The river press. [volume] (Fort Benton, Mont.) 1880-current, 1881-05-04
LCor. ". Y. Sun

BILE, my glimpse Of tne SOll1aIy natl4Ial "on-
der which Southern Austria can boast-vlz:
the stalactite cave Of Adelsborg. 4 night
mare of Milan Cathedral turned upside down,
or q glance at Gustave Dore's ghOstly vision
Of the ''frozen circle Of the Inferno, would
convey g. clearer idea Of it than whole pages
Of high-fown word-painting. Though it
possesses neither The mighty expanse Of the
Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, nor the delicate
beauty Of the Blue Grotto at Capri, every part
of it is filed with. q stern and gloomy grand
eur which is indescribably impressive. As
early as your first starting from Trieste the
enchantment begins. Curve after curve you
wind your way into the heart Of the lonely
mountain. Up, up, as if scaling the very
sky, till after an hour of c~easeless movement
you look down to find yourself still close
above the town, as if spell-bound.
At last we pass the station Of St. Peters,
pasted like q postage stamp on the face OF q
huge black precipice, rattle down into a quiet
little Rip Van Wrinkle kind Of valley, and
halt at a tiny red-roofed village of the genu-
inc German type, which seems to have
walked bodily out of one Of Moritz Retzsch's
wonderful etchings. This is the village OF
Adelsberg, and just above it rises the
HAndels- Berg (noble's monntain) itself,
crowned with the ruins of its ancient castle,
from which, il the grim days when might
was r light, some brawny robber-Baron, equal
ly proud Of his ignorance of the alphabet
and his power Of swilling wine by the pailtuI,
was wont to sally forth and murder any
quiet industrious folk who were base enough
to exist within reach, after the fashion OF
those s'gOod old times which some people
are so fond Of regretting. Just behind the
elbow of the castle rock a narrow valley, or
rather gorge, strikes off into the mountains,
ending suddenly in q towering mass of grey
cliff. In the face Of this cliff yaWns a huge
black tunnel, from which a foaming torrent
comes plunging in q series Of frantic leaps,
as if flying headlong from the terrors or the
subterranean world to the CHEEKY light OF
day. This tunnel is the entrance of the fam
Gus grotto itself, and the torrent that issues
from it is the Polk, the river which has hol-
lowed it out.
In the presence Of this splendid freak of
nature it is somewhat Disseminating to tlnd
that the whole thing has been reduced to a
system, and that you are confronted by a
neat little wooden bureau, where a courteous
old gentleman meets you with an enquiry as
to (which kind Of illumination you wish to
order" Seeing your puzzled look, he pro-
ceeds to explain that when any visitor wishes
to make the tour Of this underground maze it
benefit, the cost of the illumination being
regulated according to his choice Of blue
lights, ~stearine candles, or ordinary talloW
'sdips." You select the second as a happy
medium, and having received the old gentle
mans assurance that ''all shall be ready in
one hour" retire to beguile the time with a
substantial lunch at the one inn which the
little hamlet possesses, while our smock-
frocked missionaries are carrying their stear-
inc light into the dark places Of the earth.
Your first step within the great archway of
the rock tunnel brings you at once into 9 new
world. You find yourself beneath q natural
dome of vast height and enormous extent,
amid the black immensely of which a few
lights twinkle here and there, throwing into
shadowy and spectral relief the mighty
arches, and black, massive pillars, and damp,
glistening walls of this great cathedral of
Nature, Just below you the furious river
goes tearing and foaming down its dark, mar
row channel on its way to the outer world,
while above stair after stair Of rock-cut steps
wind slantWise up the face Of the cliff, melt
ing at length into the utter darkness that fills
the depths beyond. This sudden change from
the brightness of MONDAY to the blackness
Of everlasting night, from the CHEEKY hustle
of village life to the silence and loneliness of
this tremendous sepulchre, has in it some
thing indescrib badly weird and unearthly,
while the hollow roar Of the Stygian stream
below, the ghostly glimmer of its half-seen
waters, the mighty void of the sunless cavern
which looks all the vaster for these tiny
specks Of light which struggle in vain against
the gloom of this shadow Of death, all COM
bine to overwhelm one with q sense of meas
ureless power and v%astness, before which the
boldest man feels helpless az 8 newborn
child. But my guide, q hard headed German
of an eminently practical turn Of mind. has
no time to waste upon such %phantasies. To
him this world Of gloom and terror is merely
a familiar place of business, where he has to
60 through a certain quantity Of work, and to
s- - N-.. ~