NORTH TIROL--UNTERINNTHAL (RIGHT INN-BANK).
EXCURSIONS FROM SCHWATZ.
'Partout où touche votre regard vous rencontrez au fond sous la
forme qui passe, un mystère qui demeure ... chacun des mystères
de ce monde est la figure, l'image de celui du monde supérieur;
de sorte que tout ce que nous pouvons connaître dans l'ordre
de la nature est la révélation même de l'ordre divin.'--Chevé,
Visions de l'Avenir.
Falkenstein, which may be reached by a short walk from Schwatz,
is worth visiting on account of the information it affords as to
the mode of working adopted in the old mines both of silver and
copper. This was the locality where the greatest quantity of silver
was got; it was particularly noted also for the abundance and beauty
of the malachite, found in great variety and richness of tints; the
turquoise was found also, but more rarely. The old shaft runs first
horizontally for some two miles, and then sinks in two shafts to a
depth of some two hundred and thirty fathoms. The engineering and
hydraulic works seem to have been very ingenious, but the description
of them does not come within the sphere of my present undertaking. It
does, however, to observe that over this, as over everything else in
Tirol, religion shed its halo. The miners had ejaculatory prayers,
which it was their custom to utter as they passed in and out of their
place of subterranean toil; and an appropriate petition for every
danger, whether from fire-damp, land-slips, defective machinery,
or other cause. Their greeting to each other, and to those they met
by the way, in place of the national 'Gelobt sei Jesus Christus,'
was 'Gott gebe euch Glück und Segen!' [124] For their particular
patron they selected the Prophet Daniel, whose preservation in the
rocky den of the lions, as they had seen it portrayed, seemed to
bear some analogy with their own condition. Of their liberality in
church-building I have already spoken; but many are the churches and
chapels that bear the token--a crossed chisel and hammer on a red
field--of their contribution to its expense.
There are many other walks to be made from Schwatz. First there is
Buch, so called from the number of beech-trees in the neighbourhood,
which afford pleasant shade, and diversify the scenery, in which the
castle of Tratzberg across the Inn [125] also holds an important
part. Further on is Margareth, surrounded by rich pastures, which
are watered by the foaming Margarethenbach. Then to the south-east is
Galzein, with a number of dependent 'groups of houses,' particularly
Kugelmoos, the view from which sweeps the Inn from Kufstein to
Innsbruck. Beyond, again, but further south, is the Schwaderalpe,
whence the iron worked and taken in depôt at Schwatz is got;
and the Kellerspitze, with the little village of Troi, its twelve
houses perched as if by supernatural handiwork on the spur of a
rock, and once nearly as prolific as Falkenstein in its yield of
silver. The exhausted--deaf (taub) as it is expressively qualified
in German--borings of S. Anthony and S. Blaze are still sometimes
explored by pedestrians.
Arzburg also is within an hour's walk. It was once rich in copper
ore, but is now comparatively little worked. Above it is the
Heiligenkreuzkapelle, about which it is told, that when, on occasion of
the baierische-Rumpel [126] in 1703, the bridge of Zirl was destroyed,
the cross which surmounted it being carried away by the current,
was here rescued and set up by the country-people, who still honour
it by frequent pilgrimages.
Starting again from Schwatz by the high-road, which follows pretty
nearly the course of the Inn, you pass a succession of small towns,
each of which heads a valley, to which it gives its name, receiving
it first from the torrent which through each pours the aggregate of
the mountain streams into the river, all affording a foot-way through
the Duxerthal into the further extremity of the Zillerthal--Pill,
Weer, Kolsass, Wattens, and Volders.
First, there is Pill, a frequent name in Tirol, and derived by Weber
from Bühl or Büchl, a knoll; it is the wildest and most enclosed of any
of these lateral valleys, and exposed to the ravages of the torrent,
which often in winter carries away both bridges and paths, and makes
its recesses inaccessible even to the hardy herdsmen. The following
story may serve to show how hardy they are:--Three sons of a peasant,
whose wealth consisted in his grazing rights over a certain tract of
the neighbouring slopes, were engaged one day in gathering herbage
along the steep bank for the kids of their father's flock. The steep
must have been difficult indeed on which they were afraid to trust
mountain kids to cater for themselves; and the youngest of the boys
was but six, the eldest only fifteen. The eldest lost his balance,
and was precipitated into the roaring torrent, just then swollen
to unusual proportions; he managed to cling fast behind one of the
rocky projections which mark its bed, but his strength was utterly
unable to bear him out of the stream. The second brother, aged ten,
without hesitating, embraced the risk of almost certain death, let
himself down the side of the precipice by clinging to the scanty roots
which garnished its almost perpendicular side. Arrived at the bottom,
he sprang with the lightness of a chamois across the foaming waters
on to the rock where the boy was now slackening his exhausted hold,
and succeeded in dragging him up on to the surface; but even there
there seemed no chance of help, far out of sound as they were of all
human ears. But the youngest, meantime, with a thoughtfulness beyond
his years, had made his way home alone, and apprised the father,
who readily found the means of rescuing his offspring.
