LINZ TO THE WACHAU
“... the Strudel and the Wirbel form
Dangers more fierce than devastating storm,
Where the great waters with tumultuous roar,
Through the defile their pent-up currents pour.”
_From the German_
Below Linz again we have something of a dramatic change in the scenery
of the river. Behind us are the mountains, and for a while they
neighbour us fairly closely on the left; but for some miles it is
between willow-grown shores and among islets that the Danube finds
its way. For a while the river runs in a north-easterly direction, as
though against the Pfennigberg, but soon turns south-easterly again
round it, and so reaches the long, islanded stretch which continues
most of the way to the Wachau. Near where the river Traun comes in from
the right, is, on the left, though hidden from view, the old town of
Steyregg, or Steyereck, with a castle at one time the possession of
a family, a member of which, at the Battle of Marchfeld, rescued the
Emperor Rudolph the First, founder of the House of Habsburg, from a
gigantic Thuringian knight who had unhorsed and wounded him.
At one of the mouths of the Traun, hidden behind islands, is Traundorf,
famous for its crawfish. A little distance up it is Ebelsberg, scene of
a sanguinary battle between the French and Austrians on 3 May, 1809.
“From twelve to sixteen thousand men fell in this terrible conflict,
and the banks of the Traun, from Ebelsberg to the Danube, were
literally covered with the slain.” Here, too, in the Peasant’s War the
insurgents were overcome, and lost two thousand men. And these are but
two of the incidents in the stormy history of the town.
As has been said, the journey from Linz to the commencement of the
Wachau is mostly through the willow-grown islands of a broad valley.
It was possibly hereabouts that the Emperor Julian “the Apostate”
reached the Danube on his remarkable march to assured Empire. Gibbon
has summarized the story in graphic fashion. Having assembled a great
army near Basle, he divided it into three unequal portions--one was to
go through the northern parts of Italy, another through the centre of
Rhœtia and Noricum:
“The instructions to the generals were conceived with energy and
pre-cision; to hasten their march in close and compact columns, which,
according to the disposition of the ground, might readily be changed
into any order of battle; to secure themselves against the surprises of
the night by strong posts and vigilant guards; to prevent resistance
by their unexpected arrival; to elude examination by their sudden
departure; to spread the opinion of their strength, and the terror of
his name; and to join their sovereign under the walls of Sirmium.
“For himself, Julian had reserved a more difficult and extraordinary
part. He selected three thousand brave and active volunteers, resolved,
like their leader, to cast behind them every hope of a retreat; at the
head of this faithful band, he fearlessly plunged into the recesses
of the Marcian or Black Forest, which conceals the sources of the
Danube, and for many days the fate of Julian was unknown to the world.
The secrecy of his march, his diligence, and vigour, surmounted every
obstacle; he forced his way over mountains and morasses, occupied
the bridges, or swam the rivers, pursued his direct course, without
reflecting whether he traversed the territory of the Romans, or of
the barbarians, and at length emerged, between Ratisbon and Vienna,
at the place where he designed to embark his troops on the Danube. By
a well-concerted stratagem he seized a fleet of light brigantines, as
it lay at anchor; secured a supply of coarse provisions, sufficient
to satisfy the indelicate, but voracious appetite, of a Gallic army;
and boldly committed himself to the stream of the Danube. The labours
of his mariners, who plied their oars with incessant diligence, and
the steady continuance of a favourable wind, carried his fleet above
seven hundred miles in eleven days, and he had already disembarked his
troops at Bononia [Widdin] only nineteen miles from Sirmium, before his
enemies could receive any certain intelligence that he had left the
banks of the Rhine.”
It was possibly somewhere on this stretch of the river that the “fleet
of brigantines” was seized and the rapid voyage to Constantinople
begun, but of the actual place of embarkation there appears to be no
record. Certainly, with a favourable wind, and the energy of oarsmen,
aided by the swift current of the stream, the expedition may well have
made progress rapid enough to satisfy even the impatience of the astute
Julian. Now, in place of the Roman brigantines, are seen the passenger
steamers by which we moderns can do the same journey in about four
days. The coming of the steamship has probably lessened the number
of craft on the river, though as we journey along, we see sometimes
a number of the great long barges with high-perched steering houses
at the stern, and each with a neat little dwelling hut on the deck,
generally noticeable for the attempt at “gardening,” made with boxes,
pots or tubs, of flowering plants, and even occasionally of good-sized
oleanders. These barges are towed, sometimes half a dozen at a time,
by strong tug-steamers. Fairly extensive timber rafts, too, are seen,
sometimes with as many as four or five steersmen at each end--every
steersman working a very long oar-like board by way of rudder. Some
of the tugs drawing these barges are armed at the prow with a kind of
dredging apparatus, by means of which they can work their way along
through unexpected shallows. For, deep as is the Danube in places, in
others it is so shallow as to be scarcely navigable at times of low
water.
The constant variations of depth make the navigation a matter of
constant study, as it is sometimes impossible for steamers to pass
under the bridges, while at low water, even in the navigable channel,
there is in places but a foot of water beneath the keel. Passing down
one stretch of the river we may find it to be a broad unbroken surface,
and returning a few weeks later, see that surface broken up by long
islands of white shingle.
Nature has provided a forecaster of what is to happen in this regard.
On islets or banks we may occasionally see a solitary fisch-reiher, or
heron, or may see one steadily flapping across the water ahead of us.
From the captain of the steamer we learn that the bird is known, to
those whose business it is to study the changing aspects of the river,
as the “water maker,” for if it is found standing in the shallows
with its beak up-stream, there is going to be high water, if pointing
down-stream, then a period of low water is approaching. Such is the
local lore, whether scientifically accurate or not I cannot say, and
I certainly was not given the opportunity of seeing two neighbouring
birds, the one fishing up, and the other down-stream!
