Tyrol and its People Part 20

The Museum in the Palazzo Munic.i.p.ale, which, at any rate, a year or two ago was unfortunately closed during the months of July and August, when many tourists are in Trent, contains some very interesting Roman antiquities, including inscriptions, household utensils, ornaments, coins, pottery, and similar objects, and is well worth an hour or two for inspection.

[Sidenote: DANTE AND THE VAL SARCA]

Dante's connection with Trent does not appear to be, even at the present time, very clearly proved, although there would seem to be no doubt whatever that the poet spent some few months, at least, in the Trentino. This theory gains some considerable support from references which occur in the "Divina Commedia" to the Trentino, which (various authorities state) are so detailed as to be only possible from personal knowledge. It may, however, be pointed out that, as in the case of Shakespeare, who described many places quite accurately to which he could never have been, it is possible Dante's knowledge of the Trentino was not gained from personal experience, and the theory advanced of his sojourn in the neighbourhood, based upon references to the district in his works, is not una.s.sailable. A considerable number of books, pamphlets, and articles have been written, however, by Italian, German, and English scholars and students of Dante in support of different theories regarding his visit to these parts. One of the most learned and thorough writers upon this subject--Zaniboni--appears to have no doubt that Dante was in the Trentino, but that the "Inferno" was not written during his supposed visit to the Castle of Lizzana, but soon after his return to Italy. Other authorities have inclined to the view that the Val Sarca, near the tiny village of Pietra Murata, is the real scene of Dante's "Inferno"; and those who know this desolate and even terrible spot, where the very ground seems blighted, the heat intense between the towering and craggy cliffs, and the whole of the valley the scene of a horrible desolation, with huge boulders tossed hither and thither, and not a blade of gra.s.s and scarcely a patch of lichen to be seen, will be inclined also to support this view. But whatever the truth may be, Trent has put in a claim to Dante in the shape of the magnificent monument to him, from a design by Zocchi, erected in 1896 in the centre of the Piazza Dante, near the station. The figures around the base of the column upon which the statue of the poet stands, with his right arm upraised and outstretched, and his left pressing a roll of MS. to his breast, are remarkably well executed, and the whole effect of the memorial, with its background of craggy mountains and its environment of flower-beds, is impressive.

There are, of course, numberless interesting buildings, and also several other churches worthy of study and attention; but, perhaps, amongst all the domestic buildings and palaces of Trent, including the Palazzi Wolkenstein and Sizzo, and the Tabarelli, in which are magnificent private collections of pictures and other _objets d'art_, none exceeds in romantic and legendary interest the Teufelspalast, which has been known by several other names at various times, and latterly as the Palazzo Zambelli. This beautiful home (now a bank) was built by George Fugger, a relative of the wealthy banker, Anthony Fugger, of Augsburg. The legendary story is as follows:--

George Fugger having become acquainted with one Claudia Porticelli, a beautiful young woman of Trent, fell desperately in love with her, and although the fair Claudia does not appear to have discouraged his suit, she was too proud to yield too readily to his proposals, and in addition was very patriotic, and inclined to the view that a Tyrolese maid should marry a Tyrolese man. It was in pursuance of this idea, when at last her lover pressed her strongly for an answer, that she told him she would never marry a man who lived so far away from her beloved home, and that she wondered how any one who did not possess a tiny _pied a terre_ in Trent, should for a moment think that he could have any claim upon her affections. This reply to his suit might, one would think, have discouraged most people, but George Fugger, who possessed vast wealth, had no intention of yielding up his claim, or his supposed claim, to the beautiful Claudia without a struggle; and, moreover, Claudia Porticelli, although discouraging him so distinctly, had (like a woman) put off the evil day of giving a final answer for a period of a little more than twenty-four hours. In this delay, George Fugger saw the solution which great wealth and determination of character placed within his reach. He determined, therefore, within the short s.p.a.ce remaining before Claudia gave him his final answer, to build a house "worthy of the human gem whose casket it was to be."

[Sidenote: A SATANIC COMPACT]

Twenty-four hours or so in which to build a palace was, however, such an impossibly short time that no man could hope to accomplish the task by human aid alone. Therefore (so the legend goes) he sought the help from a source to which no good Christian would think of turning, namely, that of the Devil. In legendary lore there are many stories of the Devil a.s.sisting men and women to an accomplishment of their desires, but almost invariably at the price of their souls.

George Fugger, however anxious for the Devil's a.s.sistance, was too keen a man of business to wish to endanger his soul; so the object he set himself to accomplish was to obtain the Evil One's aid without paying the Evil One's price. The Devil was summoned, and he willingly enough undertook the task upon the usual condition, of the surrender at the end of life of the soul of the person he was helping. George Fugger, without hesitation, signed the bond with his blood, only stipulating for the insertion of a small clause, which provided that his Satanic majesty should on his part do Fugger one small service ere claiming the price of his a.s.sistance. The Devil must have been in a good humour, for he agreed to this quite willingly and unsuspiciously, and the two parties went their way, each well satisfied with his part of the bargain.

