The rock that projects into the river below Alken was formerly a
very dangerous point for boats to pass; now, owing to the submerged
portions having been blasted, it is no longer regarded with terror:
but still we see a saint's image placed in a niche of the rock, so
that he may be near if required to render any assistance. The summit
of this rock is level, and some hundreds of acres of corn are grown
on the curious table-land thus formed.
The road from Alken to Coblence is very indifferent, but not so bad
as represented by the coachmen of Coblence. One who drove us told us
beforehand, that a short time previous a lawyer going this road was
upset, and had not since left his bed; but as we found that the road
so abused was perfectly safe if ordinary care was taken, we suspected
that, like the man in the play, who wished "every soldier would kill a
lawyer and take the legal consequences," the learned gentleman's driver
must have had some spite against him. Our driver was a funny fellow,
and among other things, speaking of a village we were passing, he said,
"They make excellent wine there, although they are Protestants."
At Kür we found so clean and pleasant an inn, that we stopped for
the night. As we were resting at one of the open windows, through
which the still evening was visible, suddenly the shutters flapped
to, and in an instant the water was ruffled, the wind howling, and
everything creaking and slamming.
The storm grew louder and fiercer, the waters were boiling: then came
a crash through the hills, as if the mountains were rent; the rain
poured in jets from the sky, the blackness of which was illumined by
lightning, which at short intervals flashed over the valley.
Soon the storm had passed by, and the ever calm moon was floating
serenely in heaven.
The lights of the stars fell tremulously down on the still agitated
waters. The air was so sweetly refreshing, that we sat on and on
enjoying the now lovely evening, till we were quite startled by being
suddenly summoned to supper,--not exactly startled at the notion of
supper, but astonished to see the ghost of a first-rate-inn waiter,
for such our summoner seemed, clad, not in grave-clothes, but clothes
of grave hue, and a white handkerchief, folded with the greatest
precision, round his waitership's neck. We had so long been absent
from civilisation, that we were rather abashed at so fine a gentleman
waiting on us rugged wayfarers, as we appeared; so we came quietly
up to our table, modestly ate, and retired to our rooms.
In the morning, to our relief, we found our stately waiter in his
shirt-sleeves and not very dandy continuations; so we mustered up
courage to settle our bill, and departed, to revel among uncivilised
castles.
Kür was formerly a domain belonging to the Archbishop Poppo. He
gave it to the ecclesiastics of the Cathedral at Trèves, and the
wine there produced--which was more than sixty tons annually--was
used by the recipients as table-wine, the surplus serving to pay for
its transport: thus they drank their wine at no cost. The Bishop, in
presenting this gift, told the clergy, "that he hoped to have their
prayers at the last judgment." In 1802 the vineyard was sold, and a
Jew who bought it bequeathed it to the civil hospital at Coblence;
and "thus," adds the writer we quote, "the Israelite nobly revenged
his race on the Archbishop Poppo, who was described in a document of
the period as a friend of Christians and a mortal enemy of Jews."
Traversing a green bank of turf, we arrive in ten minutes at
Niederfells. On the opposite side of the river is Gondorf, and a
farthing ferry deposits us under the walls of the old Stammschloss,
or family house, of the Counts von der Leyen, given at the head of
the chapter.
Members of this family have figured in history as generals in the
Imperial armies, in the Swedish, French, and Turkish wars; and as
deans and prebends in the Rhenish churches and chapters.
The last of this time-honoured race, the Count Philip, died in 1830
at Cologne. He was buried, in accordance with his expressed desire,
in the little churchyard above the castle of Gondorf, where his
bones lie in the midst of a people to whom his forefathers and he
had endeared themselves by centuries of charity and kindness.
The motto of this family was, "Rock I am; on rock the lily never
thrives, for in rock-clefts the eagle only lives."
THE RED SLEEVE.
The Chronicle of Gondorf tells us, that in the olden times the judges
of Gondorf used to wear red robes when pronouncing sentence of death on
criminals; and the citizens regarded these robes with great veneration,
considering them to be part and parcel of their own dignity.
So exemplary were the inhabitants in their behaviour, that many years
passed without the robes being wanted; but at length a criminal was
brought before the Court, and found guilty.
The attendants searched and the judges searched, but no red robes could
be found: time and moths had consumed them, all but one sleeve. The
situation was difficult, for the people would not believe that justice
was done unless they saw the red robes.
A happy thought lit up the face of one Judge, and this was his plan:
each Judge in his turn was to put on the one sleeve, and presenting
himself at the window there deliver his judgment, hiding thus the
unrobed part of his person. The idea was deemed a hit, and put into
practice accordingly,--the populace being led to believe that the
Judges gave their opinions thus separately, in order that the opinion
of one should not bias the minds of the others. It is added, that
the people were very much pleased at the whole proceeding; but the
narrator does not say what the criminal thought of it, or whether his
counsel raised any objection to the irregularity, if not illegality,
of a sentence so pronounced.
The lower castle of Gondorf is used as a barn, and looks very
dilapidated.
Getting near Cobern, an opening in the trees shows us the castles
that crown the hill over the town. A chapel is in the foreground,
and here once lived
THE HERMIT OF COBERN.
Robin of Cobern had a beautiful daughter named Else. Her heart had
long been given to the Knight Hans of Sable, but Hans had offended
the Bishop of Trèves, and so was outlawed and excommunicated.
