long enough to have a new sense of the blessing of light. The first
glimpse of returning day seen through the distant entrance brought with
it an exhilarating sense of release, and the blue sky and cheerful
sunshine were welcomed like the faces of long absent friends. A cave
like that of Adelsberg--for all limestone caves are, doubtless,
essentially similar in character--ought by all means to be seen if it
comes in one's way, because it leaves impressions upon the mind unlike
those derived from any other object. Nature stamps upon most of her
operations a certain character of gravity and majesty. Order and
symmetry attend upon her steps, and unity in variety is the law by which
her movements are guided. But, beneath the surface of the earth,
she seems a frolicsome child, or a sportive undine, who wreaths the
unmanageable stone into weird and quaint forms, seemingly from no
other motive than pure delight in the exercise of overflowing power.
Everything is playful, airy, and fantastic; there is no spirit of
soberness; no reference to any ulterior end; nothing from which food,
fuel, or raiment can be extracted. These chasms have been scooped out,
and these pillars have been reared, in the spirit in which the bird
sings, or the kitten plays with the falling leaves. From such scenes we
may safely infer that the plan of the Creator comprehends something
more than material utility, that beauty is its own vindictator and
interpreter, that sawmills were not the ultimate cause of mountain
streams, nor wine-bottles of cork-trees.
THE MONASTERY OF MÖLK[22]
BY THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN
We had determined upon dining at Mölk the next day. The early morning
was somewhat inauspicious; but as the day advanced, it grew bright and
cheerful. Some delightful glimpses of the Danube, to the left, from the
more elevated parts of the road, accompanied us the whole way, till we
caught the first view, beneath a bright blue sky, of the towering church
and Monastery of Mölk.
Conceive what you please, and yet you shall not conceive the situation
of this monastery. Less elevated above the road than Chremsminster, but
of a more commanding style of architecture, and of considerably greater
extent, it strikes you--as the Danube winds round and washes its rocky
base--as one of the noblest edifices in the world. The wooded heights
of the opposite side of the Danube crown the view of this magnificent
edifice, in a manner hardly to be surpassed. There is also a beautiful
play of architectural lines and ornament in the front of the building,
indicative of a pure Italian taste, and giving to the edifice, if not
the air of towering grandeur, at least of dignified splendor....
As usual, I ordered a late dinner, intending to pay my respects to
the Principal, and obtain permission to inspect the library. My late
monastic visits had inspired me with confidence; and I marched up the
steep sides of the hill, upon which the monastery is built, quite
assured of the success of the visit I was about to pay. You must now
accompany the bibliographer to the monastery. In five minutes from
entering the outer gate of the first quadrangle--looking toward
Vienna, and which is the more ancient part of the building--I was in
conversation with the Vice-Principal and Librarian, each of us speaking
Latin. I delivered the letter which I had received at Salzburg, and
proceeded to the library.
The view from this library is really enchanting, and put everything seen
from a similar situation at Landshut and almost even at Chremsminster,
out of my recollection. You look down upon the Danube, catching a fine
sweep of the river, as it widens in its course toward Vienna. A man
might sit, read, and gaze--in such a situation--till he fancied he had
scarcely one earthly want! I now descended a small staircase, which
brought me directly into the large library--forming the right wing of
the building, looking up the Danube toward Lintz. I had scarcely uttered
three notes of admiration, when the Abbé Strattman entered; and to my
surprise and satisfaction, addrest me by name. We immediately commenced
an ardent unintermitting conversation in the French language, which the
Abbé speaks fluently and correctly.
I now took a leisurely survey of the library; which is, beyond
all doubt, the finest room of its kind which I have seen upon the
Continent--not for its size, but for its style of architecture, and the
materials of which it is composed. I was told that it was "the Imperial
Library in miniature,"--but with this difference, let me here add, in
favor of Mölk--that it looks over a magnificently wooded country, with
the Danube rolling its rapid course at its base. The wainscot and
shelves are walnut tree, of different shades, inlaid, or dovetailed,
surmounted by gilt ornaments. The pilasters have Corinthian capitals of
gilt; and the bolder or projecting parts of a gallery, which surrounds
the room, are covered with the same metal. Everything is in harmony.
