The word Sieben means seven, and Gebirgen means mountains.[6] Thus the Sieben Gebirgen is the Seven Mountains. It is the name given to a mountainous mass of land which rises into seven or more principal peaks, just at the entrance of the romantic part of the Rhine. The highest of these mountains is the celebrated Drachenfels, which has a ruined castle on the top of it, and an inn for the accommodation of travellers just below. The Seven Mountains and Drachenfels are on the east bank of the river. Opposite to them on the left bank are some other remarkable mountains, crowned also with celebrated ruins. The river flows between these highlands as through a gateway. They form, in fact, the commencement of the mountainous region of the Rhine, in ascending the river from Cologne.[7]

The large town next below where these mountains commence is Bonn, which is, perhaps, thirty or forty miles above Cologne. The country up as far as Bonn from Cologne is pretty level, and a railroad has been made there. At Bonn the mountains begin, and the railroad has accordingly not been yet carried any farther. Mr. George and Rollo went up to Bonn by the railroad.

Mr. George wished to stop at Bonn for half a day to visit a celebrated university that is there. The buildings of this university were formerly a palace; but they were afterwards given up to the use of the university, which subsequently became one of the most distinguished seminaries of learning in Europe. Mr. George wished to visit this university. He had letters of introduction to some of the professors. He wished also to see the library and the cabinets of natural history that were there. He invited Rollo to go with him, but Rollo concluded not to go. He would have liked to have seen the library very well, and the cabinets, but he was rather afraid of the professors.

So, while Mr. George went to visit the literary institution, Rollo amused himself by rambling about the town, and looking at the quaint old churches, and the houses, and the fortifications, and in strolling along the quay, by the shore of the river, to see the steamers and tow boats go up and down.

At length he went to the hotel. The hotel was just without the gates, near the river. There was a garden between the hotel and the river, with a terrace at the margin of it, overlooking the water, where there were tables and chairs ready for any person who might choose to take coffee or any other refreshments there. Mr. George's room was on this side of the hotel, and being pretty high it overlooked the gardens, and the terrace, and the river, and afforded a charming view. Up the river, on the other side, about three or four miles off, the Sieben Gebirgen were plainly to be seen, the summits of them tipped with ancient ruins.

After Rollo had been sitting there about half an hour, Mr. George came home. It was then about one o'clock.

"Well, Rollo," said he, "we are going up the river. I have engaged the landlord to send us up in a carriage to some pleasant place on the bank of the river among the mountains, where we can spend the Sabbath."

"Why, what day is it?" asked Rollo.

"It is Saturday," replied Mr. George.

Rollo was quite surprised to find that it was Saturday. In fact, in travelling on the Rhine, as there is so little to mark or distinguish one day from another, we almost always soon lose our reckoning.

"What is the name of the place where we are going?" asked Rollo.

"I don't know," replied Mr. George. "I cannot understand very well. He is going to send us somewhere. How it will turn out I cannot tell. We must trust to the fortune of war."

Mr. George often called the luck that befell him in travelling the fortune of war. "If we were contented," he would say, "to travel over and over again in places that we know, then we could make some calculations, and could know beforehand, in most cases, where we were going and how we should come out. But in travelling in new and strange places we cannot tell at all, especially when there is no language that we can communicate well with the people in. So we have to trust to the fortune of war."

Mr. George, however, determined to make one more effort to find out where he was going; and so, when the carriage came to the door, and he and Rollo were about to get into it, he asked the porter of the house—who was the man that "spoke English"—what the name of the place was where they were going to stop.

"Yes, sare," replied the man. "You will stop. You will go to Poppensdorf and to Kreitzberg, and then you will go to Gottesberg, and then you will go to Rolandseck, where there is a boat that will take you to Drachenfels, or to Koenigswinter."

He said all this with so strong a German accent, and pronounced the barbarous words with so foreign an intonation, that no trace or impression whatever was left by them on Mr. George's ear.

