Complete Works of Mary Shelley

by Mary Shelley

  Descending from the Bastei, the road wound round hills, with a stream on the other hand. Schandau is thus placed, and it is a very pretty country inn; the stream in front, with a bridge, and before a garden, secluded and peaceful, reminded one of the inn at Burford Bridge, near Boxhill. It would have been as well to remain here could we have given three instead of two days to our excursion. But this was impossible; and we were anxious, as evening was advancing, to get on. We asked if we could have a calèche to take us to the foot of the Kuhstall, which is the last point where a carriage is n 2 serviceable; the rest of the excursion must be performed on foot, in chairs, or on mules.

  Our instructions bid us leave Schandau by five at latest; it was now nearly six: so we begged them to hasten with the carriage. Fair promises were given, and we loitered away half an hour in the garden of the inn, and then we grew impatient. After a time it became apparent that the people were playing the very usual trick of delaying bringing a carriage, till too late, so to force us to sleep at their inn. We were rather slow at arriving at this conviction, and not the less resolute to resist the imposition; indeed, yielding would put us to great inconvenience. After answering our expostulations for some time with false promises, they at last impudently declared that we could not have a carriage. Our only resource was the fellow who brought us from Dresden, and who by compact ought at once to have taken us to the place whither we wished to go. Two thalers bribed him, and he agreed to proceed. We asked for a guide, and engaged him; but, at setting off from Schandau, he said it was impossible for a lady to reach the Grosse Winterberg that night, and he refused to go.

  On the whole, with evening closing in, the guide deserting, and several miles before us, to sleep at Schandau seemed our best resource; but we would not; the cool evening air was pleasant. I did not object to a little adventure. We should, it is true, miss some points usually visited, but we should gain a great object with the tourist — that of viewing the Grosse Winterberg by moonlight and at sunrise; — we went on, therefore, the road winding at the base of wooded hills, till we reached the foot of the Kuhstall. The mules were all gone, and so were the guides. A countryman who was doing work at the inn of the Grosse Winterberg, offered to show us the way thither, and leaving the carriage, and loading the man with books and carpet-bag, we set out.

  We had been obliged to give up the idea of viewing Kuhstall and the Kleine Winterberg, and aimed only at reaching the Grosse, which is situated at the top of a very high hill. It was now past eight o’clock, and evening had closed in. The hill we climbed was clothed with pines, and it was impossible to conceive a more fatiguing ascent. The soil was sand, into which we sank to our ankles, as we toiled up. No breath of air stirred the trees. After the first chill which followed sunset, the night became excessively warm; shut in as we were by trees, we were oppressed by heat and toil. To add to our troubles, it soon grew pitch-dark — not a star-beam penetrated the trees — bur guide went on before, and we provided him with a cigar, the light of which alone showed us where he was; and now and then my companions struck sparks from a flint to throw transient radiance on the path, which bordered (I believe, but we could see nothing) a steep precipice on one hand; on the other, we had the broken surface of the mountain, and the boughs of the pines overhead. The way seemed endless — but as we had conquered the people at Schandau, and got our own way, we would not be dispirited — and laughed at our difficulties — and toiled up the steep, plunging as we went deep into the sand. At last we reached the top of the hill, and another half hour brought us to the inn. It was eleven o’clock — so you may imagine that the way had been long, and that we were not a little fatigued.

  Late as it was, we determined to reward ourselves with a little amusement. Supper was ordered — and we ordered also three Bohemian girls with their harps. Here, as in Wales, harps form a part of the entertainment given to travellers at the inns; but in Bohemia, they are played by girls instead of men. The harpists were gone, it was so late; but at our call they came, and played and sang several wild national airs. We were now on the frontiers of Bohemia, whence the race of Gipsies was said in old times to have emigrated. I do not know whether there was any Gipsy blood in these girls — their eyes had not the peculiar cast of the race. One of the three was very handsome, and looked proud — as indeed she was — and listened with an air of haughty disdain to every compliment. They had on their faces, that which too often rests on the countenances of the lower order of Germans — an expression of sullenness. I soon grew too tired to listen, and left them playing. The waning moon rose over the sea of hills on which I looked from my window; I was almost too fatigued to see. At sunrise I started up to gaze; — the glory of awakening day was on the mountain-tops, which looked more like a stormy ocean than a scene of earth. I scarcely know what I saw; my eyes were drooping with sleep; I knew my companions would not rise, so I went again to bed, and when I awoke, it seemed as if I had dreamed of a glorious sunrise in fairy-land. I looked from the tiny casement of my room — we were on the highest of many hundred hills, nearly two thousand feet above the level of the sea, and commanded a wide horizon, inclosing a district strangely convulsed, wildly heaped up with mountains and rocks of various and fantastic shapes, clothed with wood.

