left hand, which just passed through the ring, and the old giant set
himself in attitude according to the rules of the game. He hurled the
stone with such tremendous force that it fell far on the other side of
the Rossmooser Hof; and seeing this the three young giants slunk off
quite ashamed of themselves. The old giant sighed as he said, “There is
really no strength left among the young folk. At one time one had no
cause to be ashamed of himself. I remember still how I carried a stone
weighing a hundred centner (10,000 pounds) from the Kolbenthalmelch
place to the Kolbenthal saw-mill, where it is still lying; you can go
and look at it there, you Fratz’n.”
At the same time as these giants were living at the Rossmooser Hof,
there resided a couple of other giants upon the Dornerberg in the
Zillerthal, who always cast angry looks at young Bartl, and challenged
him very often to fight. Bartl avoided them as much as he could, and
showed no inclination to measure his strength with them, for he had
not a quarrelsome nature. One day the giants of Dornerberg met the
Rossmooser Riesen with Bartl, at whom they sneered, and mockingly
challenged him again to fight with them, but as Bartl was undecided and
would not answer, the old giant became angry with his son and said,
“You are then no bub (boy) at all, that you suffer all this.”
“Should I fight them?” asked Bartl, and as his father nodded his head
he added, “But, father, it’s not worth my while to fight one alone, so
I shall fight them both at once.”
The fight then began, and Bartl instantly seized upon the two
Dornerberg giants by the collar, held them up, beating the air with
their hands and feet, until their eyes streamed with water; he then
dashed them on the ground where they lay stunned, and it was only with
the greatest trouble that they were restored to life. When they came to
their senses, they stole away from the scene of the fight quite ashamed
of themselves, and made up their minds never again to have anything to
do with Bartl, whose fame, after this tremendous victory, spread far
and near through the country; for the Dornerberg giants were in no way
weak, since each of them carried seven to eight centners (600 to 700
pounds) from Zell, in the Zillerthal, up the Dornerberg, where they
lived in a deep cavern. With this huge weight they sprang lightly from
stone to stone in the river which runs through the valley, and even
stooped down and caught the trout in their hands as they passed over.
_THE WITCH’S VENGEANCE._
At Sterz, about an hour’s walk from Brixen, on the line from Innsbruck
to Verona, close beneath the mountain called Rodeneck, there lived some
fifty years ago in a fine farm-house a well-to-do young couple with
one child. In all the villages round about an old beggar woman was
much dreaded as a witch, and this woman came very often to the farm
begging. The good people of the farm used to give her directly all she
desired, just to rid themselves of her importunities. But one day the
farm-labourers made up their minds to discover whether the old hag was
really a witch or not, and after she had entered the room, they set
a broom on end before the door. It was on a Saturday evening. When a
broom is put upside down before a door--such is the superstition of the
people--the witch cannot get out again.
When the hag therefore tried to get out, she saw the trick, and
remained in the room until late at night. At last she said angrily to
the peasant’s wife, “Sweep out the room; it is Saturday evening, and
how comes it that you leave the room so long unswept?”
This she repeated many times, but always to no purpose, for the
peasant’s wife knew about the trick; but when she saw that the hag was
becoming tremendously angry and fierce, she was dreadfully frightened,
and ordered the servant to take the broom and sweep out the room.
Directly the servant took up the broom and removed it from the door,
the hag darted out full of venom, hatred, and spite, and the most
revengeful determinations.
And what a vengeance this was! She dried the cows, brought down storms
and destroyed the crops, made their child hopelessly ill so that it
died; the poor farmer went into a decline through grief, and his wife
was misled over the Rodeneck by the diabolical creature, and broke both
her arms and legs.
So cruel is the vengeance of a witch.
_THE PIOUS HERDSMAN._
About three miles above Uderns, in the valley of the Ziller, lies the
Asten or Voralp, also called the Stuben, upon which a poor spirit used
to wander, seeking its redemption.
The proprietor of the Asten was unable to find any one who would
undertake to guard his cattle on the mountain, for every one was afraid
of the ghost. At last, a poor brave boy offered himself for this
purpose, and was of course gladly accepted.
