Foreign Parts
Journeys Through the Alps

Foreign Parts.

Journeys Through the Alps.

Weilheim, Bavaria (Germany),
30th July, 1900.

The difference between the winter and summer temperature in Europe is considerably greater than in Australia, while in the latter part of the world the temperature differs to a greater extent between day and nighttime. At the present time—28th of July, 1900, at Weilheim (at the foot of the Alps), on a tableland situated about 2000 feet above sea level—the heat reached at noon 30° Reaumur (equal to about 100° Fah.), and last winter there was a Klondyke temperature of 20° below zero (Reaumur.) In our home on the North Coast of New South Wales (Coff’s Harbour) immediately adjacent to the Pacific Ocean, and under the shelter of the very near high ranges of a westerly mountain-chain, we had, during the course of 25 years, never more than 92° Fahrenheit, and in winter there has always been such a total absence of frost that in our banana plantation near Coff’s Harbour these tropical fruits blossom and ripen all the year through in finest specimens.

In consequence of the very extreme heat at the present high summer season in Europe, all schools, offices, law courts, etc., are closed, except the most necessary ones, and dense crowds of townspeople from all possible parts of the northern hemisphere go into cool country parts either to the sea shores, to the lakes, or in close vicinity of the Alpine peaks, with eternal snow and ice.

In Maderno (on the Garda Lake, in Italy) wherefrom our last letter to the editor of the Examiner was addressed, on the 7th May, on leaving that lovely place the chestnut trees had begun to show their green leaves, but it was much too early for us sensitive-skinned Australians to venture to go too far into the teeth of old Boreas; therefore, we went by boat all along the beautiful Lago di Garda to Riva on the northernmost (Tyrolese) corner, close to the foot of the southern walls of the Alps, and took quarters for two weeks in a private house, where Mrs. R., in her accustomed way, could cook our coffee, etc. From homely, beautiful Riva we made a great number of highly interesting trips—to the Lago di Ledro, to the Ponala and Varone waterfalls, to Monte Brione, to Torbole (where Goethe wrote his “Ipigenia on Tauris”), to Castle Arco, where we climbed up to this wonderful ruin on a steep overhanging rock like Gibraltar, 600 feet high, and had a most magnificent outlook all over the grand lake, and all the mountains, valleys, and villages at the foot.

After the expiration of our two weeks we marched, high above the lake village of Torbole via the high-reaching Nago, to the railway town of Mori. In our wanderings across the high tableland, the old ruined castle of Nago, standing high above the lake, was soon deep below us and left behind. Our journey through this fine landscape, which has, in comparison to the rather close temperature of the lake, a very pure breezy air, was once suddenly interrupted. We were, together with many other foot, bike, horseback and wheel passengers, bailed up by a uniformed man with a shovel in his hand. He was a kind of a road maintenance man, and he had to warn us to wait until certain dynamite blasting shots high on the mountains above the road were fired off. A succession of tremendous explosions soon were heard, and showers of dust and pieces of rock flew all about, and then first the foot passengers and bikers would wind their way amongst the debris and dust; the buggy and drag people had to wait until the road was properly cleared. This incident we wrote down under the heading: “Periculum in Mori.”

From the town of Mori we soon by train arrived again at the beautiful and highly fashionable “Spa” of Bozen, and further on at Innsbruck, and passed here a landscape which—as described in a former letter in these columns—we saw before in a mantle of snow and ice, but was now all green and alive. The weather in this immensely high situated town of Innsbruck was again very windy. Clouds of dust were whirling about in all streets and public places; nevertheless we visited the castle Ambras, situated on the lower valley of the Inn River, and also the very remarkable Schlosskirche at Innsbruck, which contains many highly valuable pictures and a world-wide celebrated group of life-size bronze statues of important persons out of the old history of Europe; amongst others of the old Saxon King Arthur of England and Theodorick, King of the Goths.