The break into the Weerthal is at some little distance from the high
road; its church, situated on a little high-level plain, is surrounded
with fir-trees. A little lake is pointed out, of which a similar
legend is told to 'the judgment of Achensee,' which is indeed one not
infrequently met with; it is said that it covers a spot where stood a
mighty castle, once submerged for the haughtiness of its inhabitants,
and the waters placed there that no one might again build on the
site for ever. The greatest ornament of the valley is the rambling
ruin of Schloss Rettenberg, on its woody height, once a fortress
of the Rottenburgers; afterwards it passed to Florian Waldauf,
whose history I have already given when speaking of Hall. [127]
It was bought by the commune in 1810, and the present church built
up out of the materials it afforded, the former church having been
burnt down that year. The old site and its remains are looked upon
by the people as haunted by a steward of the castle and his wife,
who in the days of its prosperity dealt hardly with the widow and the
orphan, and must now wander sighing and breathing death on all who
come within their baleful influence. A shepherd once fell asleep in
the noontide heat, while his sheep were browsing on the grass-grown
eminence. When he woke, they were no longer in sight; at last he found
them dead within the castle keep. 'Guard thy flock better,' shouted a
hoarse voice, 'for this enclosure is mine, and none who come hither
escape me.' None ventured within the precincts after this; but many
a time those who were bold enough to peep through a fissure in the
crazy walls reported that they had seen the hard-hearted steward as
a pale, weary, grey-bearded man, sit sighing on the crumbling stones.
The Kolsassthal merges into the Weerthal and is hardly distinguished
from it, and affords a sort of counterpart, though on more broken
ground, to the Gnadenwald on the opposite side of the river. It is
from this abundance of shady woods that its name is derived, through
the old German kuol, cool, and sazz, a settlement. In the church,
the altar-piece of the Assumption is by Zoller. The church of Wattens
has an altar-piece by a more esteemed Tirolean artist, Schöpf; it
represents S. Laurence, to whom the church is dedicated. The many
forges busily at work making implements of agriculture, nails, &c.,
keep you well aware of the thrift and industry of the place; its
prosperity is further supported by a paper manufactory, which has
always remained in the hands of the family which started it in 1559,
and supplies the greater part of Tirol. A self-taught villager, Joseph
Schwaighofer, enjoyed some reputation here a few years ago as a guitar
maker. The Wattenserthal, like the Kolsassthal, is also very woody,
and contains some little settlements of charcoal-burners; but it is
also diversified by a great many fertile glades, which are diligently
sought out for pasture. At Walchen, where a few shepherds' huts are
clustered at the confluence of two mountain streams, the valley is
broken into two branches--one, Möls, running nearly due south into
the Navisthal, by paths increasing in difficulty as you proceed;
the other, Lizumthal, by the south-east to Hinterdux, passing at the
Innerlahn the so-called 'Blue Lake,' of considerable depth. [128]
Following the road again, Volders is reached at about a mile from
Wattens. As at the latter place, your ears are liberally greeted
with the sounds of the smithy. Volders has quite a celebrity for
its production of scythes; some ten or twelve thousand are said to
be exported annually. The Post Inn affords tolerable quarters for a
night or two while exploring the neighbourhood.
The prolific pencil of Schöpf has provided the church with an
altar-piece of the Holy Family; though an ancient foundation, it does
not present any object of special interest.
The Voldererthal runs beneath some peaks dear to Alpine climbers, the
Grafmarterspitz, the Glunggeser, the Kreuzjoch, and the Pfunerjoch. Its
entrance is commanded by the castles of Hanzenheim, sometimes called
Starkelberg, from having belonged to a family of that name, and used as
a hospital during the campaign of 1809; and Friedberg, which is still
inhabited, having been carefully restored by the present owner, Count
Albert von Cristalnigg. It was originally built in the ninth or tenth
century, as a tower to guard the bridge; it gave its name to a powerful
family, who are often mentioned in the history of Tirol. At the end of
the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth centuries, it was one
of the castles annexed by Friedrich mit der leeren Tasche. It contains
also the Voldererbad, a mineral spring, which is much visited, but more
conveniently reached by way of Windegg than through the valley itself.