Hans was obliged to conceal himself, and hastily flying, took refuge
for a long while in solitudes. At length he could no longer endure
being absent from his beloved, so he procured a harp, and set out for
the castle of Cobern, where some festival was then being held. In
his character of Minstrel he was readily admitted into the castle,
and there he sang a favourite song which Else knew well. The tide of
long-past events rushed so tumultuously back upon fair Else's mind
that she fainted: when she recovered, the Minstrel was gone. Knowing
the hopelessness of his passion, yet unable to conquer it, he now
assumed the habit of a Hermit, and established himself where he could
sometimes see Else as she rode forth on her palfrey.
One evening the Hermit was sitting silently dreaming of days of
happiness, that might have been his in reality, had not his headstrong
will marred his prospects. As thus he sat musing, some robbers drew
near, and not being aware of the Hermit's proximity, one of them said,
"Well, be it so; at midnight we meet: the postern gate is secured,
and Else shall be our prize." The robbers were now out of hearing.
The Hermit, who had little doubt of the meaning of the few words
he had heard, hastened up to the castle in order to warn the Count
Robin. At midnight the robbers came on, and it then was found out
that the postern gate yielded at once to their efforts, which showed
that some treachery was working within; but, spite of both force and
fraud, the robbers were beaten. The Hermit, fighting most valiantly,
fell mortally wounded, and when the fight ended his life was fast
ebbing. The Knight and his daughter stood by him; to the Knight's
eyes the valiant Hermit was dying, but Else wept for her lover.
In his hour of death concealment was no longer necessary; and Hans
avowed his identity, and begged that his body might be laid in the
chapel below in the valley, that so in death he should still be near
his loved Else.
Then turning his eyes upon her, who, whatever his faults, had but one
feeling for him that had so long and faithfully loved her, he said,
"Farewell, my beloved; in heaven I trust we may meet!"
The town of Cobern lies at the foot of a lofty hill, which separates
two valleys that meet in a level plain close to our river. This town
was strongly fortified and defended by the castles, of which the
lower one still exists, and is shown in the vignette on the opposite
page. The drawing is taken from the wall of the upper castle, of
which only one tower and a very few fragments remain.
In the upper castle-yard also stands an elegant chapel; it is
hexagonal, and supported inside by a cluster of pillars, which spring
from the centre, from these start six pointed arches: the interior
is chaste.
This chapel is called by the people the Church of the Templars,
because the castle, in whose walls it stands, was inhabited by some of
the Knights of the Temple after the suppression of their Order. The
proper name of the building is the St. Matthias Chapel, and it was
the principal station of the great pilgrimage which yearly took place
from Coblence to Trèves. These processions now are less frequent,
but still, in a modified form, they often take place.
With song and banners waving, these processions wind their way along,
stopping at intervals when before a shrine. The background is formed
by ruined castles, woods, and vineyards; the songs resound among
the hills as in the old days of Germany, when churches there were
none, and God was worshipped under the holy vault of heaven; where
the visible beauties of his works preached the religion of Nature to
those who bad not yet heard Christ's Gospel. Sorrow it is, and shame,
that so much mummery should now be mixed with that which was so clear
and simple when proceeding from His lips.
A legend of Cobern, relating to the old possessors of the castle,
which still stands, is called
THE CHARACTERISTIC MARK OF COBERN.
The battle was won, the enemy defeated and flying, when the Commander
of the army collected his forces and caused proclamation to be made
that the young warrior of Cobern, who had saved his life at the risk
of his own, should stand forth. For a long time no one came forward,
the modest soldier not wishing to make too great a service of what
he had done.
At length a young man advanced and said he was the man, whereon all
hastened to praise him, and the Commander offered his thanks and bade
him kneel down to be knighted. Then out stepped the true man of Cobern,
and addressed the young man thus: "Of Cobern thou sayest thou art,
O Goliath! then tell to this gallant assembly, what is the sacred
and characteristic mark of that place?"
The impostor not being of Cobern, was unable to answer the question;
he stuttered and turned pale, whereon the Commander ordered him to
be placed in fetters.
Then the true Coberner said, the secret mark, only known to our
townspeople, is this: "Beneath the high altar in the Church of Cobern
is a spring; this spring bubbles and murmurs while the priest prays."
The brave man, whose modesty was highly extolled, was knighted in place
of the young man who had tried to assume a credit not due to him;
and the Knight so made was the first lord of the Castle of Cobern,
and for centuries his family flourished there.
Among his descendants were three sisters, so renowned for their beauty
that they were called "The beautiful Trefoil of Cobern."
Cobern was the country of the poet Reiff, whose sonnets, of a triste
character, were much prized. The ruins which cover the country are
said to have much influenced, and given this sombre character to,
his writings.
The earliest traditions of this town record that a certain Lubentius,
who was a contemporary of St. Castor of Carden, converted the ancient
inhabitants and performed many miracles; and on one occasion a dispute
having arisen between the canon, Peter of Carden, and the chaplain,
William of Cobern, as to the respective merits of their two patrons,
they fought it out with their fists. William of Cobern being the
biggest and strongest, his cause was the best; so Saint Castor must
rank after Lubentius.
On the fête of Lubentius fires were lighted on the surrounding hills,
in emblem of the light of the Gospel, which dispersed the darkness
of Paganism.
This fête took place at the time of the vintage, and the assisters
thereat frequently imitated their champion, William the Chaplain,
and strove to uphold their patron's authority by the same arguments,
the new wine giving life to old quarrels.
The ancient documents relating to Cobern are filled with histories
of the quarrels of the inhabitants one with another, or with those
of the neighbouring places.
The last Knight of Cobern was Johann Lutter, who, being taken prisoner
by the citizens of Coblence, was by them beheaded as a disturber of
the public peace.