On the 15th May we went by train from Innsbruck to [?Elsbethan], a railway station near the interesting village of Aigen, on the Gainsberg Mountain, near Salzburg. We sent our travelling bags ahead, and went on foot to the highly beautiful rich old town of Salzburg, which, as well as the wonderful and lovely surroundings, pleased both of us so much that we made our minds up to make a longer sojourn here, to await the coming of warmer weather in these parts. We took a very comfortable room in a house completely surrounded by rich country verdure although situated in close vicinity to the most interesting fortification gateway of the world, for this town gateway has a length of about 300 yards, a height of 40 feet, and breadth of about 35 feet—a broad tunnel cut through the solid rock of the Monksberg mountain, which runs all round the old fortification of Salzburg as a precipitous wall chiselled off on both sides. This immense work was done in centuries when dynamite, etc., was unknown. This most extraordinary gate is greatly used by foot and wheel passengers, and is driven straight through the narrowest part of the Monksberg, on whose highest peak the very ancient, majestic and rich citadel of Hohensalzburg towers up towards the sky and looks far out into the lands. Out of the many craggy creeks and waterfalls of the high mountains in close vicinity (Watzman, Untersberg, Hohe Goll, etc), as well as out of the Königs-See and Ober-See (at the foot of the steep walls of the Watzman), the Salzach River is collected, which in a very rapid stream rolls its bright green waves through country and town towards the mighty Danube.

All the many hills and those parts of the higher mountains which, on their lower parts, are covered by dense forest growth, are crossed by carefully laid-out footpaths for the use of the very many tourists from all parts of the globe, especially on the top and sides of the Monchsberg, Kapuziner Berg, Gaisberg; also, there are fingerposts on doubtful roads, comfortable seats, and garden restaurants and Alpine milk-drinking halls in convenient and interesting places, so that at least on such lower heights even without a guide a stranger cannot lose himself. An electric elevator brings the public from the town in the plain below for a trifle up the steep mountain wall to the top of the Monchsberg, several hundreds of feet high, where on the brink, facing the whole town and wide landscape, a first-class hotel is established, on whose verandah and spacious garden establishment every evening on clear days thousands of guests enjoy listening to excellent concerts, executed by the choicest of Austrian military bands, and worthy of the town of Salzburg, which is the birthplace of the famous musical composer W. A. Mozart.

The Mirabel Castle, with gardens and parks, laid out many hundred years ago in old French “roccocco” style, and formerly the seat of the Dukes of Salzburg, is situated in the northerly part of the town, not far from the theatre-place (near Mozart’s dwelling-house). This Mirabel Garden is a jewel, and the oftener one visits it the more one grows attached to it. What concerns ourselves, we were so bewildered by the charms of this lovely abode that we have been living in its vicinity for seven weeks.

Near the main bridge across the Salzach River on the Linzer Strasse—close to the very ancient buildings, where many hundred years ago the then world-celebrated “father of chemistry,” Dr. Theophrastus Paracelsus, was born and lived—is situated the venerable, old and well-kept Inn “Zur Traube.” Here is the place where the kitchen so pleased us that on the days we stayed in town we regularly dined, also for the reason that the prices were moderate, which cannot be said of some of the Salzburg hotels, which—in consequence of the enormous influx of strangers and foreigners have by right the reputation of being the utmost extravagant and unscrupulous in their charges.

On the 22nd May, on a perfect clear day, we started, via Gersberg Alps, in the west, to climb up to the mount Gaisberg, which has a height of 1280 matar (about 4000 feet). Mrs. R. confessed this was the stiffest march she had ever made in her life, as, at home in Australia, all such trips are made on horseback. But such animals—even mules and donkeys—could not be used, for one reason they were not here, and for another the road is in places too steep. But there exists a cogwheel railway for passengers to go up and down, and the charges are not too expensive; but as we got quite into the habit of making such very interesting routes slowly on foot my brave little companion insisted upon this style of locomotion also on this bit of “hard tack.” We had five hours to climb, and conquered our task quite nicely with the aid of our alpenstocks. Down below the heat was intense as the sun came higher; but on top of this mountain—which is quite flat, without the growth of any timber, and resembling very much one of our beach headlands on the Pacific Ocean—it was intensely cold, and thick layers of snow filled the enormous gullies on the northern side. A thick coat of grass of ridicolor covered the flat surface, consisting of very moist humus on loam. The ground was quite wet, as the snow had not disappeared long before, and the subsoil was evidently still frozen, so that the snow-water could not penetrate.

What a blessing is the permanent water here, which spurts, rushes, and trickles everywhere, in comparison to our mercilessly dry hills in N. S. Wales, even at our home close to the ocean! This blessing here is the consequence of the long-remaining snow and the icebound underground of the mountains in these heights slowly but constantly watering the whole of the network of rivers and streams on the European continent.