In the Voldererwald is a group of houses, Aschbach by name, which
belongs ecclesiastically to the parish of Mils, on the opposite side;
and the following story is given to account for the anomaly:--At the
time when the territory of Volders belonged parochially to Kolsass
(it must have been before the year 1630, as it was that year formed
into an independent parish), the neighbourhood was once ravaged by the
plague. A farmer of Aschbach being stricken by it, sent to beg the
spiritual assistance of the priest of Kolsass. The priest attended
to the summons; but when he reached the threshold of the infected
dwelling, and saw what a pitiable sight the sick man presented, his
fears got the better of his resolution, and he could not prevail on
himself to enter the room. Not to leave his penitent entirely without
comfort, however, he exhorted him to repentance, heard his confession,
and absolved him from where he stood; and then uncovering the sacred
Host, bid him gaze on it in a spirit of faith, and assured him he
should thereby receive all the benefit of actual Communion. The visit
thus completed, he hurried back to Kolsass in all speed. Meantime the
sick man, not satisfied with the office thus performed, sent for the
priest of Mils, who, supported by apostolic charity, approached him
without hesitation, and administered the sacred mysteries. Contrary to
all expectation, the farmer recovered, resumed his usual labours, and
in due course garnered his harvest. In due course also came round the
season for paying his tithe. With commendable punctuality the farmer
loaded his waggon with the sacred tribute, and started alacritously
on the way to Kolsass. Any one who watched him might have observed a
twinkle of his eye, which portended some unusual dénouement to the
yearly journey. As he approached Kolsass the twinkle kindled more
humorously, and the oxen felt the goad applied more vigorously. The
pastor of Kolsass turned out to see the waggon approaching at the
unusual pace, and was already counting the tempting sheaves of golden
corn. To his surprise, however, his frolicsome parishioner wheeled
round his team before he brought it to a stand, and then cried aloud,
'Gaze, Father! yes, gaze in faith on the goodly sight, and believe me,
your faith shall stand you in stead of the actual fruition!' With that
he drove his waggon at the same pace at which he had come, straight
off to the pastor of Mils, at whose worthy feet he laid the tithe. And
this act of 'poetical justice' was ratified by ecclesiastical authority
as a censure on the pusillanimity of the priest of Kolsass, by the
transfer of the tithing of Aschbach to the parish of Mils. I have met a
counterpart of this story both in England and in Spain; so true is it,
as Carlyle has prettily said, that though many traditions have but one
root they grow, like the banyan, into a whole overarching labyrinth.
The stately Serviten-kloster outside Volders suggests another
adaptation of this metaphor. From the root of one saint's maxims
and example, what an 'over-arching labyrinth' of good works will
grow up and spread over and adorn the face of the earth, even in
the most distant parts. In the year 1590 there was born at Trent a
boy named Hyppolitus Guarinoni, who was destined to graft upon Tirol
the singular virtues of St. Charles Borromeo. Attached early to the
household of the saintly Archbishop of Milan, Guarinoni grew up to
embody in action his spirit of devotion and charity. By St. Charles's
advice and assistance he followed the study of medicine, and took
his degree in his twenty-fifth year. Shortly after, he was appointed
physician in ordinary to the then ruler of Tirol, Archduke Ferdinand
II. His fervent piety marked him as specially fit to be further
entrusted with the sanitary care of the convent founded some years
before by the Princesses Magdalen, Margaret, and Helena, Ferdinand's
sisters, at Hall, and called the Königliche Damenstift. [129] All
the time that was left free by these public engagements he spent by
the bedsides of the poor of the neighbourhood. The care of the soul
ever accompanied his care for their bodies, and many a wanderer owed
his reconciliation with heaven to his timely exhortations. Just about
this time the incursions of the new doctrines were making themselves
felt in this part of Tirol, and some localities, which from their
remoteness were out of the way of regular parochial ministrations,
were beginning to listen to them. Guarinoni discovered this in the
course of his charitable labours, for which no outlying Sennerhütte was
inaccessible. In 1628 he obtained special leave, though a layman, from
the Bishop of Brixen, to preach in localities which had no resident
pastor; he further published a little work which he used to distribute
among the people, designed to show them how many corporal infirmities
are induced by neglect of the whole-some maxims of religion. Besides
the restored unity of the faith in his country, two other monuments of
his piety remain: the Church of St. Charles by the bridge of Volders,
and the Sanctuary of Judenstein. In his moments of leisure it was
his favourite occupation to commit to writing for the instruction
of posterity the traditional details of the life of St. Nothburga,
and of the holy child Andreas of Rinn, which were at his date even
more rife in the mouths of the peasantry of the neighbourhood than
at present. He only died in 1654, having devoted himself to these
good works for nearly half a century.
