THE MOUNTAIN PASSES
The Tyrol, which is not much more than half as large as Switzerland,
is an extraordinarily mountainous country, and these mountains are
divided by one or two deeply marked valleys, so that the character of
the country is different from that of the Republic, where mountains
and valleys and even plains are mingled inextricably. The Tyrol is a
paradise for rock climbers from all over the world, and in fact as soon
as the Bavarian border is crossed, near Kufstein, some rock pinnacles
and precipices are seen not unlike the Dolomites on a small scale,
which so tempt the adventurous novice that he is apt to think he can
tackle them without a guide, one peak, the Todtenkirchel (Death’s
Chapel), being thus known from the number of accidents which have
occurred to the reckless in attempting it. Any traveller who does not
intend to climb mountains and get off beaten tracks, must in the Tyrol
be prepared to follow certain well-defined routes. Of the entrances to
the country we have already spoken. One of the main passes is that
of the Brenner, running north and south, along which the Berlin-Rome
line passes. This goes down to Roveredo, and soon gains the plains of
Italy. Another great valley, roughly crossing this at right angles, is
the valley of the Inn, which runs from Switzerland to Kufstein, and
so out to Bavaria. The third main artery is that crossing from east
to west, having the Pusterthal as its eastern wing, and another from
Botzen to Glurns as its western, but as the two run across the main
axis they may be considered as one. In connection with the latter must
be mentioned the famous Stelvio Pass over the Alps, from Switzerland
to the Tyrol, a little south of Glurns. This is the highest pass
crossed by a carriage-road in Europe, attaining a height of over
9000 feet. It is only open for three months in the year, and is so
marvellously graded that the tremendous ascent is comparatively little
felt, and it rises over the shoulder of the Ostler Alp, the highest
in the Tyrol. There are, of course, many smaller ones, but these are
the great highways marked out by nature. The valley of the Inn stands
apart from the rest of the Tyrol, shut in by mountains and having
only one outlet to the south, the Brenner Pass. In the midst of this
valley is the capital of the country, Innsbruck. There are many other
extremely interesting places in the valley of the Inn, including Hall,
where there is a celebrated salt manufactory which has been carried on
since the beginning of the fourteenth century. “A path leads up the
ravine towards the mines, which lie about eight miles further in the
heart of the mountain. The grandeur of the views, and the ruggedness
of the objects, in traversing a gorge which penetrates so many miles
into the recesses of the mountain, may be imagined. Enormous masses of
overhanging rock seem to be suspended above almost by a miracle; old
pine forests hang upon the rugged cliffs; the torrent rushing by is
spanned by bridges of snow, while huge unmelted avalanches lie in its
bed below, cascades tumble from a hundred heights, while peaks, some
dark, some snowy, many thousand feet high almost close overhead, and
seem to jut into the sky.” The valley of the Inn is bounded by lofty
mountain ranges on both sides, and is of an average breadth of two to
six miles. It is highly cultivated, and a good deal of Indian corn is
grown, the little patches of agricultural land pushing up the slopes of
the steep ground as they overflow the valley.
[Illustration: KUFSTEIN (TYROL)]
The Brenner Pass, as one of the gateways of the Alps, is known by name
to many who could not place it geographically did their lives hang
on the chance. Numberless military expeditions have wound their way
through these precipices and crags, beginning with the wild tribes of
the ages before history has detailed records, on to the days of the
Romans, who made the road through the pass. Theodoric, Odoacer, and
Attila all made use of this pass, and some attribute the origin
of the name to Brennus, the Gaul who harried the city of Rome. Not
only was the pass the highway for armies, but for trade and bands of
merchants, whose lives indeed in the Middle Ages were seldom less
adventurous than those of recognised men of war. They poured their
caravans with rich freight through this defile. Traversed now by a
railway, the modern traveller has the advantage of being able to sit at
ease and enjoy the scenery while the powerful locomotives (often two)
do the straining and panting to the highest altitude at 4600 feet, for
here there is no tunnel to mar the view or choke the traveller with
briquette-smoke, as on so many Italian railways. The railway curves and
curves again in its ascent up the incline, only having recourse to very
brief tunnels and rock cuttings. The line is part of that from Berlin
to Rome and is owned by a private French-Italian company. The station
at the summit level is called Brenner, and to the south of it is
Sterzing. The ascent from Innsbruck to Brenner strikes any one who sees
it for the first time as fine, but when he has penetrated further, and
explored the descent from Brenner to Brixen, he forgets all about it in
the much grander scenery unrolled before him. Sterzing is celebrated
in the annals of the Tyrolese for the desperate fight for liberty in
1806. The little town stands high and is situated in an open place. It
is overlooked by a castle, and it may be remarked that castles, mostly
ruined, are seen in inaccessible and desolate spots all over the
Tyrol. Their number is legion and hundreds may be counted.
The valleys of the Eisach and Adige, lying south of the Brenner
mountain are quite different, and, as is natural, the Germanic
influence is most strongly felt on the north of the great barrier,
and the Italian on the south. The River Eisach joins the Rienz south
of the Brenner, and afterwards meets the Adige at Botzen, whence it
is known by the last name for the rest of its course to the Adriatic.
Botzen, Meran, and Brixen are the most important places in this central
zone. On the heights of the Brenner pass little produce can be grown,
but in descending one comes again on fruitful fields of Indian corn,
walnut trees growing luxuriantly, fruit trees of every kind, especially
cherries, and lastly, vineyards plentiful and promising as we get on to
the lowlands near the Lago di Garda. It fulfils the Biblical estimate
of a prosperous land with its cornfields and vineyards and olive groves.
