here no fuel but brushwood, and of that too they are obliged to be very
sparing, as they have to fetch it up the mountains, from a distance of
at least three leagues, for at the summit, they tell us, scarcely any
kind of wood grows. The reverend father is returned from Airolo, so
frozen that on his arrival he could scarcely, utter a word. Although
here the Capuchins are allowed to clothe themselves a little more
comfortably than the rest of their order, still their style of dress
is by no means suited for such a climate as this. All the way up from
Airolo the road was frozen perfectly smooth, and he had the wind in his
face; his beard was quite frozen, and it was a long while before he
recovered himself. We had some conversation together on the hardships
of their residence here; he told us how they managed to get through
the year, their various occupations, and their domestic circumstances.
He could speak nothing but Italian, and so we had an opportunity of
putting to use the exercises in this language which we had taken
during the spring. Towards evening we went for a moment outside the
house-door that the good father might point out to us the peak which
is considered to be the highest summit of Mont Gotthard; but we could
scarcely endure to stay out a very few minutes, so searching and
pinching was the cold. This time, therefore, we shall remain close shut
up within doors, and shall have time enough before we start to-morrow,
to travel again in thought over all the most remarkable parts of this
region.
A brief geographical description will enable you to understand how
remarkable the point is at which we are now sitting. S. Gothard is
not indeed the highest mountain of Switzerland; in Savoy, Mont Blanc
has a far higher elevation and yet it maintains above all others the
rank of a king of mountains, because all the great chains converge
together around him, and all rest upon him as their base. Indeed; if
I do not make a great mistake, I think I was told at Berne, by Herr
Wyttenbach, who, from its highest summit, had seen the peaks of all
the others, that the latter all leaned towards it. The mountains of
Schweitz and Unterwalden, joined by those of Uri range from the north,
from the east those of the Grisons, from the south those of the Italian
cantons, while from the east, by means of the Furca, the double line
of mountains which enclose Valais, presses upon it. Not far from this
house, there are two small lakes, one of which sends forth the Ticino
through gorges and valleys into Italy, while from the other, in like
manner, the Reuss proceeds till it empties itself in the Lake of the
Forest towns.[2] Not far from this spot are the sources of the Rhine,
which pursue an easterly course, and if then we take in the Rhone
which rises at the foot of the Furca and runs westward through Valais,
we shall find ourselves at the point of a cross, from which mountain
ranges and rivers proceed towards the four cardinal points of heaven.
[Footnote 1: The Duke Charles Augustus of Weimar, who travelled under
the title of Count of....]
[Footnote 2: Lake Lucerne.]
TRAVELS IN ITALY.
AUCH IN ARCADIEN.
TRAVELS IN ITALY
I TOO IN ARCADIA!
FROM CARLSBAD TO THE BRENNER.
_Ratisbon, September_ 4, 1786.
As early as 3 o'clock in the morning I stole out of Carlsbad, for
otherwise I should not have been allowed to depart quietly. The band of
friends who, on the 28th of August, rejoiced to celebrate my birthday,
had in some degree acquired a right to detain me. However, it was
impossible to stay here any longer. Having packed a portmanteau merely,
and a knapsack, I jumped alone into a post-chaise, and by half past 8,
on a beautifully calm but foggy morning, I arrived at Zevoda. The upper
clouds were streaky and fleecy, the lower ones heavy. This appeared to
me a good sign. I hoped that, after so wretched a summer, we should
enjoy a fine autumn. About 12, I got to Egra, under a warm and shining
sun, and now, it occurred to me, that this place had the same latitude
as my own native town, and it was a real pleasure to me once more to
take my midday meal beneath a bright sky, at the fiftieth degree.
On entering Bavaria one comes at once on the monastery of Waldsassen,
with the valuable domain of the ecclesiastical lords, who were wise
sooner than other men. It lies in a dish-like, not to say cauldron-like
hollow, in beautiful meadow-land, inclosed on all sides by slightly
ascending and fertile heights. This cloister also possesses property
in the neighbouring districts. The soil is decomposed slate-clay.
