the river Lech, one arrives at the Boden-Alp, which, together with
the mountain called Almajur, belongs to the village of Stanz. Upon the
Almplace of the Boden used to stand in days gone by a beautiful village
which had become, through the neighbouring silver mines belonging to
it, immensely rich. The inhabitants in course of time grew so luxurious
that they did not know what to do with their wealth, and it came into
their heads to fill their houses with all sorts of utensils of gold and
silver. They even kept their windows shut during the day, for the light
of God’s beautiful sun was not good enough for them, and preferred in
their iniquity to burn candles in massive silver candlesticks. The
patience of Heaven regarded this crime for very long, hoping, perhaps,
that the folly would outwork itself; but as it only increased the more,
the Lord proceeded with his just punishment. The whole village with
its church and people sank beneath the earth, and the once flourishing
valley became a desolate wilderness.
About forty years ago a herdboy of Boden went about in the underwood
seeking for a lost calf, when all of a sudden he ran up against a large
iron cross which was standing out from the ground. This was the cross
on the tower of the sunken church. He tried to drag it up and cleared
away the surrounding bushes; there he discovered the coping stones of
the tower, on which the cross was so firmly planted that he could not
move it; and when he returned on the following day with several other
people to dig it out, it was no longer to be seen.
Not many years ago a peasant of Hegerau in the Lech-Thal, whose name
was Klotz, passed by that mountain and entered into a sort of tunnel
through the rock, where, on account of the bad weather, he took
shelter. He lighted a torch to discover the depth of the tunnel, and
in walking on he suddenly found himself in the sunken church. The high
altar was gorgeously lighted, and the candles stood in large silver
lustres. The peasant walked about in the church, and found a man
sleeping on one of the benches, who as he awoke him inquired the time,
and when the peasant told him, he sighed and said, “Ah! it is still far
from the time.”
What he meant by these words remains still an enigma, but the peasant
seized one of the silver lustres from the altar and ran off in terror.
He arrived home late at night carrying the lustre, and would have
believed all as a dreadful dream, had he not the lustre with him as
witness. He went to rest, and on the following morning he was dead. His
wife ordered the lustre to be carried back to its place, but it was
impossible to find again the entrance of the underground church.
_THE GOLD-MEASURERS OF LOFER._
In Lofer, a hamlet on the Tyrolian frontier towards Salzburg, lived a
rich peasant who on his death left behind him three daughters, of whom
the youngest was totally blind. The mother was long since dead, and so,
after the demise of their father, the three orphans set about dividing
the money and property which he had left to them. They found so large
a treasure in the old man’s coffers that they were obliged to divide
it by means of a sieve, by which the two eldest girls shamefully took
advantage of the infirmity of their poor sister to cheat her of her
share. Each time the blind sister’s turn came round they reversed the
sieve and covered only the bottom with money, so that the poor deluded
girl in placing her hand upon it should be convinced that she received
her right share.
In this way, of course, she never got even a hundredth part of what was
her due, and after the division was finished the avaricious sisters
hid their unjustly gained wealth in a secret hole in a rock on the
mountain. But the All-seeing Eye of Heaven remains ever open, and on
the death of the two sisters they were condemned to lie in the form
of black ferocious dogs in the cavern and to guard their hidden and
ill-gotten treasure. There they are chained until their unholy wealth
is exhausted by those who succeed in approaching it and take of it only
so much as they really want; for all who attempt to carry off more
are immediately seized upon by the infuriated guardians and torn into
atoms. But as there are few in the world who are contented with real
necessities, the treacherous sisters will doubtless be compelled to sit
over their unjustly-gained wealth for many ages to come.
_THE ANTHOLZER-SEE._
Where now lies the beautiful lake in the Puster-Thal with its rippling
green waters, three magnificent farms used to stand surrounded by
expanses of rich and fertile ground.
One year, when the Kermesse was being celebrated, on which day every
one indulges in something more than usual, an old beggar man arrived
in each of the farms and asked for charity, begging even for any dry
morsels that remained from their meal. But the peasants were one and
all selfish and avaricious, and so they kicked the poor mendicant from
the door. The beggar then said in anger to each of them: “Take care!
in three days a spring shall rise behind your farm, and then your eyes
will open; so look to what will happen!”