This library may be about a hundred feet in length, by forty in width.
It is sufficiently well furnished with books, of the ordinary useful
class, and was once, I suspect, much richer in the bibliographical lore
of the fifteenth century.
On reaching the last descending step, just before entering the church,
the Vice-Principal bade me look upward and view the corkscrew staircase.
I did so; and to view and admire was one and the same operation of the
mind. It was the most perfect and extraordinary thing of the kind which
I had ever seen--the consummation, as I was told, of that particular
species of art. The church is the very perfection of ecclesiastical
Roman architecture; that of Chremsminster, altho' fine, being much
inferior to it in loftiness and richness of decoration. The windows
are fixt so as to throw their concentrated light beneath a dome, of no
ordinary height, and of no ordinary elegance of decoration; but this
dome is suffering from damp, and the paintings upon the ceiling will,
unless repaired, be effaced in the course of a few years.
The church is in the shape of a cross; and at the end of each of the
transepts, is a rich altar, with statuary, in the style of art usual
about a century ago. The pews--made of dark mahogany or walnut tree,
much after the English fashion, but lower and more tasteful--are placed
on each side of the nave, or entering; with ample space between them.
They are exclusively appropriated to the tenants of the monastery. At
the end of the nave, you look to the left, opposite--and observe, placed
in a recess--a pulpit, which, from top to bottom, is completely covered
with gold. And yet, there is nothing gaudy or tasteless, or glaringly
obtrusive, in this extraordinary clerical rostrum. The whole is in the
most perfect taste; and perhaps more judgment was required to manage
such an ornament, or appendage--consistently with the splendid style
of decoration exacted by the founder, for it was expressly the Prelate
Dietmayr's wish that it should be so adorned,--than may on first
consideration be supposed. In fact, the whole church is in a blaze
of gold; and I was told that the gilding alone cost upward of ninety
thousand florins. Upon the whole, I understood that the church of this
monastery was considered as the most beautiful in Austria; and I can
easily believe it to be so.
THROUGH THE TYROL[23]
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
I left this most pleasing of the Italian cities (Venice), and took the
road for the Tyrol. We passed through a level fertile country, formerly
the territory of Venice, watered by the Piave, which ran blood in one of
Bonaparte's battles. At evening we arrived at Ceneda, where our Italian
poet Da Ponte[24] was born, situated just at the base of the Alps, the
rocky peaks and irregular spires of which, beautifully green with the
showery season, rose in the background. Ceneda seems to have something
of German cleanliness about it, and the floors of a very comfortable inn
at which we stopt were of wood, the first we had seen in Italy, tho'
common throughout Tyrol and the rest of Germany. A troop of barelegged
boys, just broke loose from school, whooping and swinging their books
and slates in the air, passed under my window.
On leaving Ceneda, we entered a pass in the mountains, the gorge of
which was occupied by the ancient town of Serravalle, resting on
arcades, the architecture of which denoted that it was built during the
Middle Ages. Near it I remarked an old castle, which formerly commanded
the pass, one of the finest ruins of the kind I had ever seen. It had a
considerable extent of battlemented wall in perfect preservation, and
both that and its circular tower were so luxuriantly loaded with ivy
that they seemed almost to have been cut out of the living verdure.
As we proceeded we became aware how worthy this region was to be the
birthplace of a poet.
A rapid stream, a branch of the Piave, tinged of a light and somewhat
turbid blue by the soil of the mountains, came tumbling and roaring
down the narrow valley; perpendicular precipices rose on each side; and
beyond, the gigantic brotherhood of the Alps, in two long files of steep
pointed summits, divided by deep ravines, stretched away in the sunshine
to the northeast. In the face of one of the precipices by the way-side,
a marble slab is fixt, informing the traveler that the road was opened
by the late Emperor of Germany in the year of 1830. We followed this
romantic valley for a considerable distance, passing several little blue
lakes lying in their granite basins, one of which is called the "Lago
Morto" or Dead Lake, from having no outlet for its waters.
