ANN RADCLIFFE. (continued 3)

Leaving the palace by the bridge of a moat, that nearly surrounds it, we passed through the pleasant village of Poppelsdorff, and ascended the hill Sanctæ Crucis, called so from the convent of the same name, which occupies its summit. The road wound between thick woods; but we soon left it for a path, that led more immediately to the summit, among shrubs and plantations of larch and fir, and which opened into easy avenues of turf, that sometimes allowed momentary views of other woody points and of the plains around. The turf was uncommonly fragrant and fine, abounding with plants, which made us regret the want of a Botanist's knowledge and pleasures. During the ascent, the peaked tops of the mountains of the Rhine, so often admired below, began to appear above a ridge of dark woods, very near us, in a contrast of hues, which was exquisitely fine. It was now near evening; the mistiness of heat was gone from the surface of these mountains, and they had assumed a blue tint so peculiar and clear, that they appeared upon the sky, like supernatural transparencies.

We had heard, at Bonn, of the Capuchins' courtesy, and had no hesitation to knock at their gate, after taking some rest in the portico of the church, from whence we looked down another side of the mountain, over the long plains between Bonn and Cologne. Having waited some time at the gate, during which many steps fled along the passage and the head of a monk appeared peeping through a window above, a servant admitted us into a parlour, adjoining the refectory, which appeared to have been just left. This was the first convent we had entered, and we could not help expecting to see more than others had described; an involuntary habit, from which few are free, and which need not be imputed to vanity, so long as the love of surprise shall be so visible in human pursuits. When the lay-brother had quitted us, to inform the superior of our request, not a footstep, or a voice approached, for near a quarter of an hour, and the place seemed as if uninhabited. Our curiosity had no indulgence within the room, which was of the utmost plainness, and that plainness free from any thing, that the most tractable imagination could suppose peculiar to a convent. At length, a monk appeared, who received us with infinite good humour, and with the ease which must have been acquired in more general society. His shaven head and black garments formed a whimsical contrast to the character of his person and countenance, which bore no symptoms of sorrow, or penance, and were, indeed, animated by an air of cheerfulness and intelligence, that would have become the happiest inhabitant of the gayest city.

Through some silent passages, in which he did not shew us a cell and we did not perceive another monk, we passed to the church, where the favour of several Electors has assisted the display of paintings, marble, sculpture, gold and silver, mingled and arranged with magnificent effect. Among these was the marble statue, brought from England, at a great expence, and here called a representation of St. Anne, who is said to have found the Cross. Our conductor seemed to be a man of good understanding and desirous of being thought so; a disposition, which gave an awkwardness to his manner, when, in noticing a relic, he was obliged to touch upon some unproved and unimportant tradition, peculiar to his church and not essential to the least article of our faith. His sense of decorum as a member of the convent seemed then to be struggling with his vanity, as a man.

But there are relics here, pretending to a connection with some parts of christian history, which it is shocking to see introduced to consideration by any means so trivial and so liable to ridicule. It is, indeed, wonderful, that the absurd exhibitions, made in Romish churches, should so often be minutely described, and dwelt upon in terms of ludicrous exultation by those, who do not intend that most malignant of offences against human nature, the endeavour to excite a wretched vanity by sarcasm and jest, and to employ it in eradicating the comforts of religion. To such writers, the probable mischief of uniting with the mention of the most important divine doctrines the most ridiculous of human impositions ought to be apparent; and, as the risk is unnecessary in a Protestant country, why is it encountered? That persons otherwise inclined should adopt these topics is not surprising; the easiest pretences to wit are found to be made by means of familiar allusions to sacred subjects, because their necessary incongruity accomplishes the greatest part of what, in other cases, must be done by wit itself; there will, therefore, never be an end of such allusions, till it is generally seen, that they are the resources and symptoms of mean understandings, urged by the feverish desire of an eminence, to which they feel themselves inadequate.

From the chapel we ascended to a tower of the convent, whence all the scattered scenes, of whose beauty, or sublimity, we had caught partial glimpses between the woods below, were collected into one vast landscape, and exhibited almost to a single glance. The point, on which the convent stands, commands the whole horizon. To the north, spread the wide plains, before seen, covered with corn, then just embrowned, and with vines and gardens, whose alternate colours formed a gay checker work with villages, convents and castles. The grandeur of this level was unbroken by any inclosures, that could seem to diminish its vastness. The range of woody heights, that bound it on the west, extend to the southward, many leagues beyond the hill Sanctæ Crucis; but the uniform and unbroken ridges of distant mountains, on the east, cease before the Seven Mountains rise above the Rhine in all their awful majesty. The bases of the latter were yet concealed by the woody ridge near the convent, which gives such enchanting effect to their aërial points. The sky above them was clear and glowing, unstained by the lightest vapour; and these mountains still appeared upon it, like unsubstantial visions. On the two highest pinnacles we could just distinguish the ruins of castles, and, on a lower precipice, a building, which our reverend guide pointed out as a convent, dedicated to St. Bernard, giving us new occasion to admire the fine taste of the monks in their choice of situations.

Opposite to the Seven Mountains, the plains of Goodesberg are screened by the chain of hills already mentioned, which begin in the neighbourhood of Cologne, and whose woods, spreading into France, there assume the name of the Forest of Ardennes. Within the recesses of these woods the Elector has a hunting-seat, almost every window of which opens upon a different alley, and not a stag can cross these without being seen from the chateau. It is melancholy to consider, that the most frequent motives of man's retirement among the beautiful recesses of nature, are only those of destroying the innocent animals that inhabit her shades. Strange! that her lovely scenes cannot soften his heart to milder pleasures, or elevate his fancy to nobler pursuits, and that he must still seek his amusement in scattering death among the harmless and the happy.

As we afterwards walked in the garden of the convent, the greater part of which was planted with vines, the monk further exhibited his good humour and liberality. He enquired concerning the events of the war, of which he appeared to know the latest; spoke of his friends in Cologne and other places; drew a ludicrous picture of the effect which would be produced by the appearance of a capuchin in London, and laughed immoderately at it. "There," said he, "it would be supposed, that some harlequin was walking in a capuchin's dress to attract spectators for a pantomime; here nobody will follow him, lest he should lead them to church. Every nation has its way, and laughs at the ways of others. Considering the effects, which differences sometimes have, there are few things more innocent than that sort of laughter."

The garden was stored with fruits and the vegetable luxuries of the table, but was laid out with no attention to beauty, its inimitable prospects having, as the good monk said, rendered the society careless of less advantages. After exchanging our thanks for his civilities against his thanks for the visit, we descended to Poppelsdorff by a steep road, bordered with firs and fragrant shrubs, which frequently opened to corn lands and vineyards, where peasants were busied in dressing the vines.

About a mile from Bonn is a garden, or rather nursery, to which they have given the name of Vauxhall. It is much more rural than that of London, being planted with thick and lofty groves, which, in this climate, are gratefully refreshing, during the summer-day, but are very pernicious in the evening, when the vapour, arising from the ground, cannot escape through the thick foliage. The garden is lighted up only on great festivals, or when the Elector or his courtiers give a ball in a large room built for the purpose. On some days, half the inhabitants of Bonn are to be seen in this garden, mingling in the promenade with the Elector and his nobility; but there were few visitors when we saw it. Count Gimnich, the commander, who had surrendered Mentz to the French, was the only person pointed out to us.

The road from hence to Bonn was laid out and planted with poplars at the expence of the Elector, who has a taste for works of public advantage and ornament. His Grandmastership of the Teutonic Order renders his Court more frequented than those of the other ecclesiastical Princes, the possessions of that Order being still considerable enough to support many younger brothers of noble families. Having passed his youth in the army, or at the courts of Vienna or Brussels, he is also environed by friends, made before the vacancy of an ecclesiastical electorate induced him to change his profession; and the union of his three incomes, as Bishop of Munster, Grand Master and Elector, enables him to spend something more than two hundred thousand pounds annually. His experience and revenues are, in many respects, very usefully employed. To the nobility he affords an example of so much personal dignity, as to be able to reject many ostentatious customs, and to remove some of the ceremonial barriers, which men do not constantly place between themselves and their fellow-beings, except from some consciousness of personal weakness. All sovereigns, who have had any sense of their individual liberty and power, have shewn a readiness to remove such barriers; but not many have been able to effect so much as the Elector of Cologne against the chamberlains, pages, and other footmanry of their courts, who are always upon the alerte to defend the false magnificence that makes their offices seem necessary. He now enjoys many of the blessings, usual only in private stations; among others, that of conversing with great numbers of persons, not forced into his society by their rank, and of dispensing with much of that attendance, which would render his menial servants part of his company.

His secretary, Mr. Floret, whom we had the pleasure to see, gave us some accounts of the industry and carefulness of his private life, which he judiciously thought were better than any other panegyrics upon his master. His attention to the relief, employment and education of the poor, to the state of manufactures and the encouragement of talents, appears to be continual; and his country would soon have elapsed from the general wretchedness of Germany, if the exertions of three campaigns had not destroyed what thirty years of care and improvement cannot restore.

