Departure from Vienna—The Eil-Wagon—Motley quality of the
passengers—Thunderstorm in the Mountains of
Styria—Trieste—Short beds of the Germans—Grotto of
Adelsburgh—Curious Ball-Room in the Cavern—Nautical
preparations for a Dance on board the “United States” swept away
by the Bora—Its successful termination.
I left Vienna at daylight in a diligence nearly as capacious as a
steamboat—inaptly called the _eil-wagon_. A Friuli count, with a pair
of cavalry moustaches, his wife, a pretty Viennese of eighteen, scarce
married a year, two fashionable-looking young Russians, an Austrian
midshipman, a fat Gratz lawyer, a trader from the Danube, and a young
Bavarian student, going to seek his fortune in Egypt, were my
companions. The social habits of continental travellers had given me
thus much information by the end of the first post.
We drove on with German regularity, three days and three nights, eating
four meals a-day (and very good ones), and improving hourly in our
acquaintance. The Russians spoke all our languages. The Friulese and the
Bavarian spoke everything but English, and the lady, the trader, and the
Gratz avocat, were confined to their vernacular. It was a pretty idea of
Babel when the conversation became general.
We were coursing the bank of a river, in one of the romantic passes of
the mountains of Styria, with a dark thunder-storm gathering on the
summit of a crag overhanging us. I was pointing out to one of my
companions a noble ruin of a castle seated very loftily on the edge of
one of the precipices, when a streak of the most vivid lightning shot
straight upon the northern-most turret, and the moment after several
large masses rolled slowly down the mountain-side. It was so like the
scenery in a play, that I looked at my companion with half a doubt that
it was some optical delusion. It reminded me of some of Martin’s
engravings. The sublime is so well imitated in our day that one is less
surprised than he would suppose when nature produces the reality.
The night was very beautiful when we reached the summit of the mountain
above Trieste. The new moon silvered the little curved bay below like a
polished shield, and right in the path of its beams lay the two frigates
like a painting. I must confess that the comfortable cot swinging in the
ward-room of the “United States” was the prominent thought in my mind as
I gazed upon the scene. The fatigue of three days and nights’ hard
driving had dimmed my eye for the picturesque. Leaving my companions to
the short beds[5] and narrow coverlets of a German hotel, I jumped into
the first boat at the pier, and in a few minutes was alongside the ship.
How musical is the hail of a sentry in one’s native tongue, after a
short habitation to the jargon of foreign languages! “Boat ahoy!” It
made my heart leap. The officers had just returned from Venice, some
over land by the Friuli, and some by the steamer through the gulf, and
were sitting round the table laughing with professional merriment over
their various adventures. It was getting back to country and friends and
home.
* * * * *
I accompanied the commodore’s family yesterday in a visit to the Grotto
of Adelsburgh. It is about thirty miles back into the Friuli mountains,
near the province of Cariola. We arrived at the nearest tavern at three
in the afternoon, and subscribing our names upon the magistrate’s books,
took four guides and the requisite number of torches, and started on
foot. A half hour’s walk brought us to a large rushing stream, which,
after turning a mill, disappeared with violence into the mouth of a
broad cavern, sunk in the base of a mountain. An iron gate opened on the
nearest side, and lighting our torches, we received an addition of half
a dozen men to our party of guides, and entered. We descended for ten or
fifteen minutes, through a capacious gallery of rock, up to the ankles
in mud, and feeling continually the drippings exuding from the roof,
till by the echoing murmurs of dashing water we found ourselves
approaching the bed of a subterraneous river. We soon emerged in a vast
cavern, whose height, though we had twenty torches, was lost in the
darkness. The river rushed dimly below us, at the depth of perhaps fifty
feet, partially illuminated by a row of lamps, hung on a slight wooden
bridge by which we were to cross to the opposite side.
We descended by a long flight of artificial stairs, and stood upon the
bridge. The wildness of the scene is indescribable. A lamp or two
glimmered faintly from the lofty parapet from which we had descended;
the depth and breadth of the surrounding cave could only be measured by
the distance of the echoes of the waters, and beneath us leaped and
foamed a dark river, which sprang from its invisible channel, danced a
moment in the faint light of our lamps, and was lost again instantly in
darkness. It brought with it, from the green fields through which it had
come, a current of soft warm air, peculiarly delightful after the
chilliness of the other parts of the cavern; there was a smell of
new-mown hay in it which seemed lost in the tartarean blackness around.
Our guides led on, and we mounted a long staircase on the opposite side
of the bridge. At the head of it stood a kind of monument, engraved with
the name of the emperor of Austria, by whose munificence the staircase
had been cut and the conveniences for strangers provided. We turned
hence to the right, and entered a long succession of natural corridors,
roofed with stalactites, with a floor of rock and mud, and so even and
wide that the lady under my protection had seldom occasion to leave my
arm. In the narrowest part of it, the stalactites formed a sort of
reversed grove, with the roots in the roof. They were of a snowy white,
and sparkled brilliantly in the light of the torches. One or two had
reached the floor, and formed slender and beautiful sparry columns, upon
which the names of hundreds of visitors were written in pencil.
