In his prosperity he did not forget the peasants who had stood by him so loyally. While he tamed the power of their oppressors, he did all he could to lighten their burdens; and to many, who had rendered him special service, he marked his gratitude by special favours. Thus, to Ruzo of the Rofnerhof he granted among other privileges the right of asylum on his demesne, which was put in use down to the year 1783. We have already seen his conflict with Henry of Rottenburg,[4] and in the same way he tamed the overgrown power of other nobles. In the course of our wanderings we shall often find the popular hero’s name stored up in the people’s lore.
In connection with Innsbruck, he is well known to the most superficial tourist as the builder of the Goldene Dachl-gebäude.
And what is the goldene Dachl-Gebäude?—It is a most picturesque addition to, and almost all remaining of, what in his time was the Fürstenburg, or princely palace, having a roof of shining gilt copper tiles, sufficiently low to be in sight of the passer-by; but the account the best English guide-book gives the tourist of its origin is so wanting in the true appreciation of Friedl’s character, that I am fain to supply the Tirolese version of it. The above account says that it was built in 1425 ‘by Frederick, called in ridicule “Empty Purse,” who, in order to show how ill-founded was the nickname, spent thirty thousand ducats on this piece of extravagance, which probably rendered the nickname more appropriate than before.’ Now, to say that he was called ‘Empty Purse’ thus vaguely would imply that it was a name given by common consent, and generally adopted. To say that he built the Golden Roof only to show that such a nickname was ill-founded, is simply to accuse him of arrogance. To treat it as an extravagance which justified the accusation, is to convict him of folly.
But the government of Frederick[5]—which is felt even yet in the present independent spirit of Tirol, which consolidated the country and made it respected, which set up the dignity of the Freihof and the Schildhof the foundation of a middle class as a dam against the encroachments of the nobility on the peasantry, which yet lives on in the hearts of the people, was an eminently prudent administration, and the story does not fit it. If, instead of resting satisfied with this compendious but flippant account, you ask the first true Tirolese you meet to expound it, he will tell you that Friedl had grown so familiar with peasant life that he despoiled himself to better the condition of his poorer subjects, not only by direct means, but by his expeditions in their defence, and also in forbearing to exact burdensome taxes. The nickname was not given him by general consent; nor at all, by the people; it was the cowardly revenge of those selfish nobles who could not appreciate the abnegation of his character. Frederick saw in it a reproach, offered not so much to himself as to his people; it seemed to say that the people who loved him so well withheld the subsidies which should make him as grand as other monarchs. To disprove the calumny, and to show that his people enabled him to command riches too, he made this elegant little piece of display, which served also to adorn his good town of Innsbruck; but he did not on that account alter his frugal management of his finances; so that when he came to die, though he had made none cry out that he had laid burdens on them, he yet left a replenished treasury.[6]
This is still one of the notable ornaments of Innsbruck. The house is let to private families, but the ‘gold-roofed’ Erker, or oriel, is kept up as a beloved relic almost in its original condition. There is a curious old fresco within, the subject of which is disputed; and on the second floor there is a sculptured bas-relief, representing Maximilian and his two wives, Mary of Burgundy and Maria Bianca of Milan, and the seven coats of arms of the seven provinces under Maximilian’s government.
Sigismund ‘the Monied,’ Frederick’s son and successor (1430–93), is more chargeable with extravagance,[7] but his extravagance was all for the advantage of Innsbruck. The reception he gave to Christian I., King of Denmark, when on his way to Rome, is a striking illustration of the resources of the country in his time. Sigismund went out to meet him at some miles’ distance from the capital, with a train of three hundred horses, all richly caparisoned; his consort (Eleanor of Scotland) followed with her suite in two gilt carriages, and surrounded by fifty ladies and maidens on their palfreys. The King of Denmark stayed three days; every day was a festival, and the magnificent dresses of the court were worthy of being specially chronicled. There seems to have been no lack of satin and velvet and ermine, embroidery, and fringes of gold-work.