His residence at Bonn occasions expenditure enough to keep the people busy, but he has not been able to divert to it any part of the commerce, which, though it is of so little use at Cologne, is here spoken of with some envy, and seems to be estimated above its amount. The town, which is much neater than the others in the electorate, and so pleasantly situated, that its name has been supposed to be formed from the Latin synonym for good, is ornamented by few public buildings, except the palace. What is called the University is a small brick building, used more as a school than a college, except that the masters are called professors. The principal church of four, which are within the walls, is a large building, distinguished by several spires, but not remarkable for its antiquity or beauty.

Many of the German powers retain some shew of a representative government, as to affairs of finance, and have States, by which taxes are voted. Those of the electorate of Cologne consist of four colleges, representing the clergy, nobility, knights and cities; the votes are given by colleges, so that the inhabitants of the cities, if they elect their representatives fairly, have one vote in four. These States assemble at Bonn.

One of the privileges, which it is surprising that the present Elector should retain, is that of grinding corn for the consumption of the whole town. His mill, like those of all the towns on the Rhine, is a floating one, moored in the river, which turns its wheel. Bread is bad at Bonn; but this oppressive privilege is not entirely answerable for it, there being little better throughout the whole country. It generally appears in rolls, with glazed crusts, half hollow; the crumb not brown, but a sort of dirty white.

There are few cities in Germany without walls, which, when the dreadful science of war was less advanced than at present, frequently protected them against large armies. These are now so useless, that such cannon as are employed against batteries could probably not be fired from them without shaking their foundations. The fortifications of Bonn are of this sort; and, though they were doubtless better, when the Duke of Marlborough arrived before them, it is wonderful that they should have sustained a regular siege, during which great part of the town was demolished. The electorate of Cologne is, indeed, so ill prepared for war, that it has not one town, which could resist ten thousand men for three days.

The inhabitants of Bonn, whenever they regret the loss of their fortifications, should be reminded of the three sieges, which, in the course of thirty years, nearly destroyed their city. Of these the first was in 1673, when the Elector had received a French garrison into it; but the resistance did not then continue many days. It was in this siege that the Prince of Orange, afterwards our honoured William the Third, had one of his few military successes. In 1689, the French, who had lately defended it, returned to attack it; and, before they could subdue the strong garrison left in it by the Elector of Brandenburg, the palace and several public buildings were destroyed. The third siege was commanded by the Duke of Marlborough, and continued from the 24th of April to the 16th of May, the French being then the defenders, and the celebrated Cohorn one of the assailants. It was not till fifteen years afterwards, that all the houses, demolished in this siege, could be restored by the efforts of the Elector Joseph.

The present Elector maintains, in time of peace, about eight hundred soldiers, which is the number of his contingent to the army of the Empire: in the present war he has supplied somewhat more than this allotment; and, when we were at Bonn, two thousand recruits were in training. His troops wear the general uniform of the Empire, blue faced with red, which many of the Germanic sovereigns give only to their contingent troops, while those of their separate establishments are distinguished by other colours. The Austrian regiments are chiefly in white; faced with light blue, grey, or red; but the artillery are dressed, with very little shew, in a cloak speckled with light brown.

Bonn was one of the very few places in Germany, which we left with regret. It is endeared to the votaries of landscape by its situation in the midst of fruitful plains, in the presence of stupendous mountains, and on the bank of a river, that, in summer, is impelled by the dissolved snows of Switzerland, and, in winter, rolls with the accumulation of a thousand torrents from the rocks on its shores. It contained many inhabitants, who had the independence to aim at a just taste in morals and letters, in spite of the ill examples with which such countries supply them; and, having the vices of the form of government, established in it, corrected by the moderation and immediate attention of the governor, it might be considered as a happy region in the midst of ignorance, injustice and misery, and remembered like the green spot, that, in an Arabian desert, cheers the senses and sustains the hopes of the weary traveller.

GOODESBERG.

The ride from Bonn to this delightful village is only one league over a narrow plain, covered with corn and vineyards. On our right was the range of hills, before seen from the mountain Sanctæ Crucis, sweeping into frequent recesses, and starting forward into promontories, with inequalities, which gave exquisite richness to the forest, that mantled from their bases to their utmost summits. Many a lurking village, with its slender grey steeple, peeped from among the woody skirts of these hills. On our left, the tremendous mountains, that bind the eastern shore of the Rhine, gradually lost their aërial complexion, as we approached them, and displayed new features and new enchantments; an ever-varying illusion, to which the transient circumstance of thunder clouds contributed. The sun-beams, streaming among these clouds, threw partial gleams upon the precipices, and, followed by dark shadows, gave surprising and inimitable effect to the natural colouring of the mountains, whose pointed tops we now discerned to be covered with dark heath, extended down their rocky sides, and mingled with the reddish and light yellow tints of other vegetation and the soil. It was delightful to watch the shadows sweeping over these steeps, now involving them in deep obscurity, and then leaving them to the sun's rays, which brought out all their hues into vivid contrast.

Near Goodesberg, a small mountain, insulated, abrupt and pyramidal, rises from the plain, which it seems to terminate, and conceals the village, that lies along its southern skirt. This mountain, covered with vineyards and thick dwarf wood to its summit, where one high tower and some shattered walls appear, is a very interesting object.

At the entrance of the village, the road was obstructed by a great number of small carts, filled with soldiers apparently wounded. The line of their procession had been broken by some carriages, hastening with company to the ridotto at Goodesberg, and was not easily restored. Misery and festivity could scarcely be brought into closer contrast. We thought of Johnson's "many-coloured life," and of his picture, in the preface to Shakespeare, of cotemporary wretchedness and joy, when "the reveller is hastening to his wine, and the mourner is burying his friend." This was a procession of wounded French prisoners, chiefly boys, whose appearance had, indeed, led us to suspect their nation, before we saw the stamp of the fasces, and the words "Republique Françoise" upon the buttons of some, whom our driver had nearly overset. The few, that could raise themselves above the floor of their carts, shewed countenances yellow, or livid with sickness. They did not talk to their guards, nor did the latter shew any signs of exultation over them.

In a plain, beyond the village, a row of large houses, built upon one plan, and almost resembling a palace, form the little watering place of Goodesberg, which has been founded partly at the expence of the Elector, and partly by individuals under his patronage. One of the houses was occupied by the Archduchess, his sister, and is often used by the Elector, who is extremely solicitous for the prosperity of the place. A large building at the end contains the public rooms, and is fitted up as an hotel.

The situation of this house is beautiful beyond any hope or power of description; for description, though it may tell that there are mountains and rocks, cannot paint the grandeur, or the elegance of outline, cannot give the effect of precipices, or draw the minute features, that reward the actual observer by continual changes of colour, and by varying their forms at every new choice of his position. Delightful Goodesberg! the sublime and beautiful of landscape, the charms of music, and the pleasures of gay and elegant society, were thine! The immediate unhappiness of war has now fallen upon thee; but, though the graces may have fled thee, thy terrible majesty remains, beyond the sphere of human contention.

The plain, that contains the village and the spa, is about five miles in length and of half that breadth. It is covered by uninclosed corn, and nearly surrounded by a vast amphitheatre of mountains. In front of the inn, at the distance of half a league, extend, along the opposite shore of the Rhine, the Seven Mountains, so long seen and admired, which here assume a new attitude. The three tallest points are now nearest to the eye, and the lower mountains are seen either in the perspective between them, or sinking, with less abrupt declivities, into the plains, on the north. The whole mass exhibits a grandeur of outline, such as the pencil only can describe; but fancy may paint the stupendous precipices of rock, that rise over the Rhine, the rich tuftings of wood, that emboss the cliffs or lurk within the recesses, the spiry summits and the ruined castles, faintly discerned, that crown them. Yet the appearance of these mountains, though more grand, from Goodesberg, is less sublime than from Bonn; for the nearness, which increases their grandeur, diminishes their sublimity by removing the obscurity that had veiled them. To the south of this plain, the long perspective is crossed by further ranges of mountains, which open to glimpses of others still beyond; an endless succession of summits, that lead on the imagination to unknown vallies and regions of solitary obscurity.

Amidst so many attractions of nature, art cannot do much. The little, which it attempts, at Goodesberg, is the disposition of some walks from the houses to a spring, which is said to resemble that at Spa, and through the woods above it. Twice a week there are some musical performances and a ball given by the Elector, who frequently appears, and with the ease and plainness of a private gentleman. At these entertainments the company, visiting the spring, are joined by neighbouring families, so as to be in number sixty, or a hundred. The balls, agreeably to the earliness of German hours, begin at six; and that, which we meant to see, was nearly concluded before our arrival. The company then retired to a public game, at which large sums of gold were risked, and a severe anxiety defied the influence of Mozart's music, that continued to be played by an excellent orchestra. The dresses of the company were in the English taste, and, as we were glad to believe, chiefly of English manufacture; the wearing of countenances by play appears to be also according to our manners; and the German ladies, with features scarcely less elegant, have complexions, perhaps, finer than are general in England.

