UP THE DANUBE.
We passed out of Vienna in the face of one of the strongest winds it was
ever my lot to encounter. It swept across the plain with such force that
it was almost impossible to advance till we got under the lee of a range
of hills. About two miles from the barrier we passed Schoenbrunn, the
Austrian Versailles. It was built by the Empress Maria Theresa, and was
the residence of Napoleon in 1809, when Vienna was in the hands of the
French. Later, in 1832, the Duke of Reichstadt died in the same room
which his father once occupied. Behind the palace is a magnificent
garden, at the foot of a hill covered with rich forests and crowned with
an open pillared hall, 300 feet long, called the _Gloriette_. The
colossal eagle which surmounts it, can be seen a great distance.
The lovely valley in which Schoenbrunn lies, follows the course of the
little river Vienna into the heart of that mountain region lying between
the Styrian Alps and the Danube, and called the Vienna Forest. Into this
our road led, between hills covered with wood, with here and there a
lovely green meadow, where herds of cattle were grazing. The third day
we came to the Danube again at Melk, a little city built under the edge
of a steep hill, on whose summit stands the palace-like abbey of the
Benedictine Monks. The old friars must have had a merry life of it, for
the wine-cellar of the abbey furnished the French army 50,000 measures
for several days in succession. The shores of the Danube here are
extremely beautiful. The valley where it spreads out, is filled with
groves, but where the hills approach the stream, its banks are rocky and
precipitous, like the Rhine. Although not so picturesque as the latter
river, the scenery of the Danube is on a grander scale. On the south
side the mountains bend down to it with a majestic sweep, and there
must be delightful glances into the valleys that lie between, in passing
down the current.
But we soon left the river, and journeyed on through the enchanting
inland vales. To give an idea of the glorious enjoyment of traveling
through such scenes, let me copy a leaf out of my journal, written as we
rested at noon on the top of a lofty hill:--"Here, while the delightful
mountain breeze that comes fresh from the Alps cools my forehead, and
the pines around are sighing their eternal anthem, I seize a few moments
to tell what a paradise is around me. I have felt an elevation of mind
and spirit, a perfect rapture from morning till night, since we left
Vienna. It is the brightest and balmiest June weather; an ever fresh
breeze sings through the trees and waves the ripening grain on the
verdant meadows and hill-slopes. The air is filled with bird-music. The
larks sing above us out of sight, the bullfinch wakes his notes in the
grove, and at eve the nightingale pours forth her thrilling strain. The
meadows are literally covered with flowers--beautiful purple salvias,
pinks such as we have at home in our gardens and glowing buttercups,
color the banks of every stream. I never saw richer or more luxuriant
foliage. Magnificent forests clothe the hills, and the villages are
imbedded in fruit trees, shrubbery and flowers. Sometimes we go for
miles through some enchanting valley, lying like a paradise between the
mountains, while the distant, white Alps look on it from afar; sometimes
over swelling ranges of hills, where we can see to the right the valley
of the Danube, threaded by his silver current and dotted with white
cottages and glittering spires, and farther beyond, the blue mountains
of the Bohemian Forest. To the left, the range of the Styrian Alps
stretches along the sky, summit above summit, the farther ones robed in
perpetual snow. I could never tire gazing on those glorious hills. They
fill the soul with a conception of sublimity, such as one feels when
listening to triumphal music. They seem like the marble domes of a
mighty range of temples, where earth worships her Maker with an
organ-anthem of storms!
"There is a _luxury_ in traveling here. We walk all day through such
scenes, resting often in the shade of the fruit trees which line the
road, or on a mossy bank by the side of some cool forest. Sometimes for
enjoyment as well as variety, we make our dining-place by a clear spring
instead of within a smoky tavern; and our simple meals have a relish an
epicure could never attain. Away with your railroads and steamboats and
mail-coaches, or keep them for those who have no eye but for the sordid
interests of life! With my knapsack and pilgrim-staff, I ask not their
aid. If a mind and soul full of rapture with beauty, a frame in glowing
and vigorous health, and slumbers unbroken even by dreams, are blessings
any one would attain, let him pedestrianize it through Lower Austria!"
