Leading the Blind (24 page)

Apart from the usual scenery and art treasures to be seen in Austria, a visit to one of the many salt-mines is highly recommended. In the works where the commodity is processed: ‘The increase of temperature causes the thin iron pan to heave and twist, and … Sometimes a hole is burned in the bottom, or a crack is produced; and as it is not possible to put out the fire merely on account of it, a man is sent into the pan to seek out the leak. This is a hazardous enterprise, as he runs the risk of being nearly stifled by the vapour, and of being boiled alive if he lose his footing. For this purpose he is shod with a pair of high pattens, not unlike two stools, upon which he wades through the boiling brine.'

Austrian inns are said to be rather better than those in Germany, as are the restaurants. On arriving at one in some remote area in the mountains, ‘the new comer must not expect to be ushered in by a trim waiter with napkin tucked under his arm. He will most probably have to find his own way, under a low archway, by a passage which, though boarded, serves for the ingress and egress of horses and carriages, to the public room, which he will perhaps have to share with the people of the village; unless, as sometimes happens, there is an inner or better apartment for guests of distinction. It is generally a low apartment, with vaulted roof, supported on massive buttresses; at the door he will find a little cup for holy water; not far off hangs a crucifix, sometimes with a figure as large as life, and the walls are ornamented with stags' horns, or a chamois head, probably trophies of the rifle of mine host.'

The scene thus set is not unlike that of the opening of a 1930s horror movie, for after describing the furniture the writer goes on: ‘Several sleepy-looking peasants will usually be seen seated on benches around the tables of unpainted wood, half enveloped in the smoke of their pipes, nodding over several huge beer-glasses with pewter lids. In the corner stands an unwieldy stove, the general point of attraction in cold weather. If the stranger, in search of some member of the establishment, extend his researches, he may perhaps find his way into the kitchen, in the centre of which, below a gaping chimney, is a raised platform paved with stones all scorched and black. Upon this culinary altar a wood fire is blazing, over it hangs a caldron, while around it, 2 or 3 busy females will be assembled, each tending some department of cookery, and too busy to notice the stranger.'

Perhaps our traveller is induced to tap his stick on the wall, for eventually the waitress makes her appearance, and very pleased he must have been to see her: ‘She is a bustling, active damsel (often the landlord's daughter), with ruddy cheeks, and a good-humoured smile for everybody, very trimly dressed, and bearing about her the symbols of her office, a bunch of keys on one side, and a large leathern purse on the other. Through her active mediation the traveller's wants (provided they are not extravagant) are soon attended to, and in half an hour the trout and chamois are smoking on the board, and, with the never-failing friendly salutation of “I wish you a good appetite,” he is invited to commence his repast. Sometimes mine host himself appears and seats himself by the stranger's side, as it would be considered rude to leave him alone during dinner in this country – a piece of old-fashioned politeness which an Englishman, if not prepared for it, might call impertinence. As he rises from the table, the guest is probably wished a “good digestion”; and for the douceur of a 5-Kreutzer piece when settling his bill, the waitress will smother his hand with kisses – for here the expression “I kiss your hand,” in return for a favour, is not confined to the word, but is followed by the act; and as he leaves the house a hearty greeting of “
glückliche Reise!
” from the whole household, will follow his departing steps, provided he has conducted himself properly.'

Murray lavishes praise on the welcome which travellers receive in out-of-the-way inns of Austria and the Tirol, which he likens more to the reception of a friend than of a passing guest: ‘… there seems an anxious and disinterested study on the part of the inmates to make the stranger comfortable, and not to contrive how to get the most out of him, as in Switzerland.' He emphasizes that there is no cringing or obsequiousness, ‘and the traveller must not return the attempts made to please him with complaints or dissatisfaction, else there is a chance of his being left supperless'.

The bedroom, however, is not as good as Murray would have wished, for it is often ‘destined for 10 or 15 tenants at one time, and the beds not always provided with clean sheets, unless a little coaxing be employed to put the Kellnerinn into good humour, and thus obtain the concession of this point. As a general rule, however, the cleanliness of the inns of Tyrol, Austria, and parts of Styria, is most praiseworthy, as will forcibly occur to the mind of the traveller as soon as he crosses the frontier of Italy, and sighs with regret for the clean sheets which he has left behind.'