Returning from the general to the particular, as we near Mauthausen,
the first of the steamer’s stopping places after Linz, we pass the
ruins of the castle of Spielberg, an old robber-knight’s hold, which,
unlike most of those we see, was built down near the water’s edge. Some
distance inland, on the right bank, on high ground are the monastery of
St. Florian and the castle of Tillysberg, both places worthy of a visit
from those staying in the neighbourhood, and both easily reached by
railway from Linz. The large Augustinian monastery, which is the oldest
in Austria, was built in memory of one of the martyrs of the Diocletian
persecution. Florian, who was thrown into the river Enns with a stone
tied to his neck, is said to have appeared posthumously, and given
directions where his body was to be found. Where he was buried an altar
was erected and later the altar was succeeded by a church, the church
by a monastery.
The present extensive buildings were erected in the eighteenth century,
but the crypt is said to date from the thirteenth. St. Florian’s,
which has a valuable library of many thousand volumes, was visited
by Dr. Dibdin during his famous “Bibliographical Tour,” and was
described by him with enthusiasm. In the remarkable abbey church he was
particularly struck by the “gorgeous and imposing” organ; “the pipes
have completely the appearance of polished silver; and the woodwork is
painted white, richly relieved with gold. For size and splendour I had
never seen anything like it. The _tout ensemble_ was perfectly magical.
On entering, the organ burst forth with a power of intonation--every
stop being opened--such as I have never heard exceeded--as there were
only a few present, the sounds were necessarily increased, by being
reverberated from every part of the building; and for a moment it
seemed as if the very dome would have been unroofed, and the sides
burst asunder. We looked up then at each other, lost in surprise,
delight, and admiration. We could not hear a word that was spoken; when
in some few seconds the diapason stop only was opened, and how sweet,
how touching was the melody which it imparted!”
Tillysberg, two or three miles to the east of St. Florian’s monastery,
takes its name from the great little Austrian soldier to whom it
was presented in 1623, by the Emperor in whose cause he had been
“atrociously successful.” The old castle which stood earlier on the
site had for centuries been the property of warrior nobles, but Tilly
demolished it, erecting (1630-32) in its place a large square building
with four towers and as many windows as there are days in the year. The
building was scarcely completed, when Tilly was mortally wounded, as we
saw in an earlier chapter, in seeking to stay the victorious progress
of Gustavus Adolphus, at a point some hundreds of miles further up the
Danube. This great soldier and implacable foe of Protestantism was a
remarkable person, described as follows by Schiller: “His strange and
terrific aspect was in unison with his character. Of low stature, thin,
with hollow cheeks, a long nose, a broad and wrinkled forehead, large
whiskers and a pointed chin. He was generally attired in a Spanish
doublet of green with slashed sleeves, with a small and peaked hat on
his head, surmounted by a red feather, which hung down his back. His
whole aspect recalled to recollection the Duke of Alva, the scourge of
the Flemings, and his actions were by no means calculated to remove the
impression.”
There seems to have been something of vanity, or at least of the
pride that apes humility, in the old soldier, for a French marshal,
wishing to see the successful Austrian leader, met him attired much
as in Schiller’s description, mounted on a small grey horse, and
armed with but a single pistol at his saddle-bow. When the new-comer
saluted him, Tilly, observing his astonishment at finding him thus,
said, “I perceive, Monsieur le Maréchal, that you think my uniform
rather extraordinary; I admit that it is not quite in conformity with
the reigning fashion in Paris, but as it suits my own taste, I am
satisfied. I see also that my charger and this single pistol in my
holster are matter of surprise to you; but, that you may not retire
with an unfavourable opinion of Count Tilly, whom you have had the
curiosity to visit, I will only remind you that I have gained seven
decisive victories, without being once obliged to draw the trigger of
that pistol; and as for my little hackney, he has never once made a
stumble under me, nor winced in the performance of his duty.”
Mauthausen, which we were approaching when drawn off to these places
seen away to the south, is a small and pleasant town, on the left bank,
backed by hills in which are great rugged stone quarries. There is
nothing more remarkable about the place than the legend that it owes
its origin to the fact that in some mighty flood-time of the past, half
of Aschach was carried away by the inundation, and floated down here,
where it stranded and became known as Mauthausen.
Opposite the town the river Enns comes in, its greener waters being
visible for some time before they finally blend with those of the
Danube, and a little distance up it is the town of Enns, supposed to be
on or near the site of an important Roman station. Like so many other
of the places glanced at in a journey down the Danube, it has had a
stormy history. Here in 791, Charlemagne is said to have encamped when,
with an army moving along each bank of the Danube, and with a third one
floating down the river, he started on a memorable punitive expedition
against the Avars of Hungary. Again and again did Enns suffer in the
conflict between the west and the barbarians. It was made a fortified
town, say the chronicles, by Duke Leopold, who paid for the work with
the money which he had received as ransom for Richard Cœur de Lion. In
the Middle Ages it was celebrated as having been one of the most famous
fairs in Germany.
Among the legends of Enns, is one which declares that St. Peter
preached the gospel here in the year 49, and another which describes
St. Mark and St. Luke as converting the townspeople to the Christian
faith. The latter legend was duly inscribed on the city walls in verses
that also told how it was here that St. Florian was thrown in the
river, and that Maximilian the bishop was “always gentle towards the
poor.” In the centre of the market place stands a tall detached tower
erected by Maximilian the First, in the early part of the sixteenth
century.
