From Mainz to Cologne, the most interesting place to travel along the Rhine. You can read a description of the sights in any guidebook. But I will write to You, my Friend, about my impressions and my observations.

First of all, it turns out that not everything in Russia is as bad as it is customary to think and say. Travel, for example, on the Rhine is incomparably worse for the Germans than for us on the Volga. Steamships are good for nothing compared to our Volga ones, and passengers are stuffed without any restrictions, it seems. On the Volga, perhaps, we even have an excessive luxury: steamships, especially the latest, are like floating palaces. The breadth of the Russian nature shows. A Russian does not look like a "neat German". Neatness, of course, is a good thing, but if neatness nests in nature itself, does it not then indicate a certain limitation of nature? You enter a German Rhine steamer with a pleasant feeling of knowing that our home is better.

But the second feeling that you experience on the Rhine is the feeling of national envy: the Rhine is much richer in beauty than our Volga. From Mainz to Koblenz, even to Bonn, it is difficult to tear one's eyes away from the shores of the Rhine. All the time both banks are high, whole mountains approach the river itself, sometimes ending in steep bizarre rocks. It is not in vain that there are so many mysterious legends, for example, about the Lorelei rocks! Sometimes the mountains will move a little away from the river and open up a whole panorama of mountain views. With each turn of the river, there are more and more new beauties. With some resentment in your soul, you remember the monotonous banks of the Volga. Only on Zhiguli does the memory stop with joy. There are, they say, places on the Volga that are no worse than yours! But the Rhine is given a special, so to speak, historical beauty by castles. A rare mountain peak, a rare ledge of rock is not decorated with the original medieval building of the castle. Towers rise, mysterious narrow windows are blackened - as if the whole medieval complex history is looking at you through these distant windows! Some castles have been restored, others are empty and dilapidated. All this is both very beautiful and very original. Sometimes you begin to imagine the time when steamships were not whistling on the Rhine, railway lines were not running on both banks of the Rhine, steam locomotives were not smoking, when feudal lords lived in their fortresses and castles, when everything here on the Rhine lived its own special life...

It was a long time ago... Now the mountain peaks of the Rhine with their castles serve only as a place for walks for idle curious tourists. Here, my friend, on the Volga you cannot immerse yourself in historical memories and dreams when you sail past the most beautiful shores - unless you remember Stenka Razin. Our Volga or Kama beauties lack historical glory; it is still wild, desolate and primitive, especially on the Kama. Sometimes it gets kind of creepy. This means that we still have a lot ahead of us, if not much is behind. How much more work is before the great Russian people, if they wish to cultivate their native land, a great and abundant land! Wide and spacious are you, native country! It is poor in external effects, but rich in inner beauties of the spirit! Castles not proudly soaring on the rocks look into the quiet streams of our Russian rivers - humble villages and villages with squalid buildings approach these streams. There is only one decoration of these humble villages of the humble tribe of glory - God's temples with bell towers look into the mirror of Russian rivers. Since childhood, my dear Friend, I have been accustomed to seeing such a picture in my homeland, on the banks of my native Oka. In Lipitsy, you will go out on a hill behind the village, look at the valley of the Oka - you can see in the distance for forty versts. Only in the nearest villages of your own and neighboring parish do you dismantle individual houses, and then only the buildings of God's temples are noticeable: the red Teshilov church, the white church in Luzhki, in Pushchino, in Tulchin, and on the horizon in the fog rise the Kashira bell towers... You used to come home for Easter. You will come out to the river. For several versts it spilled, flooding the entire plain. And you hear on all sides the joyful Paschal bell ringing to the glory of the risen Christ: both from our Tula bank and from the Moscow shore the bells are ringing, as if two churches, two dioceses are merging in one solemn hymn. The spring sun shines brightly and gently, muddy streams run noisily along the ditches, rooks walk on the ground solemnly, the whole earth seems to have woken up and begun to breathe, the grass is already green. Nature comes to life, and humble people celebrate the feast of the Resurrection. You used to hear how the Easter bells rushed over the river - as if the waves of new life poured into the soul, tears welled up in your eyes. For a long time and silently you stand enchanted...

If you remember, my dear, this native picture - and it is not so offensive to realize that the banks of our Russian rivers are more modest than the banks of the German river. On the banks of this river, you do not hear the Easter bells - only the whistle of steam locomotives. And if so, then God be with them - with castles, and with mountains, and with rocks! Dearer to my heart are the modest rivers of my native land!

The shores of the Rhine are beautiful, but European culture fights with beauty here as well, bringing its mercantile spirit. Often the coastal mountains from the very water to the top are divided into vineyards and therefore have lost all their natural beauty. The irregularities are smoothed out, everything is leveled, and only monotonous green stripes are drawn. Like oases or like fragments of former beauty amidst artificial monotony, there are the ruins of castles, such as Ehrenfels Castle. But, of course, it turns out to be a picture: a German sails along the Rhine and drinks Rhein wein!

