Household stories from the Land of Hofer

But it was all too new and too exciting for her to feel any misgivings yet. She amused herself with turning over all her fine things, and fancied herself very happy.

In another day or two the Hof of good neighbour Bartl was put up for sale, and another visit to the Bergmännlein enabled her to become the purchaser. She thus became the most important proprietor in Reith; but she was so little used to importance that she did not at all perceive that the people treated her very differently from the former proprietor of the Hof.

Before him every hat was doffed with alacritous esteem due to his age and worth. But poor Aennerl hardly received so much as the old greeting, which in the days of companionship in poverty had always been the token of good fellowship with her, as with every one.

It was long before any suspicion that she was mistrusted reached the mind of Aennerl. In the meantime she enjoyed her new condition to the full. Weekly visits to the Röhrerbüchel enabled her to purchase every thing she desired; and when the villagers held back from her, she ascribed their diffidence to the awe they felt for her wealth.

In time, however, the novelty began to wear off. She grew tired at last of giving orders to her farm-servants, and watching her sleek cattle, and counting her stores of grain. That Jössl had not been to see her, she never ascribed to any thing but his respect for her altered condition; and she felt that she could not demean herself by being united to a lad who worked for day-wages.

Still grandeur began to tire, and her isolation made her proud, and angry, and cross; and then people shunned her still more, and upon that she grew more vexed and angry. But, worse than this, she got even so used to her riches that she quite forgot all about the Nickel to whom she owed them. Her farm was so well stocked that it produced more than her wildest fancies required; she had no need to go back to the Röhrerbüchel to ask for more gold, and she had grown too selfish to visit it out of compassion to the dwarf.

The Bergmännlein upon this grew disappointed; but his disappointment was of a different kind from Jössl’s. He was not content to sit apart and sulk; he was determined to have his revenge.

One bleak October night, when the wind was rolling fiercely down from the mountains, there was a sudden and fearful cry of “Fire!” in the village of Reith. The alarm-bells repeated the cry aloud and afar. The good people rose in haste, and ran into the lane with that ready proffer of mutual help which distinguishes the mountain-folk.

The whole sky was illumined, the fierce wind rolled the flames and the smoke hither and thither. It was Aennerl’s Hof which was the scene of the devastation. The fire licked up the trees, and the farm, and the rooftree before their eyes. So swift and unnatural was the conflagration that the people were paralyzed in their endeavour to help. One ran for ladders, another for buckets; but before any help could be obtained the whole homestead was but one vast bonfire. Then, madly rushing to the top of the high pointed roof, might be seen the figure of Aennerl clothed only in her white night-dress, and shrieking fearfully, “Save me! save me!” Every moment the roof threatened to fall in, and the agonized beholders watched her and sent up loud prayers, but were powerless to save.

Suddenly, on the road from Goign a figure was seen hasting along. It was the Goigner Jössl. Would he be in time? The crowd was silent now, even their prayers were said in silence, for every one gasped for breath, and the voice failed. A trunk of an old branchless tree yet bent over the burning ruins. Jössl had climbed that trunk and was making a ladder of his body by which to rescue Aennerl all frantic from the roof. Will he reach her? Will his arm be long enough? Will he fall into the flame? Will he be overpowered by the smoke? See! he holds on bravely. The smoke rolls above his head, the flames dart out their fierce fangs beneath him! He holds on bravely still. He calls to Aennerl. She is fascinated with terror, and hears him not. “Aennerl! Aennerl!” once more, and his voice reached her, and with it a sting of reproach for her scornful conduct drives her to hide her face from his in shame.

“Aennerl! Aennerl!” yet once again; and he wakes her, as from a dream, to a life like that of the past the frenzy had obliterated. She forgets where she is; but the voice of Jössl sounded to her as it sounded in the years gone by, and she obeys it mechanically. She comes within reach – and he seizes her! But the flames are higher now, and the smoke denser and more blinding. “Jesus Maria! where are they? They have fallen into the flames at last! Jesus, erbarme Dich ihrer60!”

“Hoch! Hoch! Hoch61!” shouts the crowd, a minute later. “They are saved, Gott sei dank, they are saved!” and a jubilant cry rings through the valley which the hills take up and echo far and wide.

On the edge of the crowd, apart, stands a little misshapen old man with grey, matted hair and beard, whom no one knows, but who has watched every phase of the catastrophe with thrilling emotion.

It was he who first raised the cry that they had fallen into the flames; and the people sickened as they heard it, for he spoke it in joy, and not in anguish. In the gladness of the deliverance they have forgotten the old man, but now he shouted once more, as he dashed his hood over his head in a tone of disappointed fury, “I did it! and I will have my revenge yet!”

