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GADDING S WITH
A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE
IfWA BAILLIE GROHMAN
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GADDINGS
WITH A
PRIMITIVE PEOPLE
BEING A SERIES OF SKETCHES
OF TYROLESE LIFE AND CUSTOMS
BY
W. A. BAILLIE GROHMAN
NEW YORK
H. HOLT AND COMPANY
1878
TO
THE KEENEST OF ROYAL SPORTSMEN,
gis 3&0gal gigfjtuss,
ERNEST II.,
REIGNING DUKE OF S AXE-CO BURG-GOTH A, KNIGHT OF
THE GARTER, ETC., ETC.,
IN HUMBLE ACKNOWLEDGMENT AND GRATEFUL
REMEMBRANCE OF
THE KIND HOSPITALITY
EXPERIENCED AT HIS HANDS BY
THE AUTHOR.
PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
THE advance-sheÄs of Mr. Grohman's " Gaddings with
a Primitive People" contained.so much of merit, that
the attention of those who were considering the advisability
of publishing the book in America was stimulated toward
the author's earlier work entitled "Tyrol and the Ty-
rolese." It was ultimately concluded that, whatever might
be the success in this country of either book alone, a
greater success would certainly attend a volume containing
the best points of both.
In attempting, however, to arrange such a volume, the
realization was soon reached, that all the points were too
good to lose ; and the result was that, with the exception of
repetitions, the substance of both books is contained in the
one here presented.
In combining the two masses of material into an organic
whole, some parts naturally fell out of the original sequence.
Moreover, as the later book could not, before publication,
have the benefit of the revision which the call for a second
edition had secured for the first one, some effort was made
during the re-arrangement to give it such a benefit, especially
in particulars where its style differed unfavorably from that
of the book which the author had revised. In addition, a
careful index has been substituted for the detailed tables of
contents given in the original works.
The place among American publications into which, after
vi PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
some vicissitudes, the advance-sheets of " Gaddings with a
Primitive People " ultimately fell, required that the book
should be published, if at all, before it would be possible to
communicate with the author regarding the changes. While
the present book was in press, however, a strange testimonial
to the judiciousness of its preparation was received from
a notice of " Gaddings with a Primitive People " in the
London Athenaeum, where an entirely independent critic
suggested the very proceedings which had already resulted
in the preparation of this volume. It is but fair, though,
that its American sponsors should assume the blame for
any infelicities of arrangement that may attract attention,
and bespeak for the author the praise which, they feel con¬
fident, the reader will often be moved to bestow.
New York, July i, 1878.
PREFACE.
" Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her,"
I VENTURE to express the humble hope that " Gaddings
with a Primitive People " will be received by my readers
in the spirit in which it is written.
Written out as all Alpine subjects are reputed to be, I
would modestly point out that this impeachment only holds
good as regards surface matter ; for, to speak of the country
I am now describing, not one but many volumes could be
compiled, had one the wish to do full justice to all that is
strange, quaint, and out-of-the-way, in the " Land in the
Mountains."
Let this volume be accepted as a feeble attempt to do this.
If it fails, the pen assuredly has caused the failure ; if it
succeeds, the subject has wrought success.
A few years more, and the national scenes I have depicted
here will be tales of the past. High pressure civilization,
and that curse of modern creation, the traveling tourist, are
fast dismantling Tyrol of the 'fiharm of primitive seclusion
no less than of the time-hallowed customs and relics of
mediaeval life, that to me have formed its chief attraction.
One point is left, upon which I think it right to offer some
explanation, especially to those of my readers whose views
respecting the salutary influence of the Roman Catholic
Church upon a people, and especially upon the lower ranks
vii
viii
PREFACE.
o£ society, differ from those which they will find I betray on
one or two occasions.
Let the reader remember throughout this volume, that it
is not intolerance or a spirit of antagonism, based on pre¬
judice, that leads me to speak as I do of the disastrous
results of the Roman Catholic rule in Tyrol. Nor is it in
mere caviling at the ordinances of a creed, when, moved by
the sight of an intelligent race chained down by an over¬
bearing and intolerant Church, I perhaps lose sight of the
fact that I am myself but an intruder who, to begin with, is
bound to respect the ordinances of the people among whom
he has chosen to reside. But it is just my long residence
that urges me to forget that circumstance ; for not only have
I been taught to respect the people for their upright and
manly qualities of character, but my sympathy has been
enlisted by their unhappy thralldom in the ever-dark dungeon
of ignorance. Only a very intimate acquaintance with them
will show one to what an extent the two chief blemishes
upon the national character — bigotry, and laxity of morals
— must be ascribed to the policy pursued by the Roman
Curia in this her chief stronghold.
