to put up their petitions for a fine harvest, and, after hearing the service chaunted, sat down at a stone table before the church-door, and ate, drank, and were merry; from whence arose the name of Maria-_Taferl_, or Mary of the Table. In 1662, a herdsman, either from ignorance or wantonness, attempted to hew down the sacred tree, on which age had already heavily laid its withering and deforming hand. At the first blow, however, the axe recoiled so violently, that it sprung from his grasp and wounded one of his feet severely. Unchecked by this warning, however, he made a second blow, when it again recoiled with still more violence, and desperately wounded his other foot[65]. The profane herdman, now lifting up his eyes in agony, observed the crucifix, and struck with remorse, craved pardon of God for his impiety; upon which the blood stopped of its own accord, and his wounds healed immediately, without surgical or any human assistance! Ten years after this miraculous occurrence, a man named Alexander Schinnagel, who suffered under a deep and distressing melancholy, which he could not shake off, came, by heaven directed, to the house of a schoolmaster, who had in his chamber an image of the Virgin, called a Vesperbild. Schinnagel bought the image, and carried it home. In the middle of the night, he heard “a still small voice,” saying, “Wouldst thou be cured, take the image, and place it in the oak at Maria-Taferl.” Accordingly, at day-break, up rose Alexander, and proceeded with his purchase to the mountain-top, where he placed it as directed, taking down at the same time the crucifix, which age and exposure to the weather had nearly destroyed.. Immediately his melancholy left him, and he returned home a merry, and, we hope, a grateful man. Since that period the angels themselves have frequently visited the sacred spot. On the 17th of June, 1658, a most credible (credulous?) personage saw a snow white and luminous apparition, in mid-day, before the holy effigy. In 1659, three persons, equally worthy of belief, saw a whole troop of angels, in white garments, and in processional order, on their way to the Vesperbild. Another time, when forty people were collected together in its neighbourhood, three of them saw an angelical procession in the air, and three bright stars of remarkable magnitude immediately above the figure. Again, a procession of white-clothed personages was seen by eight or ten people, the leading apparition bearing a red cross; and shortly afterwards a wax taper was suddenly observed burning before the Vesperbild. In 1661, many other angelical phantoms were seen by sometimes thirty, and once by a hundred people at a time, all of them most respectable and credible witnesses, whose testimonies were registered, signed, and sworn to before the competent authorities![66]

As the vapours, which had till now enveloped us, began rapidly to yield to the power of the sun, and were swept in masses by the fresh breeze of morning from the bright face of the river and the fair hills beside it, disclosing the rich and beautiful prospect that opened upon us with the widening valley, smiling in warmth and light; it was impossible to suppress the remark, commonplace as it may be considered, that, thus, at no very distant period, would the mists of error and superstition fly before the increasing influence of knowledge and truth, and man, awaking to the contemplation of the sublime paths they enlighten, “Look,” full of hope, joy, and gratitude, “through Nature, up to nature’s God!”

Albert IV., Duke of Austria, whose journey to the Holy Land gave rise to so many romantic stories, that he obtained the appellation of the “wonder of the world,” resided for some time at Marbach, in the valley of All Saints, with the Carthusians: “with them,” says a contemporary, “he attends matins, reads the lessons, makes inclinations, genuflexions, observes ceremonies, confessions and prayers. He not only joins them in the performance of divine service in the choir, but affords an example of humility by frequenting the Chapter-house. In a word, he calls himself brother Albert, and considers himself in every respect as one of the order[67].”

So few travellers ever think of taking a boat to themselves, that we were hailed at Marbach, as an _ordinari-schiff_[68], by three poor women who wanted to go to Vienna. Having plenty of room to spare, we consented to their coming on board, which they accordingly did with their baskets and bundles sans cérémonie, imagining that they should have to pay the usual fare for their passage; and with this accession of company and cargo we again set forward. Below Schelmenbach and Krumpen-Nussbaum falls the mountain-stream called the Erlaf, into the Danube, named in deeds of the time of Charlemagne, and long the boundary between Bavaria and the Land of the Huns. At the mouth of the Erlaf, is a Rechen or Grate, where the wood collects that is floated down this stream from the forests in the neighbourhood of Maria-Zell, in the Steyermark, near which it takes its rise. It is customary in Germany to place one of these gratings at the mouth of any tributary stream, or in the bed of any river where a line of demarcation is drawn naturally or artificially between two kingdoms, two provinces or even two parishes. So that the branches and trunks of trees blown down by high winds, and swept away by inundations into the current, should not be carried beyond the frontiers or boundaries of the state or property to which they belong, and which derives from them no inconsiderable portion of its revenue.

The timber, also, regularly felled by the wood-cutters, is thrown thus carelessly on the mountain-streams of Germany, and floats down to the Rechen or Grate, where it is afterwards collected by its owners, who are thus saved the trouble and expense of land carriage; and the drifting property is protected from plunder by the severity of the laws relating to it.

Before us now lay the two Pechlarns; Great Pechlarn on the right, and Little Pechlarn on the left bank. At the first we determined to breakfast, were it only to feast where the fair Chrimhilt had feasted, in

“Die Burg zu Bechelaren.”

