Chapter III: Part 3

Sometimes this gold-worm has also been seen down in the valley far beneath the Reichen-Felder, even once so far as the banks of the Alpbach, on a spot which is called G’reit. Several times daring people approached the worm, but when they had come near to him they were struck with an uncontrollable terror; and on running to fetch others as witnesses, on their return the worm was no longer to be seen.

The peasants round about say, “Those people had not the grace of putting something sacred upon the worm, and for that reason it disappeared.” After all, it is not stated what the worm is, whether it is a treasure-bloom, or a treasure-guardian, of which there are numbers in this rich gold country.

_THE GLUNKEZER GIANT._

In the Volder valley, out of which rises the Glunkezer, and where now stands the sheep Alp, called Tulfein, is a very picturesque mountain meadow, in the middle of which, some centuries ago, a peaceful King had built his palace, in which he lived with his four daughters, of whom each was more beautiful than the other. Round about the palace was a magnificent garden, full of Wonder-Flowers, and large expanses of meadow-lands, upon which tame Alpine animals browsed in large herds, and of these the four daughters of the King were very fond. They went also very often down into the huts of poor herds-people, to whom they did all sorts of charity, and all around they were honoured and reverenced as protecting genii.

This quiet happiness was troubled, and at last destroyed, by the arrival of a wild giant in this Alpine paradise, who built himself a cavern on the top of the Glunkezer, from whence, during the night, he roared so dreadfully that the mountains trembled, and huge masses of rock rolled down into the valleys. After he had caught sight of the four daughters of the King, he determined to try and gain one of them for his wife; so he decorated his bearskin mantle with enormous new buttons, tore up a fine tree for a walking-stick, passed his long finger-nails a few times through his shaggy beard and hair, and set off down to the Tulfein to pay his addresses. The King’s heart trembled with fright as he saw this pretender to the hand of one of his daughters, and replied that his daughters were perfectly free to choose their own husbands, therefore, if one of them would accept him, he should have no opposition to make.

Upon this the giant made himself as small as possible, but that was not very much, and did not bring him in much either, for one after the other of the girls refused him. This enraged the giant out of bounds, and he determined upon the most terrible vengeance, which he did not tarry in executing as quickly as possible. In the following night, rocks as large as a house rolled down upon the Tulfein, hurled against the palace, which they carried along with its inhabitants into the Wild-See, into whose depth it disappeared, and which was almost completely filled up with the tumbling rocks. The little of its dark waters which is still left, now bears the name of the “Schwarzenbrunn” (black spring), and round about it is a “death valley,” for nothing will grow there.

After the vengeance of the giant was satiated, repentance came over him, and he mourned for the murdered innocent father and daughters, he sat for whole nights on the borders of the Wild-See, into which he gazed, and howled and cried so incessantly, that even the stones had pity on him, for they became quite soft, and his cavern trembled and fell to ruin. At last he bewitched himself and became a mountain dwarf, while the King’s daughters were transformed into fairies or mermaids, and appear often on moonlight nights, floating over the water. There then sits the small grey dwarf, stretching longingly his hands towards their light forms, which however dissolve in mist; the dwarf then plunges again into the See, with a noise so great that it seems as though a large rock had fallen into it, and cools in a cold bath the agony of his remorse.

_THE WEAVER OF VOMPERBERG._

The practice of the medical art is even now in the higher parts of the Tyrol rather in a primitive state. Those who are ill send a common messenger down to the doctor, to whom he has to explain all the illnesses of those who have sent him, and, therefore, he has to consult sometimes for twenty or thirty illnesses at a time. The doctor listens to his explanations, and gives to one patient a potion, to another a tisane, to another an unguent, etc., and hands the whole lot to the messenger. Happy it is if, in the confusion of his ideas, the messenger does not change the medicines, but gives to each patient his own. In this manner used the peasant Vögele to cure, who died in 1855, in the hamlet of Matrai, in the Under Wippthal. From early morning till late in the afternoon his farm was overrun with the sick, or their messengers.

