Part 17 (1/2)
Its present ruinous condition arose partly from neglect during the troublous period of the wars at the end of the eighteenth and commencement of the nineteenth century, and partly from the fact that during the Bavarian occupation of the country in 1808-9, the then Government sold the castle for the ridiculous sum of a couple of hundred pounds for the purpose of destruction so that the stones could be used as building material![16]
[Ill.u.s.tration: SCHLOSS TYROL, NEAR MERAN]
[Sidenote: ANCIENT CASTLES]
Castle Tyrol stands a relic of past glories, feats of arms, strenuous living, and chivalry on a rocky ridge or spur of the mountains above the vineyards, which climb upwards towards the white and imposing castle walls. Behind and above rise the pine forests running upwards to meet the rocky slopes of the Kuckelberg and Vintschgau range.
The most ancient portions of the present building are some of the walls, a porch, and two marble doorways dating from about the twelfth century, and the chapel. In the latter there is a fine representation of the Fall of Man, and interesting carvings. From its commanding position it is only to be expected that a magnificent prospect is to be had of the Adige Valley, the chain of the Ulten-Thal and Mendel mountains, and the vineyards upon the slopes which swell upwards from the valley. Seen either soon after sunrise (which few people, we imagine, do) or just at sunset, the views from the castle, more especially that from the Kaisersaal, are of wonderful pictorial beauty and charm.
Though we have too little s.p.a.ce to devote to the many delightful places in the Meran valley which invite exploration, or to mention the numerous walks which tempt the pedestrian, we must give a pa.s.sing word or two to the Chateau or Castle of Schonna, which lies nearly two thousand feet above sea-level like a h.o.a.ry and time-worn sentinel at the entrance to the Pa.s.seier Valley. It is easily reached from Obermais by an excellent road suitable even for cyclists, and is well worth a visit owing to the representative collection of old weapons gathered within it, and its picturesque situation. Dating from the early years of the twelfth century, it is an excellent example of the ancient feudal fortress-residence of those far-off times. A mention of the Chateau Lebenberg, distant about an hour and a half's walk from Meran, is justified--although it is now a pension--by reason of its excellent state of preservation, and the historical paintings in several of the most interesting rooms. The walk, too, along the side of the mountains by way of Marling and picturesque St. Anton is one to be enjoyed and remembered.
Some ten miles northward in the Pa.s.seier Valley, just a little distance beyond the village of St. Martin, where one sees many examples of the wall paintings which are more especially numerous in the towns and villages of Southern Tyrol, stands the most famous national pilgrimage place and historic shrine, Hofer's Inn, called _Wirth am Sand_ or the ”Sandy Inn,” literally the ”Inn by the Sand.”
It is quite an unpretentious building standing by the roadside, and would scarcely attract the notice of pa.s.sing travellers. It is entered by a gallery reached up a short flight of steps. The interior is scrupulously clean, and although it is plainly furnished one is rather the more impressed by this circ.u.mstance which leaves the famous Inn, where Hofer was born on November 22, 1767, much as we are told it was in his time. From the pleasant dining-room on the first floor, with curtains of spotless muslin to keep out the almost blinding suns.h.i.+ne of the valley, there are fine views towards Meran, and of the towering mountains across the stony bed of the Pa.s.ser.
At the Inn there are some interesting relics of the patriot, and pictures of him. One shows him as a big, strongly built man of not much above average height, with a short nose, a fine and lofty forehead, dark eyes, and a rather ruddy face, well-marked eyebrows, and the famous long beard.
At one time Hofer wore no beard, and the story goes that his growing one--which ultimately was declared to be the longest in the valley--arose from the chaff of his companions, who a.s.serted that his wife forbade him to wear one. Whether the tale be true or not it has very general acceptance, and we all know that Hofer's beard was ultimately one of his distinguis.h.i.+ng features during the campaigns in which he was engaged. There is a very pleasant balcony on the outside of the house which, tradition a.s.serts, was often used by Hofer and his companions when holding their meetings or councils of war to devise some scheme by which their beloved country could be freed from a foreign yoke.
[Sidenote: HOFER RELICS]
Hofer's last letter, which is one of the most treasured of the relics, even exceeding in interest the clothes which he wore when shot at Mantua, is a splendid testimony to the dignity and greatness of the man, which surmounted all troubles and disasters and was not lessened or alloyed by triumphs. In it he speaks of his old home, of the rus.h.i.+ng Pa.s.ser, of the beautiful mountains he would see never again, and then goes on to say, ”It is the great G.o.d's good will that I die at Mantua,” and then, ”Farewell, beautiful world,” adding, ”but at the thought of quitting it my eyes scarcely even moisten.” Then follow the words, ”I am writing this at five in the morning; at nine I shall pa.s.s into the presence of G.o.d,” with the date ”20th February, 1810.”
Far up the mountain side above his old home is the spot where Hofer hid with his wife from November, 1809, till five o'clock on the morning of January 18, 1810, when he was captured and taken under strong escort first to Meran, and ultimately to Mantua. He had refused to fly to Vienna or take refuge on Austrian territory. He wished to remain amongst his people, perhaps with a vain hope of once more attempting to accomplish Tyrol's freedom.
