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:

Was not Roland, the knight, a strange silly wight,
For the love of a nun, to live on this height?

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.