NORTH TIROL--UNTERINNTHAL (RIGHT INN-BANK).
(ZILLERTHAL CUSTOMS.--THE WILDSCHÖNAU.)
Deep secret springs lie buried in man's heart,
Which Nature's varied aspect works at will;
Whether bright hues or shadows she impart,
Or fragrant odours from her breath distil,
Or the clear air with sounds melodious fill;
She speaks a language with instruction fraught,
And Art from Nature steals her mimic skill,
Whose birds, whose rills, whose sighing winds first taught
That sound can charm the soul, and rouse each noble thought.
Lady Charlotte Bury.
We had parted from the Zillerthal, and had once more taken our places
in the railway carriage at Jenbach for a short stage to reach Kundl,
[56] as a base of operations for visiting the Wildschönau, as well as
the country on the other side of the Inn. The entry was effected with
the haste usual at small stations, where the advent of a traveller,
much more of a party of tourists, is an exceptional event. The
adjustment of our bags and rugs was greatly facilitated by the
assistance of the only occupant of the compartment into which we
were thrust; and when we had settled down and expressed our thanks
for his urbanity, I observed that he eyed us with an amused but not
unpleasant scrutiny. At last his curiosity overcame his reticence. 'I
have frequent occasion to travel this way to Munich and Vienna,'
he said, 'and I do not remember ever to have fallen in with any
strangers starting from Jenbach.'
The conversation so opened soon revealed that our new friend, though
spending most of his time in the Bavarian and Austrian capitals,
nevertheless retained all a mountaineer's fondness for the Tirolese
land, which had given him birth some seventy years before. He was
greatly interested in our exploration of the Zillerthal, but much
annoyed that we were leaving instead of entering it; had it been the
other way, he said, he would have afforded us an acquaintance with
local customs such as, he was sure, no other part of Europe could
outvie. I assured him I had been disappointed at not coming across
them during our brief visit, but fully hoped on some future occasion
to have better success. He warmly recommended me not to omit the
attempt, and for my encouragement cited a local adage testifying to
the attractions of the valley--
Wer da kommt in's Zillerthal
Der kommt gewiss zum Zweitenmal. [57]
He was interesting us much in his vividly-coloured sketches of peasant
life, when the train came to a stand; the guard shouted 'Kundl,' and
we were forced to part. He gave us an address in Munich, however,
where we were afterwards fortunate enough to find him; and he then
gave me some precious particulars, which I was not slow to garner.
He seemed to know the people well, having lived much among them in
his younger days, and claimed for them--perhaps with some little
partiality--the character of being industrious, temperate, moral, and
straightforward, even above the other dwellers in Tirol; and no less,
of being physically the finest race. Their pure bracing mountain air,
the severe struggle which nature wages with them in their cultivation
of the fruits of the soil, and the hardy athletic pursuits with which
they vary their round of agricultural labour, tend to maintain and
ever invigorate this original stock of healthfulness. Their athletic
games are indeed an institution to which they owe much, and which they
keep up with a devotion only second to that with which they cultivate
their religious observances. Every national and social festival is
celebrated with these games. The favourite is the scheibenschiessen,
or shooting at a mark, for accuracy in which they are celebrated in
common with the inhabitants of all other districts of the country,
but are beaten by none; their stutze (short-barrelled rifle) they
regard more in the light of a friend and companion than a weapon,
and dignify it with the household name of the bread-winner. Wrestling
is another favourite sport; to be the champion wrestler of the hamlet
is a distinction which no inhabitant of the Zillerthal would barter
for gold. The best 'Haggler,' 'Mairraffer,' and 'Roblar'--three
denominations of wrestlers--are regarded somewhat in the light of a
superior order of persons, and command universal respect. In wilder
times, it is true, this ran into abuse; and some who had attained
excellence in an art so dangerous when misapplied betook themselves
to a life of violence and freebooting; but this has entirely passed
away now, and anything like a highway robbery is unheard of. The most
chivalrous rules guard the decorum of the game, which every bystander
feels it a point of honour to maintain; the use even of the stossring,
a stout metal ring for the little finger, by which a telling and
sometimes disfiguring blow may be given by a dexterous hand, is
discouraged. It is still worn, however, and prized more than as a
mere ornament--as a challenge of the wearer's power to wield it if he
choose, or if provoked to show his prowess. Running in races--which,
I know not why, they call springen--obtains favour at some seasons
of the year. At bowls and skittles, too, they are famous hands; and
in their passion for the games have originated a number of fantastic
stories of how the fairies and wild men of the woods indulge in them
too. Many a herdsman, on his long and solitary watch upon the distant
heights, gives to the noises of nature which he has heard, but could
not account for, an origin which lives in the imagination of those to
whom he recounts it on his return home; and his fancies are recorded
as actual events. But that the spirits play at skittles, and with gold
and silver balls, is further confirmed by peasants who have lost their
way in mists and snow-storms, and whose troubled dreams have made
pleasant stories. One of these, travelling with his pedlar's pack,
sought refuge from the night air in the ruined castle of Starkenberg,