Teufelspalast was, naturally enough, of magnificent design, and at the time it was built was furnished with the most luxurious fittings and decorations that the mind of man or devil could imagine. Marbles of different kinds entered largely into its construction, and the gilding, decorations, and carvings were such as to become famous throughout even a country noted for great and beautiful palaces. When the building was completed, the Devil summoned the owner, and asked him to name the little service that he was to do him. George Fugger had thought out his little scheme of outwitting the Devil, and he took a bushel of corn and strewed it over the different floors of his vast mansion. Then he said to the Devil, "See! If you can gather together all the corn strewn about the palace grain by grain, and deliver it back to me without the loss of a single grain before morning, then my soul shall be yours. On the other hand, should you fail to do this, my soul remains my own as well as the palace you have built."

The Devil, we are told, was not in the least disconcerted by the task which had been set him, and without doubting for a moment that he would successfully accomplish it, he set to work to gather up the grain. In the end, just before sunrise he had completed his task, all but the finding of five grains of the corn. He searched high and low for the missing grains, but to no purpose, and ere he could find them daylight, which was to mark the end of the time allotted for his task, began to appear; but the Devil, notwithstanding the absence of the five grains, consoled himself with the thought that Fugger would never discover the loss of five grains amidst the many hundreds of thousands of others which he had heaped up in the measure. When Fugger came to see whether the Devil had performed his task or not, he counted out the number of grains of corn, and, of course, discovered the absence of the five, so he asked the Devil where they were.

"Oh," said the Devil, "they are there, the measure is piled quite full up, and you cannot be so particular as all that."

Fugger replied, "That is all very well, but five grains are missing, and I must have them, or you have not performed your task, and lose all claim to my soul in return for the palace you have so marvellously built me."

The Evil One replied, "You have miscounted the number. I have built your house and picked up all the grains of corn, and I am not going to be done out of my part of the bargain; besides, you cannot prove that there are five grains short."

"Oh yes, I can," replied Fugger; "stretch out your right hand." And the Devil, not seeing that it could be any harm to comply with the request, forthwith stretched out his great hand. Fugger seized it, and said, "There lie the five grains under your own claws. The corn I set you to pick up had been sanctified by being offered before the Holy Rood, and for this reason you were prevented from fulfilling your purpose. You have not collected the grains into your measure by dawn, as agreed, and therefore our bargain is annulled."

The Devil was in a terrible way. He did not see how to escape conviction of failure, and so he sought to terrify Fugger by an exhibition of his Satanic wrath. He set to work and began to attempt to tear down the building which he had so recently completed. But he no longer had any power over the palace, and only succeeded in breaking a sufficiently large hole in the wall to enable him to fly through it and depart.

For many years this hole, which had been bricked up, was shown to visitors, and was esteemed by many of the Trent people of the lower cla.s.s as proof positive of the superhuman origin of the palace and the truth of the legend.

The end of the story is just what might be expected. The fair Claudia, who probably never meant to refuse the rich banker, consented to marry him, now that he had a home in Trent. And there they lived, so it is said, happily ever afterwards, and in due time died.

[Sidenote: THE MADONNA ALLE LASTE]

In the immediate neighbourhood of Trent are several other buildings and places of very considerable interest and of great picturesqueness.

One favourite excursion is to the chapel of Madonna Alle Laste, which lies on the hillside to the east of the city, about half an hour's stiff walking from the Port Aquila, a little way off the road to Ba.s.sano. From this spot one not only obtains good views of the town, but can visit on a spur of the mountain the celebrated marble Maria Bild, to which there is an interesting legend attached. This "picture"

has been an object of veneration with the people of Trent and the district round about for centuries.

Some time about the middle of the seventeenth century this fine tablet was sacrilegiously injured and disfigured by a travelling Jew, much to the rage and indignation of the people of Trent. And although a German artist, Detscher by name, did his best to restore the carving, it was impossible for him to entirely obliterate all trace of the injury it had received. But, so the legendary story goes, by some miraculous power it was altogether restored in one night, and this miracle so increased the veneration in which the Maria Bild was held that people thought there was no kind of disease too desperate that it could not be cured by prayers at such a holy shrine. Several miracles are ascribed to this wonderful carving, which became so venerated that ultimately a chapel was built for it and placed in charge of a hermit; and later on a community of Carmelites was established on the spot by reason of the generosity of Field-Marshal Gallas, and this remained until the secularization, now many years ago.

The convent buildings, however, still stand, and from them there is a fine view of the distant range of mountains, and the foreground slopes covered with peach and other fruit trees.

