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.

[208]

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:—
[Contents]
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, [209]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 [210]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, [211]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 [212]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 infor............