In Vienna the hotel charges were stated to be higher than in most other German capitals. Those of the first class were: ‘
Hotel Munsch
, very good and comfortable, but charges high and portions small;
Kaiserin Elizabeth
, kept by a most obliging and attentive host; well conducted and moderate for Vienna;
Erzherzog Karl
, a fashionable hotel, much frequented by the English, and dear, but excellent cuisine, and in a central situation, near the theatres;
Stadt London
, good, clean, civil people, fair cuisine, “Times” taken.'

After some molly-coddling in the capital our traveller will pursue his leisurely way along the great mountain range towards the Balkans, no doubt agreeing with Murray that: ‘The strong religious feeling of the people is very remarkable; but who can live among the high Alps and not be impressed more than elsewhere with the dependence of man upon the Ruler of the elements? The pine riven by the lightning, the cottage burned by it, the winter's avalanche remaining through the summer unmelted in the depths of the valley, the line of desolation it has caused in its course, marked by the prostrate forest with the stumps only standing like straw in a stubble-field, the hamlet buried by the landslip or swept away by the mountain torrent, are subjects of every-day occurrence.'

Perhaps the favourite pastime of rifle-shooting started the occasional avalanche, for such a sport is found ‘nowhere to the same extent as in Tyrol, whose inhabitants may be called the Kentuckians of Europe. Bred to the use of the weapon from their boyhood, and priding themselves above measure in the skilful exercise of it, and in accuracy of aim, they furnished an admirable corps of sharpshooters.'

In the 1890 edition of the handbook Murray has some amendments to the above: ‘Up to the last few years the Tyrolese were supposed to be amongst the best shots in the world, but the English marksman has now completely eclipsed him in both precision and distance', a competition, I suppose, only finally decided between the trenches of the Great War.

The Tirolese were also said to take delight in gymnastic exercises, for a Sunday afternoon or a fête day ‘usually terminates in a wrestling match, which, in some parts of the country, is coupled with a species of pugilistic encounter not unlike an American gouging-match. Almost every Tyrolese peasant wears a very thick ring of silver or iron on the little finger of the right hand, and a fist so armed inflicts cruel wounds. Such savage combats not unfrequently terminate in the loss of an eye, ear, or nose, such acts of violence not being considered unfair or contrary to the laws of the sport. The old men are umpires, and take a pleasure in stimulating the combatants.'

The greatest passion of the Austrian mountaineers is music and the dance. ‘They appear born with a taste for music: a violin or a guitar is a part of the furniture of every cottage, and not unfrequently a piano. The enthusiasm, almost approaching to frenzy, with which the dance is kept up, in spite of the heat and crowd, from noon till night, is truly surprising. The partners often seize each other by the shoulders, in an attitude not unlike hugging.'

Further east the Styrian inns are ‘generally comfortless, the people disobliging; and one feature, which strikes the traveller more than any other, and is, as far as I know, unexampled in Europe, is the extraordinary precautions taken against house-breaking, by the invariable use of strong iron stanchions in the smallest windows of the most trifling cottages, whilst iron shutters and bars are common, even in small villages. Highway robbery, though less frequent than formerly, is by no means unknown, and military posts are established for the protection of travellers on the great road from Laibach to Trieste. The use of ardent spirits (Slivovitz) is fearfully universal.'

The Bohemian inns, except in Prague, the large towns and the spas, are ‘dirty, and very inferior to those in Austria Proper. In part of Moravia and Galicia they are filthy hovels, perfectly wretched …'

Baedeker tells us that in Prague there are ten synagogues, the one in the Altneuschule being ‘a strange-looking, gloomy pile of the 12th century, the oldest synagogue in Prague, having been founded, according to tradition, by the first fugitives from Jerusalem after its destruction. The large flag suspended from the vaulting, and extending across the whole synagogue, was presented by Ferdinand III, in recognition of the bravery of the Jews during the siege of Prague by the Swedes in 1648.'

