THE JAUFEN-FAIRY

Under the summit of the Jaufen, a mountain in Passeier, about 8000 feet high, used to reside a fairy who fell passionately in love with a young Baron of the castle of Jaufenburg, which lies at the foot of the aforesaid mountain, and was formerly the residence of the lords of Passeier. But whether the heart of the Baron was no longer free, or whether the fairy’s love frightened him, cannot be said; but he never responded to the attention of his fairy admirer, who took his coolness so much to heart that she pined away and transformed herself into a beggar woman, in which form she wandered along all the lanes and passes through which the Baron generally took his way, the image of injury and grief. One day she hid herself in a chalk-burner’s hut at which the Baron often stopped, as the man had been his former servant. When the young nobleman arrived and asked for a draught of water, the transformed fairy brought it to him after having dropped a pearl into the glass. While the Baron drank, the fairy assumed her real form, and now she appeared to him most beautiful, for the pearl had bewitched the water so that it coursed through his whole frame like fire, inspiring him with a never-before-felt sensation. The beautiful cup-server who stood before him seemed the acme of his ideal. He set her before him on his charger and galloped off to the Jaufenburg.

But a wonderful thing came to pass; his beautiful bride suddenly disappeared from his side, and he could not imagine where she had gone. He rode day and night and never reached his castle. The poor exhausted charger at last fell beneath the weight of his infatuated master, and died. Then the Baron sought his home on foot, but without avail; he found himself in a strange country where he knew nobody and nobody knew him. He became so poor that he was obliged to sell his rich attire, and at last was forced to beg his way through the country. Miserable, weak, and ill, he reached one evening the hut of the smith in the Kalmthal, where, half dead with hunger and exposure, he fell down upon a heap of straw.

The fairy now saw good to bring to an end the hard penance which she had imposed upon him for his first slighting of her. She appeared to him again in all her grace and splendour. All his magnificent attire was restored to him; his charger stood waiting for him at the door of the hut, and all the hardship through which he had passed appeared to him but as a dreadful dream. He now conducted his fairy bride back to the Jaufenburg, united himself to her for ever, and lived happy and blessed, though without any heir. After his death the fairy disappeared, and the Jaufenburg descended by marriage to the family Von Fuchs, and, later on, the beautiful castle fell into the hands of a rich peasant and crumbled to ruins under his keeping.

THE WETTER-SEE.

Close beneath the mountain Gerlos, in the Zillerthal, lies the “Wetter-See” (weather-lake), into which no one dares to throw a stone, and it is not advisable for even a stranger to do so, or he would find himself involved in great trouble from the surrounding mountaineers, among whom still exists the firm belief, which has been corroborated by hundreds of examples, that directly a stone has been thrown into the lake fearful thunderstorms arise, accompanied by devastating hail and wind.

The See lies in a desolate basin on the heights of the mountains, and every one who is shown the lake hears from his guide, or any cowherd, the following legend: A shepherd arrived one day on the borders of the See, where he saw a huge golden chain lying, the other end of which remained in the water. Just as he stooped to grasp it he saw, glittering on the other side of the lake, one of much larger size, so he left the first to go and take the other; but as he approached it and was about to put his hand upon it, both chains disappeared under the water, while the poor fellow stood stupefied with amazement on the shore.

People say that “the herdsman was too avaricious; for, had he been content with the one chain which was within his grasp, he would never have lost them both.” As the chains are said to appear from time to time, people are still on the look-out for them, because they are of such enormous length that he who finds one of them would be rich during all his days.

THE COURAGEOUS SERVANT GIRL OF THE ZOTTA-FARM.

In the Wattenserthal, which is about twenty miles in length, and where at its end the Hochlizum Alp stands, lies on the right of the mountain the beautiful Wotz Mountain, belonging to the farmer of Zotta-Hof, which stands at its foot. Upon that mountain, during the winter time, a “Kaser-Manndl” (a sort of ghost) is said to reside. This spirit inhabits a hut which is situated on the top of the mountain, from whence he makes a terrific noise, which is heard for miles around; but towards Christmas he becomes more quiet and goes off again in the spring. Before his departure a blackbird sings during many days, from a pine which stands on the mountain, so beautifully that one could listen to her for hours together.

Now it happened that in the house of the Zotta peasant a poor servant girl was employed whose mother was very ill. As Christmas Day approached she had to clean up the whole house, and on the Eve the farmer divided the Christmas-cake between his family and servants; and while he enjoyed his portion in company with his friends and neighbours, one of them asked: “What is the Kaser-Manndl about to-day? I wonder whether he is fêting Christmas as well?” The farmer, who had been drinking considerably, shouted in good humour: “I will give the best cow out of my herd to whomever has the courage to go up the mountain to-night and find out what the Kaser-Manndl is doing, and brings me back in proof his milking-bucket and foot-warmer.”

But all heard this proposition in silence, for none of them dared risk so much danger to gain the cow, because the Kaser-Manndl was noted for his ferocity, and many a one had returned from his neighbourhood with a head almost smashed to pieces. But the poor servant girl collected her courage and thought to herself: “I will undertake it in God’s name. Should I gain the cow, I shall be able to help my poor sick mother, and as I have not the intention of going out of curiosity, Heaven will protect me.” So she agreed with the Zotta farmer, and set off up the Alp, which is a constant ascent of six miles, battling with bitter wind and snow as she went.

Far above her she saw the Kaser, or hut, brilliantly lighted. Everything in it was clean to perfection, and the Kaser-Manndl was sitting in his Sunday clothes at the hearth, his nose-warmer smoked in his mouth, and he was cooking in a pan a coal-black meal. On entering the hut the girl made as fine a curtsey as a peasant girl is able to do, and the Manndl signed to her to approach the fire and join him at his supper; but the girl was terrified at the sight of the compound, and when the Manndl noticed this he said, “Do not be frightened, girl; make only a ‘Krizl Krazl’ (a sign of the Cross) over the pan.” The girl did this, and to her great astonishment the pan became full of the most beautiful cakes, which they both set to work to eat.

After a little while the Kaser-Manndl said, “I know the request you wish to ask. You have come to carry off my milking-bucket and foot-warmer. You shall have them without the asking, for you are a brave girl, and when you arrive at the farm you will claim of the peasant his cow together with the calf as punishment for having allowed you to come up in such fearful weather.”

The Zotta peasant was just setting out for the midnight mass as his servant returned from the Alp with her proofs, and when she claimed the cow he called her a stupid fool for having gone up the Alp and taken his joke as reality, and he would not give her one pfennig, much less the cow.

On the following morning there was a grievous Christmas-gift at the Zotta-Hof: the Robblerin, the finest cow, lay dead in the stable, and the farmer nearly tore off all his hair with grief, for this cow had been his favourite and had carried the first prize at every show, for which reason he had given her the name of “Robblerin,” or champion. “Had you given the cow to me,” said the poor injured girl to her master, “she would not have died. Will you now keep your word and give me another?” But the farmer savagely refused this demand.

On the following morning they found that another beautiful cow, named “Maierin,” had strangled herself with her chain. On the next day a third cow was found dead, and only now the peasant’s hard heart began to melt, for he was fearful lest he might lose his whole herd, and therefore he gave the finest remaining cow to the girl, who directly drove her off home; and from that moment poverty came to an end in the house of the courageous servant girl, who prayed day and night for the redemption of the Kaser-Manndl of the Wotz-Alm.

