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 Königswinter 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 Königswinter 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.
| “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.” |