After spending part of two days at Goodesberg, we set out, in a sultry
afternoon, for the town of Andernach, distant about five-and-twenty
English miles. The road wound among corn-lands towards the Rhine, and
approached almost as near to the Seven Mountains, as the river would
permit. Opposite to the last, and nearly the tallest of these, called
Drakenfels, the open plain terminates, and the narrower valley begins.
This mountain towers, the majestic sentinel of the river over which
it aspires, in vast masses of rock, varied with rich tuftings of
dwarf-wood, and bearing on its narrow peak the remains of a castle,
whose walls seem to rise in a line with the perpendicular precipice,
on which they stand, and, when viewed from the opposite bank, appear
little more than a rugged cabin. The eye aches in attempting to scale
this rock; but the sublimity of its height and the grandeur of its
intermingled cliffs and woods gratify the warmest wish of fancy.
The road led us along the western bank of the Rhine among vineyards,
and corn, and thick trees, that allowed only transient catches of the
water between their branches; but the gigantic form of Drakenfels was
always seen, its superior features, perhaps, appearing more wild, from
the partial concealment of its base, and assuming new attitudes as
we passed away from it. Lowenberg, whose upper region only had been
seen from Goodesberg, soon unfolded itself from behind Drakenfels, and
displayed all its pomp of wood, sweeping from the spreading base in
one uninterrupted line of grandeur to the spiry top, on which one high
tower of the castle appears enthroned among the forests. This is the
loftiest of the Seven Mountains; and its dark sides, where no rock is
visible, form a fine contrast with the broken cliffs of Drakenfels. A
multitude of spiry summits appeared beyond Lowenberg, seen and lost
again, as the nearer rocks of the shore opened to the distance, or
re-united. About a mile further, lies the pleasant island, on which
Adelaide raised her convent. As it was well endowed, it has been
rebuilt, and is now a large and handsome quadrangle of white stone,
surrounded with trees, and corn, and vineyards, and still allotted to
the society, which she established. An abrupt, but not lofty rock, on
the western shore of the Rhine, called Rolands Eck, or Roland's Corner,
is the site of her lover's castle, of which one arch, picturesquely
shadowed with wood, is all that remains of this monument to faithful
love. The road winds beneath it, and nearly overhangs the narrow
channel, that separates Adelaide's island from the shore. Concerning
this rock there is an antient rhyme in the country, amounting to
something like the following:
Was not Roland, the knight, a strange silly wight,
For the love of a nun, to live on this height?
After passing the island, the valley contracts, and the river is soon
shut up between fruitful and abrupt hills, which rise immediately
over it, on one side, and a series of rocky heights on the other. In
the small space, left between these heights and the Rhine, the road
is formed. For the greater part of the way, it has been hollowed in
the solid rock, which ascends almost perpendicularly above it, on one
hand, and sinks as abruptly below it, to the river, on the other; a
work worthy of Roman perseverance and design, and well known to be
a monument of both. It was made during the reign of Marcus Aurelius
and Lucius Verus; and as the inscription, whose antiquity has not
been doubted, dates its completion in the year 162, it must have been
finished in one year, or little more, Marcus Aurelius having been
raised to the purple in 161. The Elector Palatine having repaired
this road, which the Electors of Cologne had neglected, in 1768, has
caused his name to be joined with those of the Roman Emperors, in the
following inscription upon an obelisk:
VIAM
SUB M.
AURELIO
ET L. VERO
I. M. P. P.
ANNO CHR.
CLXII
MUNITAM
CAROLUS
THEODORUS
ELECTOR PAL.
DUX BAV. JUL. CL. M.
REFECIT
ET AMPLIAVIT
AN. M.DCCLXVIII
CURANTE JO. LUD. COMITE
DE GOLDSTEIN
PRO PRINCIPE.
We did not sufficiently observe the commencement and conclusion of
this road, to be certain of its exact length; but it is probably
about twelve miles. The rock above is, for the most part, naked to
the summit, where it is thinly covered with earth; but sometimes it
slopes so much as to permit patches of soil on its side, and these are
carefully planted with vines. This shore of the Rhine may be said to be
bounded, for many miles, by an immense wall of rock, through which the
openings into the country behind are few; and these breaks shew only
deep glens, seen and lost again so quickly, that a woody mountain, or a
castle, or a convent, were the only objects we could ascertain.
