THROUGH THE UNTER-INNTHAL: KUFSTEIN--KUNDL--RATTENBERG, AND
THE STORY OF WILHELM BIENER--BRIXLEGG, AND ITS PEASANT
DRAMAS--THE FAMOUS CASTLE OF MATZEN--ST. GEORGENBERG, AND
ITS PILGRIMAGE CHURCH--CASTLE TRATZBERG--SCHWAZ
The first view one has of Kufstein from the railway, or rather of its
ancient fortress of Geroldseck, which dominates the prettily situated
little town, is almost bound to evoke the remark that it is a Salzburg
in miniature. Indeed, the parallel is not an inapt one, for the
partially tree-clad and rocky eminence on which the last stronghold
held by the Bavarians at the end of the invasion of 1809 stands bears
considerable resemblance to the greater Mönchsberg with the town
spread out at its feet.
The river Inn has narrowed ere it reaches Kufstein, which may be
called the border town of north-eastern Tyrol, and now flows rapidly
onward to meet the Danube. The place is pleasantly situated; but it is
rather on account of the interest and beauty of its surroundings than
to the town itself that its growing popularity as a holiday resort
must be chiefly ascribed. And yet, with that ancient and grim old
castle above one, with its huge round tower dominating the rock on
which it stands, and the charming valley and pine-clad slopes of the
environing hills spread out on either hand, one is tempted to linger
in the town.
The Castle, which in all probability occupies the site of Roman
_Albianum_, marks the position of one of the oldest settlements in
Tyrol. Even in the times of Charlemagne there is at least one record
of the place "Caofstein," accompanied by some interesting details.
From its position near the borderland of an antagonistic race
Kufstein's history is romantic, stirring, and chequered. As a
well-known writer upon Tyrol aptly says, "For centuries it was turned
into a political shuttlecock, now taken by force of arms, then by
stealthy surprise, now mortgaged, then redeemed or exchanged for some
other possessions by its whilom owners."[21] And its general fate and
varying fortunes were similar to those of other frontier fortresses,
such as Kitzbühel during the Middle Ages.
The grim fortress upon the rock, somehow or other, when seen in the
fading light of evening, seems to bear its story of cruelty, rapine
and harshness on its face. Many a gallant heart in the old days, which
people are so prone to label "good," pined or fretted to death within
its walls; and, unless tradition is entirely at fault, many a noble
maiden and dame also were incarcerated and died tragic deaths within
its thick, grim walls, and in its sunless dungeons.
The history of the fortress, so far as it concerns us, may commence
with its cession to Bavaria in or about 1363 by the Duchess Margaret,
the last of Count Albert's successors as rulers of Tyrol, when she
found herself unable to govern the country. She had acquired the
estates of Kufstein, Rattenberg, and Kitzbühel on her marriage with
Louis of Brandenburg; and when she ceded Tyrol to Austria it was
stipulated that these properties should revert to Bavaria.
[Sidenote: SIEGE OF KUFSTEIN]
These possessions remained Bavarian until the reign of the Emperor
Maximilian I., when the two latter gave allegiance to him. Kufstein,
however, refused to yield, and so in 1504 Maximilian appeared before
it, and commenced a siege. This event is particularly interesting, as
some authorities state it constituted the first occasion on which
proof was given that the introduction of artillery meant the
death-knell of mediæval fortresses, however strong and hitherto
regarded as inaccessible they might be. We are told, however, that the
guns brought to bear upon the Castle by the Emperor in the first
instance were quite ineffective, so much so, indeed, that the
Governor, named Pienzenau, whose sympathies were strongly Bavarian,
aroused the Emperor's anger by causing some of the garrison to sweep
up with brooms the dust, which had been the only damage done by the
besiegers' guns to the Castle walls, which were of great thickness,
and also to dust the latter themselves with the same articles in full
sight of the besiegers. The guns were either too small, or had been
placed at too great a distance from the Castle to do more than graze
it with their shot.
Finding his culverins and "serpents" of no avail, the Emperor
dispatched some one to Innsbruck for two monster guns, known as
_Weckauf_ and _Purlepaus_, which the Governor of that town, Philip von
Recenau, had recently cast at the foundry. These weapons, of which
drawings are extant, although the chroniclers of the time do not
mention their calibre or dimensions, were of considerably larger size
than "Queen Elizabeth's Pocket Pistol" at Dover, and threw balls of
about 300 pounds in weight, it is said, for a distance of nearly two
thousand yards. The arrival of the great guns put a very different
complexion upon the siege; and after they had been brought to bear
upon the castle, and had been fired,[22] it was found that their shot
not only penetrated the fourteen-feet-thick walls with ease, but even
the rock itself was pierced, according to some historians, to a depth
of eighteen inches. Pienzenau now wished to surrender to the Emperor,
provided his life was spared. But Maximilian did not forget the
incident of the brooms, which bears some slight analogy to the
historic "broom" incident connected with the Dutch Admiral Van Tromp,
who hoisted one at his masthead in derision of the English, whom he
claimed to have swept off the seas. "So he is anxious to throw away
his brooms, is he?" the Emperor is said to have remarked. "He should
have taken this course before. He has caused by his obstinacy the
walls of this fine fortress to be so shattered, so he can do no less
than give his own carcase up to a similar fate."
And although great efforts were made to obtain pardon for Pienzenau
and some of his more important supporters they were unsuccessful, the
Emperor remaining quite obdurate. It is this execution of a brave man
(whose courage and fidelity to his nation should have aroused nothing
but admiration) which is a stain upon the Emperor's record. No less
than five and twenty of the principal defenders were condemned to be
executed. The survivors of the garrison attempted to escape secretly
before the general assault, which had been arranged, took place, but
they were captured. The first to be beheaded was Pienzenau; but when
seventeen (some authorities say eleven) of his companions had shared
the same fate, Eric, Duke of Brunswick, interceded with Maximilian so
earnestly that the lives of the rest were spared. This same Eric had
formerly saved the Emperor's life in battle, and possibly this fact
influenced the latter towards clemency. Over the grave in which the
victims of Maximilian were buried by the people of Kufstein was
erected a little chapel at Ainliff on the opposite bank of the river.