The other valley, the Pusterthal, has already been spoken of in
connection with Hofer, whose native place it was. This runs between the
Carnic Alps and the Great Glockner which is 12,464 feet high. The River
Rienz runs down from the Carnic Alps through the Pusterthal, and the
mighty River Drave begins here as a tiny streamlet.
The Great Glockner can be ascended from Heiligenblut, a little Alpine
village nestling on its slopes, surrounded by deep ravines, fringed
with woods, which carry downward foaming torrents, while behind all and
dominating all are the flanks of the huge mountain.
[Illustration: INN VALLEY IN WINTER (ENGADINE)]
If such is the nature of their country, what is the character of the
people? Like all mountain folk, they are hardy, adventurous, and brave.
They also cherish a high sense of independence. They live moderately
and are frugal and sparing, but there is not much real poverty. A
large class of the men still remain peasant-farmers, tilling their own
land in much the same way as their fathers and grandfathers tilled it
before them, by means of unremitting personal toil. Some, it is true,
have learned easier ways of making a living, at all events during the
tourist season, as guides, hangers-on to hotels, and so forth, but
in the out-of-the-way valleys and off the beaten track the people
are unspoiled, and tip-hunting is unknown. Roman Catholicism is the
religion of the country and the peasantry are devout and simple-minded,
sharing in the superstitions of their kind. Their chief amusements
are social events, such as weddings and funerals, and they “enjoy” a
funeral as much as the lower classes in England. Rough dancing to the
tune of home-made instruments plays a large part in their lives, and
the people are mostly musical. The peculiar jodelling of the mountains
requires a trained ear and melodious voice, and the young lads learn
to practise this art from their earliest years. They sing a good deal
too, and singing and dancing go together. The men are born sportsmen
and know the ways of their own wild hills almost as well as the chamois
which grows yearly more shy and difficult.
The name of the Tyrol in the ears of Europeans is synonymous with all
that is picturesque and daring, with feats of hardihood and sport
without equal elsewhere, and this reputation is not a reputation only
but rests on solid fact even to our own times. The men and girls are
accustomed to hard work and difficult ascents from their childhood,
and, owing to the emigration of the men, much of the hardest work, such
as timber-felling, hut-building, and the carrying of heavy weights,
falls on the women. Mr. Baillie Grohman, who knows the Tyrol as few men
know it, speaks of “rows of women with short pipes in their mouths, and
elbows leaning on the table, drinking their pint of Tyrolese wine [in
the village inn] after their hard work.”
In the early spring-time, when the snow draws upwards on the
mountain-tops, there is an annual migration to the higher levels in
search of fresh pasturage for the herds, and those in charge of them
gradually rise higher and higher as the summer waxes, living in the
simple huts beside the feeding grounds, and cut off from all their
relations for several months at a time. In very many cases these
herd-keepers are women and girls, as the men have gone off to America
or elsewhere to earn the money with which they may return in comfort
to their native land.
The young men are of a lively and untameable disposition, extremely
proud and as ready to fight as two stags. The well-known black-cock
feather is as significant of the Tyrol as the plaid is of the
Highlands, and sometimes when the young man wearing it is in a
pugnacious mood he tips it over contrary to the usual way round, thus
indicating that he is seeking trouble. It is often not long before
he gets it! Even in their dancing a rough exuberance of spirits and
strength, sometimes almost frightening to those accustomed to more
civilised methods, is shown. The men career and caper and kick up their
heavy boots and even raise themselves, resting with their hands on the
shoulders of some strapping lass, and dance with their feet on the
ceiling!
The chamois plays no less notable a part in identifying a Tyrolese to
a tourist than the black-cock’s feather. It would not be Tyrol without
some reminder of the chamois, and innkeepers have been known to prop
up a stuffed animal of this species on an almost inaccessible height
for the edification of their customers! The marvellous agility of the
animal has long passed into a proverb, also his wonderful power of
balance which enables him to leap on to a tiny pinnacle of rock and
stand there with all four hoofs bunched together. He is generally about
three feet long and two feet high at the shoulders, and his long
tapering horns run to about eight inches and are black and polished.
The hair is dark brown and longer on the back than elsewhere; this is
called the “beard” and is the coveted trophy of the hunter. The hoofs
are higher at the edges than on the soles and thus give the animal
its grip on slippery ground. Its sight is remarkably keen, and its
powers of running and leaping incredible. It is altogether wonderfully
equipped by nature for its habitat, and the sport which seeks its life
is fair because the animal has a good chance of outwitting its pursuer.
The chamois live in herds and are usually guarded by a sentinel who
gives the alarm at the faintest disturbance; they feed in summer on
flowers and herbs, and in winter on the young shoots of the pines and
firs. There are large preserves in the Tyrol kept by wealthy men for
their own hunting.
[Illustration: CORTINA AND MTE. CRISTALLO]
After the black-cock’s tail and the chamois, wood-carving comes next
as a subject of admiration for the visitor to the country, and truly
the skill of the people in this art is surprising; during the long dark
winter nights, when there is but little to do, many a delicately-carved
work has been turned out that would do credit to the greatest artist.
These works can be bought in Innsbruck and most of the towns, and
though the prices are “put up” for the stranger, yet, after all, it is
work of a skilled kind and the sale is not either certain or large.