I always say that the world is becoming too small. There is no room
left for hermits.
I frequently receive enquiries, from correspondents abroad, for cool
summer resorts,--for nature resorts. Would I please--so runs the
request--suggest a corner in the Alps where they will find clean rooms
and good food in a farm-house kept by simple, kindly people. Added
conditions: no railway, no telegraph, no post, no newspapers. A place
where they can feel safe from meeting English people or people from
Berlin and--forgive the imputation--Vienna. They want to have nothing
but woods and fields around them, and, oblivious of all town luxuries
and refinements, at least for a few weeks to bathe body and soul in the
dew of a primitive life. This is the wish which--O curious sign of the
times!--grows ever louder and louder. Is the return to nature, yearned
for by the poets, at last beginning in earnest?
If only the company-promoters do not seize upon this need and found a
colony for hermits! It is not so easy to recover nature once wantonly
deserted. Our alps contain no valley, however secluded, into which
artificial wines and brandy and American meat-extracts and cigars have
not by this time made their way, in which the fences are bare of
railway timetables and mineral-water posters and upon which some _News
of the Day_ or other does not force its huge weekly doses of "culture"
and information.
This is the case by now even in those districts whose "unfavourable"
situation has hitherto for the most part spared them the two well-known
"blessings" of civilisation. The floodgates are opened; and even those
parts cannot be spared the deluge....
My forgotten land! He who would still bathe for a little in "the dew of
a primitive life" may do so! I hasten to draw a fleeting picture of the
land and its people before the floods of the world come and inundate
it.
The region is locally and colloquially known as Sanct-Jakobs-Land, or
"the Jackelland." It lies in Styria, between the Mürzthal and the
Wechsel mountain-chain. Its river is the clear-running Feistritz, rich
in trout, with its countless tributaries. When one crosses the top of
the watershed over the Wechsel, or the Pfaffen, or from the Mürzthal,
everything at once wears a different look. The mountains are lower, the
forests more scattered, because they are broken up on every hand by
cornfields. The farms lie isolated in the fields, on the skirts of the
forests, often very high in the mountains. In the valley are the bright
green pastures, with running brooks and corn-mills. The air is calm and
peaceful, disturbed by the whistle of no locomotive, the chimney of no
factory. The old farm-houses are humbly built; and the kitchen,
living-room, hen-house and so on often form but one general room. This
makes the new sort of houses, which are springing up on every side,
look all the grander, with their sundry apartments and numerous
windows,--from which many a pretty, fair-haired face peeps out at us,
for it is an event when a stranger comes that way.
The farm premises are, for the most part, extensive, built of wood,
straw-thatched and enclosed within a plank fence. Every farm has its
open-air crucifix, often artistically carved, sometimes, I admit,
adorned with a figure of Christ which faith alone can save from
ridicule. On the spreading mountain-heights lie wide forests, such as
Teufelstein, Fischbacherwald, Vorauerwald, Feistritzwald, Rabenwald.
There are no work-houses, except the few on the Wechsel. For the rest,
the region is well-populated and rich in compact villages and beautiful
churches. The mountain-village of St. Jakob im Walde, which gives the
Jakobsland its name, lies on a spur of the Wechsel, some four thousand
feet above the level of the sea.
The inhabitants do not call themselves Jacklers: they are only
so-called by the people in the districts round about; for the name does
not stand for anything very fine, though it has grown old in honour.
They simply call themselves after their parishes: the Rattners, the St.
Jakobers, the Miesenbachers and so on. Almost every village has its own
peculiarity. The Kathreiner goes in for finery, the Rattner for
disputes and litigation; the Wenigzeller is a great man for backbiting
and quarrelling; the Fischbacher is a notorious brawler.
The people are powerfully built and have tall and slender figures; they
are mostly fair-haired. The men wear clothes of dark stuff, in the
summer, and, in winter, the so-called _Wilfling_, a mixture of thread
and sheep's wool; on workdays they tie on long blue aprons, a practice
which prevails even among the schoolboys. The women favour a bunchy
style of dress; and when one of them wants to look particularly smart
(and this applies to many), she puts on three, or five, or more
petticoats, one over the other. Many villages are already infected with
the fashion of dress introduced from the Mürzthal.