This rock lies in oblique _strata_, and resembles marble in its brown
and reddish tints, marked with veins of deeper red; but we are unable
to mention it under its proper and scientific denomination. The
colouring of the cliffs is beautiful, when mingled with the verdure of
shrubs, that sometimes hang in rich drapery from their points, and
with the mosses, and creeping vegetables of bright crimson, yellow, and
purple, that emboss their fractured sides.
The road, which the Elector mentions himself to have widened, is now
and then very narrow, and approaches near enough to the river, over
which it has no parapet, to make a traveller anxious for the sobriety
and skill of his postillion. It is sometimes elevated forty feet above
the level of the Rhine, and seldom less than thirty; an elevation from
whence the water and its scenery are viewed to great advantage; but to
the variety and grandeur of these shores, and the ever-changing form of
the river, description cannot do justice.
Sometimes, as we approached a rocky point, we seemed going to plunge
into the expanse of water beyond; when, turning the sharp angle of
the promontory, the road swept along an ample bay, where the rocks,
receding, formed an amphitheatre, covered with _ilex_ and dwarf-wood,
round a narrow, but cultivated level stripe: then, winding the furthest
angle of this crescent, under huge cliffs, we saw the river beyond,
shut in by the folding bases of more distant promontories, assume the
form of a lake, amidst wild and romantic landscapes. Having doubled one
of these capes, the prospect opened in long perspective, and the green
waters of the Rhine appeared in all their majesty, flowing rapidly
between ranges of marbled rocks, and a succession of woody steeps, and
overlooked by a multitude of spiry summits, which distance had sweetly
coloured with the blue and purple tints of air.
The retrospect of the river, too, was often enchanting, and the Seven
Mountains long maintained their dignity in the scene, superior to many
intervening heights; the dark summit of Lowenbourg, in particular,
appeared, for several leagues, overlooking the whole valley of the
Rhine.
The eastern margin of the river sometimes exhibited as extensive a
range of steep rocks as the western, and frequently the fitness of
the salient angles on one side, to the recipient ones on the other,
seemed to justify the speculation, that they had been divided by an
earthquake, which let the river in between them. The general state of
the eastern bank, though steep, is that of the thickest cultivation.
The rock frequently peeps, in rugged projections, through the thin
soil, which is scattered over its declivity, and every where appears
at top; but the sides are covered with vines so abundantly, that the
labour of cultivating them, and of expressing the wine, supports a
village at least at every half mile. The green rows are led up the
steeps to an height, which cannot be ascended without the help of
steps cut in the rock: the soil itself is there supported by walls of
loose stones, or it would fall either by its own weight, or with the
first pressure of rain; and sometimes even this scanty mould appears
to have been placed there by art, being in such small patches, that,
perhaps, only twenty vines can be planted in each. But such excessive
labour has been necessary only towards the summits, for, lower down,
the soil is sufficiently deep to support the most luxuriant vegetation.
It might be supposed from so much produce and exertion, that this
bank of the Rhine is the residence of an opulent, or, at least, a
well-conditioned peasantry, and that the villages, of which seven
or eight are frequently in sight at once, are as superior to the
neighbouring towns by the state of their inhabitants, as they are by
their picturesque situation. On the contrary, the inhabitants of the
wine country are said to be amongst the poorest in Germany. The
value of every hill is exactly watched by the landlords, so that the
tenants are very seldom benefited by any improvement of its produce.
If the rent is paid in money, it leaves only so much in the hands of
the farmer as will enable him to live, and pay his workmen; while the
attention of a great number of stewards is supposed to supply what
might be expected from his attention, had he a common interest with
his landlord in the welfare of the estate. But the rent is frequently
paid in kind, amounting to a settled proportion of the produce; and
this proportion is so fixed, that, though the farmer is immoderately
distressed by a bad vintage, the best will not afford him any means
of approaching to independence. In other countries it might be asked,
"But, though we can suppose the ingenuity of the landlord to be
greater than that of the tenant, at the commencement of a bargain,
how happens it, that, since the result must be felt, the tenant will
remain under his burthens, or can be succeeded by any other, on such
terms?" Here, however, these questions are not applicable; they
presume a choice of situations, which the country does not afford. The
severity of the agricultural system continues itself by continuing the
poverty, upon which it acts; and those who would escape from it find
few manufactures and little trade to employ them, had they the capital
and the education necessary for either. The choice of such persons is
between the being a master of day-labourers for their landlord, or a
labourer under other masters.
