Murray lavishes praise on the welcome which travellers receive in out-of-the-way inns of Austria and the Tirol, which he likens more to the reception of a friend than of a passing guest: ‘… there seems an anxious and disinterested study on the part of the inmates to make the stranger comfortable, and not to contrive how to get the most out of him, as in Switzerland.’ He emphasizes that there is no cringing or obsequiousness, ‘and the traveller must not return the attempts made to please him with complaints or dissatisfaction, else there is a chance of his being left supperless’.
The bedroom, however, is not as good as Murray would have wished, for it is often ‘destined for 10 or 15 tenants at one time, and the beds not always provided with clean sheets, unless a little coaxing be employed to put the Kellnerinn into good humour, and thus obtain the concession of this point. As a general rule, however, the cleanliness of the inns of Tyrol, Austria, and parts of Styria, is most praiseworthy, as will forcibly occur to the mind of the traveller as soon as he crosses the frontier of Italy, and sighs with regret for the clean sheets which he has left behind.’
In Vienna the hotel charges were stated to be higher than in most other German capitals. Those of the first class were: ‘Hotel Munsch, very good and comfortable, but charges high and portions small; Kaiserin Elizabeth, kept by a most obliging and attentive host; well conducted and moderate for Vienna; Erzherzog Karl, a fashionable hotel, much frequented by the English, and dear, but excellent cuisine, and in a central situation, near the theatres; Stadt London, good, clean, civil people, fair cuisine, “Times” taken.’
After some molly-coddling in the capital our traveller will pursue his leisurely way along the great mountain range towards the Balkans, no doubt agreeing with Murray that: ‘The strong religious feeling of the people is very remarkable; but who can live among the high Alps and not be impressed more than elsewhere with the dependence of man upon the Ruler of the elements? The pine riven by the lightning, the cottage burned by it, the winter’s avalanche remaining through the summer unmelted in the depths of the valley, the line of desolation it has caused in its course, marked by the prostrate forest with the stumps only standing like straw in a stubble-field, the hamlet buried by the landslip or swept away by the mountain torrent, are subjects of every-day occurrence.’
Perhaps the favourite pastime of rifle-shooting started the occasional avalanche, for such a sport is found ‘nowhere to the same extent as in Tyrol, whose inhabitants may be called the Kentuckians of Europe. Bred to the use of the weapon from their boyhood, and priding themselves above measure in the skilful exercise of it, and in accuracy of aim, they furnished an admirable corps of sharpshooters.’
In the 1890 edition of the handbook Murray has some amendments to the above: ‘Up to the last few years the Tyrolese were supposed to be amongst the best shots in the world, but the English marksman has now completely eclipsed him in both precision and distance’, a competition, I suppose, only finally decided between the trenches of the Great War.
The Tirolese were also said to take delight in gymnastic exercises, for a Sunday afternoon or a fête day ‘usually terminates in a wrestling match, which, in some parts of the country, is coupled with a species of pugilistic encounter not unlike an American gouging-match. Almost every Tyrolese peasant wears a very thick ring of silver or iron on the little finger of the right hand, and a fist so armed inflicts cruel wounds. Such savage combats not unfrequently terminate in the loss of an eye, ear, or nose, such acts of violence not being considered unfair or contrary to the laws of the sport. The old men are umpires, and take a pleasure in stimulating the combatants.’
The greatest passion of the Austrian mountaineers is music and the dance. ‘They appear born with a taste for music: a violin or a guitar is a part of the furniture of every cottage, and not unfrequently a piano. The enthusiasm, almost approaching to frenzy, with which the dance is kept up, in spite of the heat and crowd, from noon till night, is truly surprising. The partners often seize each other by the shoulders, in an attitude not unlike hugging.’
Further east the Styrian inns are ‘generally comfortless, the people disobliging; and one feature, which strikes the traveller more than any other, and is, as far as I know, unexampled in Europe, is the extraordinary precautions taken against house-breaking, by the invariable use of strong iron stanchions in the smallest windows of the most trifling cottages, whilst iron shutters and bars are common, even in small villages. Highway robbery, though less frequent than formerly, is by no means unknown, and military posts are established for the protection of travellers on the great road from Laibach to Trieste. The use of ardent spirits (Slivovitz) is fearfully universal.’
The Bohemian inns, except in Prague, the large towns and the spas, are ‘dirty, and very inferior to those in Austria Proper. In part of Moravia and Galicia they are filthy hovels, perfectly wretched …’
Baedeker tells us that in Prague there are ten synagogues, the one in the Altneuschule being ‘a strange-looking, gloomy pile of the 12th century, the oldest synagogue in Prague, having been founded, according to tradition, by the first fugitives from Jerusalem after its destruction. The large flag suspended from the vaulting, and extending across the whole synagogue, was presented by Ferdinand III, in recognition of the bravery of the Jews during the siege of Prague by the Swedes in 1648.’
Murray says that the Jews of Prague were settled in the locality before the destruction of Jerusalem, making it the oldest Hebrew settlement in Europe. ‘In 1290 the Jews were almost exterminated by the fanaticism of the ignorant populace, stirred up by rumours of their having insulted the Host — a prevalent accusation — which caused an almost universal massacre of them throughout Germany. Indeed the history of the Jews in Prague is a dark chapter of that of Christianity. It is one uninterrupted narrative of tyranny, extortion, and blood on the one side, and of long-suffering on the other. Till the end of the last century, Charles IV, Rudolf II, and Joseph II appear the only rulers who held out any protection to this devoted race.’
For part of his journey to the east the traveller may have referred to Captain Spencer’s Turkey, Russia, the Black Sea, and Circassia, 1854. In this he would have learned that before the 1848 Revolution against the Austrian tyranny, the cities of Hungary ‘could boast of palaces and public buildings, which would be admired for the beauty of their architecture even in the meridian of London and Paris; stagnant moats, which shed around their pestilential exhalations, were filled up and converted into public promenades; a magnificent suspension bridge, thrown across the Danube, connected Pest and Buda; while hospitals and benevolent institutions, richly endowed, had been established to relieve the wants of the poorer part of the population. If we penetrated into the rural districts, they also exhibited all the indications of prosperity — comfortable farm-houses, villages, and roadside inns, everywhere met the view, together with an improved system of agriculture.’