very rich foreign Princess, who was suffering from a terrible disorder,
which had baffled the efforts of every doctor to cure. Dr. Theophrast,
of whom the Princess had heard, and whom she had come to Innsbruck to
consult, declared that it was a malady over which he had no control,
although he was a “Wonder Doctor.” This was a great loss to the Doctor,
and a terrible shock to the Princess, who had travelled so far in hopes
of a cure.
One day when she was lying inconsolable in her bed, a little tiny man
came into the room, who offered his services and gave her a potion,
which he told her would restore her to health. But the little fellow
added that on that day year he should return, and if she had forgotten
his name, which was “Hahnenkikerle,” she must promise to marry him,
and to live with him under the Höttinger Klamm. The Princess gladly
accepted this proposition, and she awoke on the following morning as
fresh and healthy as a May rose.
She remained in Innsbruck, where she gave feast after feast, and in
this way the year soon passed by. All at once she remembered her
promise to the little dwarf, whose name had escaped her, and every
effort to recall it was in vain. She asked many people, but no one
could tell her; she confided her anxiety to her friends, but, of
course, they could neither help her nor give her any advice. Only a
poor servant girl, who came to hear of it, determined to try and help
the good Princess. So she went into the Klamm, hoping to hear something
certain there; she listened, and crept about all over, and at last she
heard in the depth of the Klamm a joyous shouting, and down below
she saw the dwarf jumping and singing, “Hurrah! the Princess in the
‘Star’ doesn’t know that my name is Hahnenkikerle.” The girl hurried
home as fast as she could, and told the Princess all she had heard. Now
the Princess remembered the name, and when the day came and the dwarf
appeared, she called out to him, “Hahnenkikerle;” at hearing this the
dwarf rushed away raging into the mountain.
The girl was rewarded by the Princess; and when she married an honest
burgher of Innsbruck, she received a princely dower.
_THE SORCERER OF SISTRANS._
In Sistrans, a village close to Innsbruck, there lived, some sixty
years ago, a man who was noted in all the surrounding districts for
his evil and quarrelsome disposition. He attended every Kermesse and
village meeting at which it was the custom of the blackguards of the
surrounding country to go and fight, but he never found one who could
master him.
This superhuman strength was not his only distinguishing quality,
for he was well up in other more doubtful arts, and was able to do
rather more than “boil pears without wetting the stalk.” Should a
fine fox or a fat hare be running in the forest close by, he set his
traps just behind his stove, and in the morning the game was sure to
be caught. Should anything have been stolen, people came to him, for
he had means of compelling the stolen goods to be restored. For this
purpose, he merely took a little book bound in pigskin out of his box,
and began to read; and wherever the thief might be, he was forced by
some irresistible power to take the stolen goods upon his back and
bring them before the sorcerer, by whom the proprietor must always be
present. This little book had such a power that, at each word read
by the sorcerer from it, the thief was obliged to make a step; and
three times woe to him who had stolen something which was heavy, or
was obliged to bring his burden from a long distance, or over steep
mountains, while the man was reading; from far off his pantings could
be heard, and he was drenched in perspiration when he arrived at the
spot.
One day the sorcerer made himself a footstool of nine different sorts
of wood, upon which he knelt down close to the organ in the church, and
looked down upon the people, and there saw all the old hags and witches
as they stood at the lower end of the church. After the service was
over, these old hags set upon him in herds, and would have torn him to
pieces had not the priest come in time to his rescue, for the hags now
discovered that he had found them out.
This man had once on Christmas Eve stolen the consecrated Host, while
the priest held it up after the consecration, and carried it with him,
wrapped in a little piece of cloth always hidden on his left arm. From
this proceeded all his unsurpassable tricks and indomitable strength.
But at last came the “Scythesman Death,” who cast him down upon the bed
of sickness, and, in spite of all his strength and cleverness, he was
bound to die; but that was a very hard thing for him. Three long days
and nights the quarreller lay in the last agony without being able to
die. Several times the priest came to him, and at last, after long
exhortations and prayers, the dying man made a confession.
The Host, which had already grown into the arm, was cut out, and all
the books and writings belonging to the art of sorcery which could be
found were burnt; and as they were thrown into the flames it roared and
thundered dreadfully, and there was such a terrific heat that the lead
in the window-frames melted and ran down in streams, and during this
hellish noise the sorcerer died.