No relics of the “Burg” itself, however, exist; but an old gateway, some round towers, and here and there a few feet of crumbling wall, attest the early grandeur of the place, and fancy fills up the chasms which time has made, with court and keep, buttress and battlement, crowded with fair damsels and fierce soldiery, “all, all abroad to gaze” at the advancing pageant.

There, round that point of land, comes the royal fleet, the banners of Hungary, Burgundy, Bavaria, Pechlarn, and Passau, flinging their blazoned glories on the breeze, and proudly announcing to the admiring burghers the rich freight of rank and beauty which the swelling Danube is wafting to their port. Five hundred “Kemps of Hungary,” their bright hauberks glittering in the sun, crowd the decks of the first vessels. On the prow of the foremost stands the valiant Markgraf, Rudiger of Pechlarn, than whom

“A truer soldier never
Was in this world yborn,[69]”

bending eagerly forward to distinguish, amongst the bevy of beauties at “the open windows[70]” of the castle, the fair forms of his beloved wife and daughter. Beneath the rich canopy that shades the deck of yonder bark, with the gilded oars, now doubling the little promontory, sits the peerless bride of the mighty Etzel, but she hears not the shout of welcome that rises on the shore; she marks not the gay multitudes that crowd to pay her homage. Her brow is clouded, her ruby lip quivers, tears like liquid diamonds tremble upon the long dark silken lashes of her downcast eyes; the form of the noble Siegfried is constantly before her. She hears but the voice of her murdered champion calling for vengeance; she sees but the ghastly wound which treachery dealt, bleeding afresh at the approach of the dark and deadly Haghen. Yet, passing beautiful is she even in sorrow, and still warrants the glowing description of the old minnesænger, Henry of Ofterdingen.[71]

“From out her broidered garments
Full many a jewel shone,
The rosy red bloomed sweetly
Her lovely cheek upon.
He who would in fancy
Paint that lady fair,
In this world has never
Seen such beauty rare.

As the moon outshineth
Every twinkling star,
Shedding careless splendour
From out her cloudy car;
So, before her maidens,
Stood that lady bright,
And higher swelled the spirit
Of every gazing knight.[72]”

By her side stands a venerable figure, clad in the gorgeous and sacred vestments of his office. The flowing stole of embroidered silk, the pallium of cloth of gold, the jewelled mitre, the “gilt shoon,” and the massive but richly wrought cross and crosier, borne by two of his attendants, distinguish him as the holy Pilgerin, the wealthy and powerful Bishop of Passau, uncle to the queen, and related also to the noble Rudiger. The pale youth near him, his hands reverently crossed upon his bosom, is his clerk Conrad, who afterwards assisted him to write, in “the Latin tongue,” the adventures of the Nibelungen. On the other hand of the lovely Chrimhilt, stands the faithful Duke Eckewart, who has sworn to escort his liege lady to Hungary; and the remainder of the flotilla bears the five hundred chosen Knights of Burgundy, who follow his standard. The vision is over, the airy castle has vanished--

“The knights are dust,
Their good swords are rust,
Their souls are with the saints we trust.”

And a rude and solitary boat is rocking under the windows of a poor white-washed wirthshaus, which, with half a dozen humble cottages and some mouldering walls, now marks the site of the once strong and gay burg of Pechlarn!

Rudiger of Pechlarn, as well as his kinsman, the Bishop of Passau, is an historical personage. He was Count of the frontier during the reign of Arnulph, Duke of Bavaria, and died in 916. His son, Markgraf Rudiger II., died in 943, and with him the direct male line became extinct. The little town of Pechlarn is now principally inhabited by potters.

Beyond Pechlarn, the river keeps still widening, till, on the left bank, rises the fine old Castle of Weideneck, which receives its name from a neighbouring rivulet, and is supposed to have been built by the elder Rudiger of Pechlarn. The Emperor Frederick IV., and the famous Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, both beleaguered Weideneck. The former twice won and lost it. But the eye has scarcely caught sight of Weideneck, before it is attracted by the distant domes of the magnificent Convent of Mölk, that appear over the willows of an island, in the centre of the river. Gradually, the entire façade of the convent, upon its granite rock, and the little market-town beneath it, glide from behind the island, and complete one of the most imposing and beautiful pictures upon the river. The present splendid structure was built in 1720-32, by an architect, named Prandauer; but the rock on which it stands, once supported, not only a more ancient convent, but also a Roman fortress. Under the name of Medilke, it appears in the Nibelungen-lied,

“At Medilke were the goblets
Of costly gold, filled high,
And the wine went gaily round
Mid that noble company.”