Schloss Matzen, Brixlegg, Tyrol>
April, 1878.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION OF
TYROL AND THE TYROLESE,
WHICH BOOK IS INCORPORATED IN THE PRESENT VOLUME.
IN laying the second edition of "Tyrol and the Tyrolese "
before the public, it becomes my duty — one of the most
pleasant that fall to the lot of an author — to express my
sense of gratitude for the kind praise bestowed on my book.
In preparing the second edition, I have taken pains to
remedy the errors and misprints that had crept in ; and noth¬
ing would be left for me to say, were it not my wish to touch
upon a charge brought by my reviewers, not against me, but,
what is tantamount to it in my eyes, against the people of
" the Land in the Mountains."
This race, my critics say, are, according to the account I
give of them, a treacherously cruel people. It is naturally
difficult to refute a charge of this kind in the face of the
ample evidence of the rough and shaggy coat that hides the
finer points of the Tyrolese character from the gaze of the
stranger. I must beg them, however, to remember that in
bringing out the national character as fully as I did, I was
mainly prompted by the wish to convey a perfectly truthful
picture to my reader's mind. This desire led me, I am
afraid, to dwell too long upon the dark sides of the ques¬
tion : roughness and a certain freedom of morals.
X PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
Eye-gouging and biting ofi one's opponent's fingers, rarely
as these casualties occur now-a-days in Tyrol, are undoubt¬
edly cruel and reprehensible expedients in a free fight; but
let me ask my critics, would they call the English a treacher¬
ous and cruel people because in England kicking a wife to
death, or brutally ill-treating a defenseless man, are daily
occurrences ?
The amount of respect shown to the female sex is gener¬
ally considered to be a true criterion for the nobleness of
man's character ; and if this rule is allowed to hold good for
nations at large, I have to own, Englishman as I am, that
the Tyrolese need not dread a comparison. Whatever be
the faults of the stanch old race dwelling in the recesses of
the Tyrolese Alps, treacherous or cowardly cruelty certainly
does not rank amongst them.
London, July, 1877.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF
TYROL AND THE TYROLESE,
WHICH BOOK IS INCORPORATED IN THE PRESENT VOLUME.
ACERTAIN value may, I hope, be imparted to this vol¬
ume by the fact that I have lived for many years in the
Tyrol, and being by parentage half an Austrian, and as well
acquainted with the German language as with my mother
tongue, am therefore more likely to gain a true insight into
the lives and characters of the Tyrolese than most writers
on the same subject, who have not this advantage.
My love for sport and a sound bodily constitution have
gone hand in hand in enabling me to acquire an accurate
acquaintance with the rough fashions of this picturesque
country ; and as they have brought me across many an odd
character lost to the world in some out-of-the-way nook
among these little-known mountains and valleys, I have had
many adventures, some of which I have endeavored to relate
in the following pages.
It seems that some question has been raised relative to
the spelling of the word Tyrol. Without wishing to enter
more fully into the merits of the controversy, I may mention
that Tyrol was up to the beginning of this century, with
hardly any exception, spelled with a " y." It is only within
the last fifty or sixty years that the letter " i " has supplanted
xi
xii PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
it ; and at present we find that the word is generally spelled
Tirol. The fact that a number of geographical names have
undergone in this half-century precisely the same change as
the word Tyrol, and that the "foreign" letter "y" is hardly
ever used by Germans, does not render the spelling of the
word Tirol less incorrect; for we must remember through¬
out this whole question that the derivation of Tyrol is not,
as many suppose, from " Teñóles," but from " Tyr," a "for¬
tress in the mountains," in which sense we find it in use as
early as the ninth century.
I may finally remark that two of the chapters in this vol¬
ume have appeared in the shape of sketches in " The Alpine
Journal."
Schloss Matzen, Brixlegg, Tyrol.
December, 1875.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. The Schloss, the Landscape, and the People, i
II. The Paradise Play 29
III. The Chamois and the Chamois-Stalker. . . 55
IV. An Encounter with Tyrolese Poachers . . 72
V. The Blackcock 86
VI. Priesthood and Superstition 98
VII. Alpine Characters: the Village Priest . . hi
VIII. Alpine Characters: the Village Schoolmas¬
ter 131
IX. Alpine Characters : the Antiquarian in
Tyrol 153
X. Alpine Characters: the Woodcutter ... 171
XI. Alpine Characters: the Smuggler 190
XII. Alpine Characters : the Mountain Belle . . 208
XIII. A Peasant's Wedding 230
XIV. More about Weddings in the Alps .... 250
XV. A Tyrolese "Kirchtag" and Rifle-Match . 273
XVI. A Visit to a Tyrolese Peasant Watering-
Place 289
XVII. The Golden Eagle and its .¿Erie 316
XVIII. An Alpine Walk 333
XIX. A Winter Ascent of the Gross Glockner . 361
APPENDIX.