The booty and valuables taken from the Castle were placed together and
divided (including, for those times, the very large sum of 30,000
florins in hard cash) according to the rank of the victors. The
Emperor showed himself on this occasion more just to his troops than
he had been clement to the defenders, as he paid his share of the
spoil into the common fund. The small booty he took consisted
chiefly, if not entirely, of skins of the lynx and marten, and other
hunting trophies.
Kufstein, after its reduction by the Emperor Maximilian, was
garrisoned, and in succeeding ages underwent numerous sieges,
including the memorable one during the campaign of 1809, when
Speckbacher performed deeds of bravery which were almost apocryphal in
character.
[Sidenote: A KUFSTEIN ROMANCE]
As is perhaps only natural, there are many legends and romantic
stories connected with the fortress, some of them arising out of the
life-histories and achievements of the many distinguished prisoners
who were from time to time during the Middle and succeeding ages
confined within its walls. Amongst the more romantic captives was the
famous Hungarian brigand, Andrew Roshlar, who was tried and condemned
to death at Szegedin nearly forty years ago, to whose account upwards
of a hundred murders were ascribed.
Kufstein must have been a difficult place from which to break out, but
there is, at least, the tradition of a prisoner in the fifteenth
century making good his escape. He was a Tyrolese knight captured by
the Bavarians, and confined, apparently with some degree of comfort
and laxity of surveillance, in one of the upper chambers of the great
round tower, from which, through the devotion of the girl (a maiden
much beneath him in rank) to whom he was secretly betrothed, he
succeeded in escaping. The story goes that this girl, who came from
some place west of Innsbruck, having discovered the whereabouts of her
lover after some difficulty, succeeded in obtaining a post as maid in
the household of the then owner. After some weary weeks of waiting,
she obtained access to her lover's cell, having been given the work of
carrying up to him daily his supply of food and water. It was then
arranged between them that she should each day convey to him a small
quantity of hemp, out of which he was to fashion a rope. This she did,
concealing the hemp in the bosom of her dress. In course of time the
imprisoned knight had made a sufficiently long rope to reach from his
window to the ground, the bars across which he had gradually almost
filed through from the outside inwards, so that any one casually
examining them would not be likely to discover the fact. Everything
was ready for the escape, and it was arranged that the same night the
girl was to make her way out of the Castle and join him ere the great
gate was shut.
On the day fixed she had brought the captive's allowance of food about
noon, as usual, when on leaving the cell and making her way downstairs
she was accosted by one of the steward's sons who had sought her
favour. She was horrified to find that he suspected the plot, and that
the price of his silence was her honour. She hesitated, and pitifully
entreated him to spare her, but to no avail. Then, when he told her
that not only would discovery mean her own death in all probability,
but certainly the death of her lover, she yielded. About sundown she
left the castle, and mad with grief at the shame and insult she had
been compelled to suffer, she wandered about until it was dark. She
had determined to assure herself of her lover's escape, and then to
cast herself from the steepest point of the rock upon which the Castle
stands down into the valley below. In the dusk she at length saw
faintly a black figure descending against the wall, and then she heard
cautious footsteps approaching the thicket in which she stood
concealed.
With a half-stifled cry which she could not altogether suppress, she
hurried through the undergrowth, and was within a few yards of the
edge of the rock, when she was seized by her lover and saved from
destruction. The story goes on to say that they both escaped, and that
the knight eventually married (and, let us hope, lived happily with)
the brave girl who had compassed his deliverance.
[Illustration: A PEEP OF KITZBÜHEL]
The town of Kufstein itself does not call for extended description.
But one feature that immediately prepossesses the visitor in its
favour, if one arrive, as we did when last there, on a hot summer
day, is the number of shady promenades to be found, more especially on
the east side of the town, in the neighbourhood of the delightfully
picturesque Kiengraben. None should fail to visit the Calvarienberg,
from which there are delightful and extensive views of the Castle,
town, and valley.
[Sidenote: KUFSTEIN TO KITZBÜHEL]
To reach Kitzbühel from Kufstein it is necessary to change trains at
Wörgl, eight and a half miles down the Unter-Innthal, and proceed up
the Brixen Thal by the Staatsbahn past Hopfgarten to Kitzbühel. The
town is a charming one, surrounded by gardens where once there ran a
moat, and containing some interesting houses along the banks of the
Kitzbühler Ache. Many of them still have Gothic roofs and gables,
which give them a mediæval appearance, and one of great charm. The
town has of late years become a favourite summer resort, and its fine
situation in a wide valley nearly 2500 feet above sea-level has much
to recommend it. But its fame is by no means merely that of a summer
holiday spot. It is almost equally resorted to for winter sports of
tobogganing, ski-ing, and skating, and may be, in fact, called the
Tyrolese Grindelwald or Adelboden. Then the snow-clad valley is indeed
beautiful, more like fairyland than aught else, with only the church
spires of Kitzbühel and the pines on the hillsides to break the wide
white expanse.
The Kitzbühelhorn is a favourite ascent, from which very fine views
are to be obtained, especially of the giants of the Tauern range, the
Chiemsee, and the rocky and impressive Kaiser Gebirge. The pasturage
and the Alpine flora in the neighbourhood of Kitzbühel are especially
rich, and there are many beautiful excursions to be made in the
district round about. In the Brixen Thal, indeed, the artist and the
student of costumes and ancient customs, which are, alas! so rapidly
dying out, will find much of interest. In many of the villages the
annual contests, consisting of wrestling and other sports--which
anciently were often so strenuous as to lead to serious injury to the
combatants and competitors, and even bloodshed--still take place. At
Kitzbühel there is an athletic gathering in June, which is held on a
plateau near the inn on the Kitzbühelhorn, and partakes of the
character of the Grasmere Sports of our own land, and the Braemar
gathering in Scotland.
The peasants as a general rule in the Brixen Thal, as in the more
famous Ziller Thal, are musical, and often indeed are quite skilled
musicians; and frequently as one wends one's way through the
flower-spangled pastures or climbs the mountain-side, from some
isolated hut or shady nook beneath a boulder will come the musical
tinkling of a cowherd's zithern or the flutey notes of his pipe. But,
as a rule, we have found the players shy of performing before
strangers, who will therefore be well advised if they listen to the
music unseen and without seeking to discover its source.