Nor was mental culture neglected; for we find mention, at the same date, of public schools governed by ‘a rector,’ which would seem to imply that they had something beyond an elementary character. The impulse given to commerce by the working of the silver-mines also had the effect of causing some of the chief roads of the country to be made and improved. The most lasting traces of Sigismund’s reign, however, are the ruined towers which adorn the mountain landscapes. Wherever we go in Tirol, we come upon some memory of his expensive fancy for building isolated castles as a pied à terre for his hunting and fishing excursions, still distinguished by such names as Sigmundskron, Sigmundsfried, Sigmundslust, Sigmundsburg, Sigmundsegg, and which we shall have occasion to notice as we go along. His wars were of no great benefit to the country, but his command of money enabled him to include Vorarlberg within his frontier. Sigismund was, however, entirely wanting in administrative qualities. This deficiency helped out his extravagance in dissipating the whole benefit which might have resulted to the public exchequer from the silver-works of his reign; and at last he yielded to the wholesome counsel of abdicating in favour of his cousin Maximilian.
Maximilian (1493–1519) is another of the household heroes of Tirol. Even after he was raised to the throne of empire he still loved his Tirolean home, and his residence there further increased the importance of the town of Innsbruck. He built the new palace in the Rennplatz, called the Burg, which was completed for his marriage with Maria Bianca, daughter of Galeazzo Maria Sforza, of Milan. Splendid was the assemblage gathered in Innsbruck for this ceremonial. Three years later it was further astonished by the magnificence of the Turkish Embassy; and the discussion of various treaties of peace were also frequently the means of adding brilliancy to the court, and prosperity to the town. His other benefits to the city, and Innsbruck’s unworthy return to him, I have already mentioned in the beginning of this chapter.
Many a fantastic Sage is told of Maximilian in the neighbourhood, which we shall find in their due places. The fine hunting-ground Tirol affords was one of its greatest attractions for him; it led him, however, to introduce certain game-laws, and this was one principal element in bringing about the decline of his popularity in the last years of his life. At his death this disaffection broke out, and caused one of the most serious insurrectionary movements which have disturbed the even tenour of Tirolese loyalty. To this was added the influence of Lutheran teaching, the effects of which we have seen in the Zillerthal.
This spirit of discontent had time to gain ground during the first years of Maximilian’s grandson and successor, Charles Quint, whose immensely extended duties drew his attention off from Tirol. Very shortly after his accession, however, he made over the German hereditary dominions, including Tirol, to his brother Ferdinand, who established his family in this country. His wise administration and prudent concessions soon conciliated the people; though severe measures were also needed, and the year 1529 was signalized in Innsbruck by some terrible executions. These were forgotten when, in the year 1531, Charles Quint, returning victorious from Pavia, on his way to Augsburg stayed and held court at Innsbruck; Ferdinand met him on the Brenner pass, and accompanied him to the capital. When Charles reached the Burg, Ferdinand’s children received him at the entrance; and the tenderness with which he greeted and kissed them was remarked by the people, on whom this token of homely affection had a powerful effect. Electors and princes, spiritual and temporal, came to pay their homage to the Emperor; and Innsbruck was so filled with the titled throng, that the Landtag had to remove its session to Hall. Ferdinand’s other dominions, and the question of the threatened war with Turkey, necessitated frequent absences from Innsbruck. During one of these (in 1534) the Burg was burnt down, and his children were only rescued from their beds with difficulty. The great Hall, called the goldene Saal, and the state bedroom, which was so beautifully ornamented that it bore the title of das Paradies, were all reduced to ashes. In 1541 Innsbruck was once more honoured by a visit of the magnificent Emperor; and again, ten years later, he took up his residence there, that he might be near the Session of the Council of Trent. It was while he was living here peacefully in all confidence, and almost unattended, that Maurice, Elector of Saxony, having suddenly joined the Smalkald League, treacherously attempted to surprise him, marching with a considerable armed force through pass Fernstein. Charles, who was laid up with illness at the time, was enabled by the loyal devotion of the Tirolese to escape in the night-time and in a storm of wind and rain, being borne in a litter over the Brenner, and by difficult mountain paths through Bruneck into Carinthia. Maurice, baffled in his scheme, exercised his vengeance in plundering the imperial possessions, while his followers devastated the peasants’ homes, the monastery of Stams, and other religious houses that lay in their way. The sufferings of the Tirolese on this occasion doubtless tended to confirm them in their aversion for the Lutheran League. Maurice’s end was characteristic, and the Tirolese, ever on the look-out for the supernatural, were not slow to see in it a worthy retribution for his treatment of their Emperor. Albert of Brandenburg refused to join in the famous Treaty of Passau, subsequently concluded by Maurice and the other Lutheran leaders with the Emperor. This and other differences led to a sanguinary struggle between them, in the course of which Maurice was killed in battle at Sieverhausen.