There are some entries in Augusta’s diary from 1847 that made an unforgettable impression on me as a teenager:
“At 5 o’clock in the morning, we started our walk in the loveliest surroundings up to Kuhstall, three hours from Schandau. Through a vaulted gateway, which nature itself has formed, one arrives on a terrace where the view is like the most inviting and, at the same time, wild painting”.
“Describing what we saw here would be in vain, and it would be an ungrateful effort to paint the landscapes with pencil and ink.”
Augusta in Kuhstall (Sara Azzam, 2018)
Bad Schandau
When I was a teenager, I wondered about this place and what it looked like. I dreamt about one day being able to go there.
Bad Schandau, Germany
Bad Schandau is a small town on the shore of the river Elbe in eastern Germany, close to the border with the Czech Republic. It is also the gateway to the famous Saxon Switzerland National Park with its famous Elbe Sandstone Mountains. This area became famous in the late 1700s and early 1800s through the early landscape painters who were drawn to the rugged and dramatic mountains. The landscape was well suited for the European Romantic era.
Bad Schandau was also a popular spa town and many Swedes visited this area in the 1800s and described it in their diaries.
Kuhstall
In 2017, my teenage dream came true. Kerstin and I had spent almost a year planning for a trip in Augusta’s footsteps and on a misty day in October, we were hiking up to Kuhstall. In my own diary from this day, I wrote:
“We are coming out of the dense forest and suddenly we see the huge opening in the cliff – the vaulted gateway. It feels like we have been inside a cave and see the sky through the cave’s opening. At this exact moment, the sun breaks through the clouds and through the opening, the light is blinding. All the mist in the valley below flow like heavy smoke on a theatre stage, as if on purpose to create extra drama.”
Kerstin above the Sea of Fog (or Hold on to your hat!, Sara Azzam, 2020)
The Malerweg
At Kuhstall, we realized that this site was just one of several stops on what is called die Malerweg (the Painter’s Trail), a historic route the landscape painters took when traveling from Dresden to Saxon Switzerland. Today it is a popular hiking trail.
Of course, Kerstin and I didn’t bring our art materials with us, but we took a lot of photos. And several of those are included in Kerstin’s beautiful book, Augustas resa.
Elbe River
Besides hiking the Malerweg, one can also take a steamer on the Elbe to get to some of the other stops where artists painted the landscape.
Two Swedish travelers wrote about their journey on the Elbe. They also tried to explain in words what an artist would have tried to paint.
Wilhelm Von Braun, 1844:
“To paint a landscape with pen and ink is an ungrateful effort. Therefore, I am pleased to mention only Bastei, a 470 foot tall and 6 foot wide, over the Elbe protruding rock, from which on my journey back to Dresden I enjoyed the most divine view. From our view, the Elbe flows through fertile fields and meadows, while an array of hills and mountains are visible in the distance, and of which Königstein and Lilienstein tower over all the others.”
Sophie von Knorring, 1846:
“A place we passed at the beginning of our trip was called Bastei and it is both the most beautiful and strangest sight. Here the cliffs are completely bizarre: they emerge in shapes that one cannot even imagine and which are unexplainable to the viewer, and above all this hang lush green trees.
No – now I finish my description: cliffs, mountains, hanging greenery, vineyards, fortress ruins, inviting towns, cozy villages, dark-blue high sky, and sunshine that could awaken the dead! Oh dear, what is all this on paper? – Words and only words, but in reality, it is heaven on earth! – Enough about this.”
Morning on the Elbe – View towards the Bastei (Kerstin Melin, 2020)
Bastei Bridge
Bastei Bridge is one of the most spectacular sites in the region. The bridge, which connects several sandstone formations, is visible from the river. It is also a hiking destination and the panoramic view from the bridge is breathtaking.
Augusta wrote the following in her diary in 1847:
“Now we started to walk higher and higher uphill until we found ourselves at the highest altitude of the Bastei. Here was an inn where we took some refreshments and then we were shown the way to the cliff where we got to see the famous view. And here I stood, mute with admiration and amazement; all the splendor I had seen before was nothing compared with this beautiful, living painting.