Meditating censures against the Elector's policy, or carelessness, in this respect, we took advantage of the last gleams of evening, to ascend the slender and spiry mountain, which bears the name of the village, and appears ready to precipitate the ruins of its antient castle upon it. A steep road, winding among vineyards and dwarf wood, enters, at the summit of the mountain, the broken walls, which surround the antient citadel of the castle; an almost solid building, that has existed for more than five centuries. From the area of these ruins we saw the sun set over the whole line of plains, that extend to the westward of Cologne, whose spires were distinctly visible. Bonn, and the hill Sanctæ Crucis, appeared at a league's distance, and the windings of the Rhine gleamed here and there amidst the rich scene, like distant lakes. It was a still and beautiful evening, in which no shade remained of the thunder clouds, that passed in the day. To the west, under the glow of sun-set, the landscape melted into the horizon in tints so soft, so clear, so delicately roseate as Claude only could have painted. Viewed, as we then saw it, beyond a deep and dark arch of the ruin, its effect was enchanting; it was to the eye, what the finest strains of Paisiello are to the heart, or the poetry of Collins is to the fancy—all tender, sweet, elegant and glowing.

From the other side of the hill the character of the view is entirely different, and, instead of a long prospect over an open and level country, the little plain of Goodesberg appears reposing amidst wild and awful mountains. These were now melancholy and silent; the last rays were fading from their many points, and the obscurity of twilight began to spread over them. We seemed to have found the spot, for which Collins wished:

Ode to Evening.

And this is a place almost as renowned in the history of the country, as it is worthy to exercise the powers of poetry and painting. The same Ernest, in the cause of whose sovereignty the massacre of Neuss was perpetrated, besieged here the same Gerard de Trusches, the Elector, who had embraced the Protestant religion, and for whom Neuss held out. The castle of Goodesberg was impregnable, except by famine, but was very liable to that from its insulated situation, and the ease, with which the whole base of the mountain could be surrounded. Gerard's defence was rendered the more obstinate by his belief, that nothing less than his life, and that of a beautiful woman, the marrying of whom had constituted one of the offences against his Chapter, would appease his ferocious enemies. He was personally beloved by his garrison, and they adhered to him with the affection of friends, as well as with the enthusiasm of soldiers. When, therefore, they perceived, that their surrender could not be much longer protracted, they resolved to employ their remaining time and strength in enabling him to separate his fortunes from theirs. They laboured incessantly in forming a subterraneous passage, which should open beyond the besiegers' lines; and, though their distress became extreme before this was completed, they made no overtures for a surrender, till Gerard and his wife had escaped by it. The fugitives arrived safely in Holland, and the vengeance of their adversaries was never gratified further than by hearing, many years after, that they died poor.

The fortress, rendered interesting by these traits of fidelity and misfortune, is not so far decayed, but that its remains exhibit much of its original form. It covered the whole summit of the hill, and was valuable as a residence, as well as a fortification. What seem to have been the walls of the great hall, in which probably the horn of two quarts was often emptied to welcome the guest, or reward the soldier, are still perfect enough to preserve the arches of its capacious windows, and the doorways, that admitted its festive trains. The vast strength of the citadel has been unsubdued by war, or time. Though the battlements, that crown it, are broken, and of a gallery, that once encircled it half way from the ground, the corbells alone remain, the solid walls of the building itself are unimpaired. At the narrow doorway, by which only it could be entered, we measured their thickness, and found it to be more than ten feet, nearly half the diameter of its area. There has never been a fixed staircase, though these walls would so well have contained one; and the hole is still perfect in the floor above, through which the garrison ascended, and drew up their ladder after them. Behind the loopholes, the wall has been hollowed, and would permit a soldier, half bent, to stand within them and use his bow. It was twilight without and night within the edifice; which fancy might have easily filled with the stern and silent forms of warriors, waiting for their prey, with the patience of safety and sure superiority.

We wandered long among these vestiges of ancient story, rendered still more interesting by the shadowy hour and the vesper bell of a chapel on a cliff below. The village, to which this belongs, straggles half way up the mountain, and there are several little shrines above it, which the cottagers, on festivals, decorate with flowers. The Priest is the schoolmaster of the parish, and almost all the children, within several miles of the hill, walk to it, every day, to prayers and lessons. Whether it is from this care of their minds, or that they are under the authority of milder landlords than elsewhere, the manners of the inhabitants in this plain differ much from those, usual in Germany. Instead of an inveterate sullenness, approaching frequently to malignity, they shew a civility and gentleness in their intercourse with strangers, which leave the enjoyments derived from inanimate nature, unalloyed by the remembrances of human deformity, that mingle with them in other districts. Even the children's begging is in a manner, which shews a different character. They here kiss their little hands, and silently hold them out to you, almost as much in salute, as in entreaty; in many parts of Germany their manner is so offensive, not only for its intrusion, but as a symptom of their disposition, that nothing but the remembrance of the oppression, that produces it, can prevent you from denying the little they are compelled to require.

The music had not ceased, when we returned to the inn; and the mellowness of French horns, mingled with the tenderness of hautboys, gave a kind of enchantment to the scenery, which we continued to watch from our windows. The opposite mountains of the Rhine were gradually vanishing in twilight and then as gradually re-appearing, as the rising moon threw her light upon their broken surfaces. The perspective in the east received a silvery softness, which made its heights appear like shadowy illusions, while the nearer mountains were distinguished by their colouring, as much as by their forms. The broad Rhine, at their feet, rolled a stream of light for their boundary, on this side. But the first exquisite tint of beauty soon began to fade; the mountains became misty underneath the moon, and, as she ascended, these mists thickened, till they veiled the landscape from our view.

The spring, which is supposed to have some medicinal qualities, is about a quarter of a mile from the rooms, in a woody valley, in which the Elector has laid out several roads and walks. It rises in a stone bason, to which the company, if they wish to drink it on the spot, descend by an handsome flight of steps. We were not told its qualities, but there is a ferrugineous tint upon all the stones, which it touches. The taste is slightly unpleasant.

The three superior points of the Seven Mountains, which contribute so much to the distinction of Goodesberg, are called Drakenfels, Wolkenbourg and Lowenbourg, and have each been crowned by its castle, of which two are still visible in ruins. There is a story faintly recorded, concerning them. Three brothers, resolving to found three distinguished families, took the method, which was anciently in use for such a purpose, that of establishing themselves in fortresses, from whence they could issue out, and take what they wanted from their industrious neighbours. The pinnacles of Drakenfels, Wolkenbourg and Lowenbourg, which, with all assistance, cannot be ascended now, without the utmost fatigue, were inaccessible, when guarded by the castles, built by the three brothers. Their depredations, which they called successes in war, enriched their families, and placed them amongst the most distinguished in the Empire.

They had a sister, named Adelaide, famed to have been very beautiful; and, their parents being dead, the care of her had descended to them. Roland, a young knight, whose castle was on the opposite bank of the Rhine, became her suitor, and gained her affections. Whether the brothers had expected, by her means, to form a more splendid alliance, or that they remembered the ancient enmity between their family and that of Roland, they secretly resolved to deny the hand of Adelaide, but did not choose to provoke him by a direct refusal. They stipulated, that he should serve, a certain number of years, in the war of Palestine, and, on his return, should be permitted to renew his suit.

Roland took a reluctant farewell of Adelaide, and went to the war, where he was soon distinguished for an impetuous career. Adelaide remained in the castle of Drakenfels, waiting, in solitary fidelity, for his return. But the brothers had determined, that he should not return for her. They clothed one of their dependents in the disguise of a pilgrim, and introduced him into the castle, where he related that he was arrived from the holy wars, and had been desired by Roland in his latest moments to assure Adelaide of his having loved her till death.

The unhappy Adelaide believed the tale, and, from that time, devoted herself to the memory of Roland and to the nourishment of her sorrow. She rejected all the suitors, introduced by her brothers, and accepted no society, but that of some neighbouring nuns. At length, the gloom of a cloister became so necessary to the melancholy of her imagination, that she resolved to found a convent and take the veil; a design, which her brothers assisted, with the view of placing her effectually beyond the reach of her lover. She chose an island in the Rhine between her brother's castle and the seat of Roland, both of which she could see from the windows of her convent; and here she passed some years in the placid performance of her new duties.

At length, Roland returned, and they both discovered the cruel device, by which they had been separated for ever. Adelaide remained in her convent, and soon after died; but Roland, emulating the fidelity of her retirement, built, at the extreme point of his domains towards the Rhine, a small castle, that overlooked the island, where he wasted his days in melancholy regret, and in watching over the walls, that shrouded his Adelaide.

This is the story, on which the wild and vivid imagination of Ariosto is said to have founded his Orlando.

THE VALLEY OF ANDERNACH.

