Odd Bits of Travel with Brush and Camera Part 8

If one is weary of these legendary stories, or even of sightseeing itself, let him rest with me in one of the many public gardens, listening to the charming music of a good orchestra.

There are skilled musicians in these gardens, and their selections are always well rendered. No loud or idle conversation is indulged in during these recitals. Should any such breach of good manners occur, the transgressors are requested to observe the rule of the garden, and if the offence is repeated, they are ejected from the premises. The Germans, being such lovers of good music, tolerate no other in their gardens. There is no admission fee, but the expenses are supposed to be met by the sale of beer, wine, pretzels and Frankfurt sausages.

Before leaving Cologne I must not forget to mention the refres.h.i.+ng perfume which has made this city famous all over the world. The celebrated Eau de Cologne is said to have been invented by Jean Antoine Marie Farina of Domodossola in the year 1709. One could almost bathe in the perfume here for the money it would cost to filter our muddy Philadelphia water. There is an enormous quant.i.ty of it manufactured, and almost every store seems to have it for sale.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Palace of Bruhl." (_See page 277._)]

A short distance from Cologne, or Koln as the Germans call it, is the almost forsaken station of Bruhl. I would advise the tourist to alight here, and take a close view of the imperial palace known as the Palace of Bruhl, a handsome building erected about the year 1725. As we advance toward the beautiful and s.p.a.cious grounds, it is not difficult to imagine the magnificent structure looming up in the distance as the home of royalty. The approach to the palace is studded with marble statues, and the palace itself is a cla.s.sic example of the French and German rococo style of architecture; from it radiate many lovely walks and bowery avenues which are adorned with fine statuary. Here too are velvet lawns, n.o.ble trees and glowing flower beds, and should one wish to view the interior of this elegant palace, he will find that some of the rooms are open to visitors.

Our stay within is necessarily brief. Retracing our steps to the station, we take the train, and are carried swiftly toward the old town of Bonn.

Along the Banks of the Rhine.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Lovely walks and bowery avenues." (_See page 277._)]

_Along the Banks of the Rhine._

Bonn--The Birthplace of Beethoven--The Museum--Monument--A Famous Restaurant--College Students--Beer Mugs--Special Tables--Affairs of Honor--Konigswinter--Magnificent Views--Drachenfels--The Castle--The Dombruch--Siegfried and the Dragon--A Desecrated Ruin--The Splendor of the Mountains--Many Visitors--View from the Summit--The Students'

Chorus--German Life--A German Breakfast--The Camera--Old Castles and Lofty Mountains--Legends of the Rhine--The Waters of the Rhine--Vineyards.

This town like its sister cities is of ancient foundation, having been one of the first Roman fortresses on the Rhine. It is the seat of a university which attracts students from all parts of the world. It is a prosperous looking place with pleasant villas on the river banks, and ancient picturesque houses. There are lovely shaded walks in the public gardens, and a fine view from the Alte Zoll, but the chief interest of the town for us lies in the fact that it is the birthplace of Beethoven.

In a small unpretentious house the great musician was born in 1770, and here were composed many of those wonderful harmonies which have thrilled the souls of lovers of music all over the world. The room in which this n.o.ble genius first saw the light of day is in the top of the house, a garret ten feet by twelve in size, and contains no furniture whatever: nor is it necessary to remind those who enter it, by aught save the wreath of green which lies peacefully upon the floor, that the spirit whose earthly tabernacle dwelt here breathed forth the fire of heaven.

"Creative genius. From thy hand What shapes of order, beauty rise, Where waves thy potent, mystic wand, To people ocean, earth and skies."

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 s.p.a.cious 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 a.s.sures 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Not far off stands the statue of the artist." (_See page 284._)]

As a natural consequence of this enormous appet.i.te 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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, c.o.c.k 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 a.s.sociations. The little town of Konigswinter 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 a.s.sociated with Arnold, Archbishop of Cologne at the beginning of the twelfth century, who in 1149 bestowed it upon the Ca.s.sius 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 gla.s.s. 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The great peak known as the Drachenfels, or Dragon Rock." (_See page 291._)]

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, a.s.suring us that visitors from all parts of the world are enjoying this magnificent panorama with us.

What a pity the camera will not encompa.s.s 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 s.h.i.+ne, 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 Rhondorf, 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 Olbruck 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 b.u.t.ter: 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 b.u.t.ter 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 pa.s.sengers and a limited amount of freight from Konigswinter 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 ill.u.s.trate 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 circ.u.mstances 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 Konigswinter 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 n.o.ble 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "How n.o.ble 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 surpa.s.singly 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."