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 Hirniskretschen, 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 Tätchen; 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 hour or two pleasantly, but after this, grew uneasy. It was our wish to get on beyond Arbesau 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 Töplitz.—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.