The church by which he endeavoured to bring under observation and
imitation the distinguishing qualities of St. Charles, was erected
on a spot famous in the Middle Ages as a bandit's den; the building
occupied thirty-four years, and was consecrated but a short time
before his death. Baron Karl von Fieger, from whom he bought the
site, a few years later added to it the Servite monastery, which,
though it exhibits all the vices of the architecture of its date,
yet bears tokens that its imperfections are not due to any stint
of means. Its three cupolas and other structural arrangements are
designed in commemoration of the Holy Trinity--a mystery which is
held in very special honour throughout Austria. In the decorations,
later benefactors have carried on Guarinoni's intention, the acts
of St. Charles being portrayed in the frescoes, completed in 1764,
by which Knoller has earned some celebrity in the world of art for
himself and for the church: they display his conversion from the
stiffer German style of his master, Paul Trogger, to the Italian
manner. That over the entrance conveys a tradition of St. Charles,
predicting to Guarinoni, while his page, that he would one day erect a
church in his honour; that of the larger cupola is an apotheosis of the
saint. The picture of the high-altar sets forth the saint ministering
to the plague-stricken; it is Knoller's boldest attempt at colouring.
Near the entrance door may be observed a considerable piece of rock
built into the wall, entitled by the people 'Stein des Gehorsams,'
[130] its history being that at the time when the church was building
it was detached from the rock above by a landslip, and threatened
the workmen with destruction. Its course was arrested at the behest
of a pious monk, who was overseeing the works. [131]
After passing the Servitenkloster a footpath may easily be found which
leads to Judenstein and Rinn, the seat of one of the much-contested
mediæval beliefs accusing the Jews of the sacrifice of Christian
children. It may be better, in describing this stem of this banyan,
to visit Rinn the further place first, and take Judenstein on our way
back. The country traversed is well wooded, and further diversified by
the bizarre outlines of the steeples of Hall seen across the river,
while the mighty Glunggeser-Spitz rises 7,500 feet above you. It
invites a visit for its amenity and its associations, though the
relics of the infant Saint 'Anderle' are no longer there. His father
died, it would seem, while he was a child in arms; his mother earned
her living in the fields, and while she was absent used to leave
her boy at Pentzenhof in charge of his godfather, Mayr. One day,
when he was about three years old--it was the 12th July 1462--she
was cutting corn, when suddenly she saw three drops of blood upon
her hand without any apparent means of accounting for the token,
one with which many superstitions were connected. [132] Her motherly
instincts were alarmed, and, without an instant's consideration,
she threw down her sickle and hurried home. A little field-chapel
to St. Isidor the husbandman, St. Nothburga, and St. Andrew of Rinn,
was subsequently built upon this spot. Arrived at Mayr's house, the
forebodings of her anxious heart were redoubled at not finding her
darling playing about as he was wont. The faithless godfather, taken
by surprise at her unexpected return, only stammered broken excuses in
answer to her reiterated inquiries. At last he exclaimed, thinking to
calm her frenzy, 'If he is not here, here is something better--a hat
full of golden pieces, which we will share between us.' He took down
his hat, but to his consternation instead of finding it heavy with its
golden contents, there was nothing in it but withered leaves! At this
sight he was overcome with fear and horror; his speech forsook him,
and his senses together, and he ended his days raving mad.
The distracted mother, meantime, pursued her inquiries and
perquisitions; but all she could learn was that certain Jews, [133]
returning from their harvesting at Botzen, had over-tempted Mayr by
their offers and persuaded him to sell the child to them, but with
the assurance that he should come to no harm. Little reassured by
the announcement, she ran madly into the neighbouring birchwood,
whither she had learned they had bent their steps, and there came
upon the lifeless body of her treasure, hanging bloodless and mangled
from a tree. A large stone near bore traces of having been used as a
sacrificial stone, and the clothes, which had been rudely torn off,
lay scattered about; the many wounds of his tender form showed by
how cruel a martyrdom he had been called to share in the massacre of
the Innocents.
