PREFACE.

It appears rather surprising that, while our printshops teem with views on the Rhine, and the shelves of our booksellers groan with the weight of Tours in its neighbourhood, no English pen or pencil should have been hitherto employed in illustration of the magnificent Danube. Captain Batty, it is true, in his beautiful work entitled “German Scenery,” has three or four views upon the river, and one or two modern tourists have slightly mentioned a town or so, which, lying on the post-road to Vienna, as well as on the banks of the Danube, they have passed through on their way to the Austrian capital. But, with the exception of the translation of Baron Riesbeck’s travels in Germany, published in the fifth volume of Pinkerton’s collection, which contains a very brief but faithful description of the river from Passau to Vienna, I am aware of few works in our language from which the slightest idea of its beauty and interest can be drawn, and of none absolutely dedicated to its history and illustration[1]. That the Danube should be so little known to our rambling countrymen is the more remarkable, as Vienna—voluptuous Vienna! is one of the points to which it leads, and the ease, pleasure, and velocity with which its stream may be descended, render, in commonly fair weather, the passage by water considerably preferable to the journey by land, though performed in the traveller’s own post-chariot; and as by land he must return, he thus secures to himself the advantage of entirely new scenery, even if compelled by time or circumstances to retrace his line of route.

The road from Frankfort to Ratisbon is replete with interest—the beautiful banks of the meandering Mein; the battle-field of Dettingen; the fine chateau and gardens of Aschaffenburg; Wurtzburg with its splendid palace, its rich conservatories and rock-throned citadel; Nürnberg, the birthplace of Albert Durer, with its fantastic buildings, and gorgeous cathedral, all tempt the wanderer on to the heights of Hohen-Schambach, where the plain of the Danube bursts upon his view. The return from Vienna, by Salzburg and Munich, or through the Tyrol to the Lake of Constanz, and so down the Rhine home, leaves nothing to be wished for in point of scenery; while six weeks or two months, provided the traveller be not ensnared by the gaieties of Vienna, are amply sufficient, in fair weather, for the whole of the journey.

Having sought in vain, on my departure from England, for a book which would serve me as a guide and companion down the Danube, I was induced to take a few notes and sketches during my little voyage, in the hope that, when thrown, at my leisure, into something like a readable shape, they might become useful to future travellers, by at least standing in the gap till some abler hand should supply the desideratum. In the pursuance of this object, I was greatly assisted by a copy of Professor Schultes’ Donau-Reise[2], the best foreign guide down the Danube; but which is yet incomplete, and suppressed in Austria on account of its political and religious opinions. At the same time, however, that I acknowledge my obligations to this work, from which I have gleaned much information on points that could only have been explained by a native, or one long resident in the country, I must take the liberty of expressing my objection to its style, which renders its perusal a task to Germans themselves, and must make it almost a sealed book to a foreigner. Herr Schultes’ prolixity, and love of inversion, are enough to drive an English reader crazy. The latter, indeed, he carries to such an extent, that the waggish description of “the-in-general-strewed-with-cabbage-stalks-but-on-a-Saturday-night- lighted-up-with-lamps-market of Covent Garden” must hide its diminished head. The learned Professor sometimes keeps his inquisitive victim on the rack for pages, before he deigns to disclose the word which solves the enigma of his apparently interminable sentence. He seems to glory in this species of mystification, and, like poor dear innocent Dogberry, were he “as tedious as a king,” he would “bestow it all upon your worship.” Still, however, “there is matter in this madness,” and the Professor has been a diligent digger. The list of German authors, both ancient and modern, who have written upon the antiquities, history, and natural productions of the towns and shores of the Danube, was invaluable to a stranger like myself, as it enabled me at once to lay my hands upon authorities ‘pour vérifier les dates,’ etc. ‘Die Burgvesten und Ritterschlosser der Oestreichischen Monarchie, 4 T. Brunn, 1820,’ is another work, which has afforded me much curious legendary material; as have also the ‘Taschenbuch zur Geschichte verfallener Ritterburgen,’ etc., Wien, 1826, and other similar publications.

The Danube, whose waves have witnessed the march of Attila, of Charlemagne, of Gustavus Adolphus, and Napoleon; whose shores have echoed the blast of the Roman trumpet, the hymn of the Pilgrim of the Cross, and the “wild halloo” of the sons of Islam, whose name is equally dear to history and fable; to him who, in fancy, sees the lion-hearted Richard of England languishing for his native land, or follows the beautiful widow of Siegfried to the “rich King Etzel’s court,”—that such a theme was worthy of being treated by the first writers in our language, was an awful consideration for one of the humblest; that it had not been touched upon by any was the only encouragement. “You have often scribbled successfully for the stage,” said my friend ——, “why should you fear to write for the passage-boat?” The joke was a vile one, but the argument was conclusive. Gentle reader, this is my first appearance in the character of a tourist. I have taken the part at a short notice, no one else having appeared to sustain it, and respectfully solicit the usual indulgence.