Part 9

About forty years ago a herdboy of Boden went about in the underwood seeking for a lost calf, when all of a sudden he ran up against a large iron cross which was standing out from the ground. This was the cross on the tower of the sunken church. He tried to drag it up and cleared away the surrounding bushes; there he discovered the coping stones of the tower, on which the cross was so firmly planted that he could not move it; and when he returned on the following day with several other people to dig it out, it was no longer to be seen.

Not many years ago a peasant of Hegerau in the Lech-Thal, whose name was Klotz, passed by that mountain and entered into a sort of tunnel through the rock, where, on account of the bad weather, he took shelter. He lighted a torch to discover the depth of the tunnel, and in walking on he suddenly found himself in the sunken church. The high altar was gorgeously lighted, and the candles stood in large silver lustres. The peasant walked about in the church, and found a man sleeping on one of the benches, who as he awoke him inquired the time, and when the peasant told him, he sighed and said, “Ah! it is still far from the time.”

What he meant by these words remains still an enigma, but the peasant seized one of the silver lustres from the altar and ran off in terror. He arrived home late at night carrying the lustre, and would have believed all as a dreadful dream, had he not the lustre with him as witness. He went to rest, and on the following morning he was dead. His wife ordered the lustre to be carried back to its place, but it was impossible to find again the entrance of the underground church.

_THE GOLD-MEASURERS OF LOFER._

In Lofer, a hamlet on the Tyrolian frontier towards Salzburg, lived a rich peasant who on his death left behind him three daughters, of whom the youngest was totally blind. The mother was long since dead, and so, after the demise of their father, the three orphans set about dividing the money and property which he had left to them. They found so large a treasure in the old man’s coffers that they were obliged to divide it by means of a sieve, by which the two eldest girls shamefully took advantage of the infirmity of their poor sister to cheat her of her share. Each time the blind sister’s turn came round they reversed the sieve and covered only the bottom with money, so that the poor deluded girl in placing her hand upon it should be convinced that she received her right share.

In this way, of course, she never got even a hundredth part of what was her due, and after the division was finished the avaricious sisters hid their unjustly gained wealth in a secret hole in a rock on the mountain. But the All-seeing Eye of Heaven remains ever open, and on the death of the two sisters they were condemned to lie in the form of black ferocious dogs in the cavern and to guard their hidden and ill-gotten treasure. There they are chained until their unholy wealth is exhausted by those who succeed in approaching it and take of it only so much as they really want; for all who attempt to carry off more are immediately seized upon by the infuriated guardians and torn into atoms. But as there are few in the world who are contented with real necessities, the treacherous sisters will doubtless be compelled to sit over their unjustly-gained wealth for many ages to come.

_THE ANTHOLZER-SEE._

Where now lies the beautiful lake in the Puster-Thal with its rippling green waters, three magnificent farms used to stand surrounded by expanses of rich and fertile ground.

One year, when the Kermesse was being celebrated, on which day every one indulges in something more than usual, an old beggar man arrived in each of the farms and asked for charity, begging even for any dry morsels that remained from their meal. But the peasants were one and all selfish and avaricious, and so they kicked the poor mendicant from the door. The beggar then said in anger to each of them: “Take care! in three days a spring shall rise behind your farm, and then your eyes will open; so look to what will happen!”

The peasants, however, cared little for the beggar’s threat, and laughed at him; but on the third day a spring arose behind each farm, and their united waters increased to such an extent that they soon formed a lake which devoured in its depth the farms and their inhabitants.

This is the Antholzer-See, also called Spitaler Hochsee, which now stands surrounded by dark forests of gigantic pines.

_THE MAILED GHOST OF BRIXEN CASTLE._

At Brixen still stands the magnificent ancestral castle of the Lords von Lachmüller--one of the most ancient families of the Tyrolian nobility. In the old picture gallery of this deserted mansion, the ghost of one of the knights whose portraits still hang there, wanders about.

During the time of the French invasion in 1797, a French officer was quartered in the castle with several soldiers. On account of the numerous family of the proprietor, there were but a few small chambers vacant in the building, and as the officer was not contented with the room which had been allotted to him, he roughly demanded one larger and with finer site. But there was only the picture gallery left, in which the officer took up his abode, laughing and sneering at the warnings given him by the host that the corridor was said to be haunted. The strong-headed fellow took every precaution to guard himself against either natural or supernatural apparition, and after he had ordered a strong trooper to lie down close beside him, he went to sleep devoid of any fear.