But the arts which the weaver of Vomperberg, near the village of Vomp, in the Inn valley, practised were unknown to human doctor, for they were supernatural. It was generally reported that he was in league with the evil one, and eye-witnesses have even certified that the devil once caught him, but that the clever magician managed to slip through his fingers. This weaver, who died in 1845, once sold a herd of pigs to a peasant on the opposite side of the river Inn. The purchaser was driving his pigs over the bridge called Nothholzerbrücke, and, as they arrived in the middle, lo! they all disappeared. All those to whom he recounted this called out, “The weaver is a cunning fellow, he has got the money, and no doubt he has bewitched the pigs back again to his sheds.”

In his anger the peasant, after drinking a few bottles of wine, and when his head was rather hot, returned to the hut of the weaver, who was lying on a long plank, warming his feet against the stove. The indignant and half-drunken peasant threw himself upon the man, and, in his anger, tried to drag him out of the hut by his feet, but oh, Heaven! he had scarcely touched the feet, when they both came off in his hands. Trembling with terror and fright, he dropped the feet on the floor and ran off, and has never dared again to say one word about the loss of the pigs.

_THE FIERY SENNIN._

Over the high valley of Alperschon stands a mountain called Gerichtsalp, belonging to the canton of Landeck, of which the judge, for centuries past, has had the right of letting the meadows to all the different parishes of the district; and from time immemorial it has been the privilege of the flock-herds to pasture there also their own animals, together with those of their masters, and then to sell them in the autumn on their own account.

There was at that time upon the Alp a young “Sennin” (or herd-woman), who had among the herd some of her own pigs, of which she took rather too much care, for she cheated the parish to feed them, and gave them goat-milk and the milk from the butter, so that they soon became very fat and round; while the parish pigs she made live upon the thin cheese whey, upon which, of course, they did not thrive. The Sennin was always gay and joking, and sang the nicest songs, and therefore every one liked her for her good temper, and nobody dreamed that she was an alm thief.

A couple of root seekers of the village of Schnaun, the girl’s native village, often climbed the Alp, and one day, when busy over their work, they remained there longer than usual, after the Sennin had driven the herd home. They were in the habit of using the empty enclosure in which the pigs were driven to rest in the middle of the day, as a drying-place for their roots, and when they returned home again, late at night, to Schnaun, they heard to their great astonishment that “the pretty young Sennin” had suddenly died, and they stayed a few days in the village to attend her funeral with the rest of the villagers.

Some few days afterwards, they went up again on the mountain to resume their usual business, and it was almost quite dark as they arrived on their favourite spot. As they approached the enclosure, they heard the voice of some one calling the pigs to their feeding-troughs, which they immediately recognized as that of the dead young Sennin, and, as they approached nearer, they saw her in bodily form, carrying a bucket of whey in her hand, and walking about in the enclosure, but red as a fiery furnace. The men stood thunderstruck and gasped with terror, and the spirit called to them, “Yes, sigh for me; here I must burn until my dishonesty is wiped away, even to the last _pfennig_;” and in saying this she disappeared from their sight, while making a terrific noise, and enveloped in a cloud of sulphurous smoke.

_THE SPIRIT OF THE ZIRL USURER._

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.

There has frequently been seen upon the plain, close by the hut, which is called the Kohlerstadl, a fiery wild boar, and many people are of the opinion that the old monster of the Unholdenhof, of which has been spoken in the preceding legend, wanders about there in that form, while others say that this same fiery boar is a devil’s phantom; and there are numberless people who have seen it.

A rich peasant of Natters, whose name is Klaus Sinnis, went up one day with his hay-cart to a meadow-valley, called Götzens-Lufens, and as he passed by the Kohlerstadl it was already growing dark, and night was coming on very fast. There suddenly the fiery boar rushed before his horses, which began to rear and kick, and he was unable to get them on one step further, so that he was compelled to return home with his empty cart.

