CHAPTER XII.

WÄLSCH-TIROL.

VAL SUGANA.--GIUDICARIA.--FOLKLORE.

Legends are echoes of the great child-voices from the primitive

world; so rich and sweet that their sound is gone out into

all lands.

Val Sugana is watered by the Brenta through its whole course,

running nearly direct east from Trent. It is reached by the Adler

Thor, and over the handsome bridge of S. Ludovico, through luxuriant

plantations of mulberries and vines, and with many a summer villa on

either hand. The road leads (at a considerable and toilsome distance)

to the low range of hills (in Tirol called a Sonnenberg) of Baselga,

locally named Pinè, whose sides are studded with a number of villages

and groups of houses. In one of these, Verda or Guarda by name,

near the village of Montanaga, is the most celebrated pilgrimage

of the Trentino--the Madonna di Pinè, also known as the Madonna di

Caravaggio. It was the year 1729; a peasant girl, Domenika Targa,

native of Verda, who was noted by all her neighbours for the angelic

holiness of her life, had lost some of her herd upon the mountain one

hot August day; in her distress, she knelt down to ask for help to

bring back her charge faithfully. Suddenly the place was bathed in a

light of glory, and before her stood a lady so benign and glorious,

she could be none other than the Himmelskönigin. 'Go, my child, and

tell them that you have seen me here, and that I have chosen this

spot for my delight; and that their prayers will be heard which they

offer before the picture of the Madonna di Caravaggio.' The light

faded away, and Domenika turned to seek her flock. She found them all

in order, waiting for her to drive them home. There was considerable

discussion after this as to what 'Madonna di Caravaggio' might mean;

and it was at last decided that it could mean nothing but the picture

of the Madonna by Caldara, surnamed Caravaggio from his birthplace,

venerated at Milan. Domenika could not leave her herds to go to Milan,

and she was perplexed how to obey the vision. In her simple faith she

addressed her prayer on high for further direction, and once more the

heavenly sight was vouchsafed to her, and it was explained that the

Madonnabild meant was not that of Milan, but the one in the little

field-chapel of S. Anna, near Montanaga. Domenika did not fail to

go there the next festival on which it was open, the Ascension Day,

which was, that year, May 26. Above the faint light of the tapers

tempered by the incense clouds, and amid the chanted litanies of the

choir, the fair Queen once more appeared to her in garments of gold,

and surrounded by a glittering train of attendants. Some months passed,

and though the people had wondered at the marvel, nothing had been done

to commemorate it; Domenika was kneeling, on September 8, the Nativity

of the Blessed Virgin, in the Chapel of S. Anna. A sound of soft

chanting broke on her ear, which she thought must be the procession of

the parish coming up the hill to pray for rain. But as it grew nearer,

the same heavenly radiance overspread the place, and once more she saw

the Virgin Mother; but this time she looked stern, for the great favour

of her visit had been overlooked, and she reasoned with Domenika on

the ingratitude it betokened. Domenika honestly outspoke her inward

cogitations on the subject--what could a poor cattle-herd do? It was

given her to understand that much might be done even by such a poor

peasant, if she exercised energy and devotion. With new strength and

determination, she girt herself for the task of building a shrine

over the spot so dear to her. At first she met with great ridicule

and scorn, but she pursued her way so steadily and so humbly, that

all were won to share her convictions. Offerings for the work began

to flow in. Those who had no money gave their corn, or their grapes,

their ornaments, and their very clothes. Year by year the new church

rose, according as she could collect the means; and at last, on May

26, 1751, she had the consolation of seeing the complete edifice

consecrated. It is a neat cruciform building, sixty-three feet long

and fifty-three feet wide, with three marble altars, on one of which

is a copy of the Madonna di Caravaggio of Milan painted by Jakob

Moser after he had made three pilgrimages to the original. I was

not able to ascertain what was supposed to have been intended in the

first instance by calling the old picture in S. Anna's field-chapel

the Madonna di Caravaggio. Possibly the little Milanese town, which

has given two painters to fame, had produced some 'mute inglorious'

'Caravaggio,' who painted the earlier picture. The commemoration of

Domenika's vision is celebrated every year in Val Pinè by pilgrimages

on May 26 when the most striking gatherings of Tirolese costume are

to be observed there.

Pergine is the first large village on returning into the main valley,

about six miles from Trent. It well deserves to be better known:

the neighbourhood is of great beauty, and the form of the surrounding

heights is well likened by the inhabitants to a theatre. The church,

built in 1500-45, is spacious and handsome, adorned in the interior

with red marble columns. In the churchyard are the remains of the

older church, where every Lent German sermons are still preached

for the benefit of the scattered German population, whose name for

the place is Persen. The German and Italian elements within the

village are blended with tolerable amity. From the fourteenth to the

sixteenth centuries, silver, copper, lead, and iron, were got out in

the neighbouring Fersinathal; and though the works are now nearly given

up, the Knappen then formed an important portion of the community. They

cast the bell as an offering to the church when building, and it

is still called the Knappinn--by the Italians canòppa. The chief

industry now is silk-spinning. The greatest ornament of the place

is the Schloss of the Bishop of Trent, which is well kept up, and

from the roof of which an incomparable view is obtained. Among the

peculiar customs of the place those concerning marriages deserve to

be recorded, as they tend to show the character of the people. Two

young men of the bridegroom's friends are selected for the office

of Brumoli so called; they have to carry, the one a barn-door fowl,

the other a spinning-wheel, before the bride as she goes to and from

church, to remind her of her household duties. After the wedding,

as she returns with her husband to his house the door is suddenly

closed as she approaches, and there is then carried on a dialogue,

according to an established form, between her and her husband's

mother--the latter requiring, and the former undertaking, that she

will prove herself God-fearing and domesticated; that she will be

faithful and devoted to her husband, and live in charity with all

his family. The little ceremony complete, the mother-in-law throws

wide the door, and receives her with open arms.

On the south side of the valley, opposite Pergine, is the clear lake

of Caldonazzo, whose waters reflect the bright green chestnut woods

around it; it is the source of the Brenta, and one of the largest

lakes of Tirol; about three miles long, and half as broad. Count

Welfersheim, an Austrian general, and his adjutant, were drowned in

attempting to walk over the thin ice on it in March 1871. On a rugged

promontory jutting into its midst stands the most ancient sanctuary of

the neighbourhood, San Cristofero; once a temple to Saturn and Diana,

but adopted for a Christian church by the earliest evangelizers of

the valley, for which reason the produce of the soil and waters yet

pays tithe to the presbytery of Pergine. Other villages add to the

surrounding beauties of the lake, particularly Campolongo, with its

church of St. Teresa high above the green waters, and the church and

hermitage of San Valentin; the latter is now used for a roccolo, or

vogeltennen, by which numbers of birds of passage are caught on their

migrations. The land is very poor. To eke out their living, most of the

male inhabitants of the villages around are wont to go out every winter

as pedlars, with various small articles manufactured in the valley, and

with which they are readily trusted by those who stay behind. On their

return, which is always at Easter, they distribute honourably what they

have earned for each, deducting a small commission. So straightforward

and honourable are they, that though they have little idea of keeping

accounts, and the sums are generally made out with a bit of chalk on

the inn table, yet it is said that such a thing as a dispute over the

amounts is utterly unknown. The church of St. Hermes, at Calzeranica,

is reckoned the most ancient of the whole neighbourhood; remains

of an ancient temple, thought to have been to Diana of Antioch,

have been found when repairing it. In the forest behind Bosentino,

a neighbouring village, is a pilgrimage chapel called Nossa Signora

del feles; die h. Jungfrau vom Farrenkraut--St. Mary of the Fern. Some

two hundred years ago, Gianisello, a little dumb boy of Bosentino, who

was minding his father's herd in the forest, was visited by a bright

lady, who pointed to a tuft of fern growing under a chestnut tree,

and bid him go and tell the village people she would have them built

a chapel there. When the people heard the boy tell his story, who for

all the twelve years of his life had never spoken a word before, they

felt no doubt it was the Blessed Virgin he had seen. The chapel was

soon built, and furnished with a painting embodying the little boy's

story. In time of dearth, drought, epidemic, or other local calamity,

many are the processions which may yet be seen wending their prayerful

way to the chapel of St. Mary of the Fern.