the proud stronghold of a feudal family, second only in importance
to the Rottenburgers, and equally brought low by Friedrich mit der
leeren Tasche. The pedlar was a bold wrestler, and felt no fear of
the airy haunters of ruined castles. He made a pillow of his pack,
and laid him down to sleep as cosily as if at home, in the long dank
grass; nevertheless, when the clock of the distant village church--to
whose striking he had been listening hour by hour with joy, as an
earnest that by the morning light he would know how to follow its
guiding to the inhabited locality it denoted--sang out the hour of
midnight, twelve figures in ancient armour stalked into the hall,
and set themselves to play at bowls, for which they were served with
skulls. The pedlar was a famous player, and nothing daunted, took
up a skull, and set himself to play against them, and beat them all;
then there was a shout of joy, such as mortal ears had never heard,
and the twelve spirits declared they were released. Scarcely had they
disappeared, when ten more spirits, whom the pedlar concluded like
the last to be retainers of the mighty Starkenberger of old, entered
by different doors, which they carefully locked behind them, and then
bringing our hero the keys, begged him to open the doors each with the
right one. The pedlar was a shrewd fellow; and though doors, keys,
and spirits were each alike of their kind, his observation had been
so accurate that he opened each with the right key without hesitation,
whereupon the ten spirits declared themselves released too. Then came
in the Evil One, furious with the pedlar, who was setting free all his
captives, and swore he would have him in their stead. But the pedlar
demanded fair play, and offered to stake his freedom on a game with
his Arch-Impiety. The pedlar won, and the demon withdrew in ignominy;
but the released spirits came round their deliverer, and loaded him
with as much gold and valuable spoil as he could carry.
This story seemed to me to belong to a class not unfrequently met with,
but yet differing from the ordinary run of legends on this subject,
inasmuch as the spirits, who were generally believed to be bound
to earth in penance, were released by no act of Christian virtue,
and without any appeal to faith; and I could not help asking my old
friend if he did not think this very active clever pedlar might have
been one of those who according to his own version had indulged in
freebooting tendencies, and that having with a true Zillerthaler's
tendencies pined to return to his native valley, he had invented the
tale to account for his accession of fortune, and the nature of his
possessions. I think my friend was a little piqued at my unmasking
his hero, but he allowed it was not an improbable solution for the
origin of some similar tales.
Prizes, he went on to tell me, are often set up for excellence in these
games, which are cherished as marks of honour, without any reference to
their intrinsic value. And so jealously is every distinction guarded,
that a youth may not wear a feather or the sprig of rosemary, bestowed
by a beloved hand, in his jaunty hat, unless he is capable of proving
his right to it by his pluck and muscular development.
Dancing is another favourite recreation, and is pursued with a zest
which makes it a healthful and useful exercise too. The Schnodahüpfl
and the Hosennagler are as dear to the Zillerthaler as the Bolera
to the Andalusian or the Jota to the Aragonese; like the Spanish
Seguidillas, too, the Zillerthalers accompany their dance with
sprightly songs, which are often directed to inciting each other not
to flag.
Another amusement, in which they have a certain similarity with
Spaniards, is cow-fighting. But it is not a mere sport, and cruelty
is as much avoided as possible, for the beasts are made to fight
only with each other, and only their natural weapons--each other's
horns--are brought against them. The victorious cow is not only
the glory and darling of her owner, who loads her with garlands and
caresses; but the fight serves to ascertain the hardy capacity of
the animals as leaders of the herd, an office which is no sinecure,
when they have to make their way to and from steep pastures difficult
of access. [58] Ram and goat fights are also held in the same way,
and with the same object.
The chief occasions for exercising these pastimes are the village
festivals, the Kirchtag, or anniversary of the Church consecration,
the Carnival season, weddings and baptisms, and the opening of the
season for the Scheibenschiessen; also the days of pilgrimages to
various popular shrines; and the Primizen and Sekundizen--the first
Mass of their pastors, and its fiftieth anniversary--general festivals
all over Tirol.
A season of great enjoyment is the Carnival, which with them begins
at the Epiphany. Their great delight then is to go out in the dusk of
evening, when work is over, disguised in various fantastic dresses,
and making their way round from house to house, set the inmates
guessing who they can be. As they are very clever in arranging all
the accessories of their assumed character, changing their voice and
mien, each visit is the occasion of the most laughable mistakes. In
the towns, the Carnival procession is generally got up with no little
taste and artistic skill. The arch-buffoon goes on ahead, a loud
and merry jingle of bells announcing his advent at every movement of
the horse he bestrides, collects the people out of every house. Then
follow, also mounted, a train of maskers, Turks, soldiers, gipsies,
pirates; and if there happen to be among them anyone representing a
judge or authority of any sort, he is always placed at the head of
the tribe. In the evening, their perambulations over, they assemble in
the inn, where the acknowledged wag of the locality reads a humorous
diatribe, which touches on all the follies and events, that can be
anyhow made to wear a ridiculous aspect, of the past year.
