Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine;
And hills all riched with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine;
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose fair white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene which I should see,
With double joy wert thou with me."
Several of the Siebengebirge are visible toward the east, the basaltic
heights sloping toward the Rhine. Just below are Rhoendorf, Honnef,
Rheinbreitbach, Unkel, and Erpel; on the left bank of the river are
Remagen and the Gothic church on the Apollinarisberg, with the heights
of the Eifel and the ruin of Olbrueck Castle on a height of 1,550 feet.
In the neighborhood are Oberwinter, the islands of Grafenwerth and
Nonnenworth and the beautiful ruins of Rolandseck with its surrounding
villas and gardens. To the right, one may behold Kreuzberg, Bonn and
even the city of Cologne in the distance.
It seems as though one could gaze upon this scene of grandeur and beauty
forever. As twilight falls, the picture receives a new and entrancing
sublimity. "The weary sun hath made a golden set," and silently the
sparkling stars appear, one by one, while the deepening shadows blend
the scene into a vast harmonious whole which seems to draw the soul up
to the very threshold of heaven.
We descend the mountain rather silently, unwilling to break the
impression made by our journey, and slowly through the gloom make our
way back to the hotel.
While sitting upon the porch in the evening, surrounded by the majestic
watch towers of the Rhine, and expatiating on the pleasures of the day,
we suddenly hear a rich full chorus, harmoniously sung by at least one
hundred male and female voices. The singers are invisible, and the notes
seem to float out from one of the neighboring mountain caves. We all
listen with delight to the sounds, which now approaching nearer,
convince us that the singers are not the denizens of another world, but
are beings of flesh and blood like ourselves. In the distance we can
discern a procession of gay and jovial students with their sweethearts
at their sides. The young men are carrying lighted torches and lanterns
which illuminate them and the road, and are merrily singing the popular
glees and college songs as they wend their way to the boat landing close
by.
The party is returning from a German students' picnic, and as they board
the little steamer, which immediately leaves her moorings, the air is
rent by cheer after cheer, and we hear the gay laughter and happy voices
long after the boat has disappeared from our eyes down the silent
flowing river. Such is the German student life, and such is the
character of the German people: not averse to pleasure, sociable,
jovial, kind and happy.
We rise early this morning, and partake of a good German breakfast; and
of what do you suppose a good German breakfast consists? Dishes of
greasy sausage or bacon swimming in its own gravy, kale or saurkraut,
onions and hot sauces, potatoes soaked in lard; black bread which has
also been soaked in lard to save the expense of butter: and all this
washed down with innumerable mugs of beer or Rhine wine, with a "thank
heaven" when the unsavory repast can no longer offend our eyes or
olfactories? No, my dear friend; our breakfast is a most agreeable
contrast to the picture just drawn. We are served with deliciously
cooked steak and chops, and the connoisseur of any nationality would not
disdain these meats or the daintily prepared chicken, coffee and fresh
rolls. The eggs are fresh and not underdone: one can find no fault with
the butter or the sweet new milk, and it is with a feeling of great
satisfaction that we rise from the table at the close of the meal, and
exclaim that we have had a breakfast "fit for a king."
A small steamer with an upper deck waits at the landing to convey
passengers and a limited amount of freight from Koenigswinter to Bingen.