Among the wild and beautiful legends of this part of the valley is

a variant of one familiar in every land. A young swain, the maiden

of whose choice was called to an early grave, went wandering through

the chestnut groves calling for his beloved, till he grew weary with

crying, and laid him down in a cave to rest. A sweet sleep visited him,

and he found himself in it at home as of old in the Valle del Orco,

[208] with his Filomena on his arm; he led her to the village church,

and the silver-haired pastor gave the marriage blessing, while all

the village prayed around. He brought Filomena home to his old house,

alle Settepergole, [209] his dear old father and mother welcomed her,

and she brought sunshine into the cottage; and when they were called

away the old walls were yet not without life and joy, for it resounded

to the voice of the prattling little ones. The little ones grew up

into stalwart lads and lasses, who earned homesteads of their own, and

erewhile brought another tribe of prattling little ones to his knee;

while Filomena smiled a bright sunshine over all, and they were so

happy they prayed it might never end: but one day it seemed that the

sunshine of Filomena's smile was not felt, for she was no longer there;

then all grew pale and cold, and with a sudden chill he woke. It was

grey morning as he rose from the cave; the cattle were lowing as they

were led out to pasture; he looked out towards the chestnut groves,

and watched in their waving foliage the strange effect which had

been the charm of his childhood, looking like rippled ocean pouring

abroad its flood. [210] But when he reached the village the sights

and sounds were no more so familiar: the old church tower was capped

with a steeple, of which he never saw the like; the folk he met by

the way were all strangers, and stared at him as at one who comes

from far. He wandered up and down all the day, and everything was yet

strange. At evening the men came back from the fields, and again they

gazed at him estranged: once he made bold to ask them for 'Zansusa,'

the companion of his boyhood, but they shrugged their shoulders with

a 'Chè Zansusa?' and passed on. He asked again for 'Piero,' almost

as dear a friend, and they pointed to a 'Piero' with not one feature

like his Peter. Once again he asked for 'Franceschi,' and they pointed

to a grave, where his name was written indeed--'Franceschi,' who but

the day before had walked with him in full life and health, to hang

a fresh wreath on Filomena's cross! Ah! there was Filomena's cross,

but how changed was that too! the bright gilding, on which his savings

had been so willingly lavished, was tarnished and weather-worn, and

not a leaf of his garland remained round it. He wandered no further,

nor sought to fathom the mystery more; he knelt on the only spot of

earth that had any charm for him. As his knees touched the hallowed

soil consoling thoughts of her undying affection overflowed him. 'Here

we are united again,' he said; 'in a little while we shall be united

for ever.' 'At last have I found thee! these fifty years I have sought

thee in vain!' The moonbeam kissed his forehead as he looked up, and

the moonbeam bore her who had spoken. A fair form she wore, but still

it was not the form of Filomena. 'Who are you, and wherefore sought

you me?' he asked. 'I am Death,' replied the pale maiden, 'and for

fifty years I have sought thee to lead thee to Filomena.' She beckoned

as she spoke, and willingly he followed her whither the moonbeam led.

The village of Caldonazzo, with its ancient castle, is another

ornament of the lake. Further south is the village of Lavarone,

or Lafraun, accessible only to the pedestrian. A house close to the

edge of a little lake here is pointed out, which in olden time was

the residence of two brothers, the owners of the meadow over which

the lake is now spread. These two could never agree; their strife

grew from day to day, till at last one night they called each other

out to settle their quarrels once for all by mortal combat. The

noise of the strife within had made them oblivious to the strife

of the elements which was waging without. The gust which entered as

the eldest turned to open the cottage door, and the blinding rain,

drove them back; even their fierce passions seemed mastered by the

fiercer fury without. In silence they returned into the room, and

neither cared to raise his voice amid the angry voices of the storm,

which now made themselves heard solemnly indeed. In sullen silence they

passed the night, and during the silence there was time for reflection;

each would have been glad to have backed out of the promised fight,

but neither had the courage to propose a reconciliation. Sullenly they

rose with the morning light; the pale gold rays rested on the trees,

now calm and tranquil, and both shuddered to carry their vengeance

out on to the fair scene; but neither dared speak, and once more the

eldest opened the door. This time it was not the rain descending from

above which drove him back; it was the flood rising from beneath! The

Centa torrent had overflowed. The disputed meadow had become a lake,

and with their united efforts they scarcely kept the waters banked

out. The community of labour, of danger, and of distress, ended the

strife; and though their worldly possessions were lost to them for

ever, they had found a greater boon, the bond of fraternal charity.

I must pass over Levico, near which the Brenta has its source, and the

intervening villages; but Borgo di Val Sugan' demands our attention

for its beautiful situation. The view over both may be enjoyed by

mountain climbers from the neighbouring height of Vezzena. Borgo is

commonly called the Italian Meran, for its likeness with that favourite

watering-place. Its buildings extend over both sides of the Brenta,

being united by a massive stone bridge, built in 1498. Those on the

left bank were nearly destroyed by fire in 1862, but the rebuilding

has been carried on with great spirit. Its ecclesiastical buildings do

not date far back; the rebuilding of the parish church in 1727 nearly

obliterated all traces of the earlier edifice; its chief glories are

three paintings it possesses, one by Titian's brother, one by Karl

Loth, and one by Rothmayr. The fine campanile was added in 1760. There

is also a Franciscan convent, but it does not date back further than

1603, there is the following curious tradition of its origin.

The Sellathal leading to Sette Comuni, is narrowed by two mighty

cliffs--the Rochetta on the south, and the Grolina on the north,

adorned with the ruined Castel San Pietro, [211] seemingly perched

above all human reach. On a green knoll beneath it stand the lordly

remains of Castel Telvana; its frescoes are now nearly faded away,

only a room here and there is habitable; but its enduring walls and

towers show of what strength it was in the days long gone by--days

such as those in which Anna, wife of Siccone di Caldonazzo, defended it

with so much spirit against all the might of Friedrich mit der leeren

Tasche, that she obtained the right to an honourable capitulation. It

was bought by the Counts of Welsburg in 1465, and henceforth it became

an abode of pleasure rather than a mere fortress. Count Sigmund von

Welsburg, who was its master towards the end of the sixteenth century,

was particularly disposed to make his residence in their midst a boon

to the inhabitants of Borgo, and entered heartily into all the pastimes

of the people. It happened thus that the Carneval procession of the

year 1598 was invited to take the Castel Telvana for its bourne;

and that the women might not be fatigued by the ascent, the Count

gallantly provided them all with horses from his own stud. The valley

resounded with merriment as they wended their way up in their varied

and fantastic attire. Arrived at the castle, good cheer was provided,

which none were slow to turn to account, and the return was commenced

in no less boisterous humour. At the most precarious spot of the

giddy declivity, the courage of the foremost rider forsook her;

the Count's high-couraged charger, which she bestrode, perceiving

the slackened pressure on the rein, grew nervous and bewildered too,

and uneasy to find himself for the first time subjected to devious

guidance. The indecision of the first fair cavalier alarmed her

sister, who followed next behind--a shriek was the expression of the

alarm, which communicated itself to the next rider, and in a moment

a panic had possessed the whole cavalcade, or nearly the whole; for

the few who here and there still retained their presence of mind

were powerless to make those before them advance, or to keep back

the threatening tramp of those behind. The Count saw the danger,

and the one remedy. First registering a vow, that if he succeeded

in his daring enterprise he would build a convent to the honour of

God and St. Francis, he set out along the brink of the narrow track,

where there was scarce a foot-breadth between him and the abyss, past

the whole file of the snorting horses and their terrified burdens. He

had this in his favour, that every denizen of his stable recognised

him as he went by, and his presence soothed their chafing. Arrived

at last safely at the head of the leading steed, his hand on its

mane was enough to restore its confidence; securely he led it to

the full end of the dangerous pass, and all the others followed in

docile order behind. The Count did not forget his vow, nor would he

in his gratitude allow any other hand to diminish the outlay he had

undertaken. The convent buildings are now in part turned to secular

uses, though part is also used for a hospital, where all the sick of

the town are freely tended. In the church is an altarpiece of Lazarus

begging at the gate of Dives, by Lorenzo Fiorentini, a native artist.

The pass I have mentioned between the Rochetta and the Grolina--the

importance of which as a defence was not unknown to the Romans, of

whose remains the town possesses a considerable collection dug up

at different times--was not without its share of work in the French

invasions of 1796 and 1809. In the former, a handful of Tirolese

successfully repulsed five hundred of the enemy in an obstinate

encounter of three hours' duration. In the latter, the place was

attacked by tenfold greater numbers. General Ruska was so infuriated,

not only by their determined and galling fire, but by the derisive

shouts and gestures of the mountaineers, who carried their daring

so far as to fling the dead bodies of the soldiers they had killed

down under the wheels of his carriage, that he ordered the pillage

and destruction of the town. His guns were ready planted to pour out

their murderous fire, when the parish priest, heading a procession

of aged house-fathers, came to implore him to spare their homes. At

the same moment news was brought him that two Austrian battalions were

advancing with dangerous haste. One or other of the considerations thus

urged effected the deliverance of the town, which was only required

to buy itself off at the price of a large supply of provisions.

