THE TYROL AND ITS HEROES
It certainly would be no exaggeration to say that the best-known part
of Austria, to other nations at all events, is the Tyrol. That strange,
mountainous, beautiful corner of the empire is now as much a playground
for the nations of Europe as Switzerland is. One of the first men to
make a map of the Tyrol was Burghlechner in 1603, and, with the licence
of the time, which allowed strange vagaries in the way of imagination,
he drew it to resemble an eagle clutching with one of its claws the
lion of Venice and with the other the native ibex. The resemblance,
however, is not one that the practical Briton can trace, any more than
he can see bears and human figures in the scattered constellations; to
him the Tyrol, the Austrian part of it, is just a peninsula stretching
out westward from the rest of the country and expanding at the two
outermost corners.
There are several ways of reaching this delightful land by rail, one is
by way of Vorarlberg from Lake Constance to Innsbruck, its capital;
another from the north by way of Munich and Kufstein; another from the
south by the railway over the remarkable pass known as the Brenner, the
most famous of all the Alpine passes in the Tyrol.
One enterprising plan of the Austrian state railways certainly deserves
encouragement from all lovers of beautiful scenery. In 1912 the
Railways made arrangements with the Canadian Pacific Company to put
upon their lines some of the famous observation cars with which all
western travellers are familiar. These cars are constructed so as to
give the traveller the fullest opportunity for seeing the panorama
passed without obstacles, and besides the large plate-glass windows
there is a platform where the view is as free as from a motor car. They
are being built in Austria, and differ a little from the Canadian ones,
having observation platforms at both ends, and these platforms are
covered-in on account of the very numerous tunnels to be traversed in
this hilly country. In connection with the cars a typist, an up-to-date
library, and a free medicine-chest are carried! They have been made
at Prague and in Moravia. Services have been put on from Buchs to
Innsbruck, from Innsbruck to Vienna, and, as already explained, from
Salzburg to Trieste, and places are available to first or second-class
passengers on payment of five kronen in addition to the usual fares,
a krone being equal to tenpence. These two routes have been chosen
to cross the country from west to east and from north to south.
Approaching from the west we get the first view of the Tyrol after
passing through the Arlberg tunnel,--the fourth largest in Europe. All
the valleys are crowned by gleaming peaks, the pastures look vividly
green, and the little huts and farms absurdly neat. Through towering
mountains 6000 feet or more, over the mighty single arch of the
Tresanna bridge we pass to Landeck and the upper valley of the Inn. To
the south glisten the glaciers of Wildspitze and Weisskugel, rising
above the Oetztal valley before we sweep downward to Innsbruck.
Innsbruck is generally the first objective of the man who visits the
Tyrol, and only when he has arrived there does he begin to think how he
is going to jump off. Innsbruck is in itself a fascinating town, with
picturesque streets ending in mountain heights crowned with glittering
snow and appearing near enough to be reached with a well-directed
stone. The town stands in a cross-stream of continental traffic, for
it is on the Berlin-Rome and the Paris-Vienna-Constantinople lines,
and most people who have penetrated Europe at all have come across it
on one or the other. Though the capital of such a mountainous land,
and itself surrounded with mountains, it stands on a plain, with the
river Inn winding along through it close to its junction with the
Sill. Like so many other places, Innsbruck is the daughter of one of
its own suburbs, a little place called Wilten, which is far older as
a burgh, but has now sunk to comparative insignificance in the growth
of its mighty offspring. Innsbruck is now well supplied with trams
and funiculars, and hotels on the heights as well as in the streets;
and when one wanders up the mountain-sides one comes on the little
kiosks and beer-houses so dear to the Germans, but in spite of all this
Innsbruck remains unspoilt.
Italian influence is very noticeable in the architecture, especially
in the old quarter, where many houses have arcades, and are covered
with frescoes. The name of the town means “Bridge of Inn,” but the
old wooden bridge, which saw desperate fighting between the Tyrolese
and Bavarians, has been swept away, and there is now only an iron
“structure,” identical with many a hundred others. A curious item
pointed out to visitors is the bow-window of a palace, covered with
copperplates, heavily gilt, and known as the “Golden Roof.” The monarch
called “Frederick of the Empty Purse” built this freak in order to
demonstrate the injustice of his popular nick-name!
A more important monument, from a material point of view at all events,
is that of Maximilian I. This is one of the best known of its kind on
the continent, and is visited by hundreds every year. It shows the
emperor kneeling in prayer, and around him are twenty-eight colossal
figures in bronze, like warriors guarding his repose. Among these are
Clovis of France, Theodoric the Goth, the British King Arthur, many of
the Austrian rulers and their wives. There are no less than twenty-four
bas-reliefs in fine Carrara marble on the sides of the sarcophagus,
depicting scenes in the emperor’s life. His marriage, his battles, his
sieges, his marches, his councils are all given with especial care;
the dress and arms of the figures introduced are true to life, and the
cities which come in as backgrounds have evidently been represented
as truly as possible. This was done by Alexander Colin of Malines,
who finished it in 1565, excepting the four last plaques, which show
quite another hand. Notwithstanding the magnificence of this monument,
Maximilian is not buried here but at Neustadt, near Vienna. He passed a
fortnight every winter in a cell in the monastery of the Capuchins at
Innsbruck, cooking what food he wanted and attending to his own needs.