The quartz, which is found in this mineral formation, and which does
not dissolve nor crumble away, makes the earth loose and extremely
fertile. The land continues to rise until you come to Tirschenreuth,
and the waters flow against you, to fall into the Egra and the Elbe.
From Tirschenreuth it descends southwards, and the streams run towards
the Danube. I can form a pretty rapid idea of a country as soon as
I know by examination which way even the least brook runs, and can
determine the river to whose basin it belongs. By this means, even in
those districts which it is impossible to take a survey of, one can, in
thought, form a connection between lines of mountains and valleys. From
the last-mentioned place begins an excellent road formed of granite.
A better one cannot be conceived, for, as the decomposed granite
consists of gravelly and argillaceous earths, they bind excellently
together, and form a solid foundation, so as to make a road as smooth
as a threshing floor. The country through which it runs looks so much
the worse; it also consists of a granite-sand, lies very flat and
marshy, and the excellent road is all the more desirable. And as,
moreover, the roads descend gradually from this plane, one gets on with
a rapidity that strikingly contrasts with the general snail's pace of
Bohemian travelling. The inclosed billet will give you the names of
the different stages. Suffice it to say, that on the second morning I
was at Ratisbon, and so I did these twenty-four miles[1] and a half
in thirty-nine hours. As the day began to dawn I found myself between
Schwondorf and Begenstauf, and I observed here a change for the better
in the cultivation of the land. The soil was no longer the mere debris
of the rock, but a mixed alluvial deposit. The inundation by which it
was deposited must have been caused by the ebb and flood, from the
basin of the Danube into all the valleys which at present drain their
water into it. In this way were formed the natural bolls (_pölder_), on
which the tillage is carried on. This remark applies to all lands in
the neighbourhood of large or small streams, and with this guide any
observer may form a conclusion as to the soils suited for tillage.
[Sidenote: Ratisbon.]
Ratisbon is, indeed, beautifully situated. The country could not
but invite men to settle and build a city in it, and the spiritual
lords have shown their judgment. All the land around the town
belongs to them; in the city itself churches crowd churches, and
monastic buildings are no less thick. The Danube reminds me of the
dear old Main. At Frankfort, indeed, the river and bridges have a
better appearance; here, however, the view of the northern suburb,
Stadt-am-hof, looks very pretty, as it lies before you across the river.
Immediately on my arrival I betook myself to the College of the
Jesuits, where the annual play was being acted by the pupils. I saw
the end of the opera, and the beginning of the tragedy. They did not
act worse than many an unexperienced company of amateurs, and their
dresses were beautiful, almost too superb. This public exhibition also
served to convince me still more strongly of the worldly prudence of
the Jesuits. They neglect nothing that is likely to produce an effect,
and contrive to practise it with interest and care. In this there is
not merely prudence, such as we understand the term abstractedly; it is
associated with a real pleasure in the matter in hand, a sympathy and
a fellow feeling, a taste, such as arises from the experience of life.
As this great society has among its members organ builders, sculptors,
and gilders, so assuredly there are some who patronise the stage with
learning and taste; and just as they decorate their churches with
appropriate ornaments, these clear-sighted men take advantage of the
world's sensual eye by an imposing theatre.
To-day I am writing in latitude forty-nine degrees. The weather
promises fair, and even here the people complain of the coldness and
wet of the past summer. The morning was cool, but it was the beginning
of a glorious and temperate day. The mild atmosphere which the mighty
river brings with it is something quite peculiar. The fruits are
nothing very surprising. I have tasted, indeed, some excellent pears,
but I am longing for grapes and figs.
My attention is rivetted by the actions and principles of the Jesuits.
Their churches, towers, and buildings, have a something great and
perfect in their plan, which imposes all beholders with a secret awe.
In the decoration, gold, silver, metal, and polished marble, are
accumulated in such splendour and profusion as must dazzle the beggars
of all ranks. Here and there one fails not to meet with something in
bad taste, in order to appease and to attract humanity. This is the
general character of the external ritual of the Roman Catholic Church;
never, however, have I seen it applied with so much shrewdness, tact,
and consistency, as among the Jesuits. Here all tends to this one end;
unlike the members of the other spiritual orders, they do not continue
an old worn-out ceremonial, but, humouring the spirit of the age,
continually deck it out with fresh pomp and splendour.