THE KLAUSENMANN ON THE KUMMER-SEE.

In the Hinder Passeier lies the village of Moos, about which, on account of the frequent accidents that there take place by people falling over the adjacent precipice, the following saying is common in the Tyrol: “At Moos even cats and vultures break their necks.”[5]

In 1401 a part of the mountain standing about a mile from the village fell down into the valley, buried the farm called Erlhof under its débris, and caused the water running through the valley to collect and form a large “see,” or lake, which through its inundations created so much Kummer or grief in the valley that it received from the inhabitants the name of “Kummer-See” (Lake of grief).

The legend goes that after the mountain by the will of God had been cloven, and the Kummer-See formed by the power of the Evil One, a “Klausenmann,” or sluiceman, was set there to look after the lake, and warn the neighbours in time, were it impossible to let the water off. But for this work a pious man was needed, whose prayers alone would keep the swelling waters within bounds; for the devil used to bathe in the lake, and made such a fearful noise that he could be heard even as far down as Moos. The villagers made frequent pilgrimages for the purpose of being preserved from the calamities caused by this dreaded See; but as after a time they omitted this practice, the most fearful inundations ensued, leaving everywhere behind them ruin and desolation.

The Klausenmann, too, became so corrupted that he forgot all his religious duties, never went to church, and always worked on Sundays and fête-days; so the Demon of Evil once more gained power and there was another terrific inundation which transformed the whole Passeier-Thal into a vast ocean, entered into the Etsch-Thal, and destroyed a great part of the village of Meran. In this flood the wicked Klausenmann perished, and after his death his wretched spirit was consigned to wander about on the shores of the See, which has since dried up, and in its place now stands a desolate swamp.

The modern traveller meets on his road round the former site of the See, a rock called z’ Gsteig, upon which pious hands have erected a chapel. There, as evening falls, fearful groans are often to be heard, while the terrible shade of the Klausenmann rushes by the sacred spot.

THE VILLAGE ON THE BODEN-ALP.

After traversing the valley of the Almajur, which sends its waters into the river Lech, one arrives at the Boden-Alp, which, together with the mountain called Almajur, belongs to the village of Stanz. Upon the Almplace of the Boden used to stand in days gone by a beautiful village which had become, through the neighbouring silver mines belonging to it, immensely rich. The inhabitants in course of time grew so luxurious that they did not know what to do with their wealth, and it came into their heads to fill their houses with all sorts of utensils of gold and silver. They even kept their windows shut during the day, for the light of God’s beautiful sun was not good enough for them, and preferred in their iniquity to burn candles in massive silver candlesticks. The patience of Heaven regarded this crime for very long, hoping, perhaps, that the folly would outwork itself; but as it only increased the more, the Lord proceeded with his just punishment. The whole village with its church and people sank beneath the earth, and the once flourishing valley became a desolate wilderness.

About forty years ago a herdboy of Boden went about in the underwood seeking for a lost calf, when all of a sudden he ran up against a large iron cross which was standing out from the ground. This was the cross on the tower of the sunken church. He tried to drag it up and cleared away the surrounding bushes; there he discovered the coping stones of the tower, on which the cross was so firmly planted that he could not move it; and when he returned on the following day with several other people to dig it out, it was no longer to be seen.

Not many years ago a peasant of Hegerau in the Lech-Thal, whose name was Klotz, passed by that mountain and entered into a sort of tunnel through the rock, where, on account of the bad weather, he took shelter. He lighted a torch to discover the depth of the tunnel, and in walking on he suddenly found himself in the sunken church. The high altar was gorgeously lighted, and the candles stood in large silver lustres. The peasant walked about in the church, and found a man sleeping on one of the benches, who as he awoke him inquired the time, and when the peasant told him, he sighed and said, “Ah! it is still far from the time.”

What he meant by these words remains still an enigma, but the peasant seized one of the silver lustres from the altar and ran off in terror. He arrived home late at night carrying the lustre, and would have believed all as a dreadful dream, had he not the lustre with him as witness. He went to rest, and on the following morning he was dead. His wife ordered the lustre to be carried back to its place, but it was impossible to find again the entrance of the underground church.

THE GOLD-MEASURERS OF LOFER.

In Lofer, a hamlet on the Tyrolian frontier towards Salzburg, lived a rich peasant who on his death left behind him three daughters, of whom the youngest was totally blind. The mother was long since dead, and so, after the demise of their father, the three orphans set about dividing the money and property which he had left to them. They found so large a treasure in the old man’s coffers that they were obliged to divide it by means of a sieve, by which the two eldest girls shamefully took advantage of the infirmity of their poor sister to cheat her of her share. Each time the blind sister’s turn came round they reversed the sieve and covered only the bottom with money, so that the poor deluded girl in placing her hand upon it should be convinced that she received her right share.

In this way, of course, she never got even a hundredth part of what was her due, and after the division was finished the avaricious sisters hid their unjustly gained wealth in a secret hole in a rock on the mountain. But the All-seeing Eye of Heaven remains ever open, and on the death of the two sisters they were condemned to lie in the form of black ferocious dogs in the cavern and to guard their hidden and ill-gotten treasure. There they are chained until their unholy wealth is exhausted by those who succeed in approaching it and take of it only so much as they really want; for all who attempt to carry off more are immediately seized upon by the infuriated guardians and torn into atoms. But as there are few in the world who are contented with real necessities, the treacherous sisters will doubtless be compelled to sit over their unjustly-gained wealth for many ages to come.

THE ANTHOLZER-SEE.

Where now lies the beautiful lake in the Puster-Thal with its rippling green waters, three magnificent farms used to stand surrounded by expanses of rich and fertile ground.

One year, when the Kermesse was being celebrated, on which day every one indulges in something more than usual, an old beggar man arrived in each of the farms and asked for charity, begging even for any dry morsels that remained from their meal. But the peasants were one and all selfish and avaricious, and so they kicked the poor mendicant from the door. The beggar then said in anger to each of them: “Take care! in three days a spring shall rise behind your farm, and then your eyes will open; so look to what will happen!”

The peasants, however, cared little for the beggar’s threat, and laughed at him; but on the third day a spring arose behind each farm, and their united waters increased to such an extent that they soon formed a lake which devoured in its depth the farms and their inhabitants.

This is the Antholzer-See, also called Spitaler Hochsee, which now stands surrounded by dark forests of gigantic pines.

THE MAILED GHOST OF BRIXEN CASTLE.

At Brixen still stands the magnificent ancestral castle of the Lords von Lachmüller—one of the most ancient families of the Tyrolian nobility. In the old picture gallery of this deserted mansion, the ghost of one of the knights whose portraits still hang there, wanders about.

During the time of the French invasion in 1797, a French officer was quartered in the castle with several soldiers. On account of the numerous family of the proprietor, there were but a few small chambers vacant in the building, and as the officer was not contented with the room which had been allotted to him, he roughly demanded one larger and with finer site. But there was only the picture gallery left, in which the officer took up his abode, laughing and sneering at the warnings given him by the host that the corridor was said to be haunted. The strong-headed fellow took every precaution to guard himself against either natural or supernatural apparition, and after he had ordered a strong trooper to lie down close beside him, he went to sleep devoid of any fear.

But, as he awoke at midnight, he saw a knight in full attire standing before him, who regarded him most ferociously. The officer shouted at him, but, as he stood his ground and paid no heed, he transfixed the form with his long sharp sword, which lay unsheathed beside him. At this instant, the apparition stretched out his arms, seized the officer, and hugged him so closely and long, that he lost his breath.