A peculiarity of the Jackler is his love for flax, which he cultivates
in great quantities; and the hackling, in autumn, gives rise to regular
popular festivals. _During the winter, both men and women occupy
themselves in spinning, and do so until late at night, passing the
time as they work in telling stories, asking and guessing conundrums,
and singing._ Only there is no spinning after supper on Thursdays: from
flax spun at such a time the weaver weaves shrouds.
Their food is simple and consists mainly of milk, flour, pulse,
potatoes and linseed-oil. The everyday beverage is new cider. In some
places they grind dried pears, and from the flour thus produced, which
is mixed into a pulp with milk, they make the so-called _Dalken_.
Apples are also dried; and so are plums and cherries: these are all
made into soup in the winter. The cattle are reared, fattened and sold;
sheep or pigs are slaughtered for holiday needs. The fare is very rich
on feast-days; and there is a tradition that, on Twelfth Night, nine
different kinds of stews should be consumed in every house: formerly
the Jacklers used to eat no fewer than three meals on that night, so
that "Three Kings' Night"[16] is known as "Three Meal Night" to this
day.
The population, which reminds one, in its habits and customs, of the
inhabitants of the Böhmerwald, is descended from Bajuvar stock and
immigrated in the sixth and seventh centuries. It is German by origin
and German by nature. Settled here for over a thousand years, the
individual members of this race have become so rooted to the soil that
they never leave it, and only with difficulty admit anything foreign to
the land. The cell of the first German monk who began to convert the
heathen is said to have stood in the desert where the little village of
Mönichwald now stands. The mission was afterwards continued by the
monasteries of Vorau and Pöllau. The living is in the possession of the
population to this day; in many places, the parish-priest fills at the
same time the offices of parish-councillor, guardian of the poor and
district school-inspector.
One can easily, therefore, picture the peace that reigns between
church, school and municipality. Generally speaking, the clergy--in the
absence of any defiant antagonism--are more liberal-minded here than in
those outlying districts where they feel called upon to defend their
compromised rule by the exercise of intolerance and severity.
The Jackler is favourably distinguished in one particular from the
agricultural population of some other parts: he is not neutral. In the
surrounding districts the peasant is apt to be indifferent towards
matters of religious practice and equally indifferent towards other
ideals and spiritual things. The Jackler is not like that. Gorgeous
festivals, which he loves to celebrate in his stately village-churches,
festivals which remind one of the Tyrol in their splendour, their often
dramatic form, their mediæval love of God and veneration of the saints,
delight him, stimulate him, give sustenance and substance to his
spiritual life. A priest who is not prepared to celebrate the
anniversaries of the church's patrons with due pomp and ceremony and to
invite half a dozen neighbouring priests to read Mass and preach (and
he must provide them with a good dinner into the bargain) would soon
find himself at loggerheads with his flock.
The district is often visited by fanatical missionaries, who promptly
arouse excitement for miles around. The parish-priest is not always
filled with the friendliest feelings towards these hunters of souls,
but he has to invite them for fear of offending his superiors. The
costs of the mission are more than gladly covered by the parishioners.
The Jackler is notable not only for his pious tendencies, but also for
his business subtlety; and he will swindle his parish-priest over a
deal in oxen, to-day, after being moved to tears by his sermon
yesterday--and this without the least prejudice to his own religious
sentiments.
"If I can't cheat my best friend," says the Wenigzeller, "whom _can_ I
cheat? My enemy doesn't trust me!"
The so-called lesser "holidays," of which there are over thirty in the
year, are also conscientiously kept: in the morning, by a sung Mass in
church; in the afternoon, in the tavern or on the bowling-green. Many
servants work on those days on their own account; and, if their
employer needs their services, he must pay them a special wage.
The Jackler is quick in his work and moderate and discreet in his
pleasures. There are rich and poor in this region as in others, but not
in the ordinary sense. The householder is "rich" who is not in debt in
respect of his real or movable estate; "rich" is applied to the carrier
who has saved a little silver, to a farm-girl who has flax and linen in
her trunk and perhaps hides a savings-bank book beneath it, with the
amount of her reaping pay. "Poor" are the debt-ridden cottager, the
landlord whose property is mortgaged up to the hilt, the incompetent
salter or pickler. No one is ruined by privation: people, it is true,
are often harsh to the poor man, but they help him.
Nearly everything that the peasant needs is produced by his industry;
there is little ready-money in the district; but, for that reason, it
has two or three times the value as compared with the prices ruling in
the railway districts.
"A thousand gulden!"