A herdsman of Götzens was driving his cows home from Mutters, and close by the dreaded spot he met the boar, tearing madly round in a circle. On catching sight of this hideous phantom, the cows set up their tails and rushed wildly off in every direction, so that most of them fell down the precipices and were lost.

Others have seen on the same spot black dogs, and heard unearthly screams and howls which have pierced to their very soul.

_THE BUTCHER OF IMST._

It is not very long since that there lived at Imst a butcher, who was in the habit of catching other people’s sheep on the mountain, to alter their marks, and, after leaving them to run for some time among his own herd, either killed or sold them alive. This clever dodge succeeded very well for some length of time, but at last the butcher died suddenly, and, after his death, such a terrible ghost was seen several times in the house, that the family were obliged to move out of it, until the ghost should be exorcised by the powers of the Holy Church.

The night-watch of Strad was just calling out the twelfth hour, on a pitch dark night, when all at once two Capuchins approached on the road, both of whom carried a burning candle, and one of them bore under his arm a massive volume. Between them walked the form of the deceased butcher, clad in black, with the high-crowned hat, which he usually wore when alive, pressed tightly down over his eyes, and his arms crossed before him. The Capuchins signed the night-watch to step on one side, which, in his terror, he was only too glad to do. Then he saw them all three pass through the village of Strad, and take the post-road to Nassereit, as far as the inn, called ‘Zum Döllinger,’ into which, however, they did not enter, but turned over the Gurglthal, towards a klamm, or chasm, through which rushes from the lofty Andelsberg the torrent of Klammbach.

To that spot numbers of ghosts from the neighbourhood of Imst have been consigned, and frequently during the stillness of night are heard the dreadful cries of “Help us. Hoi--hoiiih!”

_MATZ-LAUTER, THE SORCERER OF BRIXEN._

Matthias Lauter, generally known under the name of “Matz-Lauter,” was born at Brixen, and used to live on a mountain, near Latzfons. He was everywhere dreaded, for his sorceries surpassed the power of any other man to excel. There are still many people living in the neighbourhood who knew him, and can tell many curious things concerning him. Matz used to wander about all the country through, because he could never find rest anywhere, and constantly visited the huts of the peasants, who willingly gave him all he asked for, to rid themselves of his company; and sometimes, out of thanks, he showed them a few of his tricks.

One day, in the common room of a farm belonging to a well-to-do peasant, he made in each of the four corners a different sort of weather at the same moment. In one corner the sun shone, in the second it was dark, and the wind was whistling gloomily; in the third, soft warm rain was falling; and in the fourth, a terrific storm of thunder, lightning, and hail was going on. At another time, he forced fowls, which were on the opposite side of the Eisach valley, to fly over to him and lay eggs at his feet, of which he made a present to the farm-people who had been kind to him.

It was generally believed that his art came from the devil, which, however, has been contradicted by the fact that he tormented and dared the old gentleman far more than any one had ever done before, and it is recounted as perfectly certain that once he forced him to clear a way through a forest, through which it was impossible for even a goat to pass, and with such rapidity that he could ride behind on a fast-galloping horse. Another time he forced his Satanic Majesty to catch an enormous mountain oak, which he pitched down to him from a height of four thousand feet.

Matz-Lauter was also much dreaded as a weather-maker, and often boasted that hating mankind, he took pleasure in harming them; and he confessed that only the ringing of consecrated bells had any control over his power, and if round about there had not been the bells of the chapel of St. Anton, near Feldthurns, those of the church of Laien, the enormous clock of the chapel of Latzfons, and the shrill sounds of the belfry of the chapel of St. Peter, a little pilgrimage about two miles from Latzfons, and a mile or so from his own hut, he would long since have reversed the huge mountain, which stands over the village of Latzfons, and buried in its ruins all who lived on or beneath it.