Borgo has further advantage of the mineral spring of Zaberle, and a

creditable theatre. Silk-spinning is again the chief industry of the

place; and there are several so-called Filatoriums, employing a great

number of hands. The most remarkable excursions in the neighbourhood

are to the deserted hermitage of San Lorenzo and the stalactite caves

of Costalta, both in the Sellathal, whence there is a path leading

to the curiously primitive and typically upright community of the

Sette Comuni.

Pursuing the valley further in its easterly course, I must not omit to

mention Castelalto, not only remarkable for its share in the mediæval

history of Tirol, but for being still well kept up. At Strigno,

one of the largest hamlets of the valley, is another ancient castle,

which after its abandonment in the fourteenth century acquired the

name of Castelrotto. The parish church, rebuilt in 1827, contains a

Madonna del Rosario by Domenichino; and a Mater Dolorosa in Carrara

marble, by the Venetian sculptor Melchiori. This is the generally

adopted starting-place for the Cima d'Asta, the highest peak of

the Trentino (8,561 feet), and commanding a panorama of exceptional

magnificence. Under favourable circumstances it is reached within

thirty hours, sleeping in the open at Quarazza. The interest of

the way is heightened by two considerable lakes; the lower, that of

Quarazza, closed in by wall-like cliffs, is fed by a cascade from

the higher lake, which receives several torrents. Near the summit

is a garnet quarry. Just below Strigno is another inhabited castle,

that of Ivano, belonging to the Count of Wolkenstein-Trostburg, who

makes it a summer residence. The church is dedicated to S. Vindemian;

near it was once a hermitage. Further down the valley is Ospedaletto,

famous in border warfare, and once a hospice for travellers, served by

monks, still a mountain-inn with a chapel attached. Grigno has another

once-important castle. S. Udalric, Bishop of Augsburg, had occasion to

pass through the village on his way to Rome in the time of Pope Sergius

III. (A.D. 904-11), and left behind him so profound an impression

of his sanctity, that the devotion of the people to his memory has

never diminished. In the eleventh century a chapel was built in his

honour, with the picturesque instinct of the people of that date,

on the steep way leading to Castel Tesino. It was always kept in good

condition till 1809, when it was desecrated by the French soldiery. It

was restored within ten years, and a rustic piazza in front planted

with lime trees, which have at the present time attained considerable

dimensions. In July 1869, processions consisting of more than four

thousand villagers met at this shrine, to pray for deliverance from

the heavy rains, which were causing the inundation of their homesteads.

From Grigno there is a path which few persons however will be tempted

to follow, across the so-called Canal San Bovo, to Primiero, a country

which has already been so ably laid open to the tourist that I need

not attempt a fresh description of its beauties. If any one penetrates

its recesses as far as the village of Canal San Bovo, I think they

will not be sorry to have been advised to ask for a certain Virginia

Loss, who has a touching story to tell them of her adventures. On

a stormy day, the last of October 1869, she was making her way,

though only thirteen, with her mother and another woman, along the

dangerous path leading hither from the Fleimserthal, following their

occupation of carriers. They had passed Panchià and Ziano, and were

in the midst of the verdant tract known as the Sadole. The fierce

wind that blew exhausted her poor mother's strength, and she saw no

help but to lay down her burden by the way, and try to reach home

with bare life. Domenica Orsingher, the other woman, however, who had

already got on a good way beyond her, no sooner learned what she had

done than, considering what a loss it must be to her, with a humble

heroism went back to fetch the pack intending to carry it in addition

to her own! The next day some men travelling by the same path found

her body extended by the wayside. She had died of cold and exhaustion.

The land is strong with such as these,

Her heroes' destined mothers.

Further along they found Elisabetta Loss and her daughter huddled

together. On carrying the bodies to Cauria they succeeded in reviving

only the child. Virginia has a tragic story to tell of; of how her

mother sank to her rest, and her own unavailing and inexperienced

efforts to call her to life; then the horror of the approaching

night, the snow storm in which she expected to be covered up and

lost to sight, yet had not strength to move away; and, worst of all,

the circling flight of crows and ravens which she spent her last

energies in driving with her handkerchief from her mother's face;

and yet the presence of death, solitude and helplessness, made the

approach of even those rapacious and ill-omened companions seem almost

less unwelcome. The insensibility which ensued was probably the most

welcome visitant of all.

Le Tezze is a smaller village than Grigno, but one that has done good

service to the patriotic cause, having many a time stayed the advance

of invading hosts; and never more successfully than in the latest

Garibaldian attempt on the Trentino, upon the cession of Venice by

Austria after Sadowa. The tombs of the bold mountaineers who fell

while driving back the tenfold numbers opposed to them are to be

seen appropriately ranged along the stony declivity they defended so

well. These graves are yearly visited by their brethren on the 14th

of August.

They fell devoted and undying,

The very gale their deeds seems sighing;

The waters murmur forth their name,

The woods are peopled with their fame,

The silent pillar, lone and gray,

Claims kindred with their sacred clay.

Le Tezze is the last Tirolean village of the valley, and the seat of

the Austrian custom-house against Italy. On the other side of this

frontier is the interesting Italian town of Primolano, whence there

is an easier way into Primiero-thal than by crossing the Canal San

Bovo. Val Sugana retains more of the German element than any other

district of Wälsch-Tirol.

Judicarien or Giudicaria bifurcates westwards and south-westwards from

the Etschthal opposite Val Sugana. Its first (south-west) division

is called the Sarcathal and reaches to the Lago di Garda. Though no

part of the beautiful Italian lake actually belongs to Tirol the town

of Riva overlooks it; the country round is most productive in wine,

silk, lemons, figs, and other fruits. Its pleasant climate, the warmest

in all Tirol, is due not only to its southern latitude, but also to

its being the lowest land of the principality. Innsbruck is 1,820

feet above the sea-level, Riva but 220. From the western division of

Giudicaria there branch out northwards Val Rendena, north-westwards

Val Breguzzo and Val Daone, and southwards Val Bona. The Val di Ledro

or Lederthal, forms a parallel return towards the Garda-See. Here an

attempt at invasion headed by Garibaldi was repulsed by the Innsbruck

Student-brigade in 1866 at a pass called Bezzecca.

Giudicaria is little explored yet it contains some choice scenery and

traditions. Castel Madruzz, which can be visited from Trent, is one

of its most ancient and important castles. From the twelfth to the

seventeenth century, the family which inhabited it and bore its name

takes a foremost place in Tirol's history. In the church are shown the

portraits of seven of the family ascribed to Titian. From 1530 to 1658

four of its members occupied the See of Trent, and were successively

invested with the Cardinalitial dignity. Cardinal Karl Madruzz became

the last of his house. All his kindred having died without heirs, he

applied to Rome for permission to marry--a dispensation which we have

seen once before accorded in favour of a Tirolese prince. Cardinal

Madruzz preferred his suit successively before Urban VIII., Innocent

X., and Alexander VII., and at last obtained it, coupled with the

proviso that he should only marry in his own station. As this did

not accord with his intentions, the favour so tardily granted was

never acted on. This fine castle had fallen into sad neglect but

it is being restored. From its deserted terraces a glorious view is

obtained, which takes in the two lakes of Toblino to the north, and

Cavedine to the south, both being fed by the same torrents. Round

the Lago di Cavedine lie the flowery slopes which bear the name of

Abraham's Garden. The Lake of Toblino is broken into by a picturesque

promontory, bearing the castellated villa of the Prince-Bishops of

Trent; though on flat ground, the round turrets at the angles with

their pointed caps afford a wonderful relief to the landscape. The

village is called Sta. Massenza, from the mother of S. Vigilius, who

died here in the odour of sanctity, 381. Her relics were translated

to Trent, 1120. At the foot of the height on which stands Schloss

Madruzz is a double chapel, on the model of the Holy House of Loreto,

the legend being inscribed on the walls.