But the authentic history of Mölk commences apparently in the sixteenth century, when the Markgraf Leopold I., surnamed the Illustrious, made it his residence after wresting it from the power of the Hungarians. This valiant prince founded here a kloster, and was here interred after his murder at Wurzburg, as were likewise his wife, Richarde, his sons Henry and Albrecht, and their wives, Mechthilde and Frowiza, Adelheid, Countess of Leopold the Strong, the Margraf Ernest III., surnamed the Valiant, and his lady Schwanehild, Leopold III., surnamed the Handsome, and many other noble Austrian and Bavarian knights and ladies. Saint Colomanus, or Saint Colman, descended, according to the story, from the early Kings of Scotland, was also buried at Mölk. This saint, travelling through Austria to Jerusalem, was seized, at Stockerau, by some rebellious peasants, A.D. 1012, who, taking him for a spy, hung him upon a tree, where his body remained a year and a half without putrefaction, and afterwards worked many miracles! Leopold III., in the year 1089, established some Benedictines from Lambach in this Kloster; and his son, Leopold IV., who was born here in 1073, and here celebrated his marriage with Agnes, daughter of the Emperor Henry IV., and widow of Frederick of Hohenstaufen, gave up his palace to them, and retired to the Khalenberg, near Vienna. The Kloster of Mölk soon became proverbial for its wealth, and its superior was the Primate of Lower Austria. In 1619, the insurgents of Upper Austria besieged Mölk for upwards of a month, as did also the Turks in 1684. Napoleon had his headquarters here in 1805, and again in 1809; and a mark is shown upon the floor of one of the apartments in the Kloster, which he is said to have made in a passion. While a few monks inhabit this splendid palace, their sovereign, one of the most powerful monarchs in Europe, passes a considerable portion of his time in an humble wooden building, upon the opposite bank of the Danube. At Lubereck, a little below the Castle of Weideneck, beside a romantic waterfall, is a small edifice, built entirely of wood, and formerly the country residence of the Baron von Führenberg, postmaster of Mölk. Between this place and Bösenbeug, Francis I. divides nearly all the hours which, during summer, he snatches from the cares of empire. In his plain, domestic habits, and in the kindness and affability with which, in such moments of relaxation, he listens or chats to his humble neighbours, the present Sovereign of Austria greatly resembles our own late venerable monarch, King George III., and, like him, has compelled his bitterest political enemies to acknowledge that, in all the private virtues of life, as a husband, a father, and a master, he is an example, not only to his own subjects, but to mankind.

On the left bank, beyond Lubereck, is the markt of Emmersdorf, at the point of a narrow neck of land, round which the Danube wheels to the north-east, and enters the romantic valley of the Wachau. Emmersdorf, like so many other places on the Danube, was formerly the seat of some powerful robbers, who levied contributions upon the passing vessels, and blotted the page of history with such bloody deeds that, to use the expression of a modern German writer, the hand of a common executioner alone could steadily transcribe them. At the mouth of the Bielach, a little river that empties itself into the Danube nearly facing Emmersdorf, and over which there is a ferry, the celebrated district called the Wachau commences, and extends itself as far as the castle of Dürrenstein, some say as far as Mautern and Krems. The view from this point, either looking up or down the river, is exceedingly beautiful. The western prospect is enriched with the castle of Weideneck, the Palace-convent and markt of Mölk, and the noble mountains of Upper Austria, which here you gaze on for the last time. Turning and looking into the mouth of the yawning gorge, the eye is first attracted by the castle and kloster of Schönbühel, picturesquely situated on the brink of the precipitous right bank, behind which rise some gigantic mountains. On the left, a crescent of bold craggy hills, towering one over the other, checks the northerly inclination of the mighty flood, and bends it again eastward, while upon one of them the fine ruin of Aggstein glimmers white in the distance.

Charlemagne, in the year 803, gave the whole valley of the Wachau (in terra Avarorum) from the Bielach as far as Tuln, Zeizelmauer and Perschling, (Tulna, Zysenmurus et Bierstlinga,) to the Bishop of Passau, and it belonged to Bavaria, at least “in spiritualibus,” till 1805. Schloss Schönbühel stands, as I have before said, at the entrance to the valley, upon a wall of granite, from which its own walls are scarcely distinguishable. Schultes calls it a ruin, but to me it had the appearance of an inhabited château in excellent repair. It is a singular-looking building, with a tall, square, but narrow tower, shooting up from the centre of its western front, more like a chimney than a turret. Its situation, however, is exceedingly fine and commanding, and it has the reputation of being haunted by no less a spirit than Lucifer himself, a circumstance which would alone render it interesting to the romantic tourist. A little beyond it stands an old chapel or kloster, belonging to the Schloss. In the fourteenth century this place belonged to the family of Starrhemberg. Having now fairly entered the valley, we perceived the markt of Aggsbach on the left bank, and facing it, Klein, or little Aggsbach. In a chasm behind the latter, Haderich von Meissau, the Kuenringer and marshal of Lower Austria, founded, in 1386, a convent for thirteen Carthusian Monks, which was suppressed by Joseph II. in 1782; and on the mountain top, a little beyond the former, stand the before-mentioned ruins of the Castle of Aggstein. There is a tradition respecting this castle, of a peculiarly German cast, and which would work up well in “a tale of terror.” It is said that it was anciently the hold of a robber knight named Schrekenwald, who, after seizing and plundering the unfortunate travellers on the Danube, thrust his wretched captives through an iron door over the rocks into a deep abyss behind the castle, which he called his “Little Rose Garden,” and from which (even if by a miracle they were not dashed to pieces in their fall) the chance of escape was next to impossible. The tradition is preserved in an Austrian proverb; when any one is in such a strait as to preclude all hope of extrication, he is said to be “in Schreckenwald’s Rose-garden.” The story, however, goes on to say, that, by some extraordinary chance, one of his intended victims did effect his escape, and with the help of his friends, who returned with him in arms, surprised, made prisoner, and hung the monster.