You look closely at the passengers and notice the peculiarities of the German public. In Europe in general, my friend, you don't see the people, but you meet the public. There is no our division into the public and the people, about which K.S. Aksakov wrote so eloquently and wittily. You, Friend, remember, of course, that when comparing the public and the people, the famous Slavophile took the side of the people entirely, because our audience is most respectable, and the people are Orthodox, because when the audience dances, the people pray. It seems to me that the journey (as well as the walk, of which I wrote to You, Friend, last time) is the business of the public, and not of the people. What can you do? Sympathizing with K.S. Aksakov more to the people than to the public, I, however, love to travel. But people do not travel in order to see foreign lands, to see the beauty of foreign nature. Do you remember, Friend, not so long ago I wrote you enthusiastic letters from the Volga and the Kama, regretting only that you were not with me! But then I saw how indifferent people were to the beautiful shores. He is sitting on the steamer, with his back to the shore; His face turns to the shore only when he needs to throw something into the water, rinse, for example, a kettle. There are also souls among the people who are sensitive to the beauty of nature, but their attitude to the beauty of nature is not aesthetic, but religious: they admire the beauty of God's world, God's creation. They do not need stunning beauties: for them God is great even in blades of grass on earth. Such admiration for God's creation I have encountered especially often among simple monks from among the people. After all, the monastery in Russia gathers within itself all that is most sensitive, the most tender, the most enthusiastic, the most profound of the Russian masses.

On the Rhine I saw the German public traveling. You, Friend, cannot even imagine how much travel is developed among the Germans! Almost every German saves up a few dozen marks in order to take his German woman in the summer, take a ride along the Rhine, drive to Saxon Switzerland, walk in the mountains. You can find German tourists everywhere. The Germans have a whole science of traveling. And everything is reduced to a template again. Often it was just funny to me to look at the traveling Germans. They are very funny in their stupid self-satisfaction. A German will certainly wear a special suit for the trip. In the cities, there are special shops with things for tourists. If a tourist is going to the mountains, then the comedy begins in the plains. On the feet are shoes made of thick leather with iron spikes on the soles. Next, high, above the knees, thick stockings. A bag on his back. The whole figure is covered with a cloak; In his hands is an impressive stick with a sharp iron end. It seems that the tourist is going either to the North Pole or to the top of Mont Ball. And what an important view! So everyone says: "Look, I'm going on a journey, terrible dangers await me, but I'll overcome everything!" The German, I think, travels more for hygienic purposes, to temper himself, to lose fat, to increase blood circulation, to work up a good appetite and sound sleep. For him, admiration for the beauty of nature is also valuable, by the way, because they promote digestion. A relative of mine, who traveled a lot, very angrily ridiculed the German way of traveling. "The Germans," he said, "have signs on the mountain paths: 'Here you need to stop and admire the view to the right,' 'Here you need to express your delight with an exclamation,' and so on." He tries not to miss a single view, not a single attraction. A German tourist always has a guidebook in his hands. Not to see anything mentioned in the guidebook is a misfortune for a German. Of course! For his money, he could have seen it and did not see it! And the money is spent! Thus, my friend, the German and the Russian travel differently. For the Russian, the journey itself is evoked by the breadth of nature, which wants to embrace and contain as much as possible. A German is petty, calculating and boring when traveling.

As I sailed along the Rhine, my attention on the steamer was attracted by the figure of a Catholic clergyman. I saw a shaved face in a cassock. Isn't he a Catholic student? - a thought flashed through my mind. I sat down next to the companion who interested me and spoke to him. It turned out to be not a student, but a Pfarrer, a village priest from Bavaria, that is, a face no less interesting. We talked for a long time on various issues, even had lunch (forgive me, Lord!) together, although my companion was not distinguished by talkativeness. He graduated from the University of Munich, but apparently broke with science immediately after completing his university course. It turned out that I was no less familiar with German theological books than the Bavarian village priest. I also did not notice any special intelligence and good manners in my interlocutor. I was interested in his stories about church affairs, about the life and work of the Catholic clergy. After graduating from the university, it turns out, you can't immediately get even a rural place. Those who wish are ordained to the priesthood, but they live with the bishop for three years, participating in divine services, in preaching, and performing certain pastoral duties. The bishop gets to know the young priests intimately and, on the basis of his personal acquaintance, determines who he considers more suitable. Parish paters receive a state salary, although not particularly large. Single people, of course, need incomparably less than married people. The village priest serves a short mass every day without a sermon. The mass lasts half an hour. About fifty people attend this Mass every day. On holidays, mass with a sermon. Yes, my friend, the lonely priest somehow lives more with the spiritual interests of his parish, because he himself has few personal worldly interests. I have always thought that the class and obligatory family life of our clergy greatly interferes with church life and activity. Catholic celibacy is, of course, an extreme. The church canons allow freedom for a priest in marriage and celibacy. In my opinion, the obligatory family for a priest is also an extreme, and an extreme that is hardly useful. The family is the better the more selfish it is, and pastoral care is essentially self-denial. It is incomparably easier to renounce oneself alone than one's family. However, in these considerations I can hardly find sympathy with You, my Friend!