At the westernmost reach of Giudicaria, the Rendenathal branches

off towards Val di Sole. It was the cradle of the evangelization of

Tirol, for here S. Vigilius suffered martyrdom, 405, and the valley

is rife with traditions of him. He appears to have been stirred

with zeal for the propagation of the faith at a very early age; and

his piety and earnestness were so apparent that he was consecrated

Bishop of Trent at the age of twenty. He made many conversions,

and built a church to SS. Gervasius and Protasius, A.D. 375. But

he was not content with establishing the faith here, and sending

out missionaries hence; he would wander himself on foot through

all the valleys where paganism still lurked, overturning idols and

building Christian sanctuaries--more than thirty trace their origin

to his work. Nowhere did he meet with so much opposition as in the

Rendenathal, which was the last to accept the yoke of Christ. But he

was untiring in his apostolic labours, nor could he rest while one

token of a false religion remained erect. It is not to be supposed

that, though he made many fervent converts, he effected all this

without also exciting the opposition and fury of those whose teaching

he had come to supersede. Yet though many were the snares set for him,

no conspiracy against him succeeded till he had cast down the last

idol. It was at Mortaso, one of the remotest villages of this secluded

dell, he stood announcing the 'glad tidings' of the Gospel from the

pedestal of the image he had overthrown, and the population crowded

round, earnestly garnering in his words. He had left off preaching,

and just raised his hands in benediction, when a body of heathen men

and women, who had long determined to compass his end, rushed upon the

scene from the surrounding grove, and stoned him with the fragments

of the image he had overthrown. His hearers would have defended him,

but he knew that his hour was come, for his work was accomplished;

and forbidding all strife, he knelt down, and folding his arms on his

breast meekly rendered up his spirit, while his constancy won many to

the faith. His disciples reverently gathered his remains and bore them

to Trent; but as soon as his murderers were aware of their intent,

they set out to follow them. The Christian party, delayed by the

weight of their burden, found that their pursuers were fast gaining

ground. In this strait, says the legend, they called upon the rocky

wall before them--

Apritevi, O sassa,

Che S. Vigilio passa,

and behold before them suddenly appeared a cleft in the rock,

through which they passed in safety, and which is pointed out to this

day. Another narrow cleft is pointed out near Cadine, which is said

to have been rent asunder at his bidding, when once, at an earlier

stage of his labours, he deemed it right to flee from those who would

have taken his life. The Acqua della Vela now passes through it,

and a dent is shown which is said to mark the place where the saint

impressed his hand on the obedient stone. It was this suggested to

the bearers of the bier to make a similar appeal on behalf of his

relics. It is commonly reported that in Mortaso the bread never rises

properly; and they couple with it this tradition, that when the pieces

of the broken idol sufficed not for all who would attack the saint,

the women brought out loaves from the oven to complete the work.

The Rendenathal also preserves the memory of S. Julian, called also

Sent Ugiano and San Zulian in local dialect. His legend says he

lived with his parents in an outlying house. On one occasion, at the

time of day when they were usually at work in the fields, he heard

the sound of persons entering the house, and turned and slew them,

and only found afterwards that it was his parents whose lives he

had taken. [212] Struck with horror he devoted himself to a life of

penance, and made a vow to live so far from the habitations of men

that he should no more hear the cheerful crowing of the cock or the

holy chime of the church bells. After his death the people found that

angels had planted roses on his grave which bloomed in winter, and

they observed that no venomous reptile ever rested on it, while earth

taken from it cured their sting. So they built a chapel in his honour

on the border of the little lake which bears his name, at the opening

of Val Génova. Another interesting church in the same locality is that

of Caresolo. Its exterior walls are adorned with frescoes bearing date

1519, and inside is an inscription recording that it was restored by

the munificence of Charles Quint. At Pelugo, near Tione, where the

Rendenathal branches off, he found the castle in possession of a Jew,

and so indignant was he to find a once Christian fortress so occupied,

that he had him immediately ejected and the place exorcised. Here, as

also at Massimeno and Caderzone, all inconsiderable mountain villages,

new churches were consecrated during the Bishop of Trent's visitation

in August 1869, showing that the spirit of S. Vigilius had not died

out. In the Pfarrkirche at Condino is a Muttergottesbild, presented

in 1620 by a parishioner who averred he had seen it shed tears. Of

the church of Campiglio the legend runs, that when it was building,

the people being much distressed by a dearth, and their means hardly

sufficing, the angels used to bring stone, wood, and other materials

in the night; and one pillar is pointed out which was raised before

the eyes of the builders in broad day by invisible hands. The inn

here occupies a hospice built by the Templars, hence its imposing

appearance. Colini, who was locally called the Hofer of Wälsch-Tirol,

for his brave leadership of his countrymen in 'the year nine,' kept

it till his death in 1862. At Pinzolo is a thriving glass-house,

supported by Milanese capital and Venetian art and industry.

Riva, at the head of the Garda-See, is one of the most charming spots

in Tirol. Its German name of Reif is not a mere corruption of the

Italian name; it is an old German word, having the same signification,

of a shore. The parish church is a really handsome edifice, and a

great ornament to the town and neighbourhood. Outside the town is

a curious octagonal church of the Immaculate Conception, built to

enclose a wonder-working picture of the Blessed Virgin, by Cardinal

Karl von Madruzz, who also founded a House of Friars Minor to attend

to the spiritual necessities of the many pilgrims who came to visit

it. The churches of S. Roch and S. Sebastian were built on occasion

of visitations of the plague in 1522 and 1633. The neighbourhood

supplies the whole of Tirol with twigs of olive to use in the office

of Palm Sunday, and all kinds of southern produce grow on the banks

of the lake. It was long considered the highest latitude at which the

olive-tree would grow, but it has since been successfully cultivated

as far north as Botzen. In order to gain a full enjoyment of the

beautiful scenery around, the Altissimo di Nago should be ascended

by all who have the courage for a six or seven hours' climb. From

San Giacomo, however, where there is a poor Wirthshaus and chapel,

reached in not more than two hours, the scene at sunrise is one of

inconceivable beauty. Behind are ranges beyond ranges and peaks beyond

peaks of lordly alps. Before you lies the blue Lago di Garda, and the

vast Lombard plains studded with fair cities, amid which you will not

fail to distinguish Milan, which some optical illusion brings so near

that it seems it would take but an easy morning's walk to reach it.

On the way hence to Mori, at about half distance, lies Brentonico,

with a new church perched picturesquely as a mediæval one on a bold

scarped rock. The old parish church has a fine crypt. The Castello

del Dosso Maggiore is a noble ruin. There is a bridge over a deep

defile in the outskirts, called the Ponte delle strege--the Witches'

Bridge--being deemed too daring for human builders. Mori, though

named from its mulberry trees, is more famed for its tobacco, which

is reckoned the best grown in Tirol.

Wälsch-Tirol has many traditions, customs and sayings, which differ

from those of the rest of the Principality, more resembling those of

Italy, and some of which it cannot be fanciful to trace back to an

Etruscan connection. Some bear the impress of the Roman occupation,

and all are strung together by an overpowering Germanic influence.

The most prominent group--and their special home, I am assured,

clusters round the Dolomite mountains--are those concerning certain

beings called 'Salvan' and 'Gannes;' and traditions about 'Orco.' A

local collector of such lore, to whom I am chiefly indebted for

the above fact, is inclined to identify the 'Salvan' with 'Orco;'

but I think it can be shown that they are distinct ideas. Both are

only ordinarily, not always malicious, but the 'Salvan' is one of a

number of sprites, Orco has the dignity of being one by himself. The

Salvan in some respects takes the place of the wild man of the North,

and of the satyr whom I also found called in Rome 'salvatico' and

'selvaggio.' [213] 'Orco' clearly takes the place of Orcus in Italy;

and that of the 'Teufel' in German legend. Yet so are the traditions

of neighbouring peoples intermingled, that the Germans, not content

with their own devil, have sprightly imitations of Orco in their 'Nork'

and Lorg, softened in the intermediate Deutsch Tirol into Norg. [214]

In Norway the same appellation is found, hardened into Nök, Neck, Nikr,

[215] which seems to bring us round to our own 'Old Nick;' for in

Iceland he is 'Knikur,' and, perhaps, he gave his name to Orkney. [216]

It is curious, in tracing the seemingly undoubtable connection between

the Norg and Orco, to observe that though the Norg possesses almost

invincible strength, and often prevails against giants, yet in stature

he is always a dwarf, while Orco himself is considered a giant. But

then it is the one essential characteristic of Orco which forms

the link between all conceptions of him, whether men call him Orco,

Nork, or Nyk, that he is a deceiver ever; a liar from the beginning;

whenever he appears it is continually under some ever-changing,

not-to-be-expected form, and only the wise guess what he is before it

is too late. [217] Thus it happened to two young lads of Mori, who had

been up the mountains to visit their sweet-hearts, and coming back,

they met Orco prowling about after his manner when all good people are

safe in bed asleep--this time in the form of an ass. The Mori lads,

never thinking but that it was a common ass, jumped on its back. They

soon found out their mistake, for Orco quickly resented their want

of discrimination, and cantered off with them past an old building

which had once been a prison, and skilfully chucked them both in at

the window. It was some days before they contrived to crawl out again,

and not till they were nearly starved.