The Brixen Thal, too, is a great dairy district, the chief industries
of which are butter- and cheese-making.
As regards the scenery of the valley one may say that in few others in
Tyrol does one come across a greater variety of light and shade, or
more delightful cloud effects. Indeed, the clouds, which at one time
seem as though they will sweep down the mountain-sides and obscure
everything, and at others sail majestically, like huge cotton-wool
argosies, across the blue vault of heaven, thousands of feet above the
highest peak of the Tauern Giants and the bare and grey limestone
peaks of the Kaisergebirge, in themselves form pictures and phenomena
of the greatest beauty and of ever changing interest.
[Sidenote: MONKISH MIRACLES]
Kundl is a small village some four miles south-west from Wörgl, and it
would attract little attention from travellers were it not for the
curious church of St. Leonard auf der Wiese (St. Leonard in the
Meadow) and the quaint legend attached to it. The story goes that
early in the eleventh century a stone statue of St. Leonard came
floating down the Inn to this spot; and the people, recognizing that
for a stone statue to float was nothing less than miraculous, after
securing it, set it up by the roadside, so that all who passed by
should see and reverence it. Probably modern scepticism will lead us
to suppose that the figure was in reality of wood and not stone; and
then the miracle explains itself! The region is subject to floods, and
doubtless the figure of St. Leonard came from some church higher up
the valley which had been destroyed by avalanche or inundation.
However, the story goes on to tell us that the statue had not long
been placed in position alongside the high-road ere Henry II., Duke of
Bavaria, himself passed that way, and seeing it paused to ask an
explanation of its being there. When the story had been told him, he
seized the opportunity (as did many other rulers in those days) to
strike a bargain with Heaven which, whilst benefiting Mother Church,
would also be not without profit to himself. He therefore vowed that
if the expedition into Italy, which had brought him along that road,
should prosper and his forces be victorious, he would on his return
build a handsome votive church over the spot where the figure of the
saint stood.
Alas! for human vows, even those of one destined to become an Emperor.
Although his arms prospered, and he was crowned at Pavia, and made
King of Germany, he forgot all about St. Leonard. Some years later (in
1012) fortunes and the cares of his kingdom once more brought him into
Tyrol on his way northward and to the spot where the figure of the
saint still stood by the roadside. Then another miracle happened, for
his horse, "although urged forward with whip and spur and words,"
refused to pass the spot where his master had formerly made so solemn
a vow, and stood foaming and champing his bit much to his rider's
embarrassment. As was but natural, the Emperor at once remembered his
vow and set about fulfilling it.
The church, which was forthwith commenced, was finished in a couple
of years, but a catastrophe marked its completion. Just as a young man
was about to place the vane in position he was seized with sudden
giddiness, and falling to the ground was dashed to pieces. "His body,"
so a somewhat quaint local version of the story has it, "was gathered
together by the horrified onlookers," and his skull--which can still
be seen--was placed at the foot of the crucifix on the high altar as
an offering. There is a record in the church of the fact that the
Emperor erected the building, and that Pope Benedict VIII., who was a
nominee of his, made the very considerable journey from Rome to
consecrate it. There would, however, notwithstanding this, appear
considerable reason for doubt whether he did.
The image now to be seen only dates from 1491, and there is no record
regarding the disappearance of the original "miraculous" one which it
must have replaced. The interior of this church has suffered both from
neglect and whitewashing at various times. But there are some quaint
and excellent carvings, including a few pew ends, and also some fine
iron work, and the figures adorning the ten columns which surround the
high altar are interesting. It is as one comes into the village that
the prettiest view of the church is obtained.
Rattenberg, which is some five miles distant from Kundl on the main
line and road, is not much visited by tourists, and is chiefly of note
on account of the copper mines, which are still worked. The town is,
however, decidedly picturesque and repays a visit. Scarcely anywhere
in Tyrol in a place of similarly small size does one get such
contrasts in architecture. And, doubtless, for this reason one seldom
fails, during the summer months, to find several artists at work in
the narrow streets. One side of the river is occupied by houses and
buildings of the most solid, gloomy, and altogether unprepossessing
character, whilst on the opposite bank one finds the very antithesis
in the pretty, light-looking dwellings, quaintly painted in delicate
shades of buff, pink, and sky-blue. Beside them and between them are
quaint courtyards and narrow alleys of often an extremely picturesque
character.
[Sidenote: WILHELM BIENER]
Many people seem to confuse the Castle of Rattenberg, which dominates
the little town and river, with that of Rottenberg, the crumbling
ruins of which lie on an eminence overlooking the roads which lead out
of the Inn Thal into the Achen Thal and Ziller Thal, once the seat of
one of the most powerful feudal families of Tyrol. Rattenberg Castle
is said by some authorities to date back to the days of the Roman
occupation, and even to Etruscan times, and its history has been not
less stirring and chequered than that of most other similarly placed
fortresses of the Inn Thal. The chief event in connection with it was
the imprisonment of Wilhelm Biener, the brilliant Chancellor of
Claudia Felicitas de Medici, wife of the Archduke Leopold V. Biener,
unfortunately, afterwards fell into disfavour with the pro-Italians at
the Court of Claudia's son and successor, the Archduke Ferdinand Karl,
Regent of Tyrol, and was executed at Rattenberg in 1649 and buried
near the wall of the churchyard. Those who wish to know more of the
romantic and stirring period of Tyrolese history in which Biener lived
and died cannot do better than read that fine historical novel, "Der
Kanzler von Tyrol" (The Chancellor of Tyrol), by Herman Schmid.
The story of Biener's fall may be briefly told. Claudia de Medici, on
the death of her husband, with her Chancellor's advice and assistance,
succeeded, not only in governing Tyrol wisely and well during the
minority of her two sons, but, by the exercise of great wisdom,
contrived to escape embroilment in the terrible and disastrous Thirty
Years' War in which the whole of the rest of the German Empire was
involved. Her rule, however, was not altogether without some
harshness, which was chiefly shown in the collection of taxes, and in
this matter the Chancellor Biener was naturally concerned, with a
result that his zeal for his beautiful mistress's interests caused him
to incur the hatred of a certain section of the Court and community at
large. On one occasion he found himself in serious opposition to the
then Bishop of Brixen concerning the payment of certain dues, the
legality of which the bishop questioned. Biener appears for once to
have failed in his usual skilful and diplomatic treatment of affairs.