After spending part of two days at Goodesberg, we set out, in a sultry afternoon, for the town of Andernach, distant about five-and-twenty English miles. The road wound among corn-lands towards the Rhine, and approached almost as near to the Seven Mountains, as the river would permit. Opposite to the last, and nearly the tallest of these, called Drakenfels, the open plain terminates, and the narrower valley begins.

This mountain towers, the majestic sentinel of the river over which it aspires, in vast masses of rock, varied with rich tuftings of dwarf-wood, and bearing on its narrow peak the remains of a castle, whose walls seem to rise in a line with the perpendicular precipice, on which they stand, and, when viewed from the opposite bank, appear little more than a rugged cabin. The eye aches in attempting to scale this rock; but the sublimity of its height and the grandeur of its intermingled cliffs and woods gratify the warmest wish of fancy.

The road led us along the western bank of the Rhine among vineyards, and corn, and thick trees, that allowed only transient catches of the water between their branches; but the gigantic form of Drakenfels was always seen, its superior features, perhaps, appearing more wild, from the partial concealment of its base, and assuming new attitudes as we passed away from it. Lowenberg, whose upper region only had been seen from Goodesberg, soon unfolded itself from behind Drakenfels, and displayed all its pomp of wood, sweeping from the spreading base in one uninterrupted line of grandeur to the spiry top, on which one high tower of the castle appears enthroned among the forests. This is the loftiest of the Seven Mountains; and its dark sides, where no rock is visible, form a fine contrast with the broken cliffs of Drakenfels. A multitude of spiry summits appeared beyond Lowenberg, seen and lost again, as the nearer rocks of the shore opened to the distance, or re-united. About a mile further, lies the pleasant island, on which Adelaide raised her convent. As it was well endowed, it has been rebuilt, and is now a large and handsome quadrangle of white stone, surrounded with trees, and corn, and vineyards, and still allotted to the society, which she established. An abrupt, but not lofty rock, on the western shore of the Rhine, called Rolands Eck, or Roland's Corner, is the site of her lover's castle, of which one arch, picturesquely shadowed with wood, is all that remains of this monument to faithful love. The road winds beneath it, and nearly overhangs the narrow channel, that separates Adelaide's island from the shore. Concerning this rock there is an antient rhyme in the country, amounting to something like the following:

After passing the island, the valley contracts, and the river is soon shut up between fruitful and abrupt hills, which rise immediately over it, on one side, and a series of rocky heights on the other. In the small space, left between these heights and the Rhine, the road is formed. For the greater part of the way, it has been hollowed in the solid rock, which ascends almost perpendicularly above it, on one hand, and sinks as abruptly below it, to the river, on the other; a work worthy of Roman perseverance and design, and well known to be a monument of both. It was made during the reign of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus; and as the inscription, whose antiquity has not been doubted, dates its completion in the year 162, it must have been finished in one year, or little more, Marcus Aurelius having been raised to the purple in 161. The Elector Palatine having repaired this road, which the Electors of Cologne had neglected, in 1768, has caused his name to be joined with those of the Roman Emperors, in the following inscription upon an obelisk:

VIAM SUB M. AURELIO ET L. VERO I. M. P. P. ANNO CHR. CLXII MUNITAM CAROLUS THEODORUS ELECTOR PAL. DUX BAV. JUL. CL. M. REFECIT ET AMPLIAVIT AN. M.DCCLXVIII CURANTE JO. LUD. COMITE DE GOLDSTEIN PRO PRINCIPE.

We did not sufficiently observe the commencement and conclusion of this road, to be certain of its exact length; but it is probably about twelve miles. The rock above is, for the most part, naked to the summit, where it is thinly covered with earth; but sometimes it slopes so much as to permit patches of soil on its side, and these are carefully planted with vines. This shore of the Rhine may be said to be bounded, for many miles, by an immense wall of rock, through which the openings into the country behind are few; and these breaks shew only deep glens, seen and lost again so quickly, that a woody mountain, or a castle, or a convent, were the only objects we could ascertain.

This rock lies in oblique strata, and resembles marble in its brown and reddish tints, marked with veins of deeper red; but we are unable to mention it under its proper and scientific denomination. The colouring of the cliffs is beautiful, when mingled with the verdure of shrubs, that sometimes hang in rich drapery from their points, and with the mosses, and creeping vegetables of bright crimson, yellow, and purple, that emboss their fractured sides.

The road, which the Elector mentions himself to have widened, is now and then very narrow, and approaches near enough to the river, over which it has no parapet, to make a traveller anxious for the sobriety and skill of his postillion. It is sometimes elevated forty feet above the level of the Rhine, and seldom less than thirty; an elevation from whence the water and its scenery are viewed to great advantage; but to the variety and grandeur of these shores, and the ever-changing form of the river, description cannot do justice.

Sometimes, as we approached a rocky point, we seemed going to plunge into the expanse of water beyond; when, turning the sharp angle of the promontory, the road swept along an ample bay, where the rocks, receding, formed an amphitheatre, covered with ilex and dwarf-wood, round a narrow, but cultivated level stripe: then, winding the furthest angle of this crescent, under huge cliffs, we saw the river beyond, shut in by the folding bases of more distant promontories, assume the form of a lake, amidst wild and romantic landscapes. Having doubled one of these capes, the prospect opened in long perspective, and the green waters of the Rhine appeared in all their majesty, flowing rapidly between ranges of marbled rocks, and a succession of woody steeps, and overlooked by a multitude of spiry summits, which distance had sweetly coloured with the blue and purple tints of air.

The retrospect of the river, too, was often enchanting, and the Seven Mountains long maintained their dignity in the scene, superior to many intervening heights; the dark summit of Lowenbourg, in particular, appeared, for several leagues, overlooking the whole valley of the Rhine.

The eastern margin of the river sometimes exhibited as extensive a range of steep rocks as the western, and frequently the fitness of the salient angles on one side, to the recipient ones on the other, seemed to justify the speculation, that they had been divided by an earthquake, which let the river in between them. The general state of the eastern bank, though steep, is that of the thickest cultivation. The rock frequently peeps, in rugged projections, through the thin soil, which is scattered over its declivity, and every where appears at top; but the sides are covered with vines so abundantly, that the labour of cultivating them, and of expressing the wine, supports a village at least at every half mile. The green rows are led up the steeps to an height, which cannot be ascended without the help of steps cut in the rock: the soil itself is there supported by walls of loose stones, or it would fall either by its own weight, or with the first pressure of rain; and sometimes even this scanty mould appears to have been placed there by art, being in such small patches, that, perhaps, only twenty vines can be planted in each. But such excessive labour has been necessary only towards the summits, for, lower down, the soil is sufficiently deep to support the most luxuriant vegetation.

It might be supposed from so much produce and exertion, that this bank of the Rhine is the residence of an opulent, or, at least, a well-conditioned peasantry, and that the villages, of which seven or eight are frequently in sight at once, are as superior to the neighbouring towns by the state of their inhabitants, as they are by their picturesque situation. On the contrary, the inhabitants of the wine country are said to be amongst the poorest in Germany. The value of every hill is exactly watched by the landlords, so that the tenants are very seldom benefited by any improvement of its produce. If the rent is paid in money, it leaves only so much in the hands of the farmer as will enable him to live, and pay his workmen; while the attention of a great number of stewards is supposed to supply what might be expected from his attention, had he a common interest with his landlord in the welfare of the estate. But the rent is frequently paid in kind, amounting to a settled proportion of the produce; and this proportion is so fixed, that, though the farmer is immoderately distressed by a bad vintage, the best will not afford him any means of approaching to independence. In other countries it might be asked, "But, though we can suppose the ingenuity of the landlord to be greater than that of the tenant, at the commencement of a bargain, how happens it, that, since the result must be felt, the tenant will remain under his burthens, or can be succeeded by any other, on such terms?" Here, however, these questions are not applicable; they presume a choice of situations, which the country does not afford. The severity of the agricultural system continues itself by continuing the poverty, upon which it acts; and those who would escape from it find few manufactures and little trade to employ them, had they the capital and the education necessary for either. The choice of such persons is between the being a master of day-labourers for their landlord, or a labourer under other masters.

Many of these estates belong immediately to Princes, or Chapters, whose stewards superintend the cultivation, and are themselves instead of the farmers, so that all other persons employed in such vineyards are ordinary servants. By one or other of these means it happens, that the bounteousness of nature to the country is very little felt by the body of the inhabitants. The payment of rents in kind is usual, wherever the vineyards are most celebrated; and, at such places, there is this sure proof of the wretchedness of the inhabitants, that, in a month after the wine is made, you cannot obtain one bottle of the true produce, except by favour of the proprietors, or their stewards. How much is the delight of looking upon plenteousness lessened by the belief, that it supplies the means of excess to a few, but denies those of competence to many!

Between this pass of cultivated steeps on one side of the river, and of romantic rocks on the other, the road continues for several miles. Being thus commanded on both sides, it must be one of the most difficult passages in Europe to an enemy, if resolutely defended. The Rhine, pent between these impenetrable boundaries, is considerably narrower here than in other parts of the valley, and so rapid, that a loaded vessel can seldom be drawn faster than at the rate of six English miles a day, against the stream. The passage down the river from Mentz to Cologne may be easily performed in two days; that from Cologne to Mentz requires a fortnight.

