The moon shines bright o'er vale and hill,
O'er castle wall and donjon keep;
Her beams they dance on every rill,
On every turret seem to sleep.
Such was the hour and such the night on which the mad Pfalz-graf,
Henry of Cochem, slew his wife. Thus runs the tale in the overture:--
LEGEND OF COCHEM.
The Pfalz-graf Henry, called "the Mad," had a bitter quarrel with
the Archbishop of Cologne, and had been worsted in combat with the
Archbishop's troops; retiring, he shut himself up in his castle
of Cochem.
As the evening drew on, the Pfalz-graf became more and more excited,
and strode to and fro in his chamber. The light of the full moon
still further added to his fury, and he raged like a lion confined
in his den, constantly calling on the Archbishop by name, and vowing
vengeance against him.
His gentle wife approaching him sought to soothe him with her caresses,
and addressed him with words of endearment. For a few moments he
seemed to be calmer; but then starting up, he seized a great axe and
struck his wife to the earth.
At seeing this monstrous deed, the attendants sprang forward; alas! too
late, for the gentle lady was dead.
The madman was seized and taken to the Archbishop of Trèves, who had
him confined in a cell, where he soon after died.
The town of Cochem is hid by the trees on our left as we look at the
castle: it contains about 2500 inhabitants, and is a very clean,
flourishing town. It contains very fair shops, and the hotel is
good. It is very picturesque; its streets are steep and narrow, and
the old walls and gate-towers add to its general appearance of age. On
market-days it is crowded with people from all the adjoining villages,
who sell their produce to dealers who supply the market of Coblence. A
little steamer bustles and puffs down the stream into Coblence every
day, and gets back again in the evening.
Cochem is a good resting-place, as in its neighbourhood are found
many interesting places, such as Beilstein, Marienbourg, Clotten,
Treis, Elz, &c.; and immediately around it the country walks are very
numerous, varied in character, and beautiful.
Sitting in the balcony of the inn, too, is very pleasant; the steamers,
with their passing life, arrive and depart just opposite; the great
fleets of barges are pulled past by dozens of horses, at which the
drivers scream and crack their whips till the whole valley resounds;
fishermen ply their trade, and at night-time light fires on the banks,
that thus they may be able to see their prey in the water.
Opposite is a small village, and behind this village are vineyards
belonging to Cochem; so the constant communication necessarily kept
up makes the river appear very lively. Boats also are generally being
built or repaired, and the girls are washing linen or carrying water
up from the stream.
Between Cochem and Beilstein there is, at a turn of the river, a
beautiful cemetery, and a church with twin-spires. The cliffs and
river sweep round the angle and shut in this retired nook, which,
thus separated from the world, appears a fit resting-place for those
whose waking will be in a world more glorious than this. There are on
our river many cemeteries and graveyards, most beautifully placed; and
the graves, with their simple crosses, seem the realisation of peace.
Nearer to Cochem is a very perfect echo; it repeats twice with great
clearness, and is so long before answering that there is time to
say quite a sentence. Thus it invited us to "come again to-morrow;"
and for many a morrow we visited and revisited the scenery here,
the endless foot-paths over rocks and through vines, or forests, or
fields, ever giving us new views and fresh combinations of beauty,
and we found days pass into weeks with the greatest rapidity.
Following the brook at the end of the town, we arrive at the foot of
the hill on which the strong castle of Winneburg stands, midst its
own ruins. It has two sets of walls and moats, and must have been
quite inaccessible in the old time. It is difficult to get into it
now, even without anybody to poke a pike down one's throat, or pour
molten lead in your eyes.
Its situation is fine, and from it part of Cochem is seen, and the
castle of Cochem, which rises quite close to the town. It is curious
how deceptive these places are in size. What seems from below to be
a mere fragment of ruin, becomes, at your nearer approach, a most
extensive circuit of wall, with many roofless chambers and turrets;
just as we never know the size of a tree until it is felled.