_THE GIANT SERLES._
On the Brennerstrasse, which leads out of Innsbruck, three huge scarped
mountains raise their lofty peaks above the road, and these peaks are
also plainly visible from the Inn valley, through which the railway to
Innsbruck now runs.
There once lived in the neighbouring valley of the Sin a “Wilder,” or
wild man of enormous stature, who was a dreaded King of the Mountains.
He was of a most extraordinarily savage nature, his wife as bad as
he was, and his secret counsellor still worse than both. The King
was passionately fond of hunting; and when on the track of a flying
stag, he cared so little about anything but his own pleasure that
he would dash, accompanied by all his followers and hounds, through
the flocks and herds pastured on the mountains, carrying death and
ruin wheresoever he went. Should the poor hunted animal by chance
seek refuge among a herd, the demoniacal monster would take delight
in urging on his bloodthirsty hounds to tear everything to pieces;
and did the unfortunate herdsmen only try to make any remonstrance,
they instantly shared the fate of their unfortunate animals, and
were dragged to pieces on the spot by the savage dogs. On these
occasions the giant, whose name was Serles, used to shout with joy,
“Lustig gejaid” (bravely on), and neither man nor beast were able to
defend themselves for a single moment against his fury. His wife and
counsellor always accompanied him upon these excursions, and urged him
on by their taunts to further excesses.
One day when they were out on one of their favourite expeditions, and
the dogs had not only torn to pieces a poor stag, which had taken
refuge among a herd of cows, but had also furiously attacked the
herd itself, the herdsmen tried to drive them off, and one of them
unslinging his cross-bow, in his anger, shot a dog dead upon the spot.
At this the infuriated giant, excited beyond measure by his wicked
wife and villainous counsellor, set the whole pack of hounds upon the
unhappy herdsmen, and laughed with savage delight as he saw them torn
limb from limb by the dogs. But in the midst of this terrible crime,
Heaven’s wrath fell heavily upon them. A terrific thunderstorm burst
over their heads, and when it had passed away no more was to be seen of
King Serles, his wife, or his counsellor, but, in their stead, three
huge glaciers rose into the clouds on the spot on which their iniquity
had taken place. The one in the middle is the wicked monster Serles,
and to his right and left stand his cruel wife and inhuman counsellor.
Teamsters who pass along the Brennerstrasse on stormy nights even
now often hear the howling of unearthly dogs, and, during storms,
thunderbolts are constantly seen striking the “Rock Giants.”
_LEGENDS OF THE ORCO._
The Tyrolians believe in the existence of the Orco, who is accounted
to be a huge and powerful mountain ghost, who never ages; he is said
to reside generally in the clefts and chasms of the precipices between
Enneberg Abbey and Buchenstein and the surrounding mountains. He adopts
every form, and exercises his enormous strength only in destroying.
Everything he does is for the terror and annoyance of mankind; he
very seldom takes the human form, and when he does it is of gigantic
stature, with the most malevolent, wild, and cruel expression; he is
then dressed in the manner of the giants, or quite naked, but covered
thickly with hair, like the coat of a bear.
The following legends, collected on the spot, give a few instances of
when and where he has been seen:--
* * * * *
The Innkeeper, Anton Trebo, in Enneberg, who died in the year 1853, was
a firm-minded man and noted as a great quarreller; he was sharp and
enterprising in his business, and laughed to scorn all his guests when
they ventured to recount anything about the Orco, who was held in most
terrible dread by all the inhabitants of the surrounding country. Anton
Trebo used to say that he believed in no apparition from either heaven
or hell.
It was in the year 1825 that he returned from the market of St.
Lorenz in his cart, with his son Franz. As he arrived at the rock
called “Delles Gracies” (Rock of Grace), where in the hollow niches
of the rock still stand many carved wooden statues of Christ and His
saints, and just as he passed by, there all at once appeared a huge
monstrous black dog, which ran round his cart and horses, and looked
so diabolically that even the otherwise courageous bully was almost
terrified. He held the reins tightly, and said to his son, “What is the
dog doing there? Drive him away.” Franz tried to frighten the brute off
with stones and blows, but the dog would not move, and Trebo, becoming
more and more frightened, made the sign of the cross, and all at once
the dog disappeared before their eyes.