One day as he was driving his cows upon the mountain, he saw a tall
dark figure wandering about a few steps from the door of his little
hut, which is called in the Tyrolian dialect the schlamm. The boy
instantly spoke to the apparition, and asked whether he could not do
anything to release him from his pain, to which the ghost answered,
yes, he could, if during a whole year, without omitting one single day,
he would devoutly repeat a rosary, and promise during that time never
to swear or do a bad action, and always to say the rosary at the same
hour every day.
The honest son of the Alps conscientiously fulfilled his duty for a
very long time, until one day in the summer a pretty little village
girl came up the mountain and begged the cowherd to stand godfather to
her sister’s child, for they were very poor, and knew no one who would
be likely to accept the office but him. The good herd promised directly
that he would; and when the day of the baptism arrived, he well fed his
cows and then set off down the mountain to Uderns. After the ceremony
was over, he had intended to return immediately up the Asten, as it is
the custom in the Tyrol to feed the cattle four times a day. But the
mother of the child implored him to remain a little longer with them,
and so one thing and another prevented him from starting so soon as
he had wished. It happened therefore that he remained in the village
until evening had set in, for they insisted on serving him with good
liqueurs, which to the poor cowherd were a great treat, as it is very
seldom one of his position has the chance of tasting such a thing.
At last he set off on his return, and as he climbed the mountain he
remembered that he had forgotten the hour of his prayers, and was so
grieved at this omission, that he cried bitterly, and repeated aloud
the neglected rosary as he went along. Then the idea struck him that
he would also offer up his baptismal work for the benefit of the poor
spirit.
When he arrived at his hut he proceeded immediately to the stables,
thinking to himself, “how hungry the poor cattle must be,” but great
was his astonishment when he saw that the best food had been placed
before them, and that everything was in the most perfect order; but
far greater was his surprise when after he had retired to rest, the
poor spirit appeared before him, clad in snow-white garments, and told
him that he was now redeemed, and that which had been principally
instrumental in his redemption, was the offering which the good
cowherd had made of the baptism of the child. After this the spirit
disappeared, and has never been seen again. Since this fact became
known, it has been, and still is the custom in all parts of the Tyrol
for godfathers and godmothers to make an offering of the baptismal rite
on behalf of the poor souls in purgatory.
_THE ADASBUB._
About sixty years ago there lived at Lengenfeld, in the valley of the
Oetz, a man of enormous height, called generally “the Adasbub,” who was
a perfect monster, besides being a thief, glutton, sot, and fighter.
He had been among the soldiery, and fought in many wars, from which he
had returned still more savage and wild than ever; he had brought home
large sums of money from foreign countries, which he had stolen and
extorted from people, and now he bought a farm of his own, which he
began to manage, though more like a pagan than a Christian. He never
went to church, but was always to be seen in the village inn, where
he boasted the first in Lengenfeld about his velvet jacket decorated
with buttons made out of old pieces of silver money. The young fellows
of the village soon became ashamed of their clothes, and wished to
imitate the vain ideas of their paragon.[1] The Adasbub was besides of
enormous bodily strength, and had already at once defeated fifty men,
who had attacked him; and he who offended him had to fear lest this
dreaded man might go, as if by accident, and turn a mountain torrent
upon his farm, or roll down huge snowballs, with most likely rocks
hidden in them, upon his roof.
[1] In the Tyrol it is the custom for the peasants to have their
jackets and waistcoats decorated with rows of silver buttons, which are
sewn on in such a manner that they overlap each other. These buttons,
of which they are very proud, are all made of old silver money, and
each row contains from fifteen to twenty of them.
His whole pleasure and only occupation was to swear, drink, bluster,
and injure his neighbours; he surrounded himself with a gang of fellows
who suited his tastes, and was their leader in carrying out the most
fearful outrages. They tore the doors of the peaceful inhabitants from
their hinges, and carried them away into the forests; hoisted the
farmers’ carts upon the roofs of their houses; stole the wine from the
sacristies, which they drank to the perdition of the priests; shut up
goats in the little field chapels, and pulled down the crosses in the
cemetery, which they stuck upside down in the ground over the graves,
and boasted in their wickedness that they were making Christendom
stand upon its head.
