them change their evil ways, were, however, to be sorely punished for
their sacrilegious behaviour. One Sunday, while gambling on the church
steps as usual, a sudden storm swept over the little lake, and before
they could gather up their dice or scramble to their feet, a huge wave
swept right over their heads. At the same moment the church sank down
into the depths of the lake, where it still lies many fathoms under
water. Some of the local boatmen claim that the top of the church spire
can still be seen when the water is clear, and that at the wonted hour
for worship the bells can always be heard ringing a soft and musical
peal. Then the sound of prayer and praise becomes faintly audible,
and very keen ears can distinguish a rattle of dice and muttered
oaths. The women and children are said to be perfectly happy in their
endless adoration, but the men are compelled to continue for ever the
sacrilegious game which has become prolonged and unbearable torture.
* * * * *
LEAVING the city of Stanz and going up the Aa valley, toward the
Titlis, which forms the boundary between the cantons of Uri and
Bern, you pass Engelberg, and the Sürenenalp, of which the following
characteristic legends are told.
Count Conrad von Seldenbüren, in a moment of great danger, made a
solemn vow that he would build a monastery should he escape unharmed.
Saved from his imminent peril, he immediately prepared to keep his
promise, and with that purpose in view, set out with a number of his
friends and retainers to select a site for the projected building.
Riding along the valley, he drew rein from time to time to admire the
lovely landscape, and to inhale the perfumed breezes wafted down from
the surrounding mountains. There were so many charming spots that
Conrad, quite bewildered by the choice, finally breathed a fervent
inward prayer for divine guidance. Looking up a moment later, he
suddenly beheld an angel host sweep down through the blue sky. They
alighted on a neighbouring eminence, where the celestial choir intoned
a hymn of praise, their voices faintly reaching Conrad’s ear and
filling his heart with ineffable bliss.
The hymn ended, the angels again rose up into heaven; but Conrad,
overjoyed by the miracle vouchsafed him, loudly declared that not only
should the monastery be built on the hill upon which the angels had
rested, but that it should ever after be known as the Engelberg, or
Angels’ Mountain.
Founded in 1119, the Engelberg Abbey soon became rich and prosperous,
for the monks owned all the pastures around there, and had so many
head of cattle that they stored away countless cheeses in their great
cellars. The choicest of all their grazing grounds were, however, on
the Sürenenalp, where they sent their herdsmen with their finest cattle.
One of these men is said to have developed a special affection for a
silvery-white sheep entrusted to his care, which followed him wherever
he went, and so became a great pet. His fondness for the creature
became such that he finally baptized it with holy water stolen from
the monastery chapel. He did this, hoping to preserve it from all
harm; but no sooner was the sacrilegious ceremony accomplished than
the silvery-fleeced sheep, transformed into a raging monster, fiercely
attacked shepherds and flocks, and drove them away from the rich
pastures. Such was the fear inspired by this creature--which no weapon
could wound--that the peasants, one and all, refused to venture up
the mountain, and even the much frequented Sürenen Pass was entirely
deserted.
The monks of Engelberg, unable to use their pastures themselves, or to
derive any income by renting them out to others, finally sold them for
a mere song to the people of Uri. The latter, thrifty in the extreme,
could not bear the thought that the fine grass on the Sürenenalp was
going to waste, so they tried various devices to kill or capture the
demoniacal sheep. Weapons, prayers, and exorcisms proving equally
unavailing, they finally bespoke the good offices of a travelling
scholar, who had studied the Black Art under no less capable an
instructor than Satan himself.
After sundry liberal potations of the warm southern wine brought by the
Urners from Italy over the famous St. Gothard and Furka passes, and
after duly securing a pocketful of gold, the magician gave the people
minute directions, assuring them that if carefully carried out they
would settle the obnoxious sheep for ever.
By his directions, the Urners selected a snow-white bull, which was fed
with the milk of one cow during the first year, and with that of two
during the second. Increasing the rations of this animal at the rate
of a cow per year, the bull in the ninth year was consuming the entire
produce of nine cows, and had grown to a prodigious size.
