Passing by Remagen on the right hand, and Linz on the left, we soon come to the ruins of Argenfels, close to the banks of the river, with its legendary tale, which need not be noticed. Near this we have a specimen of the Flying-bridge, so common on this and other continental rivers. A mooring is fixed in the middle of the stream, from which a long chain or rope, suspended by small boats at convenient distances, extends to the passage-boat, which swings from bank to bank, at the end of this long rope, exactly like the pendulum of a clock, only it is horizontal, not perpendicular. There is no occasion for oar or sail. The helm of the passage-boat being turned to port or starboard, the stream of the river acting on it, swings the tail of the pendulum, with its load of passengers, from one bank to the other in a few minutes. Nothing can be more simple or philosophical—but not one in one thousand of the passengers, up and down the Rhine, comprehend the principle.
We soon get so accustomed to “castled crags” and mouldering castles, that we are rather surprised, on turning our eyes from the ruins of Argenfels on our left, to see an ancient chateau (Rheineck) on our right, resuscitated from the sepulchre of its forefathers, and perched in new life on an airy cliff. An old tower stands at one end, like the head-stone of a grave, reminding the modern mansion that it too will be a ruin in its turn!
Rheineck has undergone some of the transmigrations of Vishnou. It was a Roman fort, and bore the imperial eagle on its banner. Then it became a robber’s castle, and received the spoils of its master, torn from their rightful owners. And now it is the residence of a philosopher (Professor Holweg)—the seat of science, letters, and humanity. It is said to be constructed in strict imitation of the castles of feudalism on the Rhine. But although Rheineck has changed masters, it is still under the protection of the same tutelar divinity—Mercury, among his other numerous avocations, having been the god of letters as well as of robbers.
Qui feros cultus hominum recentum,
Voce formasti, catus et decoræ
more Palestræ.
Passing by Brohl on the right, we come to one of the most imposing and extensive ruins on the left—the shattered and scattered fragments of Hammerstein Castle, crowning the mount and craggy rocks of the same name. The precipices descend in rugged and jutting promontories to the shores of the Rhine, each crowned with some remains of the ancient royal and magnificent chateau, and presenting scanty terraces of the vine, creeping up the crevices.
We soon afterwards range along the ancient town of Andernach, the ruins of which, with modern towers and spires, are backed and flanked by a vast screen of basaltic mountains of sombre hue and antique grandeur. Here Drusus Germanicus erected one of his fifty towers, in his Rheinish campaigns, and in the time of Julius Cæsar.
The banks of the river now become more approximated, and the stream more rapid. Steam, however, bids defiance to stream, and the vessel ploughs its way, though with greatly retarded velocity. There is but little remarkable between this and Coblentz, except the beautiful little town of Neiwied, with its flying-bridge, near which Julius Cæsar crossed the Rhine—and, eighteen centuries afterwards, General Hoche, with the victorious French army, performed the same feat, but with far more difficulty. Here the Jew and the Gentile—the Protestant and the Catholic—the Quaker and the Sceptic—all live upon equal terms, and with equal rights, unmolested in the free enjoyment of their various beliefs or disbeliefs—and travelling quietly towards the grave, or whatever “undiscovered country” may lie beyond that bourne, without jostling each other on the road, or forcing their creeds down the throats of their reluctant neighbours!
When will the “liberty of conscience,” in our own proud country, be uncoupled with inequality of political rights, or unattended by the rancour of the odium theologicum!