Many of these estates belong immediately to Princes, or Chapters,
whose stewards superintend the cultivation, and are themselves instead
of the farmers, so that all other persons employed in such vineyards
are ordinary servants. By one or other of these means it happens,
that the bounteousness of nature to the country is very little felt by
the body of the inhabitants. The payment of rents in kind is usual,
wherever the vineyards are most celebrated; and, at such places, there
is this sure proof of the wretchedness of the inhabitants, that, in
a month after the wine is made, you cannot obtain one bottle of the
true produce, except by favour of the proprietors, or their stewards.
How much is the delight of looking upon plenteousness lessened by the
belief, that it supplies the means of excess to a few, but denies those
of competence to many!
Between this pass of cultivated steeps on one side of the river,
and of romantic rocks on the other, the road continues for several
miles. Being thus commanded on both sides, it must be one of the most
difficult passages in Europe to an enemy, if resolutely defended. The
Rhine, pent between these impenetrable boundaries, is considerably
narrower here than in other parts of the valley, and so rapid, that
a loaded vessel can seldom be drawn faster than at the rate of six
English miles a day, against the stream. The passage down the river
from Mentz to Cologne may be easily performed in two days; that from
Cologne to Mentz requires a fortnight.
The view along this pass, though bounded, is various and changeful.
Villages, vineyards and rocks alternately ornament the borders of
the river, and every fifty yards enable the eye to double some massy
projection that concealed the fruitful bay behind. An object at
the end of the pass is presented singly to the sight as through an
inverted telescope. The surface of the water, or the whole stillness
of the scene, was very seldom interrupted by the passing of a boat;
carriages were still fewer; and, indeed, throughout Germany, you will
not meet more than one in twenty miles. Travelling is considered
by the natives, who know the fatigue of going in carriages nearly
without springs, and stopping at inns where there is little of
either accommodation or civility, as productive of no pleasure; and
they have seldom curiosity or business enough to recompense for its
inconveniences.
We passed through two or three small towns, whose ruined gates and
walls told of their antiquity, and that they had once been held of some
consequence in the defence of the valley. Their present desolation
formed a melancholy contrast with the cheerful cultivation around them.
These, however, with every village in our way, were decorated with
green boughs, planted before the door of each cottage, for it was a day
of festival. The little chapels at the road-side, and the image, which,
every now and then, appeared under a spreading tree, were adorned with
wreaths of fresh flowers; and though one might smile at the emblems
of superstition, it was impossible not to reverence the sentiment of
pious affection, which had adjusted these simple ornaments.
About half-way to Andernach, the western rocks suddenly recede from the
river, and, rising to greater height, form a grand sweep round a plain
cultivated with orchards, garden-fields, corn and vineyards. The valley
here spreads to a breadth of nearly a mile and an half, and exhibits
grandeur, beauty and barren sublimity, united in a singular manner.
The abrupt steeps, that rise over this plain, are entirely covered
with wood, except that here and there the ravage of a winter torrent
appeared, which could sometimes be traced from the very summit of the
acclivity to the base. Near the centre, this noble amphitheatre opens
to a glen, that shews only wooded mountains, point above point, in
long perspective; such sylvan pomp we had seldom seen! But though the
tuftings of the nearer woods were beautifully luxuriant, there seemed
to be few timber trees amongst them. The opposite shore exhibited only
a range of rocks, variegated like marble, of which purple was the
predominating tint, and uniformly disposed in vast, oblique strata.
But even here, little green patches of vines peeped among the cliffs,
and were led up crevices where it seemed as if no human foot could
rest. Along the base of this tremendous wall, and on the points above,
villages, with each its tall, grey steeple, were thickly strewn, thus
mingling in striking contrast the cheerfulness of populous inhabitation
with the horrors of untamed nature. A few monasteries, resembling
castles in their extent, and known from such only by their spires, were
distinguishable; and, in the widening perspective of the Rhine, an old
castle itself, now and then, appeared on the summit of a mountain
somewhat remote from the shore; an object rendered sweetly picturesque,
as the sun's rays lighted up its towers and fortified terraces, while
the shrubby steeps below were in shade.