A rare stone is quarried here into blocks. In appearance it is a
species of conglomerate; however, it must be held to be older, more
primary, and of a porphyritic nature. It is of a greenish color, mixed
with quartz, and is porous; in it are found large pieces of very solid
jasper, in which, again, are to be seen little round pieces of a kind
of Breccia. A specimen would have been very instructive, and one could
not help longing for one; the rock, however, was too solid, and I had
taken a vow not to load myself with stones on this journey.
[Footnote 1: A German mile is exactly equal to four English
geographical, and to rather more than four and a quarter ordinary
miles. The distance in the text may, therefore, he roughly set down as
one hundred and four miles English. [A. J. W. M.]]
* * * * *
_Munich, September_ 6, 1786.
At half past 12, on the 5th of September, I set off for Ratisbon.
At Abbach the country is beautiful, while the Danube dashes against
limestone rocks as far as Saal. The limestone, somewhat similar to
that at Osteroda, on the Hartz, close, but, on the whole, porous. By
6 A.M. I was in Munich, and, after having looked about me for some
twelve hours, I will notice only a few points. In the Sculpture Gallery
I did not find myself at home. I must practise my eye first of all
on paintings. There are some excellent things here. The sketches of
Reubens from the Luxembourg Gallery caused me the greatest delight.
Here, also, is the rare toy, a model of Trajan's Pillar. The material
Lapis Lazuli, and the figures in gilt. It is, at any rate, a rare piece
of workmanship, and, in this light, one takes pleasure in looking at it.
In the Hall of the Antiques I soon felt that my eye was not much
practised on such objects. On this account I was unwilling to stay long
there, and to waste my time. There was much that did not take my fancy,
without my being able to say why. A _Drusus_ attracted my attention;
two Antonines pleased me, as also did a few other things. On the whole,
the arrangement of the objects was not happy, although there is an
evident attempt to make a display with them, and the hall, or rather
the museum, would have a good appearance if it were kept in better
repair and cleaner. In the Cabinet of Natural History I saw beautiful
things from the Tyrol, which, in smaller specimens, I was already
acquainted with, and, indeed, possessed.
[Sidenote: Munich--Mittelwald.]
I was met by a woman with figs, which, as the first, tasted delicious.
But the fruit in general is not good considering the latitude of
forty-eight degrees. Every one is complaining here of the wet and
cold. A mist, which might well be called a rain, overtook me this
morning early before I reached Munich. Throughout the day the wind has
continued to blow cold from off the Tyrolese mountains. As I looked
towards them from the tower I found them covered, and the whole heavens
shrouded with clouds. Now, at setting, the sun is shining on the top
of the ancient tower, which stands right opposite to my window. Pardon
me that I dwell so much on wind and weather. The traveller by land
is almost as much dependent upon them as the voyager by sea, and it
would be a sad thing if my autumn in foreign lands should be as little
favoured as my summer at home.
And now straight for Innspruck. What do I not pass over, both on my
right and on my left, in order to carry out the one thought which has
become almost too old in my soul.
* * * * *
_Mittelwald, September_ 7, 1786.
It seems as if my guardian-spirit had said "Amen" to my "Credo," and
I thank him that he has brought me to this place on so fine a day. My
last postilion said, with a joyous exclamation, it was the first in
the whole summer. I cherish in quiet my superstition that it will long
continue so; however, my friends must pardon me if again I talk of air
and clouds.
As I started from Munich about 5 o'clock, the sky cleared up. On the
mountains of the Tyrol the clouds stood in huge masses. The streaks,
too, in the lower regions did not move. The road lies on the heights
over hills of alluvial gravel, while below one sees the Isar flowing
slowly. Here the work of the inundations of the primal oceans become
conceivable. In many granite-rubbles I found the counterparts of the
specimens in my cabinet, for which I have to thank Knebel.