His remains were tenderly gathered and laid to rest, and his memory
held in affection by all the neighbourhood; nevertheless, though
there were many signs of the supernatural connected with the event,
it did not receive all the veneration it might have been expected to
call forth.
About ten years later a similar event occurred at Trent, and the
remains of the infant S. Simeon were treated with so great honour
that the people of Rinn were awakened to an appreciation of the
treasure they had suffered to lie in their churchyard almost
unheeded. [134] The Emperor Maximilian I. contemplated building
a church over the spot where the martyrdom occurred, hence call
Judenstein. His intentions were frustrated by the knavery of the
builder, and only a small chapel was built at this time; and though
on occasion of its consecration the relics of the child martyr were
carried thither in solemn procession, they were still for some time
after preserved at Rinn. It was Hippolitus Gruarinoni to whom the
honour is due of saving the spot from oblivion. The chisel of the
Tirolese sculptor Nissl has set forth in grotesque design a group
of Jews fulfilling their fearful deed. A portrait of Gruarinoni was
likewise hung up there. The relics were translated thither with due
solemnity in 1678. An afflux of pilgrims was immediately attracted,
and the numerous tablets which crowd the walls attest the estimation
in which it has been held. Then the people began to remember the
wonders that had surrounded it. The ghost of Godfather Mayr, which
for two centuries had been frequently met howling through the woods,
now seemed to have found its rest, for it was never more seen or
heard. And they recalled how a beautiful white lily, with strange
letters on its petals, had bloomed spontaneously on the holy infant's
grave; [135] that when a wilful boy, Pögler by name, snapped the stem
while they were still pondering what the unknown letters might mean,
he had his arm withered; and further that for generations after,
every Pögler had died an untimely or a violent death. How in like
manner, for seven consecutive winters, the birch-tree, on which the
innocent child's body was hung by his persecutors, put forth fresh
green sprouts as if in spring, and how when a thoughtless woodman one
day hewed it down for a common tree, it happened that he met with a
terrible accident on his homeward way, whereof he died. It may well
be imagined that where such legends prevailed Jews obtained little
favour; so that to the present day it is said there is but few Jew
families settled among them, though they are numerous and influential
in other parts of the Austrian dominion. [136]
Another memory yet of Hippolitus Guarinoni lingers in the
neighbourhood. By a path which branches off near Judenstein to the
left (going from Volders and following the stream), the Volderbad is
reached; a sulphur spring discovered and brought into notice by him,
and now much frequented in summer, perhaps as much for its pleasant
mountain breezes as for the medicinal properties of the waters.
There is another interesting excursion which should be followed
before reaching Innsbruck, but it is more easily made from Hall than
from Volders, though still on the right bank of the Inn. The first
village on it is Ampass, a walk of about four miles from Hall through
the most charming scenery; it is so called simply as being situated
on a pass between the hills traversed on the road to Hall. Then you
pass the remains of the former seat of the house of Brandhausen;
and following the road cut by Maria Theresa through the Wippthal to
facilitate the commerce in wine and salt between Matrei and Hall,
you pass Altrans and Lans, having always the green heights of the
Patscherkofl smiling before you, an easy ascent for those who desire to
practise climbing, from Lans, where the Wilder Mann affords possible
quarters for a night. [137] A path branching off from the Mattrei
road leads hence to Sistrans, a village whose church boasts of having
been embellished by Claudia de' Medici. Its situation is delightful;
the green plain is strewed with fifteen towns and villages, including
Hall and Innsbruck, and behind these rise the great range of alps,
while on the immediate foreground is the tiny Lansersee which will
afford excellent Forellen for luncheon. The bed of this same Lansersee,
it is said, was once covered with a flourishing though not extensive
forest, its wood the only substance of a humble peasant, who had
received it from his fathers. A nobleman living near took a fancy to
the bit of forest ground, but instead of offering to purchase it, he
endeavoured to set up some obsolete claim in a court of law. The judge,
afraid to offend the powerful lord, decided in his favour. The poor
man heard the sentence with as much grief at the dishonour done to his
forefathers' honour as distress at his own ruin. 'There is no help for
me on earth, I know,' said the poor man. 'I have no money to make an
appeal. I may not contend in arms with one of noble blood. But surely
He who sitteth in heaven, and who avenged Naboth, will not suffer
this injustice. As for me, my needs are few; I refuse not to work;
the sweat of my brow will bring me bread enough; but the inheritance
of my fathers which I have preserved faithfully as I received it from
them, shall it pass to another?' and in the bitterness of his soul
he wept and fell asleep; but as he slept in peace a mighty roaring
sound disturbed the slumbers of the unjust noble; it seemed to him
in his dream as though the foundations of his castle were shattered
and the floods passing over them. When they awoke in the morning the
forest was no more to be seen--a clear calm lake mirrored the justice
of heaven, and registered its decree that the trees of the poor man
should never enrich the store of his unscrupulous neighbour.
