Austria-Hungary

The Tyrol, which is not much more than half as large as Switzerland, is an extraordinarily mountainous country, and these mountains are divided by one or two deeply marked valleys, so that the character of the country is different from that of the Republic, where mountains and valleys and even plains are mingled inextricably. The Tyrol is a paradise for rock climbers from all over the world, and in fact as soon as the Bavarian border is crossed, near Kufstein, some rock pinnacles and precipices are seen not unlike the Dolomites on a small scale, which so tempt the adventurous novice that he is apt to think he can tackle them without a guide, one peak, the Todtenkirchel (Death’s Chapel), being thus known from the number of accidents which have occurred to the reckless in attempting it. Any traveller who does not intend to climb mountains and get off beaten tracks, must in the Tyrol be prepared to follow certain well-defined routes. Of the entrances to the country we have already spoken. One of the main passes is that of the Brenner, running north and south, along which the Berlin-Rome line passes. This goes down to Roveredo, and soon gains the plains of Italy. Another great valley, roughly crossing this at right angles, is the valley of the Inn, which runs from Switzerland to Kufstein, and so out to Bavaria. The third main artery is that crossing from east to west, having the Pusterthal as its eastern wing, and another from Botzen to Glurns as its western, but as the two run across the main axis they may be considered as one. In connection with the latter must be mentioned the famous Stelvio Pass over the Alps, from Switzerland to the Tyrol, a little south of Glurns. This is the highest pass crossed by a carriage-road in Europe, attaining a height of over 9000 feet. It is only open for three months in the year, and is so marvellously graded that the tremendous ascent is comparatively little felt, and it rises over the shoulder of the Ostler Alp, the highest in the Tyrol. There are, of course, many smaller ones, but these are the great highways marked out by nature. The valley of the Inn stands apart from the rest of the Tyrol, shut in by mountains and having only one outlet to the south, the Brenner Pass. In the midst of this valley is the capital of the country, Innsbruck. There are many other extremely interesting places in the valley of the Inn, including Hall, where there is a celebrated salt manufactory which has been carried on since the beginning of the fourteenth century. “A path leads up the ravine towards the mines, which lie about eight miles further in the heart of the mountain. The grandeur of the views, and the ruggedness of the objects, in traversing a gorge which penetrates so many miles into the recesses of the mountain, may be imagined. Enormous masses of overhanging rock seem to be suspended above almost by a miracle; old pine forests hang upon the rugged cliffs; the torrent rushing by is spanned by bridges of snow, while huge unmelted avalanches lie in its bed below, cascades tumble from a hundred heights, while peaks, some dark, some snowy, many thousand feet high almost close overhead, and seem to jut into the sky.” The valley of the Inn is bounded by lofty mountain ranges on both sides, and is of an average breadth of two to six miles. It is highly cultivated, and a good deal of Indian corn is grown, the little patches of agricultural land pushing up the slopes of the steep ground as they overflow the valley.

The Brenner Pass, as one of the gateways of the Alps, is known by name to many who could not place it geographically did their lives hang on the chance. Numberless military expeditions have wound their way through these precipices and crags, beginning with the wild tribes of the ages before history has detailed records, on to the days of the Romans, who made the road through the pass. Theodoric, Odoacer, and Attila all made use of this pass, and some attribute the origin of the name to Brennus, the Gaul who harried the city of Rome. Not only was the pass the highway for armies, but for trade and bands of merchants, whose lives indeed in the Middle Ages were seldom less adventurous than those of recognised men of war. They poured their caravans with rich freight through this defile. Traversed now by a railway, the modern traveller has the advantage of being able to sit at ease and enjoy the scenery while the powerful locomotives (often two) do the straining and panting to the highest altitude at 4600 feet, for here there is no tunnel to mar the view or choke the traveller with briquette-smoke, as on so many Italian railways. The railway curves and curves again in its ascent up the incline, only having recourse to very brief tunnels and rock cuttings. The line is part of that from Berlin to Rome and is owned by a private French-Italian company. The station at the summit level is called Brenner, and to the south of it is Sterzing. The ascent from Innsbruck to Brenner strikes any one who sees it for the first time as fine, but when he has penetrated further, and explored the descent from Brenner to Brixen, he forgets all about it in the much grander scenery unrolled before him. Sterzing is celebrated in the annals of the Tyrolese for the desperate fight for liberty in 1806. The little town stands high and is situated in an open place. It is overlooked by a castle, and it may be remarked that castles, mostly ruined, are seen in inaccessible and desolate spots all over the Tyrol. Their number is legion and hundreds may be counted.

The valleys of the Eisach and Adige, lying south of the Brenner mountain are quite different, and, as is natural, the Germanic influence is most strongly felt on the north of the great barrier, and the Italian on the south. The River Eisach joins the Rienz south of the Brenner, and afterwards meets the Adige at Botzen, whence it is known by the last name for the rest of its course to the Adriatic. Botzen, Meran, and Brixen are the most important places in this central zone. On the heights of the Brenner pass little produce can be grown, but in descending one comes again on fruitful fields of Indian corn, walnut trees growing luxuriantly, fruit trees of every kind, especially cherries, and lastly, vineyards plentiful and promising as we get on to the lowlands near the Lago di Garda. It fulfils the Biblical estimate of a prosperous land with its cornfields and vineyards and olive groves.