The peasants, however, cared little for the beggar’s threat, and
laughed at him; but on the third day a spring arose behind each
farm, and their united waters increased to such an extent that they
soon formed a lake which devoured in its depth the farms and their
inhabitants.
This is the Antholzer-See, also called Spitaler Hochsee, which now
stands surrounded by dark forests of gigantic pines.
_THE MAILED GHOST OF BRIXEN CASTLE._
At Brixen still stands the magnificent ancestral castle of the Lords
von Lachmüller--one of the most ancient families of the Tyrolian
nobility. In the old picture gallery of this deserted mansion, the
ghost of one of the knights whose portraits still hang there, wanders
about.
During the time of the French invasion in 1797, a French officer was
quartered in the castle with several soldiers. On account of the
numerous family of the proprietor, there were but a few small chambers
vacant in the building, and as the officer was not contented with
the room which had been allotted to him, he roughly demanded one
larger and with finer site. But there was only the picture gallery
left, in which the officer took up his abode, laughing and sneering
at the warnings given him by the host that the corridor was said to
be haunted. The strong-headed fellow took every precaution to guard
himself against either natural or supernatural apparition, and after he
had ordered a strong trooper to lie down close beside him, he went to
sleep devoid of any fear.
But, as he awoke at midnight, he saw a knight in full attire standing
before him, who regarded him most ferociously. The officer shouted
at him, but, as he stood his ground and paid no heed, he transfixed
the form with his long sharp sword, which lay unsheathed beside him.
At this instant, the apparition stretched out his arms, seized the
officer, and hugged him so closely and long, that he lost his breath.
The trooper awoke late in the morning, and, on finding his master
dying, he summoned all the inhabitants of the castle, to whom the
officer, who came to himself again, recounted in a feeble voice what
had happened to him, and pointed out one of the ancestral portraits as
the being who had appeared before his bed and hugged him so fearfully.
Two hours afterwards he died.
_THE TREASURE OF THE SIGMUNDSBURG._
At the foot of the Fern Alp, about two miles from Nassereit, lies a
small deep green Alpine See, and on a rock, which overhangs it, stands
the old castle of Sigmundsburg. Beneath the walls of the castle are
deep vaults, hewn in the solid rock, in which is buried an incalculable
treasure, whose guardian has the form of a big hairy black dog.
Sometimes, too, the dog appears like a luminous mass, without, however,
burning; in his mouth he holds a key, which opens the door of the
treasure-room, but the conditions on which the treasure can be got at
are unknown to any one. Besides, the cellar is so well guarded that it
is very difficult to approach it; and people say that most probably the
Sigmundsburg must fall into ruins before the cellar can be entered,
and then only the treasure-guardian may have the chance of finding
the redemptor, for whom he is already so long waiting; but before that
moment arrives, two centuries will perhaps still have to elapse.
_THE FRATRICIDE UPON THE HOCHALP._
The “Hochalp” (or High Alp), near Scharnitz, was some two centuries
ago covered up to the top with the finest grass and woods, and the now
cleared Fitzwald was the most beautiful forest in the whole Tyrol. It
reached up to the very summit of the mountain, which was covered with
such enormous trees, that three men could not encompass one of them
with their arms; in one word, the Hochalp was a “Cow-Heaven,” as it was
generally called by the peasants. Where now the sheep climb about, at
that time there were but cows pastured, and the cattle thrived there
better than anywhere else.
The Alp belonged to a rich peasant of Leutasch, named Simele, who had
two sons, who, after his death, commenced a serious quarrel about which
of them was to have the Alp. The younger brother was a good man, but
the other was a real wretch; and, as they could not agree, they drew
lots for the Alp, which fell to Johann, the younger of the two.
After this he married a good village girl, whom his brother Matz had
set his eyes upon, and from whom he had received a refusal. Johann
lived happily with his wife, while his brother boiled over with bitter
spite, and month after month his determination of seeking revenge
increased. He commenced a law suit, finding false witnesses, and swore
a false oath, so that the Court declared the drawing invalid, and
awarded the Alp to Matz.