The trooper awoke late in the morning, and, on finding his master dying, he summoned all the inhabitants of the castle, to whom the officer, who came to himself again, recounted in a feeble voice what had happened to him, and pointed out one of the ancestral portraits as the being who had appeared before his bed and hugged him so fearfully. Two hours afterwards he died.

THE TREASURE OF THE SIGMUNDSBURG.

At the foot of the Fern Alp, about two miles from Nassereit, lies a small deep green Alpine See, and on a rock, which overhangs it, stands the old castle of Sigmundsburg. Beneath the walls of the castle are deep vaults, hewn in the solid rock, in which is buried an incalculable treasure, whose guardian has the form of a big hairy black dog. Sometimes, too, the dog appears like a luminous mass, without, however, burning; in his mouth he holds a key, which opens the door of the treasure-room, but the conditions on which the treasure can be got at are unknown to any one. Besides, the cellar is so well guarded that it is very difficult to approach it; and people say that most probably the Sigmundsburg must fall into ruins before the cellar can be entered, and then only the treasure-guardian may have the chance of finding the redemptor, for whom he is already so long waiting; but before that moment arrives, two centuries will perhaps still have to elapse.

THE FRATRICIDE UPON THE HOCHALP.

The “Hochalp” (or High Alp), near Scharnitz, was some two centuries ago covered up to the top with the finest grass and woods, and the now cleared Fitzwald was the most beautiful forest in the whole Tyrol. It reached up to the very summit of the mountain, which was covered with such enormous trees, that three men could not encompass one of them with their arms; in one word, the Hochalp was a “Cow-Heaven,” as it was generally called by the peasants. Where now the sheep climb about, at that time there were but cows pastured, and the cattle thrived there better than anywhere else.

The Alp belonged to a rich peasant of Leutasch, named Simele, who had two sons, who, after his death, commenced a serious quarrel about which of them was to have the Alp. The younger brother was a good man, but the other was a real wretch; and, as they could not agree, they drew lots for the Alp, which fell to Johann, the younger of the two.

After this he married a good village girl, whom his brother Matz had set his eyes upon, and from whom he had received a refusal. Johann lived happily with his wife, while his brother boiled over with bitter spite, and month after month his determination of seeking revenge increased. He commenced a law suit, finding false witnesses, and swore a false oath, so that the Court declared the drawing invalid, and awarded the Alp to Matz.

Whilst all this was going on, Johann was busy on the Alp, and so heard nothing of the judgment; and as his brother entered fiercely into the hut, and tried to pitch him out of it, he defended himself until his herdsmen arrived, who chased him away, after having beaten him soundly. At this reception Matz foamed with rage; so, running home, he seized his gun, crept in the following night back to the hut in which his brother was sleeping, and shot him dead in his bed.

But Johann’s soul was scarcely out of his body, when God’s wrath appeared and fearfully punished the perjurer and fratricide. A terrible storm came on with lightning, thunder, snow, hail, and wild pouring rains, so that everything was overthrown and inundated. After that an earthquake convulsed the ground, and on both sides the mountains fell into the valley, covering the Alm huts and meadows more than sixty feet deep with débris. The murderer was swallowed among the falling rocks, and is condemned to suffer dreadfully beneath them. He is still heard very often shrieking in agony, and all the pilgrimages which his family have made for his redemption have been in vain.

As nobody could do anything with the valley covered with rocks and stones, the decried spot fell into the hands of the monastery of Werdenfels, and wherever it was possible, the monks have restored cultivation, so that new forests and meadows have in course of time sprung up upon the ruins of the once famous Alp.

A beautiful little chapel has been erected there, in which several times during the course of the year service is performed; but the spirit of the murderer still wanders around and groans so dreadfully during the night, that every one is terrified. There he must remain until the last day, and what will happen to him then God alone knows.

THE TWO HAYSTACKS.

One of the most beautiful and noted Alps in the Tyrol is the Seisser-Alp, in the Eisack valley, not far from which stands the Schlern, 8100 feet high, with its two pyramids of dolomite rock. About four miles from the Schlern, and joining the wonderful Rosen Garten of King Laurin, are the Rothe Wand and the Rothe Wies, out of which rise two enormous peaks.

Upon the Schlern pilgrims resort to the Holy Cassian, and on the day of this Saint, the fifth of August, there takes place every year a great fête in the chapel, which stands on the spot. From the parish of Völs, which lies about nine miles lower down, the inhabitants wend on that day up the mountain to the chapel, and all the mountaineers from the Seisser-Alp assemble there in their Sunday’s best to fête the Saint.

One day it came into the mind of a farmer to make hay on St. Cassian’s day. His servant reluctantly obeyed his commands, and his neighbours kind-heartedly warned him that it was a crime to make hay on the day of the Saint who was so universally revered. But the farmer laughed mockingly, and said, “Be it Cassian’s day or not, the hay must up upon the stacks;”[6] and so he worked on the faster with his servants. At last all the hay, after having been raked together, was pitched up in two large heaps, which are called there, “Schober,” and as the last forkful was thrown upon the top, the two “Heuschober” (haystacks) were turned into stone, and in this shape they still stand on the same spot as an everlasting warning. Since that time no one has ever again thought of working on St. Cassian’s day.

THE SUNKEN FORESTS.

Near the village of Kitzbühel used to stand a magnificent forest, about which two peasants had a law-suit of several years’ duration, which finished with the judge being corrupted by one of the two peasants, to whom he awarded the Alp, and sent the defendant off, without the least hope of ever regaining his right.

The losing party, who through this iniquitous proceeding had become a poor man, could not rest, and constantly bewailed his misfortune, saying that he had been cheated and unjustly condemned. But the other, hearing the constant complaining of the poor injured man, one day called out, “Well, then, by all the devils, keep on crying. If I have unlawfully gained the forest, may it sink three thousand feet beneath the ground.” These words had scarcely gone out of his mouth, when an earthquake took place, together with a fearful thunderstorm, and the majestic forest sank beneath his feet, and black waves directly rolled over it. Though enormously deep as the See is, during certain weather the forms of trees can be distinctly seen far down below.

The same is the case with the Lanser-See, upon whose bottom trees are also to be seen growing. Where now this See stands, there used to be a magnificent forest of pines, about which, too, a dispute took place, though not between two peasants, but between a peasant and a nobleman, and the trial was conducted in such a manner that the nobleman gained the forest away from the poor man, to whom it really belonged; for, according to the old Tyrolian saying, “Noblemen do not bite each other.”[7] But the poor peasant, in his anger, cursed the forest, root and branch, and it sank into the depths of the earth. Next morning it was no longer to be seen, but a deep See stood in its place, which, after the village of Lans, not far from the renowned castle of Ambras, has taken the name of Lanser-See.

TANNEN-EH’.

High up in the Tyrolian Alps formerly stood a fine city, called Tannen-Eh’, whose inhabitants for ages past had led honest and God-fearing lives. There used to be a Paradise of peace and happiness; no one ever thought of hunting or killing any game; domestic animals, and Alpine plants and fruits being sufficient for the wants of the good-hearted simple people. There were never quarrels or disputes about “mine or thine,” the rich man willingly helped his poorer neighbour, and there was no extremity of wealth or poverty at Tannen-Eh’.

