Der Zwergenkrieg: Ein Nibelungen-Roman (German Edition)
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An Anthology of German Literature. Uploaded by gori5. Document Information click to expand document information Date uploaded Apr 28, Did you find this document useful? Is this content inappropriate? Report this Document. Download Now. Jump to Page. Its seven scenes represent incidents in the Circus games : the central picture is a gladiator combat surrounded by medallions showing fighting men and animals. After Remich the road on the Luxemburg side passes under a succession of vineyard slopes : the hills come nearer to the stream and the valley grows narrower.
They may quite easily be right. A straight reach, down which in winter and spring there sweeps a bitterly cold wind, carries the pilgrim past a station on the Luxemburg line to the junction of the Sauer Sure at Wasserbillig, on whose ancient bridge, or better in Reinhardt's little inn, he must pull out the maps, and decide now whether he will reach Coblenz, or for a matter of that even Bemcastel, this season ; or whether forsaking his pilgrimage by Moselle he will turn north from the valley to explore the frontiers of Luxemburg and the uplands of the Eifel.
Of one thing he may be assured. If he leave the Moselle at Wasserbillig he will be carried on and on through a country whither the hurried tourist does not come, through a graceful valley into the gorges of Echtemach and Vianden, and so through that wonderful valley of the Our! And to be honest, I doubt if any that ever took that route can have regretted it.
It is not a Moselle pilgrimage, and 22 THE MOSELLE does not belong rightly to this book, but because it is just such a way as for the most part escapes the guide- books, some account of it may not ineptly follow here. On the south side, under a relief showing the story of Hylas and his abduction by the nymphs, are shown four figures apparently examining specimens of cloth.
Hence it seems to have been concluded that the Secimdinii were a cloth-manufacturing family. A banquet with wine-servers and a family gathering, interpreted as the reading of a will, are the other scenes of daily life still intelligible.
On the east side Achilles' baptism in the Styx is shown, and also a merchant's counting-house and a dye-works. On the north side is to be seen the transport of goods by land on mules and by water. On the west the best preserved the goods are being towed along a canal. In late spring or early summer it is a land full of grace, a land within whose walls is peace and plenteousness within her palaces. But presently the banks grow steeper and the hills higher. Rock begins to appear amongst the forest slopes, and at last in a valley, which may fairly bear comparison with the northern valleys of Switzerland below Bale whence the district is called the Luxemburg Switzerland , appear the venerable roofs of Echtemach and the tower of its ancient abbey, perhaps one of the most curious shrines in all Europe.
It is dedicated to St. Willibrord, whp, like St.
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Boniface, was a British apostle to the heathen of Europe. But St. Willibrord is of less importance nowadays than the strange procession held annually in his honour. Its origin and even its meaning is lost in the mists of years. It remains a puzzle to antiquaries in an age when there are so few puzzles left.
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For many days before the festival, as one passes through Echtemach or through the forests and rocks in its wonderland and one may pass day by day, with or without a guide, and still never be weary of the quiet forest paths and the mazes of the rocks , one hears from woodmen, school-children, and labourers continually the same strange haunting lilt of the Echtemach processional. A priest monotones a brief exhortation, and then the precentor of the Abbey commences the litany of St.
Willibrord, hundreds of trained voices making the ritual response " St. Willibrord, hear us 1 " As the last tone of the last response dies away, the Echtemach orchestra begins to play the old lilting dance-tune which these many days has been ringing in our ears.
Three steps half forwards and half sideways they leap, and then two steps to the rear, so that each time the whole procession moves no more than a short pace forwards. And the leaping of this huge line of pilgrims, often twelve thousand of them together, looks to us at our window like the movement of a great human sea. To keep time and step, many groups are tied together with handkerchiefs or long batons ; and as they leap, pouring with sweat and some half dead with exhaustion, through street after street to the abbey, the burghers of Echternach dispense freely wine and little cakes.
From Echternach it is possible to walk through the forest and along the margin of the rocks to the angle of the river at Bodendorf , but the track is not easy to find and requires the services of a local guide. The ordinary road runs along the river by the railway, and there is also a hilly but very delightful road through the forest, past Berdorf and Bef ort the latter possesses the ruins of a superb Renaissance castle to Reisdorf.
