[14] We generally went to Lech in threes. Now the inn at Lech was not a bad one; so good indeed, that its praises have been sung by no less an authority than the writer Ludwig Steub, who was also a frequent visitor at our house in times gone by. But our own cuisine and cellar were still better, and accordingly we were wont to take up by cart a vast store of provisions, only sleeping at the inn and occasionally ordering some little dish or a quarter of wine for the sake of appearances. To recoup himself, the innkeeper used to charge us so preposterously for these trifles that on one occasion we had a solemn row with him and refused to pay. He yielded. Not long afterwards there was printed in some local paper a spirited poem in the mock-heroic style, with the refrain:
Die Heiligen Drei Könige, mit irrendem Stern—
Die essen und trinken, und zahlen nicht gern!
I wish I had kept a copy.
[15] I knew an old hunter of Ludesch who claimed to have killed seventy-five pine martens near that village. I have seen only two in my whole life hereabouts; and not a single one within the last thirty-five years, despite never-ending rambles among these forests. But we had a pair of beech martens under the eaves of our house, which they reached by climbing along the branches of a mighty walnut tree that leaned over the roof. In the daytime they were never to be found. By night they made such a din of scuttling and scampering that visitors, sleeping in rooms below, had to be warned of their existence.
[16] This particular specimen is commemorated by Rudolph von Tschusi (son of the well-known ornithologist) in “Ornithologisches Jahrbuch,” IX, 1898, Heft 2. According to H. Walchner’s “Ornithologie des Bodenseebeckens” (1835) the ibis is of the “greatest rarity” on this sheet of water, only a single instance of its occurrence being then known, which is precisely why I bought this one. Apropos of woodpeckers—Bruhin, in his “Wirbelthiere Vorarlbergs” (1868) also says that he saw the lesser spotted kind only once; the bird must therefore be far from common. And this year, for the first time, I had the pleasure of spying the three-toed one. We were walking down from Lagutz to Marul (see p. 155) through that magnificent Alpine forest when we noticed a pair of them. They kept close together, one following the other and we following both; so tame were they, that we could approach within a few yards and see the yellow on the head of the male. I observed that they had the same habit as the middle-spotted woodpecker, of investigating carefully not only the trunk but the branches of trees. While watching them I thought: how wise of you to have kept out of my way till now!
[17] Bludenz itself was twice destroyed by fire. See “Vorarlbergische Chronik” (Bregenz, Brentano, 1793, p. 108).
[18] Woodlands have always been cherished here. Wood inspectors were appointed as early as 1626, possibly earlier; they had to traverse the forests every spring, summer and autumn, and to report the slightest damage to the trees. Four years later, an excellent rule was framed to prevent the ever-increasing damage to forest-growth by herds of goats: whoso has three cows, may keep no goat whatever; the owner of two cows may keep one goat; the possession of a single cow entitled you to three goats and no more. This stamped out the goat mischief. Such were the Lords of Blumenegg, from whom certain modern governments might well take a lesson; like sensible tyrants, they not only laid down wise regulations on this and other matters, but saw to it that they were carried out (those gallows!). In the inhospitable recesses of the Walserthal, at five hours’ march from their castle, lying in a caldron of bleak gray crags—an excellent chamois-ground—is the iron-spring and bathing establishment of Rothenbrunnen, where the Alpine rhododendrons droop over your bedroom window; it was the Blumenegg people who erected the first building here in 1650, with accommodation for forty patients. Twenty-six years later they founded a school in the remote hamlet of Sonntag. Their fishery regulations were on the same enlightened scale. As early as 1690 no fishing of any kind was permitted during the spawning season (21 September to 30 November); nets, moreover, were to have meshes wide enough to allow the escape of every fish less than seven inches in length, which happens to be the precise limit fixed, at this present moment, by the conservators of the Exe and other English rivers. For these and other details of the Blumenegg rule see the exhaustive monograph on this subject by one of our best local antiquarians, the late Joseph Grabherr, priest of Satteins (Bregenz, 1907).
[19] During these works at the Spuller lake they unearthed, last year, the skull and horns of an elk; the relic was unfortunately bought by a Swiss who carried it off to his own country; it ought to have gone into the newly founded Bludenz Museum. The Spuller lake is the locality of a strange devil-legend and also of a ghost-story which have been preserved by Dr. F. J. Vonbun in his “Sagen Vorarlbergs” (Innsbruck, 1858). I will transcribe a line or two of the former, omitting his accents and pronounciation marks, in order to give a sample of our Alemannic dialect: “Es set ama wienicht-obed amol en ma zum en andera: ‘los nochber, i wetta mi zitgae, du traust di net, mer min schmalzkübelzolfa hinet vo Spullers z holla.’ Der nochber set ‘woll frile, d wett gilt’ und nümt en füfspoeriga hund, stahel, fürste und schwamm und got Spullers zue. Wia-n er an stofel kunnt, bringt em der butz vo Spullers de zolfa a guets stuck scho etgega, aber der nochber set zuenem, los gueta fründ,” etc.
[20] The Alpine rose thrives in the climate of Deeside; it grows taller and greener than on these hills, and loses none of its fragrance. It should not be planted in the shade.
[21] At the easterly end of these Elser Schröfen there is a convenient path down between the rocks; it connects Marul, via the Els and Furkla alps, with Bludenz. Regarding the cliffs themselves—this decorative ridge seems to be of recent formation; I imagine it is the result of a rupture, and that the hill formerly trended in a soft curve towards the Furkla. When the divulsion took place none can tell; but I think I know where the lost material is to be found, if anybody cares to pick it up. This broken mountain was carried down the Galgen-tobel, and now forms the vast southward-sloping triangle of raised ground which is crossed by the driving-road from Bludenz to Nüziders. On the spot, the existence of a deltoid tract here is naturally not apparent. If you mount to any slight eminence on the other side of the Ill, you cannot fail to perceive its characteristic shape and to divine its origin; it is the work of an agency similar to that which produced the northward sloping delta of the Scesa-tobel immediately opposite. The railway Bludenz-Nüziders skirts at one point a steep grassy bank recalling that described on p. 117; I take it to have been carved into this deposit by the old Ill, in its more vigorous days.