It is ten o'clock when we step on this attractive little boat with our
numerous wraps and parcels. We are well laden, for the camera occupies
one hand, and is always ready for an unexpected shot at some picturesque
figure, group, building or landscape. And I will here say to the tourist
who wishes to illustrate his notes, that it is best to keep camera and
sketch book handy, for you little know what fine opportunities are
missed while you are stopping to unstrap your needed friend. Let your
sketching outfit hang over your shoulder, and as to the camera, have one
which will respond to your touch within five seconds, or you will lose
many a scene of beauty which otherwise would rejoice the hearts of
friends at home. We are much amused at the bulky apparatus of a friend,
which is always carried neatly strapped in its box, while mine hangs
over my shoulder, ready to snap instantly to a demand upon it. The
difference in the result of the two methods is that I have a collection
of many valuable pictures, while our friend spends most of his time
strapping and unstrapping his camera. The day is chilly and threatening,
and as we leave the landing, we find ourselves in a heavy fog, much to
my disappointment, for I have anticipated great pleasure in seeing and
photographing the many beautiful ruins of old castles and the landscape
along our route. However as the mist lightens now and then, I "shoot"
away here and there with as much ardor as the circumstances will allow:
not idly or carelessly, as the enthusiastic amateur, reckless of plates
and results, but at unquestionably fine points, such as lofty castles
and picturesque mountains, half fearing sometimes that in spite of my
precautions the longed-for view will prove but a blur upon my plate. It
is bold indeed to attempt to capture such sublime pictures with such
faulty exposures.
The country around Koenigswinter is extremely beautiful. Upon both sides
of the Rhine rise the lofty peaks of the wooded mountains, with in
almost every case a ruined castle upon the summit. How noble and defiant
is the appearance of these venerable fortresses with their eventful
histories and wonderful legends. Here near Remagen within full view of
the river is the church dedicated to St. Apollinaris, at one time a
great resort for pilgrims. It is said to be beautifully decorated with
ancient and modern works of art; the view from the church tower so
charmed the artist who first ornamented it that he painted his portrait
upon the tower that his eyes might forever look upon the mountains and
valleys and follow the winding course of the glistening river. Near
the church, at the foot of the mountain, is the celebrated Apollinaris
fountain, whose waters are bottled and sent to all parts of the world
for their medicinal properties.
[Illustration: "How noble and defiant is the appearance of these
venerable fortresses." (_See page 300._)]
At times the blue breaks through the clouds, and then the pictures are
surpassingly lovely. The castles in their sorrowful majesty are very
imposing: they are generally built of stone, are of fine architectural
design, and are frequently the centre of charming old gardens, or are
embowered in trees and shrubbery. Here they stand year after year,
looking down upon the ever youthful river. Some of them are occupied,
while others are desolate ruins.
"High towers, fair temples,
Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces,
All these (oh pity), now are turned to dust,
And overgrown with black oblivion's rust."
One can hardly realize the grandeur of this scenery. Every turn of the
river presents a different view: it is an ever varying kaleidoscope of
natural beauty. Now we behold the mountains with their masses of foliage
reaching to the very summits; now the charming village amid its
vineyards, with its odd little church surrounded by picturesque frame
houses with plain roofs and quaint gables. While sitting silently on
deck gazing upon the old castles and ever changing scenes which border
this beautiful body of water, I hear solemn tones proceeding from the
belfry of an old church, and behold a little procession of mourners
slowly following the hearse which is bearing the remains of some loved
relative or friend to their final resting-place;--a pathetic little
group walking sadly along through the drenching rain from the church to
the burying ground.
One is compelled to notice here the numerous signs with huge letters
emblazoned upon them, informing the passers-by that here are bottled
popular waters of medicinal qualities. The tottering establishments are,
I observe, close to the water's edge, and whether or not the Rhine
contributes the greater part in the composition of these famous waters
is an open question. However it may be, the waters, or mineral springs,
of genuine virtue or otherwise, are the source of a considerable profit
in this region. Water as a beverage is seldom used by the Germans, for
the light Rhine wines are to be had in perfection at a trifling cost.
[Illustration: "Every turn of the river presents a different view."
(_See page 303._)]
We glide along, passing island and vineyard, and castle crowned height,
with now and then a wide curve in the river, which looks with its
smiling face to-day much as it did centuries ago when the old
strongholds reared up their piles of masonry in regal splendor, and
noble retinues defiled down the narrow mountain paths to the water's
edge.
"Thou, unchanged from year to year
Gayly shalt play and glitter here;
Amid young flowers and tender grass,
Thine endless infancy shalt pass;
And, singing down thy narrow glen,
Shall mock the fading race of men."