We went down the Gaisberg in an easterly direction, via Zisler Alps, and reached the foot of this mountain in less than two hours. The luxuriant grass towards the summit of the mountain was thickly covered with lovely dark-blue Enzian flowers, also alpen roses were frequently seen; but the very rare wild-growing edelweiss can only be seen on steep bare rocky walls in small crevices.

The celebrated castle Hellbrunn, near Salzburg, is situated about two hours walk from the latter on a plain towards the high mountains, and it is on fine days visited by crowds of Salzburg townspeople, by the very well-to-do farming populace of the many surrounding villages of this rich and happy land, as well as by foreigners from all parts of the globe. The quick and jolly waitresses in the usual mountaineer costume, within a very extensive, comfortable, shady beer-garden, serve out the lovely, cooling, healthy and cheap drink to the hundreds of well-behaved but very noisy crowd, at the rate of ⅔ English quart of lager for 2½d (about 3d English). The many garden and park surroundings of this castle Hellbrunn (“hell” means in German bright) contain arbor-walks, carp-ponds, bosquetts, carpet flower-beds in astonishing variety; and the liberal munificence of His Majesty the Emperor of Austria is here, as everywhere in the Imperial Gardens, castles, museums, etc., visible, for everything is open to the visitor, who and from where he or she may be; all the same if simply or pompously clad, everybody is by the K.K. officers or employees sure to be treated with kindness and civility.

In the park of Hellbrunn is also an alley of rare old giant pines, said to be 300 years old, and in the gardens, regularly every day, weather permitting, the world-wide celebrated Salzburg waterworks are set playing; these are strangely beautiful and surprising, and neither of us have seen the like before. Thousands of wonderful stone ornaments spurt, squirt and splash fountains, douches, and waterfalls to all sides, casting numerous rainbows in the bright sunshine. Bold youngsters who sat on a stone bench were, under the laughter of the spectators, blown up by a mighty waterspout from underneath, and from all sides spurted over by the splashing douches. Out of all points of ornamental staghorns, open-mouthed frogs, turtles, and hundreds of other stone ornaments to waterstreams rushed forth on to the spectators. In grottos by artificial ruins are life-like stone figures driven by water-power hard at work at different trades; knife-grinders, potters, bakers, etc., are very busy. An armoured knight kills with one stroke of his sword a formidable dragon which rushes towards a maiden. Further on, by a very extensive group, is shown the very life in a township in time of the middle ages—very droll but very life-like. All dolls are moved by water-power. There is a whole town, in times of our ancestors in old Europe about 300 years ago, in full swing: nuns and monks are marching with song out of their convent and into a church, whereupon the organ begins to play; also, a butcher kills a bullock; a house is being built by masons and carpenters; material is hauled up by the efforts of some hard-pulling men; a baker kneads his dough; a nobleman scolds a peasant, who stands before him, trembling, cap in hand; soldiers relieve guard; a cooper hammers a hoop around a cask; a Jew bargains about a cow; a Pole leads a dancing bear, which, together with an old woman, dances a circle-dance; old women go to market with wheelbarrows, or panniers on their shoulders; two ride a donkey, etc. Everything works smoothly, is exactly life-like, very funny and droll, and in best harmony. All these shows are free; only you can give ad libitum a few pence to the old man who works the machinery and explains the different groups.

South of Salzburg in the plain, about 10 mins. walk from the gates, is the castle of Leopoldskron, close to a lake, whereon very comfortable bathing accommodation is established; there are also hundreds of different rowing and sailing boats for hire, and on warm clear days the most interesting regattas, etc., can be seen from a conveniently-situated beer-garden. The village of Leopoldskron stretches along many broad first-class roads, which are flanked by avenues of grand old shade trees, of which there are few which have less than 3 feet trunk diameter 4 feet above ground. These comprise linden, chestnuts, elms, oak and maple.

The Kapuziner Berg, in the north of Salzburg, is covered by forest and very dense scrub, and contains splendid refreshment accommodation, comfortable footpaths, and numerous resting benches on such spots where nice views can be obtained; also, a genuine capuchin convent, wherein still at the present time—as in many other parts of Austria and Italy (like Spain)—genuine monks are housed. These reminded us strikingly of the Buddha priests of Ceylon, about whom we have previously written in these columns. On a journey like ours we become acquainted with many fellow-travellers, but such acquaintanceship is usually very short, which is, in some cases, very desirable, as the talking of most of such companions, however polite and civil they may be, diverts one’s attention from many interesting, remarkable or beautiful spots, etc.