I have never been so strongly and constantly reminded of America, as
during this journey. Perhaps the balmy season, the same in which I last
looked upon the dear scenes of home, may have its effect; but there is
besides a richness in the forests and waving fields of grain, a wild
luxuriance over every landscape, which I have seen nowhere else in
Europe. The large farm houses, buried in orchards, scattered over the
valleys, add to the effect. Everything seems to speak of happiness and
prosperity.
We were met one morning by a band of wandering Bohemian gipsies--the
first of the kind I ever saw. A young woman with a small child in her
arms came directly up to me, and looking full in my face with her wild
black eyes, said, without any preface: "Yes, he too has met with sorrow
and trouble already, and will still have more. But he is not false--he
is true and sincere, and will also meet with good luck!" She said she
could tell me three numbers with which I should buy a lottery ticket and
win a great prize. I told her I would have nothing to do with the
lottery, and would buy no ticket, but she persisted, saying: "Has he a
twenty kreutzer piece?--will he give it? Lay it in his hand and make a
cross over it, and I will reveal the numbers!" On my refusal, she became
angry, and left me, saying: "Let him take care--the third day something
will happen to him!" An old, wrinkled hag made the same proposition to
my companion with no better success. They reminded me strikingly of our
Indians; their complexion is a dark brown, and their eyes and hair are
black as night. These belonged to a small tribe who wander through the
forests of Bohemia, and support themselves by cheating and stealing.
We stopped the fourth night at Enns, a small city on the river of the
same name, which divides Upper from Lower Austria. After leaving the
beautiful little village where we passed the night before, the road
ascended one of those long ranges of hills, which stretch off from the
Danube towards the Alps. We walked for miles over the broad and uneven
summit, enjoying the enchanting view which opened on both sides. If we
looked to the right, we could trace the windings of the Danube for
twenty miles, his current filled with green, wooded islands; white
cities lie at the foot of the hills, which, covered to the summit with
grain fields and vineyards, extended back one behind another, till the
farthest were lost in the distance. I was glad we had taken the way from
Vienna to Linz by land, for from the heights we had a view of the whole
course of the Danube, enjoying besides, the beauty of the inland vales
and the far-off Styrian Alps. From the hills we passed over we could see
the snowy range as far as the Alps of Salzburg--some of them seemed
robed to the very base in their white mantles. In the morning the
glaciers on their summit glittered like stars; it was the first time I
saw the sun reflected at a hundred miles' distance!
On descending we came into a garden-like plain, over which rose the
towers of Enns, built by the ransom money paid to Austria for the
deliverance of the Lion-hearted Richard. The country legends say that
St. Florian was thrown into the river by the Romans in the third
century, with a millstone around his neck, which, however, held him
above the water like cork, until he had finished preaching them a
sermon. In the villages we often saw his imago painted on the houses, in
the act of pouring a pail of water on a burning building, with the
inscription beneath--"Oh, holy Florian, pray for us!" This was supposed
to be a charm against fire. In Upper Austria, it is customary to erect a
shrine on the road, wherever an accident has happened, with a painting
and description of it, and an admonition to all passers-by to pray for
the soul of the unfortunate person. On one of them, for instance, was a
cart with a wild ox, which a man was holding by the horns; a woman
kneeling by the wheels appeared to be drawing a little girl by the feet
from under it, and the inscription stated: "By calling on Jesus, Mary
and Joseph, the girl was happily rescued." Many of the shrines had
images which the people no doubt, in their ignorance and simplicity,
considered holy, but they were to us impious and almost blasphemous.