From Bingen on the Rhine to Frankfort-on-the-Main.
[Illustration: "Now we behold the little church surrounded by
picturesque houses." (_See page 303._)]
_From Bingen on the Rhine to Frankfort-on-the-Main._
Vast Vineyards--Bingen--The Hotel--The Down Quilt--A German
Maid--Taverns--The Mouse Tower--Ruedesheim--Niederwald--The
Rheingau--The National Monument--The Castle of Niederburg--Wine
Vaults--The River--Street Musicians--A
Misunderstanding--Frankfort-on-the-Main--The Crossing of the Ford--A
Free City--Monument of Goethe--History--A Convocation of Bishops--The
City--Monument of Gutenberg--The House in which Rothschild was
Born--Luther.
After leaving Koenigswinter, we pass vast vineyards on both sides of the
Rhine, and as we approach Bingen we see them covering the whole
mountain-side. Among the vines may be seen what seem like steps
encircling the mountain to its very summit, but which in reality are
roads or paths through the vineyard. The sturdy and prolific vines grow
close to these walks. In this section of the country the greatest care
is given to grape culture, hence in Bingen is to be found the finest
wine made in the country. In this region are located great breweries and
wine vaults extending into the mountain-sides for hundreds of feet. On
arriving at Bingen we proceed at once to the Victoria Hotel, a quiet
house situated at a convenient distance from both railroad station and
steamboat landing. The charges are moderate, and the accommodations
good.
Upon entering our sleeping apartment, I observe upon the beds huge
fluffy quilts stuffed with soft feathers, and forming a pile at least
two feet in thickness, which covers the entire surface from bolster to
footboard. This ominous appearance fills me with strange forebodings and
wondering thoughts. I say to myself: "God made the country, and man made
the town, but who on earth has manufactured these monstrous
counterpanes, and for what purpose?" Surely not for ornament, for they
are the most unsightly objects I have ever beheld in the line of
needlework, and look as if intended to smother hydrophobia patients. But
as few dogs are seen hereabout, this does not seem probable. The
appearance of a smiling innocent-faced chambermaid interrupts my
meditations. She informs me that these great masses of feathers are used
to keep the body warm at night. I conclude from this that the Germans
are a cold-blooded people, since such a slaughter of the "feathery
tribe" is necessary to maintain their normal temperature when in a
state of repose. As night advances, I summon up courage to crawl under
this fluffy mountain, and in a few moments feel as if a great loaf of
freshly-baked bread is lying upon me. The heat is intense, and makes me
think of "Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur, vicissitudes of
fires." I cast it off, and as the nights are chilly, soon find myself
too cool. But I will not allow the enemy to return and overpower me, for
there is much to be seen hereabout on the morrow, and I know that
overgrown spread would absorb all the strength reserved for the
occasion. Placing my steamer rug upon the bed, I am soon oblivious to
all surroundings and happy in a land of pleasant dreams.
[Illustration: "Approaching Bingen we see vineyards covering the
mountain side." (_See page 313._)]
This house is indeed delightfully located in the midst of a beautiful
country. Bingen is a lovely town at the entrance of the romantic Nahe
valley, looking out upon mountain, glen and river on every side, upon
lofty castles and vine-embowered cottages. Quaint narrow streets and
ancient buildings, whose history is buried in the distant centuries,
tempt the lover of the picturesque to linger in this neighborhood. The
place was known to the Romans, who erected a castle here, which was
destroyed by the French in 1689, but which has been restored and
extended. There is a beautiful view from the tower, and footpaths
ascend to it both from the Nahe and the Rhine.
Here are old historic taverns, whose floors are composed of large slabs
of stone. The primitive chairs and tables are of rude workmanship, and
devoid of paint or style, but heavy and strong enough to support the
weary travellers who resort thither.