In Cologne my journey along the Rhine ended. From afar, the Cologne Cathedral riveted my eyes. I have already written to You about it, my dear Friend. From the Cologne impressions, I recall the evening solemn service in the Jacobskirche, especially the sermon at the end of the service. On the pulpit, a kind of artist towered over the crowd of worshippers. In terms of content, the sermon was nothing remarkable, but it was eloquently expounded and delivered artistically. How the preacher controlled his voice, how confident he felt in the pulpit, what expressive facial expressions and gestures! He spoke of the Savior's love for the world. When, at the end, the preacher began to depict the ingratitude of the world, which is crucifying Christ with its sins for the second time, tears welled up in the listeners. But the very end of the sermon stunned me. The preacher began to make rather stupid witticisms, tell jokes. Instead of crying, bursts of laughter were heard throughout the temple. Having cheered up the worshippers, the preacher left the pulpit. What I saw seemed incredible to me. What is it? Why this fun addition? In order not to let the listeners go home in a sad mood? This is what they do in theaters, after a heavy drama, playing a frivolous vaudeville. But it seemed very, very strange to me to observe the same thing in the church.

In the morning the train took me from Cologne and from the Rhine.

But I, my friend, was also in the upper part of the Rhine especially to see the famous Rhine Falls. On the way from Zurich to Schaffhausen, a little before reaching the latter, I saw from the window of the carriage a roaring and foaming mass of falling water. As soon as the train stopped in Neuhausen, I headed for the waterfall. A majestic and formidable picture of nature! A fairly wide river rushes down with noise and rumble, at the left bank it even falls almost steeply. The whole river becomes white. For a long time after the waterfall, the river is bubbling and restless. I wanted to see a wild picture of the waterfall in a wild frame. I imagined a time when everything around was deserted and lifeless: there were no roads, no well-maintained cities. Probably, the waterfall was somewhat different then, but undoubtedly it was even more majestic and formidable. I spent several hours by the raging waterfall. On the way, I learned that I had arrived successfully: on one of those days when late in the evening there is a special illumination of the waterfall. It was already getting dark. The picture of the waterfall became more and more creepy. All the details of the waterfall disappeared - only as if wild hungry angry animals roared in the dark! Such pictures of nature somehow suppress the consciousness, as if you are completely immersed in a sea of noise and rush along this sea in the complete power of its mighty waves.

At about ten o'clock in the evening, a rocket flew from the Laufen Castle, located on a high, forested cliff on the left bank, cutting through the darkness of the night. Immediately, from the opposite bank, an invisible hand pointed a strong electric searchlight at the entire depths of the waterfall. Imagine, my Friend, the black masses of the high mountainous shores; only the waterfall itself is flooded with bright light; he is all white in the rays of light; Small splashes play and shimmer. Suddenly, the waterfall plunges into darkness again - only one castle is lit by a searchlight directed at it. Again, the rays of light go to the waterfall. Suddenly the waterfall begins to turn blue, and soon all its mass is blue. Then one half of it becomes red, the other remains blue. Soon the whole waterfall is red. A few more minutes - and fireworks rockets rained down on the waterfall. A rain of rockets is pouring down from the castle. Fiery streaks stretch from the sky to the water itself and scatter multi-colored balls over the water. Rockets take off even from that small rock that has stood in the middle of the waterfall for centuries. A spectacular spectacle captures all the attention. It does not last long, maybe only 15-20 minutes, but for these minutes the whole world ceases to exist for you; The whole soul is filled with an unparalleled spectacle, in which one surprise replaces another. I sat for these twenty minutes on the bank of the river opposite the waterfall, as if in some fantastic dream. Such sights are not forgotten!

Finally, everything went out. Immediately, somehow everything around me became uninteresting. It was as if he had been transported from the mysterious world of dreams and dreams to the boring everyday life, and it seemed cold and uncomfortable on a dark night on the river bank. Immediately, the entire crowd of spectators walked from the waterfall. The prudent Germans brought in a whole electric train and took us to Schaffhausen for the night.