Christmas--here called Christnacht as well as Weihnacht--is observed
(as all over the country, but especially here) by dispensing the
Kloubabrod, a kind of dough cake, stuffed with sliced pears, almonds,
nuts, and preserved fruits. The making of this is a particular item in
the education of a Zillerthaler maiden, who has a special interest in
it, inasmuch as the one she prepares for the household must have the
first cut in it made by her betrothed, who at the same time gives her
some little token of his affection in return. Speaking of Christmas
customs reminded my informant of an olden custom in Brixen, that the
Bishop should make presents of fish to his retainers. This fish was
brought from the Garda-see, and the Graf of Tirol and the Prince-bishop
of Trent were wont to let it pass toll-free through their dominions. A
curious letter is extant, written by Bishop Rötel, 'an sambstag nach
Stæ. Barbaræ, 1444,' courteously enforcing this privilege.
The Sternsingen is a favourite way of keeping the Epiphany in
many parts of the country. Three youths, one of them with his face
blackened, and all dressed to represent the three kings, go about
singing from homestead to homestead; and in some places there is
a Herod ready to greet them from the window with riming answers to
their verses, of which the following is a specimen: it is the address
of the first king--
König Kaspar bin ich gennant
Komm daher aus Morgenland
Komm daher in grosser Eil
Vierzehn Tag, fünftausend Meil.
Melchores tritt du herein. [59]
Melchior, thus appealed to, stands forward and sings his lay; and
then Balthazar; and then the three join in a chorus, in which certain
hints are given that as they come from so far some refreshment would
be acceptable; upon which the friendly peasant-wife calls them in,
and regales them with cakes she has prepared ready for the purpose, and
sends them on their mountain-way rejoicing. Possibly some such custom
may have given rise to the institution of our 'Twelfth-cake.' In the
OEtzthal they go about with the greeting, 'Gelobt sei Jesus Christus
zur Gömacht.' [60] Another Tirolean custom connected with Epiphany
was the blessing of the stalls of the cattle on the eve, in memory
of the stable in which the Wise Men found the Holy Family.
Their wedding fêtes seem to be among the most curious of all their
customs. My friend gave me a detailed account of one, between two
families of the better class of peasants, which he had attended some
years back; and he believed they were little changed since. It is
regarded as an occasion of great importance; and as soon as the banns
had been asked in church, the bridegroom went round with a chosen
friend styled a Hochzeitsbitter, to invite friends and relations to
the marriage. The night before the wedding (for which throughout Tirol
a Thursday is chosen, except in the Iselthal, where a preference for
Monday prevails), there was a great dance at the house of the bride,
who from the moment the banns have been asked is popularly called the
Kanzel-Braut. 'Rather, I should say,' he pursued, 'it was in the barn;
for though a large cottage, there was no room that would contain the
numbers of merry couples who flocked in, and even the barn was so
crowded, that the dancers could but make their way with difficulty,
and were continually tumbling over one another; but it was a merry
night, for all were in their local costume, and the pine-wood torches
shed a strange and festive glare over them. The next morning all were
assembled betimes. It was a bitterly cold day, but the snow-storm was
eagerly hailed, as it is reckoned a token that the newly-wedded pair
will be rich; we met first at the bride's house for what they called
the Morgensuppe, a rough sort of hearty breakfast of roast meat,
white bread, and sausages; and while the elder guests were discussing
it, many were hard at work again dancing, and the young girls of the
village were dressing up the bride--one of the adornments de rigueur
being a knot of streamers of scarlet leather trimmed with gold lace,
and blue arm-bands and hat-ribbons; these streamers are thought by the
simple people to be a cure for goitres, and are frequently bound round
them with that idea. At ten o'clock the first church bell rang, when
all the guests hastily assembled round the table, and drank the health
of the happy pair in a bowl from which they had first drank. Then they
ranged themselves into a procession, and marched towards the church,
the musicians leading the way. The nearest friends of the bridal pair
were styled "train-bearers," and formed a sort of guard of honour
round the bride, walking bare-headed, their hats, tastily wreathed
with flowers, in their hands. The priest of the village walked by
the bride on one side, her parents on the other. She wore a wreath of
rosemary--a plant greatly prized here, as among the people of Spain
and Italy, and considered typical of the Blessed Virgin's purity--in
her hair; her holiday dress was confined by a girdle, and she held
her rosary in her hand. The bridegroom was almost as showily dressed,
and wore a crown of silver wire; beside him walked another priest,
and behind them came the host of the village inn, a worthy who holds a
kind of patriarchal position in our villages. He is always one of the
most important men of the place, generally owns the largest holding
of land, and drives one or two little trades besides attending to the
welfare of his guests. But more than this, he is for the most part
a man of upright character and pleasant disposition, and is often
called to act as adviser and umpire in rural complications.