One day Matz-Lauter was found by some huntsman dead on the mountain, and directly the news spread, every one wanted to climb up and see his body; but it had disappeared, and even now every peasant of the neighbourhood is certain that the devil carried off the body of the sorcerer, after having first claimed his soul.

_THE MOUNTAIN GHOST OF THE VIVANNA._

About six miles from Graun, above the Endkopf, in the dominions of the Frauenpleiss, which ancient legends report as the residence of several fairies, lies the Grauner-Alp, which is also called the Vivanna, and which belongs to the parish of Graun. Jacob Wolf, a huntsman of Graun, ordinarily called “Kob,” started one evening, towards the close of the autumn, on a hunting excursion, and climbed up the Vivanna, intending there to pass the night, so that he might be ready to follow the game at an early hour on the following morning. He entered the hut which stands upon the Alp, and after having laid down upon a bundle of dry grass for his night’s rest, he heard the door slowly open, and a little old shrunken woman entered, whose attire was very like that of a Sennin, and who seemed to be quite at home there. She lighted a fire, took cream and flour from a little hole in the wall, and set to work to make cakes. As soon as she had finished them, she called out, “Now we are going to eat, and the one down yonder on the grass must be of the party too.”

The huntsman was quite frightened and dared not move, but as the little woman called out a second time with her shrill voice, which sounded almost like a command, he picked up his courage, and approached the spot where the old hag was standing. But, oh, terror! at that moment, in the midst of a most fearful noise, there all at once entered through the door a whole tribe of spitting, growling, and miauling cats, pigs and bucks, besides every description of other wild beasts.

The huntsman sprang quickly back into his corner, seized his rifle, which he had fortunately charged with a crossed bullet, and fired right into the middle of the devil’s army, which was entirely dispersed in one moment. No more was either to be seen of the old hag, and her cakes stood burning before the fire, and smelling of all sorts of fearful abominations. The huntsman fled from the spot as quickly as ever he could, and rushed down into the valley, giving up all idea of his hunting excursion. But in the morning he found out that, in his hasty retreat, he had left his hunting-sack behind; and so he set off in broad daylight, accompanied by another man, to the scene of his fearful adventure, where they found the sack, with all its contents, bitten and torn to pieces. When recounting this story, Kob always used to say, “The hell company would have served me the same trick, had I not run off as quickly as I did.”

_THE OBERLEITNER OF TERENTEN._

At Terenten, in the Pusterthal, lies a farm which is called the Oberleitner Hof, and its proprietor, who died about twenty years ago, was known in all the surrounding mountains under the name of “the Old Oberleitner.”

This old man was a master of the black art, as well as a great huntsman, who delighted in going over the mountains to the wild rocky valley of the Stillupp and Floiten, in pursuit of stone bucks, of which he killed numbers; and he had indeed carried his infatuation so far that there is not one now to be seen in the whole neighbourhood.

One day he was out with a fellow-huntsman, quite on the top of the mountain, and all at once he said to him, “Look there, my wife is just preparing the dinner, and as she is not in a good temper to-day we must try and be home in time, or else we shall catch a scolding.”

“But how can that be possible,” answered the other, “since we have more than a day and a half’s journey before we can reach home?”

“Never mind that,” replied the Oberleitner; and as the housewife served the dinner, the two huntsmen entered the room at the same moment as all the farm people. Of course, this never happened in a natural way; but how it came to pass no one can say. Though everybody of the district believes firmly that it was an example of Oberleitner’s ability.

Upon one of the farm-buildings of the Oberleitner Hof is still to be seen, up to the present day, an old roughly-painted picture, which represents an incident in the life of the former proprietor of the farm. Oberleitner was working in an adjoining field, when he caught sight of several fine stags on the distant Alp, called the Eidechsspitze. He ordered his servant to run home and fetch his rifle, but the man laughingly replied, “They will have time to run away a hundred times before you can reach them.”