From Enns a morning's walk brought us to Linz. The peasant girls in
their broad straw hats were weeding the young wheat, looking as cheerful
and contented as the larks that sung above them. A mile or two from Linz
we passed one or two of the round towers belonging to the new
fortifications of the city. As walls have grown out of fashion, Duke
Maximilian substituted an invention of his own. The city is surrounded
by thirty two towers, one to three miles distant from it, and so placed
that they form a complete line of communication and defence. They are
sunk in the earth, surrounded with a ditch and embankments, and each is
capable of containing ten cannon and three hundred men. The pointed
roofs of these towers are seen on all the hills around. We were obliged
to give up our passports at the barrier, the officer telling us to call
for them in three hours at the City Police Office; we spent the
intervening time very agreeably in rambling through this gay,
cheerful-looking town. With its gilded spires and ornamented houses,
with their green lattice blinds, it reminds one strongly of Italy, or at
least, of what Italy is said to be. It has now quite an active and
business-like aspect, occasioned by the steamboat and railroad lines
which connect it with Vienna, Prague, Ratisbon and Salzburg. Although we
had not exceeded our daily allowance by more than a few kreutzers, we
found that twenty days would be hardly sufficient to accomplish the
journey, and our funds must therefore be replenished. Accordingly I
wrote from Linz to Frankfort, directing a small sum to be forwarded to
Munich, which city we hoped to reach in eight days.
We took the horse cars at Linz for Lambach, seventeen miles on the way
towards Gmunden. The mountains were covered with clouds as we approached
them, and the storms they had been brewing for two or three days began
to march down on the plain. They had nearly reached us, when we crossed
the Traun and arrived at Lambach, a small city built upon a hill. We
left the next day at noon, and on ascending the hill after crossing the
Traun, had an opportunity of seeing the portrait on the Traunstein, of
which the old landlord told us. I saw it at the first glance--certainly
it is a most remarkable freak of nature. The rough back of the mountain
forms the exact profile of the human countenance, as if regularly hewn
out of the rock. What is still more singular, it is said to be a correct
portrait of the unfortunate Louis XVI. The landlord said it was
immediately recognized by all Frenchmen. The road followed the course of
the Traun, whose green waters roared at the bottom of the glen below us;
we walked for several miles through a fine forest, through whose
openings we caught glimpses of the mountains we longed to reach.
The river roared at last somewhat louder, and on looking down the bank,
I saw rocks and rapids, and a few houses built on the edge of the
stream. Thinking it must be near the fall, we went down the path, and
lo! on crossing a little wooden bridge, the whole affair burst in sight!
Judge of our surprise at finding a fall of fifteen feet, after we had
been led to expect a tremendous leap of forty or fifty, with all the
accompaniment of rocks and precipices. Of course the whole descent of
the river at the place was much greater, and there were some romantic
cascades over the rocks which blocked its course. Its greatest beauty
consisted in the color of the water--the brilliant green of the waves
being broken into foam of the most dazzling white--and the great force
with which it is thrown below.
The Traunstein grew higher as we approached, presenting the same profile
till we had nearly reached Gmunden. From the green upland meadows above
the town, the view of the mountain range was glorious, and I could
easily conceive the effect of the Unknown Student's appeal to the people
to fight for those free hills. I think it is Howitt who relates the
incident--one of the most romantic in German history. Count Pappenheim
led his forces here in the year 1626, to suppress a revolution of the
people of the whole Salzburg region, who had risen against an invasion
of their rights by the Austrian government. The battle which took place
on these meadows was about being decided in favor of the oppressors,
when a young man, clad as a student, suddenly appeared and addressed the
people, pointing to the Alps above them and the sweet lake below, and
asking if that land should not be free. The effect was electrical; they
returned to the charge and drove back the troops of Pappenheim, who were
about taking to flight, when the unknown leader fell, mortally wounded.
This struck a sudden panic through his followers, and the Austrians
turning again, gained a complete victory. But the name of the brave
student is unknown, his deed unsung by his country's bards, and almost
forgotten.