Murray says that the Jews of Prague were settled in the locality
before
the destruction of Jerusalem, making it the oldest Hebrew settlement in Europe. ‘In 1290 the Jews were almost exterminated by the fanaticism of the ignorant populace, stirred up by rumours of their having insulted the Host – a prevalent accusation – which caused an almost universal massacre of them throughout Germany. Indeed the history of the Jews in Prague is a dark chapter of that of Christianity. It is one uninterrupted narrative of tyranny, extortion, and blood on the one side, and of long-suffering on the other. Till the end of the last century, Charles IV, Rudolf II, and Joseph II appear the only rulers who held out any protection to this devoted race.'

For part of his journey to the east the traveller may have referred to Captain Spencer's
Turkey, Russia, the Black Sea, and Circassia
, 1854. In this he would have learned that before the 1848 Revolution against the Austrian tyranny, the cities of Hungary ‘could boast of palaces and public buildings, which would be admired for the beauty of their architecture even in the meridian of London and Paris; stagnant moats, which shed around their pestilential exhalations, were filled up and converted into public promenades; a magnificent suspension bridge, thrown across the Danube, connected Pest and Buda; while hospitals and benevolent institutions, richly endowed, had been established to relieve the wants of the poorer part of the population. If we penetrated into the rural districts, they also exhibited all the indications of prosperity – comfortable farm-houses, villages, and roadside inns, everywhere met the view, together with an improved system of agriculture.'

A few pages later Spencer described the country on a visit in 1850, after the uprising had, with Russia's help, been ruthlessly put down. ‘The scene of ruin and desolation which everywhere met our view was perfectly appalling … we beheld traces of the barbarian hordes of half wild Croats, Wallachs, and Serbs, and we may add Austrians and Russians, who had so lately rode roughshod over the entire land, and by imperial authority massacred every human being of Magyar origin who fell into their hands; and even at this time, when it might be supposed that the worst passions of man's nature would have been satiated by indulgence, there was scarcely any abatement in the cruelties exercised by the government towards this unfortunate people. The brutality of the soldiers was unrestrained, the vexatious insolence of the police unendurable – the sufferings of the unhappy prisoners who filled the dungeons of the fortresses and all the strong places were such as revengeful tyranny alone delights to inflict.'

Murray, in his guide of a few years later, tells us: ‘Police regulations are, in respect of passports, at least as stringent as in any other part of the Austrian dominions.' He goes on to say: ‘The greater part of English travellers in Hungary are contented with a visit to Pest, which is most easily effected by descending the Danube from Vienna by steamer in 10 to 12 hours.'

Should you disregard this advice and go out of the main cities, Murray has other observations to pass on to you: ‘The Hungarian inns are on the whole the worst I have found in Europe. They are generally of one storey, planted in the midst of a court-yard ankle-deep in mud, with an arcade running round them; broken steps and uneven pavement lead up to them. Landlord and waiter are seldom at hand to receive a traveller when he presents himself; the attendance is slow and bad: but these are trifles. I am not over nice, but I must confess the public dining-room, with its tobacco fumes, dogs, the practice of spitting to excess, and not unfrequently the horrid smell of garlic, and, what is worse, the total absence of all attempt to purify the apartment, filled me with disgust. But you are no better off in the bed-rooms: they are equally bespitten, and as seldom cleaned. The spider nestles for ever in the corners, and his tapestry is the only drapery which adorns the bare walls. As for the beds, I shudder to think of them. With all the discomforts of those of Germany they have this in addition, that they are usually filthy. The sheets are sewn on to the coverlid, and how often they serve it is impossible to say. You must especially
order
clean sheets, and your desire will then be complied with. A bell is almost unknown, even in the chief towns. If you want anything, you must open your window or door and call out to the waiter. You need not expect an answer; but go down stairs, and you will find him in the passage curling his moustachios.'

A stout travelling carriage is absolutely necessary for getting around: ‘Except on one or two roads, Hungary affords nothing but common carts. Leather sheets are desirable, and sleeping in a carriage is often preferable to a bed. No Hungarian gentleman thinks of travelling without his sheets, pillow, pillow-case, and leather sheets. Mattresses are required by those about to penetrate from Hungary into the far east. Mosquito-curtains will be found of the greatest service to those who descend the Danube, and who value skin, sleep, or comfort, since myriads of those venomous insects are engendered on the marshy shores of the river.'