In the year 1232, Hadmar, the Kuenringer, who was also lord of Dürrenstein, possessed this castle, and ravaged, in company with his brother Heinrich von Weitra, the whole country as far as Stein and Krems. The trembling inhabitants called them “the Hounds,” and Frederick, the last of the Babenbergers, in vain endeavoured to subdue and destroy them. A merchant, named Rudiger, at length suggested a ruse de guerre to the Emperor. “I will freight,” said he, “a vessel at Regensburg, laden with the most costly merchandise: the tidings will soon reach the robbers at Aggstein. Thirty stout knights shall lie concealed in the vessel, and when Hadmar rushes down from his castle, and boards us with a few of his vassals, thinking to plunder some peaceable merchants, the knights shall rush out upon and overpower him, while I push off from the shore.” The plan was adopted, and succeeded. The vessel was freighted at Regensburg, and stopped at Aggstein. Hadmar flung himself into the snare set for him, and Rudiger and his people, rowing off at the same moment, brought the robber prisoner to the feet of Frederick.

In 1277, Luitold Kuenring possessed the castles of Aggstein and Dürrenstein, but lost them both, with many others, in rebellion against Albert I., and was banished the country in 1291. From that period its history is a mere record of bargains and sales, which terminates with its purchase by a Count of Beroldingen, in 1819.

The castle is finely situated on the crest of a conical hill, and the path up to it lies through a thick forest which affords a pleasing shelter to the noontide traveller, whom curiosity leads to inspect the ruins. The keys are kept in the little wirthshaus on the bank below it. Great part of the castle is in tolerable preservation, at least as far as regards the bare walls; and the date over the gateway, if Prof. Schultes have rightly copied it, (for I did not see it myself,) appears to me rather apocryphal. The inscription runs thus:--

“Das Purkstall hat ange
vangen tze pauen her Jo
rig der Schektvon w
ald der nachten montag
nach unser Frauventag
nativitatis, da von Crist
gpurd waren ergangen
+MCCXXVIII+ Jar.[73]”

Below Schwallenbach, a small markt on the left bank, a rude mass of barren crags has received the name of the Teufel’s mauer (Devil’s wall.) This busy “old gentleman” is said to have taken it into his head to block up the Danube at this spot, but, through some special intervention of Providence, a sudden stop was put to the infernal masonry. An echo slumbers here, which, waked by a pistol-shot, resents the impertinence in a voice of thunder. Having passed the villages of Ober or Schloss-Arnsdorf, and Mitter-Arnsdorf, we at length arrived before the markt and castle of Spitz, the towers of which had been visible from Schwallenbach. Both town and castle belonged anciently to Bavaria, and they have been in turn the property of most of the ecclesiastical and lay robbers we have already heard so much of--the bishops of Passau and Salzburg, the monks of Nieder Altaich, the Margraves Burkhard and Leopold, Hansen the Kapeller, Hadmar the Kuenringer, etc. etc. In 1805, Marshal Mortier, who had narrowly escaped destruction near Dürrenstein, was glad to cross the Danube at this place by means of a bridge of boats. The old castle above the little markt is called the Hinterhaus, and is one of the most picturesque ruins on the river. The rock it stands upon is of an extraordinary form, black, rugged, and bare, a gigantic pedestal, worthy of supporting this fine monument of the middle ages. The church and village of St. Michel, with their old round towers and crumbling walls, are the next interesting objects. The precipices upon both banks now assume the most fantastic forms. The vine has here again made its appearance. Its light green is beautifully contrasted with the dark firs and pines, and the white barren peaks that Nature seems to have fashioned in her most eccentric moods.

As the valley narrows, the rocks rise higher and higher, and the wild scenery of the Schlägen is for the last time repeated. This savage glen has long been considered by the peasantry of the neighbourhood as the haunt of witches and evil spirits; and about thirty years ago a poor little old woman, who was feeding her goat upon one of these precipices, was absolutely shot with a glass bullet, for a wetter-hexe (weather-witch,) a violent thunder-storm which had unfortunately arisen being “charged to her account,” by the superstitious marksman. On emerging from this gorge--the crowning glory of the romantic scene--the magnificent ruin of Dürrenstein presents itself on its stupendous rock. Language cannot do justice to the sublimity of this view, which might task the united pencils of a Claude and a Salvator Rosa. Independently of its beauty and grandeur, what recollections crowd upon the mind, as the splendid picture dawns upon the sight,--Richard Cœur de Lion!--Six hundred years have past, and the name is still a spell-word to conjure up all the brightest and noblest visions of the age of chivalry. What glorious phantoms rise at the sound! Saladin--the great, the valiant, the generous Saladin, again wheels at the head of his Cavalry--Frederick Barbarossa, the conqueror of Iconium--the brave but politic Philip of France--the gallant but unfortunate Marquis of Montferrat! The whole host of red-cross warriors--the knights of the Temple and St. John--start again into existence from their graves in the Syrian Deserts, and their tombs in Christian Europe, where still their recumbent effigies grasp the sword in stone. The Lion-hearted Plantagenet once more flourishes with a giant’s strength; the tremendous battle-axe, whereon “were twenty pounds of steel[74],” around the nodding broom-plant in his cylindrical helmet, while his implacable foe, Leopold of Austria, leans frowning on his azure shield; his surcoat of cloth of silver “dabbled in blood,” that terrible token of his valour at Ptolemais, which is to this day the blazon of his ancient house[75]. Yonder walls have echoed to the clank of the fetters with which his unknightly vengeance loaded Richard of England--to the minstrel-moan of “the Lord of Oc and No[76],” and (for who can coldly pause to separate such romantic facts from the romance they have inspired) to the lay of the faithful Blondel, which, wafted by the pitying winds to his Royal Master’s ear, soothed his captivity, and brightened his hopes of freedom. Many are the castles on the banks of the Danube pointed out to the traveller as the prison of Cœur de Lion. Aggstein, which we have not long passed, Greifenstein, which we are approaching, both assert a similar claim to our interest, our veneration; and it has been not improbably conjectured, that Richard was in turn the resident of each, being secretly removed from fortress to fortress, by his subtle and malignant captor, in order to baffle the researches of his friends and followers. Notwithstanding this dispute, Dürrenstein has by general consent, and long tradition, been established as the principal place of his confinement; and no one who, with that impression, has gazed upon its majestic ruins, would thank the sceptic who should endeavour to disturb his belief. They stand upon a colossal rock, which rising from a promontory picturesquely terminated by the little town of Dürrenstein, is singularly ribbed from top to bottom by a rugged mass of granite indented like a saw. On each side of this natural barrier, a strip of low wall, with small towers at equal distances, straggles down the rock, which, thus divided, is here and there cut towards its base into cross terraces planted with vines, and in the ruder parts left bare, or patched with lichens and shrubs of various descriptions. On its naked and conical crest, as though a piece of the crag itself, rises the keep of the castle, square, with four square towers at its angles, and not unlike the fine ruin at Rochester. Had the accomplished Hemans beheld the scene, her muse could scarcely have better described it.