The ninth year ended, a virgin from Attinghausen, carefully arrayed in
bridal white, was told to lead the chosen bull to the Sürenenalp. Her
little hand passed through the ring set in the bull’s nose, this maiden
slowly wended her way up the mountain, followed by the bull, which
obeyed her slightest touch. When they reached the choicest pasture, the
maiden suddenly let go her charge, for the monster sheep stood very
near and about to attack her. At the same moment the bull thundered
past her with lowered horns, and rushing toward the christened sheep
began a terrible fight. The mountain shook and groaned beneath the
trampling feet of the animals, which wrestled together with locked
horns, while black clouds loomed up over the pasture, blotting out the
bright sunshine, and making the air oppressively hot and close.
The darkness soon grew so intense that the people in the valley could
no longer distinguish either trembling maiden or struggling monsters.
All at once a dazzling flash of lightning rent the black clouds
asunder, and it was instantly followed by a peal of thunder so loud and
prolonged that the peasants, ducking their heads between their knees in
terror, tightly closed their eyes.
When they again ventured to look up, they fairly gasped with amazement,
for the blue sky again arched above the alp, the storm clouds were
rapidly drifting away, and golden sunbeams flooded the spot where bull
and sheep had met.
No trace of cattle or maiden being visible, the peasants, after some
hesitation, timidly ventured up the mountain to see what had become of
both. On the grass they found a bloody and trampled mound of flesh,
which upon investigation proved to be the remains of the accursed
sheep, but the maiden had vanished for ever, leaving no trace. On the
banks of the Aawasser, quite near its source, they further discovered
the body of the snow-white bull, which, having drank too greedily of
the ice-cold waters while overheated from his exertions, had met with a
sudden but natural death.
Since then, the place where the bull expired has been known as the
Bull’s Stream, or the Steersbrook, and cows, sheep, and goats have
feasted unmolested upon the luscious pastures on the Sürenenalp.
Besides, in grateful recognition for the white bull’s services, the
people of Uri placed his head upon a shield, decreeing that ever after
the head of a bull should grace the official seal of the canton of Uri
and form its sole coat of arms.
* * * * *
AT the northern extremity of the canton of Uri, and at the point
where the Lake of Lucerne makes a sudden southward bend, rises the
Seelisberg, renowned alike for its beautiful scenery and rich pastures.
Here once dwelt a peasant who, having won the good-will of the mountain
dwarfs, often received their help. The herdsman, in return for their
favours, lavished upon them the best of all he had, and when called
away by urgent business, often left them in charge of châlet and herd.
The mountain dwarfs could always be trusted to see to everything,
provided the Föhn, or south wind, did not blow. But whenever the breath
of that strong wind swept over the glaciers, they one and all crept far
down into the bowels of the earth; whence they did not emerge until it
ceased to rage.
Once, while the herdsman was on the opposite side of the lake, the
Föhn suddenly broke loose with such fury that although he made frantic
efforts to cross the water, it was four whole days before the waves
subsided enough to enable him to return home. During all that time the
dwarfs had cowered down in the depths of the earth; so nearly all the
cattle had perished from hunger and thirst. When the peasant entered
his stables and saw this sad state of affairs, he tore his hair, and
in his despair even cursed his little friends. The latter, who in
ordinary times would have resented the slightest approach to bad
language, patiently bore all his reviling, and when he was somewhat
cooler, offered to teach him the art of making cheese from sweet milk.
This would enable him to use much produce generally lost because it did
not thicken in time for use.
The herdsmen, on hearing this offer, reluctantly admitted that if it
were possible to make cheese from sweet milk, he might yet retrieve
his fortunes. So the dwarfs bade him kill his old goat, showed him how
to curdle milk by using its stomach, as rennet, and taught him to make
the excellent cheese for which the Seelisberg is still noted. Thanks to
the secret revealed by the repentant dwarfs, the peasant soon became
rich again, and when he died at a good old age, he left behind him fine
pastures, countless heads of cattle, and the invaluable receipt which
he had learned from his little friends, and which his descendants still
use.