The view along this pass, though bounded, is various and changeful. Villages, vineyards and rocks alternately ornament the borders of the river, and every fifty yards enable the eye to double some massy projection that concealed the fruitful bay behind. An object at the end of the pass is presented singly to the sight as through an inverted telescope. The surface of the water, or the whole stillness of the scene, was very seldom interrupted by the passing of a boat; carriages were still fewer; and, indeed, throughout Germany, you will not meet more than one in twenty miles. Travelling is considered by the natives, who know the fatigue of going in carriages nearly without springs, and stopping at inns where there is little of either accommodation or civility, as productive of no pleasure; and they have seldom curiosity or business enough to recompense for its inconveniences.

We passed through two or three small towns, whose ruined gates and walls told of their antiquity, and that they had once been held of some consequence in the defence of the valley. Their present desolation formed a melancholy contrast with the cheerful cultivation around them. These, however, with every village in our way, were decorated with green boughs, planted before the door of each cottage, for it was a day of festival. The little chapels at the road-side, and the image, which, every now and then, appeared under a spreading tree, were adorned with wreaths of fresh flowers; and though one might smile at the emblems of superstition, it was impossible not to reverence the sentiment of pious affection, which had adjusted these simple ornaments.

About half-way to Andernach, the western rocks suddenly recede from the river, and, rising to greater height, form a grand sweep round a plain cultivated with orchards, garden-fields, corn and vineyards. The valley here spreads to a breadth of nearly a mile and an half, and exhibits grandeur, beauty and barren sublimity, united in a singular manner. The abrupt steeps, that rise over this plain, are entirely covered with wood, except that here and there the ravage of a winter torrent appeared, which could sometimes be traced from the very summit of the acclivity to the base. Near the centre, this noble amphitheatre opens to a glen, that shews only wooded mountains, point above point, in long perspective; such sylvan pomp we had seldom seen! But though the tuftings of the nearer woods were beautifully luxuriant, there seemed to be few timber trees amongst them. The opposite shore exhibited only a range of rocks, variegated like marble, of which purple was the predominating tint, and uniformly disposed in vast, oblique strata. But even here, little green patches of vines peeped among the cliffs, and were led up crevices where it seemed as if no human foot could rest. Along the base of this tremendous wall, and on the points above, villages, with each its tall, grey steeple, were thickly strewn, thus mingling in striking contrast the cheerfulness of populous inhabitation with the horrors of untamed nature. A few monasteries, resembling castles in their extent, and known from such only by their spires, were distinguishable; and, in the widening perspective of the Rhine, an old castle itself, now and then, appeared on the summit of a mountain somewhat remote from the shore; an object rendered sweetly picturesque, as the sun's rays lighted up its towers and fortified terraces, while the shrubby steeps below were in shade.

We saw this landscape under the happiest circumstances of season and weather; the woods and plants were in their midsummer bloom, and the mellow light of evening heightened the richness of their hues, and gave exquisite effect to one half of the amphitheatre we were passing, while the other half was in shadow. The air was scented by bean-blossoms, and by lime-trees then in flower, that bordered the road. If this plain had mingled pasture with its groves, it would have been truly Arcadian; but neither here, nor through the whole of this delightful valley, did we see a single pasture or meadow, except now and then in an island on the Rhine; deficiencies which are here supplied, to the lover of landscape, by the verdure of the woods and vines. In other parts of Germany they are more to be regretted, where, frequently, only corn and rock colour the land.

Fatigued at length by such prodigality of beauty, we were glad to be shrouded awhile from the view of it, among close boughs, and to see only the wide rivulets, with their rustic bridges of faggots and earth, that, descending from among the mountains, frequently crossed our way; or the simple peasant-girl, leading her cows to feed on the narrow stripe of grass that margined the road. The little bells, that jingled at their necks, would not suffer them to stray beyond her hearing. If we had not long since dismissed our surprise at the scarcity and bad quality of cheese and butter in Germany, we should have done so now, on perceiving this scanty method of pasturing the cattle, which future observation convinced us was the frequent practice.

About sun-set we reached the little village of Namedy, seated near the foot of a rock, round which the Rhine makes a sudden sweep, and, contracted by the bold precipices of Hammerstein on the opposite shore, its green current passes with astonishing rapidity and sounding strength. These circumstances of scenery, with the tall masts of vessels lying below the shrubby bank, on which the village stands, and seeming to heighten by comparison the stupendous rocks, that rose around them; the moving figures of boatmen and horses employed in towing a barge against the stream, in the bay beyond; and a group of peasants on the high quay, in the fore ground, watching their progress; the ancient castle of Hammerstein overlooking the whole—these were a combination of images, that formed one of the most interesting pictures we had seen.

The valley again expanding, the walls and turrets of Andernach, with its Roman tower rising independently at the foot of a mountain, and the ruins of its castle above, appeared athwart the perspective of the river, terminating the pass; for there the rocky boundary opened to plains and remote mountains. The light vapour, that rose from the water, and was tinged by the setting rays, spread a purple haze over the town and the cliffs, which, at this distance, appeared to impend over it; colouring extremely beautiful, contrasted as it was by the clearer and deeper tints of rocks, wood and water nearer to the eye.

As we approached Andernach, its situation seemed to be perpetually changing, with the winding bank. Now it appeared seated on a low peninsula, that nearly crossed the Rhine, overhung by romantic rocks; but this vision vanished as we advanced, and we perceived the town lying along a curving shore, near the foot of the cliffs, which were finely fringed with wood, and at the entrance of extensive plains. Its towers seen afar, would be signs of a considerable place, to those who had not before been wearied of such symptoms by the towers of Neuss, and other German towns. From a wooded precipice over the river we had soon after a fine retrospective glimpse of the valley, its fantastic shores, and long mountainous distance, over which evening had drawn her sweetest colouring. As we pursued the pass, the heights on either hand gradually softened; the country beyond shewed remote mountains less wild and aspiring than those we had left, and the blooming tint, which had invested the distance, deepened to a dusky purple, and then vanished in the gloom of twilight. The progressive influence of the hour upon the landscape was interesting; and the shade of evening, under which we entered Andernach, harmonized with the desolation and silence of its old walls and the broken ground around them. We passed a drawbridge and a ruinous gateway, and were sufficiently fatigued to be somewhat anxious as to our accommodation. The English habit of considering, towards the end of the day's journey, that you are not far from the cheerful reception, the ready attendance, and the conveniences of a substantial inn, will soon be lost in Germany. There, instead of being in good spirits, during the last stage, from such a prospect, you have to consider, whether you shall find a room, not absolutely disgusting, or a house with any eatable provision, or a landlady, who will give it you, before the delay and the fatigue of an hundred requests have rendered you almost incapable of receiving it. When your carriage stops at the inn, you will perhaps perceive, instead of the alacrity of an English waiter, or the civility of an English landlord, a huge figure, wrapt in a great coat, with a red worsted cap on his head, and a pipe in his mouth, stalking before the door. This is the landlord. He makes no alteration in his pace on perceiving you, or, if he stops, it is to eye you with curiosity; he seldom speaks, never bows, or assists you to alight; and perhaps stands surrounded by a troop of slovenly girls, his daughters, whom the sound of wheels has brought to the door, and who, as they lean indolently against it, gaze at you with rude curiosity and surprise.

The drivers in Germany are all bribed by the innkeepers, and, either by affecting to misunderstand you, or otherwise, will constantly stop at the door, where they are best paid. That this money comes out of your pocket the next morning is not the grievance; the evil is, that the worst inns give them the most, and a traveller, unless he exactly remembers his directions, is liable to be lodged in all the vilest rooms of a country, where the best hotels have no lodging so clean and no larder so wholesomely filled as those of every half-way house between London and Canterbury. When you are within the inn, the landlord, who is eager to keep, though not to accommodate you, will affirm, that his is the inn you ask for, or that the other sign is not in the place; and, as you soon learn to believe any thing of the wretchedness of the country, you are unwilling to give up one lodging, lest you should not find another.

Our driver, after passing a desolate, half filled place, into which the gate of Andernach opened, entered a narrow passage, which afterwards appeared to be one of the chief streets of the place. Here he found a miserable inn, and declared that there was no other; but, as we had seen one of a much better appearance, we were at length brought to that, and, though with some delay, were not ill accommodated, for the night.

Andernach is an antient town, and it is believed, that a tower, which stands alone, at one end of the walls, was built by Drusus, of whom there are many traces in walls and castles, intended to defend the colonies, on this side of the Rhine, against the Germans, on the other. The fortifications can now be of little other use than to authorise the toll, which travellers pay, for entering a walled town; a tax, on account of which many of the walls are supported, though it is pretended, that the tax is to support the walls. By their means also, the Elector of Cologne collects here the last of four payments, which he demands for the privilege of passing the Rhine from Urdingen to Andernach; and this is the most Southern frontier town of his dominions on the western side of the Rhine, which soon after join those of the Elector of Treves. Their length from hence to Rheinberg is not less than ninety miles; the breadth probably never more than twenty.

