thunderstorm broke over Mieders, during which the mountains were
splintered with the lightning, and huge masses of rock fell down from
every direction into the valley.
On the following morning some peasants passing by the hut of Töglas
Moid, looked in to discover if the witch was there; but she was
nowhere to be seen. But close by the Witches’ Walk the most fearful
screams were heard, which so terrified both man and beast that one
of the herdsmen ran down to the village for help; for the cows were
panic-stricken and beyond their control. When the terrified herdsmen
arrived with a crowd of villagers upon the witches’ ground, they found
her cut into pieces, which they collected and burnt upon a pile of
brushwood; and during this operation such fearful noises were heard in
the valley and on the surrounding mountains that every one was seized
with fear and trembling.
The parish of Mieders erected in gratitude for the riddance of this
witch a large stone cross upon the Witches’ Walk, to which every year,
on the 24th of June, a great procession takes place. This spot is
called the “Kreuzjoch,” or cross yoke, and from it a beautiful view is
obtained of the valley villages of Telfes and Stubay, and of several
magnificent glaciers.
_THE TREASURES._
Treasure! This ideal of earthly happiness constantly occupies the mind
of the greatest part of the inhabitants of the Tyrol; and many are the
men who, once wealthy and rich, now live on the alms of other people,
on account of their passion for treasure-seeking. Over this hopeless
infatuation they neglected their domestic occupation, and all at once,
almost without knowing it, stood on the verge of beggary, at which they
were just as much surprised as at having been unable to discover the
envied object of their search.
There are treasures in all parts of the country, on the mountains, in
the valleys, under rocks and trees, in the lakes, in the cellars, even
beneath the hearths, and behind the walls. The ruins of once powerful
strongholds generally conceal treasure in different forms, and there
is not one ruin in the whole Tyrol that possesses not its treasure
tradition.
Those treasures blossom from time to time, especially on the eve of
St. John the Baptist’s Day. Near Axams, in the middle mountains, above
Innsbruck, on the spot called Zum Knappenloch, a treasure blossoms even
in the broad daylight.
The blooming light of these treasures is described to be blue, like the
flame of spirits of wine, or green, like the light of glow-worms, and
also yellowish-green, like that of phosphorus.
The preceding legends already contain several examples of these
treasure-blossoms, and it would be impossible to relate them all, for
their number would fill a volume. But not very long ago a fact took
place on the post-route from Imst to Landeck, close by the hamlet of
Starkenbach, after which it would be utterly impossible to make the
inhabitants of the surrounding country believe that the treasures do
not blossom.
On this spot several people had noticed, at different times, a green
light, which lasted from two to five minutes; but when they approached,
it dissolved into mist and disappeared.
Some men of Starkenbach happened to be at work on the very same spot,
on the 10th of October, 1854, under the supervision of the road-maker,
Tschoder, when one of the men, whose name is Rundl, pulled up a piece
of turf, and how joyfully surprised was he when some two hundred silver
coins lay at his feet, most of them well-preserved Roman coins of
the times of the Emperors, and bearing the inscriptions of Antonius
Pius, Septimus Severus, Marcus Aurelius, Geta, Caracalla, Maximinus
Augustus; others referred to the Empresses, and bore the inscriptions
of Faustina Augusta, Julia Augusta. The inscriptions on the reverse of
the coins are almost every one of them different, and relate to notable
events of the Roman dynasty in the country, thus, Marti Victori,
Fortunæ Reduci, Felicitas, Providentia, Venus Genetrix, and many of
them relate to Juno. The coins are all of the same size, and five of
them go to an ounce.
“Such treasures,” declare the simple-minded Tyrolians, “are lying in
thousands all over the country, if it were only possible to lay hands
upon them, as on those Roman coins.”
_WOLKENSTEIN._
In the Grödener-Thal lie dispersed in every direction about 135 farms,
which form the parish of Wolkenstein, also called Santa Maria, and
above its pretty little chapel, on the top of the peak of Sabbiakopf,
rise the ruins of the once famous stronghold of Wolkenstein, which is
said to have been built in the time of the Romans by a pagan general,
who through his wild and cruel behaviour became the scourge of the
inhabitants of all the surrounding valleys.
One day a poor pilgrim went to the castle, asking for charity, but
the general ill-treated him so cruelly that he died, and in his last
agony the pilgrim cursed the castle, and invoked upon it immediate
destruction. Directly afterwards a huge mass of rock fell and buried
it, together with its tyrannical lord, who was not less dreaded than
the fearful Orco, whose abode lay in this country.
Some centuries later on, a wandering knight arrived in the
neighbourhood, seeking treasures in the ruins of the castle; and it is
generally believed that his search was successful, because before then
he was very poor, and now he began to build a magnificent castle upon
the old ruins, and called it also Wolkenstein. Every future proprietor
took the name of the castle, together with the title of Count, and up
to the present day the family are a wealthy, powerful, and extended
race. One of their ancestors was the celebrated Minnesinger, Oswald
von Wolkenstein, who lived in the days of “Frederick with the empty
pocket.”