But in course of time all was altered. With increasing wealth the lust of gain approached, which brought vanity and luxury in its train. They said, like the people of Babel, “Let us build a tower whose top shall reach the skies, so as to gain ourselves a name, and in the tower there shall be a bell, whose sound can be heard by all those who live on mountain or valley; and at every christening, wedding, and burial, the bell shall sound, but only for us, the rich, and for the poor it shall not sound, because for them it is of no use.”

And this wicked plan was executed. The complaints of the oppressed rose through the skies to Heaven, and in the autumn a great famine fell upon the city. The poor suffered dreadfully, whilst the rich locked up their treasures and store-rooms, and only gave the poor people, who came to beg for bread, insolent words, telling them that, after all, they were but a miserable lot, and the best thing they could do was to die in God’s name, and go straight to Heaven. In this fearful dearth numbers died of absolute starvation.

Towards the end of the autumn, snow began to fall, and rose higher and higher, up to the windows up to the roofs, and then far above the roofs. In this extremity the rich people of Tannen-Eh’ began to toll their bell for help, but its sound could scarcely penetrate through the thick walls of snow, and no help arrived, for down in the surrounding valley poor people alone were living, who had been cruelly treated and oppressed by the rich citizens above. So the snow fell thicker and thicker, just as long as it rained in the days of the Flood.

After this, Tannen-Eh’ with its inhabitants had disappeared, but the tower of the church, together with the city, is still to be seen from an enormous distance, though deeply covered with everlasting ice. The tower reaches like a silver needle to Heaven, from whence the Divine punishment had fallen. This ice-covered needle-rock is the Oetzthal-Ferner, and the city itself is now the “Oetzthal-Gletscher” (Oetzthal Glacier).

Even up to the present day the following song, illustrative of the fate of the city, is sung in the Tyrol:—

“In the city of Tannen-Eh’,
Oh woe! Oh woe!
Fell a snow,
Which never thaws again.”[8]

THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE.

Almost every country possesses some legend of a “Devil’s Bridge,” and how the Evil One has been ultimately cheated by his own handiwork, and the Tyrol, which is alive with legends and superstitions, is not behind any other in this respect.

In the valley of Montafon, the bridge of the village broke down, or rather the swollen torrent carried it away; and as the parish was anxious to restore it as soon as possible, the villagers of course being unable to pass to and from Schruns, on the other side of the river, for all their daily wants, they applied to the village carpenter, and offered him a large sum of money if he would rebuild the bridge in three days’ time. This puzzled the poor fellow beyond description; he had a large family and now his fortune would be made at once; but he saw the impossibility of finishing the work in so short a time, and therefore he begged one day for reflection.

Then he set to work to study all day, up to midnight, to find out how he could manage to do the work within the specified time; and as he could find out nothing, he thumped the table with his fist, and called out, “To the devil with it! I can find out nothing.” In his anger and annoyance he was on the point of going to bed, when all at once a little man wearing a green hat entered the room, and asked, “Carpenter, wherefore so sad?” and then the carpenter told him all his troubles. The little fellow replied, “It is very easy to help you. I will build your bridge, and in three days it shall be finished, but only on the condition that the first soul out of your house who passes over the bridge shall be mine.” On hearing this, the carpenter, who then knew with whom he had to do, shuddered with horror, though the large sum of money enticed him, and he thought to himself, “After all, I will cheat the devil,” and so he agreed to the contract.

Three days afterwards the bridge was complete, and the devil stood in the middle, awaiting his prey. After having remained there for many days, the carpenter at last appeared himself, and at that sight the devil jumped with joy; but the carpenter was driving one of his goats, and as he approached the bridge, he pushed her on before him, and called out, “There you have the first soul out of my house,” and the devil seized upon the goat. But, oh, grief and shame! first disappointed, and then enraged, he dragged the poor goat so hard by her tail that it came out, and then off he flew, laughed at and mocked by all who saw him.

Since that time it is that goats have such short tails.

LAGO SANTO.

Among the high peaks which overhang the Cembra valley, lies a solitary mountain lake whose little outlet falls into the foaming Nevisbach. A small hut at the pointed end of the lake, and a deserted mine which stands close by, surrounded by large heaps of débris, give evidence to the former activity of the spot.

This dark lake is called “Lago Santo” (or Holy Lake).

Where it now stands there used to be a flourishing village, whose inhabitants found in the neighbouring mines plenty of work and wealth; they were a happy and contented race. A few miles off lay King Laurin’s crystal palace, and through the constant communication with this good-hearted mountain King, they became clever and fortunate in all their undertakings. But, as time went on, they grew haughty and independent; foreign miners brought false doctrines into the parish, and as the priest was either too weak or negligent to oppose their wicked practices, in a few years the people became entirely corrupted.

About that time a poor man arrived in the village begging for alms, but all Christian charity had disappeared, and he was turned off from every door, even from that of the wealthy priest. At the end of the village there lived a poor widow woman with a numerous family, who alone gave a piece of bread to the mendicant, who told her in gratitude, “Tonight you will hear a fearful noise in the village; however, you need not be frightened, but pray, and for your life do not look out of the window.”

After saying these words, the beggar disappeared, and when the family had retired to rest, they were awakened at midnight by a terrible storm. The thunder was terrific, and the lightning streamed over the village, setting every building on fire; then the rain fell in torrents, as though the flood-gates of Heaven were opened. The poor widow was dreadfully terrified, and forgetting the command of the beggar, she looked out of the window, but at the same moment she received from an invisible hand such a blow in the face, that she fell senseless to the ground.

As on the following morning she came again to herself, the terrors of the night had disappeared, and the sun shone brilliantly down from Heaven. The widow opened the door of her little hut, and, to her great astonishment, found the whole country changed; the village had sunk beneath the earth, and a dark See was spread over the spot where it used to be; her little hut alone stood unhurt on the borders of the new-formed lake.

Sometimes it is possible to see to the bottom of the lake, where the avaricious priest paces slowly up and down, reading a book; he has neglected the souls which had been entrusted to his care, and therefore he has now to suffer penance.

THE ALBER.

The Floitenthal, near the Ziller valley, is surrounded by such terrific mountains, chasms, and rocks, as are nowhere else to be seen; the mountains of Floitenthurm and Teufelseck especially attract the attention of the traveller. The latter mountain is called “Teufelseck” (devil’s corner), because it is said that at certain times the devil is seen descending from it, in the form of a huge fiery dragon. He then flies through the Bleiarzkar, a narrow hole in the rock, which leads through the Stilluppe into the Zillerthal. This hell-dragon is called the Alber, and whenever he appears, plague, famine, and war are the sure consequences.

It once happened that during a pitch-dark night, two men climbed the cherry-tree, which stands close to the Mission Cross of Algund, near the village of Meran. One of them, the tailor Hanser, was a most wicked man, an idle vagabond and debauchee; and just on that dreadful night he had made a bet with some of his worthless companions to fetch home cherries from the tree near the cross; but as he was a rank coward, he dare not go alone, and so he persuaded a good villager, the old Loaserer Sepp, to accompany him.

Sepp first ascended the tree, but could nowhere find any cherries, so he climbed higher and higher, almost to the very top, and he was very much astonished at not being able to discover the least sign of fruit, for he knew the tree to be loaded; as he climbed, he noticed a peculiar noise among the leaves, which disquieted him not a little. Hanser, in the meanwhile, had remained on a lower branch, where he found cherries by the hatful. At last Sepp shouted to him, “Hanser, can you find any?” to which Hanser replied, “Oh! yes, wherever I put my hand they hang in clusters.” So Sepp descended to help his friend in gathering, but was unable to find one single cherry, while Hanser was filling his basket as fast as he could from the abundance which surrounded him.