With the many other interesting walks and legends attached to the scattered villages which lie in the immediate neighbourhood of quaint and historic Trent there is no s.p.a.ce to deal. Most travellers must leave Trent reluctantly, for it is beautiful in situation and deeply interesting from all points of view.

To the south and south-west of it lie two interesting towns. The first is Roveredo, the second Arco; the former, though a less frequented and less historic town than Trent, is yet one of some importance and remarkably well situated. It dates from Roman times, and received its name Roboretum in consequence of the enormous oak forests by which it was surrounded. The high road which leads to it, owing to the fact that it was one of the ancient ways into Tyrol, is crowded with ruins of ancient fortresses and of castles in a state of more or less decay.

Most of these, including Predajo, Castlebarco, Beseno, Lizzana (at the last named of which Dante lived during the first few years of the fourteenth century, after his banishment from Florence), and others took part in the various struggles for the possession of Tyrol which were waged at different times between the Emperor of Germany, the Republic of Venice, the Prince Bishops of Trent, and other powerful families of the district who carried on private and other feuds throughout the Middle Ages.

[Sidenote: A BURIED CITY]

At the time of Dante's banishment from Florence Castle Lizzana was the home of the Scaligers, who gave shelter to the poet during his exile.

Not far from the Castle is that famous Sclavini (or land slip) di San Marco, which is in reality a vast "_steinmeer_," and is probably rather of the nature of a great and possibly pre-historic moraine, than a land slide. But be this as it may the locality of this immense acc.u.mulation of huge rocks thrown hither and thither no doubt provided the poet with at least the inspiration of the descent into the Inferno,[19] which runs as follows:--

"The place, where to descend the precipice We came, was rough as Alp; and on its verge Such object lay, as every eye would shun.

As is that ruin, which Adice's stream On this side Trento struck, shouldering the wave, Or loosed by earthquake or for lack of prop; For from the mountain's summit, whence it moved To the low level, so the headlong rock Is shivered, that some pa.s.sage it might give To him who from above would pa.s.s; e'en such Into the chasm was the descent: and there At point of the disparted ridge...."

CARY'S Translation.

There is a legend that a beautiful city, once known as San Marco, which was destroyed by a landslip that took place at the beginning of the ninth century, lies buried under the gigantic rocks. At any rate, in the Middle Ages this belief prevailed, with the result that the peasants of the district were for ever digging amidst the _debris_ in the hope of finding some of the vast treasure which tradition said had been buried with the city. The story, which possesses an almost Boccaccian touch of humour, goes on to say that on one occasion a peasant, whilst thus excavating, came across a vast boulder, on which was written in letters of fire in Italian, "Fortunate will they be who turn me over." Naturally enough, the peasant was in a state of great delight; surely this was an indication that the riches for which he sought would be found hidden underneath the stone. Calling his neighbours together, and, doubtless, promising them a share of the spoil, after almost superhuman exertions, the great rock was rolled over; but instead of finding in the cavity disclosed the treasure which they expected, they found but another inscription on the under side of the rock of a jocular and taunting nature, also in Italian, which, literally translated, ran as follows: "Thanks for turning me over; I had a pain in my ribs." As the Italian peasant, of all others, cares little for unremunerative toil, and is easily depressed by such sarcasm, we are told, "From that time forth the supposed ruined city of San Marco and its buried treasures were left in peace."

Not far from this spot, too, on the other bank of the river, is the home of another legend of a deep cavern, concerning which there is a tradition that years and years ago it was the retreat of a cruel, white-bearded hobgoblin who lived on human flesh--children by preference--and that whoever should have the courage to explore the cavern to its depths would find at the end of it the remains of the hobgoblin, and that his spirit would reward the adventurer by telling him where a vast treasure lies hidden.

Possibly the legend had some origin in the fact that the district close here was once infested by a fierce band of robbers, who plundered and robbed, not only travellers, but the people of the country round about. Towards the end of the twelfth century the band became so formidable that the then Bishop of Trent despatched a force against them and destroyed the robbers' lair, building on the spot where it was, and from whence they were accustomed to attack travellers, a hospice for the protection of wayfarers, the chapel of which was dedicated to St. Margaret.

[Sidenote: ROVEREDO]

Some dozen miles southward from Trent, down the pleasant valley through which the Adige wends its tortuous way, lies Roveredo or Rovereto, a busy and prosperous town famous for its silk culture, situated on both sides of the river Leno, and dominated by the ancient castle, which, built by the Venetians, has withstood many a fierce siege. The silk trade, that gives Roveredo its chief importance, was introduced into the town as far back as the middle of the sixteenth century, and has contributed very greatly to its continuous prosperity. Strangely enough, the princ.i.p.al family of Roveredo at the beginning of the eighteenth century established business relations with England, and a prosperous trade was the result.