He wrote a very intemperate letter to the bishop, which the latter
never forgot nor forgave. Years after the death of Claudia, the
resentment against Biener took more definite shape, and he was accused
of having misappropriated some of the money belonging to the State
which had passed through his hands. Tried by two Italian judges, he
was found guilty (though, apparently, upon very flimsy evidence), and
condemned to death.
The fallen Chancellor made a last appeal to the Archduke Ferdinand
Karl, son of his late mistress, and the Archduke, thoroughly believing
in Biener's good faith and innocence, and, doubtless, remembering his
many distinguished services to his family, reprieved him. Unhappily
for the condemned man, his greatest enemy, the President of the
Council, named Schmaus, was able to so delay the messenger that he
arrived too late to save the Chancellor.
Biener was led out for execution, and on stepping on to the scaffold,
he cried out, "As truly as I am innocent of this thing, I summon my
accuser (Schmaus) before the Judgment Seat above before another year
shall pass away."
When the executioner had done his work, and stooped to pick up the
head to exhibit it to the multitude, he found that he had also
unknowingly smitten off three fingers of the victims right hand,
strangely (so the story goes) bringing to mind the remark of the
Bishop of Brixen on reading Biener's letter years before--"The man who
could write a letter like this to me deserves that his fingers which
held the pen should be cut off."
By an equally remarkable occurrence, we are told, the President of the
Council, who had been not only Biener's most relentless enemy but his
chief accuser, died within the specified time of a terrible disease.
The wife of the Chancellor is supposed to haunt the mountain paths in
the neighbourhood, and at night may be sometimes met with proclaiming
her husband's innocence in a moaning voice. The story, doubtless, has
its basis in the circumstance that the unfortunate woman lost her
reason and ran away no one knew whither, but was ultimately found
wandering aimlessly, and quite bereft of her senses, on the
mountain-side between Brixlegg and Rattenberg. There was for many
years (and may be still for aught we know) a tradition that when any
one was about to die in the little village near Innsbruck, where
Biener's wife, after her marriage, lived happily for many years, she
appears to warn them.
Near the town, in one of the mining buildings, is a most curious
picture done upon a wooden panel, combining a representation of the
mining works about 1500 with one of the Crucifixion, in which the
miners, with their pickaxes and shovels laid down beside them, are
seen kneeling in prayer.
[Sidenote: BRIXLEGG]
Brixlegg is but a mile or so from Rattenberg. The neighbourhood is
pretty, and there is a charming view from the bridge. The little busy
town also forms an excellent centre from which to make some of the
shorter excursions into the Ziller Thal and Achen Thal. But, although
there are considerable smelting works and a wire-drawing industry at
Brixlegg, to the tourist it is chiefly its reputation for peasant
dramas which forms the chief attraction in the town, which is,
however, quaint and in a measure picturesque.
The rural plays of Brixlegg are not only interesting by reason of the
historical scenes they many of them represent, but also as survivals
of a very early (if not the earliest) type of German dramatic
expression and art which has come down to us. Most of the plays,
types of costume, plots, and all the various items which go to make up
these performances have done service for generations; but occasionally
new plays are written and staged, mostly dealing with historical
incidents and characters. In some parts of Tyrol where these plays
survive, till at least very recent times, old masks were extant, which
must have been handed down from the early Middle Ages, and possibly
(so some competent authorities assert) date from Roman and Etruscan
times. The Brixlegg performances should most certainly be seen by all
who are interested in the true peasant drama and the evolution of
dramatic art. The representations are far more interesting as native
and peasant art than those of Meran, where to a certain extent outside
criticism and influence have served to bring about modifications, the
Meran performances lacking some of the naiveness and spontaneity of
these simpler peasant dramatic plays.
[Sidenote: SCHLOSS MATZEN]
Just after leaving Brixlegg, on the left-hand side of the road stand
three castles of note--Matzen, Lichtwer, and Kropfsberg. The first
named is one of the most interesting and well-preserved examples of
the mediæval schloss in Tyrol. A whole volume might be devoted to a
description of its beauty of situation, architecture, romantic history
and sieges, and yet leave much unsaid. Its huge round tower dominates
the landscape, just as its beautiful lower courtyard, with its four
tiers of cloistered corridors round two sides, with the "springs" of
the arches supported upon short columns of unworked marble, its fine
main hall, with priceless carved and panelled oak and hunting
trophies, make it a unique possession. There is a charming view of its
rivals, Lichtwer and Kropfsberg, from the drawing-room window, whilst
standing at which (according to old chroniclers) one of the Frundbergs
was shot dead by a crossbow bolt fired by his brother from the tower
of Lichtwer, of which castle the latter was the owner.
[Illustration: SCHLOSS MATZEN]
Of special interest to most visitors who may be fortunate enough to
be permitted to see Matzen and its treasures will undoubtedly be the
famous figure of Christ upon the cross in the chapel; the library--one
of the oldest rooms--with its fine Renaissance chest; the fine
collection of old pewter; the hunting-room, with the many trophies of
its famous "sporting" as well as literary owner;[23] and perhaps not
without interest to most visitors will also be the stone table, once
standing upon the place of execution at the other end of the castle,
but now in the shadow of the great circular Roman tower, just outside
the postern entrance from the garden. At this table in olden times, it
is said, the owner of Matzen sat when dispensing justice to his
vassals or retainers. Set in the wide valley, and girt around by
trees, Matzen is one of the most picturesque as it is one of the most
interesting and historic castles in Tyrol.
There is not much to detain one at Jenbach, which is a small town at
the entrance to the Achen Thal, on the northern, and the Ziller Thal
on the southern, bank of the Inn.
Just before one reaches Schwaz, one sees storied Castle Tratzberg high
on a wooded spur of the Bavarian Alps, with its three turrets in line,
seeming to overhang the rocky eminence upon which it stands. Up above
the castle, scarcely visible from the valley, is the famous pilgrimage
church of Georgenberg, which all who can should visit.
The path, though toilsome, winds through a sweet-scented pine forest.
