Part 26 (2/2)

But not merely days and weeks, but even months could be pleasantly spent with Landeck as a base from which to explore the numberless beautiful and almost unknown smaller valleys and gorges which run out of the Inn Valley north and south, and in the former case lead one to that wonderland of the Bavarian highlands, with its many ancient and Royal castles, lovely little lakes, and fertile, flower-decked pastures.

Soon after leaving Landeck, either by rail or road, one crosses the boundary which separates the Ober-Innthal from the Vorarlberg. If by the latter, as one approaches the summit of the Arlberg, which is 5910 feet above sea-level, one catches sight of an immense crucifix overshadowing the road, near which are the two posts marking the boundary line. The old road was opened for traffic nearly a century and a quarter ago, but a considerable portion of that now generally used, which is more sheltered and protected, was not made until 1825.

By the magnificent Arlberg Pa.s.s route one can reach Bregenz, and to make the journey in this way by carriage or afoot is most delightful, though the railway, after the long tunnel is pa.s.sed, is very interesting and picturesque.

However, comparatively few tourists and travellers nowadays devote the time necessary to traverse the Arlberg to Bregenz by road, and so Bludenz must be included in the itinerary we are describing. The little town, which has a bustling and prosperous air, though it is decidedly hot in summer, still possesses a considerable number of its older buildings and houses. The ancient chateau or castle of Gayenhofen is now used for Government purposes; it forms a picturesque landmark in the town.

Bludenz will always have a place in the romantic history of Tyrol from the fact that it was here that the well-beloved ”Frederick with the Empty Purse” came while an outlaw and in fear for his life. He made himself known to the innkeeper where he sought refuge, who, though embarra.s.sed, was delighted to shelter the popular hero. His view was shared by the rest of the inhabitants of the town, who when summoned by the Emperor Sigismund to deliver up their prince declined to do so, saying, ”they had sworn fealty to Duke Frederick and the house of Austria, and they would not betray him.”

Frederick, though doubtless touched by the loyalty of the Bludenz folk, knew that if he remained amongst them the result would probably be the dispatch of a force by the Emperor to capture him, and the possible destruction of the town by way of reprisal. So he stole quietly away, and Bludenz was saved.

The old town is well worth a few hours' stay, and there are many picturesque ”bits” to be discovered for sketch book and camera in the older houses and side alleys, even if time will not permit of a sufficiently long sojourn to allow one to visit the pretty Montfacon Thal, with its legend of a beautiful maiden who lived up in the mountain guarding a hidden treasure, which she is condemned to watch over until some one is bold enough to kiss three times a huge toad which lives hard by, and also guards the wealth that is to reward the bold rescuer of the maiden.

[Sidenote: FELDKIRCH]

Feldkirch is the last important town on the route to Bregenz.

Pleasantly situated near the grim gorges through which the river Ill rushes with ever-increasing rapidity and force to join the Rhine, there is much of interest in the quaint streets, and the arcades which run in front of many of the houses.

The town itself is shut in by the mountains and dominated by the old fortress of Shattenburg, now used as a retreat or home for the poor; and for this reason perhaps is less resorted to than it otherwise might be. There are, however, a large number of most interesting excursions to be made in the neighbourhood, and the fifteenth-century church is a fine one, with a good ”Descent from the Cross” by a native artist, Wolfgang Huber, and a remarkable and handsome pulpit, both dating from the early years of the sixteenth century. Costume, too, is occasionally seen in Feldkirch, and on one Sunday, the occasion of a festival, there were quite a number of women wearing the old-time steeple-crowned, brimless beaver hats--in shape somewhat like that of a Russian _Moujick_ or the busby of a Grenadier--wide white collars, embroidered bodices, and handsome brocaded ap.r.o.ns.

The last place in Tyrol when leaving it by the Arlberg route is the most delightful and ancient town of Bregenz, standing upon the north-eastern sh.o.r.e of Lake Constance. It is the capital of the Vorarlberg, and in this delightful corner of Tyrol there is no town of greater charm or historic interest. Above it rises the picturesque Gebhardsberg, from the summit of which there is one of the most celebrated panoramic views in Tyrol, embracing as it does the beautiful lake, the Appenzell Mountains, and the rapidly flowing Rhine.