Sepp began to feel very uncomfortable, and as he stood on the bough close to Hanser, he all at once saw the Alber fly by, lighting all around with the brilliancy of an electric fire. At this sight the tailor trembled so much that Sepp was obliged to hold him, to prevent him from falling, and said, “Has it already gone so far with you, Hanser, that the devil not only gives you his blessing, but lights you also to find all the cherries? Then may God preserve you.” He then shouted to the fiery Alber, “Hi there! wait a little till I can find some cherries too.” But the devil flew off with the speed of lightning.

Even now people admire the courage of the Loaserer Sepp, who dare do such a thing, and accompany the worthless tailor on such an errand; but as he was a good man, the Evil One had no power over him, and so he escaped the punishment, which otherwise would have befallen him.

THE OLD TOWN OF FLIES.

Where the village of Flies now stands, in the Upper-Inn valley, on a sunny slope of the right bank of the river, not far from the Pontlaz bridge, there used to be, in times gone by, a rich and magnificent city, with splendid houses, strong walls, and gigantic towers, surrounded by deep moats and ditches. But the inhabitants became proud and haughty, and practised all sorts of iniquities, devoid of any fear of Divine punishment. They were constantly quarrelling with the villagers of the surrounding hamlets, because they seized more and more of their ground, and robbed them wherever they could of their little cottages and farms.

One day they commenced felling a large forest, which belonged to some neighbouring farmers, who took their loss so much to heart that they nearly died of grief, for they had no chance of redress, as even the judges themselves were in terror of the cruel citizens. But there was still One Just Judge, who bends His head before no earthly power, and He brought a fearful punishment upon the guilty city. From a branch of the Venete Alps, a mountain fell upon the town, which it crushed, together with all its inhabitants, whilst the surrounding farms remained unhurt. These peasants then became proprietors of the new-formed ground above the city, upon which they have planted young forests and laid down grass, and the now standing village of Flies has been built upon the tomb of the engulfed city.

THE SENDERSER-PUTZ.

In the Senderser valley, which winds up the mountain from Innsbruck, behind the villages of Axams, Götzens, and Grinzens, upon the high Alps, stands the Kemateneler Alm, also called Heach, upon which the peasants of Kematen pasture about a hundred cows.

On this Heach, so goes the legend, on the eves of great fête days a gigantic Alm Ghost is to be seen, who unchains the cows, and lets them run upon the Alm, while with enormous speed and strength he cleans the stables, and carries off the litter in a wheel-barrow. He does this work with so much rapidity that the mountain trembles; and when the morning Angelus rings in the village, the work is all finished, and the cows are again chained up in their stalls. Of course, the frequent recurrence of this fact accustomed the people to it, and they leave the Putz alone, as he never injures them, but rather, on the contrary, renders them a great service.

But when the good old cow-herd died, a new one took his place, a man devoid in every way of either religion or good feeling, who would not believe in the apparition, and only laughed at all those who affirmed its existence. Soon afterwards, when he heard with his own ears the noise made by the busy Alm-Putz, he wished to sift the matter to the bottom, and discover whether the Putz used a supernatural wheelbarrow or the one appertaining to his own worthy self; so, for this purpose, he tied a bell to the vehicle in question. The eve of the next fête day the herdsman and some companions heard the well-known sound of the bell which he had attached to the barrow. “Do you hear?” said the herdsman; “the Putz really uses my wheelbarrow, so now he must only work for us.” And, in saying so, he joked and sneered, in spite of the repeated exhortations of the other men, who ran off in terror at his oaths.

About a fortnight afterwards the cow-herd was standing at midday before his hut, while his two milkers were getting their dinner, when all at once the gigantic ghost passed by, and the wicked man shouted after him in derision, “Be not so proud, sorcerer, but come and eat with us, since you have worked so hard a whole night for us.” The Putz replied not one word, but striding towards the herdsman, he regarded him so ferociously, that the frightened man fled in terror into the hut, where the Putz followed him. The milkers heard the screams of their companion, but dare not go to his rescue until the Putz had left the hut, and when they found courage to enter it, they discovered the wicked man lying on the floor, covered with fearful wounds and bruises. They carried him down to the village, where he died two days afterwards.

Since that time no one has ever dreamed of interfering with the terrible Alm Ghost; the villagers leave him in peace to follow his favourite mountain occupation.

THE DACE FISH OF THE GERLOS-SEE.

On the banks of the Krummbach, near the village of Gerlos, lie three mountain lakes, one of which swarms with millions of dace, of which, however, nobody in the whole valley dares to eat, because, it is said, they were originally put there by a Venediger-Manndl, and have the property of throwing all those who partake of them into a decline.

The legend says that a long time ago, a wicked peasant of that valley took it into his head to exterminate all his neighbours secretly and by degrees, so that he might eventually become the sole proprietor of the valley, and therefore he paid a heavy sum to a Venediger-Manndl to give him some poison fish to put into the lake. But his wicked plan ill repaid him, for he is now compelled to lie for ever at the bottom of the See, where the dace constantly feed upon his body, there being no other thing for them to eat in the whole lake; and, as fast as they eat, the body of the wicked plotter grows up again.

The belief in this dreadful legend is so firmly fixed in the minds of the inhabitants, that, even were they starving, they would rather die than touch one of the poison fish in the lake, and their indignation would be extreme did even any stranger try to take a fish out of the prohibited water.

THE VEDRETTA MARMOLATA.

Near the village of Buchenstein rises an enormous Ferner, or glacier, on the borders of which the neighbouring parishes, especially the farmers of Sottil, Sottinghäzza, and Roucat pasture large herds of cows. Only a small valley separates this spot from the village of Ornella, which, on account of its position, from November to February is devoid of every beam of sun. The aforesaid Ferner, which is above 11,000 feet high, is called the Vedretta Marmolata, and where now its icy fields extend there used once to be the most beautiful Alpine meadows and pasture grounds.

A peasant of Sottil on one Assumption Day had brought down from these meadows a cart-load of hay, and was about to ascend the mountain again for another, when his neighbours set upon him, and upbraided him for working on such a great fête day. But he laughed and jeered at them, saying, “What will Heaven care if even I make hay on a feast day?” And, saying this, he set off up the mountain.

Just as he was on the point of loading his cart, he noticed that the dolomite rocks above began to assume most extraordinary forms, and even to move about from place to place; dark mists began to rise, which at every moment became more and more dense, and then a heavy snow fell, which buried him and his cattle, and froze them into blocks.

On the following morning there was nothing to be seen but a glacier, and the peasants say, “There above are the cart and cattle, master and meadow, which have been changed into that Ferner.”

THE TEUFELSPLATTE NEAR GALTHÜR.

At the head of the valley of Patznau stands the Galthür, a lofty mountain, which rises also from the Hinder-Patznau, over 5000 feet above the level of the sea, at the junction of the valleys Montafon and Underengadein. Southwards from this mountain runs the Iammthal, or Iamm valley, about six miles long, and bordered by seven Alps; towards the Iamm-Ferner, stands a colossal ice peak, which stretches its frozen arms down towards the valleys of Patznau, Montafon, and Engadein.