“No; let there be peace,” said Jössl, who had deposited Aennerl in safe hands, and now came forth to deal one more stroke for her; “let there be peace, old man, and let bygones be bygones.”

“Never!” said the Cobbold; “I have said I will have my revenge, and I will have it!”

“But,” argued Jössl, “have you not had your revenge? All you gave her you have had taken away – she is as she was before: can you not leave her so?”

“No!” thundered the dwarf; “I will have the life of her before I’ve done.”

“Never!” in his turn shouted Jössl; and he placed himself in front of the elf.

“Oh, don’t be afraid,” replied the dwarf, with a cold sneer, “I’m not going after her. I’ve only to wait a bit, and she’ll come after me.”

Jössl was inclined to let him go, but remembering the instability of woman, he thought it better to make an end of the tempter there and then.

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1

It is common in England to speak of Tirol as “the Tyrol;” I have used the name according to the custom of the country itself.

2

The name for “the wild huntsman” in North and South Tirol.

3

The Beatrìk of the Italian Tirol is, however, a milder spirit than the Wilder Jäger of the northern provinces. He is also called il cacciatore della pia caccia, because he is supposed only to hunt evil spirits.

4

The name in Vorarlberg.

5

The three helpers against the plague. There are many churches so called in Tirol.

6

“Schliess die Kammer fein,

Sonst kommt der Norg herein.”

7

The Meierhof was the homestead of a small proprietor standing midway between the peasant and the noble.

8

Mistress of the Meierhof.

9

Literally, “high lakes;” i. e. lakes on a high mountain level. There are three such in the valley of Matsch, the inundations of which often work sad havoc.

10

“Morgen oder Heut

Kommt die Zahlzeit.”

11

The “home of the wolves;” a nickname given to Matsch, because still infested by wolves.

12

On Midsummer-day.

13

The local names of two favourite kinds of grass.

14

St. Martin is considered the patron of mountain pastures in Tirol.

15

That the Norgs should be at one time represented as incapable of comprehending what death was, and that at another their race should be spoken of as dying out, is but one of those inconsistencies which must constantly occur when it is attempted to describe a supernatural order of things by an imagery taken from the natural order.

16

From tarnen, to conceal, and Haut, skin; a tight-fitting garment which was supposed to have the property of rendering the wearer invisible. It was likewise sometimes supposed to convey great strength also.

17

Literally, “crystal palace.” Burg means a palace no less than a citadel or fortress; the imperial palace in Vienna has no other name.

18

Ignaz von Zingerle, in discussing the sites which various local traditions claim for the Rosengarten of King Lareyn, or Laurin, says, “Whoever has once enjoyed the sight of the Dolomite peaks of the Schlern bathed in the rosy light of the evening glow cannot help fancying himself at once transported into the world of myths, and will be irresistibly inclined to place the fragrant Rose-garden on its strangely jagged heights, studded by nature with violet amethysts, and even now carpeted with the most exquisite mountain-flora of Tirol.”

19

Cornfield.

20

Nobleman’s residence.

21

In the mediæval poems the shade of the Lindenbaum is the favourite scene of gallant adventures.

22

The heroes of the old German poetry are frequently called by the epithet “sword” —ein Degen stark; ein Degen hehr; Wittich der Degen, &c., &c.

23

Hildebrand, son of Duke Herbrand and brother of the Monk Ilsau, one of the persons of the romance of “Kriemhild’s Rose-garden,” is the Nestor of German myths. He was the instructor of Dietrich von Bern (Theodoric of Verona). We find him sought as the wise counsellor in various undertakings celebrated in the mediæval epics; he is reputed to have lived to the age of 200 years.

24

This was commonly the office of the daughter of the house.

25

This would appear to have been the usual custom in the middle ages after a meal.

26

See note, p. 35.

27

The German legends are inclined to extol the heroism of Dietrich von Bern, better known to us as Theodoric, King of the Visigoths, who, after his conquests in Italy, built a palace at Verona, and made it his seat of government; but the traditions of Verona ascribe his great strength and success, both as a hunter and warrior, to a compact with the Evil One. His connexion with the Arians, his opposition towards the Popes, and his violent destruction of the churches of Verona, were sufficient to convince the popular mind at his date that his strength was not from above. Procopius relates that his remorse for the death of Symmachus haunted him so, that one day when the head of a great fish was served at table, it appeared to him as the head of his murdered relative, and he became so horrified that he was never able to eat any thing afterwards. The Veronese tradition is, that by his pact with the devil, evil spirits served him in the form of dogs, horses, and huntsmen, until the time came that they drove him forth into their own abode (Mattei Verona Illustrata). In the church of St. Zeno at Verona this legend may be seen sculptured in bas-relief over the door. In the mythology of some parts of Germany he is identified, or confounded, with the Wild Huntsman (Börner, Sagen aus dem Orlagau, pp. 213, 216, 236). In the Heldenbuch he is called the son of an evil spirit. He is there distinguished by a fiery breath, with which he overcomes dwarfs and giants; but he is said to be ultimately carried off into the wilds by a demon-horse, upon which he has every day to fight with two terrible dragons until the Judgment Day. Nork cites a passage from Luther’s works, in which he speaks of him (cursorily) as the incarnation of evil, showing how he was regarded in Germany at his day (“It is as if I should undertake to make Christ out of Dietrich von Bern” —Als wenn ich aus Dietrich von Bern Christum machen wollte).

