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 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 informed, discussed us, and wondered what could induce us to remain at Cochem when we might be enjoying all the gaieties of Trèves or Coblence. Although we passed weeks there their wonder never diminished, nor did their curiosity cease. They seemed to have no idea of scenery being worth anything.
Luckily, this unpleasant curiosity was confined to the people of the town; in the country a hearty “Guten tag,” or “Gute nacht,” always greeted us, and the greatest readiness to direct or assist us was always shown by the peasants: one man was, it is true, exceedingly tickled at the idea of our asking the way to a valley which we were already in, and could scarcely answer for laughing. Evidently, too, they in general fancied that so important a place as Something-heim, or whatever the name of the place happened to be, ought to be well known to every one.
The castle of Cochem affords a most agreeable retirement to those who are fond of reading, sketching, or musing through the summer’s day: unlike the ruins on the Rhine, it is wholly uninfested by beggars, donkeys, or venders of faded flowers and wreaths. Here you may walk up the hill and enter by a stone bridge into the outworks; perhaps a few sheep or goats, with an attendant boy, are there: if not, Solitude holds his court amid the deserted walls. Through the ruined window-arches the river is seen, and the town is immediately under us: vines cover one side of the steep hill, and a little chapel nestles itself into a corner where the rock shelters it from stones; above rise the mountains, covered with cherry and other trees to near the top, where young oaks supersede the less hardy fruit-trees: a soft green lawn fills the space surrounded by the outworks of the castle; in the centre stands the massive keep, beside which is a smaller tower, and in the distance, Winneburg is greyly visible.
Cochem was one of the three castles given up to the Countess of Sponheim by Archbishop Baldwin, as a security for the heavy ransom she made him pay: this happened in 1328. About the same period the Jews of Cochem were massacred; the popular fury was raised against them by the story of the supposed murder of the child Werner at Oberwesel on Rhine. The truth appears to be, that the Jews had become richer than the other members of the communities in which they lived, and therefore Envy roused the populace to fury with a fictitious story of murder, and by this means plundered the unfortunate Hebrews, who no longer lived to protect their property.
Cochem suffered terribly when it was taken by Marshal Boufflers, who, after devastating the Palatinate, advanced against this town; thrice his troops were repulsed by the brave defenders, at length the superior numbers of the besiegers forced an entrance, but with a loss of 2500 men, among whom were six colonels: all the inhabitants that remained alive after the pillage were sent into other countries, and only a few ever found their way back. After the taking of the town the cruelties exercised by the French troops were only surpassed by Tilly at Magdebourg.
The assault took place on the fête of St. Louis, and Boufflers sent the news of the taking and burning of Cochem to Louis XIV. as a pleasant gift, well suited to the occasion.
The château of Winneburg was taken and sacked at the same time. This castle afterwards became the family seat of the Metternichs.
For a long time after these outrages, it is said that those who had witnessed the dreadful scenes at the taking of Cochem were wont to start up in their sleep, crying, “The French! the French!”