In the Iammthal lie beautiful rich meadows, together with the Teufelsplatte, a rock which has been very much spoken of. An iron ring of 500 pounds is fastened into this rock, and it is said that the devil himself screwed it in its present place.

The legend goes that two peasants of Galthür had quarrelled several long years about a neighbouring meadow, and at last they agreed that the parish itself should decide to which of them the meadow really belonged, for the vast parish meadows surrounded the spot in question. So it was decided that the two peasants who disputed the ownership of the meadow should throw a heavy iron ring, and he who threw the ring furthest should have the meadow, besides all the ground over which he could pitch the ring to gain this object, and the parish judge added, “If either of you fail in throwing the ring over the meadow, its boundaries shall remain wherever the ring shall fall, and all that is lost shall be added to the parish grounds; but also, wherever you can pitch the ring into the parish grounds, so far it shall be yours.”

Three days afterwards the trial took place. One of the two competitors was a man who knew more than other people; he was able to summon the devil himself; and as with his assistance he hoped to gain all the meadows in the valley, he made a compact with the Evil One. On the day of the trial all the villagers collected on the mountain, where they found an iron ring quite ready, but of 500 pounds in weight. “Ha!” thought the parish council, “all the better, for neither of them can throw this ring one foot from the spot, and the whole meadow will be ours.”

Now one of the combatants tried to throw the ring, but he could not even lift it from the ground. Then came the other, who, aided by the devil’s own power, lifted the massive iron as easily as though it had been a finger-ring, and lightly tossed it over the valley, as far as the opposite rock, into which it became so deeply imbedded that only a very little is to be seen of the iron.

The parish councillors scratched their ears in astonishment, while the victorious peasant who had thus gained all the extensive and rich parish meadows, laughed and danced with joy. But on the other side, close against the rock, a terrible voice was heard laughing too; and that laughter was anything but of this world, for it was the dread demon himself who laughed.

Shortly afterwards the rich peasant became more and more dejected; every one avoided him, and he avoided every one, and each succeeding year found him in a worse and worse state of mind. Once a terrible storm broke out during the night; black clouds collected above the magnificent farm, which the peasant had built on his evilly-gained grounds, and at last a thunderbolt struck the farm and set it ablaze. When the neighbours ran to assist, they saw a gigantic demon fly out of the smoking flaming ruins, holding the rich peasant by the neck, and dragging him, body and soul, to perdition.

On the following morning all the meadows lay covered with stones and rocks, which during the storm had rolled down from the surrounding mountains, and, as a memorial, the ring still remains in the rock, which since that time has borne the name of the Teufelsplatte.

FRAU HÜTT.

In the times of the giants, whom all Tyrolians believe to have resided in the Tyrol during the life of Noah, there lived high on the mountain, on whose foot the capital of the Tyrol has since been built, a giant Queen, whose name was Frau Hütt. Her empire was composed of magnificent forests and Alpine meadows, as beautiful, and even still more beautiful than the far-famed Rose Garden of King Laurin, and her palace was so rich and magnificent that from every part of the surrounding valleys it looked like a tower of diamonds.

Frau Hütt had a son, whom she loved beyond all measure, and one day it happened that the giant boy went to pull up a pine-tree, for the purpose of making himself a walking-stick; but as the pine was standing on the borders of a deep mossy swamp, the ground gave way under his feet, and he fell, together with the tree, into the quagmire. His enormous strength fortunately helped him out of this unlooked-for bath, but he arrived home as black as a nigger, and his clothes infected the whole palace of his mother, who comforted her dear son, and ordered the servants to undress him, and clean his mud-covered body with crumbs of bread and cake. But the servants had scarcely commenced to execute this sinful command when a heavy thunderstorm came on and enveloped all in a dreadful darkness, while violent earthquakes shook the whole mountain.

The palace of Frau Hütt was shattered into one vast ruin, and then enormous mountains of rock and thundering avalanches began to fall, and in the space of a few hours all the paradisiacal Alp-land, which formed the empire of Frau Hütt was destroyed, the forests were swept away, the beautiful fields and uplands were covered with rocks and stones, and round about nothing was to be seen but a large desert, upon which not even one little piece of grass has ever grown since.

Frau Hütt was changed into a rock, and there she stands up to the present day, holding her petrified son in her arms, and thus she must remain until the end of the world.

THE TREASURE OF MAULTASCH.

Above the route which leads from Meran to Botzen, not far from Terlan, are to be seen the ruins of the old castle of Maultasch, which was once the favourite residence of a Princess of the same name, and from her appears to have inherited this name, while another legend says the Princess derived her name from the castle.

There have been two different parts of this building, the principal one of which used to stand below in the valley to guard the route, and on that spot is still to be seen a hole in the rock, which leads into an underground passage, through which Margaretha Maultasch, the last proprietress of the castle, used to ascend to the upper part of it on the heights above, called Neuhaus.

In this passage is said to lie a hidden treasure, guarded by a fearful keeper, who is said to be the devil himself. Many people have tried to get at this treasure, but no one has ever succeeded; and the inhabitants of the surrounding country recount that, some years ago, two young peasants of Meran had resolved upon going to take the envied treasure. On their way there, they said to one another, “To-day the devil will never escape us.” So they entered the passage, and began to repeat the incantations they had learnt by heart for the purpose, while throwing around them consecrated powders; but all at once a huge black dog rushed upon them, and they fled away, terrified to death, believing that the devil himself was at their heels; and, since that time, no one has ever again tried to discover the treasure of Maultasch.

THE NINE-PIN GAME OF MARGARETHA MAULTASCH.

In the ruins of the castle of Maultasch are also said to lie a set of golden nine-pins which appear above the ground and blossom every hundred years. This set of nine-pins belonged to Margaretha Maultasch, whose gamekeeper “Georg” stole and buried it when his mistress ceded the Tyrol to Austria, at Botzen, in 1363. Two days after he had buried it he was struck by an apoplectic fit and died, and nobody knew anything of the treasure. Since that time he is compelled in expiation of his crime to wander about in the castle in the form of a hideous ghost and guard the hidden treasure, and at midnight he sets up the nine-pins while sighing, and throws the golden ball against the large castle gate, which then flies open with a fearful noise. Then appear all the old counts of the Tyrol and Görz, some of them with crowns on their heads, followed by Margaretha Maultasch bearing an enormously massive necklace of pure gold, and the richest diamonds. They then begin to play, and the unhappy spirit of Georg is obliged to set up the nine-pins, but the ball always bounds against his feet so painfully that his cries very often are heard over Botzen and as far as Sigmundskron.

Only he who succeeds in digging up the treasure will be the means of redeeming Georg; but as it is most difficult to find the proper way and right moment, it has almost become an impossibility.

It is not long since that, in the favourable hour, an egg-woman went up the way which leads to the castle. The poor soul of Georg took the egg basket off her head, and put it down close to the tower on the very spot where the nine-pins lay buried. All at once there was nothing in the basket but ten black coals instead of eggs. “Throw your rosary quickly upon them,” said the ghost; but unfortunately the woman had no rosary with her, and so the happy hour passed by again without being taken advantage of. The ten coals which were to be changed into the nine-pins and ball, became again ordinary eggs, and only in another hundred years will this fortunate hour return again.