At length we began to ascend, by a winding road, the steep sides of the
Alps--the prospect enlarging as we went, the mountain summits rising to
sight around us, one behind another, some of them white with snow, over
which the wind blew with a wintry keenness--deep valleys opening
below us, and gulfs yawning between rocks over which old bridges were
thrown--and solemn fir forests clothing the broad declivities. The
farm-houses placed on these heights, instead of being of brick or stone,
as in the plains and valleys below, were principally built of wood;
the second story, which served for a barn, being encircled by a long
gallery, and covered with a projecting roof of plank held down with
large stones.
We stopt at Venas, a wretched place with a wretched inn, the hostess
of which showed us a chin swollen with the goitre, and ushered us into
dirty comfortless rooms where we passed the night. When we awoke the
rain was beating against the windows, and, on looking out, the forest
and sides of the neighboring mountains, at a little height above us,
appeared hoary with snow. We set out in the rain, but had not proceeded
far before we heard the sleet striking against the windows of the
carriage, and soon came to where the snow covered the ground to the
depth of one or two inches.
Continuing to ascend, we passed out of Italy and entered the Tyrol. The
storm had ceased before we went through the first Tyrolese village, and
we could not help being struck with the change in the appearance of the
inhabitants--the different costume, the less erect figures, the awkward
gait, the lighter complexions, the neatly-kept inhabitations, and the
absence of beggars. As we advanced, the clouds began to roll off from
the landscape, disclosing here and there, through openings in their
broad skirts as they swept along, glimpses of the profound valleys below
us, and of the white sides and summits of mountains in the mid-sky
above. At length the sun appeared, and revealed a prospect of such
wildness, grandeur, and splendor as I have never before seen.
Lofty peaks of the most fantastic shapes, with deep clefts between,
sharp needles of rock, and overhanging crags, infinite in multitude,
shot up everywhere around us, glistening in the new-fallen snow, with
thin wreaths of mist creeping along their sides. At intervals, swollen
torrents, looking at a distance like long trains of foam, came
thundering down the mountains, and crossing the road, plunged into the
verdant valleys which winded beneath. Beside the highway were fields
of young grain, prest to the ground with the snow; and in the meadows,
ranunculuses of the size of roses, large yellow violets, and a thousand
other Alpine flowers of the most brilliant hues, were peeping through
their white covering.
We stopt to breakfast at a place called Landro, a solitary inn, in the
midst of this grand scenery, with a little chapel beside it. The water
from the dissolving snow was dropping merrily from the roof in a bright
June sun. We needed not to be told that we were in Germany, for we saw
it plainly enough in the nicely-washed floor of the apartment into which
we were shown, in the neat cupboard with the old prayer-book lying upon
it, and in the general appearance of housewifery; to say nothing of the
evidence we had in the beer and tobacco-smoke of the travelers' room,
and the guttural dialect and quiet tones of the guests.
From Landro we descended gradually into the beautiful valleys of the
Tyrol, leaving the snow behind, tho' the white peaks of the mountains
were continually in sight. At Bruneck, in an inn resplendent with
neatness--we had the first specimen of a German bed. It is narrow and
short, and made so high at the head, by a number of huge square bolsters
and pillows, that you rather sit than lie. The principal covering is a
bag of down, very properly denominated the upper bed, and between this
and the feather-bed below, the traveler is expected to pass a night. An
asthmatic patient on a cold winter night might perhaps find such a couch
tolerably comfortable, if he could prevent the narrow covering from
slipping off on one side or the other.
The next day we were afforded an opportunity of observing more closely
the inhabitants of this singular region, by a festival, or holiday of
some sort, which brought them into the roads in great numbers, arrayed
in their best dresses--the men in short jackets and small-clothes, with
broad gay-colored suspenders over their waistcoats, and leathern belts
ornamented with gold or silver leaf--the women in short petticoats
composed of horizontal bands of different colors--and both sexes, for
the most part, wearing broad-brimmed hats with hemispherical crowns,
tho' there was a sugar-loaf variety much affected by the men, adorned
with a band of lace and sometimes a knot of flowers. They are a robust,
healthy-looking race, tho' they have an awkward stoop in the shoulders.