There is some trade, at Andernach, in tiles, timber, and mill-stones, but the heaps of these commodities upon the beach are the only visible symptoms of the traffick; for you will not see one person in the place moving as if he had business to attract him, or one shop of a better appearance, than an English huckster's, or one man in the dress of a creditable trader, or one house, which can be supposed to belong to persons in easy circumstances. The port contains, perhaps, half a dozen vessels, clinker built, in shape between a barge and a sloop; on the quay, you may see two or three fellows, harnessing half a dozen horses to a tow line, while twenty more watch their lingering manœuvres, and this may probably be the morning's business of the town. Those, who are concerned in it, say that they are engaged in commerce.

This, or something like it, is the condition, as to trade, of all the towns we saw in Germany, one or two excepted. They are so far from having well filled, or spacious repositories, that you can scarcely tell at what houses there are any, till you are led within the door; you may then wait long after you are heard, or seen, before the owner, if he has any other engagement, thinks it necessary to approach you: if he has what you ask for, which he probably has not, unless it is something very ordinary, he tells the price and takes it, with as much sullenness, as if you were forcing the goods from him: if he has not, and can shew you only something very different, he then considers your enquiry as an intrusion, and appears to think himself injured by having had the trouble to answer you. What seems unaccountable in the manners of a German trader, is, that, though he is so careless in attending you, he looks as much distressed, as vexed, if you do not leave some money with him; but he probably knows, that you can be supplied no where else in the town, and, therefore, will not deny himself the indulgence of his temper. Even when you are satisfied, his manner is so ill, that he appears to consider you his dependent, by wanting something which he can refuse. After perceiving, that this is nearly general, the pain of making continual discoveries of idleness and malignity becomes so much greater than the inconvenience of wanting any thing short of necessaries, that you decline going into shops, and wait for some easier opportunities of supplying whatever you may lose upon the road.

COBLENTZ.

It is one post from Andernach hither, over a road, as good as any in England. Beyond the dominions of the Elector of Cologne, the face of the country, on this side of the Rhine, entirely changes its character. The rocks cease, at Andernach, and a rich plain commences, along which the road is led, at a greater distance from the Rhine, through corn lands and uninclosed orchards. About a mile from Andernach, on the other side of the river, the white town of Neuwiedt, the capital of a small Protestant principality, is seen; and the general report, that it is one of the most commercial places, on the Rhine, appeared to be true from the cheerful neatness of the principal street, which faces towards the water. There were also about twenty small vessels, lying before it, and the quay seemed to be wide enough to serve as a spacious terrace to the houses. The Prince's palace, an extensive stone building, with a lofty orangery along the shore, is at the end of this street, which, as well as the greatest part of the town, was built, or improved under the auspices of his father; a wise prince, distinguished by having negotiated, in 1735, a peace between the Empire and France, when the continuance of the war had seemed to be inevitable. The same benevolence led him to a voluntary surrender of many oppressive privileges over his subjects, as well as to the most careful protection of commerce and manufactures. Accordingly, the town of Neuwiedt has been continually increasing in prosperity and size, for the last fifty years, and the inhabitants of the whole principality are said to be as much more qualified in their characters as they are happier in their conditions than those of the neighbouring states. But then there is the wretchedness of a deficiency of game in the country, for the late Prince was guilty of such an innovation as to mitigate the severity of the laws respecting it.

The forest hills, that rise behind Neuwiedt and over the rocky margin of the river, extend themselves towards the more rugged mountains of Wetteravia, which are seen, a shapeless multitude, in the east.

The river is soon after lost to the view between high, sedgy banks; but, near Coblentz, the broad bay, which it makes in conjunction with the Moselle, is seen expanding between the walls of the city and the huge pyramidal precipice, on which stands the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, or rather which is itself formed into that fortress. The Moselle is here a noble river, by which the streams of a thousand hills, covered with vines, pour themselves into the Rhine. The antient stone bridge over it leads to the northern gate of Coblentz, and the entrance into the city is ornamented by several large chateau-like mansions, erected to command a view of the two rivers. A narrow street of high, but antient houses then commences, and runs through the place. Those, which branch from it, extend, on each side, towards the walls, immediately within which there are others, that nearly follow their course and encompass the city. Being built between two rivers, its form is triangular, and only one side is entirely open to the land; a situation so convenient both for the purposes of commerce and war, that it could not be overlooked by the Romans, and was not much neglected by the moderns, till the industry of maritime countries and the complicated constitution of the Empire reduced Germany in the scale of nations. This was accordingly the station of the first legion, and the union of the two rivers gave it a name; Confluentia. At the commencement of the modern division of nations, the successors of Charlemagne frequently resided here, for the convenience of an intercourse between the other parts of the Empire and France; but, in the eleventh century, the whole territory of Treves regained the distinction, as a separate country, which the Romans had given it, by calling the inhabitants Treveri.

Coblentz is a city of many spires, and has establishments of chapters and monasteries, which make the great pride of German capitals, and are sometimes the chief objects, that could distinguish them from the neglected villages of other countries. The streets are not all narrow, but few of them are straight; and the same pavement serves for the horses of the Elector and the feet of his subjects. The port, or beach, has the appearance of something more business than that of Andernach, being the resort of passage-vessels between Mentz and Cologne; but the broad quay, which has been raised above it, is chiefly useful as a promenade to the visitors of a close and gloomy town. Beyond the terrace stands the Elector's palace, an elegant and spacious stone edifice, built to the height of three stories, and inclosing a court, which is large enough to be light as well as magnificent. The front towards the Rhine is simple, yet grand, the few ornaments being so well proportioned to its size, as neither to debase it by minuteness, nor encumber it by vastness. An entablature, displaying some allegorical figures in bas relief, is supported by six Doric columns, which contribute much to the majestic simplicity of the edifice. The palace was built, about ten years since, by the reigning Elector, who mentions, in an inscription, his attention to the architectural art; and a fountain, between the building and the town, is inscribed with a few words, which seem to acknowledge his subjects as beings of the same species with himself; Clemens Winceslaus Vicinis Suis.

But the most striking parts of the view from this quay are the rock and fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, that present themselves immediately before it, on the other side of the river; notwithstanding the breadth of which they appear, to rise almost perpendicularly over Coblentz. At the base of the rock stands a large building, formerly the palace of the Electors, who chose to reside under the immediate protection of the fortress, rather than in the midst of their capital. Adjoining it is the village of Ehrenbreitstein, between which and Coblentz a flying bridge is continually passing, and, with its train of subordinate boats, forms a very picturesque object from the quay. The fortress itself consists of several tier of low walls, built wherever there was a projection in the rock capable of supporting them, or wherever the rock could be hewn so as to afford room for cannon and soldiers. The stone, taken out of the mass, served for the formation of the walls, which, in some places, can scarcely be distinguished from the living rock. Above these tier, which are divided into several small parts, according to the conveniences afforded by the cliff, is built the castle, or citadel, covering its summit, and surrounded by walls more regularly continued, as well as higher. Small towers, somewhat in the antient form, defend the castle, which would be of little value, except for its height, and for the gradations of batteries between it and the river. Thus protected, it seems impregnable on that side, and is said to be not much weaker on the other; so that the garrison, if they should be willing to fire upon Coblentz, might make it impossible for an enemy to remain within it, except under the cover of very high entrenchments. This is the real defence of the city, for its walls would presently fall before heavy artillery; and this, it is believed, might be preserved as long as the garrison could be supplied with stores.

We crossed the river from the quay to the fortress, by means of the very simple invention, a flying bridge. That, by which part of the passage of the Waal is made at Nimeguen, has been already mentioned; this is upon the same principle, but on a much larger scale. After the barges, upon which the platform is laid, are clear of the bank, the whole passage is effected with no other labour than that of the rudder. A strong cable, which is fastened to an anchor at each side of the river, is supported across it by a series of small boats; the bridge has two low masts, one on each barge, and these are connected at the top by a beam, over which the cable is passed, being confined so as that it cannot slip beyond them. When the bridge is launched, the rapidity of the current forces it down the Rhine as far as the cable will permit: having reached that point, the force, received from the current, gives it the only direction of which it is capable, that across the river, with the cable which holds it. The steersman manages two rudders, by which he assists in giving it this direction. The voyage requires nine or ten minutes, and the bridge is continually passing. The toll, which, for a foot passenger, is something less than a penny, is paid, for the benefit of the Elector, at an office, on the bank, and a sentinel always accompanies the bridge, to support his government, during the voyage.

The old palace of Ehrenbreitstein, deserted because of its dampness, and from the fear of its being overwhelmed by the rock, that sometimes scatters its fragments upon it, is now used as a barrack and hospital for soldiers. It is a large building, even more pleasantly situated than the new one, being opposite to the entrance of the Moselle into the Rhine; and its structure, which has been once magnificent, denotes scarcely any other decay, than all buildings will shew, after a few years' neglect. The rock has allowed little room for a garden, but there are some ridiculous ornaments upon a very narrow strip of ground, which was probably intended for one.