The spars grew white as we proceeded, and we were constantly emerging
into large halls of the size of handsome drawing-rooms, whose glittering
roofs, and sides lined with fantastic columns, seemed like the brilliant
frost-work of a crystallised cavern of ice. Some of the accidental
formations of the stalagmites were very curious. One large area was
filled with them, of the height of small plants. It was called by the
guides the “English Garden.” At the head of another saloon, stood a
throne, with a stalactite canopy above it, so like the work of art, that
it seemed as if the sculptor had but left the finishing undone.
We returned part of the way we had come, and took another branch of the
grotto, a little more on the descent. A sign above informed us that it
was the “road to the infernal regions.” We walked on an hour at a quick
pace, stopping here and there to observe the oddity of the formations.
In one place, the stalactites had enclosed a room, leaving only small
openings between the columns, precisely like the grating of a prison. In
another, the ceiling lifted out of the reach of torch-light, and far
above us we heard the deep-toned beat as upon a muffled bell. It was a
thin circular sheet of spar, called “the bell,” to which one of the
guides had mounted, striking upon it with a billet of wood.
We came after a while to a deeper descent, which opened into a
magnificent and spacious hall. It is called “the ball-room,” and used as
such once a year, on the occasion of a certain Illyrian festa. The floor
has been cleared of stalagmites, the roof and sides are ornamented
beyond all art with glittering spars, a natural gallery with a
balustrade of stalactites contains the orchestra, and side-rooms are all
around where supper might be laid, and dressing-rooms offered in the
style of a palace. I can imagine nothing more magnificent than such a
scene. A literal description of it even would read like a fairy tale.
A little farther on, we came to a perfect representation of a waterfall.
The impregnated water had fallen on a declivity, and with a slightly
ferruginous tinge of yellow, poured over in the most natural resemblance
to a cascade after a rain. We proceeded for ten or fifteen minutes, and
found a small room like a chapel, with a pulpit, in which stood one of
the guides, who gave us, as we stood beneath, an Illyrian exhortation.
There was a sounding-board above, and I have seen pulpits in old gothic
churches that seemed at a first glance to have less method in their
architecture. The last thing we reached was the most beautiful. From the
cornice of a long gallery, hung a thin, translucent sheet of spar, in
the graceful and waving folds of a curtain; with a lamp behind, the hand
could be seen through any part of it. It was perhaps twenty feet in
length, and hung five or six feet down from the roof of the cavern. The
most singular part of it was the fringe. A ferruginous stain ran through
it from one end to the other, with the exactness of a drawn line, and
thence to the curving edge a most delicate rose-tint faded gradually
down like the last flush of sunset through a silken curtain. Had it been
a work of art, done in alabaster, and stained with the pencil, it would
have been thought admirable.
The guide wished us to proceed, but our feet were wet, and the air of
the cavern was too chill. We were at least four miles, they told us,
from the entrance, having walked briskly for upward of two hours. The
grotto is said to extend ten miles under the mountains, and has never
been thoroughly explored. Parties have started with provisions, and
passed forty-eight hours in it without finding the extremity. It seems
to me that any city I ever saw might be concealed in its caverns. I have
often tried to conceive of the grottos of Antiparos, and the celebrated
caverns of our own country, but I received here an entirely new idea of
the possibility of space under ground. There is no conceiving it unseen.
The river emerges on the other side of the mountain, seven or eight
miles from its first entrance.
We supped and slept at the little albergo of the village, and returned
the next day to an early dinner.
TRIESTE.—A ball on board the “United States.” The guns were run out of
the ports; the main and mizen-masts were wound with red and white
bunting; the capstan was railed with arms and wreathed with flowers; the
wheel was tied with nosegays; the American eagle stood against the
mainmast, with a star of midshipmen’s swords glittering above it;
festoons of evergreens were laced through the rigging; the companion-way
was arched with hoops of green leaves and roses; the decks were
tastefully chalked: the commodore’s skylight was piled with cushions and
covered with red damask for an ottoman; seats were laid along from one
carronade to the other; and the whole was enclosed with a temporary tent
lined throughout with showy flags, and studded all over with bouquets of
all the flowers of Illyria. Chandeliers made of bayonets,
battle-lanterns, and candles in any quantity, were disposed all over the
hall. A splendid supper was set out on the gun-deck below, draped in
with flags. Our own and the “Constellation’s” boats were to be at the
pier at nine o’clock to bring off the ladies, and at noon everything
promised of the brightest.
First, about four in the afternoon, came up a saucy-looking cloud from
the westernmost peak of the Friuli. Then followed from every point
towards the north, an extending edge of a broad solid black sheet which
rose with the regularity of a curtain, and began to send down a wind
upon us which made us look anxiously to our ball-room bowlines. The
midshipmen were all forward, watching it from the forecastle. The
lieutenants were in the gangway, watching it from the ladder. The
commodore looked seriously out of the larboard cabin port. It was as
grave a ship’s company as ever looked out for a shipwreck.