But what struck me most forcibly was the devotional habits of the
people.
The Tyrolese might be cited as an illustration of the remark, that
mountaineers are more habitually and profoundly religious than others.
Persons of all sexes, young and old, whom we meet in the road, were
repeating their prayers audibly. We passed a troop of old women, all in
broad-brimmed hats and short gray petticoats, carrying long staves, one
of whom held a bead-roll and gave out the prayers, to which the others
made the responses in chorus. They looked at us so solemnly from under
their broad brims, and marched along with so grave and deliberate a
pace, that I could hardly help fancying that the wicked Austrians had
caught a dozen elders of the respectable Society of Friends, and put
them in petticoats to punish them for their heresy. We afterward saw
persons going to the labors of the day, or returning, telling their
rosaries and saying their prayers as they went, as if their devotions
had been their favorite amusement. At regular intervals of about half a
mile, we saw wooden crucifixes erected by the way-side, covered from the
weather with little sheds, bearing the image of the Savior, crowned with
thorns and frightfully dashed with streaks and drops of red paint, to
represent the blood that flowed from his wounds. The outer walls of the
better kind of houses were ornamented with paintings in fresco, and the
subjects of these were mostly sacred, such as the Virgin and Child, the
Crucifixion, and the Ascension. The number of houses of worship was
surprising; I do not mean spacious or stately churches such as we meet
with in Italy, but most commonly little chapels dispersed so as best to
accommodate the population. Of these the smallest neighborhood has one
for the morning devotions of its inhabitants, and even the solitary inn
has its little consecrated building with its miniature spire, for the
convenience of pious wayfarers.
At Sterzing, a little village beautifully situated at the base of the
mountain called the Brenner, and containing, as I should judge, not more
than two or three thousand inhabitants, we counted seven churches and
chapels within the compass of a square mile. The observances of the
Roman Catholic church are nowhere more rigidly complied with than in the
Tyrol. When we stopt at Bruneck on Friday evening, I happened to drop
a word about a little meat for dinner in a conversation with the
spruce-looking landlady, who appeared so shocked that I gave up the
point, on the promise of some excellent and remarkably well-flavored
trout from the stream that flowed through the village--a promise that
was literally fulfilled....
We descended the Brenner on the 28th of June in a snow-storm, the wind
whirling the light flakes in the air as it does with us in winter. It
changed to rain, however, as we approached the beautiful and picturesque
valley watered by the river Inn, on the banks of which stands the fine
old town of Innsbruck, the capital of the Tyrol. Here we visited the
Church of the Holy Cross, in which is the bronze tomb of Maxmilian I.
and twenty or thirty bronze statues ranged on each side of the nave,
representing fierce warrior-chiefs, and gowned prelates, and stately
damsels of the middle ages. These are all curious for the costume; the
warriors are cased in various kinds of ancient armor, and brandish
various ancient weapons, and the robes of the females are flowing and by
no means ungraceful. Almost every one of the statues has its hands and
fingers in some constrained and awkward position; as if the artist knew
as little what to do with them as some awkward and bashful people know
what to do with their own. Such a crowd of figures in that ancient garb,
occupying the floor in the midst of the living worshipers of the present
day, has an effect which at first is startling.
From Innsbruck we climbed and crossed another mountain-ridge, scarcely
less wild and majestic in its scenery than those we had left behind. On
descending, we observed that the crucifixes had disappeared from the
roads, and the broad-brimmed and sugar-loaf hats from the heads of the
peasantry; the men wore hats contracted in the middle of the crown like
an hour-glass, and the women caps edged with a broad band of black fur,
the frescoes on the outside of the houses became less frequent; in short
it was apparent that we had entered a different region, even if the
custom-house and police officers on the frontier had not signified to us
that we were now in the kingdom of Bavaria. We passed through extensive
forests of fir, here and there checkered with farms, and finally came
to the broad elevated plain bathed by the Isar, in which Munich is
situated.
IN THE DOLOMITES[25]
BY ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL KNOWLES
The Dolomites are part of the Southern Tyrol. One portion is Italian,
one portion is Austrian, and the rivalry of the two nations is keen.