We wander about, revelling in nature's enchanting pictures, and
rejoicing in the mysterious atmosphere of the dense forests, which form
the background. The smiling river, with its silver sheen beneath the
moon, or its golden reflections of the setting sun, is ever an
inspiration and a suggestion for some new trip or point of vantage. Yes,
here are scenes for the artist, and pictures ready for the camera. Here
too, on a quartz rock in the middle of the Rhine is the Mouse Tower
which is said to owe its name to the well-known legend of the cruel
Archbishop Hatto of Mayence.
In the year 914, a protracted rain ruined the harvest in this region,
and a terrible famine ensued among the poor people, who in their
distress finally applied to the archbishop, as his granaries were
overflowing with the harvests of former years. But the hard-hearted
prelate would not listen to them. At last they wearied him so with their
importunities, that he bade them assemble in an empty barn, promising
to meet them on a certain day and quiet their demands.
Delighted with the prospect of relief, the people gathered on the
appointed day in such numbers that the barn was soon filled. The
archbishop ordered his servants to fasten all the doors and windows so
that none could escape, and then set fire to the building, declaring
that they were as troublesome as rats, and should perish in the same
way.
The following day, when the bishop entered his dining-room, he found
that the rats had gnawed his recently finished portrait from the frame,
and it lay in a heap of fragments on the floor. While he stood gazing at
it a messenger burst into the room with the news that a great army of
fierce looking rats were coming toward the castle. Without a moment's
delay the archbishop flung himself on a horse and rode rapidly away
followed by thousands of rats all animated by the revengeful spirits of
the starving population he had burned. He had scarcely dismounted and
entered a small boat on the Rhine, when the rats fell upon his horse and
devoured it. Rowing to his tower in the middle of the Rhine, he locked
himself in, thinking he had escaped his voracious foes; but the rats
boldly swam across the Bingerloch, and gnawed thousands of holes in the
tower, through which they rushed to their victim. Southey in his ballad,
thus describes their entrance into the tower:
"And in at the windows, and in at the door,
And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the bishop they go.
"They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the bishop's bones;
They knawed the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him."
This is the old legend; but now comes the searcher after truth with the
information that the tower was in reality erected in the middle ages as
a watch tower, and the name is derived from the old German "musen," to
spy. These ruins were again converted into a station for signalling
steamers, which in descending the Rhine are required to slacken speed
here when other vessels are coming up the river.
Taking one of the small steamboats which run from Bingen to the opposite
bank, we land at the little town of Ruedesheim which lies at the base of
the mountain. This old town is one of the most famous on the river, not
only for its wines but for the legend of the beautiful Gisela, who was
commanded by her father to become a nun in fulfillment of his vow made
in Palestine during the crusade against the Saracens. The maiden had a
lover, and finding that no entreaties could save her from her fate,
Gisela leaped from a tower into the river, and the fishermen declare
that her spirit still lingers about the Bingerloch, and her voice is
often heard amid the rushing torrent.
The first vineyards here are said to have been planted by Charlemagne,
who observed that the snow disappeared earlier from the hills behind the
town than from other regions in the neighborhood. The Ruedesheimer Berg
is covered with walls and arches, and terrace rises above terrace, to
prevent the falling of the soil.
We drive to the top of this charming hill whose sunny slopes are clothed
with vineyards. Upon the summit, as on most of the others in the
neighborhood, there is a hotel with grounds prettily laid out, and here
one may remain and enjoy the pure air and enchanting views, for a day, a
week, or for the whole season.
Here, too, is the National Monument, in describing which I will copy
the words of my guide book:
"The National Monument on the Niederwald, erected in commemoration of
the unanimous rising of the people and the foundation of the new German
Empire in 1870-71, stands upon a projecting spur of the hill (980 feet
above the sea level; 740 feet above the Rhine), opposite Bingen, and is
conspicuous far and wide. It was begun in 1877 from the designs of
Professor Schilling of Dresden, and was inaugurated in 1883 in presence
of Emperor William I. and numerous other German princes. The huge
architectural basis is seventy-eight feet high, while the noble figure
of Germania, with the imperial crown and the laurel-wreathed sword, an
emblem of the unity and strength of the empire, is thirty-three feet in
height. The principal relief on the side of the pedestal facing the
river, symbolizes the 'Wacht am Rhein.' It contains portraits of King
William of Prussia and other German princes and generals, together with
representatives of the troops from the different parts of Germany, with
the text of the famous song below; to the right and left are allegorical
figures of Peace and War, while below are Rhenus and Mosella, the latter
as the future guardian of the western frontier of the empire. The fine
reliefs on the sides of the pedestal represent the departure and the
return of the troops."