The legend of Winneburg, called "the Immured Maiden," merely relates
that the master-builder who had contracted to finish the keep within
a certain time failed in his contract; and being reproached by his
employer, was about to jump into the Moselle from the walls: but a
stranger assured him, if he would allow him to build into the wall
the little daughter he loved so dearly, he would finish the keep in
a day. The rascal consented, and the devil built the little girl up
in the foundation of this strong keep-tower.
We doubted the truth of this story, as the master-builder must have
been a very active man to have jumped two miles and a half, which is
the distance from Winneburg to the Moselle.
Continuing our course from the hill on which Winneburg stands, we
enter a narrow part of the valley called the Enterthal. This Enterthal
consists of a series of openings in the very high hills; the openings
are exquisitely green lawns, surrounded by thick foliage and rock;
through or round these openings runs the brook, heaping up stones
and spreading into pools, or tumbling down headlong in its hurry to
reach its gentle sovereign the Moselle.
The path is rough, and constantly you have to hop from stone to
stone across the brook. Thus picking our steps, we came suddenly on
a most aristocratic fishing-party, consisting of the burgomaster
and his attendants, clad in blue, with red stripes to their caps,
and with naked legs. They seemed very successful in procuring trout
for the official supper. Their mode of fishing was not scientific or
sportsman-like,--an odd-shaped net, which they poked under the banks,
being the only tackle of this great man, who did not disdain to wet
his own Herr-burgomasterial legs in the pursuit.
After a long ramble an old mill is reached, and a good sketch found;
indeed, the whole walk was a sort of diorama of beautiful moving
pictures of rock, and tree, and water. The people we met in these
valleys were by no means civil; and we found out at last that their
incivility was caused by their thinking we were making plans to divert
the course of the stream, or otherwise injure their properties.
English ladies were evidently quite new objects of curiosity to
the people of Cochem. On leaving the hotel, the ladies of our
party immediately became objects to be pointed at, talked about,
and stared out of countenance. If the streets had been empty before
their appearance, there were always spies of some sort on the alert,
who called to doors and windows those who made a perpetual peep-show
of these wonderful strangers. Every tea-table and wine-party also,
as we were informed, discussed us, and wondered what could induce
us to remain at Cochem when we might be enjoying all the gaieties
of Trèves or Coblence. Although we passed weeks there their wonder
never diminished, nor did their curiosity cease. They seemed to have
no idea of scenery being worth anything.
Luckily, this unpleasant curiosity was confined to the people of the
town; in the country a hearty "Guten tag," or "Gute nacht," always
greeted us, and the greatest readiness to direct or assist us was
always shown by the peasants: one man was, it is true, exceedingly
tickled at the idea of our asking the way to a valley which we were
already in, and could scarcely answer for laughing. Evidently, too,
they in general fancied that so important a place as Something-heim,
or whatever the name of the place happened to be, ought to be well
known to every one.
The castle of Cochem affords a most agreeable retirement to those who
are fond of reading, sketching, or musing through the summer's day:
unlike the ruins on the Rhine, it is wholly uninfested by beggars,
donkeys, or venders of faded flowers and wreaths. Here you may walk
up the hill and enter by a stone bridge into the outworks; perhaps
a few sheep or goats, with an attendant boy, are there: if not,
Solitude holds his court amid the deserted walls. Through the ruined
window-arches the river is seen, and the town is immediately under us:
vines cover one side of the steep hill, and a little chapel nestles
itself into a corner where the rock shelters it from stones; above
rise the mountains, covered with cherry and other trees to near the
top, where young oaks supersede the less hardy fruit-trees: a soft
green lawn fills the space surrounded by the outworks of the castle;
in the centre stands the massive keep, beside which is a smaller tower,
and in the distance, Winneburg is greyly visible.
Cochem was one of the three castles given up to the Countess of
Sponheim by Archbishop Baldwin, as a security for the heavy ransom she
made him pay: this happened in 1328. About the same period the Jews
of Cochem were massacred; the popular fury was raised against them
by the story of the supposed murder of the child Werner at Oberwesel
on Rhine. The truth appears to be, that the Jews had become richer
than the other members of the communities in which they lived, and
therefore Envy roused the populace to fury with a fictitious story
of murder, and by this means plundered the unfortunate Hebrews,
who no longer lived to protect their property.