Under a warm summer sun, the quaint little villages seem half asleep,
and the inhabitants appear to drift dreamily through life. Yet this is
more apparent than real for, in many respects, the people here are busy
in their own way.
Crossing this region are many mountain ranges of limestone structure,
which by water, weather and other causes have been worn away into the
most fantastic fissures and clefts and the most picturesque peaks and
pinnacles. A very great charm is their curious coloring, often of great
beauty. The region of the Dolomites is a great contrast to the rest of
the Alps. Its characteristics do not make the same appeal to all. This
is largely not only a matter of individual taste and temperament but
also of one's mental or spiritual constitution, for the picture with its
setting depends as much upon what it suggests as upon its constituent
parts. The Dolomites suggest Italy in the contour of the country, in the
grace of the inhabitants and in the colors which make the scene one of
rich magnificence. The great artist Titian was born here[26] and he
probably learned much from his observation of his native place.
Many of the mountain ranges are of the usual gray but such is the
atmospheric condition that they seem to reflect the rosy rays of the
setting sun or the purplish haze that often is found. The peaks are not
great peaks in the sense that we speak of Mont Blanc, the Jungfrau,
the Matterhorn or Monte Rosa. They impress one more as pictures with
wonderful lights and strange grouping....
If the reader intends some day to visit the Dolomites he is advised to
enter from the north. Salzburg and the Salzkammergut, so much frequented
by the Emperor Francis Joseph and the Austrian nobility, make a good
introduction. Then by way of Innsbruck, one of the gems of the Tyrol,
Toblach is reached, where the driving tour may properly begin. Toblach
is a lovely place, if one stops long enough to see it and enjoy it! It
is not very far to Cortina, the center of this beautiful region. The way
there is very lovely. And driving is in keeping with the spirit of the
place. It almost seems profane to rush through in a motor, as some do,
for not only is it impossible to appreciate the scenery, but also it is
out of harmony with the peace and quiet which reign.
For a while there is traversed a little valley quite embowered in green,
but presently this abruptly leads into a wild gorge, with jagged peaks
on every side. Soon Monte Cristallo appears. This is the most striking
of all the Dolomite peaks. At a tiny village, called Schluderbach, the
road forks, that to the right going directly to Cortina, the other to
the left proceeding by way of Lake Misurina. Lake Misurina is a pretty
stretch of water, pale green in color and at an altitude of about 5,800
feet. On its shores are two very attractive and well-kept hotels, with
charming walks, from which one looks on a splendid panorama, picturesque
in extreme.
From Misurina, the road again ascends, becoming very narrow and very
steep. The top is called "Passo Tre Croci," the Pass of the Three
Crosses. The outlook is very lovely, with the three serrated peaks Monte
Cristallo, Monte Piano and Monte Tofana, standing as guardian sentinels
over the little valley of Ampezzo far below, where lies Cortina
sleeping in the sun, while in the distance shine the snow fields of the
Marmolata. Just as steeply as it climbed up one side, the road descends
on the other side, to Cortina. This place is the capital of the valley
and altogether lovely; beautiful in its woods and meadows, beautiful in
its mountain views, beautiful in the town itself and beautiful in its
people.
Cortina has much to boast of--an ancient church and some old houses; an
industrial school in which the villagers are taught the most delicate
and artistic (and withal comparatively cheap) filigree mosaic work; and
a community of people, handsome in face and figure and possessing
a carriage and refinement superior to any seen elsewhere among the
mountaineers or peasantry. In the neighborhood of Cortina are many
excursions and also extended rock climbs, but those who go there in the
summer will be more apt to linger lazily amid the cool shade of the
trees than to brave the hot Italian sun on the peaks!
After a few days' stay at Cortina, the drive is continued. There are
many ways out. You can return by a new route to Toblach and the Upper
Tyrol. Or you can go south to Belluno and thence to northern Italy. Or
a third way and perhaps the finest tour of all is that over a series of
magnificent mountain passes to Botzen. This last crosses the Ampezzo
Valley and then begins the ascent of Monte Tofana, which here is
beautifully wooded. Steepness seems characteristic of this region!