Part 6
Beneath the Solstein, which stands over 9000 feet high, and upon whose summit on certain Thursdays the witches are said to dance, is situated a dreadful chasm, which takes its name from the charming village of Zirl, which lies at the foot of the mountain, and has more the aspect of a little town than an Alpine village. There once lived a wealthy miller, a noted usurer, who amassed no end of unjustly gained money, and, as after his death none of his wealth was restored to those whom he had defrauded, his spirit was condemned to the depths of the chasm, where he suffered indescribable torments, and often during the night his screams have been heard crying, “Help, help me!”
About twenty years ago, two merry gazelle hunters were walking in the night from the village of Soln, over the Schützensteig, on their way to Hötting, and, as it became very dark, they resolved to pass the night above the Zirl chasm, for fear of falling, in the darkness, over some precipice, or meeting with any other accident. They lighted a large fire, and during the night they heard somebody call out, “Help, help me.” The two men immediately thought some one had fallen down the precipice, and one of them shouted, “Have patience, for the night is too dark for us to venture down the gully, but to-morrow we will help you out.” In the early dawn they set off to hunt for a track by which to descend the precipice to the rescue of the unfortunate traveller.
On their way they met the shepherd of Soln, and told him of their night’s adventure, and, as they recounted it to him, he said, “There you may look in vain, for this call comes not from a lost traveller, but from the wicked miller;” and he then told them all he knew about the wretched money usurer. Many people of Zirl have also heard these frightful screams for help, first in one place and then in another, for the chasm is dreadfully deep and long. In the very depth of it, and at the foot of the Solstein, lies the Graupenloch, where a roaring torrent forms a high cascade, and fills the chasm with the roar of thunder, and even to this day nobody has ever dared to descend to this spot. There sits the spirit of the miserable usurer, howling, with chattering teeth, in his freezing torment.
_THE ALPINE HORSE-PHANTOM._
On the high Alp, called Els, in the Hinderdux, resides a mountain spirit, which the inhabitants of the surrounding country are unable to paint horribly enough. It is described as a terrible horse-phantom, which nobody dare approach, and which snorts fever and death wheresoever it goes. Many mountaineers and gazelle-hunters have met with their death by this spirit, and only he is safe who has gun, sword, and dogs with him.
One day a courageous Alpine hunter resolved to go and fight the mountain ghost, so he loaded his rifle with a crossed bullet, and climbed up the mountain. Not far from the hut, which stands on the Els Alp, is a cross, at which he knelt and repeated a prayer, and he had scarcely left the spot, when a little grey mountain dwarf drew near to him, and begged for a little bread and brandy. The huntsman shared with the dwarf his bread and smoked-gazelle meat; after which the little grey man told him to go back, and bring his gun, sword, and dogs, or else he would be powerless against the mountain ghost, who otherwise would smash him into pieces. The gazelle-hunter followed this advice, and soon returned to execute his courageous purpose.
But it happened far otherwise than he had expected. The mountain ghost, in the form of a horrible horse, appeared, and galloped upon him with tremendous fury, snorting fire and sulphurous smoke, stamping, and roaring, and neighing so loud, that the very mountain shook with the sound; then he shouted to the huntsman with a voice of thunder, “You rascal, if you had not gun, sword, and dogs with you, I should smash you to pieces.”
At this reception, the huntsman stood like one petrified; his teeth chattered, and all desire to fight with a ghost passed away for ever from his mind. The horse-phantom then turned his heels and galloped back again to the Gletscherwand, from whence he had come.
_THE WITCHES OF G’STOAG._
Not many years ago a very rough mountain lane led from Tarenz to Imst, which was called the G’stoag; the post-road now runs over this spot, and still bears the same name.
The tailor, Anton Gurschler, of Strad, once returned home from Grieseck, near Tarenz, where he had been to visit his sweetheart. It was getting on for the ghost hour, and as he arrived near the smith’s shop, called Hoada-Schmiede, near G’stoag, he ran up against a little chapel, which is consecrated to the holy Vitus, and, having hurt himself in the violence of the shock, he was very angry, and began to swear, for he wanted to know who had pushed him so savagely. At that moment a carriage with lights drove up, and in it were sitting some women, whom the tailor immediately recognized perfectly well. They stopped the carriage, alighted, and offered to dance with him, and turned him round and round, without his being able to resist them. Then, as they released him, one of them whispered in his ear, “If you say one word about this, you had better look out for yourself;” and then they drove off like a flash of lightning. The tailor was stupefied with amazement, and, in his anger, he recounted to his friends at home all that had befallen him, in which, however, he did very wrong, for he grew thin and ill, and went out at last like the spark of a candle.