Since this adventure, the innkeeper of Enneberg, believed firmly that
it had really been the Orco, and has always defended his conviction
of the existence of this fearful mountain ghost. Franz has taken the
place of his father, and is now innkeeper of Enneberg, where one of his
brothers lives with him.
* * * * *
In 1816 a brave peasant woman of Brenta, in the valley of Buchenstein,
whose name was Maria Vinazzer, went with her son, who was nine years
old, to meet her herd of cows which were returning from the Crontrin
Alp. It was a beautiful autumn day, and they advanced the more gaily,
as they were accompanied by the worthy parish singer, Lazar. As they
arrived on the mountain side, all at once a wild horse trotted before
them so suddenly that it appeared as though he had sprung from the
ground, and wherever he trod fire played round about his heels.
Lazar, who was a courageous mountaineer, threw stones at the brute, but
they rebounded from his sides, as though he had thrown them at a rock.
The horse would not be driven away, and always galloped before them. On
seeing this extraordinary apparition, Maria said, “This is certainly
the Orco, and if he meets the herd he will surely disperse it, as
he has often done, and the cows will run in all directions over the
precipices and chasms.” They all three crossed themselves and repeated
a prayer.
At that moment they arrived at the cross-way, called Livine, where
stands a crucifix, and as the Orco approached near to it, he
disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared; he neither sank into
the earth, nor flew away through the air, but like a soap-bubble he
vanished in an instant.
All three stood and prayed a little time before the cross, where the
herd soon after gaily arrived, and the pious mother said joyfully to
her son, “Look, dear child, he who is with God is everywhere safe, and
no Orco or other evil spirit can harm him.”
* * * * *
From the village of St. Kassian a young fellow went one evening to a
distant farm to visit his sweetheart, and it was getting already dark.
The youth heard several times the Orco calling out from a distance, but
he paid no attention to it, and continued quietly his way. All at once
he saw a little empty cart, dragged by four cats, run across the road;
at this sight he was rather frightened, but still continued his way,
not being able to make out what it all meant, when, on a sudden, there
arrived a big black dog, with fiery lynx eyes, which grew bigger and
bigger the nearer he came. “That is the Orco,” thought the boy; so he
crossed himself, and ran home as fast as his legs could carry him.
The dog bounded constantly after him for about a distance of three
miles, and his fiery tongue hung for more than half a yard out of
his jaws. The saliva which dropped from his mouth was like blue
flaming fire, and burned like sulphur, filling the air around with
a suffocating smell. The boy reached home, unharmed by the dog; but
he had run so hard that his lungs became diseased, and he was always
suffering, till death released him a few months afterwards.
“The cats which dragged the cart over the road,” said the people who
recounted this legend, “were hags, of whom there were thousands about
at that time.”
* * * * *
One day two young men of Ornella, in the Buchenstein valley, started
on a brilliant night to pay a visit in a neighbouring village to their
loves. They had scarcely left home when they noticed that they were
followed by the gigantic Orco, in the form of a wild bull, who first
walked quietly behind them, and then, as they began to run, changed
himself into a huge ball, which rolled after them, bounding over high
rocks, and alighting again on the ground close to them, with so much
force and such a terrible noise that they were afraid of being crushed
to death.
In their anxiety, they took the way over the meadows to the village of
Valazzo, and jumping over the fence, which they had no time to open or
break down, fell into the yard, at the foot of a large crucifix, which
stands there, and embraced the cross, in a dying condition, with their
arms. The Orco appeared at the fence, though now in human form; but
the poor youths were so terrified that they dare no longer regard him,
and therefore were unable to describe his appearance. He beat with his
hands upon the fence-bars so furiously, that the marks of his blows
remained for years afterwards, as though they had been branded in by
red-hot irons, until the wood decayed and a new fencing had to be put
up; but the saving cross still stands upon the same spot.
* * * * *
A peasant boy of Enneberg, walking through the deep and vast forest
of Plaiswald, heard from afar the voices of men shouting, and took
them for woodcutters, so, according to the usage of the country, he
answered them, and shouted several times just in the same tones as the
voices he had heard. But then the horrible idea rushed into his mind
that it might have been the Orco, and, at the same instant, he heard
it quite close, for if one imitates the Orco, the monster arrives as
fast as lightning. The youth tried to run away, but he felt as though
petrified; all around him became darkness, and he fell senseless to the
ground.