* * * * *
IN going over the Klausen Pass, and in crossing the boundary of the
cantons of Glarus and Uri, one is reminded of the famous old quarrel
concerning this frontier. Both cantons once claimed the best pastures
along it, and as the herdsmen often came to blows over this matter, it
was finally arranged to settle the dispute once for all.
The jury before whom the matter was laid, composed of the most honest
and influential citizens in both cantons, decreed that as the matter
could not be settled satisfactorily otherwise, it should be decided by
a race. According to their minute directions, each canton was to select
a cock and a champion. On an appointed day, at their respective cocks’
first crow, these champions were to start from Altorf and the Linth
valley, and running with all their might, fix the boundary line for
ever on the spot where they finally met. This wise decree pleased both
cantons; cocks and champions were duly chosen, and the day for the race
was eagerly expected.
The people of Glarus, thinking their rooster would be most likely to
wake early if well fed and tended, lavished every care upon him, while
those of Uri kept theirs half starved, declaring he would sleep little
if hungry and thirsty.
When fall came and the time appointed for the race, the Urner’s
conjectures proved correct, for their skinny rooster awoke at the very
first gleam of dawn. His hoarse crow had scarcely been uttered, when
their champion set out from Altorf for his race to the frontier.
Over in Glarus, however, matters were less promising, for while all
the people of the Linth valley stood in expectant silence around
their cock, he slept on and on, until all the changing tints of dawn
had coloured the sky in turn, and the sun rose triumphant above the
horizon. Then he gave a lusty crow; but although the Glarus champion
ran his best, he had set out so long after his rival that he soon saw
him coming rapidly down the Grat.
When they met, the Urner triumphantly cried: “Here is the boundary!”
But the Glarner, pleading for his community, said: “Neighbour, I pray
thee, be so just as to grant me a bit of the fine pasture land thou
hast acquired by good luck.”
At first the Urner would not consent, but as his antagonist continued
to plead with gentle importunity, he finally exclaimed: “Well, friend,
thou shalt have as much ground as thou canst carry me over!”
The overjoyed man from Glarus now picked up his opponent, and although
the latter was heavy, and the road led up a steep hill, toiled
valiantly onward until he sank down lifeless far up the slope. By his
heroic efforts this man thus won a considerable piece of pasture land
for his fellow-citizens, who, in grateful memory of his efforts in
their behalf, buried him on the spot where he fell, and still speak of
his feat of strength with wonder and admiration.
* * * * *
THE marvellous St. Gothard Railway, which cost ten years of persistent
labour, crosses almost countless tunnels and bridges, and gives the
traveller an opportunity to see some of the finest and wildest scenery
in the world. At Altorf it passes the Capuchin Monastery, in connection
with which the following story is told.
The monks, in olden times, lived on a very friendly footing with the
people all around there, until one of them, meeting a pretty girl on
a lonely path, declared he must have the bunch of Alpine flowers she
wore on her breast, and a kiss besides. The peasant maiden, who had
picked the flowers for her lover, and who was far from expecting such
behaviour on the part of one of the monks, gave a loud shriek when he
attempted to secure the bouquet and salute her by force.
At the same instant the ground shook, a wide crevice appeared, whence
rose a cloud of smoke. Then a slip knot suddenly closed around the
neck of the monk, who was dragged down into the abyss, which closed
over him with an ominous crash! Since then, if we are to believe
the chronicles, no monk from the Capuchin convent has ever dared
raise his eyes to any of the girls of the town, or to exchange even a
conventional greeting with them.
* * * * *
ONE of the tunnels crossed by the railroad, is near a ravine which is
known as the Pfaffensprung or the Monk’s Leap, and owes its name to the
following legend. A wicked monk once kidnapped a young girl, and was
fleeing with her through the mountains, when he suddenly discovered
that he was pursued. To escape from his would-be captors, and retain
possession of the girl he had carried off, this monk ran to the edge of
the Reuss. There, seizing her in his arms, he took a desperate leap,
and--helped by the Devil--landed safely on the other side! According to
some versions of the story, the monk was none other than the Evil One
himself, for it is claimed no one else could have leaped across a chasm
which measures no less than twenty-two feet at this place.