Cochem suffered terribly when it was taken by Marshal Boufflers,
who, after devastating the Palatinate, advanced against this town;
thrice his troops were repulsed by the brave defenders, at length
the superior numbers of the besiegers forced an entrance, but with a
loss of 2500 men, among whom were six colonels: all the inhabitants
that remained alive after the pillage were sent into other countries,
and only a few ever found their way back. After the taking of the town
the cruelties exercised by the French troops were only surpassed by
Tilly at Magdebourg.
The assault took place on the fête of St. Louis, and Boufflers sent the
news of the taking and burning of Cochem to Louis XIV. as a pleasant
gift, well suited to the occasion.
The château of Winneburg was taken and sacked at the same time. This
castle afterwards became the family seat of the Metternichs.
For a long time after these outrages, it is said that those who had
witnessed the dreadful scenes at the taking of Cochem were wont to
start up in their sleep, crying, "The French! the French!"
Passing out of Cochem, as we continue on our flowery path, we find
ourselves in the shade of the Kreuzberg mountain: it is covered with
vineyards, which produce a small quantity of excellent wine.
The next town is Clotten; between it and Cochem a fine range of rocky
precipices form an amphitheatre, that dwarfs even the gigantic works
of the old Romans. What ants we appear when from a rock we look down
on our human mole-hills!
The church at Clotten is remarkably well placed on an eminence,
where its handsome proportions are seen to the greatest effect. The
town is very dilapidated and irregularly built: there are some very
picturesque houses in it still, but the old walls and gate-towers
have nearly all disappeared to make room for the vines.
At a little distance from the town is the ruined tower, that alone
survives of the former castle of Clotten; it is partially undermined,
and a great hole broken into its centre. The castle of Clotten was
extensive, and very strong; at one time it was the residence of
a queen, Richenza of Poland. She was the wife of Miceslaus II.,
and during her husband's lifetime she managed all the affairs of
the kingdom: at his death she was made Regent during her young son's
minority, but the Poles drove her out of their kingdom, and she took
refuge with her son Casimir in Clotten: here she shut herself up,
and Casimir became a monk. Some years after, a deputation from Poland
waited on Casimir, and begged him to return to Poland as king; this he
did, the Pope releasing him from his vows on the whimsical condition
that all the Poles of good birth should cut their hair close to the
point of the ear, in perpetual recollection of their king having been
a monk.
Richenza endeavoured to persuade her son not to accept the throne,
but her arguments did not convince him of the vanity of royalty; she
remained in this country, constantly residing at Clotten Castle, near
which she built a hermitage with a chapel, to which she often retired.
A fine reach of the river is seen from the ruin, and behind it is a
deep valley, in which one or two mills are just perceptible through
the trees that envelope the course of the brook which turns their
great wheels.
The spires of the churches are in general finely pointed, the one
at our feet, as we stand here, is a fair example of their style of
architecture. On Sundays and fête-days they are crowded; often they
are so full, that late-comers are obliged to stand in the doorway or
outside: the crowd is made up of both men and women; the head-dresses
of the latter are gay and graceful. The embroidered cloth or velvet
covering the thick plaits of the unmarried girls, the close caps of
the old women, and the smart streaming ribbons of the young wives,
make the heads of the crowd like a bed of tulips.
The men always wear blue blouses and black hats, or plain cloth caps,
so they are commonplace-looking enough: the boatmen are alone, of
their sex, picturesque; a red cap sets them off amazingly, and they
seem to have a very good opinion of themselves, if we may judge by
the ease with which they joke the mädchen they pass on their voyage.
A good many fish are caught in the river, but they are generally
small. All day long solitary men sit in boats, and at long intervals
dip up and down nets that move on a pole at the end of a swivel: they
must have immense patience, and consume, we should suppose, the greater
part of their earnings in the tobacco that they constantly smoke. The
casting-net also is much used, but then there must be two men, one
to pole the boat into the rapids while the other swings in his net.