"Across to Fort Lee along the sheer wall of the Palisades or
down past the busy shipping, where Bartholdi's statue lifts her
unwearied arm, the outlook presents a display of exquisite
charm." The changing hues, evanescent shadows and glimpses of
the rising hills - who can ever forget them?
Many people who have looked on the wonderful scenery of the
Hudson still long for the time when they shall behold the
Rhineland. They will find that legends and traditions, more than
the wonderful scenery, give to the Rhine country an added charm.
Every hilltop there is surmounted by a storied castle, which is
falling into decay along with so many Old World institutions
that have been kept green by the ivy of custom and tradition,
which can scarcely keep them from tumbling.
It is not our object to belittle any natural scenery, but to
make Americans pause to consider the incomparable beauty of
their own land, before rushing to other countries.
We shall never forget our trip up the Moselle and Rhine. That
the scenery is very beautiful we shall not deny. It was in the
lovely month of May in the spring of 1919 that we were favored
with a free ride from Uncle Sam through the most beautiful
scenery to be found anywhere in Germany. We cast a farewell look
at the beautiful meadows of the Meuse and the old Roman towers
of Verdun and a nameless longing, a vague inexpressible sadness
seemed to take possession of us as our eyes rested for the last
time on the gray weather-stained buildings of Glorieux hospital.
In the clear sky a crystal shower of lark notes rippled above
us; from the fragrant box hedges nightingales sang their love
songs; the air was filled with the riotous notes of the linnet
and the loud, sweet phrases of the blackbirds, but we heard them
not. For our thoughts wandered back to that spot where many of
the buddies whom we had learned to love lay sleeping their long
sleep. Near the hospital where thousands of French soldiers had
at last found a glad relief from their pain and suffering,
straight rows of white crosses met our sight and we knew the
grim reaper Death had garnered his choicest sheaves. How quiet,
how peaceful was the morning! No thundering cannons or whistling
shells, no sputtering of machine guns or hum of hostile planes
was heard. Peace had again come to the valley. The poor peasants
were returning to their ruined homes, some carrying all their
earthly possessions in bundles. Yet as we looked at that vast
field of crosses and thought how the best blood of both France
and the United States had been spilled to bring about peace, we
shuddered at the awful price paid for it.
We passed a number of ruined villages on our way to Toul. From
there we had a most delightful trip, motoring through Metz and
Luxemburg and arriving at Coblentz late in the evening.
The scenery along the Moselle is in many places just as
beautiful as that along the Rhine. The steep hills that ran down
to the river were cultivated in many places to near their tops.
All along the railroad track lay plats of vegetables, and the
neat homes that nestled at the foot of the hills among
blossoming pear trees looked as if "neither care nor want had
ever crossed their threshold." The foliage had not yet clothed
the vines that rose in terraces far above the houses. At Kochem
we beheld the ruins of a splendid castle and monastery. The old
cities of Kardon and Treves were seen through a sunlit rain, and
the level rays of the descending sun produced an effect of the
most singular beauty.
We spent the night in Coblentz and on the following morning set
out to see Ehrenbreitstein. The view from this place is very
fine. At our feet lay the town with its zigzag fortifications
clasped by the silver fork of the two streams that were spanned
by four bridges. The great outworks of the fortress reach far
beyond, while to the right rise the dark, frowning mass Of
volcanic rocks known as the "Eifel." Far away our eyes rested
upon vineyards not yet clothed in verdure.
But the most delightful part of our journey was that from
Coblentz to Cologne. Here we passed through the lovely region of
the Seven Mountains where the old castles "still look down from
their heights as if musing on the spirit of the past."
Even after viewing these medieval castles the scenery along the
Hudson loses none of its charm. But what a contrast! In place of
low vineyard-clad hills, as you see along the Rhine, the
majestic Hudson winds in leisurely fashion among its primeval
forests, the bases of its mountains laved by its current, while
their summits are often shrouded in clouds. You see a grandeur
in the majestic sweep of this beautiful river that you will miss
in the Rhine. The latter is beautiful, we will admit, but it
seems to be swallowed up in detail which detracts rather than
adds to the beauty of it. Whoever has seen both rivers will see,
if he looks with an impartial eye, the points of excellence
found in each. But, standing above the Hudson and gazing out
over the wonderful scene from West Point, you forget your
Rhenish raptures and exclaim with the traveler "Few spots in the
world are as beautiful as this."
As we passed through Tarrytown we thought of Stephen Henry
Thayer's many "sweet transcripts" redolent with the siren voices
of woods and waters of Sleepy Hollow.