As one nears the goal of one's pilgrimage, the way is marked by
stations of the cross. One passes through a silent region, and, as one
ascends, the pretty villages scattered below in the valley of the Inn
are gradually and for a time lost to view. Scarcely any one is met
save a stray pilgrim or some tourist curious enough to make the
ascent, and no sound is heard save the soughing of the summer breeze
in the pines and the tinkle of little streams or the water-music of
the Stallen torrents. At last, through an opening in the environing
forest, one catches the first glimpse of the white church, with its
Romanesque tower and rust-red roof, standing on a steep and barren
rock some three hundred feet in height, to reach which the covered
wooden bridge spanning the deep ravine must be crossed.
And what a shrine it is! An isolated tabernacle set upon a rock in a
solitary place, and amid surroundings of the greatest beauty and
impressiveness; shut out of the world and shut in with nature. The
cross at the head of the bridge records the miraculous escape of a
girl long ago who, whilst attempting to pick the fairest flowers for a
chaplet to place upon the Madonna's head or lay upon the altar, fell
into the ravine, a distance of over one hundred and fifty feet, and
yet escaped serious injury when death seemed certain.
The impression one receives when at last the summit of the rock upon
which the church stands is reached is one of great solemnity and even
of grandeur. For a time the outer world has receded from one's mind
and ceased to exist. And when one enters the church itself, the
impression which has been created cannot fail to be intensified by the
silent, kneeling figures almost always found within, with their faces
illumined with rapture and faith or transfigured by religious fervour.
[Sidenote: ST. GEORGENBERG]
The little chapel of "Our Lady of Sorrows" (Schmerzhaften Mutter)
comes first, surrounded with a tiny graveyard, in which are buried the
favoured few who have had their wish gratified to rest in death in the
solitary but beautiful spot they loved and visited when alive. The
larger building, the church of St. George opposite the chapel,
contains one of those most curious legendary relics of which not a few
have been preserved from time immemorial in Tyrol. The story of the
miracle which produced the relic is briefly as follows:--About the
year 1310, in the days when Rupert I. was the fourteenth abbot in
charge of the Monastery of Georgenberg, the ruins of which surround
the present church, a Benedictine monk was saying Mass in this very
church. Just as he was about to consecrate the cup, a doubt came into
his mind as to whether such a miracle as the changing of the water and
wine into blood could be accomplished in his unworthy hands. Torn with
doubt, he nevertheless proceeded to use the words of consecration; and
he was struck dumb with astonishment and awe to find, in place of the
white wine and water he had placed in the cup, blood, which overflowed
the chalice and fell upon the wafers. Some portion of this miraculous
blood was preserved in a phial, which was set in a reliquary and
placed upon the altar. In former times this precious relic, we are
told, has worked many miracles, and is venerated almost as much to-day
as in mediæval times.
[Sidenote: A WOODLAND SHRINE]
The pilgrimage of St. Georgenberg is one of the most famous and
ancient in Tyrol. So ancient, indeed, that its origin appears to have
dated as far back as the end of the tenth century, when a chapel was
consecrated here by Albuin, the then Bishop of Brixen. Even before
this, however, Scherer asserts that a young Bavarian nobleman named
Rathhold, from Aiblingen, "having learned the hollowness of the joys
of even his great position, made up his mind to live apart from the
haunts of men in some wilderness and solitary spot." And in pursuit of
this determination he wandered on through the fertile fields and
valleys of his own land and those of the Inn until he at length
reached this spot in the Stallen valley, and ultimately came to the
rock upon which the church stands. Up on the mountain-side he carved
out for himself a cave where he lived as a hermit. But after a while a
desire possessed him to go to some of the shrines of the greatest
saints. He visited many, even travelling so far afield as to the
shrine of St. Jago de Compostella; and at length returned once more to
his hermit's cave to finish his days in prayer and contemplation. But
he brought back with him a picture of the Madonna, over which with his
own hands he reverently erected a protective shrine.
Soon from all the district round about, and even from distant parts of
Tyrol and Bavaria, people came to worship at the shrine; and ere long
"Our Beloved Lady under the Lindens" became a great pilgrimage resort.
One day, years afterwards, so the story goes, there came to the place
another young Bavarian nobleman who had wandered far in pursuit of
game, and on hearing of the shrine had determined to visit it himself
to ascertain what were the attractions and virtues of a place which
was so venerated by the peasants of the mountains and valley round
about. On his arrival at the little chapel he sought the hermit
guardian, when what was his joy and astonishment to discover, in the
white-bearded recluse, the elder brother whose strange disappearance
from his castle home years before had caused much grief. Overjoyed at
the meeting, the younger brother vowed that he would build a chapel on
the spot more adequate for the protection of the holy and miraculous
picture, and also a "shelter house" for pilgrims.
The work was soon started, and from far and near peasants and even
nobles came or sent offerings so that they might have some part in the
work. Then a strange thing happened. All the virtue, which had made
the spot one of miracles, and one of such good fortune to the halt,
diseased, blind, and dumb, seemed to depart. Hardly had the workmen
commenced the foundations of the proposed chapel ere accident after
accident occurred, some of them fatal. The stones would not remain in
place, and everything connected with the building "went wrong."
Another curious happening was the presence day by day of two white
doves, which came down, apparently from out of the woods higher up
the mountain-side, and picked up every chip of wood upon which any of
the workers' blood had fallen when they cut themselves with their
tools (as they frequently did), and then at once flew away with the
chips in their beaks.
[Illustration: A WAYSIDE SHRINE IN A PINE WOOD]
Finding that this action of the doves continued and that no progress
could be made, the hermit determined to seek an explanation of the
mystery, and so one day he followed the birds up the mountain-side,
and on reaching the spot where he saw them descend he found to his
astonishment a perfect miniature chapel or shrine which had been
constructed out of the chips and shavings the doves had carried away.
"In this miracle the hermit discovered the directing hand of God, and
going down again to his brother he entreated him to have the
contemplated chapel built upon the spot which had been so miraculously
pointed out." This the latter willingly consented to do, and the work
now progressed without accident or other interruption. The chapel so
erected, which is further up the hillside than the larger church of
St. George, was rebuilt at the time the latter was erected in the
eighteenth century.