On the following day, when he came to himself, he discovered that
he was in the forests of Wellschellen, on the highest peak of the
mountain, and it became clear to him that the Orco had carried him
there, although the forests of Wellschellen were on the other side of
terrifically deep chasms and precipices, into which the Orco would most
certainly have thrown him, had the peasant boy been a godless fellow.
He returned home, covered with bruises and scratches, for Orco had torn
him in such a terrible manner that to the end of his days he never
attempted again to imitate the voice of any one in the forests. The way
over which the Orco dragged the peasant is a good seven miles.
_BIENER’S WIFE._
In the ancient castle of Büchsenhausen, which stands just above
Innsbruck, still wanders about the apparition of one of its former
possessors. The legend does not say to whom the castle originally
belonged, but old chronicles relate that it passed, in the sixteenth
century, into the hands of the celebrated iron-founder, Gregor Löffler,
who gave it the name of “Büchsenhausen” (home of guns), because he had
established there a gunfoundry. Later on it fell into the power of
the reigning family of Austria, and the Archduchess Claudia presented
it to her favourite Chancellor, Wilhelm von Biener, a liberal-minded
nobleman, gifted with the doubtful talent of writing the most cutting
satires, whose venomous point he turned against the nobility and
church, and, for this reason, he brought upon himself the hatred of all
those against whose opinion he wrote; but the favour of the Archduchess
protected the talented statesman, who was most faithfully devoted to
her interests.
On the 2nd of August, 1648, the Archduchess died, and then the
enemies of Herr von Biener set to work so energetically that, after
a short time, they succeeded in turning him out of his position, and
imprisoned him on the 28th of August, 1650. A royal commission of
noblemen, consisting of Biener’s greatest enemies, hastened down to
Büchsenhausen, and claimed from his wife all his papers and documents,
amongst which they discovered satires, which were most useful to their
purpose. He was accused of high-treason, and, as his enemies were both
his accusers and judges, he was condemned to death. His wife visited
him while he was in prison, and he, who knew himself to be guiltless of
any crime, always consoled her with these words:--“There can be no God
in Heaven if they are allowed to murder an innocent man.”
On the 17th of July, 1651, Herr von Biener was executed in public.
The sword which was used on the occasion is still to be seen in the
castle of Büchsenhausen. His wife had sent a messenger to the Emperor
to pray for a reprieve, which he had granted; but one of Biener’s most
deadly enemies, President Schmaus, of the Austrian Court, stopped the
messenger, and of course the execution ensued.
A few days afterwards, the rascal who had stopped the merciful errand
of the Emperor was found dead through the judgment of God. Frau von
Biener went raving mad; through the whole house she tore from room to
room, crying, “There is no God; there is no God.” At last she climbed
up the peak behind the Martinswand, and threw herself over a precipice
into a deep chasm, out of which she was carried a corpse to Höttingen,
where she was buried on the left-hand side of the altar, under a plain
tombstone bearing no inscription, and with only a cross cut upon it.
Since her death she has appeared very often as a wandering ghost to a
great number of persons, and the inhabitants of the surrounding country
have given her the name of the “Bienerweibele” (Biener’s Wife). Clad
in long black robes, slowly and solemnly she walks along through all
the rooms in the castle, passes through firmly locked doors, stops with
a woeful look at the bedside of peacefully sleeping people, appears
to each proprietor and his wife before their death with wonderful
consolation, always foretelling the immediate approach of the “Dreaded
Spirit,” and never harms those who have never done her any injury.
But in the year 1720, it happened that a descendant of one who had
been instrumental in her husband’s death, who was sleeping in the
castle, was found dead in his bed on the following morning, with a most
fearfully contorted neck. The ghost appears in a black velvet mantle,
and bears on her head a little bonnet, called in the dialect of the
country, “Hierinnen,” embroidered with black lace, and on the back
of her head a beautiful little golden crown, which is fastened on her
hair by the means of a silver pin. People say that in former times the
apparition was quite black, but at present it is more grey, and every
day she is becoming more light, until at last her unhappy spirit will
be redeemed.