* * * * *
THE old-fashioned stage road which winds its way over the St. Gothard,
passes through Schoellenen, Goeschenen (the entrance to the St. Gothard
tunnel), and over the new Devil’s Bridge. This is built across the
Reuss at a point where steep rocks tower above and below it on all
sides, and where the scenery is extremely wild and impressive.
From the new bridge one can see the remains of a more ancient
structure, of which the following legend is told, as well as of all
old bridges built in dangerous or difficult places, such as that of
Pont-la-Ville over the Sarine in Fribourg, and the one in the ravine of
the Morge in the Valais.
Already in very olden times the people of Uri had discovered that if
they could only establish a safe road over the St. Gothard mountain
they would be able to earn many a penny by trading with Italy. They
therefore spared neither pains nor expense, and built one foot after
another of the road, even piercing the hard rock in one spot to make
what is still known as the Urner Loch, or Hole of Uri. Countless
apparently insurmountable obstacles were gradually overcome, and the
road, which had been begun on both sides of the mountain, was rapidly
drawing close together near the banks of Reuss. There, however, the
builders paused appalled on either bank, for it seemed quite impossible
to bridge the awful chasm near the falls.
A meeting was therefore called at Goeschenen, where, although there
was no lack of talking, smoking, and drinking, no satisfactory decision
could be reached. A stranger, clad in black, with broad-brimmed hat
and bold heron feather, sat at a neighbouring table and listened
attentively to this discussion. Finally, seeing the meeting about
to break up, he drew near the talkers, and taking a seat beside the
principal magistrate in front of the fire, announced that he was a
famous builder, and could span the stream before morning. He even
offered to show them a fine bridge there at dawn, on the next day,
provided they were willing to pay his price.
One and all now exclaimed that nothing he could ask would seem too
much, so the stranger in black quickly responded,--
“Very well, then, it is a bargain! To-morrow you shall have your
bridge, but in payment I shall claim the first living creature which
passes over it. Here is my hand upon it!”
Saying these words, he seized the hand of the astonished magistrate
beside him, and before any one could add another word, disappeared. The
people gazed at one another in silence for a moment, then made furtive
signs of the cross. As soon as the chief magistrate could speak, he
loudly declared the stranger must be his Satanic Majesty in person! In
support of this assertion, he declared that the stranger, while sitting
in front of the fire, had boldly thrust his feet right into the red-hot
coals, where he kept them while talking, as if the heat were agreeable
to him; and added that he had distinctly felt sharp claws when the man
in black shook hands with him to close the bargain.
All now shuddered with fear, and a general wail of terror arose.
But a tailor who was present at the meeting, promptly bade his
fellow-citizens fear naught, for he would settle the bill with their
architect on the morrow. This offer was gladly accepted, the meeting
was speedily dissolved, and all hastened home, because none of them
cared to be out after dark while still under the spell of their recent
encounter with the Spirit of Evil. That night no one slept in the
neighbourhood, for although the sky had been clear when they went to
bed, a sudden storm arose and raged with fury until morning.
Amid the roll of thunder, incessant flashes of vivid lightning, and
violent gusts of wind, they heard the splitting and falling of rocks,
which seemed to roll all the way down the steep mountain side and crash
into the valley. But when morning came, no signs of storm were left,
and as soon as the sun had risen and they again dared venture out,
all rushed forth in a body to see what had happened. When they drew
near the Reuss, they could not sufficiently express their wonder and
admiration, for a fine stone bridge arched boldly over the swift stream.
On the opposite side stood the black-garbed stranger, grinning
fiendishly and encouraging the people by word and gesture to test his
bridge by walking across it. Just then the tailor appeared, carrying
a large bag. He advanced as if to cross first, but instead of setting
foot upon the structure, deftly opened his bag, from which escaped rats
and mice, closely followed by a few cats.
The Devil, for it was he, gave a yell of rage when he saw himself thus
outwitted, and, forgetting the part he had played until then, cast off
his disguise and ran down Goeschenen for a huge rock, which he intended
to hurl at the bridge so as to wreck it entirely before any other
living creature could cross.