'The procession was closed by the friends and neighbours, walking
two and two, husband and wife together; and the church bells rang
merrily through the valley as it passed along.
'The ceremonial in the church was accompanied with the best music
the locality could afford, the best singers from the neighbouring
choirs lending their voices. To add to the solemnity of the occasion,
lighted tapers were held by the bridal party at the Elevation; and it
was amusing to observe how the young people shunned a candle that did
not burn brightly, as that is held to be an omen of not getting married
within the year. At the close of the function, the priest handed round
to them the Johannissegen, a cup of spiced wine mixed with water,
which he had previously blessed, probably so called in memory of the
miracle at the wedding-feast recorded in the Gospel of that Apostle.
'The band then struck up its most jocund air, and full of mirth the
gladsome party wended their way to the inn. After a light repast
and a short dance, and a blithesome Trutzlied, they passed on,
according to custom, to the next, and so on to all the inns within
a radius of a few miles. This absorbed about three or four hours;
and then came the real wedding banquet, which was a very solid and
long affair--in fact, I think fresh dishes were being brought in
one after another for three or four hours more. Even in this there
was a memory of the Gospel narrative, for in token of their joy they
keep for the occasion a fatted calf, the whole of which is served up
joint by joint, not omitting the head; this was preceded by soup,
and followed by a second course of sweet dumplings, with fruit and
the inevitable pickled cabbage, which on this day is dignified with
the title of Ehrenkraut. After this came a pause; and the musicians,
who had been playing their loudest hitherto, held in too. The "best
man" rose, and went through the formula of asking the guests whether
they were content with what had been set before them, which of course
was drowned in a tumult of applause. In a form, which serves from
generation to generation with slight change, he then went on to remark
that the good gifts of meat and drink of which they had partaken came
from the hand of God, and called forth the gratitude of the receiver,
adding, "Let us thank Him for them, and still more in that He has
made us reasonable beings, gifting us with faith, and not brutes or
unbelievers. If we turn to Him in this spirit, He will abide with us
as with them of Cana in Galilee. Therefore, let all anger and malice
and evil speaking be put away from us, who have just been standing
before the most holy Sacrament, and let us be united in the bonds of
brotherly love, that His Blood may not have been poured out for us in
vain. And to you, dear friends, who have this day been united with
the grace-giving benediction of the Church, I commend this union of
heart and soul most of all, that the new family thus founded in our
midst may help to build up the living edifice of a people praising
and serving God, and that you walk in His way, and bring up children
to serve Him as our forefathers have ever done." There was a good
deal more in the same strain; and this exhortation to holy living,
from one of themselves, is just a type of the intimate way in which
religion enters into the life of the people. His concluding wish for
the well-being of the newly married was followed by a loud "Our Father"
and "Hail Mary" from the assembled throng.
'After this came a great number more dishes of edibles, but this time
of a lighter kind; among them liver and poultry, but chiefly fruits and
sweets; and among these many confections of curious devices, mostly
with some symbolical meaning. When these were nearly despatched,
wine and brandy were brought out by the host; and by this name you
must understand the master of the inn; for, true to the paternal
character of which I have already spoken, it is always his business
to cater for and preside over bridal banquets. At the same time the
guests produced their presents, which go by the name of Waisat, and
all were set down in a circumstantial catalogue. They are generally
meted out with an open hand, and are a great help to the young people
in beginning their housekeeping.
'The musicians, who only got hasty snatches of the good things
passing round, now began yet livelier strains, and the party broke
up that the younger members might give themselves to their favourite
pastime, dancing; and well enough they looked, the lads in brilliant
red double-breasted waistcoats, their short black leather breeches held
up with embroidered belts, and their well-formed high-pointed hats with
jaunty brim, going through the intricate evolutions, each beating the
time heartily, first on his thighs and then on his feet--schuhplatteln
they call it--and followed through the mazy figures by his diandl
(damsel), in daintily fitting satin bodice, and short but ample skirt.
'The older people still lingered over the table, and looked on at
the dance, which they follow with great interest; but there is
not a great deal of drinking, and it is seldom enough, even in
the midst of an occasion for such exceptional good cheer, that
any excess is committed. A taste for brandy--the poor brandy of
their own manufacture--is however, I confess, a weakness of the
Zillerthalers. The necessity for occasionally having recourse to
stimulants results from the severity of the climate during part of
the year, and the frequently long exposure to the mountain air which
their calling requires of them. At the same time, anything like a
confirmed drunkard is scarcely known among them. Its manufacture
affords to many an occupation; and its use to all, of both sexes, is
a national habit. They make it out of barley, juniper, and numbers of
other berries (which they wander collecting over all the neighbouring
alps), as well as rye, potatoes, and other roots--in fact, almost
anything. Every commercial bargain, every operation in the field, every
neighbourly discussion, every declaration of affection even, is made
under its afflatus. An offer of a glass of the cordial will often make
up a long-harboured quarrel, a refusal to share one is taken to be a
studied affront; in fact, this zutrinken, as they call it, comes into
every act and relation of life. In the moderate bounds within which
they keep its use, it is undeniably a great boon to them; and many a
time it has been the saving of life in the mountains to the shepherd
and the milk-maid, the snow-bound labourer or retarded pedlar.'