From time to time other pilgrims both noble and simple who visited the
shrine set amid the woods and mountains were moved to remain, and thus
gradually a community was gathered together living in roughly built
huts in the vicinity of the hermit's cell, which in course of time
about the twelfth century was put by the then Bishop of Brixen under
the rules governing the order of St. Benedict. The monks not only
built a monastery but cultivated the surrounding land, and quite a
large community at last dwelt in this secluded spot. But the life of
the monks was destined to be very chequered, and often troubled with
grave misfortunes. Fire, avalanches, famine, and disease all did their
best to extirpate the brotherhood. And at last, at the beginning of
the eighteenth century--after having been established at St.
Georgenberg for more than five hundred years--it was decided to remove
the monastic institutions to Fiecht.
Vast funds were needed, for the then abbot, named Celestin Böhmen, who
was a native of Vienna, and had formerly been an officer of artillery,
projected the new monastery and buildings upon a lavish and colossal
scale. There was, however, no lack of funds. St. Georgenberg held a
place in the hearts of all the people for a wide district round about,
and money also flowed into the monastic coffers from foreign lands
from which pilgrims had come to the famous shrine. Then a great
disaster happened. The abbot, tempted by the vast wealth which had
been placed in his hands, and perhaps weary of his life of retirement
from the world in which he had once been a prominent figure, fled with
the money which was to have been used for the new abbey at Fiecht. The
work of building was for a time brought to a standstill, as no trace
of the defaulting abbot could be discovered. But after some years a
sufficient sum of money was obtained to permit of the work being
continued under the direction of Abbot Lambert. The result was the
present handsome late Renaissance building; which, however, comprises
but a small portion of the first magnificent scheme. The renegade
Abbot, Celestin Böhmen, some years after his flight and crime, once
more became enamoured of a life of contemplation, and suddenly
appeared at the monastery, confessing his wrong-doing and throwing
himself upon the mercy of his former companions. He did not appeal to
their clemency in vain; for, refusing to deliver him up to justice,
they allowed him to end his days in piety and repentance, which one
can only trust was genuine.
Such, at all events, is substantially the story as told by Burglechner
and other writers.
A strange fascination seems to enshroud this quiet and secluded
shrine of St. Georgenberg, and certainly it is one of the pilgrimage
places which most inspire one with the spirit of those remote ages
when in the making of such journeys many found comfort, peace of mind,
and refreshment. Indeed, one almost wonders that the monks should have
deserted it for a new home and a less quiet situation on the hillside
near Schwaz, which has now for some years been used as a school.
[Sidenote: CASTLE OF TRATZBERG]
Just before reaching Schwaz one passes the old and fine castle of
Tratzberg, which well deserves a visit, not only on account of its art
and other treasures, but also by reason of the delightful views
obtained from it. Tratzberg, which was sold by the Duke Frederick to a
rich mine-owner named Christian Tanzel in 1470, with the title of
Knight of Tratzberg, was often visited by the Emperor Maximilian I. on
his various hunting expeditions in the neighbourhood. Knight Tanzel
spared no expenditure to make it one of the most beautiful and famous
castles in the Inn Thal. Not the least interesting of the many finely
decorated rooms which it contains are those which were generally
occupied by Maximilian on his visits, and the fine apartment known as
the Queen's room, with beautiful presses, interesting portraits, and
magnificent panelled ceiling. The armoury, too, full of mediæval
cannon, pikes, lances and other ancient weapons, never fails to
interest the student and archæologist, who, whilst wandering through
these ancient and wonderfully well-preserved rooms, gains a more vivid
idea of the conditions of life in the Middle Ages than much "book
learning" could give him. In the great hall are some remarkable
frescoes in _tempera_, depicting the genealogical tree of the house of
Habsburg with quaint groups of portraits. Some of the antlers, which
are so attached to the wall as to serve as portions of the design, are
said to have been hunting trophies of Maximilian himself.
The two Maximilian rooms, which open one into the other, are happily
in much the same condition and state as when occupied by the Emperor.
The panelling, whilst not comparing for elaborateness with that in
some of the other rooms, is good, and the ancient stove, dating from
the fifteenth century, is of great interest. On the walls of the room
in which this stands is an inscription in chalk, said to have been
written by Maximilian himself, which sums up a quaint philosophy, and
has been translated thus--
"I live I know not how long,
I die I know not when;
Must go I know not whither;
The wonder that I so joyful am."
[Sidenote: A GRUESOME STORY]
In 1573 the castle and lands passed into the possession of the famous
Fugger family, and ultimately into that of the Enzenbergs, one of whom
is the present owner. There is at least one gruesome story and
tradition told in connection with Tratzberg, which is not itself at
all gruesome-looking, as Tyrol castles go.
It appears that the ancient owners of the castle were most of them
more noted for love of the chase than for being "instant in prayer,"
and one was so great a defaulter in this respect that, although he
could always hear the notes of the hunting horn blown early in the
morning and rise with alacrity to obey its summons, sad to relate,
when the chapel bell rang for Mass, it was quite a different matter.
One morning the bell woke him as usual, and as usual he yawned, and
turned over in his bed for another nap, thinking, no doubt, pityingly
of the folk who had got up early to attend the service. He had no
sooner done this than he had a dream or vision of the old chaplain
performing the service in the chapel, and of the devout worshippers
gathered to listen to him. Then the triple tinkling of the Mass bell
announced to him the most solemn rite of the service was being
performed. Then came a rumbling noise, the very foundations of the
castle seemed to shake, and the building to sway as though about to
collapse, and the hundreds of windows rattled and shook. The knight,
who was superstitious if not religious, terrified beyond control,
shrieked aloud, and then tried to hide himself under the bedclothes in
his terror. His cry was heard by some of the servants and retainers,
who came hurrying to the room; and upon entering they were
horror-struck to find their master dead, whilst upon his throat were
the imprints of three claws, which had burned as well as torn the
skin. The inference drawn was that the knight had been enjoined by
some Heavenly spirit to rise and repair to the celebration of the
Mass, but had resisted the Divine influence, and had been claimed by
his master, the Devil, who had strangled him. Some marks on the walls
of the room where he died were for years afterwards shown as those of
the wicked knight's blood.