The only entrance into the fortress, on this side, is by a road, cut in the solid rock, under four gateways. It is so steep, that we were compelled to decline the honour of admission, but ascended it far enough to judge of the view, commanded from the summit, and to be behind the batteries, of which some were mounted with large brass cannon. Coblentz lies beneath it, as open to inspection as a model upon a table. The sweeps of the Rhine and the meanders of the Moselle, the one binding the plain, the other intersecting it, lead the eye towards distant hills, that encircle the capacious level. The quay of the city, with the palace and the moving bridge, form an interesting picture immediately below, and we were unwilling to leave the rock for the dull and close streets of Coblentz. On our return, the extreme nakedness of the new palace, which is not sheltered by trees, on any side, withdrew our attention from the motley group of passengers, mingled with hay carts and other carriages, on the flying bridge.

The long residence of the emigrant princes and noblesse of France in this city is to be accounted for not by its general accommodations, or gaieties, of which it is nearly as deficient as the others of Germany; but first by the great hospitality of the Elector towards them, and then by the convenience of its situation for receiving intelligence from France, and for communicating with other countries. The Elector held frequent levies for the French nobility, and continued for them part of the splendour which they had enjoyed in their own country. The readiness for lending money upon property, or employments in France, was also so great, that those, who had not brought cash with them, were immediately supplied, and those, who had, were encouraged to continue their usual expences. We know it from some of the best possible authority, that, at the commencement of the march towards Longwy, money, at four per cent. was even pressed upon many, and that large sums were refused.

Here, and in the neighbourhood, between sixty and seventy squadrons of cavalry, consisting chiefly of those who had formerly enjoyed military, or other rank, were formed; each person being mounted and equipped chiefly at his own expence. We heard several anecdotes of the confidence, entertained in this army, of a speedy arrival in Paris; but, as the persons, to whom they relate, are now under the pressure of misfortune, there would be as little pleasure as propriety in repeating them.

At Coblentz, we quitted, for a time, the left bank of the Rhine, in order to take the watering place of Selters, in our way to Mentz. Having crossed the river and ascended a steep road, near the fortress, we had fine glimpses of its walls, bastions and out-towers, and the heathy knolls, around them, with catches of distant country. The way continued to lie through the dominions of the Elector of Treves, which are here so distinguished for their wretchedness as to be named the Siberia of Germany! It is paved, and called a chaussée; but those, who have not experienced its ruggedness, can have no idea of it, except by supposing the pavement of a street torn up by a plough, and then suffered to fix itself, as it had fallen. Always steep, either in ascent or descent, it is not only the roughness, that prevents your exceeding the usual post-pace of three English miles an hour. Sometimes it runs along edges of mountains, that might almost be called precipices, and commands short views of other mountains and of vallies entirely covered with thick, but not lofty forests; sometimes it buries itself in the depths of such forests and glens; sometimes the turrets of an old chateau peep above these, but rather confirm than contradict the notion of their desolateness, having been evidently built for the purposes of the chace; and sometimes a mud village surprises you with a few inhabitants, emblems of the misery and savageness of the country.

These are the mountains of Wetteravia, the boundaries of many a former and far-seen prospect, then picturesque, sublime, or graceful, but now desolate, shaggy, and almost hideous; as in life, that, which is so grand as to charm at a distance, is often found to be forlorn, disgustful and comfortless by those, who approach it.

MONTABAUR.

Six hours after leaving Coblentz, we reached Montabaur, the first post-town on the road, and distant about eighteen miles. An ancient chateau, not strong enough to be a castle, nor light enough to be a good house, commands the town, and is probably the residence of the lord. The walls and gates shew the antiquity of Montabaur, but the ruggedness of its site should seem to prove, that there was no other place in the neighbourhood, on which a town could be built. Though it is situated in a valley, as to the nearer mountains, it is constructed chiefly on two sides of a narrow rock, the abrupt summit of which is in the centre of this very little place.

The appearance of Montabaur is adequate in gloominess to that of several before seen; but it would be endless to repeat, as often as they should be true, the descriptions of the squalidness and decay, that characterise German towns; nor should we have noticed these so often, if the negligence of others, in this respect, had not left us to form deceitful expectations, suitable to the supposed importance of several very conspicuous, but really very wretched cities.

LIMBOURG.

Over a succession of forest mountains, similar to those just passed, we came, in the afternoon, to Limbourg, another post-town, or, perhaps, city, and another collection of houses, like tombs, or forsaken hospitals. At an inn, called the Three Kings, we saw first the sullenness and then the ferocious malignity of a German landlord and his wife, exemplified much more fully than had before occurred. When we afterwards expressed our surprise, that the magistrates should permit persons of such conduct to keep an inn, especially where there was only one, we learned, that this fellow was himself the chief magistrate, or burgomaster of the place; and his authority appeared in the fearfulness of his neighbours to afford any sort of refreshment to those, who had left his inn. One of the Elector's ministers, with whom we had the pleasure to be acquainted, informed us, that he knew this man, and that he must have been intoxicated, for that, though civil when sober, he was madly turbulent and abusive, if otherwise. It appeared, therefore, that a person was permitted to be a magistrate, who, to the knowledge of government, was exposed by his situation to be intoxicated, and was outrageous, whenever he was so. So little is the order of society estimated here, when it is not connected with the order of politics.

Near Limbourg, the forest scenery, which had shut up the view, during the day, disappeared, and the country lost, at least, an uniformity of savageness. The hills continue, but they are partly cultivated. At a small distance from the town, a steep ascent leads to a plain, on which a battle was fought, during the short stay of the French in this district, in the campaign of 1792. Four thousand French were advancing towards Limbourg; a small Prussian corps drew up to oppose them, and the engagement, though short, was vivid, for the Prussians did not perceive the superiority of the French in numbers, till the latter began to spread upon the plain, for the purpose of surrounding them. Being then compelled to retreat, they left several of the Elector's towns open to contribution, from which five-and-twenty thousand florins were demanded, but the remonstrances of the magistrates reduced this sum to 8000 florins, or about 700l. The French then entered Limbourg, and extended themselves over the neighbouring country. At Weilbourg, the residence of a Prince of the House of Nassau, they required 300,000 florins, or 25,000l. which the Prince neither had, nor could collect, in two days, through his whole country. All his plate, horses, coaches, arms and six pieces of cannon, were brought together, for the purpose of removal; but afterwards two individuals were accepted as hostages, instead of the Prince himself, who had been at first demanded. The action near Limbourg took place on the 9th of November, and, before the conclusion of the month, the French had fallen back to Franckfort, upon the re-approach of the Prussian and Austrian troops.

SELTERS.

We had a curiosity to see this place, which, under the name of Seltzer, is so celebrated throughout Europe, for its medicinal water. Though it is rather in the high road to Franckfort than to Mentz, there seemed no probability of inconvenience in making this short departure from our route, when it was to be joined again from a place of such public access as Selters appeared likely to be found.

About seven miles from Limbourg, a descent commences, at the bottom of which stands this village. What a reproof to the expectation of comfort, or convenience in Germany! Selters, a spot, to which a valetudinarian might be directed, with the prospect of his finding not only abundant accommodation, but many luxuries, Selters is literally and positively nothing more than an assemblage of miserable cottages, with one inn and two houses for officers of the Elector, stuck in a dirty pass, which more resembles a ditch than a road. The village may be said to be near half a mile long, because the huts, being mostly separated from each other, continue as far; and this length would increase its inconvenience to invalids, if such should ever stay there longer than to see it, for there is nothing like a swept path-way, and the road, in which they must walk, is probably always deeply covered with mud, being so when we were there in the beginning of July. There was then, however, not one stranger, besides ourselves, in the place, and we found, that very rarely any aggravate the miseries of sickness by a stay at Selters.

The only lodgings to be had are at the inn, and fortunately for travellers this is not such as might be expected from the appearance of the village. Finding there the novelty of an obliging host and hostess, we were very well contented to have reached it, at night, though we were to stay there also the next day, being Sunday. The rooms are as good as those in the inns of German cities, and three, which are called Court Chambers, having been used by the Elector and lately by the King of Prussia, are better. These are as open as the others to strangers.

The spring is at the foot of one of several hills, which immediately surround the village, and is separated from the road by a small court yard. An oaken covering, at the height of ten or twelve feet, prevents rain from falling into the wooden bason, in which the stream rises; and two or three of the Elector's guards watch over it, that no considerable quantity may be taken, without payment of the duty, which forms a large part of his income. Many thousands of stone bottles are piled round this court, and, for the reputation of the spring, care is taken to fill them as immediately as possible, before their removal for exportation.