But we have in English another affinity with 'Orco,' besides 'Old

Nick;' we have seen him take the place of our 'ogre' in deed as well as

in name in the Roman fairy tales, and in Italy he is also the bugbear

of the nursery which we have almost literally in 'Old Bogey.' And now

Mr. I. Taylor has found another affinity for him if he be justified

in identifying our 'ogre' with "the Tatar word, 'ugry,' a thief." [218]

To return to Orco's place in Tirol, we find his name assumes nearly as

many transliterations as his external appearance assumes changes. In

Vorarlberg they have a Dorgi or Doggi (i being the frequent local

abbreviation for the diminutive lein,--klein), there considered as one

personation of the devil. The Doggi spreads over part of Switzerland,

and overflows into Alsace as the Doggele. [219] In the zone of Tirol

where the Italian and German elements of the population mingle, there

is a class of mischievous irrepressible elfs called Orgen; soft,

and round, and small, like cats without head or feet, who establish

themselves in any part of a house performing all sorts of annoyances,

but who are as afraid of egg-shells as the Norgs in other parts are

said to be. Their chief home is in the Martelthal, south of Schlanders

in the Vintschgau, and their name is devoted to the brightly shining

peak seen from it--the Orgelspitz. In the Passeyer, on the north side

of the Vintschgau, they go by the name of Oerkelen.

Since we have seen him, too, divested of his 'r' in Doggi from

Vorarlberg to Alsace, and the Germans have already given him an L in

Lorg, he assumes a mysterious likeness to Loki himself, and as a sample

of how elastic is language, and how misleading are mere sounds, though

for no other purpose, it might be said, we had found in this Doggi

a relation of the dog who guards the entrance to the regions of Orcus!

The Salvan and Gannes, as described by the local observer above

alluded to, seem to partake very much of the character of the good

and evil genii of the Etruscans, though the traditions that remain

of them refer almost exclusively to their action on this side the

grave. 'Their Etruscan appellation,' says Mr. Dennis, 'is not yet

discovered;' [220] when it is, it will be very satisfactory if it has

any analogy with 'Gannes.' [221] The Gannes were gentle, beauteous,

beneficent beings, delighting in being helpful to those they took

under their protection; harmful to none. The Salvans were hideous,

wild, and fierce, delighting in mischief and destruction, with fiery

serpents for their chief companions. They seem to have done all the

mischief they could as long as their sway lasted, but they were scared

by advancing civilization; and I have a ludicrous description of how

they stood gazing down in stupid wonderment from their Dolomite peaks,

when the first ploughs were brought into use in the valleys.

Schneller, who with all his appreciation of Wälsch-Tirol, looks at

its traditions too much through German spectacles, gives us some

little account of these beings too. [222]

He has also a 'Salvanel,' who seems a male counterpart of his

Gannes, helpful and soft-natured, with no vice save a tendency to

steal milk. In return he teaches mankind to make butter and cheese,

and other useful arts, and is specially kind to little children; his

name bears some relation with the local word for the 'Jack-'o-lantern'

reflection from glass or water. But he found also the 'Salvan' in his

pernicious character under the names of 'Bedelmon,' 'Bildermon,' and

'Salvadegh.' But the most pernicious spirit that came in his way was

the 'Beatrik,' who is an unmitigated fury, [223] and the natural enemy

and antagonist of a gentle, helpful, beauteous spirit called Angane,

Eguane, and Enguane, but possessed with his German ideas, he saw in the

being so designated nothing but 'a witch, or perhaps a fairy-natured

being.' [224] In another page he pairs them off more fairly with the

'Säligen Fräulein' of Germany. Here is a story of their ways which

was given me, but I do not know if it was founded on his at page 215,

or independently collected:--A young woodman was surprised one day

to meet, in the midst of his lonely toil, a beautiful maiden, who

nodded to him familiarly, and bid him 'good day' with more than common

interest. Nor did her conversation end with 'good day;' she found

enough to prattle about till night fell; and then, though the young

woodman had been sitting by her side instead of attending to his work,

he found he had a bigger faggot to carry home than he had ever made up

with all his day's labour before. 'That was a sweet maiden, indeed,'

he mused on his way home. 'And yet I doubt if she is all right. But

her talk showed she was of the right stuff to make a housewife; but

then Maddalena, what will she say? ha! let her say what she will, she

won't stand comparing with her! I wonder if I shall see her again! And

yet I don't think she's altogether right, either.' So he mused all

through the lonely evening, and all through the sleepless night;

and his first thought in the morning was of whether he should meet

that strange maiden again in the wood. In the wood he did meet her,

and again she wiled away the day with her prattle; and again and again

they met. Maddalena sat at home weeping over her spinning-wheel, and

wondering why he came no more to take her for a walk; but Maddalena

was forgotten, and one day it was her fate to see her former lover

and the strange maiden married in the parish church. The woodman was

not surprised to find his seiren the model of a wife. The house was

swept so clean, the clothes so neatly mended, the butter so quickly

churned, that though all the villagers had been shy of the strange

maiden, none could deny her excellent capacity. The woodman was very

well satisfied with his choice; but as he had always a misgiving

that there was something not quite right with her, he could not help

nervously watching every little peculiarity. It was thus he came

to notice that it was occasionally her custom to lay her long wavy

tresses carefully outside the bedclothes at night; he thought this odd,

and determined to watch her. One night, when she thought him asleep,

and he was only feigning, he observed that she took a little box

of salve from under her pillow, and rubbing it into her hair, said,

Schiva boschi e schiva selva (shun woods and forests), and then was

off and away in a trice. Determined to follow her, he took out the box

of salve, and rubbing it into his hair, tried to repeat her saying,

but he did not recall it precisely, and said instead, Passa boschi

e passa selvi (away through woods and forests), and away he went,

faster than he liked, while his clothes and his skin were torn by

the branches of the trees. He came, however, to the precincts of a

great palace, where was a fresh green meadow, on which were a number

of kine grazing, and some were sleek and well-favoured, while some

were piteously lean; and yet they all fed on the same pasture. The

palace had so many windows that it took him a long while to count

them, and when he had counted them he found there were three hundred

and sixty-five. He climbed up and looked in at one of them--it was

the window of a great hall, where a number of Enguane were dancing,

and his wife in their midst. When he saw her, he called out to her;

but when she heard his voice, instead of coming she took to flight,

nor could he overtake her with all his strength for running. At last,

after pursuing her for three days, he came to the hut of a holy hermit,

who asked him wherefore he ran so fast; and when he had told him, the

hermit bid him give up the chase, for an Enguane was not a proper wife

for a Christian man. Then the woodman asked him to let him become a

hermit too, and pass the remainder of his life under his guidance. To

this the hermit consented; so he built him a house, and they lived

together in holy contemplation. One day the woodman told the hermit of

what he had seen when he went forth to seek his wife; and the hermit

told him that the palace with three hundred and sixty-five windows

represented this temporal world, with its years of three hundred and

sixty-five days; but the fresh green meadow was the Church, in which

the Redeemer gave His Flesh for the food of all alike; but that while

some pastured on it to the gain of their eternal salvation, who were

represented by the well-favoured kine, there were also the perverse

and sinful, who eat to their own condemnation, and were represented

by the lean and distressed kine. [225]

It is less easy to collect local traditions in Wälsch-Tirol than in

any other part of the principality, but legends and marvellous stories

exist in abundance; and so long as the institution of the Filò (or

out-house room where village gossips meet to spend their evenings in

silk-spinning and recounting tales) last, they will not be allowed to

die out: [226] it is said that there are some old ladies who can go on

retailing stories by the week together! And though by the nature of

the case these gatherings must consist almost exclusively of women,

yet it is thought uncanny not to have any man about the place; in

fact, that in such a case Froberte [227] is sure to play them some

trick. They narrate that once when this happened, one of the women

exclaimed, 'Only see! we have no man at all among us; let's be off,

or something will happen!' All rose to make their escape at the

warning, but before they had time to leave, a donna Berta knocked

and came in. 'Padrona! donna Berta dal nas longh,' [228] said all

the women together, trying to propitiate her by politeness; and the

nearest offered her a chair. 'Wait a little, and you'll see another

with a longer nose than I,' replied Froberte; and as she spoke, a

second donna Berta knocked and entered, to whom the women gave the

same greeting. 'Wait a bit, and you'll see another with a longer nose

than I,' said the second donna Berta; and so it went on till there

were twelve of them. Then the first said, 'What shall we be at?' To

which the second made answer, 'Suppose we do a bit of washing:' and

the others agreeing, they told the women to give them pails to fetch

water with; but the women, knowing that their intention was to have

suffocated them all in the wash-tubs, gave them baskets instead. Not

noticing the trick, they went down to the Etsch with the baskets to

fetch water, and when they found that all their labour was in vain,

they ran back in a great fury; but in the meantime the women had

all escaped to their home, and every one was safe in bed with her

husband. But a Froberte came to the window of each and cried, 'It is

well for you you have taken refuge with your husband!' The next night

the women were determined to pay off the brava Berta for the fright

they had had, so they got one of their husbands to hide himself in

the crib of the oxen; had he sat down with them, the Froberte would

not have come at all. Not seeing him, Froberte knocked and came in,

and they greeted her and gave her a chair, just as on the previous

night; and the whole twelve soon arrived. Before they could begin

their washing operations, however, the man sprang out of the crib,

and put them to flight with many hard blows; so that they did not

return for many a long day. The last day of Carneval was called il

giorno delle Froberte, probably because many wild pranks in which sober

people allow themselves to indulge on that day of licence were laid on

the shoulders of Mistress Bertha. But it is also said, that since the

sitting of the Holy Council of Trent, the power for mischief of these

elves has grown quite insignificant. Here are some few specimens of the

multifarious stories of the Filò. [229] Once there was a man and his

wife who had two daughters: one pretty, but vain and malicious; the

other ugly, but docile and pious. The mother made a favourite of the

pretty daughter, but set the ugly one to do all the work of the house;