“Oh!” said the Oberleitner, “I have fixed them there surely enough.” And, in fact, there they remained upon the same spot until he arrived on the top of the mountain, where he quietly shot them all down, one after the other.

_THE TAILOR OF THE ZIROCKALM._

For centuries past it has been the custom that on the Brenner Alp a tailor should live, for the purpose of mending the clothes of the teamsters who pass along that deserted road, on their way to or from Italy. Not long since, one of these men who occupied the hut left it to go and set up business in the inn, called ‘Schöllerwirthshaus,’ about three miles distant from the Brenner post-house. When not otherwise employed, he occupied his time in rolling heavy stones down into the valley below, knocking to pieces the carts of the teamsters, and killing the horses or men, so that the poor fellows were generally forced to stop at the inn, and when on their arrival, they complained or lamented about their misfortune, the tailor sympathized with them, while taking the occasion to cheat them the more in selling them bad cloth, instead of good, and at much higher prices than were to be had at Brixen or Stertzing, saying that the higher they went up the mountain, the shorter was the wood, as they could see on the trees, and so it was the same with his tailor’s yard.

This tailor died suddenly, and, as penance for his crimes, he was obliged to walk in ghostly form between the Brenner post-house and the Schöllerwirthshaus, and even as far down as Gossensass, where he practised many a cruel trick, and still made stones roll down upon the road. At last the harm he did was so great that the teamsters found themselves forced to apply to some Capuchins of Stertzing to banish the ghost. The Capuchins ascended the mountain, and banished him for the winter to the Zirock Alp, while for the summer they consigned him to the mountain called Hühnerspielspitze, which is plainly visible from Stertzing, and from whose peak he often cries so loudly that he is to be heard in the whole valley down below, “Ah! is then the last day not yet near? Ah! if only the last day would soon arrive.”

The ghost is forced to roll a great number of stones down into the valley, and every one of those stones he is obliged to carry up again on his shoulders. One day an old herdsman placed upon one of these stones a stick, upon which he had cut a cross, and when the ghost found it he threw it on one side and rolled the stone on. When the herdsman found his stick again, several days afterwards, there were five finger-marks burned into it.

_THE THREE SISTERS OF FRASTANZ._

To the east of Frastanz, upon the boundaries of Feldkirch, lies a chain of mountains, leading southwards towards the principality of Lichtenstein, out of which range rise three lofty bare grey jagged mountain peaks, which form the boundary marks of the country, and bear the name of “the Three Sisters,” to which are joined the Frastanz Alps.

Towards the end of the last century, a Venediger-Manndl used to come every year into that country, for the purpose of picking up gold, of which large quantities were to be found, especially in the forest valley of Samina, which is situated between the Three Sisters and the Ziegerberg. The Manndl used to fly through the air from Venice, carrying a large jar, which he put under a mountain spring, which threw up gold grains from a subterranean river, and when the jar was full he flew off with it home again. As a proof, he once showed the jar full of gold to some herdsmen, who were pasturing their cows in the neighbourhood; but they would not be taken in, and so they crossed themselves and let the Venetian go, for they knew that he was a sorcerer, who practised his arts through supernatural power, like all Venediger-Manndl used to do.

At that time, there lived at Frastanz three sisters, who upon a great _fête_ day, instead of going to mass, set out very early in the morning to climb the mountain, for the purpose of gathering strawberries, which grew there in quantities, with the intention of selling them in the afternoon at Feldkirch. Upon the mountain they met the Venediger-Manndl, who indignantly and furiously asked them, “What are you doing here to-day?” The girls were terrified, for their consciences reproached them for having neglected their duty on such a great _fête_ day, for the sake of gaining a little money, and they answered, “Nothing, nothing.” Then the sorcerer replied, with a voice towering with passion, “Well, then, you shall turn into nothing, nothing but bare rocks, without grass or leaf, without tree or fruit, and beneath you shall be hidden my golden wealth, which no mortal being shall ever succeed in finding.” At the same moment the three girls were turned into stone, for the sorcerer, in gaining power over them by their crime, redeemed himself, and delivered them in his stead to the evil one.

