Now we sweep round another bend in the river, and come in sight of the lofty pinnacles, turrets, and towers of the beautiful Castle of Rheinstein, two hundred and fifty feet above the river, completely restored, the banner floating in the breeze from its topmost tower, and a basket suspended upon an iron crane from one of the towers towards the river; the whole shows the tourist just how these old strongholds used to look during the middle ages, and a party of ladies, far up in a little ivy-clad bower, at an angle of the castle terrace, exchanged greetings with us in handkerchief wavings as we passed.
Now we come to Ehrenfels, and the vineyards where the Rüdesheimer grapes are raised; these vineyards are arrayed in terraces, one above the other, and the banks all along on the side of the hill, upheld by arches of masonry, and brick and stone supports, put up apparently to keep the earth in place, and afford more space for the vines from which the celebrated vintage is obtained. At this point, on a rock, in mid stream, stands the well-known Mouse Tower, celebrated in Southey's legend as the retreat of Bishop Hatto, who sought to escape the rats by fleeing to it; but his enemies swam the stream, entered the stronghold, and
"Whetted their teeth against the stones,
And then they picked the bishop's bones."
Bingen would never have attracted so much attention from Americans and Englishmen if the Hon. Mrs. Norton, I think it was, had not written her beautiful poem of the dying soldier, who was a native of the place, and whose last words to the comrade who knelt by his side on the field of battle, were his memories of "Sweet Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine," and sent messages home to his friends who lived at
"Bingen on the Rhine."
For no other reason than because they had read this poem and wished to see Bingen, that had been so charmingly written about, did a party of Americans land here; and in truth the little town was prettily situated, with a little river at one side of it, the Nahe, flowing into the Rhine, spanned by an old arched bridge, while its slender spires and white houses look forth upon the swift-flowing river, divided by the little island bearing the Mouse Tower, and upon the steep slopes of vineyards on the other side of the Rhine, backed by the old Castle of Ehrenfels.
After leaving Bingen we come to the square-looking old Castle of Bromserburg, its shattered turrets green with vines and weeds, and farther on, other old ruins, "whose names I noted not," except one little church, that stood out like a white toy, away up on a sharp point of the hills; and then I was sorry I attempted to note it, for the Prussian, who spoke English, was compelled to write the name for me, it being an absolute impossibility for me to do so correctly, according to the pronunciation of the country; so I will leave Rochuscapelle, and the bright-looking little villages that we pass, for the old castle, Johannisberg, which greets our view on its vine-clad eminence, three hundred and forty feet above the river.
The vineyards which circle round and about the great hill surmounted by this castle are said to cover forty acres of ground, and it is here that the celebrated Jo-hannis-bagger—as they pronounce it—wine is made.
This Johannisberg vineyard is situated in the district, about fifteen miles in length, celebrated as producing the finest wines of the Rhine. There are Rudesheim, Hosheim, Hattenheim, the Steinberger, Graffenberg, and many other "heims" and "bergs," whose mellowness and flavor, which is more or less injured by travel, may be enjoyed here by wine-drinkers, in their perfection, at a comparatively moderate cost.