That expresses their utmost conception of wealth. The occasional
stranger who happens to have strayed into this region is surprised when
he finds himself charged no more than eighty kreuzer for a good night's
lodging and an excellent supper and breakfast. On the other hand, when
a Jackler, for once in a way, travels on the railway, his wonder never
ceases at the high fares which he is called upon to pay; and he
considers that the shorter time the train takes to cover a distance,
the less the charge should be.
The inhabitants of the Feistritz district supply the Mürzthal with
poultry, eggs and fruit at a very cheap rate; and the women who carry
and deliver them earn barely twenty kreuzer a day. Wood and coal also
find their way into that ravenous and industrious valley; and the
Jackler artisans make their bit of money there. They have the making of
good masons, carpenters, shoemakers, tailors, smiths, watchmakers,
gunsmiths and so on. These workmen from the Jackelland are greatly
appreciated in the Mürzthal and round about; they work hard, well and
cheaply, and are not particular in the matter of board and lodging.
Many maid-servants, who enter a farmer's service for a year at
Christmas, do so for a trifling annual wage of fifteen or twenty
gulden. On the other hand, they stipulate with their employers that, in
summer, when there is hardly any pressing work to be done at home, they
shall be allowed to follow their own business for a few weeks. The
lasses then go reaping. In the month of June they wander away, with
bundle and sickle, to the lowlands or the Mürzthal, where the corn is
ripe early; and they find plenty of work and amaze everybody by their
eager and indefatigable diligence. This done, they cheerfully come home
again with their reaping wages and once more apply themselves briskly
to the needs of field and garden. It is very seldom that one of them,
lured by love or other worldly advantages, remains away; they like home
best, where they form part, so to speak, of the family of their
employer, with whom maid and man alike live on fraternal terms.
A fine characteristic of this little land is the cohesion that reigns
among neighbours. If one of them is visited with misfortune, the others
stand by him fairly and squarely; do his urgent work for him, if he be
ill; come to his aid with building materials, carpenters and masons, if
fire or water have destroyed his house; send in food as well; and
generally put the sorely-tried one on his legs once more. Again, in
certain forms of labour, such as copse-cutting, flax-scutching,
corn-mowing, they gladly work for the common cause--on this farm
to-day, on that to-morrow--with the result that everything goes
sociably and cheerfully. One for all and all for one!
The young lads stick together for their particular objects. They form
clubs--each district according to its own requirements--through which
they mutually support one another in their feuds and love-adventures.
They help and protect one another in "window-haunting" and
"street-strolling," as the nocturnal love-walks are called; they humbug
the father, when one of them is after the pretty daughter; they help to
defeat the rivals; and, in addition, they play all sorts of practical
jokes, which their brains are very quick at inventing. The youth of one
parish will often hatch deliberate plots against that of another; and
bloody fights take place on many a Sunday and holiday.
Amorous relations between unengaged couples do not, as yet, occur to
the same extent in the Jackelland as elsewhere; morals are stricter,
opportunities fewer and frivolity less marked. Manners, upon the whole,
are more serious and sober, a fact which is in no way detrimental to
the pleasure of living, but, on the contrary, increases it and keeps it
fresh and clean.
The lover of a healthy and intelligent people must needs feel himself
at home and stimulated in the Jackelland. When, on a Sunday, he sits
among the peasants in the Tafés, or inns run by the church, he will not
be bored; he will rather be soon inclined to join in the conversation.
But the stranger--if he think for a moment that he is ruling the
talk--must be on his guard lest he be made a butt of! They have at
their command an exceedingly witty and subtle form of ridicule, which
often is understood only by the natives themselves. Many a townsman who
has tried to preach wisdom to the Jacklers has been delightfully
hoaxed by them and ultimately laughed out of court.
Place-hunting, party-hatred, pessimism and such-like flowers of our
time have not yet blossomed in the Jackelland. The people there are
people in whom hard bodily labour rouses no complaint, in whom pleasure
is not marred by a subsequent reaction, people whose life, usually a
long one, is spent peacefully, rich in great toils and small sins.
Thanks to their moderation and contentment, they are free lords, who
can easily make fun of others who have fettered themselves in the
chains of worldly advancement.
The only sinister inhabitants are the civil engineers, who for years
have been exploring the length and breadth of the little land, in the
hope of sooner or later turning the iron horse to graze in those green
pastures.