To another man, a shoemaker of Tarenz, whose name was Jennewein Lambach, happened the following circumstance:--He was on his way to the castle of Starkenberg, close by his village, and on passing by the church, he neither stopped a moment, nor crossed himself, as it is the custom in the country to do. It was yet dark, for the shoemaker had got up earlier than he was aware of; all at once he heard the sounds of magnificent music, to which he listened for a long time with delighted ears, and then, to his astonishment, he heard the church clock strike midnight. He shuddered with fright, for he knew that something must be wrong, and hurried on as fast as his legs would carry him to Starkenberg, where he was engaged to work; but as there he could find no peace of mind, on account of his strange accident, he returned home again in the afternoon. While he was sitting drinking a glass of wine with the innkeeper Marrand, of Tarenz, a woman of the village entered the room, and said to him mockingly, “The music last night must have pleased you very much, for you listened like a stupid.” The shoemaker was struck dumb and could not reply, for it came to his mind that what he had heard in the preceding night had been hags’ music, and that that very same woman had been amongst the number of the witches. From that time he shunned the creature as much as possible, but never told any one what had happened to him on that eventful evening. He then bought himself an alarm clock, which he set up close to his bed, so that he never went again too early to his work, and thus by his silence he no doubt escaped the dreadful fate of the poor tailor.
_THE HEXELER._
In the village of Hall, in the valley of the Inn, close to Innsbruck, lived a man who was a peasant doctor, cattle doctor, and fisherman, in one person; he was also a noted witch-finder, and, as such, held in terrible dread by all those who had “red eyes.” His name was Kolb, but he was generally called the “Hexeler” (hag hunter), or “Hexenkolb.”
One day Kolb was engaged fishing in the lake, called Achenthaler-See, when suddenly thunderclouds as black as ink collected over his head, and on a sign which he made with his hand, a weather hag fell down into the water. The hag seized the side of Kolb’s little boat, who, however, beat the rudder down upon her hands, with the intention of drowning her, but she implored him to save her, promising that she would renounce her witchcraft. “As to me,” said Kolb, “I will save you if you will give up your wicked trade; but you must hand over to me your sorcery book, so that I shall know all your hellish artifices, and be able to discover their antidotes.” After a long dispute, during which the hag was nearly drowned, she gave him a book, in which her most secret charms were written down.
After that incident, Kolb became one of the first “Wonder Doctors” in the Tyrol. When he was asked to cure somebody, the sufferer was compelled to come to him during the night, and it was only on special occasions that he consented to visit the house of the sick. When he was called to the assistance of a bewitched person, he made exactly at midnight the smoke of five different sorts of herbs, and, while they were burning, the bewitched was gently beaten with a martyr-thorn birch, which had also to be cut during the same night, and through which means, at each stripe that was given, the hag who had bewitched the person received the most terrible blow, so that the blood flowed at each stroke. Kolb went on beating in this way, until the hag appeared and took off the charm. But, during the operation, no one was allowed to speak, and the necromancer alone treated with the witch. If any one had spoken but one word, the Hexeler’s power would have gone for that night, and all his work would have been useless.
_THE CAT-HAGS OF GRIES._
Cats generally take a large share in anything appertaining to witchcraft, and as single apparitions, out of the company of some hag, they are scarcely, if ever, to be seen; though Peter, one of the servants at the farm of Simel, near the village of Gries, once had the misfortune to meet them.
The farmer was an excellent manager, and never allowed any of his servants to be out in the evening after the Angelus had sounded. But Peter had been a volunteer, during the revolution of 1848, and, as such, he considered himself entitled to take more liberty than the others, and to go after hours and pay a visit to his love. One evening, just as he had arranged to carry out this plan, the farmer, who was a member of the parish administration, said, after supper, to his servants, “Now you all go to bed; at two o’clock to-morrow morning I shall call you, for it has been decided by the Council that we must go oftener on patrol round about, to keep on the look out for the Welsh republicans, which are expected in the country, and to shoot them down wherever they appear, for the sake of preserving order and peace.”
This command anything but pleased Peter, who, however, apparently obeyed, and went to bed; but soon afterwards he got up very quietly, and thought to himself, “Long before the clock strikes two I shall be back;” and then he crept silently through the stables, and hurried towards the Berghof farm, on the mountain where his sweetheart lived, to bid her good-bye for ever, should it be necessary, in case he fell in the war against the Welsh rebels.