On the 21st June we went straight into the high mountains to Berchtesgaden, and were again lucky to find in this extremely expensive place a very snug, clean, simple room, and we took from here many pleasant walks—first to the Königs-Sea, surrounded by steep mountain walls thousands of feet high. We walked around this lake as far as the footpaths are trafficable, and then returned to the landing place for the rowing boats. We undertook a tour all along the lake, went out in clear weather, but in returning met a heavy thunderstorm, which forced us to run for shelter to an old hunting castle, St. Bartholomew. From here, after the thunderstorm had passed, we had a grand view up to the towering walls of the Watzman Mountain, which fall here steep off from a height of 2650 meter (about 8000 feet) above sea level. The top of this giant is covered with eternal snow. In the gorges of this mountain a few days before our arrival two young students from the University of Munich were lost. They tried, it is said, to ascend the steep walls towards the lake without any guide, as these are not permitted, on punishment of losing their licenses, to take travellers to these parts. These foolhardy youngsters—like many hundreds of others who lose their lives every year in the ice-regions of the Alps in a similar way—went on the sly. After long searches, several days after we left Berchtesgaden, their corpses were found in snow-filled gullies. The village of Berchtesgaden is the birthplace of old Mr. Oberfuchhuber (his children write themselves at present Foxuber). The old man died some years ago on the Clarence.

A foot-tour of two hours brought us on the following day to the world-renowned Wimbach Klamm, a tremendous waterfall, along the whole course of which a bridge for foot passengers is erected. The spectacle of the enormous roaring, tumbling masses of water is so over-powering, ferocious, and grand that the attempt to walk this frail swinging footbridge, several miles long, is not advisible for persons with weak nerves. Further on, along the main road, we arrived at Ramsau, a fertile valley of considerable extent, with a snug and homely village, surrounded by formidable rugged, snow-capped mountain walls, and further down leaning on them are gently sloping grassy alms, from where the ringing of a great number of cow bells sounded down to us. After refreshments we made our way down hill homewards again, and reached our friendly little room late in the evening.

In these parts of the Alps, belonging to the Austrian Empire, are numerous interesting salt mines, the deep shafts and tunnels of which are visited in the summer season by a great number of tourists, but as we had already visited salt mines in the Hartz mountains we did not inspect these here. There are also a great many salt springs in these Salzburg lands, the water of which—here called a sole—is led in a network of wooden underground pipes for great distances to Imperial salt evaporating establishments. The manufacture and sale of salt, as well as that of tobacco is an Imperial monopoly in the Austrian Empire.

On the following day we visited another enormous waterfall called Almbach Klamm. The rocks on both sides of this steep crooked gulch are higher than on the Wimbach, but the fall of the water is not so gloriously grand. In many places on the Almbach mountain—like on the Wiederberg mountain, near Salzburg—are important marble quarries and works driven by water power, in which the marble blocks are sawn in slabs and blocks of all sizes. Small pieces of marble are, by means of small turbine-like mills, ground quite round into the shape of marbles, used the world over by boys. In Australia the writer of these notes witnessed once in a lone blackfellows’ camp two very old blackfellows seriously brooding over a game of marbles, which they for hours had been playing together.

Via Almbach Klamm the footpath leads to the main road from Berchtesgaden to Reichenhall, and a foot-tour of three hours brought us on the 23rd of June to this highly-fashionable and grand Spa of Kur-Ortz. On our road to the railway station we passed through the Kurgarten. We were almost speechless with surprise at the almost ridiculous splendour of the costumes of the thousands of “patients,” who are supposed to have come here to regain health in the wonderful fresh air of these mountains. The Kur-Ortz, the garden, and also the music, were most beautiful. Dusty and heated by the long foot-tour we sat on a garden seat opposite a very high, long and broad wall of close packed brush, through which, running down from the top in an artificial way, salt water (sole) is constantly trickling for the purpose of creating an artificial sea breeze for the patients. Leisurely we observed from our seat the multifarious crowd of pompously attired pilgrims of our earth, who seem to imagine that a few mouthfuls of this artificial sea air would be able to cure the consequences of long intemperance and refined aggressions against nature. The music was grand, and the numerous dracenas, jaccas, bananas, etc., planted out of hothouses into the garden beds reminded us of our beautiful healthful home on the North Coast of New South Wales, close to the Pacific Ocean. After taking our rucksacks and alpenstocks to the railway station, we took a promenade for a few hours in the grand gardens and in the pleasant surroundings of Reichenhall, and then by train ran back to old homely Salzburg again.

