MID PLEASURES AND PALACES

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22444, 13 June 1936, Page 4 (Supplement)

MID PLEASURES AND PALACES

T3HOADLY speaking, travel books are written by two types of people: journalists who travel with pen poised and eye and ear intent, and those who write because of a passion to communicate. The latter travel without literary consciousness, but their business accomplished, find themselves burdened with a tale that must bo tohl. These arc, of course, travellers in tho true sense of tho word. Their writing has unmistakable and genuine individuality while their story has the same enchantment that belongs to that legendary teller of tales. Having once heard the authentic note the reader lives in expectation of hearing it again. Perhaps it is scarcely fair to demand that Miss Nina' Murdoch should be a second Mary Kingsley, merely because both women shared the irrepressible instinct to be up and doing. Miss Murdoch has imagination, a good measure of father wit, and is young enough, although this is.. , r third publication, to bo still a little self-conscious. ... , , , ]f one has fault to find it is that she tells too much. A little less information and a touch more Nina Murdoch would havo improved the book. Ihe Austrian Tyrol in June is her happy hunting ground; a blue-and-gold, flower decked Tvrol. The peasant costumes and festivals combined with the fairytale loveliness, leave a Russian ballet effect on tho mind. Ono reads of chamois shorts on boys and girls alike, braces stamped with edelweiss flowers, but hats for little boys only, PiedPiperish affairs in bright felts with two immensely long and excitingly coloured feathers up the back. That these should be the daily wear, and all displayed with naturalness, seems enchanting to the mere town dweller. Miss Murdoch wanders through the villages, content to admire the mountains from afar, for that, which obviously intrigues her is ' the medieval feeling that permeates the place. She naively admits to never having outgfown a childish passion for castles, although she stipulates that these must be set on a height or they are as nothing. Set on a crag, the higher and bolder the better, and although it be but a mouldering ruin, she is able to feel the spell, .and marches on clad in shining armour with ostrich plumes nodding. In the Tyrol she visits castles to her heart's content. She listens to legends, learns history, talks to the peasants and becomes one with the place as far as she is able in the brief month allotted to her. She is susceptible to nature and finds tho country more beautiful than she had dreamed, and with the aid of a subtle pen communicates her

Wandering, Through tlie Austrian Tyrol

delight. Above all she is feminine, she can be relied upon for delirious inconsequential scraps of reliable information about-food, and a glorious and total lack of statistics. The traveller comes to the little winter sports town of Kitzbuhel. Since Hitler imposed his thousand marks tax on German travellers spending more than one night in Austria, Kitzbuhel, like the rest of tho Tyrol, had experienced financial loss. For 40 years this town had been a popular winter resort, and the tourists, who were mostly German, had become a regular source of income to the peasants. Hitler's tax caused desperate poverty, even salt came to bo considered a luxury, so there were great rejoicings, when, in 1935, our late King and the Prince of Wales paid n visit and, it is to be hoped, set the fashion for English tourists. Miss Murdoch's chapter describing the passion play at Thiersee is impressive. This performance is considered by many to be superior to the Oberammergau play. Its peasant quality remains unspoiled, and according to the writer the astonishing power these simple people have of presenting the story is sufficiently fresh and vivid to make it new. The whole play is described with dramatic intensity. Such is the power of Alois Kaindl, the village carpenter who plays the role of Christ, that Miss Murdoch had difficulty in keeping back her tears. Of the story of Christ they innko not a legend but a human drama. A visit to a salt mine makes nn amusing diversion after the passion play. Clad in extraordinary out-size overalls and accompanied by a most enthusiastic guide she "did" the salt mine. He spoke rapidly in German and Miss Murdoch, her mind in an agony of doubt, worked hard with an intelligent expression. They slid down_ bannisters together, they held intimate conversations, but the strain on the author was terrific. Finally they emerged from a dank tunnel, cold and dark, to a valley warm with sun and flowers and the hum of bees. Was it any wonder that she knew the happiness of Persephone ? But she knew the Tyrol in June, in summer time, and even then she was conscious that life for tho Tyrolese is one long campaign against the winter. Wood must be gathered, dried and stacked in readiness, hay must bo prepared for fodder for the cattle during the frozen months. Miss Murdoch left at the end of June, but not without promising herself that she would return some day for tho sole purpose of seeing tho Tyrol in winter mood. "Tyrolean June," by , Nina Murdoch. (Harrap.)