Whilst all this was going on, Johann was busy on the Alp, and so heard
nothing of the judgment; and as his brother entered fiercely into the
hut, and tried to pitch him out of it, he defended himself until his
herdsmen arrived, who chased him away, after having beaten him soundly.
At this reception Matz foamed with rage; so, running home, he seized
his gun, crept in the following night back to the hut in which his
brother was sleeping, and shot him dead in his bed.
But Johann’s soul was scarcely out of his body, when God’s wrath
appeared and fearfully punished the perjurer and fratricide. A terrible
storm came on with lightning, thunder, snow, hail, and wild pouring
rains, so that everything was overthrown and inundated. After that an
earthquake convulsed the ground, and on both sides the mountains fell
into the valley, covering the Alm huts and meadows more than sixty feet
deep with _débris_. The murderer was swallowed among the falling rocks,
and is condemned to suffer dreadfully beneath them. He is still heard
very often shrieking in agony, and all the pilgrimages which his family
have made for his redemption have been in vain.
As nobody could do anything with the valley covered with rocks and
stones, the decried spot fell into the hands of the monastery of
Werdenfels, and wherever it was possible, the monks have restored
cultivation, so that new forests and meadows have in course of time
sprung up upon the ruins of the once famous Alp.
A beautiful little chapel has been erected there, in which several
times during the course of the year service is performed; but the
spirit of the murderer still wanders around and groans so dreadfully
during the night, that every one is terrified. There he must remain
until the last day, and what will happen to him then God alone knows.
_THE TWO HAYSTACKS._
One of the most beautiful and noted Alps in the Tyrol is the
Seisser-Alp, in the Eisack valley, not far from which stands the
Schlern, 8100 feet high, with its two pyramids of dolomite rock. About
four miles from the Schlern, and joining the wonderful Rosen Garten of
King Laurin, are the Rothe Wand and the Rothe Wies, out of which rise
two enormous peaks.
Upon the Schlern pilgrims resort to the Holy Cassian, and on the day of
this Saint, the fifth of August, there takes place every year a great
_fête_ in the chapel, which stands on the spot. From the parish of
Völs, which lies about nine miles lower down, the inhabitants wend on
that day up the mountain to the chapel, and all the mountaineers from
the Seisser-Alp assemble there in their Sunday’s best to _fête_ the
Saint.
One day it came into the mind of a farmer to make hay on St. Cassian’s
day. His servant reluctantly obeyed his commands, and his neighbours
kind-heartedly warned him that it was a crime to make hay on the day
of the Saint who was so universally revered. But the farmer laughed
mockingly, and said, “Be it Cassian’s day or not, the hay must up upon
the stacks;”[6] and so he worked on the faster with his servants. At
last all the hay, after having been raked together, was pitched up in
two large heaps, which are called there, “Schober,” and as the last
forkful was thrown upon the top, the two “Heuschober” (haystacks) were
turned into stone, and in this shape they still stand on the same
spot as an everlasting warning. Since that time no one has ever again
thought of working on St. Cassian’s day.
[6] “Cassiantag hin, Cassiantag her,
’S Heu muss in die Schober!”
_THE SUNKEN FORESTS._
Near the village of Kitzbühel used to stand a magnificent forest, about
which two peasants had a law-suit of several years’ duration, which
finished with the judge being corrupted by one of the two peasants, to
whom he awarded the Alp, and sent the defendant off, without the least
hope of ever regaining his right.
The losing party, who through this iniquitous proceeding had become
a poor man, could not rest, and constantly bewailed his misfortune,
saying that he had been cheated and unjustly condemned. But the other,
hearing the constant complaining of the poor injured man, one day
called out, “Well, then, by all the devils, keep on crying. If I have
unlawfully gained the forest, may it sink three thousand feet beneath
the ground.” These words had scarcely gone out of his mouth, when an
earthquake took place, together with a fearful thunderstorm, and the
majestic forest sank beneath his feet, and black waves directly rolled
over it. Though enormously deep as the See is, during certain weather
the forms of trees can be distinctly seen far down below.