I was curious to know what customs the other valley had to replace
those of the Ziller. My friend informed me they were very similar, only
the Zillerthalers were celebrated for their attachment to and punctual
observance of them. He had once attended a wedding in the Grödnerthal
which was very similar to the one he had already described, yet had
some distinct peculiarities. Though a little out of place, I may as
well bring in his account of it here. There, the betrothal is called
der Handschlag (lit. the hand-clasp), and it is always performed on
a Saturday. The fathers of the bride and bridegroom and other nearest
relations are always present as witnesses; and if the bride does not
cry at the projected parting, it is said she will have many tears
to shed during her married life. The first time the banns are asked
it is not considered 'the thing' for the betrothed to be present,
and they usually go to church on that occasion in some neighbouring
village; on the second Sunday they are expected to appear in state,
the bridegroom wearing his holiday clothes and a nosegay in his hat
or on his right breast. The bride always wears the local costume, a
broadish brimmed green hat, a scarlet boddice and full black skirt,
though this is now only worn on such occasions; on the day of the
wedding, to this is added a broad black satin ribbon round her head,
and round her waist a leather girdle with a number of useful articles
in plated copper hanging from it. On each side are arranged red and
green streamers with very great nicety, and no change of fashion is
suffered in their position; she is expected to wear a grave mien and
modest deportment; this is particularly enjoined. The guests are also
expected to don the popular costume; the girls green, the married
women black hats. On the way to the church the bridegroom's father
and his nearest neighbour came forward, and with many ceremonies asked
the bride of her friends, and she went crying coyly with them. After
the church ceremony, which concludes as in Zillerthal with the cup
of S. Johannessegen, the bridesmaids hand in a basket decked with
knots of ribbon, containing offerings for the priests and servers,
and a wreath, which is fastened round the priest's arm who leads the
bride out of church. The visit to the neighbouring inn follows; but
at the wedding feast guests come in in masquerading dresses bringing
all manner of comical presents. The dance here lasts till midnight,
when the happy pair are led home by their friends to an accompaniment
of music, for which they have a special melody. The next day again
there are games, and the newly married go in procession with their
friends to bear home the trousseau and wedding gifts, among which is
always a bed and bedding. On their way back beggars are allowed to bar
the way at intervals, who must be bought off with alms. On the Sunday
following the bride is expected again to appear at church in the local
costume, and in the afternoon all the guests of the wedding day again
gather in the inn to present their final offering of good wishes and
blessings. Girls who are fond of cats, they say, are sure to marry
early; perhaps an evidence that household virtues are appreciated
in them by the men; but of men, the contrary is predicated, showing
that the other sex is expected to display hardihood in the various
mountaineering and other out-door occupations. [61]
Kundl, whither we were bound before being tempted to make this
digression, gives entrance to the Wildschönau according to modern
orthography, the Witschnau, or Wiltschnau, according to local and
more correct pronunciation (sometimes corrupted into Mitschnau),
as the name is derived from wiltschen, to flow, and au, water, the
particular water in this case being the Kundler-Ache, which here
flows into the Inn. It is a little valley improving in beauty as you
pursue it eastwards, not more than seven leagues in length, and seldom
visited, for its roads are really only fit for pedestrians; hence its
secluded inhabitants have acquired a character for being suspicious of
strangers, though proverbially hospitable to one another. One of its
points of greatest interest is the church of St. Leonhard, described
in the last chapter. Overhanging the road leading from it to Kundl,
stand the remains of the castle of Niederaich, now converted into
a farm stable, and its moat serving as a conduit of water for the
cattle. At the time it was built by Ambrose Blank in the sixteenth
century, the silver mines then in work made this a most flourishing
locality. At that time, too, there stood overlooking the town the
Kundlburg, of which still slighter traces remain, the residence
of the Kummerspruggers, who, in the various wars, always supported
the house of Bavaria. The chief industry of Kundl at present is the
construction of the boats which navigate the Inn, and carry the rich
produce of the Tirolean pastures to Vienna. Oberau is situated on
a commanding plateau, and its unpretending inn 'auf dem Keller,'
offers a good resting-place. The church was burnt down in 1719,
and the present one, remarkable for its size if for nothing else,
was completed just a hundred years ago. It is, however, remarkable
also for its altar-piece--the Blessed Virgin between S. Barbara and
S. Margaret--by a local artist, and far above what might be expected
in so sequestered a situation. At a distance of three or four miles,
Niederau is reached, passing first a sulphur spring, esteemed by the
peasants of the neighbourhood. The openest and most smiling--most
friendly, to use the German expression--part of the valley is between
Auffach and Kelchsau, where is situated Kobach, near which may be seen
lateral shafts of the old mines extending to a distance of many hundred
feet. From Kelchsau a foot-path leads in an hour more to Hörbrunn,
where there is a brisk little establishment of glass-works, whose
productions go all over Tirol. Then westwards over the Plaknerjoch
to Altbach, passing Thierberg (not the same as that mentioned near
Kufstein), once the chief seat of the silver-works, its only remaining
attraction being the beautiful view to be obtained from its heights
over the banks of the Inn, and the whole extent of country between
it and Bavaria. From Altbach it is an hour more back to Brixlegg.