But, as he awoke at midnight, he saw a knight in full attire standing before him, who regarded him most ferociously. The officer shouted at him, but, as he stood his ground and paid no heed, he transfixed the form with his long sharp sword, which lay unsheathed beside him. At this instant, the apparition stretched out his arms, seized the officer, and hugged him so closely and long, that he lost his breath.

The trooper awoke late in the morning, and, on finding his master dying, he summoned all the inhabitants of the castle, to whom the officer, who came to himself again, recounted in a feeble voice what had happened to him, and pointed out one of the ancestral portraits as the being who had appeared before his bed and hugged him so fearfully. Two hours afterwards he died.

_THE TREASURE OF THE SIGMUNDSBURG._

At the foot of the Fern Alp, about two miles from Nassereit, lies a small deep green Alpine See, and on a rock, which overhangs it, stands the old castle of Sigmundsburg. Beneath the walls of the castle are deep vaults, hewn in the solid rock, in which is buried an incalculable treasure, whose guardian has the form of a big hairy black dog. Sometimes, too, the dog appears like a luminous mass, without, however, burning; in his mouth he holds a key, which opens the door of the treasure-room, but the conditions on which the treasure can be got at are unknown to any one. Besides, the cellar is so well guarded that it is very difficult to approach it; and people say that most probably the Sigmundsburg must fall into ruins before the cellar can be entered, and then only the treasure-guardian may have the chance of finding the redemptor, for whom he is already so long waiting; but before that moment arrives, two centuries will perhaps still have to elapse.

_THE FRATRICIDE UPON THE HOCHALP._

The “Hochalp” (or High Alp), near Scharnitz, was some two centuries ago covered up to the top with the finest grass and woods, and the now cleared Fitzwald was the most beautiful forest in the whole Tyrol. It reached up to the very summit of the mountain, which was covered with such enormous trees, that three men could not encompass one of them with their arms; in one word, the Hochalp was a “Cow-Heaven,” as it was generally called by the peasants. Where now the sheep climb about, at that time there were but cows pastured, and the cattle thrived there better than anywhere else.

The Alp belonged to a rich peasant of Leutasch, named Simele, who had two sons, who, after his death, commenced a serious quarrel about which of them was to have the Alp. The younger brother was a good man, but the other was a real wretch; and, as they could not agree, they drew lots for the Alp, which fell to Johann, the younger of the two.

After this he married a good village girl, whom his brother Matz had set his eyes upon, and from whom he had received a refusal. Johann lived happily with his wife, while his brother boiled over with bitter spite, and month after month his determination of seeking revenge increased. He commenced a law suit, finding false witnesses, and swore a false oath, so that the Court declared the drawing invalid, and awarded the Alp to Matz.

Whilst all this was going on, Johann was busy on the Alp, and so heard nothing of the judgment; and as his brother entered fiercely into the hut, and tried to pitch him out of it, he defended himself until his herdsmen arrived, who chased him away, after having beaten him soundly. At this reception Matz foamed with rage; so, running home, he seized his gun, crept in the following night back to the hut in which his brother was sleeping, and shot him dead in his bed.

But Johann’s soul was scarcely out of his body, when God’s wrath appeared and fearfully punished the perjurer and fratricide. A terrible storm came on with lightning, thunder, snow, hail, and wild pouring rains, so that everything was overthrown and inundated. After that an earthquake convulsed the ground, and on both sides the mountains fell into the valley, covering the Alm huts and meadows more than sixty feet deep with _débris_. The murderer was swallowed among the falling rocks, and is condemned to suffer dreadfully beneath them. He is still heard very often shrieking in agony, and all the pilgrimages which his family have made for his redemption have been in vain.

As nobody could do anything with the valley covered with rocks and stones, the decried spot fell into the hands of the monastery of Werdenfels, and wherever it was possible, the monks have restored cultivation, so that new forests and meadows have in course of time sprung up upon the ruins of the once famous Alp.

A beautiful little chapel has been erected there, in which several times during the course of the year service is performed; but the spirit of the murderer still wanders around and groans so dreadfully during the night, that every one is terrified. There he must remain until the last day, and what will happen to him then God alone knows.

_THE TWO HAYSTACKS._

One of the most beautiful and noted Alps in the Tyrol is the Seisser-Alp, in the Eisack valley, not far from which stands the Schlern, 8100 feet high, with its two pyramids of dolomite rock. About four miles from the Schlern, and joining the wonderful Rosen Garten of King Laurin, are the Rothe Wand and the Rothe Wies, out of which rise two enormous peaks.