The story accounting for this strange custom tells of a day when the
Archduke was hunting chamois in the neighbourhood of Innsbruck and lost
his footing on a giddy precipice. He caught on some projecting forked
branch, and there he swung. His followers, who seem to have made no
attempt to rescue him, gave him up for lost, and having by some means
brought a priest to the foot of the precipice persuaded him to extend
the holy Sacrament in the direction of the king, as a softening of the
terrible end before him. But a chamois hunter passing along the top of
the rock risked his life on the face of the cliff and succeeded in
saving the monarch. The precipice where this is said to have occurred
is Martinwand (the wall of St. Martin), and is nearly 800 feet high.
In memory of his deliverance Maximilian became a hermit every winter
thereafter.
From the very earliest times there must have been some sort of a fort
to guard the entrance to the Brenner Pass, one of the best known ways
through the Alps in this region. The Romans, of course, seized upon
this strategic position, and fortified it.
It was in the twelfth century that the Counts of the Tyrol first began
to be noticed, and Meinhard, who ruled at the end of the thirteenth
century, consolidated the country, and held all the land within
the limits as at present known. He held at the same time Carinthia
and Styria. His grand-daughter Margaret, known through the ages as
“Pocket-mouth,” the equivalent of the “Muckle-moued” Meg of Scottish
history, inherited the country on the death of her father, Henry of
Carinthia, in 1335. But on the death of her only son, ten years later,
she ceased to take any interest in public affairs, and made over all
her possessions to the House of Hapsburg, and the land has been since
held as the personal property of that house; and the people have
displayed astonishing loyalty to their rulers, so much so, that, on
account of this and its position and impregnable hills the Tyrol has
been called “The Shield of Austria.” But there was an interregnum
in the rule of the Hapsburgs in the time of Buonaparte. The name of
Andreas Hofer stands out in the Tyrol as that of the supreme patriot
which national history seldom lacks. He was one of the few men who
dared to defy the Colossus who bestrode Europe and terrified men into
submission by his invincibility even before they had met him. Andreas
was the son of an innkeeper in the Passeir valley, and innkeepers in
those days, especially in country places, played an important part.
It was the innkeeper who collected and disseminated all the news from
the surrounding district; his house was a focus for any common cause,
and he himself, by reason of his position and authority, was looked
up to and respected. In these circumstances an innkeeper must be a
strong man, mentally and physically, to succeed, for if he cannot
rule his own passions, and is too weak to enforce his authority, he
will soon go under. The Passeir or Pusterthal valley, in which young
Hofer was brought up, is one of the most important in the country,
extending from Lienz to Mulbach, a distance of nearly ten miles. It
is best known in these days under the name of Pusterthal. Margaret
Maultasch, or Pocket-mouth, peculiarly favoured this valley, and only
a very short time before the country became subject to Austria, gave
to the inhabitants the privilege of pasture on both sides of the river
Etsch as far as Eisach, and also the right to carry salt, venison, and
wine over the Gaufen. A large trade in horses was the consequence,
and Hofer senior took part in it, bringing up his son to it. Andreas
was born in 1767, and thus was twenty-nine when the war broke out
with the French in 1796, but it was many years later before he came
prominently to the front. He is described as having been of Herculean
make, with black eyes and brown hair; he stooped considerably from
having been accustomed to carry heavy burdens over the hills before
he had come to his full strength. His voice was soft and pleasing and
his smile good-natured. His long black beard was a very noticeable
feature of his appearance reaching to his waist. He had been one of
the representatives of Pusterthal to the Diet of 1790, which shows
that he had travelled a little and was educated. The traffic he had
carried on in wine and horses had led to his meeting people of many
races, and he spoke Italian fluently though in the Venetian dialect.
He wore the dress of his country, a large black hat with a broad brim,
adorned with black ribbons and a black curling feather, a short green
coat, red waistcoat, over which were green braces, a broad black girdle
with a border, short black breeches with red or black stockings, and
occasionally boots. Such are the details which have come down to us
from his contemporaries.
[Illustration: INNSBRUCK (TYROL)]
In 1797 Buonaparte, having frightened Italy into submission, crossed
the Alps and advanced on Vienna. The Austrian monarch thereupon sued
for peace, and for the moment gained it, but as is invariably the case,
weakness defeats its own end, and he was made to yield more and more
as he gave way. The whole map of Europe was disorganised and remade to
suit the conqueror’s will without regard to justice or right, and in
the beginning of the new century worse followed, for Buonaparte, having
meantime been over into Egypt, returned to Europe and marched upon
Vienna, entering it as a victor. This time he snatched away again the
Venetian territory he had previously granted to Austria as payment for
her compliance, and handed over the whole of the Tyrol to Bavaria.