The whole rock juts out high above the Elbe. Straight ahead of me, I saw – deep under my feet – large forests, high mountains, towns, and villages as far away as the horizon, where the Bohemian mountains, appearing like tall foggy shapes, raised their heads towards the sky.
It is not even possible to describe the simplest view of Saxon Switzerland; everything is so magnificent, so beautiful, so incomprehensible that one does not think it is anything but the most pleasant, most enchanting dream.”
Kerstin and I were also stunned by the beautiful view from the Bastei and this is what I wrote in my diary:
“After many stops, to catch our breaths and take pictures, Kerstin and I have finally reached the first cliff that will give us a scenic view of the Elbe and beyond. The panoramic view is stunning. In the far distance, a small paddle steamer is making its way down the Elbe.
Kerstin and I walk up the next flight of stairs, carved out of the rock, and there it is – the famous bridge! It is a little dizzying to walk across the bridge. Once across, the path continues to a viewing platform on the right. This is even more dizzying! But what a view! This is the view depicted in all old oil paintings and etchings. This one I have to paint – in a large scale!”
The Bastei Bridge (Sara Azzam, 2020)
Now, three years later, I have finally had time to paint some of the sites from the Malerweg. It brings back wonderful memories of our journey. And I hope I will someday be able to be back in Saxon Switzerland.
I am cleaning my office and a small card falls to the floor. It is a sweet painting of a saint holding a child and some white lilies. It brings back memories from our journey last year.
When Kerstin and I were in Berlin last fall, walking to our hotel, dressed in our 1840s long and wide dresses and colorful shawls, we passed by a woman who was similarly dressed, sitting on the sidewalk, begging. She also had a wide skirt and a large shawl. We passed her a few times. She smiled at us and we smiled back. The next time we walked by, I gave her a euro and she gave me the small card. She said something in a language I couldn’t place but it sounded like a blessing. I put the card in my reticule and didn’t think more about it.
Today, I decided to research the painting. I copied some of the text from the back of the card into Google Translate: “ochrzczono go imieniem Ferdynand” – it was Polish and translated as “he was baptized with the name of Ferdinand”. Maybe the woman who was begging was a Roma from Poland?
Kerstin in our hotel in Berlin
Then I read up on the saint. Saint Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon in 1195. In art, he can be recognized by carrying the infant Jesus and holding a white lily, representing purity. The US city, San Antonio, got the name from Saint Anthony.
Why did the woman choose this card? Maybe because Saint Anthony is the patron saint of travelers. She was obviously a traveler, sitting on the sidewalk in Berlin, begging. And we were travelers, following in the footsteps of our great-great grandmother.
Detail of painting by Sir David Wilkie
I wish we would have been able to communicate. And I hope Saint Anthony is watching over her wherever her travels may have taken her.
Ever heard of Meissen porcelain? It is one of the most famous porcelain manufacturer in Europe – since 1710.
Augusta visited Meissen on her journey in 1847. Meissen is not far from the city of Dresden and Augusta stopped there on her return trip from Prague. She didn’t write much about her visit:
“We only stayed in Dresden for one day and visited the large porcelain factory where we bought a few small things.”
A contemporary Swedish writer, Sophie von Knorring, visited the porcelain factory the year before and wrote a little bit more in her letter home:
“In the afternoon, we first went to the Catholic Church, the first one I have ever visited, and then to the porcelain factory. From all the many magnificent objects, I would not be able to bring home many, but the little I chose were so much more beautiful and expensive. You will see, when I return home ….”
Kerstin and I visited the Meissen porcelain factory on our journey last fall. We got to see the various steps in making porcelain dishes and figurines. And then we ended up in the gift shop. What should we buy?
Augusta bought a few small things to take home to Loddby, and Sophie von Knorring bought a few, beautiful and expensive things. But what were the things they bought?
Some of the refrigerator magnets from our journey last fall. Small, inexpensive souvenirs that will brighten your day.