The other valley, the Pusterthal, has already been spoken of in connection with Hofer, whose native place it was. This runs between the Carnic Alps and the Great Glockner which is 12,464 feet high. The River Rienz runs down from the Carnic Alps through the Pusterthal, and the mighty River Drave begins here as a tiny streamlet.

The Great Glockner can be ascended from Heiligenblut, a little Alpine village nestling on its slopes, surrounded by deep ravines, fringed with woods, which carry downward foaming torrents, while behind all and dominating all are the flanks of the huge mountain.

If such is the nature of their country, what is the character of the people? Like all mountain folk, they are hardy, adventurous, and brave. They also cherish a high sense of independence. They live moderately and are frugal and sparing, but there is not much real poverty. A large class of the men still remain peasant-farmers, tilling their own land in much the same way as their fathers and grandfathers tilled it before them, by means of unremitting personal toil. Some, it is true, have learned easier ways of making a living, at all events during the tourist season, as guides, hangers-on to hotels, and so forth, but in the out-of-the-way valleys and off the beaten track the people are unspoiled, and tip-hunting is unknown. Roman Catholicism is the religion of the country and the peasantry are devout and simple-minded, sharing in the superstitions of their kind. Their chief amusements are social events, such as weddings and funerals, and they “enjoy” a funeral as much as the lower classes in England. Rough dancing to the tune of home-made instruments plays a large part in their lives, and the people are mostly musical. The peculiar jodelling of the mountains requires a trained ear and melodious voice, and the young lads learn to practise this art from their earliest years. They sing a good deal too, and singing and dancing go together. The men are born sportsmen and know the ways of their own wild hills almost as well as the chamois which grows yearly more shy and difficult.

The name of the Tyrol in the ears of Europeans is synonymous with all that is picturesque and daring, with feats of hardihood and sport without equal elsewhere, and this reputation is not a reputation only but rests on solid fact even to our own times. The men and girls are accustomed to hard work and difficult ascents from their childhood, and, owing to the emigration of the men, much of the hardest work, such as timber-felling, hut-building, and the carrying of heavy weights, falls on the women. Mr. Baillie Grohman, who knows the Tyrol as few men know it, speaks of “rows of women with short pipes in their mouths, and elbows leaning on the table, drinking their pint of Tyrolese wine [in the village inn] after their hard work.”

In the early spring-time, when the snow draws upwards on the mountain-tops, there is an annual migration to the higher levels in search of fresh pasturage for the herds, and those in charge of them gradually rise higher and higher as the summer waxes, living in the simple huts beside the feeding grounds, and cut off from all their relations for several months at a time. In very many cases these herd-keepers are women and girls, as the men have gone off to America or elsewhere to earn the money with which they may return in comfort to their native land.

The young men are of a lively and untameable disposition, extremely proud and as ready to fight as two stags. The well-known black-cock feather is as significant of the Tyrol as the plaid is of the Highlands, and sometimes when the young man wearing it is in a pugnacious mood he tips it over contrary to the usual way round, thus indicating that he is seeking trouble. It is often not long before he gets it! Even in their dancing a rough exuberance of spirits and strength, sometimes almost frightening to those accustomed to more civilised methods, is shown. The men career and caper and kick up their heavy boots and even raise themselves, resting with their hands on the shoulders of some strapping lass, and dance with their feet on the ceiling!

The chamois plays no less notable a part in identifying a Tyrolese to a tourist than the black-cock’s feather. It would not be Tyrol without some reminder of the chamois, and innkeepers have been known to prop up a stuffed animal of this species on an almost inaccessible height for the edification of their customers! The marvellous agility of the animal has long passed into a proverb, also his wonderful power of balance which enables him to leap on to a tiny pinnacle of rock and stand there with all four hoofs bunched together. He is generally about three feet long and two feet high at the shoulders, and his long tapering horns run to about eight inches and are black and polished. The hair is dark brown and longer on the back than elsewhere; this is called the “beard” and is the coveted trophy of the hunter. The hoofs are higher at the edges than on the soles and thus give the animal its grip on slippery ground. Its sight is remarkably keen, and its powers of running and leaping incredible. It is altogether wonderfully equipped by nature for its habitat, and the sport which seeks its life is fair because the animal has a good chance of outwitting its pursuer. The chamois live in herds and are usually guarded by a sentinel who gives the alarm at the faintest disturbance; they feed in summer on flowers and herbs, and in winter on the young shoots of the pines and firs. There are large preserves in the Tyrol kept by wealthy men for their own hunting.

After the black-cock’s tail and the chamois, wood-carving comes next as a subject of admiration for the visitor to the country, and truly the skill of the people in this art is surprising; during the long dark winter nights, when there is but little to do, many a delicately-carved work has been turned out that would do credit to the greatest artist. These works can be bought in Innsbruck and most of the towns, and though the prices are “put up” for the stranger, yet, after all, it is work of a skilled kind and the sale is not either certain or large.