I taught the heart of the boy to revel
In tales of old greatness that never tire.
Aubrey de Vere.
Those who wish to visit the legend-homes of Tirol without any great measure of ‘roughing,’ will doubtless find Innsbruck the most convenient base of operations for many excursions of various lengths to places which the pedestrian would take on his onward routes. Those on the north and east, which have been already suggested from Hall and Schwatz, may also be treated thus. It remains to mention those to be found on the west, north-west, and south. But first there is Mühlau, also to the east, reached by an avenue of poplars between the right bank of the Inn and the railway; where the river is crossed by a suspension-bridge. There are baths here which are much visited by the Innsbruckers, and many prefer staying there to Innsbruck itself. A pretty little new Gothic church adorns the height; the altar is bright with marbles of the country, and has a very creditable altar-piece by a Tirolean artist. Mühlau was celebrated in the Befreiungskämpfe through the courage of Baroness Sternbach, its chief resident; everywhere the patriots gathered she might have been found in their midst, fully armed and on her bold charger, inspiring all with courage. Arrested in her château at Mühlau during the Bavarian occupation, no threats or insult could wring from her any admission prejudicial to the interests of her country, or compromising to her son. She was sent to Munich, and kept a close prisoner there, as also were Graf Sarnthein and Baron Schneeburg, till the Peace of Vienna.
From either Mühlau or Innsbruck may be made the excursion to Frau Hütt, a curious natural formation which by a freak of nature presents somewhat the appearance of a gigantic petrifaction of a woman with a child in her arms. Of it one of the most celebrated of Tirolean traditions is told. In the time of Noe, says the legend, there was a queen of the giants living in these mountains, and her name was Frau Hütt. Nork makes out a seemingly rather far-fetched derivation for it out of the wife der Behütete (i.e. the behatted, or covered one), otherwise Odin, with the sky for his head-covering. However that may be, the legend says Frau Hütt had a son, a young giant, who wanted to cut down a pine tree to make a stalking-horse, but as the pine grew on the borders of a morass, he fell with his burden into the swamp. Covered over head and ears with mud, he came home crying to his mother, who ordered the nurse to wipe off the mud with fine crumb of white bread. This filled up the measure of Frau Hütt’s life-long extravagance. As the servant approached, to put the holy gift of God to this profane use, a fearful storm came on, and the light of heaven was veiled by angry clouds; the earth rocked with fear, then opened a yawning mouth, and swallowed up the splendid marble palace of Frau Hütt, and the rich gardens surrounding it. When the sky became again serene, of all the former verdant beauty nothing remained; all was wild and barren as at present. Frau Hütt, who had run for refuge with her son in her arms to a neighbouring eminence, was turned into a rock. In place of our ‘Wilful waste makes woeful want,’ children in the neighbourhood are warned from waste by the saying, ‘Spart eure Brosamen für die Armen, damit es euch nicht ergehe wie der Frau Hütt.’[1] Frau Hütt also serves as the popular barometer of Innsbruck; and when the old giantess appears with her ‘night-cap’ on, no one undertakes a journey. This excursion will take four or five hours. On the way, Büchsenhausen is passed, where, as I have already mentioned, Gregory Löffler cast the statues of the Hofkirche. I have also given already the legend of the Bienerweible. As a consequence of the state execution which occasioned her melancholy aberrations, the castle was forfeited to the crown. Ferdinand Karl, however, restored it to the family. It was subsequently sold, and became one of the most esteemed breweries of the country, the cellars being hewn in the living rock; and its ‘Biergarten’ is much frequented by holiday-makers. Remains of the old castle are still kept up; among them the chapel, in which are some paintings worth attention. On one of the walls is a portrait of the Chancellor’s son, who died in the Franciscan Order in Innsbruck, in his ninety-first year.
If time allows, the Weierburg and the Maria-Brunn may be taken in the way home, as it makes but a slight digression; or it may be ascended from Mühlau. The so-called Mühlauer Klamm is a picturesque gorge, and the torrent running through it forms some cascades. Weierburg affords a most delightful view of the picturesque capital, and the surrounding heights and valleys mapped out around. Schloss Weierburg was once the gay summer residence of the Emperor Maximilian, and some relics of him are still preserved there.