There still stand the Three Sisters, touching the clouds as three mountain peaks; but the Venetian has never been seen again, and his wealth-stream is said to have been dried up. The Three Sisters look solemnly down upon the upper part of the valley, called Rheinthal, upon Vaduz, and the country of Lichtenstein.

_THE ROSE GARDEN OF KING LAURIN._

The beautiful and charming surroundings of the village of Algund and the castle of Tirol, which stands above it, are still called the “Rose Garden of King Laurin.”

Laurin was the name of a King of the dwarfs; he was old and wise, as well as mild and kind, and he had a daughter, who was as amiable and beautiful as a fairy, or “Salige.” This lovely Princess wished to have a garden, and begged her father to give her some ground in the light of the sun, for the King lived in a crystal castle, deep in the interior of the mountain, which crowns the old castle of Tirol. The good father granted his daughter’s wish, who now set to work to exterminate all weeds and evil plants from the plain which her father had given her, and planted it with all sorts of rose-trees. In this manner her Rosen-Garten became so beautiful, that up to the present day its aspect renders the weary traveller happy, and causes him to forget for the time all pains and griefs, should he have any. So that every one might enjoy the beauties of her garden, she would not have walls, but surrounded it with gold tissue ribbons.

When and how this peaceful and joyous reign came to an end, the legend does not say; but the neighbourhood still remains a “Gottesgarten” (or paradise), although King Laurin and his beautiful daughter are no more to be seen; only the indisputable fact of their former existence lives fresh and green in the memory of all inhabitants of the surrounding country. Close to the village of Tirol, a dwarf is said to be still residing, whose comic name is Burzinigala, or Burzinigele. Another resides upon the mountain called Mutkopf, behind the same village, who chants in moonlight nights the following song to his native meadows:--“I am so grey, I am so old, that I remember thee three times as meadow-land, and three times as forest.”[3]

[3] “I bin so grau,
I bin so alt,
Denk di dreimal als Wies’,
Und dreimal als Wald!”

Some people say that King Laurin on leaving his castle went to fight against giants and dwarfs in the country from Tirol’s Rosengarten, down to the charming Lago del Gardo, and towards Verona, where he was ultimately baptized, and became a Christian.

_THE PETRIFIED LOVERS OF KRAMSACH._

Near Kramsach, in the Under-Inn valley, on the spot where the Brandenberg Achenthal commences, lie on the Middle Mountain some small lakes, and above the farms called Mösern and Freundsheim, about three miles above Kramsach, stands another beautiful lake, close beneath the Mooswand mountain, and above the lake is still to be seen the ruin of an old stronghold, called the Gruckenbühl. The daughter of the last Baron who resided there was passionately fond of a poor forester, and when the proud and cruel Baron came to hear of the secret rendezvous between his daughter and the huntsman, he ordered him, one pitch-dark night, to be chased out of the castle by the hounds, and, in the hurry of the flight, the poor fellow fell over a rock into the See, and was drowned.

After this act of cruelty and injustice, the poor girl wandered about silent and abstracted, and would neither enter into any amusement, nor take part in any ordinary pursuit of life. One day she went with her maid down to the lake, and, as she looked into its gloomy depths, she saw the dead body of her lover, and, in the frenzy of grief, she threw herself down into the water. The maid ran home recounting this misfortune, and when the wicked Baron, with all his retinue, arrived on the borders of the lake, neither the body of his poor daughter nor that of the forester were to be found. The two lovers had been changed into rocks, both of which rise out of the lake, like little islands; the one overgrown with ferns and water weeds, and the other bare as a polished piece of granite.

_THE GOLD-SEEKER OF THE TENDRES FARM._

Between Reshen and Nauders lies the Tendres Farm, and the old farmer, who is still living there, recounts the following tale:--