Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg

Listen first. Up here, the wind moves through the beech and chestnut trees that cover the slopes of the Vosges mountains. Under your feet, the path turns from soft forest earth to worn red stone. And then the walls appear above you. They are the colour of dried roses, warm even on a grey day. This is the Château du Haut-Koenigsbourg, a fortress set on a rocky spur more than seven hundred metres above the plain of Alsace, a short drive from the town of Sélestat.

Before we go inside, turn around and look east. On a clear day, the whole Alsace plain lies open below you. Villages, vineyards and fields stretch toward the Rhine. Beyond the river, the dark line of the Black Forest rises in Germany. On rare, very clear days, people even see the white peaks of the Alps far to the south. This view explains everything. Whoever held this rock could watch the old trade routes and the roads between wine country and the mountain passes.

The castle has been here, in one form or another, since at least the twelfth century. Its early history is tied to the Hohenstaufen dynasty, the powerful family of German emperors and dukes who ruled much of central Europe in that period. Over the following centuries, the fortress passed through many hands. Local lords, bishops and noble families held it in turn. Some of them used it well. Others, according to the old stories, used it as a base for raiding passing merchants.

In the fifteenth century, the castle was rebuilt by the Thierstein family, who adapted it to a new danger — gunpowder. Thick walls, heavy bastions and positions for cannon replaced older ideas of defence. As you walk, notice how the lower western side of the castle feels heavier and more solid. That is the side facing the mountain, the only side from which an enemy with artillery could come close. The cliffs protected the rest.

Then came the Thirty Years' War, the long and brutal conflict that tore through Europe in the seventeenth century. In 1633, Swedish troops besieged the castle and set it on fire. After that, the fortress was abandoned. For more than two centuries, it stood as a ruin. Trees grew inside the walls. Romantic painters and travellers came to sketch the broken towers. The castle you see today did not exist in their time.

Here is the first surprise. Much of what surrounds you is not medieval at all. It is a reconstruction from the early twentieth century. In the late nineteenth century, Alsace was part of the German Empire. In 1899, the town of Sélestat offered the ruins to the German Emperor, Kaiser Wilhelm the Second. He accepted, and he decided to bring the fortress back to life as a symbol of German history in Alsace.

The Kaiser gave the work to the architect Bodo Ebhardt, a specialist in castles. Ebhardt studied the ruins closely, looked at old documents and drawings, and compared other castles of the same period. The work took several years, and the restored castle was inaugurated in 1908. The Kaiser himself came for the ceremony. For a man who liked uniforms and history, this mountain fortress was a stage as much as a home.

The restoration was controversial from the beginning. Some critics said Ebhardt had invented too much. They called the result an imperial dream rather than an honest repair. Others defended his careful research. Today, many visitors find the debate as interesting as the stones themselves. When you look at a tower or a roof here, it is fair to ask — is this the fifteenth century, or is this how 1900 imagined the fifteenth century? Often, the honest answer is a little of both.

Now step through the gates. The entrance takes you along a sloping path between high walls. This was designed to slow down attackers and expose them to defenders above. Inside, the castle opens into courtyards and narrow passages. The red sandstone comes from the Vosges itself. Run your eyes along the walls and you will see the marks of different eras — rougher older stones beside cleaner, sharper blocks from the restoration.

Inside the living quarters, the rooms are furnished to give an idea of life in a noble household. You will pass kitchens, bedrooms, chapels and great halls. Look up at the wooden ceilings and the painted decoration. Much of this painting belongs to the restoration, created to fit Ebhardt's vision of the late Middle Ages. Collections of weapons and armour fill some rooms. The large hall built for the Kaiser shows his imperial taste most clearly.

Here is the second surprise. After the First World War, Alsace returned to France, and the castle passed to the French state. A building made to celebrate German power became French heritage. Then, in the 1930s, the film director Jean Renoir used the castle as a setting for his famous anti-war film, La Grande Illusion. A fortress rebuilt by an emperor became the backdrop for a story about the futility of war. History in Alsace often turns like that.

Today the castle belongs to the regional authorities of Alsace and welcomes very large numbers of visitors each year. On busy days, the courtyards fill with voices in French, German, English and many other languages. That mix feels right for a place that has changed hands so many times. Climb to the upper garden and the high terraces when you can. From there, the walls, the roofs and the forest fit together in one wide view.

Before you leave, stop for a moment at one of the windows or on the ramparts. Feel the stone under your hand — cool, slightly rough, red like the earth of these hills. Below you, the vineyards still run in long lines across the plain, as they did when the first lords built here. As you walk back down through the trees, look over your shoulder once more. The castle will rise above the branches, half ruin and half dream, still watching the road.