Hottingen, which might be either taken on the way when visiting Frau Hütt or the Weierburg, is a sheltered spot, and one of the few in the Innthal where the vine flourishes. It is reached by continuing the road past the little Church of Mariähilf across the Inn; it had considerable importance in mediæval times, and has consequently some interesting remains, which, as well as the bathing establishment, make it a rival to Mühlau. In the church (dedicated to St. Nicholas) is Gregory Löffler’s monument, erected to him by his two sons. The Count of Trautmannsdorf and other noble families of Tirol have monuments in the Friedhof. The tower of the church is said to be a remnant of a Roman temple to Diana. To the right of the church is Schloss Lichtenthurm, well kept up, and often inhabited by the Schneeburg family. On the woody heights to the north is a little pilgrimage chapel difficult of access, and called the Höttingerbilde. It is built over an image of our Lady found on the spot in 1764, by a student of Innsbruck who ascribed his rapid advance in the schools to his devotion to it. On the east side of the Höttinger stream are some remains of lateral mining shafts, which afford the opportunity of a curious and difficult, though not dangerous, exploration. There are some pretty stalactitic formations, but on a restricted scale.
There is enough of interest in a visit to Zirl to make it the object of a day’s outing; but if time presses it may be reached hence, by pursuing the main street of this suburb, called, I know not why, zum grossen Herr-Gott, which continues in a path along an almost direct line of about seven miles through field and forest, and for the last four or five following the bank of the Inn. Or the whole route may be taken in a carriage from Innsbruck, driving past the rifle-butt under Mariähilf. At a distance of two miles you pass Kranebitten, or Kranewitten, not far from which, at a little distance on the right of the road, is a remarkable ravine in the heights, which approach nearer and nearer the bank of the river. It is well worth while to turn aside and visit this ravine, which goes by the name of the Schwefelloch. It is an accessible introduction on a small scale to the wild and fearful natural solitudes we read of with interest in more distant regions. The uneven path is closed in by steep and rugged mountain sides, which spontaneously recall many a poet’s description of a visit to the nether world. At some distance down the gorge, a flight of eight or nine rough and precarious steps cut in the rock, and then one or two still more precarious ladders, lead to the so-called Hundskirche, or Hundskapelle,[2] which is said to derive its name from having been the last resort of Pagan mysteries when heathendom was retreating before the advance of Christianity in Tirol. Further on, the rocks bear the name of the Wagnerwand (Wand being a wall), and the great and lesser Lehner; and here they seem almost to meet high above you and throw a strange gloom over your path, and the torrent of the Sulz roars away below in the distance; while the oft-repeated answering of the echo you evoke is more weird than utter silence. The path which has hitherto been going north now trends round to the west, and displays the back of the Martinswand, and the fertile so-called Zirlerchristen, soon affording a pleasing view both ways towards Zirl and Innsbruck. There is rough accommodation here for the night for those who would ascend the Gross Solstein, 9,393 feet; the Brandjoch, 7,628 feet; or the Klein Solstein, 8,018 feet—peaks of the range which keep Bavaria out of Tirol.
As we proceed again on the road to Zirl, the level space between the mountains and the river continues to grow narrower and narrower, but what there is, is every inch cultivated; and soon we pass the Markstein which constitutes the boundary between Ober and Unter-Innthal. By-and-by the mountain slopes drive the road almost down to the bank, and straight above you rises the foremost spur of the Solstein, the Martinswand, so called by reason of its perpendicularity, celebrated far and wide in Sage and ballad for the hunting exploit and marvellous preservation of Kaiser Max.
It was Easter Monday, 1490; Kaiser Max was staying at Weierburg, and started in the early morning on a hunting expedition on the Zirlergebirge. So far there is nothing very remarkable, for his ardent disposition and love of danger often carried him on beyond all his suite; but then came a marvellous accident, the accounts of the origin of which are various. There is no one in Innsbruck but has a version of his own to tell you. As most often reported, the chamois he was following led him suddenly down the very precipice I have described. The steepness of the terrible descent did not affright him; but in his frantic course one by one the iron spikes had been wrenched from his soles, till at last just as he reached a ledge, scarcely a span in breadth, he found he had but one left. To proceed was impossible, but—so also was retreat. There he hung, then, a speck between earth and sky, or as Collin’s splendid popular ballad, which I cannot forbear quoting, has it:—