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.”
[Contents]
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
[Contents]
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 bein............