On his way back, however, Satan met a little old woman, who, frightened
by his black looks, made a sign of the cross which caused him to drop
his burden and beat a hasty retreat into his own realm. To this day,
however, the people still point out the huge boulder in which the
marks of Satan’s claws are still visible, and which is known as the
Devil’s Stone.
[Illustration: THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE.]
According to another version, the Devil no sooner saw himself outwitted
than he seized handfuls of rock which he hurled at the bridge. But
these missiles were all deflected by a cross which the tailor planted
in the middle of the structure as soon as the animals reached the other
side. These big stones now lie scattered in the bed of the Reuss,
and around the pillars of the bridge, where, to the Devil’s constant
chagrin, they only serve to strengthen his construction.
To avenge himself in a slight measure, however, the Evil One posted
one of his own imps in this valley. When travellers pass, this demon
pounces down upon them unseen, snatches their hats off their heads,
and with a slight mocking whistle tosses them into the middle of the
stream. This imp, known as the Hat Fiend, or Hut Schelm, still haunts
the valley, although centuries have passed since the Devil played the
part of engineer for the people of Uri.
TESSIN
A judge of Bellinzona, known far and wide for his unswerving honesty,
was wont to ride daily to Magadino to attend court there and mete out
strict justice to all who appeared before him.
Although this was long years ago, when most judges openly accepted
bribes, this particular magistrate could never be bought, and while the
innocent loudly praised him, all wrong-doers hated him cordially.
Confirmed thieves and habitual criminals were particularly angry at his
mode of procedure; so they finally decided it would be well to waylay
the upright judge one dark night on his homeward journey, and end his
blameless career by a foul murder.
Three young men therefore registered a solemn oath to kill the
magistrate, and posting themselves in ambush behind the rocks by the
roadside, they impatiently awaited the appearance of their victim.
Toward midnight a clatter of hoofs was heard on the stony pathway,
and the lurking assassins, peering cautiously forth, beheld the judge
galloping toward them, preceded and followed by three armed horsemen.
The three highwaymen, who had expected to see the judge alone or
in company of one servant only, feeling loath to attack a force so
superior to their own, allowed the judge to pass by unmolested, and
postponed their attempt until the morrow. Then, reinforced by six of
their evil companions, they again lay in wait for the incorruptible
magistrate.
But instead of rushing out to attack him as soon as he drew near, they
cowered low in fear, for their expected victim was escorted by a troop
of twelve armed men, riding six before and six behind him. The crime
was deferred by unanimous if tacit consent until the next day, when six
more ruffians joined the murderers, to accomplish their wicked purpose
without further delay.
Again they waited and listened, and again their hearts beat fast at
the sound of approaching horsemen; but their hands dropped powerless
to their sides on perceiving the judge ride rapidly past them with an
escort of twenty-four men!
Convinced that their plans had been revealed to the man they hated,
the murderers now resolved to follow him home, to discover which men
formed his body-guard, and if possible to find the informer or at least
secure the connivance of the horsemen by means of large bribes. They
therefore noiselessly pursued the little cavalcade, and saw it come
to a sudden halt in front of the judge’s house. There the magistrate
slowly dismounted, gave the bridle of his weary steed to a waiting
servant, and entered his house without saying a word or making a sign
to the horsemen standing all around him.
As the door slammed shut, the servant led the horse away to the stable,
and the mounted escort suddenly vanished into thin air. Then only,
the amazed highwaymen became aware that the judge had been guarded
by angelic spirits, detailed to watch over his safety, but of whose
presence he was evidently not aware. This discovery filled their hearts
with such awe that they never again attempted to lay violent hands upon
him; but one of their number, overcome by remorse, finally went to seek
him, and confessing their evil intentions, humbly begged his pardon for
the projected crime.
The judge, who was as merciful as he was just, freely forgave this man;
but, relying upon divine protection in case of need, he continued to
mete out justice as before, and rode home alone when his day’s work
was over. No harm ever befell him, and it is said that when his upright
career on earth was ended, the invisible body-guard escorted him to the
great tribunal, where the verdict awarded to him was: “Well done, thou
good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”
SCHAFFHAUSEN