A little below Reisdorf the Sauer is joined by the Our, and a journey up the valley of the Our may correctly be described as venturesome. From the jimction of the two rivers at a village called Wallendorf begins the lower of the two famous gorges of the Our : about five miles higher one enters a basin in the valley, surrounded on all sides by steep hills or rock and allowing only narrow gorges through which the river flows.
In the midst of this basin rises a rock, precipitous on all except one side, and almost but not quite as high as the sides of the basin. Personally, I doubt whether the two famous views of Eltz from the ruins of Trutz-Eltz and of the Ehrenburg from the village are really quite as impres- sive as this of Vianden from the Diekirch road. At the foot of the castle-rocky grouped about the old bridge, are the houses of the village. In one of them Victor Hugo made his home for some time, and in most of them one may find fragments of woodwork, sculptures, and even more valuable booty which once belonged to the castle.
The castle of Vianden has one of the niunerous card-player legends, which are certainly not without historical foundation : in this case the two opponents, who are condemned to play cards for ever in the ban of the devil, are a Count of Vianden and a Lord of Falkenstein. Past Vianden the road along the narrow valley pre- sently cuts across a tongue of land at a village called Biewels and from Biewels there is another of the romantic scenes which ought to make the valley of the Our famous.
The river makes a great bend, and the Prussian bank is simply a jumble of forbidding rocks and sharp ridges. In the very middle of the semicircle of hills, from a steep rock, rise the ruins of Falkenstein, a thirteenth-century castle, whereof a fine keep and the ruins of an early Gothic chapel remain. One of the chief beauties of this part of the valley is its complete quiet. Visitors, it seems, are very rare.
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There is no railway, and only a tolerable road, though there are also very few inns at which one can obtain food. It lies in a kind of side-valley, surrounded by hills and forests, and is crowned by the magnificent ruins of the once mighty fortress : its mostly whitewashed houses cling to the side of the hill like cottages on the shores of an Italian lake. From the bridge where one pays the simi of one farthing for passage from Luxemburg into Prussia there is a charming picture of the terraced slopes of the hill descending from the castle-ridge, which juts almost at right angles out from the side-valley towards the main course of the Our.
Dasburg has memories of practical jokes played hereabouts by Till Eulenspiegel, the world-famous Jerman jester. Once, as Till was riding home, he met the Knight of Dasburg, and was asked " Whence come you? The Knight concealed his anger at the retort, and invited Till to dinner next day. The jester accepted the invitation, and on arrival at the castle was taken down to the cellar, where the cellarer had instructions to give him a bumper of wine first and a sound thrashing afterwards.
But as the cellarer was about to pick up the cudgel, Till snatched the spigot from the cask and hurled it to the other end of the cellar.
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The cellarer, of course, clapped his hand over the hole to stop the flow of wine, whereupon Till seized the cudgel and trounced him soundly. Then he picked up a couple of fat hams which were hanging in the cellar, and rushed screaming into the courtyard and out by the great gate. The Knight, who was watching for his appearance, shouted after him " Well, rascal, have you had enough? I should think so.
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There is one curious legend of a millstone, which was rolled down the hill at the little village of Dahnen, on the high-level road to Burg Reuland. Boermann was doubtless thinking of St. Matthew xxi. From Dasburg to Uren the Our presents the second of its wild gorges, but this time there is no road what- ever, not even a footpath. At times the rocks descend so directly to the water that there is not even as much broken, rock-strewn soil as could be called a track. Now and again, a narrow track descends from some village on the hills to a mill, but for the most part the magnificent gorges are as lonely as the Swiss peaks, and lonelier by far than many Swiss valleys.
There is a track from Dasburg through the first part of this series of gorges to the Wollenmiihle, and thence diffi- cult and at times dangerous along the Karpen Ley to a mill belonging to the village of Dahnen. From this point, probably rather more than an hour and a quarter from Dasburg for most walkers, the gorge is virtually inaccessible.