“He hath reached a mountain hung with vine,

* * * * *

The feudal towers that crest its height
Frown in unconquerable might;
Dark is their aspect of sullen state,
No helmet hangs o’er the massy gate,
To bid the wearied pilgrim rest,
At the chieftain’s board a welcome guest;
Vainly rich evening’s parting smile
Would chase the gloom of the haughty pile,
That midst bright sunshine lowers on high,
Like a thunder-cloud in a summer sky.

* * * * *

Lingering he gazed--the rocks around
Sublime in savage grandeur frowned;
Proud guardians of the regal flood,
In giant strength the mountains stood;
By torrents cleft, by tempests riven,
Yet mingling still with the calm blue heaven[77].”

The celebrated Denon had a sketch made of this castle and rock, and sent to Paris expressly for a scene in Gretry’s well-known opera, “Richard Cœur de Lion.”

The circumstances of Richard’s quarrel with the Duke of Austria, and his subsequent arrest and captivity, are too well known to require insertion here; but, in the Chronicon Zwetlense, t. 1, s. 531, it is expressly stated that Richard was seized at Erpuch, near Vienna, (this Erpuch being the present Erdberg, one of the largest of its many suburbs,) and given, by Leopold, into the custody of Hadmar, the Kuenringer at Tyernstain (Dürrenstein). The old chronicler, Haselbach, also says that Richard came to Vienna as a pilgrim, in a company of cooks, and acted as turnspit one evening in the kitchen of the Duke of Austria. But a cook, recognizing his features, informed Leopold, who immediately commanded Richard to be brought before him, and addressed him in these words, “Domine Rex Anglorum, nimis nobilis estis, ut sitis assator in coquina ducis;” after which he delivered him into “Honesta Custodia.” According to the Chronicon Conradi Cœnobitæ Schyrensis, Richard, after suffering shipwreck at Aquileia, was betrayed to Leopold by the Duke of Carinthia. The story of his having betrayed himself, in his passage through Austria, by his expenses and liberalities, is, however, the most probable, as well as the best authenticated.

Dürrenstein is first mentioned about the year 1170, when, in some deeds, are found the names of Göttschalk and Regenbert von Tirnstain. In 1192, the year in which Richard was made prisoner, the castle is known to have belonged to Hadmar, the Kuenringer, who was likewise the possessor of Aggstein; and, in 1231, it was taken, and partially destroyed by Frederick, the last of the Babenbergers. No events of consequence are recorded to have taken place in it from that time to the year 1645, when the Swedes are supposed to have reduced it to its present ruinous condition. The little town at its foot, with its handsome church[78], is prettily situated; and when, in 1741, a party of French and Bavarian cavalry forded the Danube, in hopes to surprise it, the citizens hit upon a plan as novel as ingenious. They barred up their gates as well as they could, laid logs of firewood on the walls, in imitation of cannon, chalked the rims of their hats, to give them the appearance of being bound with white lace, according to the uniform of their troops at that time, and parading up and down the ramparts with much drumming and bustle, taking care that their hats only should be seen above the walls, absolutely induced the enemy to believe that the place was strongly garrisoned; and they accordingly wheeled to the right about without firing a shot, to the infinite joy and amusement of the cunning inhabitants, who certainly well deserved their escape.

