From the fourteenth to the sixteenth, in some few places down
to the seventeenth, centuries the mountains of Tirol were in many
localities profitably worked in the search after the precious metals;
many families were enriched; and the skill of the Tirolese miners
passed into a proverb throughout Europe. When the veins lying near the
surface had been worked out, the difficulty of bringing the machinery
required for deeper workings into use, in a country whose soil has
nowhere three square miles of plain, rendered the further pursuit so
expensive that it was in great measure abandoned, though some iron and
copper is still got out. There are many old shafts entirely deserted,
and their long and intricate passages into the bowels of the earth
not only afford curious places of excursion to the tourist, but are
replete with fantastic memories of their earlier destination.
One of the most remarkable of these is the so-called Röhrerbüchel,
which is situated between Kitzbühl and St. Johann, and not far from
the latter place. It was one of the most productive and one of the
latest worked, and it boasted of having the deepest shaft that had
ever been sunk in Europe; but for above a hundred and fifty years it
has been taub [43], that is, deaf, to the sound of the pick and the
hammer and the voices of the Knappen [44].
I have given you my way of accounting for the cessation of the
mining-works. The people have another explanation. They say that the
Bergmännlein, or little men of the mountains--the dwarfs who were the
presiding guardians of these mineral treasures--were so disgusted
with the avarice with which the people seized upon their stores,
that they refused to lend them their help any more, and that without
their guidance the miners were no longer able to carry on their search
aright, and the gnomes took themselves off to other countries.
One of these little men of the mountains, however, there was in
the Röhrerbüchle who loved his ancient house too well to go forth
to seek another; he still lingered about the mile-long clefts and
passages which once had been rich with ore, and often the peasants
heard him bewailing, and singing melancholy ditties, over his lonely
fate. They even thought he came out sometimes to watch them sadly
in their companionship of labour, and peeped through their windows
at them in their cosy cottages, while it was cold and dark where he
stood without: and many there were who took an interest in the Nickel
of the Röhrerbüchel.
The Goigner Jössl [45] had been mowing the grassy slope near the
opening of the Röhrerbüchl; he was just putting up his implements to
carry home after his day's toil, when he espied the orphan Aennerl
[46] coming towards him. Her dark eyes had met his before that day,
and he never met her glance without a thrill of joy.
"I have been over to Oberndorf for a day's work," said orphan Aennerl,
"and as I came back I thought I would turn aside this way, and see
how you were getting on; and then we can go home together."
"So we will," answered Jössl; "but we're both tired, and the sun
isn't gone yet--let's sit down and have a bit of talk before we go."
Orphan Aennerl was nothing loath; and they sat and talked of the
events of the day, and their companions, and their work, and the
weather, and the prospects of the morrow. But both seemed to feel
there was something else to be said, and they sat on, as not knowing
how to begin.
At last Jössl removed his pointed hat from his head and laid it by his
side, and took out and replaced the jaunty feathers which testified
his prowess in the holiday sport [47], and finally cleared his throat
to say, softly,--
"Is this not happiness, Aennerl?--what can we want more in this
world? True, we work hard all day, but is not our toil repaid when
we sit together thus, while the warm evening sun shines round us,
and the blue heaven above and the green fields below smile on us,
and we are together? Aennerl, shall we not be always happy together?"
They were the very words that orphan Aennerl had so often longed to
hear her Jössl say. Something like them she had repeated to herself
again and again, and wondered if the happy day would ever come when
she should hear them from his own lips. Had he said them to her any day
of her whole life before, how warmly would she have responded to them!
To-day, however, it was different. The rich peasant's wife for whom
the poor orphan worked had been harsh to her that day, and for the
first time envious thoughts had found entrance into her mind, and
discontent at her lowly lot.