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, [250]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. [251]
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 [252]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.
lower castle at gondorf.
lower castle at gondorf.
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 [253]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.”
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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 [254]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
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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 [255]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. [256]
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. [257]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 [258]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
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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 [259]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. [260]
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.