On the 11th of November, 1805, the defiles behind Dürrenstein were the scene of a murderous conflict between the French, under Mortier and Dupont, and the Russians, under Doctorof and the Austrian general, Schmidt. Mortier, who had instructions from Napoleon to march upon Krems, and was anxious to prevent the Russians passing into Moravia, hurried forwards with Gazan’s division, and a brigade of dragoons, being followed, at some distance, by Dupont’s division, and some Dutch regiments. Below Dürrenstein, he encountered the advance guard of Miloradowich, which he drove back to the gates of Stein, making a few prisoners: but this slight success had nearly led to his ruin, for, at the same instant, another strong corps of Russians, led by Generals Schmidt and Doctorof, descended the mountains in his rear; and General Essen, having reinforced Miloradowich, and thrown himself before Loiben, the French were between two fires. Mortier had no remedy but to cut his way, if possible, through the column in his rear, and so effect a junction with Dupont, to whom he had, fortunately for himself, sent orders to quicken his march. Major Henriod, at the head of the 100th regiment, charged the Russians, and a horrible carnage ensued in the narrow defiles, crowded with infuriated soldiery. Two pieces of artillery, which Mortier had with him, decided the issue of the combat in his favour, his adversaries being destitute of cannon. The brave Austrian, Schmidt, fell at the first discharge; and Doctorof, endeavouring to withdraw his troops from the ravine, was suddenly attacked, in the rear, by the division of Dupont, and thus found himself, in his turn, between two fires. With much difficulty he effected his retreat over the mountain he had just descended; and the desperate troops of Mortier rushing into the defile, as they imagined, on the bayonets of their enemies, found themselves, before they were aware, in the arms of their friends and countrymen. From twelve to fifteen hundred men were lost on each side, and the allies received a terrible blow in the death of General Schmidt, the friend and companion in arms of the Archduke Charles[79].

Below Dürrenstein, the river widens, and a new and cheerful prospect dawns upon the sight. Three small towns, Stein, Mautern, and Krems, the two first connected by a bridge, about six hundred and thirty paces long, across the Danube, present themselves at once to the eye; and over Mautern, on the right bank, upon a finely-wooded mountain, rise the towers and cupolas of Kloster Göttweih.

Mautern was known as early as the time of Charlemagne, and in 898 was called the town of Mutarum, and fortified by Isanrich, the son of the Markgraf Arbo, when he rose against the Emperor Arnulf. Arnulf, though in the last stage of illness, laid seige to Mautern, and took it in the following year, a few months before his death; but Isanrich succeeded in eluding his conqueror, and sought refuge in Moravia. Rudolph of Hapsburg gave the same rights and privileges to Mautern as were enjoyed by Stein and Krems in reward for its early declaration in his favour. In 1347, the burghers, having joined their neighbours of Krems in a cruel persecution of the Jews, were severely punished by Albert II., and their Lord, the Bishop of Passau, whose _Christian_ zeal had been rather exuberant, was condemned to pay a fine to the Duke of six hundred pounds. Matthias Corvinus, the gallant King of Hungary, gained a victory here over the Austrians in 1484. In 1805, the Russians under Kutusof retreated before Murat, Lannes, and Soult, over the bridge at Mautern, and immediately burnt it. It was destroyed again by the Austrian Field-marshal Hiller in 1809, on the second advance of Napoleon to Vienna. With the exception of the old gate, through which the road leads to St. Pölten and Göttweih, little remains to vouch for the antiquity of the town; and the same may be said of Stein, under the walls of which we landed,--the gate facing the water, and the ruins of some old building near the bridge, being all the relics that “Goth and Time and Turk have spared”--I might add, Hungarian and Swede, as Matthias Corvinus stormed it in 1486, and Torstenson in 1645. So exasperated was the latter by the opposition he met with, that when he at length entered the place, he took most sanguinary vengeance upon the brave citizens. Stein is little more than one long, rambling street, over the vile flints of which, as we entered it, half a dozen poor old women, nearly all upon crutches, were hobbling in ludicrous haste after a dirty little ragamuffin, who, bearing the banner of some Saint, very like a red pocket handkerchief, appeared to enjoy the fruitless attempts of the unfortunate cripples to keep pace with him. On the young rascal went, at a sort of hand gallop, while they, like Johnson’s “Panting Time,”

“Toiled after him in vain.”

Quitting Stein at the eastern extremity of this long street, a walk of about ten minutes conducts you through a pretty promenade, planted with trees, and called the little Präter, to the gates of Krems, the most considerable of these three small towns. It is first mentioned in the reign of Otto III. In the year 1347, its kennels ran with Hebrew blood. It was pretended that the Jews had poisoned the wells of the town; and as any report, however ridiculous, provided it afforded a pretext to insult and plunder that unfortunate people, was eagerly and implicitly believed by the brutal populace, an immediate slaughter took place of all who refused to acknowledge the divinity of Christ. Many wealthy Israelites being aware of the real motive of their persecutors, made their despair minister to their vengeance, and barring up themselves, their family, and their riches together, set fire to the building, and perished exultingly in the flames that anticipated the spoiler. The horrid frenzy extended to Stein, Mautern, and many other places in the vicinity, and was only allayed by the arrival of the brave Erbschenk von Meissau who, by command of Albert II., hurried with a considerable force into the disturbed districts. Krems and Stein were heavily mulcted, and the neighbouring villages, Loiben, Strassing, Rattendorf and Weinzierl, plundered by the soldiery of the blood-stained booty they had acquired. In the fifteenth century, Krems was twice besieged by Matthias Corvinus, the last time successfully. On the invasion of Austria by the Bohemian Protestants in 1619, a corps of the insurgents under their Colonel, Carpizan, having cut off the garrison of Krems, which had made a desperate sally from the town, immediately advanced to scale the now defenceless walls; but the women with one consent, seizing the first weapons they could find, rushed to the ramparts, and fought with such steady bravery, that the enemy were at length obliged to abandon the attempt. To this memorable achievement Ferdinand II. was in great measure indebted for the preservation of his empire; for Krems being thus relieved, General Dampierre detached a body of five hundred horse to Vienna, at that time closely invested by Count Thurn. The Emperor, reduced to the last extremity, the walls of his palace battered by the Bohemian cannon, and echoing the reproachful shouts of his disaffected subjects, had resigned himself to his fate, when the sudden blast of a trumpet announced the arrival of succour. The little squadron of horse having secretly descended the Danube, and entered the capital by the only gate unguarded by the enemy, was magnified into a mighty host by the fears of the malcontents, who dispersed in every direction. The friends of the Emperor took courage, six hundred students flew to arms; their example was followed by fifteen hundred citizens; additional succours arrived, and in a few hours all appearance of danger and discontent had subsided.