It is with regret that most travellers leave Hofer's old dwelling. The whole Pa.s.seier Valley is, of course, teeming with historic memories, of the gallant doings of the patriot and his companions. Near Schloss Tyrol itself was fought one of the most notable engagements, and a victory won when the French, driven from their position on the Kuchelberg, were surrounded by the peasant forces; whilst just outside Meran another skirmish took place, as a result of which the French troops were forced to evacuate the town.
[Sidenote: SUNNY BOZEN]
From Meran to Bozen by rail is rather less than twenty miles, and about the same distance by the road, which runs through the valley of the Etsch, or Adige, and in places along the lower slopes of the hills. It is a picturesque journey by either, and for cycling quite delightful. One crosses the Talfer just before reaching Bozen, which lies in a wide basin at the junction of the valley of the Etsch, with the smaller but picturesque Sarnthal, surrounded by great reddish brown crags and precipices of the porphyry mountains on which the semi-tropical cactus grows, and one gets sombre groups of cypresses, and here and there vineyards, and pine-clad crags. The town is a strange mixture of the German elements of Tyrol and the Italian. Its architecture, too, is ”an admixture of that of north Italy and South Germany, here and there transfused so that it preserves characteristics of both.” It is perhaps for this very reason a town of great charm, and one of considerable beauty. Its surroundings, which include the famous Rosengarten, and many beautiful little valleys and gorges present attractions for a longer stay than one at first contemplates.
It is, moreover, one of the busiest (Bozen people claim that it is _the_ busiest) towns in Tyrol, with a population going on towards 20,000, including its outskirts, yet it possesses some most delightful gardens.
Seen from almost any point of the lower slopes of the surrounding hills, cactus, and vine-clad, and resembling in general luxuriance of vegetation Italy rather than the Tyrol of but a little further north, Bozen is charming. Below one is spread out a garden-like city, which with all its bustling life yet looks more like a holiday resort than a commercial town, with numbers of white-walled villas dotted amidst green fields, vineyards and gardens, in the latter of which blossom all the flowers one knows and loves, and many less common in England.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A STREET IN BOZEN]
One of the oldest towns in Tyrol, it stands practically on the site of the Pons Drusi of Roman times. It has for ”time out of mind” stood at the cross roads where the Brenner and the Vintsgau routes divide. In the past, Roman armies have pa.s.sed through it, have crossed the Talfer, or have lain encamped in the fields of its basin-like site.
And after them came the Merchants of the Middle Ages, trading between civilized Italy and barbarian northern lands. Still later came Emperors and pilgrims travelling to the ”Eternal City,” Crusaders outward and homeward bound, roving singers, and hordes of free lances and mercenaries. In a word, Bozen's past must have been a stirring one, and the lives led by her citizens full of the colour of life and gallant deeds.
Anciently, too, the town was fought for and tossed hither and thither by those powerful civil lords the Terriolis, Counts of Tyrol, and the militant spiritual lords the Prince Bishops of Trent. For this reason, and on account of many fires and ”grievous o'erflowings of the Talfer in past times,” of the most ancient of all Bozens there are comparatively few traces, though within the old town there are yet traceable some interesting relics of the Middle Ages.
In those long back times Bozen was a place of even greater commercial importance than now. To its four annual markets or fairs people from many lands came, and it became the depot and centre of the great transport trade by the two chief pa.s.ses leading from Italy into Tyrol and thence to Germany and Austria. As was not unnatural Bozen merchants had a standing of their own, and were, according to one authority, ”not a little purse proud and exclusive in their dealings, save when the latter meant that financial advantage would thereby accrue to them.”
Although Bozen does not commend itself to most tourists from higher lat.i.tudes for a lengthy stay, at least not in summer, as the basin in which it lies, though making it delightfully sheltered in winter, causes the town in the months of July and August to be decidedly hot and rather enervating, there are several places in the immediate neighbourhood to which one can flee for fresher air and cooler days.
The town has somewhat declined commercially from the high position it once held, when the trade which flowed into Tyrol through it and northwards out of it was chiefly along the high-roads and over the pa.s.ses; and thus through Bozen a very appreciable percentage of the whole southern and Italian trade pa.s.sed. But nevertheless it is still a most flouris.h.i.+ng and interesting town.
A native writer says, on this subject, ”Bozen ... has during the last decade largely recovered the ground it had temporarily lost through the making of railways, and the decline of transport along the high-roads of the pa.s.ses owing chiefly to the increased facilities that have arisen for conveyance of merchandize by sea.” Certainly one is soon able, when in the town, to realize that in two branches of trade at least Bozen occupies an undoubtedly high position in the commercial world, those of wine, and fruit growing and exporting. The hillsides are literally studded with vineyards and orchards, and Bozen fruit has gained for itself an almost world-wide reputation.
From the artistic side, too, Bozen claims the attention of all who are interested in legendary lore, architecture, and antiquarian matters.
As one pa.s.ses along its chief streets, or explores its byways in the older part of it, one is delighted on almost every hand by vistas of fine houses, shady and charming courtyards, buildings with strangely constructed roofs, and fantastic gable ends, quaintly shaped bay windows, vaulted colonnades, and here and there, stowed away where least one would expect to find them, smaller courtyards with trellises covered with vines, and perhaps an ancient well of rust-red marble to give a finis.h.i.+ng touch to the charming picture.