A newly-concocted villainy was to be carried out in a farm, which
stands upon the Burgstein, above Lengenfeld, and it had reference
to the farmer’s daughter; but the farmer came to hear of it, and
determined to defend his home against the outrages of these cowardly
villains. So he sharpened his axe, and as the Adasbub entered the
house, he brought it down with tremendous fury upon the head of the
monster of iniquity, who fell dead at his feet with a split skull. On
seeing their leader receive this unlooked-for welcome, his companions
took refuge in flight, and there was an instant alarm throughout the
country. People from all parts swarmed up the Burgstein, and thanked
the farmer for having delivered the country from such a wretch.
They cut off the head of the Adasbub, and dragged the body to the edge
of a precipice, from which they pitched it down on to the road, which
passes by a now much frequented sulphur bath, called the Rumunschlung.
The head was thrown into the charnel-house of the cemetery of
Lengenfeld, where it still lies, a terror and warning to all wicked
men. The skull is nearly cloven in two, and from time to time, at
certain midnights, it gets red hot all over, and is then horrible to
look at. Many people say that when it is burning, it rolls from the
charnel-house into the chapel, in which it turns round and round in a
circle, and then jumps again back to its place, where it slowly cools,
and next day it looks again just like any other skull.
_THE WHITE SNAKE._
Close to Mitterwald, on the little river Eisach, rises on the
right-hand side of the village the enormous mountain called the
Mitterwalder Alp, upon which, on account of the great number of
venomous snakes which were there, no cattle could be pastured. The
majority of these were huge white reptiles, of which the people were
particularly fearful. About fifty years ago there arrived in the
country one of those students, or as they called them, “Fahrende
Schüler” (wandering collegians), to whom people used to attribute
supernatural power, and the peasants asked him to rid them of the
plague of snakes.
The student promptly assented to their request, and went up the
mountain, where he made a circle upon the Alp-meadow, and ordered the
peasants to plant a tree in the middle of the ring; then he climbed
the tree, and by his incantations he charmed all the snakes into the
large fire which he had lighted around it. But all at once a huge snake
hissed loudly and fiercely, and on hearing this the student cried out,
“I am lost;” and at the same moment a white snake darted with the
swiftness of an arrow through his body, and he fell dead from the tree,
and was consumed in the fire.
Those who recounted this tale added, “It was a hazel-worm, for only
those snakes have the power to dart through the air like an arrow and
pierce through people’s bodies.” On the spot where this accident took
place, and where the student made the fiery circle, there has never
since an atom of grass grown again.
It is asserted the blindworms had once the same power, until it was
taken away from them by the Blessed Virgin, who has caused them ever
afterwards to remain sightless.
_THE SCHACHTGEIST._
About an hour’s walk from Reit, on the left-hand side of the entrance
to the valley of the Alpbach, is situated a farm which bears the name
of Larcha, and close to this farm is a deep mine in the side of the
mountain, which at the time of this legend was being worked, and it
was called the Silber Stollen (silver mine) of the Illn. Nine miners
were employed in working the mine, and in it resided a Schachtgeist
(mine ghost), who showed to the poor honest miners the richest lodes of
silver. Their luck was extraordinary, and huge bars of the precious ore
were carried every day out of the mine; and as the men worked on their
own account, they soon became enormously rich, and for this reason they
became also very dissolute and profligate. They were no longer content
with their simple miners’ attire, but bought fine clothes; they would
no longer wear their grey blouses, but they would have velvet and rich
cloth, and their wives went about dressed up in the most gorgeous
colours.
The proverbially simple Alpböcker Tracht (costume of the Alpböck) was
entirely set on one side by them, and a new fashion introduced; besides
that, all sorts of iniquities were practised by them, which it would be
impossible to describe.