and though she worked from morning to night, was never satisfied with

her. One day she sent her down to the stream to do the washing; but

the stream was swollen with the heavy rains, and had become so rapid

that it carried off her sister's shift. Not daring to go home without

it, she ran by the side of the stream, trying to fetch it back. All

her pains were vain; the stream went on tumbling and roaring till it

swelled out into a big river, and she could no longer even distinguish

the shift from the white foam on which it was borne along. At last,

hungry and weary, she descried a house, where she knocked with a

trembling hand, and begged for shelter. The good woman come to the

door, but advised her not to venture in, for the Salvan would soon be

home; but the child knew nothing about the Salvan, but a great deal

about the storm, and as one was brooding, and night coming on, she

crept in. She had not been long inside, when the Salvan came home,

also seeking shelter from the storm. 'What stink is this I smell of

Christian flesh?' he roared; and the child was too truthful to remained

concealed, and so came forward and told all her tale. The Salvan was

won by her artlessness, and not only allowed her a bed and a supper,

but gave her a basketful of as much fine linen as she could carry,

to make up for her loss. When her pretty sister saw what a quantity

of fine linen the Salvan had given her, she determined to go and beg

for some too; but when the Salvan saw her coming, he holloaed out,

'So you're the child who behaves so ill to your sister!' and he gave

her such a rude drubbing, that she went back with very few clothes

on that were not in rags.

In selecting a specimen or two of the fiabe I will take first a group

going by the name of 'Zuam' or 'Gian dall' Orso' (Bear-Johnny), [230]

because the Wolf-boy group is a very curious one, and this is our

nearest approach to it, [231] though it deals with a bear-child and

not a wolf-child; [232] and because we have already found Orso and

Orco confounded in Italian folk-lore at Rome. The following is from

Val di Non:--A labourer and his wife had their little boy out with

them as they worked in the fields. A she-bear came out of the woods

and carried him off. She treated him well, however, and taught him

to be strong and hardy, and when he was twenty years old she sent

him to his parents. He had such an appetite that he eat them out

of house and home, and then he made his mother go and beg all over

the country till she had enough to buy him three hundredweight of

iron to make him a club. Armed with this club, he went forth to seek

fortune. In the woods he met a giant carrying a leaden club called

Barbiscat ('Cat's Beard'), and the two made friends went out together

till they met another giant, who carried a wooden club called Testa

di Molton ('Ram's Head'). They made friends and went out together

till they came to a house in a town where magicians lived. The giant

with Barbiscat knocked first, and at midnight a magician came out

and said, 'Earthworm, wherefore are you come?' then he of Barbiscat

was frightened and ran away. The next night the giant with Testa di

Molton knocked with the same result. But the third night Gian dall'

Orso himself knocked, and he had no fear, but when the magician came

out he knocked him down with many blows of his iron club, and went

to fetch the other two giants. When they returned no magician was

to be seen, only a trail of blood. They followed the trail till they

came to a deep pit, and Zuam dall' Orso made the giants let him down

by a rope. In a cave he found the wounded magician and three others

besides, by slaying whom he delivered a beautiful maiden. The giants

drew her up, but abandoned him. Then he saw a ring lying on the

ground, and when he took it up and rubbed it two Moors appeared and

asked him what he wanted. 'I want an eagle, to bear me up to earth,'

he said. So they brought him a big eagle, 'but,' said they, 'he must

be well fed the while.' So he bid them bring him two shins of beef,

and fed him well the while, and the eagle bore him to the king; who

finding he was the deliverer of his daughter, killed the two giants,

and gave him plenty of gold and silver, with which he went back to

his home and lived happily and in peace,--a very homely termination,

welcome to the mountaineer's mind. In the Lederthal version he was so

strong at two years old that he lifted up the mountain under which the

bear's den was, and ran back to his mother; but at school he killed

all the children, and knocked down the teacher and the priest, and

was sent to prison. Here he lifted the door off its hinges, and went

to the judge, and made him give him a sword, with which he went forth

to seek fortune. With the two companions picked up by the wayside, who

for once do not play him the trick of leaving him below in the cave, he

delivers three princesses, and all are made happy. In another version,

where he is called 'Filomusso the Smith,' and is nurtured by an ass

instead of a bear, the provision of meat for feeding the eagle is

exhausted before he reaches the earth, and he heroically tears a piece

of flesh out of his own leg, and thus the flight can be completed.

2. The following version of the story of Joseph and his Brethren is

quaint:--A king had three sons. The two elder were grown up, while

Jacob (the Italian is not given) was still quite small, and was his

father's pet. One day, when the king came back from hunting, he was

quite out of sorts because he had lost the feather (la penna dell'

uccello sgrifone) he was wont always to wear. When everyone had sought

for it in vain, little Jacob came to him, and bid him eat and be of

good cheer for he and his brothers would find the feather. The king

promises his kingdom to whichever of the three finds it. Little Jacob

finds the feather, and carries it full of joy to his brothers. The

brothers, jealous that he should have the kingdom, kill him and take

the feather to their father. A year after a shepherd finds little

Jacob's bones, and takes one of them to make a fife, but as soon as

he begins to play upon it the fife tells the whole story of the foul

play. The shepherd takes it to the king, who convicts his two sons,

has them put to death, and dies of grief.

3. Here is a homely version of Oidipous and the Sphinx:--A poor man

owed a large debt and had nothing to pay it with. The rich man to

whom he owed it came to demand the sum, and found only the poor man's

little boy sitting by the hearth. 'What are you doing?' asked the

rich man. 'I watch them come and go,' replied the boy. 'Do so many

people come to you then?' enquired the rich man. 'No man,' replied

the boy. Not liking to own himself puzzled, the rich man asked again,

'Where is your father?' 'He's gone to plug a hole with another hole,'

replied the boy. Posed again, the rich man proceeded, 'And where's your

mother?' 'She's baking bread that's already eaten,' replied the boy.

'You are either very clever or a great idiot,' now retorted the rich

man; 'will you please to explain yourself?' 'Yes, if you will reward

me by forgiving father his debt.' The rich man accepted the terms,

and the boy proceeded.

'I'm boiling beans, and the bubbling water makes them seethe, and I

watch them come and go. My father is gone to borrow a sum of money

to pay you with, so to plug one hole he is making another. All the

bread we have eaten for a fortnight past was borrowed of a neighbour,

now mother is making some to pay it back with, so I may well say what

she is making is already eaten.'

The rich man expressed himself satisfied, and the poor man was

delivered from the burden of his debt.