After a rest of a few days we prepared for a tour into the Upper Austrian lake districts, around Ischl and Gmunden, a landscape which is universally considered to be one of the most beautiful of the whole earth. With our light travelling luggage we left Salzburg on 2nd July for good, and went by train as far as the little village of Thalgan, at the foot of the formidable Schafberg mountain. As we left our old quarters very early, and without breakfast, we called at a small village inn at Thalgon, which was scrupulously clean and neat. We ordered coffee, which was served to us in the funny, original old local style—in soup plates. We crumbled our crisp fresh-baked white bread into the excellent coffee, with splendid fresh Alpen milk, and—without betraying the slightest astonishment, like the other guests—ate it with spoons. Charge—Two plates of coffee and 6 buns, 24 kreuger (equal to 6d).

Through a pretty landscape (although somewhat tormented by a peculiar species of grey cattle-fly, called here “bremse”) we, after a very agreeable walk, reached the village of Mondsee. Across the lake of same name we went by one of the small steamers which ply on these waters continually to Scharfling, and from here at once we started to ascend the gigantic Schafberg. It was a rare clear day, and in this early morning time the air was cool and breezy. This mountain, whose pointed, horn-shaped top is far visible, is about 5500 feet above sea level. The German-Austrian Alpen Club has, for the benefit of the thankful tourists, done enormous work in laying out everywhere throughout the Alps in these districts fine zig-zag footpaths, fingerposts, resting seats, etc. As we had the whole day before us we went very slowly, and after six hours constant marching up hill we reached an inhabited place called Alm Alpe, where a simple but very clean and comfortable little inn (combined with a very extensive dairy) is established. We resolved to stay for supper and night. Mrs. R. writes here:—“We reached Alm Alpe Wirtshouse about 4 o’clock after such a steep climb as I never wish to take again; but here was a comfortable inn and ‘senn-hutte,’ or dairy, to which latter we went at once to buy a drink of lovely milk, to have a chat with the funny old Sennerin in German, and afterwards we went with her up into the Alm hills to have a good look at all her beautiful cows.” Only in the summer months are these cows driven out of their warm stables down below up to these great heights. In winter all here is left, and the snow often covers the roofs of the houses to a considerable height. At the present time the grass is wonderfully fresh and juicy. The soil consists mostly of humus on loam, which is very moist, as in the enormous rocky clefts around and higher up lays deep snow, and the ground underneath is all snow. Springs and creeks spurt and flow everywhere amongst watercress and other herbs. No wonder that milk, cheese and butter in these Alp regions are so good and so highly praised. As for export to London of these articles nobody here cares, as they are sold for fair prices to the local market, and eagerly consumed by the continental people themselves. Great masses of foreign butter, cheese, etc., are imported to these parts for the millions of tourists who visit here annually. Here on the Schafberg alone in all directions are grazing enormous herds of fat and contented cows of a breed called here Pinzgauer, and appears to us almost identical with the English Herefords. In Tyrol, South Bavaria, and North Italy we found a breed of cattle prominent which are far smaller than the Pinzgauer, and just like our Jerseys and Alderneys in colour as well as in shape. In the sennereien (dairies) women are mostly occupied. Sometimes they have a bright, rough-looking small boy to help them drive the cows in and milk them. The calves are shut up at night and the cows only milked once a day in the early morning. During the hot season, especially on calm days, different kinds of cattle-flies (bremses) are very troublesome to the cattle. “I took,” writes Mrs. R., “great interest in the dairies, and had a long chat with the butter and cheese women.”

