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.
CORTINA AND MTE. CRISTALLO
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.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DOLOMITES
The Dolomites occupy the south-eastern corner of the Tyrol. They are partly in Austria and partly in Italy, and may be concisely described as bounded by the cities of Brixen, Trient, Belluno, and Lienz as four corners of a rectangle. The ground lying between these towns is for the most part the country of the Dolomites, or at any rate is dominated by them. The best known and highest mountain, the Marmolata, rises almost in the centre. The valleys in this remarkable region run generally from north-east to south-west; one great valley beginning near Trient extends for nearly eighty miles, and forms the bed of the river Avisio; this valley is one of the usual approaches to the mountains. Another is from Belluno, and then there is the valley of Ampezzo, passing Cortina, which is a very favourite route; these three valleys are like main clefts or divisions, giving comparatively easy access to the knots of mountainous country. The name dolomite, as applied to the particular formation of these curious rocks composed of carbonate of lime and magnesia, was derived from that of the French geologist, Dolomieu, who was born at the town of that name at Isère in France, and was known by it instead of his own, De Gratet. He first “discovered” this stone, and the name, which, perhaps from association, sounds so appropriate, has become closely associated with this region where the rocks of this formation spring up in greater masses than elsewhere.
When we come to describe the scenery of the Dolomites it is difficult to do it justice. Chief among the weird attractions of these amazing freaks of nature is the curious red colouring which is seen when the sunset lights the high peaks and the valleys lie in blue-grey shadow. Many and many an artist has been fascinated and enthralled by the difficulty of putting this extraordinary light on his paper or canvas, and more than one has given up the task in despair. The peaks look like nothing on earth so much as red-hot glowing masses of iron fresh from the forge and casting out a rose-red glow. Yet the rocks themselves are not red, far from it, their usual colour is a grey or deep indigo; it is only here and there they are stained with patches of umber and madder, and only in the light of sunrise or sunset that they assume that amazing glowing red like burning iron.