The Argosy — page 161: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

From Salzburg to Gastein. 147 shouldn’t care to drive to the top of one of them. Neither would you, mein Herr.” “* All they who pass these portals leave hope behind.” In some such frame of mind, and in silence, the ascent was accomplished right into Gastein itself. Past a church in course of erection ; past a house or two, perched up on the right ; past a long, low room that seemed built of nothing but glass ; and into the yard of Straubinger’s Hotel, recom- mended as the best Gastein afforded. Without regret or sorrow I found myself at length in a place of rest; peace and quiet in perspective. We had not written to secure rooms, and thanks to the early time of year were fortunate enough to find good ones unoccupied.. The head waiter led the way down a narrow passage into a good sized room opening into a smaller one, walls and ceiling panelled with polished maple-wood, cool and delightful in appearance ; the only rooms in the hotel, two others excepted, so fitted up. Repose at length. I sat down for a few moments pondering, and looked about. Sensation number one was a shock; not an electric shock, or the shock of having seen a ghost; but what just then was far worse than either. It threw a damper upon my hopes of Gastein, health, air, and all blessings to follow in their train. Expectations had been terribly exalted. I had thought to find Gastein, as already remarked, on the summit of a high mountain, embracing all the pure air of heaven: and in place beheld a village completely embedded in the earth. Impossible to conceive a spot more so. In England it had been said that we should find it cold: so cold that the idea of going so early in the year was in itself absurd. Such was the place in perspec- tive; such the climate. In reality it was hot with an intense and glowing heat seldom felt elsewhere. In vain to throw wide the windows; not a breath of air rustles the leaves; not a sound came from the pines on the far-off mountain tops. Other sounds there were, but too loud and near to be agreeable: proceeding from an enormous waterfall that washed the very side of the inn, and with a voice of mighty thunder went dashing down a steep precipice far into the valley. Beautiful it was indeed ; but in sound awful. Unless the reader has dwelt some considerable time beneath the shadow of a waterfall: so near that by stretching out a hand he may catch the spray ; and that a fall not such as may occasionally be seen on the stage or met with in artificial pleasure-grounds, but one of the largest masses of downpouring water in Europe: unless has. been ex- perienced the sensation of a never-ending sound, from which there can be no escape; day and night seeming to bid defiance by its ceaseless roar: if this has not been experienced by the reader, it would not be possible to sympathise with me in those first hours. © Until then‘I, too, had never dwelt under the shadow of a torrent, great or small.