For several miles after the confluence of the Enns with the Danube,
the journey continues among islands grown with willows and other
water-loving vegetation, the river gradually nearing higher ground on
the right, until the stream bends leftwards near where the modernized
castle of Wallsee, white with red-tiled roofs, and a handsome
clock-tower, rises handsomely among trees at the landing stage. The
village is hidden from sight. Wallsee, where the Emperor of Austria
stays, has extensive park-like lands on the same, right, bank of the
river, while on the opposite side also are large pheasant preserves and
hunting grounds. The castle--six or seven hundred years old--was bought
by the Emperor a few years ago, and was then rebuilt. Close to the
general landing place, is a special little chalet for the use of the
Court.
For a time beyond Wallsee the scenery continues to be that afforded by
willow-grown islands and low banks, but ahead are seen the mountains.
Where the valley narrows and the hills are approached on our way to the
town of Ardagger on the right, we pass one of the wire “ferries,” by
means of which the current is made to take a boat across from shore to
shore. Here, it is said, the Emperor Conrad the Second landed in May,
1147, to complete arrangements for getting his great force through the
Wachau defile, with its terrible “Strudel” and “Wirbel,” when setting
out on his disastrous crusade. How great a proportion of his horde he
had here is not reported, but when he marshalled it in the great plain
of Hungary, says Gibbon, there were fifteen thousand knights and as
many squires, “the flower of the German chivalry”; altogether sixty
thousand horse and one hundred thousand foot; while “under the banners
of Conrad, a troop of females rode in the attitude and armour of men,
and the chief of these Amazons, from her gilt spurs and buskins,
obtained the epithet of the golden footed dame.” On the heights above
Ardagger is perched a pilgrimage church dedicated to St. Ottilia,
one of the patron saints of shoemakers. When I first visited Grein a
large band of pilgrims--most of the women wearing white head kerchiefs
embroidered in colours--who had been visiting the shrine, went on board
the steamer to return to their own neighbourhood some distance down the
river.
When Ardagger is passed we soon find ourselves again between grand
rocky hills, among scenery similarly beautiful to that of the Schlägen
between Passau and Linz. Here is a signal station, from which the
steamers learn if the tortuous channel through the mountains is clear,
for the navigable route amid the whirling waters is so narrow that the
regulations do not allow two vessels attempting to pass the “cataracts”
together. As we pass between the steep beautifully wooded hills, the
village of Grein, a collection of white houses showing among greenery
and backed by blue hills, is seen ahead of us in an angle where the
river, after going almost due north, bends eastward again. On an
abrupt rock, the Greinberg, to the left of the town is the large white
“Schloss” of the Princes of Coburg-Gotha; once, I believe, the property
of Prince Albert.
Either Grein has changed since it came to be a river port of call for
the steamers, and was reached by the railway, or else Planché when he
visited the place must have been in a bad mood, for, in contrast with
his usual enthusiasm, he dismisses the town in a few ungenial words:
“Grein is one of the poorest and smallest towns in Upper Austria, and
the château is a large, gloomy building, originally built by Heinrich
von Chreine, in the twelfth century.” To-day, Grein is known as “the
pearl of the Danube.” I found it a quiet but charming town most
wonderfully situated between hills, with a splendid view both up and
down-stream; up between the wooded hills through which we have passed,
and down towards those places of ancient dread--the Strudel and the
Wirbel.
In autumn, when the wooded mountain sides have taken on the richly
varied browns and golds of the passing leaves, this is a peculiarly
beautiful bit of the river--and similar beauty continues in varying
degree for the many miles that stretch from here almost to Vienna.
Grein is a pleasant town, affording a capital “centre” for the
holiday-maker.
For the pedestrian there are almost inexhaustible excursions on the
mountains and up the Thals, through which cascading streams rush down
to the Danube, or along the great river, while further points can be
readily reached either by steamer or the railway which has recently
been made along the north bank, linking its numerous towns and villages
with Vienna and Linz. One of the quaintest things that struck me in
Grein was when looking up a yard entrance I saw a fierce black dog,
with tail erect, dragging at his chain as though straining for attack,
only to find on closer examination that dog, chain, and kennel, were
all painted by some local Wiertz! A pleasing sight to a lover of
birds--one especially noticeable about Grein, though fairly common
throughout this district--is the many nest boxes fixed on poles and
in trees about the gardens. Here, too, and all along this part of the
river, quaint dove-cot-like summits to the chimneys impart a decided
picturesqueness to those useful but too frequently ugly outlets.
Inland from Grein about three miles is Bad Kreuzen, a hydropathic
establishment for summer visitors, beautifully situated. The castle of
Kreutzen was a goodly stronghold in past times, and, like Neuhaus, was
used, notably when, in the early part of the sixteenth century, the
Turks were devastating Upper Austria, as a place of refuge for those
driven from their homes by the advancing enemy.
Passing down the Danube by the steamer affords a great variety of
lovely scenery, but some parts of that scenery, beautiful as they are
when seen in passing, are found to be far more beautiful when known
with pedestrian intimacy. This applies particularly to where the river
twists and winds among the mountains as through the Schlägen, and for
the greater part of the way from Grein to Krems. A road, in the latter
case, closely follows the windings of the stream, and in its turn is
now closely neighboured by a railway which has been cut through rocks
and mountain sides, and is carried by great stone embankments over the
narrow valleys where many mountain brooks come down.
Just below Grein is a wild swirl of waters, the beginning of the
“Greiner-schwall”; but even here, fearsome as the waters look, we may
see a couple of girls navigating a heavy ferry boat, allowing the
foaming water to take it onwards as they steer for the further bank.
About a mile further down, and the channel is divided by the large
island of Wörth, the main stream to the left forming the Strudel.
Where, to the right, a broad stream sweeps round between the end of the
island and the wooded slopes of the Rabenstein at high water, at low
water is to be seen nothing but a bed of white shingle.
Towards the further end of the island rises an abrupt rock, with some
ruined remains of a castle surmounted by a large crucifix. Certainly
the tempestuous waters seem formidable enough, but after the many
lesser rapids passed in the downward journey, they prove less thrilling
than some earlier writers have led us to expect. A steamer, too,
perhaps imparts more confidence than would a smaller, frailer craft.