We walked around and looked at some of the things we had seen being made during the factory tour. The prices were astronomical. There was really nothing in the gift shop that we could afford and also want….except for the usual souvenir – the refrigerator magnet.
We each bought one.
What would Augusta have thought of that?
A little painting that would stick onto a cold-cabinet in the kitchen – a cabinet where you could store milk and cheese and other things so you wouldn’t need to go to the cellar. If someone got hungry in the middle of the night, they could just go and grab something. Or you could pour yourself a glass of cold, white wine. What luxury! And why not decorate this cold cabinet with a little piece of art that would remind you of what you had seen on your exotic journey.
In July of 1847, Augusta and her mother visited the opera in Berlin.
Berlin, 3 July 1847
After we had left Kroll’s garden, we went to the Opera where we saw the best arranged ballet I have ever seen, and where we had the opportunity to admire Madame Taglioni’s enchanting pas.
So what ballet did they see, and who was Madame Taglioni? After a lot of googling, I still can’t find what performance they saw.
But Madame Taglioni was a super star.
Marie Taglioni was Swedish, born in Stockholm in 1804. Her father was a famous dancer and choreographer, and he was also her teacher. Marie and her father left Sweden for Vienna in 1818 and she had her first performance in 1822.
Marie Taglioni’s foot
In the early 1800s, ballerinas started to dance on their toes. Marie Taglioni was the first ballerina to dance a full-length ballet en pointe. However, at this time, there were no pointe shoes. There are anecdotes about Marie darning the front of her ballet slippers so that they would provide more support.
Her most famous role was in La Sylphide in 1832. She was soon as famous as her Swedish contemporary singer, Jenny Lind. Colored prints and etchings of her in various roles were in high demand.
How exciting it must have been for Augusta to see Marie Taglioni at the Royal Opera in Berlin in 1847. Marie Taglioni was at the top of career – she retired later that year.
Portrait of Marie Taglioni with lapdog. 1842. Edwin Dalton Smith (U.K., 1800-1866)
Read more about Marie Taglioni’s life and about the history of Romantic Ballet at the blogs and links below. It’s a window to the past:
“Of the walks within the city, Brühl’ s Terrace is remarkable. On one side, a high staircase with several landings leads up to the terrace; on the other side, the terrace is divided into several smaller terraces, one under the other. Here is an extremely beautiful view and in one of the large and lush boulevards, you will find an elegant restaurant.” [ Augusta’s Diary, Dresden, 9 July 1847]
Yes, Brühl’s Terrace was famous – it was nicknamed “The Balcony of Europe”. The terrace was built in the 16th century as part of Dresden’s fortification. It got its name from Count Heinrich von Brühl, a powerful minister who built his palace and gardens on the terrace. The original Brühl’s Terrace was destroyed in the 1945 bombing of Dresden; the terrace of today was built to resemble the original terrace.
When the steamship traffic on the Elbe took off in the 1840s, the ships moored just below the terrace. You could embark on a beautiful river journey that would take you almost all the way to Prague, that is, it would take you from Dresden to Obříství and from there, you would have to travel the rest of the way by horse and carriage. Even today, the Elbe steamships dock below the terrace.
Sophia von Knorring, a Swedish writer who in 1846 traveled down the Elbe onboard the steamship Bohemia, described Brühl’s Terrace in rather poetic terms:
The Steamship Bohemia
“At 5 am, we were riding in a good carriage from Hotel de Saxe on our way down to Bohemia. We were saying our farewell to the stately, lovely Dresden, where Brühl’ s Terrace stretched us a hand in a friendly farewell, because under its vertical walls, we boarded the steamship and spent a good half hour swaying on the Elbe before all the passengers had arrived, had stowed themselves and their things, and the machine had started; but at the stroke of 6, we departed …”
Another contemporary Swedish writer, Wilhelm von Braun, left Dresden in 1844 and made the following observations:
Following Hotel Stadt Berlin’s porter who carried my bag, I hurried to the nearby Elbe Bridge at the foot of Brühl’ s Terrace, and to the steamship Bohemia, with which I intended to take a trip to Tetschen – as far as you can get by boat – and then continue the journey over Töplitz to Prague, the Austrian Empire’s Moscow.