He remained till one o’clock at the Berghof, and then he set off home, running as fast as ever he could, and he had arrived already within a distance of two or three hundred feet of the Simel farm, when, just over his head, he caught the sound of suppressed whispering. He looked about, and lo! all about him, the air and ground was full of cats, of all colours and shapes, black, white and tricoloured, which sprang upon him from every direction. Frightened out of his wits, poor Peter began to pray and cross himself, when all at once the tribe of cats disappeared; but this release did not last long, for when he had reached the farm, he found the cats sitting in a swarm round the entrance-door, and they stopped him from getting in, and against this no praying, no cross-making could avail, for the cats set up such a terrific noise, that the poor bewildered fellow lost his senses of hearing and seeing. He made up his mind, however, to get into the farm at any risk, and, springing through the cats, he gained the little door by which he had gone out; but the door was closed, so he was forced to knock at the great entrance, where he was received by the farmer himself, who, after giving him a good scolding, concluded his sermon in these words:--“There is nothing so fine spun but that it comes always to the sun.”[2]
[2] “Es ist nichts so fein gesponnen, Es kommt immer an die Sonnen.”
_THE LOCKSMITH OF THE FLIEGERALM._
Under the mountain, Fliegeralm, which now belongs to the Baron Steinbach, of Mühlau, used to stand the shop of a locksmith, whose name was Huis. The hut was situated in a most beautiful position, on the edge of a rushing mountain torrent, close to the side of a dense and magnificent forest of fir-trees. The locksmith was an industrious and fearless man, and the report that during the winter a “Kaser-Mandl” (a Tyrolian mountain ghost) walked about, could not deter him from building his house just beneath the Alm; so he went up in the autumn to fell trees for its construction, about which he set determinedly to work.
The hut was soon finished, and then the locksmith lighted a large fire and commenced his business. One evening, while engaged over his work, he heard footsteps prowling round the hut, and directly afterwards the door was violently shaken, as though it would be forced in. Huis got up, and called out, “Who is there?” and then opening the door, he said, “Well, come in then;” but nobody was to be seen. He went once more to his work, and again heard the same footsteps about the house; so at last, becoming uncomfortable, he determined to retire to rest, in order that he might get up very early in the morning to finish what he was about.
He laid himself down upon a bundle of hay, on which he soon fell asleep; but an hour or two afterwards he was awakened by a most extraordinary noise, and all at once the terrible Alm ghost stood close beside him, and threw himself instantly upon him, like a big butcher’s dog, with fiery eyes, and with the fixed intention of tearing his victim to pieces. But the locksmith brought all his gigantic strength to bear upon the ghost, and dealt him a blow, which hurled him to a distance; then, after this victory, he laid down again in another corner of the hut, and slept peacefully until daybreak; but from that moment he determined never again to pass the night alone in the hut, and so he returned every evening to the valley, carrying his work with him.
He never recounted one single word to any living soul, except his wife, whom he bound down by the strongest vows never to repeat it to any mortal being; but a woman’s confidence is but a stage secret, open to the ears of all who like to listen to it.
_THE SALVE-TOAD._
It is a well-known fact in the Tyrol that the Jordan chapel, which stands on the mountain, called Salve, and which is dedicated to St. John the Baptist, has been founded by a widow, who, out of maternal weakness, had been the cause of encouraging her only son in all sorts of wickedness, which he carried so far as to become the chief of a band of robbers and cut-throats. Too late, the infatuated woman discovered the crime of which she had been guilty, and, in deep repentance, sought her son, and, after following him for many days, found him at last on the top of the Hohe Salve.
She then tried to persuade him to give himself up to justice, but he was obdurate; until one night, in a dream, the ghastly head of St. John the Baptist appeared to him; after which he gave himself up to the authorities, and his head, with those of all his companions, was chopped off. The guilty mother buried all the heads together, on the top of the mountain, sold all she had, and devoted it to the erection of the chapel, which is still standing there.
Other people recount this legend in a different manner; they say that the brigand had vowed to make a pilgrimage upon the Hohe Salve, if Heaven would only assist him to rid himself of his evil companions, and help him to lead again a good life. But, after having obtained the assistance of Heaven, the brigand forgot his vow, and for that reason he was compelled after his death to crawl up to the top of the mountain in the form of a toad, and to enter into the chapel. After a long time, the poor toad succeeded in climbing the mountain, but at the entrance of the chapel there were always people who pushed and kicked him away. At length, however, he succeeded in entering the chapel, and crawled three times round the altar, after which he was instantly changed into the form of a handsome man, who addressed the people who were praying there, telling them of his brigand life and hard penance, and then he suddenly disappeared from their eyes.