  Murray speaks of the inn at the Grosse Winterberg as two or three separate huts, where sorry accommodation may be obtained. This state of things is reformed. On the highest pinnacle of the mountain is a very good country inn, such as may remind the traveller of those found in North Wales. The host was very civil, and we had to put his civility to the test. I had put a quantity of thaler notes in my writing-desk, and this had gone with our luggage; by a miscalculation, I had not brought enough of the dirty paper for our excursion, and the less that I had expected to pay for our carriage at Prague. But the fellow who drove us insisted on the money, twelve thalers, before he left us at Schandau; two more we had to give him to take us to the foot of the hill of the Grosse Winterberg; and this had entirely drained us. The master of the inn readily agreed to pass us on to the host at Tatchen, who again would trust us till we reached Arbesau, and were possessed of our dear thalers. It is impossible to express the sense of littleness that comes over one when, in travelling, one has no money at all. Gulliver, in the palm of the hand of the Brobdignagian reaper, could not have felt smaller, till we received our host’s ready consent to trust us.

  We ought to have left this eagle’s nest on a rock at seven, or, at latest, at nine o’clock. But loitering was the order of the day; and I resolved to give way — to make no remonstrance — and see how long we should linger. We went up to a terrace on the roof of the house, to see a yet wider prospect; we looked at the different specimens of Bohemian glass; we listened to the harpists. My mule was brought; but when three of the party were assembled, a fourth was missing; and when he came, another had gone. We got away, at last, at one o’clock.

  Immediately on leaving this elevated spot, we plunged down a ravine clothed with firs, just such a one, I suppose, as we had climbed, only it led in an opposite direction. We were soon told that we had crossed the frontier line, and were in Bohemia. The toil was considerable; the descent so steep, that to walk had been less fatiguing; but, as I was about to get off my mule, another ascent began; and very high and steep it proved till we reached a pinnacle abutting over the side of the mountain, which might almost rival the Bastei. The view was different: the absence of the river rendered it less beautiful. From the side of this rock springs the Presbichthor — a natural arch of vast size, that spans a ravine. The face of the rock from which it springs is cut into terraces; and you climb higher and higher, from one to the other, and reach the summit of the arch. The scene is inconceivably wild. Earth looks rent, convulsed, shattered — isolated, disjointed mountains, rising abruptly from the plain, their sides clothed by firs, are spread around. The majestic arch forms an object of great beauty in the midst. There is an inn here for the refreshment of travellers. We only obtained, however, some bad bread and cheese.


  The descent was very abrupt and fatiguing. I walked most part of the way till we reached the Kamnitz, a large stream, or rather river. This added softness, yet movement, to the scene, but took from its singularity. The way was long, but we reached at last Himiskretschen, where there is a very dirty inn, crowded by travellers — traders, they seemed to be. No rustic holiday inn was this; nor one kept for the accommodation of tourists, but one for the use of the lower order of country people.

  Where extortion is not manifest, we ought not to quarrel with the higher prices of hotels in show places, since they are there — oases of civilisation amidst the desert of native dirt and discomfort — for our sole use; and they must be maintained by what they gain during seasons of tours. The singular filth and squalid appearance of this wretched place made us regard even the misdeeds of Schandau leniently.

  This village is on the Elbe; and gladly we hired a boat, and exchanged the fatiguing descent of mountain paths for the repose of being carried swiftly and smoothly down the river. In truth, we did not see the Elbe to advantage. On account of the long drought, it had shrunk in its bed: but still a majestic river, sweeping between mountainous banks, always presents varied and agreeable prospects, which seem all peace and enjoyment; and, after our two days of toil, we were right glad of the repose.

  Midway on our voyage, we came to the Austrian frontier. The Austrian Government has not joined the league which unites the rest of Germany, and has put an end to the annoyance a traveller suffered, passing in one day the frontiers of several States, and stopped, and his luggage examined at each. However, though the Austrian preserves his right to annoy, he amiably abstained. I had given my passport to my maid, but was not even obliged to get out of the boat to shew myself, the explanation given by my companions being received even with deference. A custom-house officer stepped into the boat: eight gute-groschen (a piece of money similar in value to a shilling) caused him at once to exchange an appearance of extreme official severity to the excess of considerate courtesy. We were detained but a few minutes, and found ourselves admitted in the much-feared Austria with less trouble than we ever before passed a frontier.

  Towards sunset we arrived at Tatchen; our boatmen and the bill at the Grosse Winterberg were defrayed by the master of the hotel here. We ordered dinner, and my friends went to bathe in the Elbe. We passed an hoar or two pleasantly, but after this, grew uneasy. It was our wish to get on beyond Arbesan that same night, that we might reach Prague on the following day. But the Germans never hurry. It was past six before we got a very bad dinner, with black bread, which nothing but long habit would render edible; and then we had to wait for the carriage, or rather cart, which was to take us on. The first hour or two after sunset was very chilly: that passed, the usual heat returned. I was excessively fatigued, and the jolting of our vehicle was distressing. It seemed as if we should never arrive; and it was past midnight before we entered the open court-yard of the inn, where all slept silently beneath the moon except the dog left by our voiturier to guard the carriage. In our earnestness to get on we were unreasonable enough to call our coachman up and beg him to set off. He was very angry at being disturbed by our outrageous design; and returned grumbling to his straw: for these people never undress, but turn in among straw in the stables, close to their horses. I confess I was not sorry for the ill success of our magnanimous design. We got some tea and some tubs of water, and these were much more suited to us.