4. A poor country lad once went out into the wide world to seek

fortune. As he went along he met a very old woman carrying a pail

of water, with which she seemed sadly overladen. The poor lad ran

after her, and carried it home for her. But she was an Angana, and to

reward him she gave him a dog and a cat, and a little silver ring,

which she told him to turn round whenever he was in difficulty. The

boy walked on, thinking little about the old woman's ring, and not

at all believing in its efficacy. When he got tired with his walking

he laid down under a tree, but he was too hungry to sleep. As he lay

tossing about he twirled the ring round without knowing what he was

doing, and suddenly an old woman appeared before him, just like the

one he had helped, and asked what he wanted of her. 'Something to eat

and drink,' was the ready and natural answer. He had hardly spoken it

when he found a table spread with good things before him. He made a

good meal, nor did he neglect to feed his dog and cat well; and then

they all had a good sleep. In the morning he reasoned, 'Why should I

journey further when my ring can give one all one wants?' So he turned

the ring round; and when the old woman appeared he asked for a house,

and meadows, and farming-stock, and furniture; and then he paused to

think of what more he could possibly desire; but he remembered the

lessons of moderation his mother had taught him, and he said, 'No,

it is not good for a man to have all he wants in this world.' So he

asked for nothing more, but set to work to cultivate his land. One

day when he was working on his land, a grand damsel came by with a

number of servants riding after her. The damsel had lost her way,

and had to ask him to lead her back to the right path. As they went,

she talked to him about his house and his means, and his way of life;

and before she had got to her journey's end they were so well pleased

with each other that she agreed to go back with him and marry him;

but it was the ring she was in love with rather than with him. They

were no sooner married than she got possession of the ring, and by

its power she ordered the farm-house to be changed into a palace,

and the farm-servants into liveried retainers, and all manner of

luxuries, and chests of coin. Nor was she satisfied with this. One

day, when her husband was asleep in a summer-house, she ordered it

to be carried up to the highest tip of a very high mountain, and the

palace far away into her own country. When he woke he found himself

all alone on the frightful height, with no one but the dog and cat,

who always slept the one at his head and the other at his feet. Though

he was an expert climber it was impossible to get down from so sharp a

peak, so he sat down and gave himself up to despair. The cat and dog,

however, comforted him, and said they would provide the remedy. They

clambered down the rugged declivity, and ran on together till they came

to a stream which puss could not cross, but the dog put her on his

back and swam over with her; and without further adventure they made

their way to the palace where their master's wife lived. With some

cleverness they manoeuvred their way into the interior, but into the

bed-room there seemed no chance of effecting an entrance. They paced

up and down hour by hour, but the door was never opened. At last,

when all was very still, a mouse came running along the corridor. The

cat pounced on the mouse, who pleaded hard for mercy in favour of

her seven small children. 'If I restore you to liberty,' said the

cat, 'you must do something for me in return.' The mouse promised

everything; and the cat instructed her to gnaw a hole in the door,

and fetch the ring out of the princess's mouth, where she made no

doubt she kept it at night for safety. The mouse kept her word, and

obeying her directions punctually, soon returned with the ring; and

off the cat and dog set on their return home, in high glee at their

success. It rankled, however, in the dog's mind, that it was the cat

who had all the glory of recovering the treasure; and by the time

they had got back to the stream he told her that if she would not

give him the satisfaction of carrying the ring the rest of the way,

he would not carry her over it. The cat would not accept his view,

and a fight ensued, in the midst of which the ring escaped them both

and fell into the water, where it was caught by a fish. The cat was in

despair, but the dog plunged in and seized the fish, and by regaining

the ring earned equal right to the merit of its recovery, and they

clambered together in amity. Their master was rejoiced to receive

his ring once more, and by its power he got back his homestead and

farm-stock, and sent for his mother to live with him, and all his life

through took great care of his faithful dog and cat; but the perverse

princess he ordered the ring to transfer in the summer-house to the

peak whither she would have banished him. When all this was set in

order he threw away the ring, because he said it was not well for a

man to have all his wishes satisfied in this world. [233]

The following legend of St. Kümmerniss is very popular in

Tirol. Churchill, in his 'Titian's Country,' mentions a chapel on the

borders of Cadore and Wälsch-Tirol, where she is represented just as

there described, but he does not appear to have inquired into its

symbolism. There was once a heathen king who had a daughter named

Kümmerniss, who was fair and beautiful beyond compare. A neighbouring

king, also a heathen, sought her in marriage, and her father gave his

consent to the union; but Kümmerniss was distressed beyond measure,

for she had vowed in her own heart to be the bride of heaven. Of

course her father could not understand her motives, and to force her

to marry put her into a hard prison. From the depths of the dungeon

Kümmerniss prayed that she might be so transformed that no man should

wish to marry her; and in conformity with her devoted petition,

when they came to take her out of the prison they found that all

her beauty was gone, and her face overgrown with long hair like a

man's beard. When her father saw the change in her he was indignant,

and asked what had befallen her. She replied that He whom she adored

had changed her so, to save her from marrying the heathen king after

she had vowed herself to be His bride alone. 'Then shall you die,

like Him you adore,' was her father's answer. She meekly replied that

she had no greater desire than to die, that she might be united with

Him. And thus her pure life was taken a sweet sacrifice; and whoso

would like her be altogether devoted to God, and like her obtain their

petition from heaven, let them honour her, and cause her effigy to

be painted in the church. So many believed they found the efficacy of

her intercession, that they set up memorial images of her everywhere,

and in one place they set one up all in pure gold. A poor minstrel once

came by that way with his violin; and because he had earned nothing,

and was near starving, he stood before St. Kümmerniss and played his

prayer on his violin. Plaintive and more plaintive still grew his

beseeching notes, till at last the saint, who never sent any away

empty, shook off one of her golden shoes, and bid him take it for an

alms. The minstrel carried the golden shoe to a goldsmith, and asked

him to buy it of him for money; but the goldsmith, recognizing whence

it came, refused to have anything to do with sacrilegious traffic,

and accused him of stealing it. The minstrel loudly protested his

innocence, and the goldsmith as loudly vociferated his accusation,

till their clamour raised the whole village; and all were full of fury

and indignation at the supposed crime of the minstrel. As their anger

grew, they were near tearing him in pieces, when a grave hermit came

by, and they asked him to judge the case. 'If it be true that the man

obtained one shoe by his minstrelsy, let him play till he obtain the

other in our sight,' was his sentence; and all the people were so

pleased with it, that they dragged the minstrel back to the shrine

of St. Kümmerniss. The minstrel, who had been as much astonished as

anyone else at his first success, scarcely dared hope for a second,

but it was death to shrink from the test; so he rested his instrument

on his shoulder, and drew the bow across it with trembling hand. Sweet

and plaintive were the shuddering voice-like tones he sent forth before

the shrine; but yet the second shoe fell not. The people began to

murmur; horror heightened his distress. Cadence after cadence, moan

upon moan, wail upon wail, faltered through the air, and entranced

every ear and palsied every hand that would have seized him; till

at last, overcome with the intensity of his own passionate appeal,

the minstrel sank unconscious on the ground. When they went to raise

him up, they found that the second golden shoe was no longer on the

saint's foot, but that she had cast it towards him. When they saw that,

each vied with the other to make amends for the unjust suspicions

of the past. The golden shoes were restored to the saint; but the

minstrel never wanted for good entertainment for the rest of his life.

'Puss in Boots' figures in the Folklore of Wälsch-Tirol as 'Il Conte

Martin della Gatta;' its chief point of variation is that no boots

enter into it at all, otherwise the action of the cat is as usual in

other versions.

There is another class of stories in which the townspeople indulge at

the expense of the uninstructed peasants in outlying districts, and

which their extreme simplicity and naïveté occasionally justify. I

must not close my notice of the Volklore of Wälsch-Tirol without

giving some specimens of these. It may be generally observed that

stories which have no particular moral point, and are designed only

to amuse without instructing, are as frequent in the Trentino as they

are rare in the German divisions of Tirol.

Turlulù [234] was such a simple boy that he could not be made to

do anything aright; and what was worst was, he thought himself so

clever that he would always go off without listening to half his

instructions. One day his mother sent him with her last piece of

money to buy a bit of meat for a poor neighbour; 'And mind,' she said,

'that the butcher doesn't give you all bone.' 'Leave that to me!' cried

Turlulù without waiting for an explanation; and off he went to the

town. The butcher offered him a nice piece of leg of beef. 'No, no,

there's bone to that,' cried Turlulù; 'that won't do.' The butcher,

provoked, offered him a lump of lights. Turlulù seeing it look so

soft, and no bone at all to it, went off with it quite pleased, but

of course the poor neighbour had to starve. When his mother found what

he had done, she was in great distress, for she had no money left; so

she sent him with a piece of home-spun linen to try to sell it. 'But

mind you don't waste your time talking to gossiping old women,' she

said. 'Leave that to me, mother,' cried Turlulù; and off he ran. As he

got near the market-place, he began crying, 'Fine linen! who wants to

buy fine linen!' Several countrywomen, who had come up to town to make

purchases, came to look at the quality. 'Go along, you gossiping old

things; don't imagine I'm going to sell it to you!' cried Turlulù,

and he ran away from them. As he ran on he saw a capitello [235]

by the wayside. When he saw the image of the Blessed Virgin, looking

so grave and calm, he said, 'Ah, you are no gossip, you shall have

my linen;' and he threw it at her feet. 'Come, pay me!' he cried

presently; but of course the figure moved not. 'Ah, I see, you've

not got the money to-day; I will come back for it to-morrow.' When he

came back on the morrow the linen had been picked up by a passer-by,

but no money was forthcoming. 'Pay me now,' said Turlulù; but still

the figure was immovable. Again and again he repeated the demand,

till, finding it still unheeded, he took off his belt, and hit hard

and fast upon the image. So great was his violence, that in a very

short time he had knocked it to the ground; and lo and behold, inside

the now uncovered pedestal were a heap of gold pieces, which some

miser had concealed there for greater security. 'My mother herself

will own this is good pay for the linen,' cried Turlulù, as he filled

his pockets, 'and for once she won't find fault.' His way home lay

along the edge of the pond, and as he passed the ducks were crying,

'Quack! quack! quack!' Turlulù thought they were saying Quattro,

meaning that he had four pieces of gold. 'That's all you know about

it,' cried Turlulù; 'I've got many more than four, many more.' But

the ducks continued to cry 'Quack.' 'I tell you there are more than

four,' reiterated Turlulù impetuously, but the ducks did not alter

their strain. 'Then take them, and count them yourselves, and you'll

see what a lot there are!' So saying, he threw the whole treasure

into the mud; and as the ducks, scared by the noise, left off their

'quack,' he satisfied himself that he had convinced them, and went

home to boast to his mother of the feat.