The same is the case with the Lanser-See, upon whose bottom trees are
also to be seen growing. Where now this See stands, there used to be a
magnificent forest of pines, about which, too, a dispute took place,
though not between two peasants, but between a peasant and a nobleman,
and the trial was conducted in such a manner that the nobleman gained
the forest away from the poor man, to whom it really belonged; for,
according to the old Tyrolian saying, “Noblemen do not bite each
other.”[7] But the poor peasant, in his anger, cursed the forest, root
and branch, and it sank into the depths of the earth. Next morning it
was no longer to be seen, but a deep See stood in its place, which,
after the village of Lans, not far from the renowned castle of Ambras,
has taken the name of Lanser-See.
[7] “Die Edelleute beissen einander nicht.”
_TANNEN-EH’._
High up in the Tyrolian Alps formerly stood a fine city, called
Tannen-Eh’, whose inhabitants for ages past had led honest and
God-fearing lives. There used to be a Paradise of peace and happiness;
no one ever thought of hunting or killing any game; domestic animals,
and Alpine plants and fruits being sufficient for the wants of the
good-hearted simple people. There were never quarrels or disputes about
“mine or thine,” the rich man willingly helped his poorer neighbour,
and there was no extremity of wealth or poverty at Tannen-Eh’.
But in course of time all was altered. With increasing wealth the lust
of gain approached, which brought vanity and luxury in its train. They
said, like the people of Babel, “Let us build a tower whose top shall
reach the skies, so as to gain ourselves a name, and in the tower there
shall be a bell, whose sound can be heard by all those who live on
mountain or valley; and at every christening, wedding, and burial, the
bell shall sound, but only for us, the rich, and for the poor it shall
not sound, because for them it is of no use.”
And this wicked plan was executed. The complaints of the oppressed rose
through the skies to Heaven, and in the autumn a great famine fell upon
the city. The poor suffered dreadfully, whilst the rich locked up their
treasures and store-rooms, and only gave the poor people, who came to
beg for bread, insolent words, telling them that, after all, they were
but a miserable lot, and the best thing they could do was to die in
God’s name, and go straight to Heaven. In this fearful dearth numbers
died of absolute starvation.
Towards the end of the autumn, snow began to fall, and rose higher
and higher, up to the windows up to the roofs, and then far above the
roofs. In this extremity the rich people of Tannen-Eh’ began to toll
their bell for help, but its sound could scarcely penetrate through the
thick walls of snow, and no help arrived, for down in the surrounding
valley poor people alone were living, who had been cruelly treated and
oppressed by the rich citizens above. So the snow fell thicker and
thicker, just as long as it rained in the days of the Flood.
After this, Tannen-Eh’ with its inhabitants had disappeared, but the
tower of the church, together with the city, is still to be seen from
an enormous distance, though deeply covered with everlasting ice.
The tower reaches like a silver needle to Heaven, from whence the
Divine punishment had fallen. This ice-covered needle-rock is the
Oetzthal-Ferner, and the city itself is now the “Oetzthal-Gletscher”
(Oetzthal Glacier).
Even up to the present day the following song, illustrative of the fate
of the city, is sung in the Tyrol:--
“In the city of Tannen-Eh’,
Oh woe! Oh woe!
Fell a snow,
Which never thaws again.”[8]
[8] “In der Stadt Tannen-Eh’,
Au weh! Au weh!
Fallt a Schnee,
_THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE._
Almost every country possesses some legend of a “Devil’s Bridge,” and
how the Evil One has been ultimately cheated by his own handiwork, and
the Tyrol, which is alive with legends and superstitions, is not behind
any other in this respect.
In the valley of Montafon, the bridge of the village broke down, or
rather the swollen torrent carried it away; and as the parish was
anxious to restore it as soon as possible, the villagers of course
being unable to pass to and from Schruns, on the other side of
the river, for all their daily wants, they applied to the village
carpenter, and offered him a large sum of money if he would rebuild
the bridge in three days’ time. This puzzled the poor fellow beyond
description; he had a large family and now his fortune would be made at
once; but he saw the impossibility of finishing the work in so short a
time, and therefore he begged one day for reflection.