_THE LENGMOOS WITCHES._
A rich peasant of Lengstein had a son who had travelled a great deal,
and, on returning home, he laughed at the repeating of the rosary,
which all the good peasants are in the habit of saying every evening.
His mother was very anxious about the profane ideas and behaviour of
her son, for he mocked just as much at every other usage of the holy
church, which he was pleased to designate as “jokes of the priests.”
One day several of his companions were sitting with him at the inn
called “Zu dem Ritter,” and there some one of them recounted that on
every Thursday night hags had been seen dancing, and carrying on
their diabolical practices on the Birchboden, which was close by; they
were seen arriving on the mountain from all parts, riding on black
bricks, and holding there their unholy Sabbath. On hearing this, the
rich peasant’s son laughed loudly, and said, “Wait, there I will dance
with them;” for it was just Thursday evening. His friends advised him
not to do so, but, in spite of their warnings, he set off, and they
accompanied him up to the Mittelberg, where stands the Kebelschmiede,
and where the wild stream of the Finsterbach rushes through a fearful
gully. From thence, the young fellow ran singing gaily through the
forest to where there is an open spot, called the Birchboden, and where
numberless pyramids of porphyry rise to the height of twenty and thirty
feet above the ground.
There he saw the frantic witches dancing and jumping together, and
performing all sorts of tricks. This pleased the mad young man, and
he ran to take part in their unholy dance; but when the huge clock of
the magnificent monastery of Lengmoos struck _one_, the Finsterbach
foamed wildly up, and the pyramids of porphyry tottered to their very
base. This the friends of the peasant, who were waiting for him, saw
perfectly well, and a wild storm of wind and hail came suddenly on, so
that they were obliged to take refuge in the hut of the Kebelschmid
(Kebelsmith). There they waited until the morning Angelus had rung,
at which moment they knew that the hags’ power would come to an end,
and then they went to the witches’ ground. But how terrified were they
when they found their wicked comrade transformed into a stone, and
fixed firmly into the earth, so that only three-quarters of him could
be seen. His stone form still remains on this dreadful spot, and no
green--not even an atom of moss--will grow over the head, body, hands,
or feet of the “Witch-dancer.”
After nightfall no one dares to approach the scene of this terrible
retribution, where stands so fearful a warning to all mockers and
despisers of religion.
_BINDER-HANSL._
In the hamlet of Wälsch’nofen, about ten miles from the village of
Völs, lived a certain Binder-Hansl. He was a broom-binder, and, as his
name was Hans (or John), they called him the “Binder-Hansl.”
He died in the year 1824, and was regretted all over the country, for
he was a noted peasant doctor, or “Wonder Doctor,” as they called him.
Besides curing all sorts of maladies of man and beast, he had a charm
against sorcery and witchcraft, and where any suspicious circumstance
took place in house or stable, Hans was called, and never failed to
help.
One day, in the time of war, the Binder-Hansl went to the village of
Botzen, and on the route, near the lane called Kuntersweg, he met the
smith of the village of Kartaun, who had been forced by the French
troops to carry their big drum, which was very heavy, and when the
smith complained very bitterly about it to his friend, Hans said
laughingly, “I should send the drum to the devil, and then I should
be rid of it.” At this the French punished him for his boldness, by
forcing him to march with them, carrying at his turn the drum on his
back. So he was obliged to carry it up to the Feigenbrücke, near
Blumenau; but when he had arrived there, he set the drum on the ground,
and said, “By this way I have come, and by this way I will return;”
while a Frenchman, who spoke German perfectly well, said, “Churl, take
up the drum, or--” and he lunged at him with his naked sword. But the
Binder-Hansl laughed at him, and replied, “We shall see;” and at the
same moment he stretched out his hand over the Frenchmen, and they
became all as motionless as stones.
There he left them standing and went laughing from the Feigenbrücke,
over the steep mountain lane, which is called the “Katzenleiter”
(Cat’s Ladder). After he had climbed to the summit of the mountain, he
shouted, “Be off, fools, now you have seen my power,” and making again
a sign with his hand, they all came to life, and taking up their drum
they ran off, as only Frenchmen can.
_THE GOLD-WORM OF THE ALPBACH VALLEY._