show off his latin verse-writing, and had not been sufficiently birched at school to enable him to write it correctly. We cannot believe this legend on its own merits, though it may be true; for Trêves is without doubt one of the most ancient towns in Europe: so ancient in fact that its foundation has been attributed to one Trebeta, the step-son of Semiramis, the Assyrian empress, whose story resembles that of Bellerophon in the Greek legend. But nothing is historically known of Trêves till the Roman times. Then the chief city of the Treviri became under the empire the metropolis of the north. It is said to have contained more than 100,000 inhabitants, and this is by no means incredible, when the extent of the old Roman wall is taken into consideration.
The fate of Trêves is the exact reverse of that of many large modern cities. They have outgrown two or more enclosures of walls, as population and prosperity increased. Trêves has on the contrary shrunk into itself. First it fell in from the proportions of the large square Roman wall, which was built after the constant model of a winter camp to about half the area, and was enclosed in its mediæval wall, two sides of which coincide with its north-western angle. Even this diminished area grew depopulated internally; houses fell to ruin, and gardens took their places, so that at the present day when the tide may have turned a little, it contains about 17,000 inhabitants. The houses have shrunk to the sides of the principal streets. The depopulation of Trêves is easily accounted for by its annals. Scarcely any town in Europe has been taken and retaken so often, or been so often given up to plunder and devastation. This is owing to its position on the frontier of France, and its natural accessibility and weakness. That so many of its old monuments still remain is due to the religious character of Trêves in the middle ages; and its many ecclesiastical foundations, which even the roughest of mankind respected then. But in the French Revolution, which spared nothing human or divine, even the shrines were violated, and the privilege of sanctuary which was once able to screen malefactors, became unavailing to save the sanctuaries themselves.
A new hope, however, has dawned for Trêves with the epoch of railroads. At present it is accessible by rail, but it is out of all the great lines of traffic; and those whose business or pleasure takes them thither, must go out of their way. If a line of rail should be completed to Cologne, there would doubtless be a great increase in the commerce of the town, which consists principally now as it always did, in wine. Those golden days of prosperity might return when, under the imperial government of Rome, a wine canal was found necessary to transport the produce to Cologne. But at present if the grass does not absolutely grow in the main streets of the town, their quietness would suggest the idea that the population are careful to weed it out, to prevent the disgrace. Grass grows, and also blue and yellow flowers, and small shrubs too, in the chinks of that glory of Trêves the Porta Nigra, a circumstance which adds greatly to the picturesqueness of its appearance, and the fact that some radical townsmen have proposed the uprooting of these seems to confirm the suspicion that the old deserted streets might be periodically weeded, like the White Horse on the side of the Berkshire Downs.
We will suppose ourselves put down at the station after being whirled along the wonderfully pretty banks of the Saar, and diving through a multitude of tunnels on our way from France, then driven to the Red House Hotel, on which stands the conceited legend referred to above. The Red House is an Inn like the Ritter at Heidelberg, which ought to command custom from its antique beauty alone, if its entertainment were not so good as it is. We enter it through au old archway with an ornamented roof. In the midst is a court that reminds one of Italy, with a balustraded gallery above it, and on the ground a large group of orange trees, guelder roses, &c., in pots, mingled with bright coloured flowers, which charmingly contrast with the antiquity of the place. The rest is in keeping. At the table-d’hôte, along with a bottle of the delicate Theirgärtner, the head waiter hands us a folded paper having on the one side a plan of Trêves, an engraving of the Red House, and a list of trains; on the other, a panorama of the Moselle from Trêves to Coblenz, with representations of eight of the principal lions of Trêves. The post of honour among these belongs to the Porta Nigra. This splendid old Roman gate is built of red sandstone, which has become of so dark a colour by age as to justify the name of the Black Gate, especially as contrasted with the light buildings around. This building has a spectral grandeur in the moonlight, which is in fact the light in which to see all the grim and grand monuments of the conquerors of the world, from the Coliseum downwards. Second only to the monuments of Egypt in massiveness, they disdain the delicate filagree work of the Greek chisel, the beauty of which must be seen in full sunlight, and imagination connects them all with that boast of Virgil, that while the cunning of sculpture was more suited to other hands, Rome’s mission was the subjugation of the world, and her mercy was only to be bought at the price of unconditional submission. This aspect of the Porta Nigra might suggest an illustration to Dante’s Inferno, when the gate of the Land of the Lost is described.
Per me si va nell’ eterno dolore
Per me si va tra la perduta gente.
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