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:—
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, 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.