The policy of keeping this income intire is said to be a motive for neglecting the condition of the village. A duty could not well be demanded of those, who should drink at the spring, but is easily collected before the water is bottled for removal; it is, therefore, not wished, that there should be many visitors, at Selters. We did not hear this reason upon the spot, but it is difficult otherwise to account for a negligence, which prevents the inhabitants of the neighbouring country from being enriched at the expence of wanderers from others.

Nor is it only a duty, but the whole profit of the traffick, till the water leaves the place, which rewards the care of the Elector. His office for the sale of it is established here, and his agents alone transmit it into foreign countries. The business is sufficient to employ several clerks, and the number of bottles annually filled is so immense, that, having omitted to write it down, we will not venture to mention it from memory. The water is brought to table constantly and at an easy price in all the towns near the Rhine. Mixed with Rhenish wine and sugar it forms a delightful, but not always a safe beverage, in hot weather. The acid of the wine, expelling the fixed air of other ingredients, occasions an effervescence, like that of Champagne, but the liquor has not a fourth part of the obnoxious strength of the latter. The danger of drinking it is, that the acid may be too powerful for some constitutions.

After being surprised by the desolateness of the village, we were not less so to find amongst its few inhabitants one, whose manners and information, so far from bearing the character of the dreariness around him, were worthy of the best society in the most intelligent cities. This was the Commissary and Privy Counsellor of the Elector for the district, who, having heard, that there were some English visitors at the well, very frankly introduced himself to us by his civilities, and favoured us with his company in the afternoon. He had been in England, with many valuable introductions, and had formed from the talents and accomplishments of a distinguished Marquis an high opinion of the national character; a circumstance, which probably united with his natural disposition, in inducing him to emulate towards us the general politeness of that truly honourable person.

When we enquired how the journey of the next day was to be performed, it appeared, that no other carriage could be hired in the place than a sort of one-horse chair, which would take us to the next post town, from whence we might proceed with the usual chaises. The driver walked at the side of this uncouth carriage, which had shafts and wheels strong enough for a waggon; and, either by the mistake or intention of his master in directing him, we were led, not to the post town, for a chaise, if it could be had, but entirely through a forest country to Mentz, by roads made only for the woodcutters, and, as it afterwards proved, known to few others, except to our ingenious voiturier. We did not pass a town, or village, at which it was possible to change the carriage, and had, therefore, no other alternative, when the mistake was discovered, than to return to Selters, or to proceed to Mentz, in this inconvenient and ludicrous vehicle. We chose to proceed, and had some reward for fatigue, by passing nearly an whole day under the shade of deep and delightful forests, little tamed by the hand of man, and appearing to acknowledge only "the season's difference."

Between Selters and these forests, the country is well cultivated, and frequently laid out in garden-fields, in which there was the first appearance of cheerful labour we had seen in Germany. After passing a small town, on the summit of a hill to the left, still surrounded by its antient fortifications, we entered a large plain, skirted, on one side, by villages; another town, at the end of which, was almost the last sign of an inhabited country, that appeared for several hours. The forest then commenced, and, with the exception of one hamlet, enveloped near the middle, we saw nothing but lofty oaks, elms and chesnuts, till we emerged from it in the afternoon, and came to a town of the Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt. Roebucks are said to be numerous, and wild boars not very scarce, in this forest; but we saw none either here, or in those near Limbourg, which are much inferior to this in beauty. Upon the whole, it was a scene of perfect novelty; without which it now seems that we should have wanted many ideas of sylvan life and much of the delight, excited by Shakespeare's exquisite description of it.

The country afterwards opens towards

MENTZ,

Which stands in a spacious plain, on the opposite edge of the Rhine, and is visible, at a considerable distance, with its massy towers and numerous spires. Within two or three miles of the city, the symptoms of ruin, occasioned by the siege in 1793, began to appear. A village, on the left, had scarcely one house entire; and the tower of the church was a mere wreck, blackened by flames, and with large chasms, that admitted the light. The road did not pass nearer to it than two miles, but the broken walls and roofs were distinguishable even at that distance, and sometimes a part, which had been repaired, contrasted its colour with the black and smoky hues of the remainder. This was the village of Kostheim, so often contended for in the course of the siege, being on the opposite bank of the Rhine to the city, and capable of obstructing the intercourse with it by water.

The country on the eastern side of the river was otherwise but little damaged, if we except the destruction of numerous orchards; for the allies were not strong enough to besiege the city on all sides at once, and contented themselves with occupying some posts in this quarter, capable of holding the garrison of Cassel in awe.

This Cassel is a small village exactly opposite to Mentz, and communicating with it by a bridge of boats. It was unfortified before the invasion of the French; but these had no sooner entered the city, than they perceived the importance of such a place, and prepared themselves to render it a regular fortress. In about two months they completely surrounded it with earthen works and outworks, ditched and pallisadoed. Some of the nearest orchards were cut down to be used in these fortifications. The fruit trees still remain with their branches upwards from the ditch, and serve instead of chevaux de frise.

The village of Hockheim, which is also on this side of the Rhine, is further to the left than Kostheim, and remains uninjured, at the top of the round and easy hill, the vines of which are so much celebrated for their flavour, as to give a name to great quantities of wine, produced in other districts. After the siege, the merchants of the neighbourhood enhanced the price of their stocks by reporting, that all the vineyards had been destroyed; but the truth is, that Hockheim was not much contended for, and that little damage was done even to the crops then in bloom. The village is advantageously situated about the confluence of the Rhine and the Maine, and, if it had been nearer the city, would probably have been so important, as to have been contested, till it was destroyed.

This is the home ground of the scene, which spreads before the traveller, who approaches Mentz from the eastern shore of the Rhine. Furthest to the left is Hockheim, then the devastated village of Kostheim, then the fortifications of Cassel, which, with the river, are between him and the city. Beyond, the horizon is bounded on all sides by gradual hills, distant and apparently fruitful; but those to the north are pre-eminent, with gentle slopes at their feet, coloured sweetly by corn, dark wood and gleams of reddish earth.

The works of Cassel render the approach to the city very tedious, for they have been so contrived as that the road nearly follows them, in all their angles, for the purpose of being commanded by many points at once. The village was now garrisoned by Prussians, of whom, some were lying under the sheds of their guard-house near the bridge, and others were riding over it, with just speed enough to give one an idea of military earnestness. Their horses shook the floor of the bridge of boats, which here crosses the Rhine, at its breadth of nearly eight hundred feet, and disturbed the promenade, for which it is usually frequented in an evening. We followed them, admiring the expanse, and rapidity of the river more than the appearance of the city, where gloominess is too much mingled with grandeur; till, at the end of the bridge, we were stopped at another guard-house, to answer the usual enquiries. A soldier accompanied us thence to a large square filled with cannon and mortars, where the captain of the guard examined our passport. We were then very glad to pass the evening at an inn without further researches; but there were some symptoms of the late condition of the city to attract attention in the way.

The Elector's palace, which forms one side of this square, having been converted into an hospital by the French, is still used as such, or as a barrack, by the Prussians; and the windows were crowded with the figures of half-dressed soldiers. Many of the cannon in the square remained with the fractures, made by the balls of the besiegers. This place communicates with a broad street, in which were many buildings, filled with soldiers, and an handsome house, that, having belonged to one of the Clubbists, was destroyed immediately after the expulsion of the French. The walls still remain bare and open. Some greater ruins, occasioned by fire, during the siege, were visible at a distance; and, upon the whole, we had interest enough excited, as to the immediate history of the place, to take little notice of the narrow and difficult passages, through which we wound for half an hour, after leaving the principal street.

The next morning, the friends, to whom we had letters, began to conduct us through the melancholy curiosities, left in the city by the siege. These are chiefly in the southern quarter, against which the direct attack of the allies was made, and their approaches most advanced. Some entire streets have been destroyed here, and were still in ruins. A magnificent church, attached to a convent of Franciscan monks, is among the most lamentable spectacles; what was the roof now lies in heaps over the pavement; not a vestige of furniture, or decoration, has escaped the flames, and there are chasms in the walls larger than the noble windows, that once illuminated them. This church and convent were set on fire by a bomb; and of the sick soldiers, who were lodged in the latter, it is feared that but few were removed before the destruction of the building. We next saw the remains of a palace, built by the present Provost of the Chapter of Nobles; an institution, which is so rich, that their Superior had a more elegant residence than the Elector. It was of stone, and the principal front was in the Corinthian order, six columns of which supported a spacious open gallery, ornamented with statues, for its whole length. The wings formed two sides of a square, which separated the palace from the street. A profusion of the richest furniture and a valuable collection of paintings filled the interior. Of the whole edifice little now remains but the shattered walls of the centre, which have been so scorched as to lose all appearance of having belonged to a splendid structure. It was burnt the night before the fire of the Franciscan church, and two nights after the French had removed their head quarters and their municipality from it. On the day before the removal, a bomb had fallen upon the French General Blou, destroying him on the spot, and mortally wounding an officer, with whom he was conversing. The ruins are now so accumulated over the court-yard, that we could not discern it to have ever had that appendage of a distinguished residence.