- From Vienna to Florence. -- Austrian monasteries. -- Austrian and Bavarian Alps. -- Munich. -- Lausanne. -- Geneva. -- Turin. -- General la Harpe. -- Count Balbo. -- Pellico. -- Manzoni.
The next four weeks were occupied by a very interesting journey through the valleys of Upper Austria, which is described with great animation in the Journal. After passing two days on the beautiful Gmunden See, the party arrived at Ischl on the 10th of July, and made their headquarters there until the 16th.  Ischl was not the fashionable watering-place it has since become, and this whole journey from Vienna to Munich was then so rarely made, that its beauties were almost unknown, except to Germans. The facilities and comforts of travelling were proportionately small, but there was compensation, not only in the wonderful scenery, but in the freedom from the presence of tourists.
July 12.—It has been a perfectly clear and beautiful day, and we have used it to make an excursion of about fifteen miles into the mountains, to see the valley and lake of Gosau, and the Dachstein or Thorstein Mountain, with its glacier. . . . . At first we followed the Traun to the point where it comes out of the beautiful lake of Hall-stadt, along which we drove for a mile, and then turned into the wild valley of the Gosau, a small mountain stream which came rushing down between opposing rocks that rose, generally, on each side some hundred feet, and sometimes one or two thousand feet above our heads. Through this narrow pass we continued to ascend for about an hour, with the Gosau tumbling and foaming by our side, until at last the whole spread out into a rich and beautiful valley, containing thirteen hundred inhabitants, nearly all Protestants . . . . . We stopped at a sort of rude inn, kept by an old woman who reminded us of Meg Merrilies, . . . . and then traversing the whole of this fertile valley, came to where it is closed up by the mountain, and where the road finally ceases. Here we left our caleche, and, taking a couple of chairs with eight men to carry us, began to ascend the mountain. The views were very grand. As we rose we passed round a sort of promontory in the hills, and then into a gorge where the Donner Kegel, or Thunderpeaks, seemed absolutely to overhang our heads at the height of two or three thousand feet; and still clinging to the wild torrent of the Gosau, at the end of an hour we reached the lake from which it flows. It is about a mile long, and a quarter of a mile wide, shut in by mountains on all sides, of which the Dachstein rose directly in front of us, 9,448 feet above the ocean, with a glacier about three miles long distinctly before us, and so near that its waters keep the lake almost down to the freezing-point. It is a very grand and very picturesque view. . . . . In the evening I went to the Ischl theatre, . . . . where the acting was quite as bad as I expected to find it; but I went merely because I saw a piece translated from the Spanish announced, More-to's Desden con el Deaden, under the name of Die Prinzessin Diana,  and I enjoyed it a good deal, because the original was quite familiar to me. July 14.—. . . . We had another beautiful day to-day, which we used for another excursion into the mountains, visiting the lake and town of Hallstadt, and the waterfall of Waldbach-Strupp. . . . . It is a more picturesque lake than Gmunden, about four and a half English miles long and one mile wide, surrounded by mountains that are as admirably grouped for effect as can well be imagined, and in which it lies so deeply imbedded that during four months in the year not a ray of the sun falls upon the greater part of it, or upon the village on its border. . . . . We did not stop at the village, except to order a cold dinner to be sent up the mountain, and then followed the course of the mountain torrent as our only guide. It is hardly possible that a stream can be more beautiful than it is, as it comes rushing and leaping down in every form of torrent and cascade, over rocks covered with the richest moss, and under the shade of venerable beeches and oaks; now of the deep, emerald green, given to it by the glacier from which it springs, and now as white as foam and sunshine can make it. We lounged by its banks for an hour, refreshed in the heat of the day by its cool waters, whose temperature is so low that no fishes can live in them, and then toiled for another half-hour up the precipitous sides of the mountain, until, coming suddenly upon the verge of a gulf, we saw the torrent, fresh from its icy source, bursting its way through the mountain-wall opposite, and falling with tremendous uproar into the abyss nearly a hundred feet below. It was a grand spectacle, and deserves as truly to be called picturesque as anything of the sort I have ever seen. We sat down and enjoyed it at our leisure . . . . . In about two hours our dinner was brought. A kind old woodcutter went down to the torrent and fetched us up some water, which effectually cooled our wine, and we enjoyed a delicious meal, resting on the bank of grass under the shadowing trees, and directly in front of the waterfall. . . . .At St. Wolfgang, Mr. Ticknor says, ‘In the court of the church we saw something really interesting, a very beautiful and graceful fountain, cast in lead, with admirable designs by Albert Durer, of whose authenticity I did not doubt, both on account of their beauty, and because his initials and the date, 1515, were cast with the work.’ After three days at Salzburg, on whose various beauties, interests, and antiquities Mr. Ticknor dwells at length, we find the  following description of an excursion from Berchtesgarden to Konigsee and Obersee:—