This infamous transaction was endorsed by the Treaty of Pressburg. The
Tyrolese, however, had not been idle during the quiet years, but had
organised and trained their forces and were not in the least disposed
to acquiesce. Austria had treated them shamefully, but they, for their
part, were willing to fight for the rights so iniquitously reft away.
Terrible fighting ensued between the Bavarians and their allies the
French, who entered the Tyrol, and the natives under the leadership of
Hofer and his comrade Speckbacher, with the support of Haspinger the
Capuchin, who did not fight but inspired others to do so. The Tyrolese
began by inflicting an overwhelming defeat on the invaders at Sterzing,
where they made every use of narrow passes and their knowledge of
the country. When the battle raged in the passes, the peasants, who
had stationed themselves on the heights, hurled down masses of rock,
tree-trunks, and stones upon their enemies beneath, and speedily
disorganised them.
Innsbruck was next the scene of a wild fight, where, with tremendous
bravery, the natives repulsed the foe, though many of them had no
better weapons than axes and pitchforks and other implements of
agriculture. But without arms, money, or support, it was impossible to
keep up such an unequal contest, the Tyrolese were inevitably beaten at
Worgl, and afterwards the Bavarians occupied Innsbruck. The persistence
and tenacity of the mountaineers were never shown to better advantage,
for even while the enemy occupied their capital with a force it would
have been foolhardy to attack, they posted themselves all round on the
heights, and with eye and finger skilled by the chase of the native
chamois, picked off every enemy who ventured within range of their
unerring rifles. Fortune once more favoured the weaker side, and at
Berg-Isel in May, and again in the autumn, the mountaineers defeated
the Bavarians with great loss. After this Hofer became the head of the
government of his native land. He took up his quarters at the imperial
castle in Innsbruck, and on October 4 a great festival was held in his
honour, when he was formally invested with a medal at the foot of the
tomb of the Emperor Maximilian. The Austrians, who by this time were
once more at war with France, supported the Tyrol. The Bavarians only
waited to gather up fresh forces before again hurling themselves on
their foe, insignificant in numbers but formidable in courage. The
Tyrolese were driven in from the frontiers, and had the worst of it
whenever they met the tide of advancing soldiers. In the midst of these
calamities they heard that peace had been finally concluded between
France and Austria, and that their own monarch had handed them over
definitely to the Bavarians. After this hundreds of the peasants threw
down their arms and submitted, and Eugène Beauharnais, Buonaparte’s
stepson, was sent to take command. Hofer did not give in but made
a despairing attempt to renew his defence, though he was forced to
evacuate Innsbruck. He retired to the mountains and a price was set
on his head. It was now the end of November, and snow lay thick in
the passes; in his solitary hut far up on the mountain-side he was
dependent for supplies on his friends, and one of them, a treacherous
priest named Douay, gave away his whereabouts to the enemy, who
marched upon him with a large force, and with every precaution. They
took him and his wife, as well as his son--who was only twelve--and
his daughter, prisoners to Botzen, and carried them afterwards on to
Mantua, where Hofer was accorded the farce of a trial by court-martial,
and was by Buonaparte’s orders executed twenty-four hours after.
On the broad bastion, at a little distance from the Porta
Ceresa, the commanding officer halted his men. The grenadiers
formed a square open in the rear; twelve men and a corporal
stepped forward, while Hofer remained standing in the centre.
The drummer then offered him a white handkerchief to bind his
eyes, and told him that it was necessary to kneel down, but
Hofer declined the handkerchief, and peremptorily refused to
kneel, observing that he was used to stand upright before his
Creator, and in that posture he would deliver up his spirit to
Him. He cautioned the corporal to perform his duty well, at the
same time presenting him with a piece of twenty kreuzers, and
having uttered a few words by way of farewell, expressive of
his unshaken attachment to his native country, he pronounced
the word Fire! with an unshaken voice. His death was not
instantaneous, for at the first shot he sank only to his knees;
a merciful shot, however, at last despatched him. The spot on
which he fell is still considered sacred by his countrymen and
companions in arms (_Memoirs_ from the German, 1820).
His wife and children were allowed to return to Austria, and Buonaparte
gave them a pension and afterwards permitted the widow, at her earnest
wish, to go back to the valley where she had lived. The conqueror
behaved generously enough, now that the man who had given him so much
trouble was out of the way.
In 1823 Hofer’s body was brought back to the Tyrol, and now a marble
monument in Innsbruck commemorates this brave and upright man. It was
after the fall of Buonaparte that the Tyrol reverted to its ancient
rulers, the House of Hapsburg.