Upon the Schlern pilgrims resort to the Holy Cassian, and on the day of this Saint, the fifth of August, there takes place every year a great _fête_ in the chapel, which stands on the spot. From the parish of Völs, which lies about nine miles lower down, the inhabitants wend on that day up the mountain to the chapel, and all the mountaineers from the Seisser-Alp assemble there in their Sunday’s best to _fête_ the Saint.

One day it came into the mind of a farmer to make hay on St. Cassian’s day. His servant reluctantly obeyed his commands, and his neighbours kind-heartedly warned him that it was a crime to make hay on the day of the Saint who was so universally revered. But the farmer laughed mockingly, and said, “Be it Cassian’s day or not, the hay must up upon the stacks;”[6] and so he worked on the faster with his servants. At last all the hay, after having been raked together, was pitched up in two large heaps, which are called there, “Schober,” and as the last forkful was thrown upon the top, the two “Heuschober” (haystacks) were turned into stone, and in this shape they still stand on the same spot as an everlasting warning. Since that time no one has ever again thought of working on St. Cassian’s day.

[6] “Cassiantag hin, Cassiantag her, ’S Heu muss in die Schober!”

_THE SUNKEN FORESTS._

Near the village of Kitzbühel used to stand a magnificent forest, about which two peasants had a law-suit of several years’ duration, which finished with the judge being corrupted by one of the two peasants, to whom he awarded the Alp, and sent the defendant off, without the least hope of ever regaining his right.

The losing party, who through this iniquitous proceeding had become a poor man, could not rest, and constantly bewailed his misfortune, saying that he had been cheated and unjustly condemned. But the other, hearing the constant complaining of the poor injured man, one day called out, “Well, then, by all the devils, keep on crying. If I have unlawfully gained the forest, may it sink three thousand feet beneath the ground.” These words had scarcely gone out of his mouth, when an earthquake took place, together with a fearful thunderstorm, and the majestic forest sank beneath his feet, and black waves directly rolled over it. Though enormously deep as the See is, during certain weather the forms of trees can be distinctly seen far down below.

The same is the case with the Lanser-See, upon whose bottom trees are also to be seen growing. Where now this See stands, there used to be a magnificent forest of pines, about which, too, a dispute took place, though not between two peasants, but between a peasant and a nobleman, and the trial was conducted in such a manner that the nobleman gained the forest away from the poor man, to whom it really belonged; for, according to the old Tyrolian saying, “Noblemen do not bite each other.”[7] But the poor peasant, in his anger, cursed the forest, root and branch, and it sank into the depths of the earth. Next morning it was no longer to be seen, but a deep See stood in its place, which, after the village of Lans, not far from the renowned castle of Ambras, has taken the name of Lanser-See.

[7] “Die Edelleute beissen einander nicht.”

_TANNEN-EH’._

High up in the Tyrolian Alps formerly stood a fine city, called Tannen-Eh’, whose inhabitants for ages past had led honest and God-fearing lives. There used to be a Paradise of peace and happiness; no one ever thought of hunting or killing any game; domestic animals, and Alpine plants and fruits being sufficient for the wants of the good-hearted simple people. There were never quarrels or disputes about “mine or thine,” the rich man willingly helped his poorer neighbour, and there was no extremity of wealth or poverty at Tannen-Eh’.

But in course of time all was altered. With increasing wealth the lust of gain approached, which brought vanity and luxury in its train. They said, like the people of Babel, “Let us build a tower whose top shall reach the skies, so as to gain ourselves a name, and in the tower there shall be a bell, whose sound can be heard by all those who live on mountain or valley; and at every christening, wedding, and burial, the bell shall sound, but only for us, the rich, and for the poor it shall not sound, because for them it is of no use.”

And this wicked plan was executed. The complaints of the oppressed rose through the skies to Heaven, and in the autumn a great famine fell upon the city. The poor suffered dreadfully, whilst the rich locked up their treasures and store-rooms, and only gave the poor people, who came to beg for bread, insolent words, telling them that, after all, they were but a miserable lot, and the best thing they could do was to die in God’s name, and go straight to Heaven. In this fearful dearth numbers died of absolute starvation.

Towards the end of the autumn, snow began to fall, and rose higher and higher, up to the windows up to the roofs, and then far above the roofs. In this extremity the rich people of Tannen-Eh’ began to toll their bell for help, but its sound could scarcely penetrate through the thick walls of snow, and no help arrived, for down in the surrounding valley poor people alone were living, who had been cruelly treated and oppressed by the rich citizens above. So the snow fell thicker and thicker, just as long as it rained in the days of the Flood.