Sistrans was once famous for a champion wrestler who had long carried
off the palm from all the country round; but like him of Schwatz, he
was not content with his great natural strength; he was always afraid
a stronger than he might arise and conquer him in turn; and so he
determined to put himself beyond the reach of another's challenge. To
effect this he arranged with great seeming devotion to serve the
Mass on Christmas night; and while the priest's eye was averted, laid
a second wafer upon the one that he had had laid ready. The priest,
suspecting nothing, consecrated as usual; and then at the moment of the
Wandlung, when the priest was absorbed in the solemnity of his act,
as he approached to lift the chasuble he stealthily abstracted the
Host he had surreptitiously laid on the altar. The precious talisman
carefully concealed, he bound it on his arm the instant Mass was over;
and from that day forth no one could stand against him. And not only
this, but he had power too in a multitude of other ways. Had anyone
committed a theft, it needed but to consult our wrestler; if he began
saying certain words and walking solemnly along, immediately, step
by step, were he far or near, the thief, wherever he was, was bound
by secret and resistless impulse to tread as he trod, and bring back
the booty to the place whence he had taken it. Was anyone's cattle
stricken with sickness, it needed but to call our wrestler; a few
words solemnly pronounced, and the touch of his potent arm, sufficed
to restore the beast to perfect health. Moreover, no bird could escape
his snare, no fox or hare or chamois outrun him for swiftness.
Thus all went well; he had played a bold stake, and had won his
game. But at last the time came for him to die. Weary of his struggles,
and even of his successes, our wrestler would fain have laid his
head to rest under the soft green turf of the field of peace, by
the wayside of those who pass in to pray, and lulled by the sound of
the holy bells. But in vain he lay in his bed; death came not. True,
there were all his symptoms in due force--the glazed eye and palsied
tongue and wringing agony; but for all that he could not die. At last,
the priest, astonished at what he saw, asked him if he had not on his
conscience some sin weighty above the wont, and so moved him to a sense
of penance that he confessed his impiety with tears of contrition;
and it was not till he had told all, and the priest had received
the sacred particle he had misused, that, shriven and blessed, his
soul could depart in peace. There is a spot outside Sistrans called
the Todsünden-marterle, but whether it has any connection with this
tradition, or whether it has one of its own, I have not been able
to learn.
A couple of hours further is the pilgrimage chapel of Heiligenwasser,
which is much visited both by the pious and the valetudinarian. Its
history is that in 1606 two shepherd boys keeping their father's
herd upon the mountains lost two young kine. In vain they sought
them through the toilful path and beneath the burning sun; the
kine were nowhere to be found. At last in despair of any further
labour proving successful, they fell on their knees and prayed
with tears for help from above. Then a bright light fell upon them,
and the Gnadenmutter appeared beside them, and bid them be of good
cheer, for the cattle were gone home to their stall; moreover she
added, 'Drink, children, for the day is hot, and ye are weary with
wandering.' 'Drink!' exclaimed the famished children, 'where shall
we find water? there is no water near!' but even as they spoke the
Gnadenmutter was taken from their sight, but in the place where the
light surrounding her had shone there welled up a clear and bubbling
stream between the rocks, which has never ceased to flow since. The
boys went home, but had not the courage to tell how great a favour
had been bestowed on them; yet they never went by that way without
turning to give glory to God, and say a prayer beneath the holy spring.
Fifty years passed. One of them was an infirm old man, and no longer
went abroad so far, the other was attended in his labours by the son
of a neighbour, a lad who had been dumb from his birth. When the
lad saw the herdsman kneel down by the spring and drink and pray,
he knelt and drank and prayed too; when lo! no sooner had the water
passed his lips than he found he had the power of speech like any
other. The narration of the one wonder led to that of the other. The
people readily believed, and before the year was out a chapel had
been raised upon the spot.