When the bell tolled six, the machine started and the steamship Bohemia, flat as a bread trough in the face of Elbe’s shallow water, slowly moved away from this magnificent terrace, formerly a threatening fortress wall, now a peaceful walkway from the height of which I have so often enjoyed the most beautiful view of the Elbe and its densely populated mountainous shores and of its always crowded, 1400 ft long and with 17 arches built bridge [Augustus Bridge], where they walk, not as on Norrbro in Stockholm – pushing, squeezing, and butting into each other – but sensibly and always stepping to the right when wanting to pass each other on the bridge.
But what about the elegant restaurant Augusta mentioned? Nobody described any restaurants.
Handbook for Travellers on The Continent, published 1858 in London, describes the cafés on Brühl’s Terrace as follows:
Cafés: Those on the Brühl’ s Terrace, especially the Café Reale and the Belvedere, are much frequented in summer. The Café Reale has two wings; that nearest the bridge is for ladies, in which smoking is prohibited; on the opposite side it is allowed. Smoking is allowed on the ground floor at the Belvedere, but not in the supper room upstairs. Very fair instrumental music may often be heard at the Belvedere in summer evenings.
Belvedere was built in 1842, so it was quite new when Augusta visited. It was a beautiful building with large windows. Besides being used as a restaurant, it also housed two ballrooms, a drawing room, and a gallery. It was destroyed in the 1945 bombing of Dresden. Currently, there are plans to reconstruct it.
Cafe Belvedere, Dresden
Café Reale was built in 1843. Its architecture was inspired by Greek temples. It had several salons and it also allowed guests to dine outside. It became very popular due to its Italian pastry chef, Torniamenti. In 1886, the café was demolished to make space for the new Academy of Arts.
Who knows what restaurant Augusta visited? If Augusta had lived today, she probably would have taken a picture of her dish; maybe she had an ice cream – a glace, with a wafer – and shared it on Instagram with hashtags #CafeBelvedere or #CafeReale.
Kerstin and I visited Brühl’s Terrace and looked out over the Elbe and the moored steamboats. We walked down the wide staircase where a brass orchestra was entertaining flâneurs and tourists alike.
As there were no restaurants on the terrace, we went to Vapiano and raised our glasses of rose wine in honor of Kazuo Ishiguro, who had just received the Nobel Prize in literature.
Kerstin walking on Brühl’s TerraceSara taking in the view of the Elbe
Before our travel through Europe, I ordered a new passport as the one I had would expire within 6 months’ time. But once inside EU, would I actually need a passport on our journey? Would one need to show any photo ID on any train or ferry?
We started our journey in Stockholm and no ID was needed. Then we took the ferry from Trelleborg (Sweden) to Travemünde (Germany) – no passport or ID was requested to pass this border. Now we were in Germany and travelling by train, and no ID was ever requested – just valid train tickets which Kerstin had on her iPhone. Augusta had spent some time with customs in Prague, but we, on our train from Bad Schandau (Germany) to Prague (Czech Republic), only had to show the electronic tickets and got reprimanded that our suitcases were in the way.
The German-Austrian border control in 1847
12 July 1847
“On July 12th we went with the steamship Germania from Schandau and arrived at Obristwy at 12 o’clock in the morning. We immediately took a diligence and arrived at Prague’s customs port at 3 o’clock in the morning. There, for another hour, we had the pleasure of staying while gentlemen police officers busied themselves with our suitcases and passports. Completely bored and exhausted, we then traveled around in search of a hotel where we could get some rest. The first one that we encountered was Hotel de Saxe, where we at 6 o’clock in the morning happily took in.”
Augusta’s description of the border control between the German Confederation and the Austrian Empire is similar to that of another Swedish woman, Sophie von Knorring, who a year earlier had made the same trip. Sophie’s husband was a baron and, according to her letters home, she took advantage of her noble name when crossing the border.