The ghost climbed up the highest tower rock, crying and sighing his ordinary lamentations:—

“He who will redeem me
From the power of the Evil One,
Must in the castle’s grounds
Find nine-pins and ball
Which I stole from the Princess,
Which I hid from the Princess.”[9]

THE DEVIL’S HOLE ON THE KUNTERSWEG.

The ill-famed Kuntersweg is a narrow dangerous cart-way winding through a deep valley, overtopped on both sides by huge and lofty mountains, and ending in the post route from Innsbruck to Botzen.

Soon after leaving this route and entering into the aforesaid track, the traveller arrives at a spot where the valley is more narrow than elsewhere, and there he beholds high above him a hole pierced through a bare rock which is known under the name of “Teufelsloch,” or devil’s hole. Beneath this hole are hanging several crucifixes and statues of saints in remembrance of the many accidents which have taken place on that spot—perhaps, also, as a consolation to the friends of the lost ones and an exhortation to prayer.

One day a carter drove by that spot, and as the weather happened to be very bad and the road swampy and soft from the long rain, the wheels of his cart stuck fast in the ground. It was in vain that he whipped his horses and tried all means in his power to get out of the mud. In this desperate position he summoned the devil to his assistance, using the most fearful oaths, and, lo! all at once there appeared before him a gentleman clad in rich green clothes, with high boots, and offered his services. The carter, who at first was almost terrified at this unexpected apparition, said at last, “Well, I accept your offer.”

“But not for nothing,” answered the stranger. “I shall help you only under the condition that you will give me a piece of your body.” To which, after a short reflection, the carter agreed.

The green stranger had scarcely muttered a few incomprehensible words between his teeth when the cart moved by some invisible power from the spot, and when directly afterwards the carter was asked for the promised reward, he cut off a piece of his long finger nails and handed it over to his deliverer. Thus cheated, the devil full of wrath changed his form and, as a monstrous fiery lizard hissing with savage anger, and enveloped in sheets of lightning, and with roars of thunder, rushed through the bare rock above, so that all the mountains round about shook. And this hole has ever since been called the Teufelsloch.

It is no doubt for the purpose of expelling from this spot all diabolical effects, that in course of time those pious images have been set up at the foot of the rock; and most probably the road received from the hellish “Kunter,” or apparition, which the carter met there, the name of “Kuntersweg.”

THE SUNKEN CASTLE IN THE BIBURG-SEE.

About two miles above the village of Oetz in the Oetzthal, in the middle mountains which cross over the valley like a wall, stands the peak called “Biburgspitz,” at the foot of which lies the little lake of “Biburg-See.” On the spot where now the See lies, used to stand the magnificent castle of Biburg, which covered an immense expanse of ground, and it was in former times the scene of the greatest festivities, for a very beautiful and rich lady used to be its mistress; yet it is sad to relate that she was a very wicked woman and guilty of all sorts of crimes.

She had but one child, whom, like Frau Hütt, she spoiled in every point; she cleaned it, too, with new bread and cake crumbs, because they were softer than sponges. One day a venerable hermit who had been sent to warn the proprietress, arrived in the castle and paternally exhorted her to give up her evil ways; but in spite of him she carried on her wicked practices more than ever, so that the hermit went away in despair. He had scarcely left the castle when it sank, together with its mistress and her son, into the earth, and a calm See filled up its place.

But a short time afterwards the lake began to bubble and boil, and the guilty mistress of the castle rose out of it in the form of a fearful dragon, or “Lindwurm,” which in its fury bit and tore at the banks of the See for the purpose of making an outlet for the water. This outlet forms the little river which runs through the fields belonging to the parishes of Oetz and Sauters; and the Tyrolians still say of little rivers that come out of the mountains: “Here a Lindwurm has bored its way through.”

THE WITCHES’ WALK ON THE KREUZJOCH.

Near the village of Mieders, in the Stubaythal, lies a little side valley, in which in dreary solitude stands a small wooden hut opposite to an old, half-ruinous farm-building. In this hut there lived, some fifty years ago, a wicked woman, called Töglas Moid, who was originally married to an honest peasant of the neighbourhood, who, however, died soon after through grief at the bad practices of his wife. After his death she led a yet worse life, and was in consequence everywhere dreaded as a witch; for she was known to have done, and to still do, endless harm among the cows. She had chosen five other women of her feather to be her companions and helpmates, and often the whole six of them set out from Mieders to the Telfes mountain, where at certain times they have been seen by the herdsmen carrying on their unholy Sabbath.

At last it seems that they went to such an extent that they entered into a compact with the Evil One, and then the destruction which they caused in the surrounding country was so great that the villagers were forced to apply for the aid of the Church, according to whose decree they had to appear before the tribunal, where the five companions of Töglas Moid confessed everything, and from that time began to lead a new life; while she who had led them on in all their wickedness became worse and worse every day, and carried on her diabolical practices alone during yet another five long years, until at last the measure of her iniquities was full.

On the 24th of June, 1823, St. John the Baptist’s Day, a fearful thunderstorm broke over Mieders, during which the mountains were splintered with the lightning, and huge masses of rock fell down from every direction into the valley.

On the following morning some peasants passing by the hut of Töglas Moid, looked in to discover if the witch was there; but she was nowhere to be seen. But close by the Witches’ Walk the most fearful screams were heard, which so terrified both man and beast that one of the herdsmen ran down to the village for help; for the cows were panic-stricken and beyond their control. When the terrified herdsmen arrived with a crowd of villagers upon the witches’ ground, they found her cut into pieces, which they collected and burnt upon a pile of brushwood; and during this operation such fearful noises were heard in the valley and on the surrounding mountains that every one was seized with fear and trembling.

The parish of Mieders erected in gratitude for the riddance of this witch a large stone cross upon the Witches’ Walk, to which every year, on the 24th of June, a great procession takes place. This spot is called the “Kreuzjoch,” or cross yoke, and from it a beautiful view is obtained of the valley villages of Telfes and Stubay, and of several magnificent glaciers.

THE TREASURES.

Treasure! This ideal of earthly happiness constantly occupies the mind of the greatest part of the inhabitants of the Tyrol; and many are the men who, once wealthy and rich, now live on the alms of other people, on account of their passion for treasure-seeking. Over this hopeless infatuation they neglected their domestic occupation, and all at once, almost without knowing it, stood on the verge of beggary, at which they were just as much surprised as at having been unable to discover the envied object of their search.

There are treasures in all parts of the country, on the mountains, in the valleys, under rocks and trees, in the lakes, in the cellars, even beneath the hearths, and behind the walls. The ruins of once powerful strongholds generally conceal treasure in different forms, and there is not one ruin in the whole Tyrol that possesses not its treasure tradition.

Those treasures blossom from time to time, especially on the eve of St. John the Baptist’s Day. Near Axams, in the middle mountains, above Innsbruck, on the spot called Zum Knappenloch, a treasure blossoms even in the broad daylight.

The blooming light of these treasures is described to be blue, like the flame of spirits of wine, or green, like the light of glow-worms, and also yellowish-green, like that of phosphorus.

The preceding legends already contain several examples of these treasure-blossoms, and it would be impossible to relate them all, for their number would fill a volume. But not very long ago a fact took place on the post-route from Imst to Landeck, close by the hamlet of Starkenbach, after which it would be utterly impossible to make the inhabitants of the surrounding country believe that the treasures do not blossom.

On this spot several people had noticed, at different times, a green light, which lasted from two to five minutes; but when they approached, it dissolved into mist and disappeared.