There are really two towns in Bregenz. The old town, shaped like a quadrilateral, standing on the hill which ages ago was the site of the Roman settlement and castle, with two ancient gates, one of which has been pulled down; and the newer town, with its shady promenades, quay, modern buildings, and air of bustle during the tourist season.

[Sidenote: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ]

Irrespective of its unusually beautiful situation, one finds in Bregenz much to interest and detain. It is a truly ancient place, with much history--some of it of a romantic kind--attached to it. In the Middle Ages, indeed, the overlords of the town and district were so powerful that their house supplied the Emperor Charlemagne with a bride, concerning whom there is a legendary and highly romantic tale.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHURCH INTERIOR, TYROL]

It would appear from this story that Charlemagne was of a more than usually suspicious nature, and by no means one of those complaisant husbands with which the Mediaeval tales have familiarized us. An old lover of Hildegarde, having seen her married to the Emperor with great distress of mind, in his wrath against her for preferring even an Emperor to himself, got ear of Charlemagne, and so succeeded in poisoning the latter's mind against his bride, that he either divorced or repudiated her, and married a Lombardian princess called Desiderata.

Accepting her fate resignedly, Hildegarde eventually found her way to Rome, where she devoted herself to the care of the sick, and especially of the sick pilgrims who came to the ”Eternal City.” In course of time, so the story goes, her revengeful lover, whose name, Taland, is almost as common a one in Tyrol as Smith in England, having lost his sight, came on a pilgrimage, and whilst in Rome was cared for by Hildegarde, ”whose tender and saintly hands,” we are told, ”not only restored his physical sight, but also his moral perception of right and wrong.”

He was so overcome with remorse when he learned to whom, under Providence, he owed his restoration to sight, that he confessed his fault to Hildegarde, and insisted upon accompanying her to Charlemagne, to whom he also confessed, and proved Hildegarde to have been blameless. The Emperor at once restored her to favour and honour.

In another story connected with Bregenz, which was made the subject of a poem by the late Adelaide Ann Proctor, one has preserved an incident connected with the heroic conduct of a Bregenz woman in saving the town from surprise and destruction by the Swiss. There are several versions of the story, which dates from 1408, but probably, as it is of a legendary character, the one given in the ballad is as correct as any other.

Unhappily, the Bregenz folk of to-day appear to know little of this heroine; and on one occasion on which we visited the town, and made a search for the effigy of the Maid and her steed on the gate of the old castle, or walls of the upper town, we were unable to find it. No one seemed to know the story of the ”Maid of Bregenz,” and an old lady, who had a temporary stall outside the gate for the sale of cakes and other refreshments, became quite irascible upon our persisting in the belief that there must have been a ”Maid,” and that she (the old lady) ought to know the legend.

”There is no 'Maid of Bregenz,'” she said angrily at last. Adding, after a pause, during which she looked us up and down as though to decide upon our nationality, ”But mad English people have asked me hundreds of times about her. I know nothing. There is no more to be said.”

And with this she returned to her perusal of the paper she had been reading when we accosted her, and we had to be content.

We made our way down the somewhat rugged and steep road to the lower town a little crestfallen, although the view of the lake in the late afternoon suns.h.i.+ne of a July day was exquisite beyond description, the water deep blue and green in patches, with the incoming and outgoing boats and steamers leaving frothy-white or rippling wakes behind them almost as long as they themselves remained in sight. One determination we came to. It was in future not to inquire too closely into such pretty and poetical stories as that of the ”Maid of Bregenz,” and not to allow our desire for legendary or antiquarian knowledge to permit us to run the risk of further disillusionment.[28]

We did not find the effigy of ”the maid and her milk-white steed,” on which she had ridden over the Swiss frontier and swum across the Rhine to warn the inhabitants of her old home of a projected attack by the Swiss amongst whom she had gone to dwell in service. The genial proprietor of the Oesterreichischer Hof, we found, had heard of ”the Maid.” Alas! not from his fellow-townsfolk (who should have cherished her memory), but, like the old lady in the upper town, from English tourists, who had, doubtless, climbed the steep ascent on a similar errand of inquiry and research to our own.

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