Krems is the seat of what is termed in Austria a kreis-amtes, or council, having the government of one of the circles of the empire. Its jurisdiction extends over a fourth of Lower Austria, called the Viertel, or quarter of Ober-Manhardsberg. The principal public buildings are the Pfarrekirche, built in 1464, the church of St. Katharine, remarkable as having been originally a residence of the knights-templars, a theatre, a gymnasium, and a cassino. The Austrian epicure is indebted to Krems for excellent mustard, and the sportsman for superior gunpowder; upwards of forty thousand florins worth of the former article is yearly made and sold in this town. The mustard is sent in its natural state from Znaym, Rausenbruck, and various other parts of Moravia, and boiled at Krems with unfermented wine, which gives it its peculiar flavour. In a vineyard near Krems was formerly a well, the water of which was believed a sovereign specific for all disorders. The neighbouring capuchins of Und, who were the respectable vouchers for its efficacy, sold the pure element at a so large a price, that the Emperor Maximilian I. suddenly discovered the necessity for enacting a law, whereby the revenue arising from this traffic was transferred from the coffers of the church into those of the state, which, at the commencement of his reign, were not so likely to overflow from the addition.

Wandering beneath the walls of Krems and Stein, we gazed with delight upon the beautifully situated monastery of Göttweih. A short distance from the right bank behind Mautern, this immense building stretched itself along the brow of a lofty, isolated mountain, clothed with waving woods, in the rich liveries of autumn, its countless windows splendidly illuminated by the descending sun. It dates no further back than the commencement of the eighteenth century, when it was built upon the site of an ancient kloster, originally founded by Altmann, Bishop of Passau, in 1083. There is a spring shown at the foot of the mountain, where this turbulent prelate, then only a student in theology, entered into a compact with Adalbert, afterwards Bishop of Wurzburg, and Gebhard, afterwards Bishop of Salzburg, by which they bound themselves to rise against the Emperor Henry IV., so soon as they should be appointed to their several sees!--an extraordinary agreement which they religiously fulfilled; and having succeeded in stirring up his own son to rebellion, compelled the unfortunate monarch, after a desperate struggle, to resign his crown at Ratisbon. Altmann, however, was not permitted to witness the triumph of his party; the enraged Emperor deprived him of his bishopric in 1085, and he died six years afterwards in exile at Zieselmauer.

Below Stein the Danube forms another archipelago, and during the remainder of a lovely evening, we glided between the thickly-wooded islands, catching at long intervals a momentary glimpse of the red-tipped steeple of one of the many insignificant villages which here line the main banks of the river, now as flat and uninteresting as they were between Aschach and Ottensheim. The current at length leading us near the right bank, we passed the markt and ruin of Holenburg; the latter, during the fifteenth century, the stronghold of two redoubted pirates, named Frohnauer and Vettau,--Wagram, (not the famous Wagram, there are six Wagrams in Austria,) St. Georgen, where Ulrich, Bishop of Passau, in 1109-12, built a celebrated kloster called St. Georg auf der Insel and Trasenmauer, at the mouth of the river Trasen, where, according to the Nibelungen-lied, Etzel,

“---- The King of Hunnen-land
Had a Castle wide
Y called Traisenmauer[80].”