Later on the castle was struck by lightning, and one of the Counts
built a new castle in the valley below, and gave it the name of
Fischburg; and the old castle of Wolkenstein has since tumbled into
decay, but its magnificent and imposing ruins are still to be seen.
_THE GHOSTS OF THE CASTLE OF VÖLLENBERG._
Above the village of Götzens, on the route to Arams, are to be seen the
ruins of two towers, once belonging to a castle of vast importance,
and which are called Völlenberg and Liebenberg. Two noble races used
formerly to reside in this castle, which has quite disappeared, with
the exception of the towers above named; it is from these families that
the towers derived their names. The celebrated Minnesinger Oswald von
Wolkenstein, of whom we have already spoken in the preceding legend,
was for a long time prisoner at Völlenberg.
The legend goes that the spirits of the former inhabitants are still
wandering about in those two towers; at certain times at midnight the
ruins become alive, and lords and ladies, in long sweeping dresses,
followed by liveried servants of the olden style, pass up and down the
ruinous stone staircases. Their heads are empty skulls, and they sit
down in the great castle hall, where they try in vain to drink out of
large goblets; being, however, unable to taste the beautiful wine with
which they are brimming over, they dash the goblets against the walls
and smash them into fragments.
So it happens also with their unholy feast, which is laid out most
temptingly before them on the tables; for as one of them approaches the
dish upon which he has set his mind, it falls to the ground as dust and
ashes. Then the wretched spirits endeavour to enjoy themselves with
singing and dancing; but their bones rattle so terribly, and their
companions are so frozen and stiff, that their song becomes a Miserere.
This is their punishment for all their former intemperance and
evil-doings, and this terrible scene is only brought to a close by the
ringing of the morning Angelus.
_THE FRÄULEIN VON MARETSCH._
At midnight there is often to be seen in the old castle of Maretsch
the spirit of a young lady, who wanders about, crying and wringing
her hands, as though in the most terrible grief. Her long soft hair
is blown wildly about by the wind, her beautiful face is deadly pale,
and her eyes are fixed and staring. This is Fräulein von Maretsch, the
only daughter of the Baron von Maretsch, and once noted as the most
beautiful girl of the whole country.
Although scarcely sixteen years of age, she was passionately enamoured
of the young and brave Baron von Treuenstein, who under Frederick
the Red Beard, together with all the Tyrolian nobility, took part in
his crusade, for the purpose of gaining the glory of knighthood in
fighting against the infidels, which, according to the promise of the
old Baron von Maretsch, should entitle him to his beautiful daughter
for a wife.
Two years had already gone by since the hopeful young warrior had left
the country, after having received the blessing of the old Baron, when
one day a pilgrim from Palestine craved admission to the castle, and
recounted the bloody battles of the Crusaders against the Saracens. In
the course of his narrative he came to speak of the young Baron von
Treuenstein, and said that he had conquered large districts, and at
last had married the daughter of a rich Pacha, and thus made himself
happy for ever.
On hearing this, Kunigunde turned deadly pale, and sank swooning to the
ground; her attendants carried her senseless to her room, for the news
of this dreadful infidelity had broken her heart.
Directly the young lady had left the room, the pilgrim sprang joyfully
up, pressed the old Baron to his heart, threw away his pilgrim’s garb,
and in bright armour appeared before him as the Baron von Treuenstein,
who had masked himself in this manner to prove the fidelity of his
bride. “Let us now quickly go to my dear Kunigunde,” said he to the
father, “to dispel the grief and pain which I have caused her;” and
with high beating hearts they crossed the corridor which led into the
young lady’s room.
But the room was empty, and the window open; and as they looked down
into the ditch which surrounded the castle, they saw the unfortunate
girl lying smashed and blood-covered in the depth below. The untimely
grief had caused her to lose her senses, and in this condition she
sprang into the arms of death.
At that sight the young Baron became speechless. He rushed away to the
battle-field, and nobody ever heard of him again, while the poor old
father died soon afterwards of grief; and since that time the spirit
of the unhappy girl is condemned to wander about in the ruins of the
ancient castle of Maretsch.
THE END.
PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO.,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
This text has been preserved as in the original, including archaic and
inconsistent spelling, punctuation and grammar, except as noted below.
Obvious printer’s errors have been silently corrected.
Text in italics in the original work is represented herein as _text_.
Small capitals in the original work are represented herein as all
capitals.
Footnotes have been renumbered and then moved to directly below the
paragraphs to which they belong.
Page 29: There were several characters not printed at “answered the
poor spirit [of th]e priest” and are shown here within the brackets.
End of Project Gutenberg's Tales and Legends of the Tyrol, by A. von Günther