Immerse yourself in the magic of the past: a summer evening at Lebenberg Castle

Immerse yourself in the magic of the past: a summer evening at Lebenberg Castle

An old castle reveals itself to me, taking me on a mysterious journey. It mesmerises and leads me from room to room, from story to story, through the past.

I enter the Hall of Mirrors, exactly at the peak of a magical moment. 

At this time of day, the spacious, magnificent rococo-style hall is a never-ending light and shadow interplay of refractions and reflections. 
I see my face again and again, fractured by rays of light and reflected in the Venetian mirrors. I move about as if dancing, and my image multiplies and fills the space. 
In this moment of solitude, I think I can hear the echo of past celebrations and festivals.  The laughter of noblewomen, on the arms of their knights, seems to linger joyfully and gracefully in this evening illusion. It’s as though I can hear the sound of violins and see hundreds of candles flickering, surrounded by gold, shimmer, and swirling skirts. I brush my hand over the white, ornate tiled stove and the piano keys.
Castles and Fortresses
Castles and Fortresses
Reliving the past in Lana and Environs
The echo of my name pulls me back to reality. 

With a final glance, I say goodbye to the all-consuming Hall of Mirrors and leave feeling light. I like to wander almost endlessly from one room of the castle to the next. The Lords of Marling were responsible for the construction of the first wings of the castle in the 13th century. I pass through the Knights’ Hall, captivated and bemused at the same time: The faces of the Fuchs von Fuchsberg family, owners of the castle from 1426 to 1828 (twelve generations), seem to be watching me from their massive family tree. Two-hundred-and-sixty-four pairs of eyes look at me from the fresco on the wall, stern and haughty, as if they were almost urging me to go away. 

Although I have explored every corner of the castle complex, I can’t get rid of the feeling that I could also get lost in these walls. Even as I walk past the imposing armoury, which smells of the bravery of days gone by, I think I can hear voices from the Empire-style Napoleonic Hall with its elegant furniture and precious murals: They invite me to enter and enjoy the warmth of the oven. From the corner of my eye, I can see busy workers doing their daily tasks in the winding medieval courtyards below. Eagerly and cheerfully, they hurry to finish their work at sunset, before night falls. 
I reach the geometrically arranged labyrinth of plants in the elegant French garden, take the path to the vineyard around the castle, and climb over the remains of ancient castle walls, which have apparently survived many centuries. From a distance, bells seem to ring in my ear rhythmically and vividly like a call. The castle chapel of St. Stephan from the 14th century is silent. 

I sit down on a big rock. From here, the rows of vines, seemingly infinite, reach as far as the eye can see, running symmetrically and orderly into the distance. I love this place, the view of the Merano basin, and the full, rich scent of ripe fruit in the air. The sun sets and darkness falls. I reach for a grape and savour its juice and pulp; it doesn’t matter how sticky my hands and face get.

All of a sudden, I feel a chill. I have to hurry. It’s time to get back to the castle before dark.
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