At St. Avold we began to lose the French language, and from this my fluency was reduced to signs, or at most to a very laconic speech—"Ich Englander, Ich woll haben Brod mitt Café," &c. At Dendrich, a little village near Forbach, we crossed the new line of demarcation between France and Austria, and found the towns chiefly occupied by Bavarians. Unless I am much mistaken, this country will soon be a bone of contention; the people (as far as I can judge in three days) are dissatisfied, and the leaders of France look with a jealous eye on the encroachment, and an imaginary line of separation will not easily be respected. Here I saw what is meant by a German forest—as far as the eye could reach all was wood. Austria may, if she pleases, by her new accession[180] of territory become charcoal vendor to the whole world. The road is excellent, carried on in a fine, broad, straight line. Till Buonaparte spoke the word, there was no regular communication between Metz and Mayence, now there is not a more noble road for travelling. We were now in the Hock country; in the Villages we bought what I should have called wine of the same sort for 6d. a bottle....
On Thursday, the 21st, we entered Mayence, over and through similar drawbridges, bastions, hornworks, counterscarps as at Metz; here we met a curious assemblage. By the first Gate were stationed a guard of Prussians with the British Lions on their caps, John Bull having supplied some Prussian Regiments with Uniforms. At the next gate a band of white Austrians, with their caps shaded with boughs of Acacia (you will remember that their custom of wearing green boughs in their Hats was interpreted by the French into a premeditated insult). These, with Saxons in red, Bavarians in light blue, and Russians in green, made out the remainder of the motley crew. We found an excellent Inn, and dined at a Table d'Hôte with about 30 people. The striking contrast we already perceived between the French and Austrians was very amusing, the former all bustle and loquacity with dark hair, the latter grave and sedate with light hair; the Inns, accommodation, eating, &c., much cleaner; a band played to us during dinner, and I was pleased to see the[181] Austrian moustachios recede with a smile of satisfaction as they listened to the "Chasse de Henri Quatre."
There is little to be seen in the town. I found a most intelligent bookseller, and was tantalised with the number of fine Engravings, &c., I might have purchased for a trifle....
I have heard a curious political report repeated here, which is current all over the Continent—that Austria has sold the Netherlands and Brabant to England; the report gains credit probably because the towns in that part of the country are still garrisoned with British troops. Poor England is certainly not much beloved; we are admired, feared, respected, and courted; but these people will have, and perhaps with some reason, that upon all occasions our own Interest is the sole object of consideration; that our Treaties have the good of ourselves and not the peace of Europe at heart; and so far they carry this opinion, that I was very near getting into a quarrel with a fat man in the Diligence who spoke it as a common idea that we fought with our money and not with our blood, for that we were too rich to risk our lives, and had there been a bridge that Napoleon would have been in London long ago. I told him he knew nothing at all about the matter (to which, by the bye, he afterwards virtually assented), and as a Frenchman's choler does not last long, we were good friends the rest of the journey, and he apologised for his behaviour, saying, it was a failing[182] of his—"de s'échauffer bientôt." Upon one point we agreed, too, in politics, viz., being Anti-Napoleonites.
Now for the Rhine. At 10 o'clock on Friday, July 22nd, in a little rotten, picturesque-looking boat and two men (preferring a private conveyance to the public passage boats for the convenience of stopping at pleasure) we left Mayence; the river here is about half a mile across, traversable by a bridge of boats. The Maine falls into it just above the town, and there appears nothing on the Frankfort or Strasburgh side to interest a traveller's eye, the country being flat vine or corn land. The Stream runs with a steady rapidity of about three and a half or 4 miles an hour, so that in a boat, with the addition of oars, you may proceed at the rate of about 6 miles an hour. The distance to Cologne is about 120 miles. On the bank of the River we saw some of those immense floats preparing which are composed of timbers for the Holland markets. We glided with an imperceptible motion down the stream, expecting as we proceeded to behold the magnificent ruins of which we had heard so much. But, alas! village succeeded village, town followed town, and yet not a single turret made its appearance. We sat with our sketch books in battle array, but our pencils were asleep; we began to regret the uninteresting, even country we had passed from Metz to Mayence, and the time which might be called lost in coming so far for so useless a purpose, and[183] to make vow after vow that we would never in future believe the account given by others respecting people and places. By this time our appetites began to grow keen, luckily, just at the time when our spirits began to flag, and, accordingly, we went on shore at Rudesheim, famous for its excellent hock, and having dispatched a dinner and bottle of hock we ventured forth to explore, and, luckily, fell in with a little Gothic round tower, which, with the dinner, rather raised our spirits and enabled us to proceed 4 or 5 miles further to Bingen when we turned a Corner....
I verily believe such another corner does not exist in the world. From the corner of Bingen must be dated the beauties of the Rhine, and from the corner of Bingen I commence my next letter; suffice it now to say that the moment we turned the Corner we both, with one impulse, called out, "Oh!" and sat in the boat with our hands uplifted in speechless astonishment....
Letter X.
Aix la Chapelle, July 27, 1814.
I left you turning the corner of Bingen, now let me describe what there presented itself. On the left a beautiful picturesque town, with tower and picturesque-looking steeples placed each exactly on the spot an artist would have selected, with hills and woods on each side and a bridge running over a small river which emptied itself in the[184] Rhine. Immediately before us, on a small islet, stood the Tower of Mausthurm, or the Mouse turret, so called from a tradition that a Baron once locked up a number of his Vassals in a tower and then set fire to it and consumed it and its inhabitants, in consequence of which certain mice haunted him by day and by night to such a degree that he fled his Country and built this solitary Tower on its island. But all this would not do. The Mice pursued him to his Island, and the tale ends in his being devoured by them there.
On both sides the river hills covered with vines and woods rose abruptly, and on the right, tottering on a pinnacle that frowns over the flood, stood the Castle of Ehrenfels....