Some men of Starkenbach happened to be at work on the very same spot, on the 10th of October, 1854, under the supervision of the road-maker, Tschoder, when one of the men, whose name is Rundl, pulled up a piece of turf, and how joyfully surprised was he when some two hundred silver coins lay at his feet, most of them well-preserved Roman coins of the times of the Emperors, and bearing the inscriptions of Antonius Pius, Septimus Severus, Marcus Aurelius, Geta, Caracalla, Maximinus Augustus; others referred to the Empresses, and bore the inscriptions of Faustina Augusta, Julia Augusta. The inscriptions on the reverse of the coins are almost every one of them different, and relate to notable events of the Roman dynasty in the country, thus, Marti Victori, Fortunæ Reduci, Felicitas, Providentia, Venus Genetrix, and many of them relate to Juno. The coins are all of the same size, and five of them go to an ounce.

“Such treasures,” declare the simple-minded Tyrolians, “are lying in thousands all over the country, if it were only possible to lay hands upon them, as on those Roman coins.”

WOLKENSTEIN.

In the Grödener-Thal lie dispersed in every direction about 135 farms, which form the parish of Wolkenstein, also called Santa Maria, and above its pretty little chapel, on the top of the peak of Sabbiakopf, rise the ruins of the once famous stronghold of Wolkenstein, which is said to have been built in the time of the Romans by a pagan general, who through his wild and cruel behaviour became the scourge of the inhabitants of all the surrounding valleys.

One day a poor pilgrim went to the castle, asking for charity, but the general ill-treated him so cruelly that he died, and in his last agony the pilgrim cursed the castle, and invoked upon it immediate destruction. Directly afterwards a huge mass of rock fell and buried it, together with its tyrannical lord, who was not less dreaded than the fearful Orco, whose abode lay in this country.

Some centuries later on, a wandering knight arrived in the neighbourhood, seeking treasures in the ruins of the castle; and it is generally believed that his search was successful, because before then he was very poor, and now he began to build a magnificent castle upon the old ruins, and called it also Wolkenstein. Every future proprietor took the name of the castle, together with the title of Count, and up to the present day the family are a wealthy, powerful, and extended race. One of their ancestors was the celebrated Minnesinger, Oswald von Wolkenstein, who lived in the days of “Frederick with the empty pocket.”

Later on the castle was struck by lightning, and one of the Counts built a new castle in the valley below, and gave it the name of Fischburg; and the old castle of Wolkenstein has since tumbled into decay, but its magnificent and imposing ruins are still to be seen.

THE GHOSTS OF THE CASTLE OF VÖLLENBERG.

Above the village of Götzens, on the route to Arams, are to be seen the ruins of two towers, once belonging to a castle of vast importance, and which are called Völlenberg and Liebenberg. Two noble races used formerly to reside in this castle, which has quite disappeared, with the exception of the towers above named; it is from these families that the towers derived their names. The celebrated Minnesinger Oswald von Wolkenstein, of whom we have already spoken in the preceding legend, was for a long time prisoner at Völlenberg.

The legend goes that the spirits of the former inhabitants are still wandering about in those two towers; at certain times at midnight the ruins become alive, and lords and ladies, in long sweeping dresses, followed by liveried servants of the olden style, pass up and down the ruinous stone staircases. Their heads are empty skulls, and they sit down in the great castle hall, where they try in vain to drink out of large goblets; being, however, unable to taste the beautiful wine with which they are brimming over, they dash the goblets against the walls and smash them into fragments.

So it happens also with their unholy feast, which is laid out most temptingly before them on the tables; for as one of them approaches the dish upon which he has set his mind, it falls to the ground as dust and ashes. Then the wretched spirits endeavour to enjoy themselves with singing and dancing; but their bones rattle so terribly, and their companions are so frozen and stiff, that their song becomes a Miserere.

This is their punishment for all their former intemperance and evil-doings, and this terrible scene is only brought to a close by the ringing of the morning Angelus.

THE FRÄULEIN VON MARETSCH.

At midnight there is often to be seen in the old castle of Maretsch the spirit of a young lady, who wanders about, crying and wringing her hands, as though in the most terrible grief. Her long soft hair is blown wildly about by the wind, her beautiful face is deadly pale, and her eyes are fixed and staring. This is Fräulein von Maretsch, the only daughter of the Baron von Maretsch, and once noted as the most beautiful girl of the whole country.

Although scarcely sixteen years of age, she was passionately enamoured of the young and brave Baron von Treuenstein, who under Frederick the Red Beard, together with all the Tyrolian nobility, took part in his crusade, for the purpose of gaining the glory of knighthood in fighting against the infidels, which, according to the promise of the old Baron von Maretsch, should entitle him to his beautiful daughter for a wife.

Two years had already gone by since the hopeful young warrior had left the country, after having received the blessing of the old Baron, when one day a pilgrim from Palestine craved admission to the castle, and recounted the bloody battles of the Crusaders against the Saracens. In the course of his narrative he came to speak of the young Baron von Treuenstein, and said that he had conquered large districts, and at last had married the daughter of a rich Pacha, and thus made himself happy for ever.

On hearing this, Kunigunde turned deadly pale, and sank swooning to the ground; her attendants carried her senseless to her room, for the news of this dreadful infidelity had broken her heart.

Directly the young lady had left the room, the pilgrim sprang joyfully up, pressed the old Baron to his heart, threw away his pilgrim’s garb, and in bright armour appeared before him as the Baron von Treuenstein, who had masked himself in this manner to prove the fidelity of his bride. “Let us now quickly go to my dear Kunigunde,” said he to the father, “to dispel the grief and pain which I have caused her;” and with high beating hearts they crossed the corridor which led into the young lady’s room.

But the room was empty, and the window open; and as they looked down into the ditch which surrounded the castle, they saw the unfortunate girl lying smashed and blood-covered in the depth below. The untimely grief had caused her to lose her senses, and in this condition she sprang into the arms of death.

At that sight the young Baron became speechless. He rushed away to the battle-field, and nobody ever heard of him again, while the poor old father died soon afterwards of grief; and since that time the spirit of the unhappy girl is condemned to wander about in the ruins of the ancient castle of Maretsch.

THE END.

PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO.,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.

FOOTNOTES

[1] In the Tyrol it is the custom for the peasants to have their jackets and waistcoats decorated with rows of silver buttons, which are sewn on in such a manner that they overlap each other. These buttons, of which they are very proud, are all made of old silver money, and each row contains from fifteen to twenty of them.

[2]“Es ist nichts so fein gesponnen,
Es kommt immer an die Sonnen.”

[3] “I bin so grau,
I bin so alt,
Denk di dreimal als Wies’,
Und dreimal als Wald!”

[4]Ergründest Du mich,
So verschling’ ich Dich.

[5] Zu Moos zerschellen selbst die Katzen und Geier.

[6]“Cassiantag hin, Cassiantag her,
’S Heu muss in die Schober!”

[7]“Die Edelleute beissen einander nicht.”

[8]“In der Stadt Tannen-Eh’,
Au weh! Au weh!
Fallt a Schnee,
Und appert nimmameh.”

[9]“Wer mich will erlösen
Von dem Bann des Bösen,
Muss in Schlosses Gründen
Neun Kegel und Kugel finden,
Die hab’ ich der Fürstin gestohlen,
Die hab’ ich der Fürstin verhohlen.”

Transcriber’s Notes