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Updated: August 27, 2024
I suppose all children agree in looking back with delight on their school Readers. We might not now find so much pathos in 'Bingen on the Rhine, 'A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, or in 'The Soldier's Funeral, in the declamation of which I was held to have surpassed myself.
One morning, at Bingen, I assure you it was not six o'clock, we took a big little rowboat, and dropped down the stream, past the Mouse Tower, where the cruel Bishop Hatto was eaten up by rats, under the shattered Castle of Ehrenfels, round the bend to the little village of Assmannshausen, on the hills back of which is grown the famous red wine of that name.
One morning, at Bingen, I assure you it was not six o'clock, we took a big little rowboat, and dropped down the stream, past the Mouse Tower, where the cruel Bishop Hatto was eaten up by rats, under the shattered Castle of Ehrenfels, round the bend to the little village of Assmannshausen, on the hills back of which is grown the famous red wine of that name.
She remembered Bingen, too, with its purple grapes; else why had she been haunted all her life with vine-clad hills and plaintive airs. "Your mother sang to you the airs, while your nurse, whose name I think was Marie, told you of the grapes growing on the hills," said Richard. "She was a faithful creature, greatly attached to your mother, but a bitter foe of your father.
Their young minds were the repositories of an astounding amount of information: they knew who Charles the Bold was; they pointed out to their uncle the distinction between Gothic and Romanesque arches; they explained what was the matter with the Anabaptists; they told him that the story of the Bishop and the rats at Bingen was a baseless myth, and that probably there had never been any such man as William Tell.
On Saturday, in the afternoon, I went with Rochow and Lynar to Rüdesheim, hired a boat there, rowed out on the Rhine, and swam in the moonlight, nothing but nose and eyes over the tepid water, as far as the Mouse Tower near Bingen, where the wicked bishop met his death.
The passage-boat from Bingen had just arrived; and a portly judge from the Danube, a tall, gaunt Prussian officer, a sketching English artist, two University students, and some cloth-merchants, returning from Frankfort fair, were busily occupied at a long table in the centre of the room, at an ample banquet, in which sour-crout, cherry-soup, and savoury sausages were not wanting.
There are enough of them to fill many books. Did you ever hear about the Rats' Tower opposite the town of Bingen, Bertha?" "What a funny name for a tower! No. Is there a story about it, Hans?" "Yes, one of the boys was telling it to me yesterday while we were getting wood in the forest. It is a good story, although my friend said he wasn't sure it is true." "What is the story?"
The railway from Frankfort to Cologne follows the river bank for the entire distance. We quickly passed Bingen, Mayence, Coblenz, and about dusk reached Cologne. This is an important junction, and here we had to change cars, having twenty minutes to wait. Both of us went direct to the cathedral. It is close to the station, and there we had a few minutes' talk.
Near Bingen is the Mouse Tower, so called because the cruel Archbishop Hatto, of Mayence? had once compared some poor famishing people to mice bent on devouring corn, and caused them to be burned in his barn after having invited them to come there and receive provisions which it had been his duty to give them.
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