The memory of the former metallic wealth of the valley is preserved in
numerous tales of sudden riches overtaking the people in all manner of
different ways, as in the specimens already given. Here is a similar
one belonging to this spot. A peasant going out with his waggon found
one day in the way a heap of fine white wheat. Shocked that God's
precious gift should be trodden under foot, he stopped his team and
gathered up the grain, of which there was more than enough to fill all
his pockets; when he arrived at his destination, he found them full
of glittering pieces of money. The origin of the story doubtless may
be traced to some lucky take of ore which the finder was able to sell
at the market town; and the price which he brought home was spoken
of as the actual article discovered. Another relic of the mining
works may perhaps be found in the following instance of another class
of stories, though some very like it doubtless refer to an earlier
belief in hobgoblins closely allied to our own Robin Goodfellow. I
think a large number date from occasions when the Knappen or miners,
who formed a tribe apart, may have come to the aid of the country
people when in difficulty.
The Unterhausberg family was once powerful in Wiltschnau. When
their mighty house was building, the great foundation-stone was so
ponderous that it defied all the efforts of the builders to put it
in its place. At last they sat down to dinner; then there suddenly
came out of the mountain side a number of Wiltschnau dwarfs, who,
without any effort, lowered the great stone into its appointed place;
the men offered them the best portion of their dinner, but they refused
any reward. The dwarfs were not always so urbane, however, and there
are many stories of their tricks: lying down in the pathways in the
dark to make the people tumble over them; then hiding behind a tree,
and with loud laughter mocking the disaster; [62] throwing handfuls
of pebbles and ashes at the peasant girls as they passed; getting
into the store-room, and mixing together the potatoes, carrots, grain,
and flour, which the housewife had carefully assorted and arranged. It
was particularly on women that their tricks were played off; and this
to such an extent that it became the custom, even now prevailing,
never to send women to the Hochalm with the herds, though they go
out into other equally remote mountain districts without fear, for
their Kasa (the hut for shelter at night, here so called, in other
parts Sennhütte,) was sure to be beset with the dwarfs, and their
milk-pails overturned. All these feats may, I think, be ascribed in
their origin to the Knappen.
The neighbourhood of Thierberg has a story which I think also has its
source in mining memories. 'On the way between Altbach and Thierbach
you pass two houses bearing the name of "beim Thaler." In olden time
there lived here a peasant of moderate means, who owned several head
of cattle; Moidl, the maid, whose duty it was to take them out to
pasture on the sunny hill-side, always looked out anxiously for the
first tokens of spring; for she loved better to watch the cows and
goats browsing the fresh grass, or venturously climbing the heights,
to sitting in the chimney-corner dozing over the spinning-wheel. One
day as she was at her favourite occupation, she heard a noise behind
her, and turning round saw a door open in the mountain side, and
two or three little men with long beards peeping out. Within, all
was dazzling with gold like the brightest sunshine. The walls were
covered with plates of gold, placed one over the other like scales,
and knobs of gold like pine-apples studded the vault. The little men
beckoned to Moidl to come in, but she, like a modest maiden, ran home
to her father; when he returned with her, however, to the spot, the
door was no more to be found.' I think it may very well be imagined
that Moidl came unawares upon the opening of a lateral shaft, and
listened to the accounts which the Knappen may have amused themselves
with giving her of the riches of their diggings; while she may very
naturally have been afraid to explore these. The disappearance of
the mysterious opening is but the ordinary refrain of marvellous tales.
