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Departure from Vienna.—Linz.—Salzburg.—Munich.—The Artists’ Festival.—The King of Bavaria.—Berlin.—Alexander von Humboldt.—Hamburg.

On the 21st of May, 1856, I left Vienna, and set forth on another of my long journeys. At Nussdorf, near Vienna, I embarked on board the fine steamer “Austria,” bound up the river for Linz. The steam-boat company was not only so obliging as to give me a free pass, but even placed a cabin at my disposal, and provided board and every comfort for me.

The short distance (about thirty German miles) from Vienna to Linz can be accomplished in twenty-one hours, and a beautiful trip it is. Few rivers can boast such an endless variety of scenery as greets the eye of the traveler on the Danube. Hill and valley, city and hamlet, magnificent convents and elegant villas glide past in endless succession, nor lacketh there the knightly castle, or the half-decayed ruin with its appropriate legend of romance. Favored by the Fates with the finest possible weather, and surrounded by agreeable company, I could only wish that my journey might continue to present the auspicious appearance under which it had begun.

I made acquaintance with several passengers on board, and among the rest with the wife of the respected physician, Dr. Pleninger, of Linz. This amiable lady insisted upon my taking up my quarters in her house. Unfortunately, I had but a short time to stay at Linz, as I purposed proceeding to Lambach the same day. But kind Dr. Pleninger arranged a little pleasure party for the morning to the neighboring “Freudenberg” (Mountain of Joy), on which a great Jesuit convent is built. Besides its clerical occupants, this establishment numbers more than a hundred and fifty pupils, who, for the sum of only twelve florins[A] per month, are boarded and lodged, and get their education into the bargain. The institution appears to be conducted with care and with notable order. It already possesses a little collection of ethnographical objects and a botanic garden, the latter under the superintendence of Herr Hintereker, a very eminent botanist. The view from the Freudenberg is very charming, and I herewith recommend this walk to all future tourists, including those who are unable to see the convent.

I remained at Dr. Pleninger’s till the afternoon, and then proceeded by rail to Lambach, a distance of eight German miles, which it required full three hours to accomplish.

At Lambach I took the Salzburg omnibus. Unfortunately, this vehicle was not managed on English principles. It was a true, genuine, and unadulterated German omnibus, drawn by German horses, who tramped stolidly along at the rate, as I judged, of a German mile an hour. The distance is twelve German miles, and in just twelve hours we got to our destination, so that my calculation was quite correct.

At Salzburg it was pouring wet weather, of course: my countrymen do not call this town the “rainy corner” without reason.

They tell a story of an Englishman who once came to Salzburg at midsummer, and found town, valley, and hills alike shrouded in mist and rain. He had read so much of the charming situation of Salzburg that he lingered there a few days, but, as the sky showed no token of clearing up, this son of Albion at length lost patience and decamped. Two years afterward, on his journey home from Italy, he took the route by this town, in the hope of being more fortunate this time; but, behold, it was raining as it had rained two years ago. “By Jove!” exclaimed the Briton, in astonishment, “hasn’t it left off yet?”

I might have made the same observation; for, although in my journeys I had several times passed through Salzburg, I had not once had the good luck to see this beautiful region smiling in the sunshine. And beautiful it is—wonderfully beautiful. It would be difficult to find a prettier little town, or one situate in so fertile a valley, and surrounded by such majestic masses of mountains. One of these, the Watzmann, is nearly 9000 feet high.

I had only half a day to spend in Salzburg, and had just time to look at the statue of Mozart, set up here since my last visit. Mozart, as is well known, was born in this town in the year 1756.

From Salzburg I took the stage-coach (stellwagen) to Munich. This kind of conveyance could never be classed among the most agreeable methods of traveling, but since the invention of railways it has become intolerable. Crowded together like negroes in a slave-ship, we loitered for two whole days in accomplishing this little distance of nineteen German miles. The rain fortunately ceased a few miles from Salzburg, and, moreover, the scenery is very fine to within four miles of Munich. The Bavarian frontier is crossed within the first mile. To my great surprise, the inspection of passports and of luggage was speedily accomplished.

Toward evening we came to the Chiem Lake, also called the “Bavarian Sea.” This beautiful sheet of water is two German miles in length, and one and a half in breadth. On three sides it is shut in by high mountains, while on the fourth it is bordered by a plain of seemingly unlimited extent.