We visit many of the most noted breweries and wine vaults in the
neighborhood. Those of Herr J. Hufnagel are the largest in this section
of the country. They are cut in the base of the mountain, and extend
inward many hundred feet. Here the choice wines are stored, many of the
enormous casks containing upwards of twenty thousand quarts. Hundreds of
barrels and hogsheads are seen; in fact every nook and corner of the
vault is filled, and so extensive is this subterranean apartment, that
avenues are made from one part to another, and along these we walk, the
guide bearing a lamp to light the way.
After visiting these great storerooms, we are invited to the hotel of
the proprietor, which is close by, and on the porch we are served with
an enjoyable lunch flavored with choice German wine.
There is a beautiful drive along the river bank, and if one is tired, he
may stop at one of the inviting restaurants in this neighborhood, and
while resting and refreshing himself, look out at the tourists and
others passing along the wide airy street, or as is a common custom, he
may have his luncheon served upon the porch, from which there is a
delightful and extended view of the Rhine. With plenty of shade and
comfortable chairs, and the beautiful river before us, how swiftly the
time passes! Sometimes, in consequence of our ignorance of the language,
laughable mistakes are made in the ordering of our meals, which seem to
increase the jollity of both the waiters and our party. On one of these
occasions, while eating our luncheon in the open air, a band of eight or
ten street musicians station themselves upon the porch but a few feet
from us. They are healthy, hearty-looking men, but contrary to our
previous experience in this country, they play the most inharmonious
airs. We endure this for a short time, then as the discordant sounds
become more and more annoying, we bestow upon the leader a number of
small coins, and entreat them to begone. They evidently misunderstand
us, and think, from our liberal contribution, that we appreciate their
efforts, for they continue their playing with increased vigor
and--discord. We do not wish to leave our pleasant quarters, so resign
ourselves to the situation. After repeating their repertoire, which
seems endless, with profuse smiling bows and thanks they leave us at
last to the peaceful enjoyment of the day.
The Niederberg is a massive rectangular castle whose three vaulted
stories, belonging to the twelfth century, were joined to the remains of
a structure of earlier date. It was originally the seat of the Knights
of Ruedesheim, who were compelled to become vassals of the Archbishop of
Mayence for brigandage.
At Ruedesheim begins the Rheingau, which is the very "vineyard" of this
country. Here every foot of ground is cultivated, and the grape is the
monarch of the land. All the hillsides are covered with the vines, and
here in the midst of the verdure appears the picturesque villa of the
planter or wine merchant. It is a rich and beautiful region.
From Bingen and Ruedesheim we go to Frankfort-on-the-Main. This town
which has witnessed the coronation of many of the German emperors, is
noted for its ancient legends, and to one of these it is said it owes
its name. This is the story: Charlemagne, having penetrated into the
forests to wage war against the Saxons, was once compelled to retreat
with his brave Franks. A heavy fog lay over the country which was
unknown to him. Fearing that his little army would be cut to pieces if
he lingered, and unable to see more than a few feet ahead of him,
Charlemagne prayed to the Lord for help and guidance. The next moment
the heavy fog parted, and the emperor saw a doe leading her young
through the stream. He instantly called to his men, and they forded the
river in safety. The fog closed behind them and hid them from the
pursuing enemy.
In commemoration of his deliverance, Charlemagne called the place
Frankford (the ford of the Franks), and the city which grew up shortly
afterward retained the name.
This, one of the important cities of Germany, is said to have been a
small Roman military station in the first century, A. D.