Now, the high-perched crucifix does not appear to claim the attention
which it did of old; though there must be much of the olden danger
still to those who come down these rapids in small boats and on rafts.
Of the Strudel an earlier writer said: “In front and in the centre of
the channel, rises an abrupt, isolated and colossal rock, fringed with
wood, and crested with a mouldering tower, on the summit of which is
planted a lofty cross, to which, in the moment of danger, the ancient
boatmen were wont to address their prayers for deliverance. The first
sight of this used to create no little excitement and apprehension on
board; the master ordered strict silence to be observed--the steersman
grasped the helm with a firmer hand--the passengers moved aside--so
as to leave free space for the boatmen, while the women and children
were hurried into the cabin, there to await with feelings of no little
anxiety, the result of the enterprise. Every boatman, with his head
uncovered, muttered a prayer to his favourite saint; and away dashed
the barge through the tumbling breakers, that seemed as if hurrying
it on to inevitable destruction. All these preparations, joined by
the wildness of the adjacent scenery, the terrific aspects of the
rocks, and the tempestuous state of the water, were sufficient to
produce a powerful sensation on the minds even of those who had been
all their lives familiar with dangers; while the shadowy phantoms with
which superstition had peopled it threw a deeper gloom over the whole
scene.” This account, though vivid, is scarcely accurate, for the
cross-surmounted rock forms part of the island, and can thus scarcely
be described as being in the centre of the channel; and “steersman”
should surely be “steersmen.” Timber rafts, as I have said, frequently
have eight men steering at once, and the Danube passenger steamers when
passing over such waters as this have as many as four men together at
the doubled steering-wheel.
[Illustration: THE STRUDEL]
A romantic story attaches to the Wörth Cross, for it is said that a
Tyrolese nobleman, journeying along the river in 1540, was wrecked in
the Strudel, but succeeded in getting on to the island. He saw his
wife swept away by the flood, and so set up as a hermit on the island,
and there he remained until a dozen years later, when his wife--who
had been rescued from the water some distance below the Strudel and
not unnaturally concluded that he had perished--discovered him. The
reunited couple commemorated their escape and their reunion, says the
legend, by erecting the cross.
Many rocks, here and further down, have been blasted away to improve
the navigation; and this has no doubt made the Strudel less dangerous
to appearance as well as in reality. Rocks used to be visible at low
water dividing the rapids into three, and these and the submerged
rocks were all named by the boatmen. They have, however, been removed
by modern engineering so that when the water is even low enough to
leave the bed of the Hössgang, or right branch of the river bare, no
Strudel rocks are visible. The Hössgang is said to have originated in a
farmer’s having cut an irrigating channel into the low-lying land that
now forms the island, and to have been enlarged by the force of the
impetuous current.
A little below the Strudel is the Wirbel, which was at one time more
dreaded as a “whirlpool” than the rapids we have just mentioned, but
the improvement of the navigation has done away with the second of
these twin terrors of the old-time boatmen and now we have to be told
when we are passing the one-time place of dread, for the tower-crowned
rock that divided the channel and formed the phenomenon was some years
ago entirely cleared away. More than sixty years ago Dr. Beattie
declared prophetically that “if the rock called Hausstein were blown
up it is probable that this whirlpool would entirely disappear.” How
effectually this has been the case the present-day visitor acquainted
with the old accounts of the terrible Wirbel will soon ascertain.
Before dealing with the Wirbel it may be interesting to quote Planché’s
account of his passage of this part of the river, describing it as it
was before the channel had been cleared:
“As soon as a bend of the river has shut out the view of Grein and its
château, a mass of rock and castle scarcely distinguishable from each
other, appears to rise in the middle of the stream before you. The
flood roars and rushes round each side of it; and ere you can perceive
which way the boat will take, it dashes down a slight fall to the
left, struggles awhile with the waves, and then sweeps round between
two crags, on which are the fragments of old square towers, with
crucifixes planted before them. It has scarcely righted itself from
this first shock, when it is borne rapidly forward towards an immense
block of stone, on which stands a third tower, till now hidden by the
others, and having at its foot a dangerous eddy. The boat flashes like
lightning through the tossing waves, within a few feet of the vortex,
and comes immediately into still water, leaving the passenger who
beholds this scene for the first time, mute with wonder and admiration.
These are the Scylla and Charybdis of the Danube, the celebrated
Strudel and Wirbel. The passage is made in little more than the time
it takes to read the above brief description, and I could scarcely
scratch down the outlines of these curious crags and ruins, before I
was whirled to some distance beyond them.”
The second of these phenomena was the Wirbel, more truly described,
it would seem, as an eddy than as a whirlpool. About a thousand yards
below the Strudel there used to rise from the channel towards the right
bank a rocky islet known as the Hausstein, the stream rushing against
this part of it going to the right through a narrow channel known
as the Lüng, and the rest forming the Wirbel on the left. “This has
the appearance of a series of foaming circles, each deepening as it
approaches the centre, and caused by the two opposite streams rushing
violently against each other. [The Hössgang branch comes in again to
the main stream almost at right angles.] ... The circle, within which
the eddies perform their circumvolutions with amazing velocity, deepens
as it approaches the centre, so as to form a basin nearly five feet in
depth, and filling the neighbouring echoes with the increasing roar of
its waters.” It certainly must have been a hazardous business getting
rafts and boats past the Wirbel, especially at times when the Lüng was
not navigable owing to the lowness of the water, and it is not matter
for surprise that there are many records of wrecks. The destruction of
the Hausstein removed the cause of the disturbance, and the terrors of
the Wirbel have become traditional.
