A few weeks ago I visited all the huts, carrying with me a note-book. I
questioned the fathers about their households, the number in their
families, the year of birth and the names of the little people. The
birthdays can usually be remembered only by events and circumstances.
This boy was born in the summer when the great flood occurred; this
girl, the same winter that straw bread had to be eaten. Such incidents
are striking landmarks.
Designation by name is not of frequent occurrence. The male inhabitants
are called Hannes or Sepp, Berthold, Toni, or Mathes; those of the
female sex are named Kathrein, or Maria, the last of which is converted
into Mini, Mirzel, Mirl, Mili, Mirz, or Marz. It is much the same with
other names; and a stranger coming here must submit at once to such a
change, according to the custom of the people. For a while they called
me Andredl; but that they found too long a name for such a small man,
and to-day I am only Redl.
Very few know anything of a surname. Some have either lost or forgotten
theirs, others have never had any. These people need a special form by
which to designate their ancestry and relationship. Hansel-Toni-Sepp!
That is a household name and by it is meant, that the owner of the house
is called Sepp, whose father was named Toni, and grandfather Hansel.
Kathi-Hani-Waba-Mirz-Margareth! Here Kathi was the
great-great-grandmother of Margareth. So the race may have existed a
long time in the solitude of the forest.
And thus a person is often known by half a dozen names, and each one
drags the rusty chain of his ancestors after him. It is the only
heritage and monument.
But this confusion must not continue. The names must be prepared for
the parish-book. New surnames will have to be invented and it will not
be difficult to choose those which are fitting. We will call the people
after their characteristics or occupations; that is easily remembered
and preserved for the future. The wood-cutter Paul, who married
Annamirl, is no longer Hiesel-Franzel-Paul, but briefly Paul Holzer
(woodman), because he transports the tree-trunks upon a slide to the
coal-pit, which work is called _wooding_. The tinder-maker and his
descendants, do what they will, shall remain Schwammschlager. A hut in
Lautergraeben I call Bruennhuette (spring hut), because a large spring
flows before it. Why then should the owner of the hut be named
Hiesel-Michel-Hiesel-Hannes? He is a Bruennhuetter, as well as his
wife, and if his son goes out into the world, whatever his occupation,
he shall always remain a Bruennhuetter.
An old thick-necked dwarf, the coal-driver Sepp, has for a long time
been called Kropfjodel. I recently asked the little man whether he
would be satisfied to be registered in my book under the name of Joseph
Kropfjodel. He assented quite willingly. I then explained to him that
his children and grandchildren would also be called Kropfjodel. At that
he grinned and gurgled, "Let him be called Kropfjodel ten times over,
that boy of mine!" And a little later he added mischievously: "The
name, thank God, we have that at least! Oh, if we but had the boy as
well!"
The new names meet with approval, and each person bearing one carries
his head higher and is more independent and self-sufficient than
formerly. Now he knows who he is. But everything depends upon keeping
the name in good repute and doing it honour.
When I came to the Alm boy, Berthold, he shocked me greatly. "A name,"
he screamed, "for me? I need no name, I am nobody. God did not make me
a woman, and the priest does not allow me to be a man. Marriage is
denied me because I am as poor as a beggar. Call me Berthold _Elend_!
(misery). Call me Satan! I know I break the law, but I will not betray
my flesh and blood!"
After these words he hastened away like one mad. The lad, once so merry,
is hardly to be recognised. I have written the name Berthold in the book
and added a cross to it.
Another man wanders about in the Winkel forests, whose name I do not
know, or if any he bears; it may be evil. The man avoids us all, and
buries himself often for a long time, one knows not where, then appears
again at unusual hours, one knows not why. It is the Einspanig.