The mists from the river and the meadows hung about for a time, but,
at last, they, too, dispersed. Between these gravelly hills, which
you must think of as extending, both in length and breadth, for many
leagues, is a highly beautiful and fertile region like that in the
basin of the Regen. Now one comes again upon the Isar, and observe,
in its channel, a precipitous section of the gravel hills, at least a
hundred and fifty feet high. I arrived at Wolfrathshausen and reached
the eight-and-fortieth degree. The sun was scorching hot; no one relies
on the fine weather; every one is complaining of the past year, and
bitterly weeping over the arrangements of Providence.
And now a new world opened upon me. I was approaching the mountains
which stood out more and more distinctly.
Benedictbeuern has a glorious situation and charms one at the first
sight. On a fertile plain is a long and broad white building, and,
behind it, a broad and lofty ridge of rocks. Next, one ascends to the
Kochel-see, and, still higher on the mountains, to the Walchen-see.
Here I greeted the first snow-capt summit, and, in the midst of my
admiration at being so near the snowy mountains, I was informed that
yesterday it had thundered in these parts, and that snow had fallen on
the heights. From these meteoric tokens people draw hopes of better
weather, and from this early snow, anticipate change in the atmosphere.
The rocks around me are all of limestone, of the oldest formation,
and containing no fossils. These limestone mountains extend in vast,
unbroken ranges from Dalmatia to Mount St. Gothard. Hacquet has
travelled over a considerable portion of the chain. They dip on the
primary rocks of the quartz and clay.
[Sidenote: The road up the Brenner.]
I reached the Wallen-see about half past 4. About three miles from this
place I met with a pretty adventure. A harper came before me with his
daughter, a little girl, of about eleven years, and begged me to take
up his child. He went on with his instrument; I let her sit by my side,
and she very carefully placed at her feet a large new box. A pretty
and accomplished creature, and already a great traveller over the
world. She had been on a pilgrimage on foot with her mother to Maria
Einsiedel, and both had determined to go upon the still longer journey
to S. Jago of Compostella, when her mother was carried off by death,
and was unable to fulfil her vow. It was impossible, she thought, to do
too much in honor of the Mother of God. After a great fire, in which a
whole house was burnt to the lowest foundation, she herself had seen
the image of the Mother of God, which stood over the door beneath a
glass frame-image and glass both uninjured--which was surely a palpable
miracle. All her journeys she had taken on foot; she had just played in
Munich before the Elector of Bavaria, and altogether her performances
had been witnessed by one-and-twenty princely personages. She quite
entertained me. Pretty, large, hazel eyes, a proud forehead, which she
frequently wrinkled by an elevation of the brows. She was natural and
agreeable when she spoke, and especially when she laughed out loud with
the free laugh of childhood. When, on the other hand, she was silent,
she seemed to have a meaning in it, and, with her upper lip, had a
sinister expression. I spoke with her on very many subjects, she was at
home with all of them, and made most pertinent remarks. Thus she asked
me once, what tree one we came to, was. It was a huge and beautiful
maple, the first I had seen on my whole journey. She narrowly observed
it, and was quite delighted when several more appeared, and she was
able to recognize this tree. She was going, she told me, to Botzen
for the fair, where she guessed I too was hastening. When she met me
there I must buy her a fairing, which, of course, I promised to do. She
intended to put on there her new coif which she had had made out of her
earnings at Munich. She would show it to me beforehand. So she opened
the bandbox and I could not do less than admire the head-gear, with its
rich embroidery and beautiful ribbons.
Over another pleasant prospect we felt a mutual pleasure. She asserted
that we had fine weather before us. For they always carried their
barometer with them and that was the harp. When the treble-string
twanged it was sure to be fine weather, and it had done so yesterday. I
accepted the omen, and we parted in the best of humours, and with the
hope of a speedy meeting.