Not far from Traunstein we struck into a by-road toward Sekon, a pretty seat belonging to the widowed Empress of Brazil, who was by birth a princess of Leuchtenberg. Sekon is situate on a tiny lake, whose waters are said to possess mineral properties. The empress has caused a large building, originally a convent, on the banks of the lake, to be converted into a bathing hotel, with fifty rooms, and it has been very tastefully arranged. A neat garden surrounds the building, the kitchen is well supplied, and conveyances can be had, and every thing is marvelously cheap. A very good room, for instance, costs only three florins per week; the table d’hôte, twenty-four kreutzers; a one-horse carriage can be had for two florins a day, and other expenses are in proportion. This pleasant bathing-place, when its existence becomes more widely known, can not fail to attract a multitude of guests, and then, of course, the prices will rise.

From Sekon we went on to Wasserburg. This little town is wonderfully placed as regards situation. It lies in a perfect basin, shut in at almost every point by steep walls of rock and sandstone. When I came to the edge a giant crater seemed to open suddenly at my feet, but, instead of fire and flames, this crater contained a charming rural scene. The little houses lay there hidden and secluded as if they belonged to another world. The Inn flowed between them, its yellow waters covered with signs of a busy life; for hundreds of rafts, built of the trunks of trees and planks, float down hence to distant harbors. Taking a wide circuit, we drove down into this crater; and then I became aware that the basin was much wider than it had appeared from above, and that it afforded space for numerous hop-gardens. This region might not inaptly be called the Vineyard of Bavaria.

On the 26th of May I arrived in Munich. The portion of Bavaria with which I became acquainted on this little journey pleased me greatly. The scenery is splendid, the towns and villages look pretty and prosperous, and the fields are well cultivated. The scattered farms in particular bear a certain impress of prosperity, cleanliness, and order. The buildings are of stone, are sufficiently roomy, and generally have an upper story; the roof is constructed in the Swiss manner, almost flat, and weighted with heavy stones, as a protection against the violent storms which prevail here. Exception might be taken to the fact that dwelling-house, barn, and stable are all under the same roof; for, in the event of a fire, the farmer would most probably lose all his property at once.

No one who looks at these teeming fields and valleys (and when I saw them the crops were waving in rich abundance), the smiling villages, the well-built farms, would suppose that poverty could lurk here, and that many of the inhabitants are forced to emigrate, to seek beyond the sea a country that will better repay their toil.

And yet it is so. The chief reason is perhaps to be found in the fact that in Bavaria, and particularly in Upper and Lower Bavaria and the Upper Palatinate, farms are not divided, but given to one of the children, who is chosen by the father from among his family. The fortunate individual thus selected has certainly the responsibility of “paying out” his brothers, as it is called; but they never receive much, as the estate is always appraised considerably below its value, and the chief heir, moreover, receives a considerable sum under the name of “Mannslehen.” The rest have naturally no course left but to seek a service, to learn a trade, or to emigrate. Even in the other provinces, where the estates are divided, there is a great deal of poverty, and emigration is always going on. Why this should be so I can not pretend to determine.

The costume of the peasant women in these regions is very peculiar. They wear short but very full skirts, with double bodices, the one with long sleeves, the other sleeveless. This second jacket, generally of dark-colored velvet, is put on over the other, and laced with silver tags. The wealthier peasant women adorn their necks with eight or ten strings of little real pearls, with great clasps in front. The poorer ones are fain to content themselves with imitation pearls, of silver.

Munich seemed to me a very quiet city. There is little traffic, and none but the principal streets show any signs of life.

I only remained in this city six days, but in that short time I made the acquaintance of several families. So far as I could judge, domestic life appears to be simple and social here, and the fair sex seemed to care less for outward show than the ladies of other capitals. I must confess that the mode of life in Munich pleased me much.

Through a fortunate chance I became acquainted with many distinguished men here, principally artists. The Artists’ Festival was being celebrated, and I received a polite invitation to take part in it. Were I to chronicle the names of all the eminent people to whom I had the honor of an introduction on this occasion, I should perhaps tire my readers; but in my memory those names will always be impressed.

I must devote a few words, however, to the festival, which is celebrated every year on a fine day in May.

It was held at Schwanegg and Pullach, in a beautiful meadow surrounded by forests. At Schwanegg, a chateau built in the Gothic style by Herr von Schwanthaler, a comic interlude was represented, a parody on Schiller’s “Fight with the Dragon.” The fortress of Schwanegg is supposed to have been besieged for a whole year by a dragon, in such wise that no man could go out or in. A knight comes riding past by chance; he is seen from the watch-tower, and the inmates of the castle straightway assemble on the threshold, and in very comic verses implore the knight to deliver them from their enemy. Then follows the combat, with discomfiture of the dragon, etc.