This made the benevolent Schachtgeist intensely angry; he became fierce
and savage, and when he appeared at the entrance of the mine his mien
foreboded anything but good. Meanwhile the miners went on more badly
than ever, and got so extravagant in their notions, that they even
cleaned their tables and chairs with bread-crumbs. One day the farmer
of Larcha was standing taking the fresh air at his door; the clouds
foreboded a thunderstorm, and the air was dark and heavy. He had
been working with his men down in the cellar, from which they could
distinctly hear the noise of the miners’ hammers, as they shouted and
sung over their work. All at once the Schachtgeist passed by the door
of the farm, and called out to the farmer in a terrible voice, “Shut
your doors, and misfortune shall escape you; I am away to the Illn to
silence the miners.” The terror-stricken farmer crossed himself, and
on his knees implored Divine protection, while the ghost tore up the
mountain, and then he shut his doors and returned to his work. Not
long after, the farmer and his men heard fearful shrieks, which were
immediately followed by a crash like thunder, which shook the earth,
and made the cellar in which they were working tremble. They rushed
up into the farmer’s room, and began to repeat the rosary, and as the
noise abated they went to bed.
On the following morning the news of a terrible calamity spread far
over mountain and valley. The miners had been buried in the mine by an
earthquake, and their shrieking wives rushed wildly about, rolling in
the dust, and, in their agony and despair, they nearly tore off the
feet of the crucifix which stands just above the farm on a cross-road.
But still more horrible was it when it was discovered that the buried
miners were alive in their prison, and screaming for help in the depths
of the mountain. For ten long days the terrible scene lasted; when at
last, after having worked night and day, the villagers succeeded in
entering the passage in which the miners were entombed; but there a
horrible spectacle presented itself to their eyes. Over the dead bodies
of the nine miners was sitting the Schachtgeist, covered with blood,
and terrible to look at, with the visage of the devil, and glowering at
the victims of his just wrath and judgment. The miners had been starved
to death, and were holding the leather of their shoes in their teeth,
after having gnawed their fingers to the bones.
Every one who wanders over the mountain, and passes by the farm of
Larcha, can hear this dreadfully true legend, up to the present day,
from the farmer, who is the son of the man who was witness of the fact.
And if after the evening Angelus has rung, by any chance a door in the
farm remains open, the housewife directly calls out, “Shut the door,
so that misfortune may escape us.”
_THE THREE BROTHERS._
At Reut, a village between Unken and Lofer, lived a peasant who had
three sons. The two eldest of these were hardy gazelle hunters, and
feared God as little as they did the dangers of the mountains; but the
youngest was better, and different from his brothers; he took interest
in the farm, though now and then he was induced by them to accompany
them to the chase. So it happened once that he went with them to the
high mountains, and on a Sunday they were already standing high on the
peaks when the day dawned, and at that moment they heard the Angelus
ringing from the village of Unken. The younger huntsman implored his
brothers to return, so that they might be in time for church; but as
they would not go, he did not go either.
As they mounted higher and higher they heard the mass bells ringing
at Unken; the youngest brother said, “Let us go back.” But the others
jeered at him and said, “The whistle of a gazelle is more to our taste
than the mass bells and sermon.” When the enthusiastic huntsmen had
arrived on the very top of the mountain, the bells rang again, and the
youngest brother said, “Listen, there is the elevation, we ought to
have been there.”
But his brothers sneered at him, and replied, “A fat gemsbock here is
much more to our mind than the body of the Lord in the village church
below.” These words were scarcely out of their mouths, when clouds as
black as ink enveloped the mountains, and everything became dark as
night; then came on a thunderstorm, as though the world was at its end.
After the storm was over the three brothers were found on the peak of
the mountain, turned into stones in the form of gigantic rocks, and
there they still stand, known to every little Tyrolian child under the
name of “the Three Brothers.”
_THE FIERY BODY._
Round about the village of St. Martin, in the Passeierthal, the parish
comprises a great many single-lying farmsteads, which are dispersed
about to the north in every direction for seven or eight miles towards
the parish of Platt. In one of these farms a man was lying very ill,
because on a Sunday, instead of going to church, he had hunted in the
neighbouring forest, and had slightly wounded his foot with the iron
heel of his other boot. It seemed as though the wound was poisoned, for
it grew continually worse and worse, and at last threw the man into a
deadly fever. The neighbours implored him to give up his evil ways, for
he was a wicked fellow, and took delight in mocking at religion, and
always, above every other, chose a Sunday or _fête_ day for his hunting
excursions.
But, wishing to appear an _esprit fort_, he answered that he preferred
to arrange his own affairs with the Creator without their interference.