"But which is the place," asked Mr. George, speaking very deliberately and plainly,—"which is the place where we are to be left by the carriage to stay on Sunday? Is it Rolandseck or Koenigswinter?"

"Yes, sare," said the porter, making a very polite bow. "Yes, sare, you will go to Rolandseck, and to Kreitzberg, and to Gottesberg, and if you please you can stop at Poppensdorf."

"Very well," said Mr. George. "Tell him to drive on."

This is a tolerably fair specimen of the success to which travellers, and the porters, and waiters, who "speak English," attain to, in their attempts to understand one another. In fact, the attempts of these domestic linguists to speak English are sometimes still more unfortunate than their attempts to understand it. One of them, in talking to Mr. George, said "No, yes," for no, sir. Another told Rollo that the dinner would be ready in fiveteen minutes, and a very worthy landlord, in commenting on the pleasant weather, said that the time was very agregable. So a waiter said one day that the bifstek was just coming up out of the kriken. He meant kitchen.

The place where the porter, who engaged the carriage for Mr. George, intended to leave him, was really Rolandseck. Rolandseck is the name of a ruined arch, the remains of an ancient tower which may be seen in the engraving a little farther on, upon the height of land on the left side of the view. The lofty ruin on the right, farther in the distance, is Drachenfels. At the foot of Drachenfels, a little farther down the river,—and we are looking down the river in the engraving,—is a town called Koenigswinter, which is the place that people usually set out from to ascend the mountain, a great number of donkeys being kept there for that purpose. Beneath the tower of Rolandseck, near the margin of the water, is a row of three or four houses, two of which are hotels. The land rises so suddenly from the river here, that there is barely room for the road and the houses between the water and the hill. In fact, the road itself is terraced up with a wall ten or fifteen feet high towards the water, and the houses in the same manner from the road. You enter them, indeed, from the level of the road; but you are immediately obliged to ascend a staircase to reach the principal floor of the house, which is ten or fifteen feet above the road, and the gardens of the house are on terraces raised to that height by a wall. Thus from the gardens and terraces you look down fifteen feet over a wall to the road, and from the road you look down fifteen feet over a wall to the water. Along the outer margin of the road is a broad stone wall or parapet, flat at the top and about three feet high. All this you can see represented in the engraving.

In the middle of the river, opposite to the hotels, is a very beautiful island with a nunnery upon it. This island is called Nonnenwerth. Now, in regard to all these castles and churches, and other sacred edifices on the Rhine, there is almost always some old legend or romantic tale, which has come down through succeeding generations from ancient times, and which adds very much to the interest of the locality where the incidents occurred. The tale in respect to Rolandseck and Nonnenwerth is this: Roland was the nephew of the great monarch and conqueror, Charlemagne. He became engaged to the daughter of the chieftain who lived in Drachenfels, the ruins of which you see in the engraving crowning the hill on the right bank of the river, some little distance down the stream. In a battle in which he was engaged, he killed his intended father-in-law by accident, being deceived by the darkness of the night, and thinking that he was striking an enemy instead of a friend. After this, he could not be married to his intended bride, the etiquette of those days forbidding that a warrior should marry one whose father he had slain. The maiden, in her grief and despair, betook herself to the nunnery on the island near her father's castle, and Roland, since he could not be permitted to visit her there, built a tower on the nearest pinnacle of the opposite shore, in order that he might live there, and at least comfort himself with a sight of the building where his beloved was confined. The story is, however, that the unhappy nun lived but a short time. Roland himself, however, continued to live in his tower, a lonely hermit, for many years.

Another version of this legend is, that the maiden was led to go to the convent and consecrate herself as a nun, on account of a false report which she had heard, that Roland himself was killed in the battle, and that when she learned that he was still alive, it was too late for her to be released from her vows. However this may be, Roland retired to this lofty tower, in order to be as near her as possible, and to be able to look down upon the dwelling where she lived. How well he could do this you can easily see by observing how finely the ruined tower on the top of the hill commands a view of the river and of the island, as well as of the nunnery itself, imbosomed in the trees.