“Finally, at half past 7 in the evening, we arrived in Prague where our first entrance was unpleasant. For half an hour we had to wait in the square for the passport control, and to our chagrin, being scolded.” … “Eventually, a police or whatever they are called, open the door to our carriage and demanded that we step down and go into the customs office to have our luggage inspected. This didn’t take long. It was clever of us to have labelled all our belongings with Baron v. K or our coat of arms, because it protected us from the unpleasant inspections and immediately showed that we were not merchants. So far, no one has opened our trunks or night bags, and we have not given anyone any bribes. They simply say: Yes, Your Lordship certainly has nothing besides what is needed. Then, with a polite nod, they continue with the next travelers and tear up all their Gepäck.”
Traveling from Germany to Sweden via Denmark in 2017
Our return trip by train from Prague to Hamburg was also uneventful – only the one-time scanning of our tickets.
From Hamburg, we had first-class tickets all the way to Stockholm. Kerstin and I found our reserved seats and made our selves comfortable. We still had a few minutes before the train would leave when a couple approached us. The woman scrutinized our attire – our wide, long skirts and our shawls – and in a rude way demanded that we leave, as she and her companion had tickets for the same seats. So far on our trip, we had only met friendly people so we were both taken back by her hostility. We explained that we had indeed tickets to the seats where we were sitting, and questioning what tickets she had. She was adamant that we were sitting in the wrong car. Now another couple got involved and started to compare tickets as well. In the end, she was convinced that she in fact was in the wrong car. We had first-class tickets and she did not. Did we not fit the norm of first-class ticket holders? She was not very apologetic when she left the car.
We were very few people in the first-class compartment. Behind us were three young men in their late 20s. They didn’t look like business travelers, nor like guys going on vacation, and for guys travelling together, they didn’t speak much. One was sleeping with his head on the table in front of him and the other two were shifting seats. Why are we, in this day and age, easily suspicious when others don’t behave according to some norms? Did they behave differently? Not really. Maybe we are just worried about young men in a group?
We had not traveled too far when suddenly the door behind us opened and three other men entered. Everyone in the train car looked up. The first man had a short sleeve, untucked cotton shirt – a shirt suitable for a beach vacation – unusual clothing for travelling in October. He was probably in his early 50s, with thinning hair and glasses. He reminded me of actor Paul Giammati in the movie Sideways. Behind him were two younger, muscular men in black jackets and jeans. They did not smile. Now, why was I getting nervous about them? Yong men in a group, not fitting some norm of travelers?
The three men who had just entered the car surrounded the first three men and started asking questions: Where were they coming from and where were they going? Which luggage belonged to them? I didn’t hear the answers, but the new men had decided that the first men were OK.
Then the short-sleeve man came over to us. He flipped an ID badge like some serious cop in an American movie and said something in German. Was the ID badge real? Or did it say, – I am just an actor? I decided not to joke.
Where are you coming from? he asked.
Kerstin and I looked at each other – dressed in our 1840s outfits, we really did not fit any norms. We were coming from 1847 and visiting 2017. But to others, we could have belonged to some religious sect, or be refugees from a rural area where women our age would also wear wide, full-length skirts and bonnets.
Kerstin answered politely that we had traveled around Germany, and showed them all our luggage.
Everyone in the car had passed the test.
So far, we had not showed any photo ID going through any border or boarding any train or ferry. That was about to change. We were entering Denmark from Germany.
The train pulled onto the ferry between Puttgarden (Germany) and Rødby (Denmark) for a short, but stormy crossing. All passengers had to leave the train and take the steps up to the ferry restaurant. After a quick beer it was time to return to the train.
Before the first stop in Denmark, we had a visit from the Danish passport control. The first ID check on our whole trip! A Swedish man pulled out his driver’s license and was reprimanded that it was not considered a valid travel document, but they let him pass anyway.