A German writer in 1780 went so far, indeed, as to declare that then
those terrors were much exaggerated: “A great variety of circumstances
concur to excite an idea of danger in both these parts of the Danube.
Low mechanics are fond of speaking of them, and magnifying the danger,
that they may increase their own importance in having gone through it.
Others, more simple, who come to the place with strong conceits of what
they are to meet with there, are so struck with the wildness of the
prospect, and the roaring of the water that they begin to quake and
tremble before they have seen anything. But the masters of the vessels
are those who most effectually keep up the imposition. They make the
passage a pretence for raising the price of the freight, and when you
are past them the steersman goes round with his hat in his hand to
collect money from the passengers as a reward for having conducted
them safely through such perilous spots. When our master (who yet knew
how very much it was for his interest to keep up the credit of his
monsters) saw how little attention I paid to them, he assured me in
confidence that during the twenty years he had sailed the Danube, he
had not heard of a single accident.” That the “master” was going to
the other extreme of exaggeration is shown by the fact that--besides
fatalities in the Wirbel--two vessels had been wrecked on the sunken
rocks of the Strudel only three years before that was written.
Many were the old methods of accounting for the Wirbel. A sixteenth
century cosmographer declared “they have often sounded in this
place, but the abyss is so deep that they can touch no ground. It
is bottomless. What falls therein, remains under and never comes up
again.” This was the kind of marvel beloved in the olden, credulous
times, and other marvels no less wonderful were associated with the
Wirbel. One learned author declared that there was a hole in the
river bed here which received the whirling waters that after a long
subterranean journey reached the great Hungarian lake known as the
Plattensee, and in proof of the theory it was gravely asserted that
some bold experimentalists had a vessel wrecked in the Wirbel--and in
course of time a hammer that had belonged to a cooper on board was
found (_floating_, says one account) in the Plattensee. The tradition
of “unfathomable depth,” received a rude shock in the middle of the
eighteenth century when a barge laden with pottery sank in the Wirbel,
and the roof of the hut aboard remained visible!
Even as stories gathered about the whirlpool so did they around the
neighbouring ruins, and especially in connexion with the towers
that stood on the Hausstein, and a neighbouring rock--both of which
have been done away with by the navigation improvements. It is not
surprising that these various ruins--half a dozen within a mile
or so--became the centres of legendary lore among the credulous
peasantry. To quote from Dr. Beattie’s summary: “Each of these
mouldering fortresses was the subject of some miraculous tradition,
which circulated at every hearth. The sombre and mysterious aspect of
the place--its wild scenery and the frequent accidents which occurred
in the passage, invested it with awe and terror; but above all,
the superstitions of the time, a belief in the marvellous, and the
credulity of the boatmen, made the navigation of the Strudel and the
Wirbel a theme of the wildest romance. At night, sounds that were heard
far above the roar of the Danube issued from every ruin. Magical lights
flashed through their loopholes, and casements--festivals were held in
the long deserted halls--maskers glided from room to room--the waltzers
maddened to the strains of an infernal orchestra--armed sentinels
paraded the battlements; while at intervals the clash of arms, the
neighing of steeds, and the shrieks of unearthly combatants smote
fitfully on the boatman’s ear. But the tower in which these scenes were
most fearfully enacted, was that on the Longstone, commonly called the
Devil’s Tower, as it well deserved to be--for here, in close communion
with his master, resided the Black Monk, whose office it was to exhibit
false lights and landmarks along the gulf, so as to decoy the vessels
into the whirlpool, or dash them against the rocks. He was considerably
annoyed in his quarters, however, on the arrival of the great Soliman
in these regions; for to repel the turbanned host--or at least to check
their triumphant progress to the Upper Danube--the inhabitants were
summoned to join the national standard, and each to defend his own
hearth. Fortifications were suddenly thrown up--even churches and other
religious edifices were placed in a state of military defence; women
and children, the aged and the sick were lodged in fortresses, and thus
secured from the violence of the approaching Moslem. Among the other
points at which the greatest efforts were made to check the enemy,
the passage of the Strudel and Wirbel was rendered as impregnable as
the time and circumstance of the case would allow. To supply material
for the work, patriotism for a time got the better of superstition,
and the said Devil’s Tower was demolished and converted into a strong
breastwork. Thus forcibly dislodged, the Black Monk is said to have
pronounced a malediction on the intruders, and to have chosen a new
haunt among the recesses of the Hartz mountains.
Another story associating the Evil One in the days of the Emperor Henry
the Third, with this part of the river is told by John Aventinus, the
sixteenth century annalist of Bavaria: “The Emperor departed from
Regensburg and came by water to Passau: there he tarried during the
Passion week, and till the holy feast of the Ascension. The next day
after which, he again took water, and journeyed into lower Bavaria
as Austria was then called. There is a town in Austria by name Grein;
near this town is a perilous place in the Danube called the Strudel
by Stockerau.[8] There doth one hear the water rushing far and wide,
so falls it over the rocks with a great foam, which is very dangerous
to pass through, and brings the vessel into a whirlpool rolling round
about. The Emperor Henry went down through the Strudel; in another
vessel was Bruno, Bishop of Wartzburg, the Emperor’s kinsman, and as
the Bishop was passing also through the Strudel, there sat upon a
rock that projected out of the water, a man blacker than a Moor, of a
horrible aspect, terrible to all who beheld it, who cried out and said
to Bishop Bruno, ‘Hear! Hear! Bishop! I am thine evil spirit! Thou
art mine own, go where thou wilt, thou shalt be mine, yet now I will
do nought to thee, but soon shalt thou see me again.’ All who heard
this were terrified. The bishop crossed and blessed himself, said a
few prayers, and the spirit vanished. This rock is shewn to this day;
upon it is built a small tower all of stone, without any wood: it has
no roof, and is called the Devil’s Tower.” Thus far the credulous
chronicler Aventinus. The tragic sequel to this demoniac threat we
shall learn a little further down the Danube.
