Tyrol and Its People

by Clive Holland

CHAPTER XI

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

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.

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.