The country about Trieste is shaped like a bellows, and the city and
harbour lie in the nose. They have a wind that comes down through the
valley, called the “bora,” which several times in the year is strong
enough to lift people from their feet. We could see, by the clouds of
dust on the mountain roads, that it was coming. At six o’clock the
shrouds began to creak; the white tops flew from the waves in showers of
spray, and the roof of our sea-palace began to shiver in the wind. There
was no more hope. We had waited even too long. All hands were called to
take down the chandeliers, sword-stars, and ottomans, and before it was
half done, the storm was upon us; the bunting was flying and flapping,
the nicely-chalked decks were swashed with rain, and strewn with leaves
of flowers, and the whole structure, the taste and labour of the ship’s
company for two days, was a watery wreck.
Lieutenant C——, who had the direction of the whole, was the officer of
the deck. He sent for his pea-jacket, and leaving him to pace out his
watch among the ruins of his imagination, we went below to get early to
bed, and forgot our disappointment in sleep.
The next morning the sun rose without a veil. The “blue Friuli” looked
clear and fresh; the south-west wind came over softly from the shore of
Italy, and we commenced retrieving our disaster with elastic spirit.
Nothing had suffered seriously except the flowers, and boats were
despatched ashore for fresh supplies, while the awnings were lifted
higher and wider than before, the bright-coloured flags replaced, the
arms polished and arranged in improved order, and the decks re-chalked
with new devices. At six in the evening everything was swept up, and the
ball-room astonished even ourselves. It was the prettiest place for a
dance in the world.
The ship has an admirable band of twenty Italians, collected from Naples
and other ports, and a fanciful orchestra was raised for them on the
larboard side of the mainmast. They struck up a march as the first
boatful of ladies stepped upon the deck, and in the course of half an
hour the waltzing commenced with at least two hundred couples, while the
ottoman and seats under the hammock-cloths were filled with spectators.
The frigate has a lofty poop, and there was room enough upon it for two
quadrilles after it had served as a reception-room. It was edged with a
temporary balustrade, wreathed with flowers, and studded with lights,
and the cabin beneath (on a level with the main ball-room), was set out
with card-tables. From the gangway entrance, the scene was like a
brilliant theatrical ballet.
An amusing part of it was the sailors’ imitation on the forward decks.
They had taken the waste shrubbery and evergreens, of which there was a
great quantity, and had formed a sort of grove, extending all round. It
was arched with festoons of leaves, with quantities of fruit tied among
them; and over the entrance was suspended a rough picture of a frigate
with the inscription, “Free trade and sailors’ rights.” The forecastle
was ornamented with cutlasses, and one or two nautical transparencies,
with pistols and miniature ships interspersed, and the whole lit up
handsomely. The men were dressed in their white duck trowsers and blue
jackets, and sat round on the guns playing at draughts, or listening to
the music, or gazing at the ladies constantly promenading fore and aft,
and to me this was one of the most interesting parts of the spectacle.
Five hundred weather-beaten and manly faces are a fine sight anywhere.
The dance went gaily on. The reigning belle was an American, but we had
lovely women of all nations among our guests. There are several wealthy
Jewish families in Trieste, and their dark-eyed daughters, we may say at
this distance, are full of the thoughtful loveliness peculiar to the
race. Then we had Illyrians and Germans, and—Terpsichore be our
witness—how they danced! My travelling companion, the count of Friuli,
was there; and his little Viennese wife, though she spoke no Christian
language, danced as featly as a fairy. Of strangers passing through the
Trieste, we had several of distinction. Among them was a fascinating
Milanese marchioness, a relative of Manzoni’s, the novelist (and as
enthusiastic and eloquent a lover of her country as I ever listened to
on the subject of oppressed Italy), and two handsome young men, the
counts Neipperg, sons-in-law to Maria Louisa, who amused themselves as
if they had seen nothing better in the little duchy of Parma.
We went below at midnight, to supper, and the ladies came up with
renewed spirit to the dance. It was a brilliant scene indeed. The
officers of both ships in full uniform, the gentlemen from shore, mostly
military, in full dress, the gaiety of the bright red bunting, laced
with white and blue, and studded, wherever they would stand, with
flowers, and the really uncommon number of beautiful women, with the
foreign features and complexions so rich and captivating to our eyes,
produced altogether an effect unsurpassed by anything I have ever seen
even at the court _fêtes_ of Europe. The daylight gun fired at the close
of a galopade, and the crowded boats pulled ashore with their lovely
freight by the broad light of morning.
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[5] A German bed is never over five feet in length, and proportionably
narrow. The sheets, blankets, and coverlets, are cut exactly to the size
of the bed’s _surface_, so that there is no _tucking up_. The
bed-clothes seem made for cradles. It is easy to imagine how a tall
person sleeps in them.
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