These waters, so long the terror and wonder of those who used the
river, have, as I have indicated, been greatly tamed by the removal of
the obstructing rocks, but there were not wanting people who regarded
the dangers as greatly exaggerated. The German traveller, Riesbeck,
did so, as we saw a little earlier, but the traditional dangers long
sufficed as an excuse for dwellers on the bank, and boatmen, too, to
secure “tips” from passengers journeying down the river. The custom
still obtained when Planché took his trip, for he says that as soon as
the Wirbel was passed a boat put off from the village of St. Nikola and
paddled alongside, when a man held out a box bearing a figure of the
saint, that a few coins might be dropped in as a thank-offering for
saintly protection during the passage of the dangerous reach. On board
the regular passage boats--the _Ordinari_--which preceded the steamers,
too, money was collected by the steersmen as soon as the Wirbel
was astern, “and another ceremony likewise takes place, something
similar to that customary on board a ship when passing the Line. The
steersman goes round with the wooden scoop or shovel with which they
wet the ropes that bind the paddles to their uprights, filled with
water; and those who have never before passed through the Strudel and
the Wirbel must either pay or be well soused with the element, the
perils of which they have just escaped.” Was there no clamouring for
compensation, no indignation at interfering with the vested interests
of the tip-gathers, when the obstructing rocks were cleared away? At
any rate, the passenger by steamer over these troubled but no longer
terrible waters is not called upon for backshish or thank-offering.
That the waters are troubled no one who passes over them will deny,
for as the steamer passes over the Strudel we are--or imagine that we
are--conscious of a distinct change in the level as we go over the
“fall.”
As even those who take a more or less hurried journey along the Danube
should make a stay, however short, in this neighbourhood, I will take
up the story of the shore from Grein. Leaving that pleasant town by
the road cut along the foot of the cliff, we get, looking back from
the opposite corner of the “bay” which the bending river here forms,
a picturesque view of the Coburg castle above the town, and the
timber-grown hill to the left. The road is here cut along the very rock
which in bold crags towers above our heads, while on the further side
of the river are densely wooded hills. At the corner we are directly
above the swirling waters of the Greiner-schwall, and after a pleasant
walk of about a mile come opposite the western end of the Wörth island,
with a capital view of the wooded rock surmounted by its cross, and on
the left bank of the river the boldly perched ruins of the castle of
Struden or Werfenstein. Before reaching these, however, we pass the
opening of a narrow valley--the “Stillenstein Klamm,” which, before we
have been long in Grein, is known to be one of the special view-places
of the neighbourhood.
From this valley, beneath the high viaduct of the new railway which
spans it just before it reaches the Danube, comes a small hurrying
brook, the course of which should be followed by any lover of woodlands
and water. Passing the mill that stands a little way up the valley,
we may follow a path that keeps fairly close to the stream for two or
three miles up to the very point where it emerges from beneath the
Stillenstein itself--a great mass of rock, with a couple of pine trees
growing on it, which has fallen at some immemorial period and got
wedged between the opposite rocky sides of the valley. From the black
cavern under this rock the stream emerges, at once as a cascade; and
as an almost continuous series of cascades it continues all the way to
the great river to which it adds its contribution. Here and there are
pools in which many trout are to be seen “staying their wavy bodies
against the stream.” The principal “fall” is where the water has got
imprisoned between great rocks and falls over in a wedge-like shape, a
mass of foaming white. The mountains rise steeply on either side as we
pass up the “Klamm,” clothed from the very water’s edge--their boughs
almost intermingling above it in places--with beech and pine and other
trees. About the great grey boulders of rock are a profusion of ferns
and mosses: the whole is like the beauty of some Devonshire lane and
stream raised to the _n_th--a kind of lyric loveliness that uplifts and
gladdens, where the grandeur of the great river to which the stream is
hurrying has something rather of epic sweep and solemnity.
Returning to the bank of the Danube we pass below the ruined castle and
through the small village of Struden, the road narrowing considerably
between quaintly picturesque houses. Beyond Struden we come abreast of
the old Wirbel of many terrors, but the rock which formed it has gone,
and a great gilt inscription on the face of the cliff above us is its
chief memorial:--
“KAISER FRANZ JOSEF
befriete die Schiffahrt von den Gefahren im
DONAU--WIRBEL
durch Sprengung der Hausstein Isel
1853-1866.”
Beneath this inscription is a tiny chapel on the inner side walls of
which are a couple of inscriptions concerning the clearing of the river
channel; the one surmounted by a view of the Hausstein island, the
other by a plan of this part of the river before the improvements were
carried out. A little beyond we reach the village of St. Nikola, the
slender tower of its church rising picturesquely above the roofs of its
houses, set amid trees and backed by the wooded mountains. Here comes
in another mountain stream inviting to inland excursion. It is not
surprising to learn that this is a favourite centre for artists, seeing
that it is not only beautiful in itself but a centre from which many
other varied beauties are to be reached. In this walk along the left
bank, as one enthusiast has put it, the tourist may enjoy the scenery
in all its perfection: “Castles, rocks, rapids, beetling precipices,
romantic cliffs, and mountains, whose sweeping forests descend to the
water’s edge, present themselves to his eye under every variety of
combination--often compelling him to halt till he has paid again and
again his tribute of admiration.”