A showman came through a village with a dancing-bear. The people went

out to see him, and gave him plenty of halfpence. 'Suppose we try our

luck, and go about showing a bear too; it seems a profitable sort of

trade,' said one of the lookers-on to another. 'Ay, but where shall

we find one?' objected the man addressed. 'Oh, there must be bears

to be found; it needs only to go out and look for them.' They went

out to look for a bear, and at last really found one, [236] which ran

before them and plunged into a cave. 'I'll tell you what we'll do,'

said the peasant who had proposed the adventure, 'I'll creep into the

cave and seize the bear, and you take hold of my legs and pull us both

out together.' The other assented; and in went the first. But the bear,

instead of letting him seize it, bit off his head. The other pulled

him out as agreed, but was much astonished to find him headless. 'Well,

to be sure!' he cried, 'I never noticed the poor fellow came out this

morning without his head. I must go home and ask his wife for it.' So

saying, he ran back to the man's house. 'I say, neighbour,' he cried,

'did you happen to notice, when your husband went out this morning,

whether he had his head on?' 'I never thought to look,' replied the

wife, 'but I'll run up and see if he left it in bed; but tell me,'

she added, 'will he catch cold for going out without his head on?' 'I

don't know as to that,' replied the man; 'but if he should want to

whistle he might find it awkward!'

A woman working in the fields one day saw a snail, which spread out its

horns as she looked at it. In great alarm, she ran to the chief man

of the parish, and told him what she had seen. He, too, was horribly

frightened, but he mastered his fear, as became the dignity of his

office. In order to provide duly for the safety of his village,

he sent two trustworthy men with a large sum of money to Trent, to

buy a sharp sword; and till their return placed all the able-bodied

men on guard. When the man brought the sharp sword back from Trent,

he called the heads of the Commune together, and said to them: 'I will

not exercise my right of sending any of you in peril of his life, but

I ask you which of you is ready to encounter this great danger, and

whoever has the courage shall receive a great reward.' Hereupon two of

the most valiant came forward as volunteers, and were invested with the

sharp sword. In solemn silence they marched boldly to the field where

the snail was, and they saw him sitting on the edge of a rotten leaf;

but at the moment when they had screwed up their courage to smite him

with the edge of the sword, the breeze blew down the leaf and the snail

with it. They, however, thought the snail was preparing to attack them,

and ran away so fast that they tumbled over the edge of an abyss.

The people of a certain village were envious because the church tower

of the neighbouring village was higher than theirs. So they held

a council to consider what remedy they could apply. No one could

think of anything to propose, till the oldest and wisest of them

at last rose and advised that a great heap of hay should be laid

by the side of their tower, so that it might eat and grow strong,

and increase in height. The counsel was received with applause,

and every one cheerfully brought his quota to the common sacrifice,

till there was a mighty heap of hay laid at the base of the church

tower. All the horses and asses that went by, finding such a fine

provision of provender laid out for them, ate the hay; but the

people seeing the heap diminish, were quite satisfied, and said,

'Our tower must be beginning to grow, you see how fast it eats!'

In Wälsch-Tirol the graves are not decked with flowers on All Souls'

Day, as in Germany, but on the other hand it is customary for the

parish clergy to gather their flocks round them, and say the Rosary

kneeling amid the graves. Doles of bread, locally called cuzza, and

alms, are given away to the poor on that day, and in some places a

particular soup made of beans. The symbolism was formerly carried so

far, that these alms, devoted to the refreshment of the souls of the

departed, were actually laid on the graves, as if it was supposed that

the holy souls would come out and partake of the material food. And

thus some even placed vessels of cold water as a special means of

solace from their purgatorial pains. [237] In the north of Italy,

the feast of Sta. Lucia (December 13) holds the place of that of

St. Nicholas among children in Germany; in Wälsch-Tirol the children

have the advantage of keeping both.

In Val Arsa, part of the loaves baked on Christmas Eve are kept,

as Cross-buns used to be among us. In Folgareit they have a curious

game for Christmas-tide. A number of heaps of flour, according to the

number of the household, are arranged on the table by the father of

the family, some little present being covered up in each; when they are

thus prepared the family is admitted, and the choice of places decided

by various modes of contest. In several parts, particularly in the

Rabbithal, the Lombard [238] custom prevails of putting a huge log on

the fire, called the Zocco di Natale and the Zocco di ogni bene, that

it may burn all night and keep the Divine Infant from the cold. The

idea, more or less prevalent all over Christendom, that beasts have

the gift of speech on Christmas Eve, prevails here no less. A story

is told of a peasant who determined to sit up and listen to what his

oxen said. 'Where shall we have to go to-morrow?' he heard one say. 'We

shall have to fetch the boards for our master's coffin,' replied his

companion. The man was so shocked, that he went to bed and died next

day. Animals are blessed on St. Anthony's day (January 18), as in Rome.

Carnival is celebrated with representations partaking somewhat of

the character of 'Passion Plays,' though always with more or less

humorous treatment of their subject. Till lately there lingered a

curious pastime at this season, in which on Giovedì grasso there was

a contest, according to fixed rules, between the masked and unmasked

inhabitants, for certain cakes (gnocchi) made of Indian corn, whence

the day is still called Giovedì dei gnocchi. It commemorated a fight

between the men of Trent and them of Feltre, who tried to carry off

their provision while they were building the walls of Trent, in the

time of Theodoric King of the Visigoths. S. Urban is considered the

patron of vineyards in Etschland, and on his feast his images are

hung with bunches of grapes.

Here are a few specimens of their popular sayings and customs. When

it thunders the children say, Domeniddio va in carozza. The chirping

of a cricket, instead of being reckoned a lucky token, forebodes

death. Sponsors are regarded a person's nearest relations, and at

their funeral they go as chief mourners before all others. Marriages

in May are avoided. The reason why the bramble always creeps along,

instead of growing erect, is, because once a thorny bramble branch

caught the hair of the Blessed Virgin; before that it grew erect like

other trees. Cockchafers are blind, because one of them once flew

into the Blessed Virgin's face and startled her; before that they

had sight. Swallows are called uccelli della Madonna, but I have not

ascertained the reason. Scorpions, which are venomous in Italy, are

not so in the Italian Tirol, because one fell once into St. Vigilius'

chalice at Mass. I will conclude with some popular riddles, showing

a traditionary observation of the movements of the heavenly bodies,

but not much humour:

Due viandanti,

Due ben stanti,

E un cardinal? [239]

Gh' è 'n prà

Tutto garofalà:

Quanca se vien el Papa con tutta la sô paperia

En garòfol sol no l'è bon de portar via? [240]

Piatto sopra piatto,

Uomo ben armato,

Donna ben vestita.

Cavalleria ben fornita? [241]

C'è un palazzo, vi son dodici camere, ognuna ne ha trenta travi,

e vi son due che si corrono sempre l'uno dietro all' altro e non si

raggiungono mai? [242]

O mein Tirol! wie ich mit Schmerzentzücken

Dich nun geschaut vor meinen feuchten Blicken.

So lebt dein rührend Bild im tiefsten Sinn.

Nimm denn, Tirol, des Schmerzbegeistrungstrunk'nen,

Des ganz in dich Verlornen und Versunk'nen

Liebvolles Lebewohl, mit Liebe hin!

Eduard Silesius.

NOTES

[1] This is what the introduction of manufactories is doing in Italy

at this moment. The director of a large establishment in Tuscany,

which devours, to its own share, the growth of a whole hill-side every

year, smiled at my simplicity when I expressed regret at hearing that

no provision was made for replacing the timber as it is consumed.