A little below the ruin of Roland's Tower you see a pavilion on a point of the rock, which, though somewhat lower in respect to elevation, projects farther towards the stream, and consequently commands a finer view. This pavilion has been erected very lately by a gentleman who lives in one of the houses at the margin of the road, and who owns the vineyards that cover the slope of the hill. The road to it leads up among these vineyards through the gentleman's grounds, but he leaves it open in order that visitors who ascend up to Roland's Tower may go to the pavilion on the way, and enjoy the view.

It was to one of these hotels at Rolandseck that the porter at Bonn had arranged to send Mr. George, as the pleasantest place that was near to spend the Sabbath in. He could not have made a better selection.

The ride, too, in the carriage from Bonn up to Rolandseck, was delightful. Nothing could be more enchanting than the scenery which was presented to view on every hand. The carriage, like all the other private carriages used for travellers on the Rhine, was an open barouche, and when the top was down it afforded an entirely unobstructed view. The day was pleasant, and yet the sun was so obscured with clouds that it was not warm, and Rollo stood up in the carriage nearly all the way, supporting himself there by taking hold of the back of the driver's seat, and looking about him on every side, uttering continual exclamations of wonder and delight. He attempted once or twice to talk with the driver, trying him in French and English; but the driver understood nothing but German, and so the conversation soon settled down to an occasional Was ist das? from Rollo, and a long reply to the question from the driver, not a word of which Rollo was able to understand.

They passed out of Bonn by means of a most singular avenue. It was formed of a very broad space in the centre, which seemed, by its place, to have been intended for the road way; but instead of being a road way, it was covered with a rich growth of grass, like a mowing field. On each side of this green were two rows of trees, which bordered a sort of wide sidewalk, of which there were two, one on each side of the road. These side passages were the carriage ways.

"See, uncle George," said Rollo. "The road has all grown up to grass, and we are riding on the sidewalk."

The carriage passed on, and when it reached the end of the avenue, it came to a beautiful and extensive edifice, standing in the midst of groves and gardens, which was formerly a chateau, but is now used for a museum of natural history. Here were arranged the cabinets which Mr. George had been to see that morning. Passing this place, the carriage gradually ascended a long hill, on the summit of which, half concealed by groves of trees, was an ancient-looking church. Mr. George had seen this hill before from the windows of the hotel, and knew it must be the Kreitzberg.

"He is taking us to the Kreitzberg," said Mr. George.

"What is that famous for?" asked Rollo.

"It is an ancient church, on the top of a high hill," said Mr. George, "where there is a flight of stairs made to imitate those that Jesus ascended at Jerusalem, when he went to Pilate's judgment hall. Nobody is allowed to go up or down these stairs except on their knees.

"Then, besides," continued Mr. George, looking along the page of his guide book as he spoke, "the air is so dry up at the top of this high hill, that the bodies of the old monks, who were buried there hundreds of years ago, did not corrupt, but they dried up and turned into a sort of natural mummies; and there they lie now under the church, in open coffins, in full view."

"Let us go down and see them," said Rollo.

What Mr. George said was true; and these things are but a specimen of the strange and curious legends and tales that are told to the traveller, and of the extraordinary relics and wonders that are exhibited to his view, in the old churches and monasteries, which are almost as numerous as the castles, on the Rhine. The carriage, after ascending a long time, stopped at a gate by the way side, whence a long, straight road led up to the church, which stood on the very summit of the hill. Mr. George and Rollo got out and walked up. When they drew near to the church, they turned round to admire the splendor of the landscape, and to see if the carriage was still waiting for them below. They saw that the carriage still stood there, and that there was another one there too, and that a party of ladies and gentlemen were descending from it to come up and see the church. There was a little girl in this party.

"I should not wonder if that was Minnie," said Rollo.

In a short time this party, with a commissioner at the head of them, came up the walk. The girl proved to be really Minnie. She seemed very glad to see Rollo, and she stopped to speak with him while the rest of the party went on.