The Witschnauers cannot be accused of any dreamy longings after the
recurrence of such prosperous times. They are among the most diligent
tillers of the land to be found anywhere; the plough is carried over
places where the uneven gradients make the guiding of horses or oxen a
too great expenditure of time; in such places they do not disdain to
harness themselves to the plough, and even the women take their turn
in relieving them. Of one husbandman of olden time it is narrated
that he was even too eager in his thrift, and carried his furrow a
little way on to his neighbour's land year by year, so that by the
time he came to die he had appropriated a good strip of land not his
own. His penance was, that after death he should continually tread up
and down the stolen soil, dragging after him a red-hot ploughshare,
in performing which his wail was often overhead--
O weh! wie is der Pflug so heiss
Und niemand mir zu helfen weiss! [63]
until one of his successors in the farm, being a particularly
honourable man, removed the boundary-stone back to its original
position. He had no sooner done so than he had the satisfaction of
hearing the spectre cry--
Erlöst, Gott sei Dank, bin ich jetzt
Der Markstein ist auch rechtgesetzt. [64]
Another class of legends has also a home in this locality. It is
told that a peasant from Oberau was going home from Thierbach, one
Epiphany Eve. It was a cold night; his feet crunched the crisp snow
at every step; the air was clear, and the stars shone brightly. The
peasant's head, however, was not so clear as the sky, for he came from
the tavern, where he had been spending a merry evening with his boon
companions. Thus it happened that instead of walking straight on, he
gave one backward step for every three forward, like the Umgehende
Schuster; [65] and thus he went staggering about till he came to
the Rastbank, which is even yet sought as a point where to rest and
overlook the view. It struck twelve as he seated himself on the bench;
then suddenly behind him he heard a sound of many voices, which came
on nearer and nearer, and then the Berchtl in her white clothing, her
broken ploughshare in her hand, and all her train of little people
[66] swept clattering and chattering close past him. The least was
the last, and it wore a long shirt which got in the way of its little
bare feet, and kept tripping it up. The peasant had sense enough
left to feel compassion, so he took his garter off and bound it for
a girdle round the infant, and then set it again on its way. When
the Berchtl saw what he had done, she turned back and thanked him,
and told him that in return for his compassion his children should
never come to want. This story, I think there is little doubt, may be
genuine; your Wiltschenauer is as fond of brandy as your Zillerthaler,
and under its influence the peasant may very likely have passed a
troubled night on the Rastbank. What more likely to cross his fancy
on the Epiphany Eve than the thought of a visit from the Berchtl
and her children (they always appear in Tirol at that season, and
in rags and tatters [67]); his own temperament being compassionate,
that he should help the stumbling little one, and that the Berchtl
should give him promise of reward was all that might be expected from
certain premises. But what are those premises? Who was the Berchtl? If
you ask a Tirolean peasant the question, he will probably tell you
that the Perchtl (as he will call her) is Pontius Pilate's wife,
[68] to whom redemption was given by reason of her intervention in
favour of the Man of Sorrows, but that it is her penance to wander
over the earth till the last day as a restless spirit; and that as
the Epiphany was the season of favour to the Gentiles, among whose
first-fruits she was, it is at that season she is most often seen,
and in her most favourable mood. It must be confessed that some of his
stories of her will betray a certain amount of inconsistency, for he
will represent her carrying off children, wounding belated passengers,
and performing many acts inconsistent with the character of a penitent
soul, and more in accordance with that of the more ancient 'Lamia.'
If you address your question to Grimm, or Wolf, Simrock, Kuhn,
Schwartz, or Mannhardt, or any who have made comparative mythology
their study, he will tell you that the stories about her (and probably
all the other marvellous tales of the people also) are to be traced
back to the earliest mythological traditions of a primeval glimmering
of religion spread abroad over the whole world; and to the poetical
forms of expression of a primitive population describing the wonderful
but constantly repeated operations of nature. [69] That the wilder
Jäger was originally the god Wodin, the hunter of unerring aim, that
his impetuous course typifies the journey of the sun-god through the
heavens, [70] his mighty arm represents his powerful rays; and in
even so late a tale as 'that of William Tell, he will see the last
reflections of the sun-god, whether we call him Indra, or Apollo,
or Ulysses.' [71] He will tell you that all 'the countless legends of
princesses kept in dark prisons and invariably delivered by a young
bright knight can all be traced back to mythological traditions
about the spring being released from the bonds of winter; the sun
being rescued from the darkness of night; the dawn being brought
back from the far west; the waters being set free from the prison of
clouds.' [72] And of the Berchtl herself, he will tell you that she
is Perahta (the bright), daughter of Dagha (the day), whose name has
successively been transformed into Perchtl and Bertha; brightness
or whiteness has made her to be considered the goddess of winter;
who particularly visited the earth for twelve winter nights, and
spoilt all the flax of those idle maidens who left any unspun on the
last day of the year; [73] who carries in her hand a broken plough in
token that the ground is hardened against tillage; whose brightness
has also made her to be reckoned the all-producing earth-mother,
with golden hair like the waving corn; the Hertha of the Swabian;
the Jörtha of Scandinavian; [74] the Berecynthia of the Phrygian;
[75] and to other nations known as Cybele, Rhea, Isis, Diana. [76]
Such ideas were too deeply rooted in the minds of the people to be
easily superseded; as my friend, the Feldkirch postilion, said,
they went on and on like the echoes of their own mountains. 'The
missionaries were not afraid of the old heathen gods; ... their kindly
feeling towards the traditions, customs, and prejudices of their
converts must have been beneficial; ... they allowed them the use
of the name Allfadir, whom they had invoked in the prayers of their
childhood, when praying to Him who is "our Father in heaven."' And
as with the greater, so with the less, the mighty powers they had
personified and treated as heroes and examples lived on in their
imagination, and their glorious deeds came to be ascribed to the new
athletes of a brighter faith. Then, 'although originally popular tales
were reproductions of more ancient legends, yet after a time a general
taste was created for marvellous stories, and new ones were invented in
large numbers. Even in these purely imaginative productions, analogies
may be discovered with more genuine tales, because they were made after
the original patterns, and in many cases were mere variations on an
ancient air.' [77] More than this, there came the actual accession of
marvels derived from the acts inspired by the new faith; but it cannot
be denied that the two became strangely blended in the popular mind.
