Odd Bits of Travel with Brush and Camera Part 9

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 ma.s.ses 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 hea.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sers-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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Every turn of the river presents a different view."

(_See page 303._)]

We glide along, pa.s.sing 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 n.o.ble 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 gra.s.s, Thine endless infancy shalt pa.s.s; And, singing down thy narrow glen, Shall mock the fading race of men."

From Bingen on the Rhine to Frankfort-on-the-Main.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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--Rudesheim--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 Konigswinter, we pa.s.s 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 st.u.r.dy 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: "G.o.d 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 ma.s.ses 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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 workmans.h.i.+p, 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 a.s.semble 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 Rudesheim 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 Rudesheimer 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 n.o.ble 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 princ.i.p.al 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 refres.h.i.+ng himself, look out at the tourists and others pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.ses! 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 ma.s.sive 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 Rudesheim, who were compelled to become va.s.sals of the Archbishop of Mayence for brigandage.

At Rudesheim 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 Rudesheim 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.

It is first mentioned as Franconoford and the seat of the royal residence in 793; and the following year Charlemagne held a convocation of bishops and dignitaries of the empire here. The town attained such a degree of prosperity that in 876, at the death of Lewis the German, it was looked upon as the capital of the east Franconian Empire. On the dissolution of the empire in 1806, Frankfort was made over to the Primate of the Rhenish Confederation, and in 1810 it became the capital of the grand-duchy of Frankfort.

It was one of the four free cities of the German Confederation, and the seat of the Diet from 1815 to 1866, in which year it pa.s.sed to Prussia.

To-day we find it a handsome city of two hundred and twenty-nine thousand inhabitants, with beautiful streets, stately houses surrounded by lovely gardens, and fine stores, parks, monuments and many attractions for the tourist. Here are churches, theatres, libraries and museums, and an opera house which will accommodate two thousand spectators.

In the Rossmarkt stands the monument of Gutenberg, which consists of three figures, Gutenberg in the centre with Fust and Schoffer on either side, upon a large sandstone pedestal. On the frieze are portrait heads of celebrated printers, and in the niches beneath are the arms of the four towns where printing was first practiced: Mayence, Frankfort, Venice and Stra.s.sburg. Around the base are figures representing Theology, Poetry, Natural Science and Industry. This monument was erected in 1858.

This is the birthplace of Goethe, and here is the house in which the poet was born, with its inscription recording that event, (August 28, 1749). The handsome monument of Goethe, erected in 1844, twelve years after his death adorns the Goethe-Platz. The pedestal of the monument bears allegorical figures in relief in front, while on the sides are figures from the poems of the great writer.

There are twenty-three thousand Jews in Frankfort, and in the quarter to which these people are limited, we are shown the house in which the Senior Rothschild was born. It is an una.s.suming brick building of three stories, in good repair. As I gaze upon this modest dwelling, I think of the man who from such unpromising beginning, became the founder of the greatest financial firm the world has known.

There is a stone effigy of Luther not far from the Cathedral, in memory of a tradition that the great reformer preached a sermon here on his journey to Worms. It is true that these a.s.sociations are to be found in almost every European town; but none the less are we impressed as we stand before the monuments of the great ones of the earth--the men who have left their indelible marks--"footprints on the sands of time "--which the years have no power to efface. These men must have truly lived.

"He most lives Who thinks most, feels the n.o.blest, acts the best."

The Cathedral of Frankford is a conspicuous edifice towering above the other buildings, quaint and picturesque in spite of a lack of harmony in many of its details. From the platform of the tower, one may have a beautiful view of the city, with its thick border of trees, and of the fields and meadows beyond along the s.h.i.+ning waters of the Main. This Church of St. Bartholomew was founded by Lewis the German in 852, and was rebuilt in the Gothic style 1235-39. The different portions represent various periods. The tower, left unfinished in 1512, now three hundred and twelve feet high, was completed from the designs of the architect which were discovered in the munic.i.p.al archives.

A Prussian Capital and a Fas.h.i.+onable Resort.