In Copenhagen, we changed to a Swedish train and were told to have our passports ready before the first stop in Sweden. Now the Swedish police came on board – two young friendly officers, who were dressed in uniform and didn’t flash any ID badges. They wanted to see our passports but were also interested in our destinations. The three men behind us showed the officer their passports and told her that they were heading to Norway via Stockholm. Have a nice journey, said the nice-looking police woman.
My new passport had only been requested on arrival in Denmark, and in Sweden when arriving from Denmark. The reason for border police and customs inspections have certainly changed and will continue to change. And some day, the passport – a little ID booklet where border police can stamp your arrival and departure – will seem like a very inefficient way of keeping track of travelers.
When Augusta mentioned that Dresden’s art gallery was “indisputable the most pleasant reminder of the Kings of Saxony’s appreciation for art” and “held in the highest esteem by the entire travelling and educated world” I was looking forward to visiting the Gemaldegalerie Alte Meister.
She especially mentioned a painting by Rafael:
“Naturally, we spent most of our time in the room where the world-renowned Madonna di San Sisto, and other excellent paintings of Rafael are shown.”
Augusta was not the only Swedish traveler who mentioned this room and the Madonna painting. Sophie von Knorring was a Swedish writer who visited Dresden in 1846, a year before Augusta. She published a book from her letters home:
“With the catalog in hand and having walked through several rooms, we finally arrived in the room where Rafael’s masterpiece, the world-renowned Madonna is hanging. But no! We could not see much of it! The heavenly-wonderful painting was hidden by a large framework and by a painting, on which the Madonna in the same size was being copied – and the copyist was a woman!”
Sophie von Knorring (1797 – 1848). Drawing by Maria Röhl (1801 – 1875).
Sophie von Knorring voiced her irritation at not being able to see the original, and she also did not approve of a woman painter.
Her companion tried to placate her by praising the copyist’s work.
“You have to admit that her work is beautiful.”
But Sophie was so upset that she didn’t even want to glance at the copied work. Then she heard, from the top of the scaffolding, in clear Swedish:
“Oh, I hear that you are my fellow countrymen, and I am sorry that I am in the way for everyone, but especially for you!”
The painter was Sophie Adlersparre, a young Swedish woman who was studying art in Dresden. Her education there was financed by Queen Josefine of Sweden.
Sophie Adlersparre descended from the scaffolding and joined Sophie von Knorring and her companion and was happy to give them a guided tour through the museum. All was well again.
Sophie Adlersparre (1808-1862) self portrait.
And now, we were visiting the famous gallery, on a windy, rainy October day – 170 years after Agusuta’s visit. I have to admit, that I have never taken an art history class. And I didn’t even look up the painting before visiting the gallery in Dresden – I wanted the painting to be a surprise.
After walking through several floors and many rooms of Renaissance paintings, we finally stood in front of Rafael’s The Sistine Madonna or The Madonna di San Sisto. At that time, I wished I would have known more about the painting. All I knew was that Augusta had stood in awe in front of this painting and that Sophie von Knorring had met Sophie Adlersparre in this room.
I didn’t know that Dostoyevsky had described the painting as “the greatest revelation of the human spirit”.
I also didn’t know that during WWII, the painting was stored in a tunnel in Saxon Switzerland (maybe close to where we were hiking?) and then brought to Moscow before returning to Dresden in 1955.
I was still more interested in the undocumented, personal story. For example, what happened to Sophie Adlersparre’s copy that she was working on? After some searching, I found it. Queen Josefine had gifted it to the Catholic Church in Oslo, Norway: St. Olav’s Cathedral, where it can still be seen at the right of the altar.
But the biggest surprise of all were the cherubs at the bottom of the painting! I had no idea that those famous cherubs were part of a larger painting, and now I have seen the original – thanks to Augusta’s diary.
Tomorrow, we are taking off for Germany! Our journey starts from the Central Station in Stockholm and the train will take us to Southern Sweden where we will take the overnight ferry to Germany. We will be visiting Lübeck, Berlin, Dresden, Bad Schandau, Prague, and Hamburg before we return to Stockholm on the 12th of October.
During our 2-week journey, we will be posting to Facebook and Instagram. Please look for updates from our journey there:
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