_THE UNHOLDENHOF._
In the days of Maximilian the First, Emperor of Germany, there was a forester attached to the Court, who was a real “Unhold” (or monster), of almost supernatural bodily strength, and so much so that he was generally regarded as a giant. After the Emperor’s death, the forester left the Court with his only son, who was in every degree the image of his father, and went into the parish of Kreith, in which, since that time, fourteen peasants have built their farms, which, for the most part, are all situated on the Middle Mountain, above the rivers Sill and Rutz, between meadows, uplands, and forests. At the bottom of the valley the whirr of a “Säge,” _i.e._ a saw-mill, is constantly to be heard, which stands on the bridge over the Klausbach, over which the roads lead on into the Stubeithal.
There a beautiful spring, well protected by a statue of the holy Nepomuk, offers refreshment and rest to the tired traveller, and about half a mile further on, the road divides into two, and the left-hand branch leads off into a charming mountain-path, on each side of which lies a magnificent forest of Alpine firs and pines, and after a quarter of an hour’s ascent, one arrives at a rich and thriving farm, which comprises in its possessions an ancient chapel; but with all this it bears a very bad name, and is called the “Unholdenhof” (or monster farm).
It was on this self-same spot that the forester and his son took up their abode, and they became the dread and abomination of the whole surrounding country, for they practised, partly openly and partly in secret, the most manifold iniquities, so that their nature and bearing grew into something demoniacal. As quarrellers very strong, and as enemies dreadfully revengeful, they showed their diabolical nature by the most inhuman deeds, which brought down injury, not only on those against whom their wrath was directed, but also upon their families for centuries. In the heights of the mountains they turned the beds of the torrents, and devastated by this means the most flourishing tracts of land; on other places, the Unholde set on fire whole mountain-forests, to allow free room for the avalanches to rush down and overwhelm the farms. Through certain means they cut holes and fissures in the rocks, in which, during the summer, quantities of water collected, which froze in the winter, and then in the spring the thawing ice split the rocks, which then rolled down into the valleys, destroying everything before them. Some of these terrific rock-falls prepared by them ensued only some forty or fifty years afterwards.
Through these iniquitous deeds, they gained the dreaded name of Unholde, which has descended to their abode to the present day; but at last Heaven’s vengeance reached them. An earthquake threw the forester’s house into ruins, wild mountain torrents tore over it, and thunderbolts set all around it in a blaze; and by fire and water, with which they had sinned, father and son perished, and were condemned to everlasting torments. Up to the present day, they are to be seen at nightfall on the mountain, in the form of two fiery boars.
A better generation has built a new farm upon the same spot on which the old Unholdenhof used to stand; but, against their wish and will, the new house has kept up the old name, which sometimes changes into that of Starkenhof, because the wicked foresters were also called “die Starken” (the strong ones).
The old peasant Hohlenbauer, who still is living in the village of Mutters, can recount to the traveller a great deal about the Unholdenhof; and, among other things, he would tell him how one day the forester, in his stupidity, sold valuable parchments to a child’s-drum maker of Innsbruck, who, as stupid as he of whom he had bought them, erased the writing with a stone, and covered little drums with the priceless documents.
_THE FIERY BOAR OF KOHLERSTADL._
On the main road from the village of Mutters to the hamlet of Götzens lies a brown wooden hut in the middle of a lovely flowery plain, which is called the “Broat-Wiese” (broad meadow). The road leads through dells and valleys, and in passing through this grand and desolate spot, the traveller is unable to overcome a certain sense of awe, which overhangs this dreaded spot, particularly should he happen to pass that way after the shades of evening have fallen. The hut is an old hay-shed, which has the resemblance of a large dark coffin; close to this hut stands a little chapel, erected to the memory of a poor traveller, who was frozen to death on that spot, in the year 1815.
This place is decried and avoided, on account of the fearful apparition, which is said to wander round the spot; and many a one who has tried to pass that way during the night has been glad to return safely back again to the village. Close by lies a dense forest of fir-trees, the rendezvous of tribes of ravens, which render the surroundings still more dismal with their ominous croakings. If, perchance, the traveller hears the cuckoo, he crosses himself, for it bears in the Tyrol the reputation of being the devil’s own bird, and the evil one himself, the worst of the phantoms, rejoices in adopting his voice.