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 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.
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 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.”