The publichouse was a real good one, and the prices charged very low, considering the great height above the sea. After having seen the sun set behind the gilded tops of the whole westerly snow-capped mountain chain, we paid our account, went to bed early, and started at 3 o’clock in the morning to see the sun rise and to finish our climb up to the very top of the Shafberg. The highest part of this mountain is naked rock, and only on very protected spots crawls a heather-like growth and a kind of creeping fir-scrub, called here “latschen.” The gullies and cracks in the rocks are filled with snow. The air was very sharp but remarkably light, and we ourselves felt wonderfully light as with the help of our berg-stocks we climbed higher and higher. The panorama all round is rare and very surprising, and certainly there is a wonderful charm to live in these heights. We can understand that it is not only foolishness which induces young people to venture in rambling about these icy regions like the wild chamois, and who so often lose their lives. Far down below we saw through the clear blue air a wreath of lakes and, far in the west, the walls and crags of the Watzman, Hohe Goll, Uebergossen Alps, ect.; and in the south far away the white Dachstein ranges, and towards the east the Traunstein, the wild Kogl and the Devil’s Mountains. These mountain lakes have a bright green colour, and all day long there is a busy life of rowing and sailing boats, as well as of small regular-going steamers.

On the highest peak of the Shafberg a first-class hotel is established, and the prices charged are not extravagant. It has superior accommodation for a great number of persons, and will surely satisfy the highest expectations; and the tourist will find here civil and attentive treatment. A secure cogwheel railway from the station at St. Wolfgang down below runs up to the top of the Shafberg, and brings weak and aged passengers up without danger or trouble.

We enjoyed a hearty breakfast, saw a number of other tourists, picked blue enzian flowers and Alpen roses; looked down the steep horn of the mountain over the lands, and perceived in the wrinkles and clefts of the granite the white and tender silver-stars of the lovely edelweiss flower glittering; and after a very agreeable rest we descended to our last night’s quarters at the Alm Hotel; took our rucksacks, said good-bye to all the good people, and descended towards the village of St. Wolfgang. After a walk of three hours from the Alm Hotel downwards, we reached the steamer, which took us over the Wolfgang lake to the railway station, from where we took train to the town of Ischl.

The day was clear and very warm. The town of Ischl has splendid surroundings, and highly elegant hotels, but appeared to us somewhat dusty, and as we both felt quite fresh we walked on along the beautiful Traun River. In the cool of the evening we wandered leisurely along this grand stretch of country, which changes its scenery with every bend of the river, and when about 6 miles from Ischl we reached the village of Weisenbach, where we perceived a very respectable-looking real old-style Upper Austrian village inn, Zu den drei Mohren. We took quarters and were surprised at the old style but very rich outfit of this remarkable place. There was richly carved old oak furniture and hundreds of carved ornaments, weapons, and horns of stage, roes and chamois of all possible sizes and ages. Some of these stag horns, mounted on artistically carved life true stag heads, were so grand that they would have been worthy ornaments for the abode of kings and emperors.

Along the Traun River very early next morning we walked further on a mountain footpath, laid out for tourists along the green forest-covered mountains. These shady comfortable foot-walks are everywhere in the Alps laid out and kept in order by the German-Austrian Alp Company.

About dinner-time we reached the village of Langwier, at the foot of the Steinhoge Mountain. This place—midway between the two towns of Ischl and Gmunden—so pleased us that we made our minds up to take quarters for one week in a small farm house belonging to old mother Reinbacher. We had a good wash, and then deposited our rucksacks in our room, ate dinner in an inn close by, and went on towards Gmunden. We reached the glorious and beautiful lake Traunsee, near a small town and landing place of steamers, called Ebensee. Under the green trees of a refreshment garden, we enjoyed, as the sun went down, the glorious view of this lake and surroundings, as well as some liter of excellent beer with our supper; and after buying some necessary supplies of rations, etc., we wended our way back through the splendid summer night, and reached our peaceful home, when our good old landlady drove in her only goat, which had a bell on and was very tame.

On the very high slopes of the Steinhoge Mountain range we could see a stag and two hinds peaceably grazing at a height of about 300 feet, where the sun still shone, while down below all was dark. When small boys below on the road whistled and screeched to scare this game away, these fleet and graceful animals merely lifted their heads for a short while, sniffed the air, and went on feeding peacefully and unconcerned. People here tell us that stags and roes are so numerous and so tame that frequently at night-time they come down along the roads. In the mountains there are also very numerous chamois; but they are said to be very shy, and only in hardest winter time venture in very rare cases to come down from the ice and snow regions into lower parts.

The Traun Sea is by far not so extensive as the Garda Sea (Lago di Garda), but has the advantage that all along its western side and part of the opposite, as well as on the whole north and south sides, runs a whole network of tourists’ footpaths, as well as a splendid broad and level coach road; and all along the western shore, blasted through the rock, a railway line runs. In making foot tours around the lake, on the very many windings of the almost level main road in the west, the traveller is surprised at the continual changes of the scenery, and has a panorama before his eyes highly beautiful and interesting.