There are many other traditions and legends attached to this famous
castle, which is one of the several buildings in Europe making a claim
to possess exactly as many windows as there are days in the year; but
for these stories, interesting though they are as exhibiting the
credulity, barbarism, and imaginativeness of mediæval times, we have
not space.
Not far from Tratzberg is the quaint, interesting, and flourishing
town of Schwaz, on the right bank of the Inn, and overlooked by the
Castle of Frundsberg. It was, far back in the times of the Roman
occupation of Tyrol, a station of considerable importance and size;
but after the evacuation of the country it gradually declined until
the fourteenth century, when it was little more than a scattered
hamlet of poor houses, with an inn for the accommodation of travellers
who were too weary to proceed further on their way to Innsbruck, or
who had been overtaken near the place by nightfall.
[Sidenote: SCHWAZ MINERS]
Then at the commencement of the fifteenth century, according to
Burglechner, a vein of silver ore was discovered through the rampant
behaviour of a bull, who went mad or became uncommonly energetic, and,
tearing up the grass on the hillside with his horns, was the means of
disclosing what afterwards proved to be a vast deposit of silver ore.
The news of the discovery was brought hot haste to the poor hamlet by
the herdsman who was in charge of the animal, and the inhabitants
flocked out to investigate the story of the shining metal which had
been uncovered. In a very short time Schwaz regained its ancient
prosperity and importance, and at one time, when the silver mines were
at their best, the population, which nowadays is about 6500, was not
far short of five times as many. The discovery of the silver caused
several of the noble families in the neighbourhood to forsake the
calling of arms and knightly service for that of mine owning and mine
working; and the vast wealth of the Augsburg merchants and bankers,
notably the Hochstetters, Ilsungs, and Fuggers, was largely employed
in the working of the mines which had been speedily opened up. Amongst
the noble families who turned miners or mine proprietors was that of
the Fiegers, one of whom was an intimate companion of Maximilian I.
The latter, when Fieger died full of years and leaving an astonishing
progeny and an enormous fortune behind him, was present at his old
friend's funeral. His son, Hans Fieger, married Margaret von
Pienzenau, who, on her coming to her husband's home, was accompanied
by a vast cavalcade consisting of four thousand horses, of which those
drawing her coach were shod with silver.[24]
The mining industry was speedily developed by the immense sums wealthy
merchants in Bavaria and elsewhere were willing to embark in
speculation, or advance upon the security of the mines themselves; and
so skilful and daring did the Schwaz miners become, that later on
their services were requisitioned for use in the mines of other
districts, and for military mining operations against the Turks in
Hungary. In the siege of Vienna in 1529 by the Turks, Soliman the
Magnificent, who invested the city with an army of 300,000 men, was
forced to raise it, after losing nearly a fourth of his men, owing to
the countermining of the Schwaz miners. Two centuries later, the
Schwazers undermined and blew up the splendid and almost impregnable
fortifications of Belgrade before it was ceded to Turkey; and at
various times their services were engaged by the Dukes of Florence and
Piedmont.
Schwaz, too, has the distinction of having had one of the earliest of
printing presses set up in the town; and matters referring to mining
and mining methods were often referred to the experienced and skilful
miners and engineers of Schwaz.
Just as was the case with the miners of the not far distant
Principality of Salzburg, those of Schwaz embraced the doctrines of
Luther, and made serious attempts to put down Roman Catholic
clericalism and oppression. On two occasions at least they marched in
considerable numbers upon Innsbruck, but were met at Hall by the
Bishop of Brixen, who prevailed upon them to return to their homes by
promises of redress of their grievances. But though they consented to
do this and did not proceed further down the Inn Thal, in Schwaz
itself the new faith and its supporters became so powerful that at one
time the latter managed to possess themselves of half of the parish
church, in which portion the Lutheran service was performed.
Ultimately they were ejected, and had to meet in a wood near the town,
where two followers of the Reformer, who had been deprived of their
status as Catholic priests, used to preach.
The appearance some little time later of a Franciscan, who came to
Schwaz with the object of "stiffening" the backs of the Catholics and
stamping out the new faith, led to collisions of a violent character
between the two parties.
One story, that was very generally accepted as a miracle by the
Catholic population, concerning these disputes, which sometimes were
not confined to words and arguments alone, is as follows. A leader
amongst the reformers is stated to have exclaimed during a heated
discussion, "If Pastor Söll (one of the priests who had accepted
Luther's doctrines) does not preach the true doctrine, may the Devil
carry me up into the Steinjoch." Hardly, we are told, were the words
out of his mouth when the speaker vanished.
It is unnecessary to add that the Lutheran faith received a heavy blow
from this incident, and the effect of the miracle, establishing, as
the Catholics claimed, the true faith, was further increased when the
unfortunate man who had thus been so suddenly spirited away returned
some time afterwards, confessing his transportation to the Steinjoch,
with a bruised body, and shattered faith in Pastor Söll.
Later on the mining industry was brought almost to a standstill owing
to religious disputes, and an invasion of Anabaptists. And although
the latter were expelled, and many thousands of those who favoured the
reformed faith were brought back to the true fold through the
instrumentality of the Jesuit fathers from Hall, the mines from this
time commenced to decline in richness, and never recovered their
former productiveness. For a considerable period copper and an
excellent quality of iron was found in large quantities after the
silver gave out, but the place as a mining centre declined more and
more as the years rolled by.
Schwaz, in addition to its religious dissensions, has in the past
suffered from a visitation of the plague, "when the inhabitants died
off like flies"; and it also suffered terribly in the campaign of
1809. In the latter year the Bavarians under the Duke of Dantzic and
their French allies under De Roi determined to strike terror into the
hearts of the inhabitants of the Inn Thal by burning the town. They
attacked the place, and not content with putting the inhabitants to
the sword practised upon them the most horrible cruelties; more
especially upon the women and young girls; some so revolting as to be
indescribable in print. None were spared; "old and young alike were
outraged, then either slain or thrown into the river or the blazing
ruins which had once been their homes."
