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.