We saw this landscape under the happiest circumstances of season and
weather; the woods and plants were in their midsummer bloom, and the
mellow light of evening heightened the richness of their hues, and gave
exquisite effect to one half of the amphitheatre we were passing, while
the other half was in shadow. The air was scented by bean-blossoms, and
by lime-trees then in flower, that bordered the road. If this plain had
mingled pasture with its groves, it would have been truly Arcadian;
but neither here, nor through the whole of this delightful valley, did
we see a single pasture or meadow, except now and then in an island
on the Rhine; deficiencies which are here supplied, to the lover of
landscape, by the verdure of the woods and vines. In other parts of
Germany they are more to be regretted, where, frequently, only corn and
rock colour the land.
Fatigued at length by such prodigality of beauty, we were glad to be
shrouded awhile from the view of it, among close boughs, and to see
only the wide rivulets, with their rustic bridges of faggots and earth,
that, descending from among the mountains, frequently crossed our way;
or the simple peasant-girl, leading her cows to feed on the narrow
stripe of grass that margined the road. The little bells, that jingled
at their necks, would not suffer them to stray beyond her hearing. If
we had not long since dismissed our surprise at the scarcity and bad
quality of cheese and butter in Germany, we should have done so now,
on perceiving this scanty method of pasturing the cattle, which
future observation convinced us was the frequent practice.
About sun-set we reached the little village of Namedy, seated near
the foot of a rock, round which the Rhine makes a sudden sweep, and,
contracted by the bold precipices of Hammerstein on the opposite
shore, its green current passes with astonishing rapidity and sounding
strength. These circumstances of scenery, with the tall masts of
vessels lying below the shrubby bank, on which the village stands,
and seeming to heighten by comparison the stupendous rocks, that rose
around them; the moving figures of boatmen and horses employed in
towing a barge against the stream, in the bay beyond; and a group of
peasants on the high quay, in the fore ground, watching their progress;
the ancient castle of Hammerstein overlooking the whole--these were
a combination of images, that formed one of the most interesting
pictures we had seen.
The valley again expanding, the walls and turrets of Andernach, with
its Roman tower rising independently at the foot of a mountain, and
the ruins of its castle above, appeared athwart the perspective of
the river, terminating the pass; for there the rocky boundary opened
to plains and remote mountains. The light vapour, that rose from the
water, and was tinged by the setting rays, spread a purple haze over
the town and the cliffs, which, at this distance, appeared to impend
over it; colouring extremely beautiful, contrasted as it was by the
clearer and deeper tints of rocks, wood and water nearer to the eye.
As we approached Andernach, its situation seemed to be perpetually
changing, with the winding bank. Now it appeared seated on a low
peninsula, that nearly crossed the Rhine, overhung by romantic rocks;
but this vision vanished as we advanced, and we perceived the town
lying along a curving shore, near the foot of the cliffs, which were
finely fringed with wood, and at the entrance of extensive plains. Its
towers seen afar, would be signs of a considerable place, to those who
had not before been wearied of such symptoms by the towers of Neuss,
and other German towns. From a wooded precipice over the river we had
soon after a fine retrospective glimpse of the valley, its fantastic
shores, and long mountainous distance, over which evening had drawn
her sweetest colouring. As we pursued the pass, the heights on either
hand gradually softened; the country beyond shewed remote mountains
less wild and aspiring than those we had left, and the blooming tint,
which had invested the distance, deepened to a dusky purple, and then
vanished in the gloom of twilight. The progressive influence of the
hour upon the landscape was interesting; and the shade of evening,
under which we entered Andernach, harmonized with the desolation and
silence of its old walls and the broken ground around them. We passed
a drawbridge and a ruinous gateway, and were sufficiently fatigued
to be somewhat anxious as to our accommodation. The English habit of
considering, towards the end of the day's journey, that you are not far
from the cheerful reception, the ready attendance, and the conveniences
of a substantial inn, will soon be lost in Germany. There, instead of
being in good spirits, during the last stage, from such a prospect,
you have to consider, whether you shall find a room, not absolutely
disgusting, or a house with any eatable provision, or a landlady,
who will give it you, before the delay and the fatigue of an hundred
requests have rendered you almost incapable of receiving it. When your
carriage stops at the inn, you will perhaps perceive, instead of the
alacrity of an English waiter, or the civility of an English landlord,
a huge figure, wrapt in a great coat, with a red worsted cap on his
head, and a pipe in his mouth, stalking before the door. This is the
landlord. He makes no alteration in his pace on perceiving you, or,
if he stops, it is to eye you with curiosity; he seldom speaks, never
bows, or assists you to alight; and perhaps stands surrounded by a
troop of slovenly girls, his daughters, whom the sound of wheels has
brought to the door, and who, as they lean indolently against it, gaze
at you with rude curiosity and surprise.