The town is prettily situated, and from the hillside above it presents the usual characteristics of red roofs and white walls which distinguish most Italian towns. It has many charming by-ways, flights of cobble-paved steps leading up through quaint arches into zig-zag, narrow streets of great picturesqueness, in exploring which one is tempted to spend much time, particularly if possessing a camera. Its chief streets, however, are wide and handsome, notably the Corso Nuovo, planted with shady trees, leading from the railway station to the town.

Although there are seven or eight churches in Roveredo, none of them are of any great moment, but there is a good altar-piece, supposed to be the work of Giovanni da Udine, in the church of St. Rocchus, a building erected in the middle of the seventeenth century owing to a vow made by the inhabitants to do this during a visitation of the Plague if the scourge was stayed. Although not a place to stay in for any considerable length of time, Roveredo is undoubtedly worth a visit from those who like picturesque architecture, and also on account of its pleasant situation.

Arco, which is on the way to Riva, lies almost due west of Roveredo, but is reached by rail circuitously, via Mori, Nago, and Vignole, and is picturesquely situated in the midst of laurels, palms, and olives, dominated by the large and ancient castle situated on a pine-clad rock high above the town. This castle was bombarded by the French, and destroyed during the War of the Spanish Succession in 1703. The church, a prominent object of the pretty town, is of considerable interest, and amongst other places worthy of note is the chateau of the late Archduke Albert, which has a remarkably fine winter garden.

Arco has of recent years gained some note as a health resort for invalids with a consumptive tendency and, in consequence, possesses quite a number of excellent hotels.

From Arco to Riva is but a few miles, and, if possible, these should be travelled by carriage in preference to the train, as the road lies through the most delightful meadowland, fertile, and stretching upward on either hand to the towering heights which shut in the valley. Riva, which is the Tyrolese port of charming Lake Garda, is one of the most delightful spots in all Tyrol. As one stands on the promenade, far towards the south stretches the beautiful lake, whose deep-blue waters and exquisite environment of mountains have been sung by poets and described by travellers in every language of Europe. At the head of the lake there is a very busy scene of coming and going tourist-steamers, sailing craft piled with merchandise, hay, and other produce, giving the little harbour quite a business-like air, which, combined with unusual picturesqueness, cannot fail to charm every one who comes to it.

The town itself is situated chiefly at the foot of the precipitous Rocchetta, on the sides of which olive trees, figs, palms, aloes, and other vegetation grow; whilst above one hangs a deep-blue Italian sky, luminous in summer with the brilliant sunshine of northern Italy. A wanderer in the quaint streets and by-ways, some of the former of which are arcaded, will come across many a picture and many a piece of charming architectural detail for canvas and camera, whilst close to Riva, on the sh.o.r.e of the lake, is the little village of Torbole, the resort of artists, who find in its primitive character of a fisherman's hamlet a veritable mine of delightful subjects for pictures.

The Parish Church of Riva deserves attention; it is really a handsome building, and has much of interest in its interior. On the outskirts of the town is the church of the Immaculate Conception, which was built by Cardinal von Madruzz for the purpose of enshrining a wonder-working picture of the Blessed Virgin. Two churches which have their origin in times of plague, those of San Roch and San Sebastian, erected in 1522 and 1633, are found in the town. The district round about has the distinction of supplying the whole of Tyrol with the branches of olive which are used on Palm Sunday; and Riva was long considered the most northerly limit at which olive trees would flourish. This idea, however, has of recent years proved to be erroneous, as they are now cultivated as far north as Bozen.

[Sidenote: A WONDERFUL VIEW]

The ascent of the Altissimo di Nago, although a tough climb for all save practised walkers, is well worth the trouble, as the panorama of the lake obtained from the summit is one of astonishing beauty. Many visitors to Riva also go to San Giacomo for the purpose of seeing the sun rise, just as the ascent of the Rigi is made. Behind one extend mountain range upon mountain range, and lofty peak upon peak of rocky and snow-clad Alps; whilst to the south lies the beautiful Lake Garda, of royal blue in the growing light, and the widespread plains of Lombardy on either hand studded with fair cities, of which number Milan, if the atmosphere be clear, will seem--though actually far distant--to be so close that a good before-lunch stroll should enable one to reach it.

This favoured town not only takes one to the southern limit of Tyrol, but provides a charming rest-place, from which many interesting excursions may be made before setting one's face, reluctantly it will surely be, northward once more, through perhaps the grander but less soft and rest-provoking scenery of wilder Tyrol.

FOOTNOTE:

[19] Dante's "Inferno," Canto XII., lines 1-12.

CHAPTER X.

AMONG THE DOLOMITES, WITH NOTES UPON SOME TOURS AND ASCENTS