Maria-Zell is placed on a mountain-side—not in a valley, as Murray has it—and the Church and Monastery are on an elevated plateau in its midst. It is 2900 feet high by the aneroid. The air is delicious, the climate is dry; there is a feeling of elevation, of being able to breathe, and of looking on an equality with the mountain-tops on all sides—where the clouds, storms, and winds would meet in bad weather. It is an eight hours' drive—and even a difficult and dangerous drive—from any town. You must not want society; you must not fret your heart out after your letters, nor expect to find books or papers; your resources must be within yourself, and whatever you want you may bring with you. You may even bring your tub. There are no doctors; but there is an apothecary's shop, which I suspect must be a gift of the Emperor to the pilgrims, as it is a miniature copy of the Hof-Apotheke at Vienna. The town itself is not a town, and not a village; but, if I may say so, a religious market town. Here we found the sword of Ludwig the Great, first King of Hungary. This is the Lourdes of Austria, and the Cathedral and Monastery are everything. The shops and the houses and the forty-six inns of various degrees are to serve it.
We lodged in the best, close to the church, the Goldenen Löwen, kept by a very dear old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, of seventy and seventy-five years of age, who have known much better days, and are patronized by the Austro-Hungarian aristocracy, as they once owned the Erzherzog Karl Hotel in Vienna; but they lost £40,000 in the krach at the Vienna Exhibition, and came here. They are most attentive and kind, and treated us with the old chivalrous politeness of bygone days. Everything was the pink of cleanliness; she knew so well what one wanted, and how to make one comfortable. The holy shops run in a horseshoe circle round the Cathedral, where you buy all kinds of religious bric-à-brac, and get it blessed. The Church is very large, and would take too long to describe; there is a special inner sanctuary for the celebrated Madonna and Child, whose history is long. Our great amusement was watching the processions of pilgrims, which interests you very much for a time; there were endless streams flowing from every part of Austria, and many of them would begin at the bottom step, and go all round the church on their knees—a most exhausting process.
It is a charming place, and we stayed here a fortnight. It seemed to be the only place where one could get beds. We had delightful drives to Erlach, Grimau, and Sigismund's Chapel. At first Richard was not very well, which made one anxious, but afterwards it passed off. There is a Calvary to ascend, and a spring for sore eyes. But I do not describe Maria-Zell at length, because the descriptions at Lourdes must fully explain it; only that, ours being in the wilds, the processions and the people were of a far more picturesque nature, and that of Lourdes is well regulated, everything being cut and dried for the pilgrims.
At last we heard there was room on the Semmering, so we left Maria-Zell at eight a.m. There are no trains; the roads are like footpaths over rugged mountains, with precipices here and there. In four hours we reached Frein, where we found food, and Richard slept for two hours; then we had two hours' more driving, and reached Neuberg. But our former picturesque little post-hotel was full, Lady Nicholson and her children occupying a great part of it, so we got primitive accommodation at a little public-house, where, however, we were consoled by Lady Nicholson's coming over to dine with us; and of the beds, the less I say the better. To get at the promised accommodation at the Semmering, we had to pass two pleasant hours at Mürzüschlag station, where we had a capital breakfast, and again met the Baron von Kremer, who accompanied us to the Semmering on his way to Vienna. We never saw him again. He died shortly after, and left a desolate wife.
We found this place delightful, a dépendance of the Südbahn Hotel, Semmering, with glorious views, delicious air, very fair food, and, above all, quiet; full of Austrians, Hungarians, and Jews. Here we got a startling letter from the Foreign Office to Richard, wanting to know why he had had so much leave, although they had told him to take it. It agitated him, and hurt him. Our delightful drives here were to Maria-Schütze, another smaller pilgrimage place, like Maria-Zell, but with only a small village, one shop and one inn. Snow fell upon the Schneeberg—this was always a signal for Richard not being very well; but these little attacks of gout came and passed quickly. He did not get on well here, so we made up our minds to leave on the twelfth day. The fact is, the Foreign Office letter had worried him, and made him anxious to get back to Trieste; so we went up to Vienna.
Sir Augustus and Lady Paget were absent, but the secretaries, Mr. Phipps, Lord Royston, and Mr. Maude, dined with us, where we soon had a nice little society round us, and of literary people, Dr. and Madame de Griez, Mr. Brinsley Richards and his wife, Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Lavino of the Daily Telegraph, and, last but not least, Major and Mrs. Keith Fraser. We drove to Karlenberg, and that evening Richard broke out with gout. Dr. Baker telegraphed to England for some particular medicines, and they arrived by immediate post; but we were not allowed by law to have them, for the protection of the native chemist, so we had them sent back to Trieste. Disheartened, we determined to leave; but first we visited the tomb of Prince Rudolf. Many were passing down into the vaulted chamber where the sarcophagus lies. It was very, very cold and dark, and it made us so melancholy to think what he had thrown away in one moment.
The next evening we left by the night express, and arrived at Trieste at ten next morning. How nice it is to arrive at home!