[Illustration: ST. NIKOLA]
The next place to be reached is the long and straggling village
of Sarmingstein, with on a rock above it the ruins of a round
watch-tower--all that is left of a one-time important castle that was
long maintained as a refuge for non-combatants in time of war. The
prosperous village seems chiefly given over to the timber and granite
cutting industries, and here, as the steamer goes down the river, we
may see the large, long barges being loaded with planks, the work being
done by women. Some of the mountain sides here are entirely denuded of
their timber; the tree trunks being slid down the steep slopes to the
river-side. Through part of Sarmingstein the road narrows again closely
between the houses as at Struden. Probably this was done owing to the
scantiness of the land between the mountain side and the river, or it
may have been to make it less easy for the passage of an enemy in the
old and troubled times. One of the worst of the “high-water marks”
which are seen ever and again in Danube-side towns and villages is
placed against the side of a house in Sarmingstein, about twelve feet
above the pavement. A number of houses are to be noticed along these
river-side places without any living-rooms on the ground floor, this
being doubtless a precaution against floods.
The long street which forms the village of Sarmingstein runs at the
foot of a beech-clothed mountain, on which are pleasant paths with
seats at intervals, from which may be had lovely views over the
roofs of the place to the intensely green river. Among the wealth of
wild flowers I was especially struck here by the beautiful cyclamen.
Near the further end of Sarmingstein are timber mills worked by the
Sarmingbach, which here cascades down through a narrow valley in a
manner somewhat similar to that of the stream that rushes down from
the Stillenstein. The roadway that is cut up through the woods on the
mountain-side on the left bank of this small tributary of the Danube
zig-zags about like the approaches to a Swiss pass. This beautiful
village has found an enthusiastic panegyrist in Herr Carl Julius Weber.
Between Grein and Sarmingstein the villages are all on the left bank,
on the right there being but occasional cottages, sometimes perched
high on grassy patches among the woodland like Alpine chalets.
Little more than a mile further down-stream is the pretty hamlet of
Hirschenau on the left bank and on the opposite side the lofty ruins
of Freyenstein, at one time one of the largest and most powerful of
Austrian castles. Still between wooden hills we pass, with here and
there small hamlets visible. At Isperdorf there appears nothing but a
mere landing stage at the foot of a rocky pine-clad hill. The village
of Isperdorf, where Charlemagne conquered Duke Thassilo of Bavaria in
787, is on the further side of the river Isper, which comes in from the
north. This stream marks the boundary between Upper and Lower Austria
on the left bank. Here the valley widens out as the Danube hastens
to its confluence with the Ybbs, and soon we see the white castle or
chateau of Persenbeug standing boldly on a rock by the water’s edge on
the left. The town of Persenbeug lies further along, and is scattered
somewhat over the flat peninsula round which the Danube here makes a
sharp bend to the southwards; the road and the railway both cross
the northern end of this peninsula, from which Persenbeug takes its
name, corrupted from Bösenbeug, signifying a dangerous bend in the
river, of which this might be regarded as the beginning.
[Illustration: SARMINGSTEIN]
The Schloss Persenbeug, though much renewed, and looking modern in
its creamy whiteness, represents one of the oldest buildings in
Lower Austria. It was at one time a summer residence of the Austrian
Emperors, and is associated with the story of the Devil and the Bishop
the first part of which was enacted in the neighbourhood of the Strudel
and Wirbel. To continue that story in the words of the old chronicler
before quoted, after describing the passing of the Devil’s Tower he
goes on, “Not far from thence, some two miles’ journey,[9] the Emperor
and his people landed, proposing to pass the night in a town called
Pösenbeiss, belonging to the Lady Richlita, widow of the Count Adalbero
von Ebersberg. She received the Emperor joyfully; invited him to a
banquet, and prayed him, besides, that he would bestow the town of
Pösenbeiss and other surrounding places (that her husband had possessed
and governed) on her brother’s son Welforic the Third. The Emperor
entered the banquet room, and standing near Bishop Bruno, Count Aleman
von Ebersberg and the Lady Richlita, gave the Countess his right hand
and granted her prayer. At that moment the floor of the apartment fell
in, and the Emperor fell through into the bathing chamber below it,
without sustaining any injury, as did also Count Aleman, and the Lady
Richlita, but the Bishop fell on the edge of the bathing tub, broke his
ribs and died a few days afterwards. Another account says that others,
including Lady Richlita, were also killed. This tragic incident, it is
suggested by Planche, was really brought about by the machinations of
the monks of Kremsmünster who laid claim to the castle and estates.
They did not, however, succeed in getting possession of them, and
Persenbeug had been successively the property of several nobles before,
at the beginning of the last century, it was repurchased by the Emperor
of Austria.
A little lower down-stream, on one of the arms through which the river
of the same name reaches the Danube, is the attractive old town of
Ybbs--its red-roofed houses dominated by a spired church and backed by
low green hills. From the outlook point of “Kirl” is to be obtained a
grand view of the Danube, and, away to the south, of the Austrian Alps
and the lofty Schneeberg. A little beyond Ybbs the Linz-Vienna railway
approaches close to the river and keeps near it for some distance.
Having passed round the southern point of the Persenbeug peninsula--on
which and on the further bank tall chimneys denote modern manufacturing
activity--we go by the ruins of a Cistercian monastery at Säussenstein
(on the right bank). Säussenstein takes its name from the rushing of
the waters of the “Charybdis” which swirls round its base. Before the
river turns eastward again, on the summit of a hill ahead of us are
seen the twin towers of a church.
This is the pilgrimage church of Maria-Taferl, some distance inland
from Marbach, which pleasant little town seems chiefly to exist
as a point of approach for the place of pilgrimage. In something
under an hour’s walk, the last part of it up a broad hillside
avenue, the roadway of which is formed into wide steps, we may reach
Maria-Taferl--and if the atmosphere be suitable may have a widely
extensive view in both directions of the “Imperial Danube’s rich
domain” and of the distant Austrian and Styrian Alps. The view is,
indeed, said to extend for a hundred miles, from Hungary to Bavaria.
