Part 10

In an adjoining room are stored some pieces of furniture which belonged to Beethoven, and the piano used by him in the composition of some of his most famous sonatas. Some of the ladies of our party are permitted to play upon this sacred instrument. Do they hope to be inspired by the magic spell of the master's touch still lingering among the keys? The dwelling has been purchased by lovers of the celebrated composer, and fitted up as a Beethoven Museum. Not far off stands the statue of the artist and the monument dedicated to him.

Before leaving Bonn, we visit the famous restaurant which is the nightly resort of the students during the college term. The spacious rooms composing this cafe communicate with each other by a wide and lofty doorway. The furniture consists of bare wooden tables, a long counter, and dozens of shabby chairs which look as if they have seen hard service. The corpulent and jovial proprietor informs us that these rooms are filled to overflowing with both gay and serious students every night in the week, and that here, notwithstanding the ofttimes boisterous merriment, questions of grave import are often discussed, together with all the current topics of interest; and that speeches are made brilliant enough for publication in the daily papers. Here the young orator first tests his powers, and in all his future career, he will find no more critical audience than this composed of his fellow-students. Here too are nights given up to fun and jollity, to college songs and wild and reckless mirth, when there is not a serious countenance among the crowd.

"He cannot try to speak with gravity, But one perceives he wags an idle tongue; He cannot try to look demure, but spite Of all he does he shows a laugher's cheek; He cannot e'en essay to walk sedate, But in his very gait one sees a jest That's ready to break out in spite of all His seeming."

Hundreds of voices make the roof ring with tuneful harmony: choruses, glees and comic ballads follow each other, interspersed with jokes and puffs at pipes and sips of beer, for the German student is a

"Rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun, To relish a joke and rejoice at a pun."

Pounds of poor tobacco are smoked, and gallons of good beer consumed at these gatherings, and the landlord is always on the side of the boys when there is any trouble, and rejoices in all their collegiate honors and their success in every other line.

Upon the shelves above the tables are long rows of individual beer mugs, with the owners' names or crests conspicuously painted in gay colors upon them. These mugs vary in capacity from a pint to two quarts, and the host assures me gravely that many of the students drain even the largest ones nine or ten times in the course of an evening. I ponder, as he speaks, upon the wonderful power of expansion of the human stomach which performs this feat.

As a natural consequence of this enormous appetite for beer, one sees in the restaurants in many of the German cities an especial table constructed with a deep semicircular curve in the side, which allows the corpulent guest to drink his favorite beverage in comfortable proximity to the bottle. Such as these must have been in Shakespeare's mind, when he wrote: "He was a man of an unbounded stomach."

The deep cuts and scars upon the faces of many of the students, are matters of great pride with them, as evidences of the number of "affairs of honor" in which they have been engaged. They look with scorn upon the fellow collegian whose countenance does not display one or more of these signs of bloody combat, and are always ready to seize an occasion of this kind for the exhibition of their bravery or their skill at arms. Sometimes these duels are a result of the silliest arguments, at others they are sought by deliberate insult given by the one who wishes to fight. A glance is sometimes sufficient for a sanguinary meeting.

Will they ever learn that no stain can ever be washed out with blood, no honor redeemed by the sword, no moral bravery displayed by an encounter of this kind? It is falling to the level of the brute, with perhaps a little more skill evinced in the choice of the weapons of warfare. It cannot but detract from the dignity of the human being, and this is true to a far greater extent in the case of those who entertain themselves by witnessing such unnatural sports as prize fights, cock fights, and most degrading of all, but thank heaven a rare sight in civilized countries, the bull fight;--all relics of barbarism.

Let us leave this unpleasant subject, however, and allow ourselves to be spirited away to a veritable fairy land of beauty, and quaint legendary associations. The little town of Koenigswinter nestles at the foot of the Seven Mountains, from which there are innumerable views of the Rhine and the surrounding country. A halo of romance surrounds this region, and in the many excursions from this point, the lover of the weird and visionary will find his every step accompanied by imaginary maidens of rare grace and beauty, brave knights, crafty priests, wild huntsmen, cruel dragons, super-human heroes, and all the wonderful personages of legendary lore. The town is a thriving, modern looking place of about thirty-five hundred inhabitants, excluding the floating population of tourists who throng the hotels and scatter themselves among the private families.

We arrive here early in the afternoon, and establish ourselves in a comfortable and attractive hotel. The day is clear and pleasant, and desiring to make good use of the hours of daylight before us, we determine to make the ascent of the Drachenfels. There are a number of different routes or paths, by which one may reach the summit of this mountain on foot; or, should the tourist prefer to ride, he can use the Mountain Railway which approaches the top in a line almost straight. Protected by stout shoes, carrying wraps, and armed with long and strong wooden staffs, we walk slowly along the mountain road, pausing at intervals to gaze upon the beautiful scenes which surround us in every direction. The great peak known as the Drachenfels or Dragon rock, in which from the river a vast cavern may be seen, owes its name to the numerous legends which are connected with it. In the cave, it is said, lived a terrible monster who daily demanded of the people the sacrifice of a young maiden, who was bound and decorated with flowers, and placed near the entrance to his lair. Siegfried slew the dragon and by bathing in his blood, became invulnerable. The maiden whose life he thus saved was Hildegarde, the beautiful daughter of the Lord of Drachenfels, whom he afterward married and bore to the castle whose crumbling and picturesque ruins seem to cling to the lofty crag, fifteen hundred feet above the Rhine. This castle was once a mighty stronghold of the robber chieftains; its foundation is associated with Arnold, Archbishop of Cologne at the beginning of the twelfth century, who in 1149 bestowed it upon the Cassius Monastery at Bonn. It was held as a fief by the counts of the castle.

Henry, Count of Drachenfels, furnished the chapter of the Cathedral of Cologne with the stone for its construction from a quarry which from this fact still bears the name of Dombruch, or cathedral quarry. In the Thirty Years' War the half-ruined castle was occupied by the Swedes, but was besieged and taken from them by Duke Ferdinand of Bavaria, Elector of Cologne, who completed its destruction.

The cliff is now surmounted by a beautiful new castle, the Drachenburg, built in 1883 for the Baron von Sarter. It is in the Gothic style, and is elaborately decorated with frescoes and stained glass. The upper part of the mountain is covered with trees below the cliff, the lower part with grapevines, while along the banks of the Rhine at its foot are picturesque cottages, nestling among trees and vines. The Drachenfels is the loftiest of the Seven Mountains, and its summit commands one of the finest prospects on the Rhine. In the ruins of the old castle, ingenious and progressive man has seen fit to ignore sentiment, and thrust a modern restaurant, where in spite of his shocked sensibilities, the weary traveller may in return for German marks, rest and refresh himself with sparkling wine which is famous for its fine quality and flavor, while the cool breezes fan his brow and soothe his excited brain.

One lingers long, dazzled by the splendor of this superb view. Mountains and valley, river and islands unite in a glorious picture which entrances the soul, and thrills the heart with gladness; while the pure, bracing mountain air, laden with the perfume of the grape, fills the lungs with "a perpetual feast of nectar's sweets."

Many tourists surround us, and we hear a perfect babel of tongues: French, English, German and other languages greet our ears, assuring us that visitors from all parts of the world are enjoying this magnificent panorama with us.

What a pity the camera will not encompass the wonderful scene.

"The castled crag of Drachenfels 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.

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.

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.

_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.

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.