In spite of all this, a good priest tried to persuade him out of his
evil ways; but the wicked man replied to his exhortations by throwing
a plate at him, out of which he had just been eating his milk soup. He
remained obstinate and hardened, “determined,” as he called it, to the
last.
One day, when he was dying, the people of the house ran down to the
priest, and implored him to come and save the unhappy sinner if it was
still possible. The good priest, accompanied by his sacristan, hastened
directly up the mountain, carrying the Holy Sacrament with them. As
they arrived close to the farm, they were met by a fiery red body
rushing through the air, spitting flames as it flew. It aimed directly
at the priest, and was the body of the unbelieving Sabbath-breaker,
who had died without repentance. The sacristan fell to the earth
terror-stricken; but the priest said, “Fear not, Christ is with us,”
and as he spoke these words the fiery body rushed by, leaving them
unhurt, and hurled itself down the fearful precipice of the Matatz
valley.
_THE VENEDIGER-MANNDL UPON THE SONNWENDJOCH._
Not many years ago a little man of Venice, Venediger-Manndl, as he was
called, clad in dark clothes, arrived in the Tyrol to gather gold bars,
gold sand, and gold dust, out of the streams of the mountains; he was
always seen in the small valleys, and especially on the Sonnwendjoch;
he arrived in the spring, and went away again in the autumn. He was a
good-hearted quiet little fellow, and on his way home he always passed
the night in the hut of the herd who lived upon the adjacent Kothalp,
near the Sonnwendjoch, which belongs now to Praxmarer, the innkeeper
of Reit. Now it happened that the honest old herd of the Kothalp died,
and his hut was taken by a wicked old man. The Venediger-Manndl entered
as usual into the hut to pass the night, but the new herd, pushed on
by the devil of avarice, made up his mind to kill him in the night,
and to appropriate all his wealth. But the little herd-boy warned the
gold-finder in time to enable him to save himself. Since then he has
never been seen again.
The little herd-boy grew up, and became later on a servant at
Isarwinkl, in Bavaria, where he afterwards became a soldier, and
marched with the army into Italy. His regiment was stationed at Venice,
and a few days after his arrival in the city he walked, full of
curiosity, slowly along the beautiful palaces which stand on the canal,
when all at once he heard his own name called from a window on the
first story of one of them, and a person beckoned him to come up. He
ran quickly up the wide marble stairs, and was received on the top by a
noble Venetian, richly dressed in black velvet, who conducted him into
a splendid apartment, and told him to take a place upon a sofa; then
sitting down at his side, he said, “Years ago you saved the life of a
Venetian upon the Kothalp, and now you are going to be rewarded; so let
me know your wish, and all you want you shall have.”
“Let that be, kind sir,” answered the soldier; “I did but my duty,
Heaven will recompense me if I have deserved it.”
This answer seemed to please the Venetian, who took the young man by
the hand while saying, “That shows me that you are a real Tyrolian.”
Then he entered into a little side-room, and soon afterwards returned
in the dress in which he had appeared as Venediger-Manndl on the
Kothalp. The soldier instantly recognized him, and was rejoiced
at meeting him. Now the Venetian repeated his offer of gold and
riches, but the soldier once more declined, and answered, “Health and
contentment are my riches, and that God will grant me as long as he
sees it fit to do so; though I have one wish, after all, which is to be
free of my service in the army, so that I could go back to Isarwinkl,
where I have my love, a girl like milk and blood.”
The Venetian had scarcely heard this wish, when he took directly a
large white cloth, in which a mantle was wrapped; he took out the
mantle, put it over the shoulders of the soldier, and then covered
it with the white cloth. All at once the soldier felt himself rising
in the air. “Greet your love from me” were the only words he could
catch from the Venetian; for like an arrow he was borne away through
the high and grated bow-windows which are used at Venice, the white
cloth enveloping him like a soft cloud, carried him along swiftly and
gently, and set him down before the house of his love. In the pocket of
the mantle he found a rich bridal gift.
Happiness never deserted the young fellow; he became very soon a happy
husband, and bought himself out of the army, and since then he has
often recounted this adventure.
_HAHNENKIKERLE._