The Forgotten Ruins of The San Candido Baths

The first evidence of a structure at the site dates back to the 16th century, as a “rustic bath” is noted as being in that area. At the end of the same century, in 1594, a small chapel located nearby was consecrated. This chapel has retained much of its decoration and remains in significantly better shape than the baths, as it is filled with colorful, recently restored frescos. 

It is likely that the chapel was built atop an older place of worship, such as the remains of a pre-Christian shrine related to the cult of waters. Continuous use of the site was also likely, since even the altar within pre-dates the 16th century structure. The chapel was also connected to a hermitage until 1786. 

In 1854, a doctor, Johann Scheiber, decided to buy the property with the purpose of creating a sanatorium for everyone who needed it, regardless of wealth. His project was centered around the use of the water, as the area boasts five different natural springs (Lavaredo, Imperatore, Sulfurea, Fiera and Candida). 

Because of the complexity of the geological system and the different depths at which the waters flow, each spring has its own therapeutic properties, a factor closely related to the differing amount of minerals they contain. For example, the sulfuric spring is composed of the most mineralized and deepest waters, running through the mountain for an average of 37 years before rising once more to the surface.

The great popularity of Dr. Scheiber’s baths encouraged him to expand its structure. Upon his death, his daughter and her husband decided to transform the sanitorium into a luxury resort, the Wildbad Grand Hotel, a fabulous castle-shaped complex soon frequented by high nobility and the wealthiest individuals in Europe and beyond. 

In those corridors and halls walked the Austrian emperor, Franz Joseph I, heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary Franz Ferdinand, Frederick III of Prussia, and Charles I of Austria.

It is therefore not surprising that one of the springs was soon dubbed "Kaiserwasser," or "emperor's water.” The structure was an astonishing joining of a transitional period between historicist and Art Nouveau styles with typical elements of the classical German decoration, such as a majestic "towered-erker” (a projecting window). 

Carved wooden window frames, beams, and brackets embellished the massive brick structures, decorated inside and out with wall paintings, plasterwork, and elegant architectural features such as mullioned windows, arches, and columns.

At the turn of the last century, the Wildbad Grand Hotel boasted 120 rooms— including those for entertainment, such as the reading and concert room— electricity, heating, and of course, the baths. 

Unfortunately, this golden age was abruptly interrupted by the First World War, during which the Wildbad became one of the headquarters of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. 

The cause of its downfall, however, wasn’t only brought on by the destruction, pain and suffering of the war, but was also largely due to the new political and territorial post-war arrangement which saw the territories of Südtirol transferred to Italy. Shortly thereafter, the Wildbad Grand Hotel failed. Soon completely abandoned, it fell to ruin.

Today, the structure is only a bare shadow of its past. The exquisite wall decorations have crumbled, the carved wood and beams have rotted and collapsed, the beautiful erker is deprived of this tower. 

Decades of lootings have stripped the building of its furnishings, decorations, and architecture, while the fury of elements did the rest, constantly weakening, corroding, and destroying piece after piece. The last five years have been especially brutal with multiple collapses destroying part of the roof, paving the way for even more major damage. 

There have been attempts to look into conserving and/or reconstructing the Wildbad, however, multiple complications have arisen. For one, the building is actually on private property. According to the Soprintendenza dei Beni Culturali, this presents a complex situation, because the structure was already classified as a ruin when it was bought. 

So, according to Italian laws, it is not possible to rebuild it— only to maintain it in its present condition. This clearly never happened, excluding some minor interventions aimed to secure the dangerous parts of the building that are too close to the street.

Even the admirable intent of making a virtual tour of the structure still seems unsatisfactory. People feel as though it would be more productive to put effort into saving or restoring the hotel, rather than simply recording it in its ruined state.

As such, the general consensus is that the Wildbad has been intentionally forgotten, another victim of bureaucracy and disinterest from those who should have protected it. The fact that so much has already been lost of such a precious vestige of the past is simply not acceptable.

In the meantime, the Grand Hotel waits, lying in a languid and decaying silence, the splendor, balls, and music only a sad and distant memory.