After this, Tannen-Eh’ with its inhabitants had disappeared, but the tower of the church, together with the city, is still to be seen from an enormous distance, though deeply covered with everlasting ice. The tower reaches like a silver needle to Heaven, from whence the Divine punishment had fallen. This ice-covered needle-rock is the Oetzthal-Ferner, and the city itself is now the “Oetzthal-Gletscher” (Oetzthal Glacier).

Even up to the present day the following song, illustrative of the fate of the city, is sung in the Tyrol:--

“In the city of Tannen-Eh’, Oh woe! Oh woe! Fell a snow, Which never thaws again.”[8]

[8] “In der Stadt Tannen-Eh’, Au weh! Au weh! Fallt a Schnee,

_THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE._

Almost every country possesses some legend of a “Devil’s Bridge,” and how the Evil One has been ultimately cheated by his own handiwork, and the Tyrol, which is alive with legends and superstitions, is not behind any other in this respect.

In the valley of Montafon, the bridge of the village broke down, or rather the swollen torrent carried it away; and as the parish was anxious to restore it as soon as possible, the villagers of course being unable to pass to and from Schruns, on the other side of the river, for all their daily wants, they applied to the village carpenter, and offered him a large sum of money if he would rebuild the bridge in three days’ time. This puzzled the poor fellow beyond description; he had a large family and now his fortune would be made at once; but he saw the impossibility of finishing the work in so short a time, and therefore he begged one day for reflection.

Then he set to work to study all day, up to midnight, to find out how he could manage to do the work within the specified time; and as he could find out nothing, he thumped the table with his fist, and called out, “To the devil with it! I can find out nothing.” In his anger and annoyance he was on the point of going to bed, when all at once a little man wearing a green hat entered the room, and asked, “Carpenter, wherefore so sad?” and then the carpenter told him all his troubles. The little fellow replied, “It is very easy to help you. I will build your bridge, and in three days it shall be finished, but only on the condition that the first soul out of your house who passes over the bridge shall be mine.” On hearing this, the carpenter, who then knew with whom he had to do, shuddered with horror, though the large sum of money enticed him, and he thought to himself, “After all, I will cheat the devil,” and so he agreed to the contract.

Three days afterwards the bridge was complete, and the devil stood in the middle, awaiting his prey. After having remained there for many days, the carpenter at last appeared himself, and at that sight the devil jumped with joy; but the carpenter was driving one of his goats, and as he approached the bridge, he pushed her on before him, and called out, “There you have the first soul out of my house,” and the devil seized upon the goat. But, oh, grief and shame! first disappointed, and then enraged, he dragged the poor goat so hard by her tail that it came out, and then off he flew, laughed at and mocked by all who saw him.

Since that time it is that goats have such short tails.

_LAGO SANTO._

Among the high peaks which overhang the Cembra valley, lies a solitary mountain lake whose little outlet falls into the foaming Nevisbach. A small hut at the pointed end of the lake, and a deserted mine which stands close by, surrounded by large heaps of _débris_, give evidence to the former activity of the spot.

This dark lake is called “Lago Santo” (or Holy Lake).

Where it now stands there used to be a flourishing village, whose inhabitants found in the neighbouring mines plenty of work and wealth; they were a happy and contented race. A few miles off lay King Laurin’s crystal palace, and through the constant communication with this good-hearted mountain King, they became clever and fortunate in all their undertakings. But, as time went on, they grew haughty and independent; foreign miners brought false doctrines into the parish, and as the priest was either too weak or negligent to oppose their wicked practices, in a few years the people became entirely corrupted.

About that time a poor man arrived in the village begging for alms, but all Christian charity had disappeared, and he was turned off from every door, even from that of the wealthy priest. At the end of the village there lived a poor widow woman with a numerous family, who alone gave a piece of bread to the mendicant, who told her in gratitude, “Tonight you will hear a fearful noise in the village; however, you need not be frightened, but pray, and for your life do not look out of the window.”

After saying these words, the beggar disappeared, and when the family had retired to rest, they were awakened at midnight by a terrible storm. The thunder was terrific, and the lightning streamed over the village, setting every building on fire; then the rain fell in torrents, as though the flood-gates of Heaven were opened. The poor widow was dreadfully terrified, and forgetting the command of the beggar, she looked out of the window, but at the same moment she received from an invisible hand such a blow in the face, that she fell senseless to the ground.

As on the following morning she came again to herself, the terrors of the night had disappeared, and the sun shone brilliantly down from Heaven. The widow opened the door of her little hut, and, to her great astonishment, found the whole country changed; the village had sunk beneath the earth, and a dark See was spread over the spot where it used to be; her little hut alone stood unhurt on the borders of the new-formed lake.