Then he set to work to study all day, up to midnight, to find out how
he could manage to do the work within the specified time; and as he
could find out nothing, he thumped the table with his fist, and called
out, “To the devil with it! I can find out nothing.” In his anger and
annoyance he was on the point of going to bed, when all at once a
little man wearing a green hat entered the room, and asked, “Carpenter,
wherefore so sad?” and then the carpenter told him all his troubles.
The little fellow replied, “It is very easy to help you. I will build
your bridge, and in three days it shall be finished, but only on the
condition that the first soul out of your house who passes over the
bridge shall be mine.” On hearing this, the carpenter, who then knew
with whom he had to do, shuddered with horror, though the large sum of
money enticed him, and he thought to himself, “After all, I will cheat
the devil,” and so he agreed to the contract.
Three days afterwards the bridge was complete, and the devil stood
in the middle, awaiting his prey. After having remained there for
many days, the carpenter at last appeared himself, and at that sight
the devil jumped with joy; but the carpenter was driving one of his
goats, and as he approached the bridge, he pushed her on before him,
and called out, “There you have the first soul out of my house,”
and the devil seized upon the goat. But, oh, grief and shame! first
disappointed, and then enraged, he dragged the poor goat so hard by her
tail that it came out, and then off he flew, laughed at and mocked by
all who saw him.
Since that time it is that goats have such short tails.
_LAGO SANTO._
Among the high peaks which overhang the Cembra valley, lies a solitary
mountain lake whose little outlet falls into the foaming Nevisbach. A
small hut at the pointed end of the lake, and a deserted mine which
stands close by, surrounded by large heaps of _débris_, give evidence
to the former activity of the spot.
This dark lake is called “Lago Santo” (or Holy Lake).
Where it now stands there used to be a flourishing village, whose
inhabitants found in the neighbouring mines plenty of work and wealth;
they were a happy and contented race. A few miles off lay King
Laurin’s crystal palace, and through the constant communication with
this good-hearted mountain King, they became clever and fortunate in
all their undertakings. But, as time went on, they grew haughty and
independent; foreign miners brought false doctrines into the parish,
and as the priest was either too weak or negligent to oppose their
wicked practices, in a few years the people became entirely corrupted.
About that time a poor man arrived in the village begging for alms, but
all Christian charity had disappeared, and he was turned off from every
door, even from that of the wealthy priest. At the end of the village
there lived a poor widow woman with a numerous family, who alone gave
a piece of bread to the mendicant, who told her in gratitude, “Tonight
you will hear a fearful noise in the village; however, you need not be
frightened, but pray, and for your life do not look out of the window.”
After saying these words, the beggar disappeared, and when the family
had retired to rest, they were awakened at midnight by a terrible
storm. The thunder was terrific, and the lightning streamed over
the village, setting every building on fire; then the rain fell in
torrents, as though the flood-gates of Heaven were opened. The poor
widow was dreadfully terrified, and forgetting the command of the
beggar, she looked out of the window, but at the same moment she
received from an invisible hand such a blow in the face, that she fell
senseless to the ground.
As on the following morning she came again to herself, the terrors of
the night had disappeared, and the sun shone brilliantly down from
Heaven. The widow opened the door of her little hut, and, to her great
astonishment, found the whole country changed; the village had sunk
beneath the earth, and a dark See was spread over the spot where it
used to be; her little hut alone stood unhurt on the borders of the
new-formed lake.
Sometimes it is possible to see to the bottom of the lake, where the
avaricious priest paces slowly up and down, reading a book; he has
neglected the souls which had been entrusted to his care, and therefore
he has now to suffer penance.
_THE ALBER._
The Floitenthal, near the Ziller valley, is surrounded by such
terrific mountains, chasms, and rocks, as are nowhere else to be seen;
the mountains of Floitenthurm and Teufelseck especially attract the
attention of the traveller. The latter mountain is called “Teufelseck”
(devil’s corner), because it is said that at certain times the devil is
seen descending from it, in the form of a huge fiery dragon. He then
flies through the Bleiarzkar, a narrow hole in the rock, which leads
through the Stilluppe into the Zillerthal. This hell-dragon is called
the Alber, and whenever he appears, plague, famine, and war are the
sure consequences.