Brixlegg presents some appearance of thriving, through the smelting and
wire-drawing works for the copper ore brought from the neighbourhood
of Schwatz. It also enjoys some celebrity as the birthplace of the
Tirolean historian Burgleckner, whose family had been respected here
for generations; and it is very possible to put up for the night
at the Herrenhaus. It is not much above a mile hence to Rattenberg,
of which I have already spoken.
Rattenberg was, in 1651, the scene of a tragic event, sad as the
denouement of many a fiction. The high-spirited consort of Archduke
Leopold V., Claudia de' Medici, who, at his death, governed the
country so well, and by her sagacity kept her dominions at peace,
while the rest of Germany was immersed in the horrors of the Thirty
Years' War, yet did not altogether escape the charge of occasional
harshness in collecting the revenues which she knew so well how
to administer. Her chancellor, Wilhelm Biener, a trusty and devoted
servant and counsellor, drew on himself considerable odium for his zeal
in these matters. On one occasion he got into a serious controversy
with Crosini, Bishop of Brixen, concerning the payment of certain
taxes from which the prelate claimed exemption, and in the course of
it wrote him a letter couched in such very unguarded terms, that the
bishop, unused to be so dealt with, could not forbear exclaiming, 'The
man deserves to lose the fingers that could write such an intemperate
effusion!' The exclamation was not thought of again till years after.
Claudia died in 1648, and then the hatred against Biener, which
was also in some measure a hatred of races, for Claudia had many
southerners at her court, broke forth without hindrance. He was
accused [78] of appropriating the State money he had been so earnest in
collecting, and though tried by two Italian judges, he was ultimately
condemned, in 1651, to lose his head. Biener sent a statement of his
case to the Archduke Ferdinand Karl; and the young prince, believing
the honesty of his mother's faithful adviser, immediately ordered a
reprieve. The worst enemy and prime accuser of the fallen favourite
was Schmaus, President of the Council, this time a German, and he
contrived by detaining the messenger to make him arrive just too late
in Rattenberg, then still a strong fortress, where he lay confined,
and where the sentence was to be carried out.
Biener had all along steadfastly maintained his innocence; and stepping
on to the scaffold, he had again repeated the assertion, adding, 'So
truly as I am innocent, I summon my accuser before the Judgment-seat
above before another year is out.' [79] When the executioner stooped
to lift up the head before the people, he found lying by its side
three fingers of his right hand, without having had any knowledge
that he had struck them off, though he might have done so by the
unhappy man having raised his hand in the way of the sword in the
last struggle. The people, however, saw in it the fulfillment of the
words of the bishop, as well as a ghastly challenge accompanying his
dying message to President Schmaus. Nor did they forget to note that
the latter died of a terrible malady some months before the close of
the year. Biener's wife lost her senses when she knew the terrible
circumstances of his death; the consolations of her director and of
her son, who lived to his ninetieth year in the Francescan convent at
Innsbruck, were alike powerless to calm her. She escaped in the night,
and wandered out into the mountains no one knows whither. But the
people say she lives on to be a witness of her husband's innocence,
and may be met on lonely ways proclaiming it, but never harming
any. Only, when anyone is to die in Büchsenhausen, [80] where her
married life passed so pleasantly, the 'Bienerweible' will appear
and warn them. It is a remarkable instance of the easy way in which
one myth passes into another, that though this event happened but a
little over two hundred years ago, the Bienerweible and the Berchtl
are already confounded in the popular mind. [81]
Another name prized in Tirolese annals, which must not be forgotten in
connexion with Rattenberg, is Alois Sandbichler, the Bible commentator,
who was born there in 1751. He passed a brilliant career as Professor
in the University of Salzburg, but died at the age of eighty in his
native village.
The neighbourhood of Brixlegg is very pretty, and the views from the
bridge by no means to be overlooked.