If we would attempt to describe all the funny and remarkable persons with whom we met on our journeys we surely would be able to relate many interesting anecdotes; but for several reasons we refrain from this. But one incident we may relate, as it serves as an illustration of a modern craze or industry. On a bright, fresh afternoon, as we leisurely walked along from our quarters at Steinhoge to Ischl, we saw on the highway a very strange vehicle approaching. We differed in opinion if it be a “ship on dry land” on wheels, a scissor-grinders’ cart, a gipsy van or a “show people’s” caravan. As the concern approached near to us, we saw two flags fluttering (German and Austrian) on a wheelbarrow, which was pushed along by a man, quite genteel, but rather “artistically” clad. And within the wheelbarrow sat a “real lady,” with a nicely clad child in her lap. Upon our courteous inquiry, the man—after wiping his forehead—let us know this affair meant the execution of a bet. He was about to make, with his whole family in this wheelbarrow, a journey round the world. At present he was on the road to Vienna. The man pushed on—and we also.

As our dwelling place under the Steinhoge was situated midway between Ischl and Gmunden, we had a chance to take trips by boat, train or foot to visit all the surroundings, and we were present at Gmunden at the time of the celebrated wedding of the Prince of Baden with Princess of Cumberland, which wedding, through the presence of the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria, gained a great importance within Austria. The Royal couple were married in the Protestant Church at Gmunden, and it struck us that, although the populace around Gmunden is to a great extent Catholic, the people of this town and of the surrounding country—which, in spite of the moist weather, filled the streets and public places in dense crowds—showed such intense veneration, especially towards the young bride. The veneration for this young Princess of “Cumberland,” who, although English, is of pure German blood, has its reason in the fact that she was born at Gmunden, has grown up here, and always has shown herself truly kind-hearted, noble and amiable.

The Traun Sea in shape is very similar to the Garda Sea, the shape of a pear. The pointed end of the former is directed towards the south and the Alps, and the pointed end of the Garda towards the north and the Alps; while the broad end of the Traun runs out towards the flats of Lower Austria, and of the Garda towards the Lombardian plain.

Gmunden, situated on the north shore of the Traun Lake has therefore a flat shore; but the lands sloping gently towards the lake possess a lovely display of magnificent castles, villas, etc., with tasteful gardens and parks, mixed with rich and idyllic farmers’ courts, villages, etc., all with grand views towards the lake and the far outstretching mountain chains of manifold form on both sides of it. Besides this, the soil on these plains and gentle slopes on the north shore of the Traun Lake is of first-rate quality, the products of which, as well as the proceeds of fishing on the lake, bring pretty high prices. The consequence of this is that the hardy, sturdy farmer population hereabouts has a jolly, kind and contented humour. A great number of highest nobility possess summer residences here. There are imperial, royal, ducal and other castles by the dozen. A very curious grand old castle (it appears to me built in the ancient Russian style), with onion-shaped steeple tower, stands close to the lake, across which it is connected by a long simple wooden bridge with a smaller building on an island, also with onion-shaped steeple tower. This castle, and also the big beautiful garden park connected therewith, are closed to the public.

Our readers, perhaps, remember from repeated reports in the newspapers some ten years ago that the then Austrian Archduke John, under the anonymous name of Captain Orth, undertook a long oversea journey with his own sailing craft, commanded by himself (as he not only absolved the theoretical navigation school, but also practical seamanship). He went forth into far away parts, but he as well as his ship and crew were never heard of, and were said to be lost in a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean. The above described castle was the property and residence of this Austrian Prince. It is a very picturesque old place, and has been for us one of the most remarkable buildings on this part of the Traun Lake. On the evening of the grand wedding we waited at Gmunden railway station to take a trip to Ischl; but we had to wait for several hours, as an extra train had to be prepared and sent off to bring the young married couple to Salzburg and Beretesgaden.