Rollo and Minnie followed closely behind. The commissioner led the way round to the side of the church, where there were some other ancient buildings, which were formerly a nunnery. Here they found a man who had the care of the place. He was a sacristan.[8] He brought a great key, and unlocked the church door, and let the party in.

The interior of the church was very quaint and queer,—as in truth the interiors of all the old churches are on the banks of the Rhine,—and was adorned with a great many curious old effigies and paintings. After waiting a few minutes for the company to look at these, the sacristan went to a place in the middle of the church before the altar, and lifted up a great trap door in the floor. When the door was lifted up, a flight of steps was seen leading down under ground.

"Where are they going now?" said Minnie.

"I suppose they are going down to see the monks," said Rollo.

The party went down the stairs, Rollo and Minnie following them. The sacristan had two candles in his hands. As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs, he passed along a narrow passage way between two rows of open coffins, placed close together side by side, and in each coffin was a dead man, his flesh dried to a mummy, his clothes all in tatters, and his face, though shrivelled and dried up, still preserving enough of the human expression to make the spectacle perfectly horrid. When Rollo and Minnie reached the place near enough to see what was there, the sacristan was moving his candles about over the coffins, one in each hand, so as to show the bodies plainly. At the first glance which Minnie obtained of this shocking sight, she uttered a scream, and ran up the stairs again as fast as she could go.

Rollo followed her, but somewhat more slowly. When he came out into the church, he caught a glimpse of Minnie's dress, as she was just making her escape from the door. Rollo would have followed her, but he was afraid of losing his uncle George.

When the party, at length, came up from their visit to the dead monks, they went to see the sacred staircase. Rollo went with them. The staircase seemed to be at the main entrance to the church: the party had gone round to a door in the side where they came in.

The sacred stairs occupied the centre of the hall in which they were placed. There were on the sides two plain and common flights of stairs, for people to go up and down in the usual way. The sacred stairs in the centre could only be ascended and descended on the knees.

The side stairs were separated from the central flight by a solid balustrade or wall, not very high, so that people who came to see the sacred steps could stand on the side steps and look over. The flight of sacred steps was very wide, and was built of a richly variegated marble, of brown, red, and yellow colors, intermingled together in the stone; and some of the stains were said to have been produced by the blood of Christ. Here and there, too, on the different steps of the staircase, were to be seen little brass plates let into the stone, beneath which were small caskets containing sacred relics of various kinds, such as small pieces of wood of the true cross, and fragments of the bones of saints and apostles. Neither Mr. George nor Rollo took much interest in this exhibition; and so, giving the sacristan a small piece of money, they went back to their carriage. As Rollo got into the carriage that he had come in, he saw that Minnie was seated in hers, and she nodded her head when Rollo's carriage moved away, to bid him good by.

Mr. George and Rollo passed one or two other very picturesque and venerable looking ruins on the way up the river, but they did not stop to go and explore any of them. In one place, too, they rode along a sort of terrace, where the view over the river, and over the fields and vineyards beyond, was perfectly enchanting. Mr. George said he had never before seen so beautiful a view. It was at a place where the road had been walled up high along the side of a hill, at some distance from the river, so that the view from the carriage, as it moved rapidly along, extended over the whole valley. The fields and vineyards, the groves and orchards, the broad river, the zigzag paths leading up the mountain sides, the steamers and canal boats gliding up and down over the surface of the water, and the mountains beyond, with the rocky summit of Drachenfels, crowned with its castle, towering among them, combined to make the whole picture appear like a scene of enchantment.

The poet Byron described this view in three stanzas, which have been read and admired wherever the English language is spoken, and have made the name of Drachenfels more familiar to English and American ears than the name of almost any other castle on the Rhine.

Drachenfels.

In due time, Mr. George and Rollo arrived at Rolandseck, where they were received very politely by the landlord of the inn, and introduced to a very pleasant room, the windows of which commanded a fine view both of Drachenfels and of the river.