After the dragon had been satisfactorily slain, we had another scenic show in the little wood near Pullach—Spring expelling Winter. Then we had a series of funny processions. Bacchus appeared seated on a wine-cask, drawn by gigantic cockchafers (each represented by a man), with similar insects sporting round him. Apollo came next, on a triumphal car, with Pegasus as his horse, and surrounded by butterflies, flowers, and beetles, from one to two feet in height, cut out of card-board, tastefully colored, and mounted on lofty poles. In short, one frolic succeeded another, and the appreciating public enjoyed the sight most unequivocally; it was a thorough “people’s festival.” There must have been nearly ten thousand people assembled, all passing the day in hearty enjoyment, and seeming to belong to a single family. Some found places at long tables under the trees, others simply threw themselves on the grass; but all seemed equally devoted to the national beverage of the country, the beer, without which a true Bavarian would scarcely be able to enjoy himself thoroughly. In spite of this bibulous propensity, every thing went off peaceably and well, and it was not until the evening that one or two of the company showed signs of having overdone the thing a little. Luckily, the Spirit of the Hop seems to be a good-natured sort of spirit, only promoting hilarity, for I did not hear of a single quarrel.

The first representation had been honored by the presence of King Max, who came in the dress of a plain citizen. Afterward in the theatre I saw the king and the whole court in private dress. It is a long time since I have seen a monarch in the garb of a civilian; crowned heads wear uniforms, and nothing but uniforms, as if they belonged exclusively to the military class. There is some fitness in that; for what would the majority of them be without soldiers?

King Max seems to take a different view of things. He honors the citizens, and does not scruple to associate with them. He marched along with the great crowd, with no followers to accompany or police to escort him. He cleared a path for himself, and the people passed to and fro around him quite unceremoniously.

The king was told that my insignificant self was among the audience at the feast, and I was speedily presented to him among thousands of spectators. His majesty conversed with me for some time in the most gracious manner.

To describe the “lions” of Munich and its Art treasures is no fit task for a journal like mine. Any of my readers who may wish for information on the subject will find it amply detailed in one or other of the capital hand-books which have been published concerning this city of Art.

Two amiable ladies, the Baronesses Du Prel and Bissing, were obliging enough to lead me from gallery to gallery, and from church to church. But nothing is more tiring, or more exhausting to the mind and body, than crowding a large amount of sight-seeing into a limited time. These six days tried me more than a sojourn of double that time in the virgin forests of the tropics, where I had to walk on the most tiring paths all day long, with the damp earth for my resting-place at night, and rice parboiled in water for my daily food.

Before I take leave of Munich I must relate a funny incident that occurred one evening on my leaving the theatre. I did not know my way well, and begged a good dame, who came walking past with a gentleman, to set me right. As they were walking in the same direction, they invited me to go with them. On the way she inquired if I had been to the Artists’ Festival, and if I had seen the “great traveler,” Ida Pfeiffer, there. My questioner added that she had been with her husband, but only in the evening, and had not seen the person in question. I replied that the “great traveler” was a quiet little woman, and that I knew her well enough; if I wanted to see her I had only to look in a glass. The good people seemed very glad to see me, and insisted on accompanying me to my door.

On the 1st of June I proceeded, by way of Hof, to Berlin (ninety-five miles), and, arriving on the following day, was received with their wonted hearty kindness by my dear friends, Professor Weisz and his wife.

The journey from Munich to Berlin offers few points of interest: the views are sometimes pretty, but nowhere striking; the country around Plauen is the most agreeable. Before we got to Hof, the last Bavarian station, something broke down in the engine; we thus lost a whole hour, and missed the corresponding train. At the Prussian frontier my passport was demanded, but the official scarcely glanced at it, and the inspection of my luggage was also entirely formal; in a few moments the whole ceremony was over.

In Berlin a great and joyful surprise awaited me. I received from Alexander von Humboldt an open letter of recommendation to all his friends in the wide world.

The celebrated geographer, Carl Ritter, also did me a great honor by inviting me to a sitting of the Geographical Society. In March last I had been received as an honorary member of that body, and was the first woman to whom such a distinction had been accorded.

I only staid a week in Berlin, and proceeded thence to Hamburg (a distance of thirty-eight German miles), taking up my quarters again with the worthy Schulz family. But in Hamburg also there was no long tarrying for me. I wanted to husband my time for Holland, a country with which I was unacquainted, and accordingly, on the 14th of June, I embarked on board the steamer “Stoomward,” Captain C. Bruns, for Amsterdam, distant three hundred and twelve sea-miles from this port.

This was the first passage I made in Europe on a Dutch steamer, and here I experienced the same kindness I had met with from the proprietors of Dutch steamers in India during my second journey round the world; not only did they give me a free passage, but refused to accept payment for table expenses, etc. How much more easily would my journeys have been accomplished had I met with similar consideration from English steam-boat companies! but unfortunately, till now, such has not been my good fortune. The English directors, agents, and managers have shown far greater appreciation for my dollars than for my journeyings, and always made me pay my passage, alike for long and short distances.