Nearly facing the mouth of the Trasen, the little river Kamp discharges itself into the Danube, and, on doubling a small point of land, the village of Zwentendorf appeared on the right bank, and the mountains of the Wiener-Wald, arising in the distance, announced the vicinity of the capital. It was impossible, however, to reach it that evening, and therefore making for the little town of Tuln that lay directly before us in a sort of bay, we landed under the walls of a spacious building, the mutilated colossal statues of saints, prelates, and monarchs, in front of which, bore testimony to its former grandeur, and groping our way through a narrow passage, emerged into the court-yard behind it, where stood the wretched auberge, in which our steersman informed us we must pass the night. To our great relief, however, a red-elbowed, yellow-haired, blue-stockinged, round-about _mädchen_, seizing a candle and a huge bunch of keys, recrossed the court with us towards the great building, and opening a postern door, which Mrs. Radcliffe would have worshipped, led the way up a winding staircase into a long gallery, hung with paintings of martyrdoms and miracles, fubsy virgins, and chubby cherubs, fat abbots, and fair nuns; and ushered us into a wilderness of a chamber, furnished with one table and sixteen beds! The astonishment of our guide must be imagined when my companion requested yet another room. The idea of separate chambers never entering her head, she naturally enough supposed that sixteen beds would surely be sufficient for two persons. However, as there was no accounting for the whims of foreigners, and as no other travellers were likely to arrive, she found another apartment for my friend, containing nine beds, and, with a stare of amazement I shall not speedily forget, after furnishing us with some coffee and another candle, left us to sleep in any or all of our twenty-five beds, as we might eventually determine. On mentioning this circumstance afterwards to a Viennese, I was assured that, had a larger company arrived, the remaining fifteen beds in my chamber would have been unceremoniously occupied by men or women, as it might have happened; for, as he remarked to me, with the greatest coolness, “how would the poor people, who possess but two or three good rooms, be otherwise enabled to accommodate forty or fifty persons of both sexes, as they are frequently called upon to do?” Whether the building itself was the Nonnen-Kloster founded by Rudolph of Hapsburg, in gratitude for his victory over Ottocar, or the old Schloss, in which, every Monday, at midnight, the ghosts of a lady and her maid are in the habit of promenading[81], I am to this moment ignorant. If the latter, it being Thursday, the ghosts were not on duty. The Lady-Moon alone peeped through the long narrow casements; the murmur of the stream that ran rapidly beneath them, was the only sound that mingled with my dreams.

FOOTNOTES (CHAPTER VII.)

[65] This prodigy will remind the classical reader of the punishment of the Amazons, who attempted to cut down the sacred grove that shadowed the temple of Achilles in the island of Leuce. At the first blows they struck, the axe-heads flew from their handles, and laid the impious wielders dead upon the spot.

[66] “Kurzer Bericht von dem Ursprung des wunderthätigen schmerzhaften Gnadenbildes Maria-Taferl.” There are numberless tracts of this description sold at Marbach to the pilgrims, who “hold each strange tale devoutly true.”

[67] Fragmentum Historicum de quatuor Albertis--apud Pez. vol. ii. p. 385.

[68] The regular weekly passage-boats from Ulm, Regensburg, and Stadt-am-hof, to Vienna, are called “ordinari-schiffe.”

[69] “Nie ward getreuer’r Degen geboren auf der Erde.” Nibelungen-lied.

[70] “Die Fenster in den mauern, die sieht man offen stahn.” Ditto.

[71] The supposed author of the Nibelungen-lied.

[72] Nibelungen-lied, V. 1116-23.

[73] “The castle was begun to be built by Jorig der Schekt-von-wald, the Monday after the nativity of our Lady, from the birth of Christ, the year 1228.” Herr Schultes remarks, that he may be mistaken in the date, and mentions that Petz, in his Chronicle of Mölk, (Part I. p. 261) speaks of a Baron Schekh, whose deeds were as black as those laid at the _iron_ door of Schreckenwald, and who, in 1467, was besieged, and brought to such a pass, that “he,” says the chronicler, “who formerly was lord of six castles, perished in poverty.” This Schekh or Sheckt-von-Wald, as the name appears in the inscription, and the famous Schreckenwald, were, most probably, one and the same person; and from the state of the present building I should imagine it is more likely to have been built in the fifteenth than the thirteenth century.

[74] Matthias Prideaux.

[75] The present arms of the Archduchy of Austria, viz. Gules, a Fess argent, are derived from the circumstance of Leopold’s surcoat, which was of cloth of silver, being completely stained with blood at the siege of Ptolemais (Acre), with the exception of that part covered by the belt round his waist. The original bearings of Leopold were azure, six larks, or.

[76] “Yes and No,” one of the many titles given to Richard by the Provençal poets:--

“And tell the Lord of Oc and No
That peace already too long hath been.”

Bertrand de Born. _Lays of the Minnesingers_, p. 233.

[77] “The Troubadour and Richard Cœur de Lion.” Mrs. Hemans, though she mentions “the Danube’s wave” in the same poem, has chosen to lay the scene of Richard’s captivity on the Rhine. Her vivid fancy, however, has actually depicted the rock and castle of Dürrenstein.

[78] In the cliff upon which this church stands, it is reported that a cavern has been found, which is the mouth of a subterraneous passage, communicating with the vaults of the castle.

[79] Vie Politique et Militaire de Napoléon, par le Général Jominy. 8vo. Paris, 1827, vol. ii. pp. 151-3.

[80] Nibelungen-lied, V. 3533-5. It was the residence of his first Queen, Helke, a lady of incomparable virtue.

[81] I believe I should say _were_, for the Antiquary of the Danube informs us, that the lady’s maid was exorcised by a “barefooted monk,” and quietly, I presume, laid in the Red Sea. The ghost of quality alone was untractable. This spirit, it appears, had been dismissed from the body by an enraged husband, at the moment of an awkward discovery. The whole history, says the prudent antiquary, is to be found in the archives of a certain noble house; but as it would redound to the prejudice of the descendants, should the name be made known, it has been passed over in silence. Some time ago an attempt was made to pull down the building, but the indignant phantom raised such a racket, that the workmen beat a retreat, and the project was abandoned.