July 20.—The lake [Konigsee] was as smooth as glass; the mountains — which on one side do not leave a foothold for the chamois, and on the other only an obscure hunter's path, but no habitation for man—rose in grand and picturesque forms around us; now and then a cascade came rushing down the rock to join the still waters below; and twice, graceful islands broke their pure, smooth expanse. After rowing an hour and a quarter we came to a hunting-lodge of the King of Bavaria,4 built on a narrow strip of alluvial earth, which here stretches out into the lake. We landed and had some delicious fish for dinner, called saiblinge, much like our trout. The row back in the shadows of the afternoon, with the music of the Hallein miners before us,5 was delightful, and the approach to the gentle, cultivated valley beyond, dressed in the most brilliant green and lighted by the descending sun, was as beautiful as anything of the sort well can be. July 22.—. . . . After passing Lend we left the Salzach, and, joining the Ache, plunged deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of the mountains. As we rose we came to the Klam-Strasse, a gorge about two miles long, where the Ache has forced for itself so narrow a passage that while it boils and foams two or three hundred feet below, the perpendicular rocks above afford no shelf for the road in many places, except such as is cut into their sides or carried on stone arches and long wooden bridges from one cliff to another. It is said to be the most fearful of all the mountain passes in Central Europe, and I can readily believe it; for, though it is perfectly safe, it is not possible, I apprehend, to go through it without some sensation of insecurity.Until the first of August the travellers lingered in this beautiful country, including the remote valley of Gastein, closing their excursions with a few days at Munich, amidst the results of the  recent patronage of art, by the reigning King, Ludwig I., whom Mr. Ticknor had seen as Crown Prince in earlier days in Rome. A letter to Mr. Daveis, written some weeks afterwards, gives a concise summary of this part of the summer's travels.
. . . . From Vienna we went up the Danube into Upper Austria, Salzburg, etc., on the whole the loveliest and most picturesque, though not the grandest country I have yet seen. . . . . At length, after a month spent so delightfully among the valleys and lakes, and surrounded with the snow-clad mountains of Upper Austria, we turned to Munich. There we passed a week, which was quite filled with visits to the many fine buildings erected by the present King of Bavaria, and to the numberless fresco-paintings with which he has covered their walls. The Glyptothek——an affected name for a statuegallery—is, on the whole, the most beautiful, merely beautiful building I ever saw; and there is a school of painting there, which, for the wideness and boldness of its range, and the number of artists attached to it, is a phenomenon the world has not seen since the days of Raffaelle and Michael Angelo. It has already done a great deal, and if it continues to thrive for forty or fifty years more, as it has for the last twenty, so that there will be time for it to settle and ripen, to assume its proper character and reach its appropriate finish, it will produce works that will revive the great period of the art. But it seems to me as if the spirit of the times were against it, and as if ‘an age too late,’ of which Milton fancied he felt the influences, were indeed to prevent the ripening of these magnificent attempts. And perhaps it is better it should be so; perhaps the world is grown so old and so wise, perhaps moral culture is so far advanced, that more can be done for human nature than by such costly patronage of the arts. At least, in Bavaria it is obtained at much too dear a cost. . . . . From Munich we intended to have plunged at once into the mountains of the Tyrol, but that was precisely the country that was most infected with the cholera, and a system of cordons was at once established, that made it out of the question to think of penetrating into the Peninsula on that side. This sent us into Switzerland, where we intended to have gone next year, on leaving Italy . . . . . I think the Jungfrau, as seen from the high pass of the Wengern Alp,—where, in the solitudes of nature, you stand, as it were, in the immediate presence of one of the grandest and most glorious works of God,—produces more religious feelings and associations than anything I ever witnessed, which belonged to merely physical existence. . . . . Three days at Berne gave Mr. Ticknor opportunity to see Count Bombelles, Austrian Minister at Berne, and the Duke of Montebello, who had received civilities in Boston. ‘His wife,’ he writes, ‘a niece, I believe, of the late Lord Liverpool, is one of the most beautiful creatures I ever beheld, and there was a pleasant party of diplomats and foreigners collected at his house, from eight to eleven.’ Mr. Ticknor also gave a day to a visit to Hofwyl, the school of Mr. Fellenberg, which interested him much. On the 2d of September he writes at Lausanne.
At Geneva, having met Mr. Horace Binney of Philadelphia, travelling with a daughter and niece, the two parties crossed the Simplon in company, and agreed to proceed southward, and to undergo, together, the quarantine that had now been made inevitable for all persons wishing to reach Rome from the north.