28

Wigand, man of valour.

29

We often find the heroes’ trusty swords called by a particular name: thus Orlando’s was called Durindarda, it is so inscribed in his statue in the porch of the Duomo at Verona; and the name of King Arthur’s will occur to every one’s memory.

30

Him of Verona.

31

This hardening power of dragons’ blood was one of the mediæval fables.

32

Bearing a red banner thus was equivalent to a declaration of hostile intent.

33

These it was knightly custom for the vanquished to surrender to him who had overcome him.

34

The Styrian.

35

A Schirmschlag was a scientifically-manœuvred stroke, by which he who dealt it concealed himself behind his shield while he aimed at any part of his adversary’s body which presented an undefended mark. But Theodoric drew the stroke without even having a shield for his own defence.

36

The Norgs are not always spoken of as pagans; many stories of them seem to consider them as amenable to Christian precepts. The ancient church of the village of St. Peter, near the Castle of Tirol, is said by popular tradition to have been built by them, and under peculiar difficulties; for while they were at work, a giant who lived in Schloss Tirol used to come every night and destroy what they had done in the day, till at last they agreed to assemble in great force, and complete the whole church in one day, which they did; and then, being a complete work offered to the service of God, the giant had no more power over it.

37

It was an old German custom that no flagons or vessels of the drinks should be put on the table; but as soon as a glass was emptied it was refilled by watchful attendants.

38

Lautertrank, by the description of its composition, seems to have been nearly identical with our claret-cup. Moras was composed of the juice of mulberries mixed with good old wine.

39

Concerning Theodoric’s fiery breath, see note, p. 39. All the myths about him mention it. The following description of it occurs in the legends of “Criemhild’s Rosengarten:” —

“Wie ein Haus das dampfet, wenn man es zündet an,

So musste Dietrich rauchen, der zornige Mann.

Man sah eine rothe Flamme geh’n aus seinem Mund.”

[“As a house smokes when it is set on fire, so was the breath of Theodoric, the man of great anger; a red flame might be seen darting from his mouth.”]

40

The power of the Norgs to pass in and out through the rock is one of the characteristics most prominently fabled of them. Sometimes we hear of doors which opened spontaneously at their approach, but more often the marvel of their passing in and out without any apparent opening is descanted on.

41

The value and efficacy ascribed in the old myths to a virgin’s blessing is one form in which the regard for maiden honour was expressed.

42

The dwarfs who were considered the genii of the mineral wealth of the country were a sub-class of the genus dwarf. Their myths are found more abundantly in North Tirol, where the chief mines were worked.

43

A deserted mine is called in local dialect taub.

44

Miners.

45

i. e. Joseph of Goign, a village near St. Johann. Such modes of designation are found for every one, among the people in Tirol.

46

Ann.

47

Every body wears feathers according to their fancy in their “Alpine hats” here, but in Tirol every such adornment is a distinction won by merit, whether in target-shooting, wrestling, or any other manly sport; and, like the medals of the soldier, can only be worn by those who have made good their claim.

48

Hof, in Tirol, denotes the proprietorship of a comfortable homestead.

49

To Spaniards the outline of a mountain-ridge suggests the edge of a saw —sierra; to the Tirolese the more indented sky-line familiar to them recalls the teeth of a comb.

50

Garnets and carbuncles are found in Tirol in the Zillerthal, and the search after them has given rise to some fantastic tales – of which later.

51

Carbuncle.

52

Pray for him.

53

District.

54

Wild Georgey.

55

In some parts of Tirol where the pastures are on steep slopes, or reached by difficult paths – particularly the Zillerthal, on which the scene of the present story borders – it is the custom to decide which of the cattle is fit for the post of leader of the herd by trial of battle. The victor is afterwards marched through the commune to the sound of bells and music, and decked with garlands of flowers.

56

“Just as I wanted you.”

57

Little Frederick.

58

A local expression for a village fête.

59

The old race of innkeepers in Tirol were a singularly trustworthy, honourable set, acting as a sort of elder or umpire each over his village. This is still the case in a great many valleys out of the beaten track.

60

“Have mercy on them!”

61

The cry which in South Germany is equivalent to our “hurrah!”