The drivers in Germany are all bribed by the innkeepers, and, either
by affecting to misunderstand you, or otherwise, will constantly stop
at the door, where they are best paid. That this money comes out
of your pocket the next morning is not the grievance; the evil is,
that the worst inns give them the most, and a traveller, unless he
exactly remembers his directions, is liable to be lodged in all the
vilest rooms of a country, where the best hotels have no lodging so
clean and no larder so wholesomely filled as those of every half-way
house between London and Canterbury. When you are within the inn, the
landlord, who is eager to keep, though not to accommodate you, will
affirm, that his is the inn you ask for, or that the other sign is
not in the place; and, as you soon learn to believe any thing of the
wretchedness of the country, you are unwilling to give up one lodging,
lest you should not find another.
Our driver, after passing a desolate, half filled place, into which the
gate of Andernach opened, entered a narrow passage, which afterwards
appeared to be one of the chief streets of the place. Here he found a
miserable inn, and declared that there was no other; but, as we had
seen one of a much better appearance, we were at length brought to
that, and, though with some delay, were not ill accommodated, for the
night.
Andernach is an antient town, and it is believed, that a tower, which
stands alone, at one end of the walls, was built by Drusus, of whom
there are many traces in walls and castles, intended to defend the
colonies, on this side of the Rhine, against the Germans, on the
other. The fortifications can now be of little other use than to
authorise the toll, which travellers pay, for entering a walled town;
a tax, on account of which many of the walls are supported, though it
is pretended, that the tax is to support the walls. By their means
also, the Elector of Cologne collects here the last of four payments,
which he demands for the privilege of passing the Rhine from Urdingen
to Andernach; and this is the most Southern frontier town of his
dominions on the western side of the Rhine, which soon after join
those of the Elector of Treves. Their length from hence to Rheinberg is
not less than ninety miles; the breadth probably never more than twenty.
There is some trade, at Andernach, in tiles, timber, and mill-stones,
but the heaps of these commodities upon the beach are the only visible
symptoms of the traffick; for you will not see one person in the place
moving as if he had business to attract him, or one shop of a better
appearance, than an English huckster's, or one man in the dress of a
creditable trader, or one house, which can be supposed to belong to
persons in easy circumstances. The port contains, perhaps, half a dozen
vessels, clinker built, in shape between a barge and a sloop; on the
quay, you may see two or three fellows, harnessing half a dozen horses
to a tow line, while twenty more watch their lingering manœuvres, and
this may probably be the morning's business of the town. Those, who are
concerned in it, say that they are engaged in _commerce_.
This, or something like it, is the condition, as to trade, of all the
towns we saw in Germany, one or two excepted. They are so far from
having well filled, or spacious repositories, that you can scarcely
tell at what houses there are any, till you are led within the door;
you may then wait long after you are heard, or seen, before the owner,
if he has any other engagement, thinks it necessary to approach you:
if he has what you ask for, which he probably has not, unless it is
something very ordinary, he tells the price and takes it, with as much
sullenness, as if you were forcing the goods from him: if he has not,
and can shew you only something very different, he then considers
your enquiry as an intrusion, and appears to think himself injured
by having had the trouble to answer you. What seems unaccountable
in the manners of a German trader, is, that, though he is so careless
in attending you, he looks as much distressed, as vexed, if you do
not leave some money with him; but he probably knows, that you can
be supplied no where else in the town, and, therefore, will not deny
himself the indulgence of his temper. Even when you are satisfied, his
manner is so ill, that he appears to consider you his dependent, by
wanting something which he can refuse. After perceiving, that this is
nearly general, the pain of making continual discoveries of idleness
and malignity becomes so much greater than the inconvenience of wanting
any thing short of necessaries, that you decline going into shops, and
wait for some easier opportunities of supplying whatever you may lose
upon the road.