When I climbed it lowering rain clouds cut off all but the nearer view
of the river. The village that has sprung up around the pilgrimage
church is like nothing so much as a huge bazaar for the sale of
souvenirs and picture postcards to pious pilgrims and curious visitors.
On special occasions--particularly in September--it is a point to which
large crowds of devotees converge. It is said that as many as one
hundred and fifty thousand pilgrims have visited the shrine in a single
year; some of them perhaps inspired by the promise of the distich which
runs--
“Wer nach Maria Taferl ein Wallfahrt maken thut
Diess ihm Maria Taferl macht aller wiedergut.”
(“Who to Maria Taferl a pilgrimage takes
To him Maria Taferl all good again makes.”)
This church--about eight hundred feet above the river level--was
erected in consequence of the miracles worked by an image of the Virgin
which used to be fixed to an old oak tree on the hillside. At this
tree the peasantry were wont at Easter to offer up their prayers for
a goodly harvest, and at its foot they would have their feasting at a
big stone table (tafel or taferl). When the tree had fallen into decay
a peasant, in 1662, sought to cut it down, but the axe, though aimed
at the trunk, struck the would-be woodsman’s own foot. Looking up, the
peasant saw the image and was instantly struck with contrition, and his
penitent prayers were answered by the instant and miraculous curing of
the newly inflicted wound. The news was soon bruited abroad and the
fame of the image increased thereby.
Ten years later another man, suffering from a black melancholy, was
directed by a vision to go to the house of a schoolmaster in which he
would find an image of the Virgin. This he bought and carried home.
In the middle of the night he heard a voice saying, “If thou wouldst
be cured take the image and place it in the oak at Maria-Taferl!”
The melancholy one as soon as daylight came did this, replacing the
old image with his new one; and in the instant he had his reward, his
melancholy passing completely away. But it was not only these two
miracles that established the fame of Maria-Taferl, for within a few
years, on five several occasions--and sometimes by as many as forty
persons--angels were seen about the sacred spot! Small wonder that the
place became a famous centre for pilgrims. In the many bazaar-like
booths pictures of the miraculous happenings and other relics are
sold, while on occasions of special pilgrimage the whole village that
has grown up by the chapel is decorated with bunting and greenery.
The way-marks, the shops in Marbach, the large new refreshment
establishment near the station, all indicate the extent to which this
quiet old river-side place depends upon the periodical influx of
pilgrims bound for the twin-spired chapel, which is seen inland over
the near hill-top.
[Illustration: PERSENBEUG]
A short distance further along the Danube, where the Erlaf flows in on
the right, stands the old town of Pöchlarn, once large and famous, now
small, with slender-spired church, some quaint buildings, a curious
fountain, and other links with the past, but nothing beyond tradition
connecting it with the “Nibelungenlied.” We saw earlier how Kriemhilda
reached the Danube, was welcomed at Passau, and set out on the later
stages of her lengthy journey to her new husband and her new kingdom.
Pöchlarn was an important point on that journey, for it was here lived
one of those most intimately connected with her story. This was that
Rüdeger of Bechlaren (Pöchlarn) who set out for the Rhineland to woo
Kriemhilda on behalf of King Etzel. Rüdeger paused at Pöchlarn on his
journey from Gran to the west, and there feasted the grand company that
attended him on his embassy. When he returned with the beautiful
bride whom he had won for his king, Rüdeger’s town gave that lady a
wonderful reception. The Margrave’s wife rode forth some distance to
welcome her husband and the great cavalcade, which rested at some
distance before making fitting entry into Pöchlarn.
“That night they slept in quiet until the dawning brake.
But they of Bechelaren themselves did ready make,
So that they might provide for so many a worthy guest.
Well Rüdeger had managed that little should be missed.
One saw how every window stood open in the wall:
The castle of Bechlaren was entry free to all.
Therein the guests came riding, well seen of all around.
The noble host had bidden good hostel to be found.
Then Rüdeger’s fair daughter with all her company,
Unto the queen approaching, received her lovingly.
There likewise was her mother, the wife of the Margrave.
To many a young damsel they kindly greeting gave.
Hands took they with each other, and so together went
Unto a wide roomed palace of fashion excellent,
For there beneath it rushing, one saw the Danube’s flood.
They sat and took the breezes, and had much pastime good.”
There was further feasting in the castle of Pöchlarn, when Rüdeger, a
few years later, welcomed King Gunther and his Burgundians on their
fateful visit to King Etzel’s Court. Surely he deserved the tribute
paid to him by Eckewart in the “Lied.”
“A host to you I’ll show:
And such a one ne’er bade you into his house to go,
In any land whatever, as ye may meet with here
If ye, good thanes, are willing to visit Rüdeger.
He dwells hard by the highway: of hosts he is the best
That ever had a rooftree. His heart is aye possesst
Of kindness, as of flowers are meadows in sweet May;
If he can succour heroes, glad will he be the day.”
Of Rüdeger’s castle nothing now remains, but the town where that
best of hosts could provide emergency entertainment for ten thousand
visitors--as is recorded in one stanza of the “Lied”--may well be proud
of its association with the great epic of the North. Planché, it may be
said, gives a highly coloured account of Kriemhilda’s coming down the
river by boat--a vision which is scarcely supported by the text of the
“Nibelungenlied.”
Opposite to the famous Pöchlarn is a pleasant little village of the
same name, known as Klein Pöchlarn, with further tall chimney shafts
suggesting that this widened Danube valley is becoming a manufacturing
centre. The right bank along here is low, but the hills approach close
to the river on the left, and soon ahead of us is seen the ruined
castle of Weitenegg, at which point we may perhaps best begin the story
and description of the Wachau.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] This is no doubt a slip for Struden, as Stockerau lies far further
down the river, about seventy miles nearer Vienna, on a branch of it
some distance from the main stream.
[9] It is about eight English miles.