The character of the town itself partakes of the same mixture of quaint picturesqueness with modern pretension which I have already observed in that of the people and the hotel. The Neustadt, as the chief street is called, remarkable for its width, tidiness, and good paving, is no less so for its old arcades in one part, and the steep gables in another, and the monuments of faith which adorn its centre line. At one end it is closed in by the stern gaunt mountain, at the other by Maria Theresa’s triumphal arch. There are other streets again, straight, modern, and uniform; the Museum Strasse, and the Karl Strasse, and the Landhaus Gasse,[1] but you soon come to an end of them; and then you find yourself in a suburb of most primitive quality; your progress arrested, now by the advance of the iron road, now by the placid gentle Sill, now by the proudly flowing Inn. The mediæval history of Innsbruck is signalized by a number of fires which destroyed many of its antiquities. To the first of these it owes the suggestion that the town needed a water supply, acted upon by Meinhard II., and the monks of Wilten, in the formation of the Kleine Sill, which continues still as useful as ever; but other fires again and again laid it in ashes, so that very little of really old work survives, though there are many foundations of early date, the buildings of which have been again and again rebuilt. The very oldest of these is the monastery of Wilten, now a suburb a little way outside the Triumphpforte, originally the seat of the suzerains who created the town.
The history of its origin is one of the most remarkable myths of the country, and is a very epitome of the history of the conflict of Heathendom with Christendom.
The Romans had found here a flourishing town even in their time, and they made of it an important station, calling it Valdidena, whence its present name; coins and other relics of their sojourn are continually dug out of the soil. Tradition has it, however, that Etzel (Attila) laid the city in ruins on his way back from the terrible battle of Chalons. It continued, nevertheless, to be a convenient and consequently frequented station of the intercourse between the banks of the Po and the Rhine. When Dietrich von Bern (Theodoric of Verona) announced his expedition against Chriemhilde’s Garden of Roses at Worms, one of the mightiest who responded to his appeal, and who did him the most signal service in taking the Rose-garden, was Heime, popularly called Haymon, a giant ‘taller and more powerful than Goliath.’ Returning in Theodoric’s victorious train, he came through Tirol. As he approached Valdidena he found his passage barred by another giant named Thyrsus, living near Zirl, who has left his name to the little neighbouring hamlet of Tirschenbach. Thyrsus had heard of Haymon’s prowess, and as his own had been unchallenged hitherto, he determined to provoke him to combat. Haymon was no less fierce than himself, and scarcely waited for his challenge to rush to the attack. But anyone who had looked on would have guessed from the first moment on which side the advantage would fall. Thyrsus was indeed terrible of aspect; higher in stature than Haymon, his shaggy hair covered a determined brow; his hardy skin was bronzed by exposure to weather and lying on the rocks; his sinews were developed by constant use, and their power attested by the tree torn up by the roots which he bore in his hand for a club; at each footfall the ground shook, for he planted his feet with a sound of thunder, and his stride was from hill to hill. But Haymon’s every movement displayed him practised in each art of attack and defence. Less fierce of expression than Thyrsus, his eyes were ever on the watch to follow every moment of his antagonist, and like a wall of adamant he stood receiving all his thrusts with a studied patience, giving back none till his attacker’s strength was well-nigh exhausted. Then he fell upon him and slew him. An effigy of the two giants yet adorns the wall of the wayside chapel at Tirschendorf.
Haymon was still in the prime of manhood, being about thirty-five, and this was but one of his many successful combats. Nevertheless, it was destined to be his last, for a Benedictine monk of Tegernsee coming by while he was yet in the first flush of victory, succeeded so well in reasoning with him on the worthlessness of all on which he had hitherto set his heart, and on the superior attractions of a higher life, that he then and there determined to give up his sanguinary career, and henceforth devote his strength to the service of Christ.
In pursuance of this design he determined to build with his own hands a church and monastery on the site of the ruined town of Valdidena, by the banks of the Sill. With his own hands he quarried the stone and felled the timber; but in the meantime the Evil One in the form of a huge dragon had taken possession of the place. Never did he let himself be seen; but when he came to lay the foundation, Haymon found every morning that whatever work he had done by day, the dragon had destroyed by night. Then he saw that he must watch by night as well as work by day, and by this means he discovered with what manner of adversary he had to deal. The dragon lashed the ground with his tail in fury, just as the wild wind stirs up the sea, and filled the air with the smoke and sparks he breathed out of his mouth. Haymon saw that with all his strength and science he could not overcome so terrible an enemy; nevertheless, he did not lose heart, but commended himself to God. Meantime, the streaks of morn began to appear over the sky, and at sight of them the dragon turned and fled. Haymon perceived his advantage, and pursued him; by-and-by the rocks bounding the path contracted, and at last they came to the narrow opening of a cave. As soon as the dragon had got his head in and could not turn, Haymon raised his sword with a powerful swing, and calling on God to aid his stroke, with one blow severed the monster’s head from the trunk. As a trophy of his feat, he cut out the creature’s sting, which was full two feet long, and subsequently hung it up in the Sanctuary, and something to represent it is still shown in the church of Wilten.
After this, the building went on apace; and when it was completed, he took up a huge stone which had been left over from the foundation of the building, and flung it with the whole power of his arm. It sped over the plain for the space of nearly two miles, till it struck against the hill of Ambras, and rolled thence down again upon the plain, ‘where it may yet be seen;’ and with all the land between he endowed the monastery. Then he called thither a colony of Benedictines to inhabit it, and himself lived a life of penance as the lowest among them for eighteen years; and here he died in the year 878. Another benefit which he conferred on the neighbourhood was rebuilding the bridge of Innsbruck.[2] Tradition says he was buried on the right hand side of the high altar, and even preserves the following rough lines as his epitaph:—
Als Tag und Jahr verloffen war
Achthundert schon verstrichen
Zu siebzig acht hats auch schon g’macht
Da Heymons Tod verblichen.