  LETTER XI.

  Baths of Toplitz. — Lobositz. — Arrival at Prague.

  AUGUST 30th.

  IF we annoyed our kutscher by rousing him and desiring to set out at twelve at night, he was much more annoyed at our dilatoriness in the morning. We paid our accumulated account here, and became again independent of the world.

  The country round Arbesau is the scene of one of the most fatal of the battles, the defeat of Vandamme, which caused the overthrow of Napoleon. The landscape is otherwise devoid of interest. Bare, sandy uplands are spread around without tree or inclosure. I dare say if we looked about, we should discover some rift in the earth, as at Rabenau, and descend amidst shady woods, and murmuring streams, and strange romantic rocks. A subterranean habitation, a gnome may be supposed to have formed; to lure a sylphid to his deep abode, which is all but incommunicable with upper air.

  And this idea was almost realised, as descending the steep from Arbesau we reached Toplitz, which is situated in a valley on the banks of the Saubach. I hear that the country around is beautiful: of this we could see little. Our first achievement, after ordering dinner, was to visit the Baths. Anything more delicious you cannot imagine. Instead of entering a dirty coffin, as at Kissingen, or the sort of sarcophagus usually used for such purpose, one corner of the lofty and comparatively spacious room in which you bathe is lowered, and you go down a few marble steps into a basin of the same material, filled with water of delightful temperature and pellucid clearness. I never experienced a more agreeable bath. After dinner we wandered about the public gardens, which are very pretty, and diversified with sheets of water, and ate ices. Here we had the first specimen of a currency which is very odd, and puts strangers off their guard. We had left thalers, which are three shillings, and Bavarian florins, which are two francs, for Austrian florins, which value two shillings. We were surprised to receive our bill for our dinner, at Toplitz, nearly thirteen florins. We expostulated, and it was explained: Murray also gave us the key to this mystery — all pecuniary transactions are carried on in a nominal currency, called schein, two and a half in name larger than the müntz, which is the real currency. After a complicated sum in arithmetic — multiplying our bill by two, and then dividing it by five — we found our dinner (for four) cost us five florins twelve kreutzers. The annoyance of receiving a bill double what it ought to be, thus agreeably relieved by finding it reduced to less than half, pacifies the traveller, and takes away his power of discovering whether it is much or little in its mitigated state. We slept this night at a dirty inn at Lobositz.

  31st AUGUST.

  WE reached Prague this evening, stopping on our way at Doxan. The country is fertile and pleasant, but not striking. In the afternoon we saw Prague as we thought close, and expected to reach it in five minutes: — I think we were about two hours. Prague lies on the banks of the Moldau, and a part of the city climbs the height by which we descended; but the entrance is on the other side of the river, at the other extremity of the town; and the road makes a long circuit, sweeping round the hill and crossing the river at some distance from the gate. Looking down on Prague from the height, and with it thus in view so long, as we descended, it wore a most picturesque and almost eastern aspect, crowned as it is with minarets, domes, and spires.

  The portion of Prague that lies on the banks of the river, is divided into an old and new town. The Neustadt, built by the Emperor Charles IV. in 1348 (the date of this novelty gives a delightful air of venerableness to the older portions of the city), was at first separated from the rest of the city by a ditch. This is now filled up, and gives the name to the handsomest street of the new town — the Graben — in which the best hotels are situated. There was no room at the Schwarzes Ross, which is considered the best; so we went to the Drei Linden, which we find comfortable.

  We had intended proceeding immediately; but one of my companions is indisposed, and accordingly we remain a day at Prague. I write this letter, and now I am told the carriage is ready, and I am going out to see some of the lions. I shall have time for few, for many hours have been wasted this morning, and but short space of daylight remains. — Adieu.

  PART III. — 1842.

  LETTER I.

  PRAGUE.

  THURSDAY, 1ST SEPTEMBER, 1842.

  STRANGE and wild legends appertain to Prague, and people the heights that overhang the city. The Bohemians are of Sclavonian race; they were in early times fire-worshippers, and offered victims to their divinity on the Laurenzi Berg, which rises behind the town. On the Hradschin, an eminence that fr
owns above the Moldau, was built the palace of the old Bohemian kings; and the metropolitan church of Prague stands in the palace-yard, on the highest point of the imperial hill.

  The most prosperous period for Prague was the reign of the Emperor Charles IV. He appears in no favourable light in the pages of Italian history; but he won immortal and deserved renown as King of Bohemia, by his acts of magnificence, and the liberality and sagacity of his government. He caused the Neustadt to be built, marking the width and termination of the streets, and leaving the spaces to be filled up by private individuals, on whom great privileges were bestowed: the size of the streets and open areas interspersed, give it a noble distinction among the ill-built towns of the middle ages. Churches and convents rose around. He built also the grand old Bridge, which spans the broad and curved stream of the Moldau, and he founded the University, which long vied with Paris and Oxford in celebrity.