* * * * *
_On the Brenner, September_ 8, 1786, _Evening._
Hurried, not to say driven, here by necessity, I have reached at last
a resting-place, in a calm, quiet spot, just such as I could wish it
to be. It has been a day which for many years it will be a pleasure
to recall. I left Mittelwald about 6 in the morning, and a sharp wind
soon perfectly cleared the sky. The cold was such as one looks for only
in February. But now, in the splendour of the setting sun, the dark
foreground, thickly planted with fig-trees, and peeping between them
the grey limestone rocks, and behind all, the highest summit of the
mountain covered with snow, and standing out in bold outline against
the deep blue sky, furnish precious and ever-changing images.
One enters the Tyrol by Scharnitz. The boundary line is marked by a
wall which bars the passage through the valley, and abuts on both
sides on the mountains. It looks well: on one side the rocks are
fortified, on the other they ascend perpendicularly. From Seefeld the
road continually grew more interesting, and if from Benedictbeuern to
this place it went on ascending, from height to height, while all the
streams of the neighbouring districts were making for the Isar, now
one caught a sight over a ridge of rocks of the valley of the Inn, and
Inzingen lay before us. The sun was high and hot, so that I was obliged
to throw off some of my coats, for, indeed, with the varying atmosphere
of the day, I am obliged frequently to change my clothing.
At Zierl one begins to descend into the valley of the Inn. Its
situation is indescribably beautiful, and the bright beams of the sun
made it look quite cheerful. The postilion went faster than I wished,
for he had not yet heard mass, and was anxious to be present at it
at Innspruck, where, as it was the festival of the Nativity of the
Virgin Mary, he hoped to be a devout participant. Accordingly, we
rattled along the banks of the Inn, hurrying by Martinswand, a vast,
precipitous, wall-like rock of limestone. To the spot where the Emperor
Maximilian is said to have lost himself, I ventured to descend and
came up again without a guide, although it is, in any case, a rash
undertaking.
[Sidenote: Innsbruck--Meteorology.]
Innsbruck is gloriously situated in a rich, broad valley, between high
rocks and mountains. Everybody and everything was decked out in honour
of the Virgin's Nativity. At first I had some wish to stop there, but
it promised neither rest nor peace. For a little while I amused myself
with the son of my host. At last the people who were to attend to
me came in one by one. For the sake of health and prosperity to the
flocks, they had all gone on a pilgrimage to Wilden, a place of worship
on the mountains, about three miles and a half from the city. About 2
o'clock, as my rolling carriage divided the gay, merry throng, every
one was in holiday garb and promenade.
From Innsbruck the road becomes even still more beautiful; no powers of
description can equal it. The most frequented road, ascending a gorge
which empties its waters into the Inn, offers to the eye innumerable
varieties of scenery. While the road often runs close to the most
rugged rocks--indeed is frequently cut right through them--one sees the
other side above you slightly inclining, and cultivated with the most
surprising skill. On the high and broad-ascending surface lie valleys,
houses, cottages, and cabins, whitewashed, glittering among the fields
and hedges. Soon all changed; the land becomes available only for
pastime, until it, too, terminates on the precipitous ascent. I have
gained some ideas for my scheme of a creation; none, however, perfectly
new and unexpected. I have also dreamed much of the model I have so
long talked about, by which I am desirous to give a notion of all that
is brooding in my own mind, and which, in nature itself, I cannot point
out to every eye.
Now it grew darker and darker; individual objects were lost in the
obscurity; the masses became constantly vaster and grander; at last, as
the whole moved before me like some deeply mysterious figure, the moon
suddenly illuminated the snow-capt summits; and now I am waiting till
morning shall light up this rocky chasm in which I am shut up on the
boundary line of the north and south.
I must again add a few remarks on the weather, which, perhaps, favours
me so highly, in return for the great attention I pay to it. On the
lowlands one has good or bad weather when it is already settled for
either; on the mountains one is present with the beginning of the
change. I have so often experienced this when on my travels, or walks,
or hunting excursions, I have passed days and nights between the
cliffs in the mountain forests. On such occasions, a conceit occurred
to me, which I give you as nothing better, but which, however, I cannot
get rid of, as indeed, generally, such conceits are, of all things,
most difficult to get rid of. I altogether look upon it as a truth, and
so I will now give utterance to it, especially as I have already so
often had occasion to prove the indulgence of my friends.