Ischl is, like Gmunden, a “Kurort,” and more beautifully built than Gmunden. It is surrounded by green wooded mountains, and has some splendid castles, villas, and pleasure resorts. It is situated on the Traun River, a great attraction for that species of man called globe-trotters; but it has not, like Gmunden, that beautiful lake. But of surprising beauty is the Kurhouse and its surroundings at Ischl, and it is, indeed, an agreeable sentiment to sit (just like hundreds of grandly attired Kur guests, who all appear as if they were princes) on the comfortable seats under these lovely blossoming linden trees, and listen to the most exquisite music of the Kur-Kapelle orchestra. Yes, it is nice for a while, but not for long.

Before retiring to our hotel we took a walk on the left bank of the River Traun up stream (as a last greeting before leaving this fairy-like, beautiful spot of the globe), where wonderful surprise awaited us. On the opposite shore high up was already the forest-covered mountain chain wrapped in the deep shade of evening, and as we reached a wide cleft of this dark mountain like a saddle, far away, high over that dark mountain saddle, a miraculous picture was gleaming in rosy light. It was the immensely high, snow-capped Dachstein mountain in the seldom-appearing phenomenon of “Alpenglow,” something like the Aurora Borealis. We stood and stared in speechless admiration; but soon we perceived that also other pilgrims had caught sight of this very rare view. Soon young men and women, screeching for joy, ran in all directions to fetch their friends, and in a short time the song sounded through the evening:

Before we conclude this present letter, we will mention a very remarkable person, whom we met shortly before our departure from Ischl. We returned from a pleasant walk from the “Jubilaums Weg,” when we saw sitting before a small house on the roadside a painter before his easel. After greeting and some friendly words, we got in conversation with this man. He begged us to take a seat, which invitation we accepted, begging him for our sake not to interrupt his work. So he took his brush—not to hand, for he had none—but between the nimble toes of his right foot, and very cleverly and deftly resumed his work: painting a very handsome head on his canvas before him. This man had no arms, and, as he was born so, could do very nicely without them. He can do all and everything with his feet; he even plays the zither, which is a very difficult instrument. He appears to be very young and inexperienced, else he might—engaged by a thrifty manager—make plenty of money. He wrote us his card with his feet, and his name is: Ludio Steinkogeer, fuss-artist, Hinterstein, No. 13, near Jschl, Ober-Oesterreich.

Across the Kochl Lake goes a cart track through a dam about a foot under water, and on the whole stretch runs above the water a comfortable stage about two miles long. On each side of this path which we travelled glitters the lake clear and green to a great distance, and is on several spots covered with reeds and other water plants, which literally swarm with wild ducks and other water birds.

We went on till we reached, not far from the lake, on good sound ground, surrounded by most splendid lands, the Convent Schlehdorf, with a brewery attached to it. Above the door of the top room is written on top of a picture, whereupon a cask and a formidable beer jar is displayed, the verses:

Willingly we followed this invitation after our long walk without breakfast, but we ordered one liter of fresh milk, which we drank under a sheltering linden tree, in whose blossoms the bees delected themselves. To our good milk we had some fresh baked crisp buns.

The sun got disagreeably high, and the air got very hot, but we had to foot it, and reached, after another 1½ hours hot marching, the end of this day’s walk; the railway station Murnan. This place is situated on the line Munich-Oberammergan. To this last place, where the celebrated Passions Plays are at present executed, millions of “pilgrims” are at this very moment travelling out of all parts of the whole globe. As these crowds are so uncanny numerous, and also as this imitated execution reminds us of ancient habits of cruelty (which at our present modern time is not much changed for the better, only other tools are used), it is not our place to view the Oberammergan “Plays.” Our journey leads towards the opposite side (Weilheim).

Punctually we were at the Murnan railway station, but we had to wait one hour, and during this short time there passed from Munidi towards Oberammergan five long extra trains densely stuffed with passengers of all classes, and when we at last could start in the opposite direction, our train had to stop to let a sixth extra train full with such pilgrims pass. The prices for lodging and meals, of course, reach at the village of Oberammergan an enormous pitch by this mad rush, and the consequence is that many “pious” guests become quite cross, and give to the brave actors and lodging-housekeepers awful bad names, which these do not mind in the slightest.

The clear profit of this year’s Passions play at Oberammergan—as I am informed by competent people—reads at the present time the sum of two millions of marks (1 mark, 1s).

We, yours truly, sit now here at Weilheim under the enormous boughs and deep shade of a gigantic blossoming linden tree, and intend to enjoy for some time a well deserved rest.

H. and F. Rieck.
c/o Mrs. Skölzle, Weilheim, Upper Bavaria, Germany.