Tyrol and Its People

by Clive Holland

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.