[Sidenote: SCHWAZ PARISH CHURCH]
Fortunately, although little of the town itself was left standing to
show succeeding generations what ancient Schwaz had been like, owing
to successive occupations by hostile troops at the latter part of the
eighteenth and early part of the nineteenth centuries, the fine parish
church which had been commenced in 1470 (about) and was consecrated in
1502 was less injured than might have been expected. The plan of the
building is remarkable, containing a double nave, each complete with
its aisles, choir, and high altar, the cause of this peculiarity being
the fact that the miners were of sufficient wealth and importance at
the time of its construction to insist upon having a separate church
to themselves apart from the townspeople. Indeed, even nowadays one of
the high altars is known as "the Knappen Hoch Altar," or Miners' High
Altar. In the roof, composed of copper tiles, of which there are said
to be no less than fifteen thousand, provided as a contribution by the
mine-owners and miners, and in the device of crossed pickaxes,
appearing here and there in the decorations of the building, one can
clearly trace its connection with the mining industry, and the
interest the miners themselves showed in its erection.
The church at various times has been unskilfully restored, but it
still contains some very interesting and fine monuments, that to Hans
Dreyling, a metal-worker and founder, being especially worthy of note.
In it are depicted not only the metal-worker, but his three wives and
children, who are habited as knights, all being under the protection
of St. John the Baptist. This remarkable work is by the famous
founders Alexander Colin of Malines, and the even more famous Hans
Löffler. There are, too, nine altar pieces by Tyrolese painters which
should be carefully noted.
One finds some interesting painted houses in Schwaz, as in many other
villages and towns of the district of the Inn Thal, and some of the
frescoes, most of which depict religious subjects, are of considerable
merit.
The town, however, is not one to which many travellers come, or in
which tourists linger, although it is on the main line of railway, and
has considerable interest for those for whom church architecture,
legendary lore, and picturesqueness of a sort possesses attractions.
[Sidenote: GEORG VON FRUNDSBERG]
The deserted and ruined castle of the famous Frundsberg (whose name,
by the way, outrivals that of Shakespeare in the many forms in which
it is and can be spelled), a fortress which was there before the dawn
of the Christian Era, and no one seems to know quite how long even
before that, is quite close to the Schwaz. Its history is obscure for
many centuries after the period we have named, and only the barest
fragments have come down to us of the doings and life at Castle
Frundsberg during the eleventh down to the end of the fourteenth
century. It was in the time of "the famous fighter of a fighting
race," Georg von Frundsberg, son of Ulrich, knight of Frundsberg, born
at Mindelheim in 1473, and the founder of the _Landsknechte_, that the
castle and the family appear to have reached their zenith of
prosperity, wealth and fame, the former two characteristics being
chiefly due to Georg's marriage with a wealthy Suabian heiress. He was
"one of many sons, most of whom became distinguished, and three of
whom (Georg himself being one) were much esteemed by the Emperor
Maximilian." Georg was, at a very early age, made a general, and after
the Battle of Regensburg, in 1504, was knighted on the field by
Maximilian, who had witnessed his astonishing bravery and feats of
arms. When only four and twenty, he was esteemed a skilled and
unequalled leader of men, and in his campaigns against the Swiss and
Venetians he was wonderfully successful. Some most astonishing feats
of personal strength of his are recorded; how he could push an
ordinary man over with one of his fingers; could catch a runaway horse
and bring him to his haunches with one hand; and many a time clove his
opponents in two halves with a blow from his two-handled sword. It is
not unlikely that his immense natural strength had a good deal to do
with his being exalted into a popular hero, and being made the central
figure of many legendary tales and astonishing romances. Of him they
sang--
"Georg von Frundsberg,
Von grosser Sterk,
Ein theurer Held;
Behielt das Feld
In Streit und Krieg.
Den Feind niederslieg
In aller Schlacht.
Er legt Got zu die Er und Macht."
Which maybe roughly translated: "George of Frundsberg, of marvellous
strength; a hero of renown; invincible upon the field of combat and
war; victorious in every battle. The honour of which success he gave
to God."
He threw in his lot with the Lutherans, and commanded the troops under
Charles V., and was one of the knights who were concerned in the
attack upon Rome.
Although at one time immensely wealthy, when he was at last taken with
an apoplectic seizure during the siege of the latter city, and carried
home to die at Mindelheim, he was a ruined man. He had spared none of
his wealth in the prosecution of expeditions in which he had been
engaged, where, as often as not, the kings and emperors on whose
behalf they were undertaken failed to pay the troops. To his credit,
Georg von Frundsberg seems to have invariably paid the men himself;
and we are told he seldom took the booty which fell to his share,
selecting only some comparatively valueless, though generally
historically interesting objects, such as flags and banners, a sword
(jewelled sometimes, it is true, but still comparatively unimportant
monetarily compared with the vast treasure he might have taken as his
share), or the helmet of a conquered challenger, preferring that his
men should be well paid by the major portion of the loot for their
bravery and endurance. In those days money advanced by nobles and
others to warring princes to carry on expeditions was generally not
recovered from the actual borrowers, but repaid by robbery of the
conquered, out of the booty seized, or by means of the ransoms paid by
distinguished prisoners. So it happened that Georg von Frundsberg,
scorning these means, was gradually ruined, for neither Charles V. nor
Maximilian saw to it that the vast sums he from time to time expended
on their behalf during their campaigns were repaid to him.
His motto, which ran, "The more opponents the greater honour," was
characteristic of himself and of his race. But with his death, and the
financial embarrassments which afflicted his heirs, owing to the heavy
mortgages on the estates which he had left behind him, with no means
of discharging the same, the Frundsbergs declined rapidly in power,
and the race came to an end in the male line on the death of his son
George (one of nine children) in 1586,[25] though there are
descendants in the female line of the Frundsbergs living at the
present time.
The castle afterwards fell into ruins, and its history may be said to
have ceased with the close of the sixteenth century. The Bavarians,
however, made use of the ruined walls for "cover" during the campaign
of 1809, when they were attacked by the forces raised by Hofer and his
comrades.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] W. A. Baillie Grohman, "Tyrol: the Land in the Mountains."
[22] The Emperor is stated to have trained and fired the first shot
himself.
[23] Mr. W. A. Baillie-Grohman.
[24] One account states that the coach itself was drawn by the four
thousand horses!
[25] Some authorities give the year as 1580.--C. H.