Additional Details of Marriage Customs .... 377
xiii
GAD DIN GS WITH A PRIMITIVE
PEOPLE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SCHLOSS, THE LANDSCAPE, AND THE PEOPLE.
THE table I am writing on is a worm-eaten structure
of unwieldy shape, adorned with Renaissance carving,
and provided with numberless drawers and strange out-of-
the-way secret springs. The chair I occupy is of com¬
fortable but highly antiquated build; its dingy leather
cover, studded at the sides with massive embossed nails,
once formed part of the primitive furniture in one of the
favorite castle shooting-boxes of that enthusiastic royal
sportsman of the later Middle Ages, — the Emperor Maxi¬
milian I. The very air I breathe is that of bygone cen¬
turies. The grim time-worn tower of huge proportions,
looming into the room through the broad low window
glazed with diamond-shaped panes, was the work of
Roman stonemasons. It marked the strong and histori¬
cally well-known " station " Masciacum, on the high road
from barbaric Germany to civilized Italy. In the clois¬
tered courtyard once pranced the barbed steeds of the
powerful knights, — von Frundsberg, the martial fore¬
father of a warlike descendant ; the great Condottieri, of
the sixteenth century ; and burly Georg von Frundsberg,
2 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
whose " children," as he loved to term his savage, un¬
ruly troopers, the famed and dreaded Landsknechte,"
played such a conspicuous rôle at the sack of Rome. In
the deep rock-hewn cellars of amazing depth and size
were stored the rich vintages of Italy and the East, with
which the Rothschilds of the Middle Ages, the Fugger
and Fiegers of Augsburg and Nürnberg, the successors
of the Frundsbergs, entertained their princely guests.
The vaulted hall rang with the voices of half a dozen gen¬
erations of the richest and most notable families of the
country. And now what is left of all the glory of by¬
gone centuries, of all the sumptuous fittings-up of this
abode of feudal wealth ? Nothing! The shell of the old
castle, it is true, still stands, and the Roman tower, stained
with the antique tint of some sixteen or seventeen centu¬
ries, has withstood time, no less than the two old bells
hanging in a miniature belfry, open on all sides to the
keen blast of furious winter gales which at weird hours of
the night set them ringing in a dismal fashion, and have
served in no little measure to transform the ruin into the
reputed haunt of hobgoblins and specters, — a reputa¬
tion which the paneless windows, the battered roof, and
general aspect of utter decay did not tend to remove.
Alas ! Time, fierce wars, and a destructive fire have
united to convert the once noble castle into a shapeless,
burnt-out shell. So have been reduced hundreds of its
kindred that were once the mighty strongholds of power¬
ful Tyrolese nobles more famous than the notorious Rhen¬
ish knights for their warlike spirit, and for their daring
deeds of highwaymanry.
Lost in a deep revery, a stranger once stood, one balmy
September evening some four years ago, at a window on the
top floor of this building. It evidently had been once an
oriel window of noble proportions, and provided in front
with a small balcony standing out over a giddy height
and overlooking the whole country near. Ruthless hands
had wrecked it for the sake of its marble, and had
wrenched the solid fluted framework of the same material
from the massive masonry. The jagged, irregular orifice
TILE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 3
which remained in the thick wall served as a frame in
picturesque harmony with the lovely landscape rolled oui
at his feet : in the foreground the silver streak of the
swift " Inn at both sides the lofty mountains whose
wooded offshoots sweep down to it in undulating lines of
rare beauty, each one diffused and rendered distinct by a
different autumnal tint, such as one can only see in the
High. Alps. In the background, a chain of glacier peaks
bounds the picture.
The broad Innvalley lying in calm loveliness at his feet
conjures up visions of bygone times, when through this
very valley, and in two or three others of Tyrol's chief
vales, ran the most noted high roads of commerce, con¬
necting the civilized world of Italy with the barbaric north.
This very road, winding along the fertile expanse in
pleasing curves, was made nigh upon eighteen hundred
years ago for the Roman legions advancing northward
slowly but surely. Along it sprang up the strongly forti¬
fied stations so well known to the historian as the mile¬
stones of civilization. The grim old tower lording over
this castle is one of them ; and in the distance are two
more, both marking the site of feudal strongholds that
centuries later were erected round their base by the serfed
villains of the Middle Ages. Following the early caravans
of armed traders, came the motley array of Crusaders,
and at their heels trooped the turbulent armies of the
great Hohenstaufifen Emperors, one and all pressing south¬
wards; the one having for its visionary goal the Holy
Shrine, the other, the vast Roman Empire.
Tyrol's grand history aids the imagination, and gives
birth to visions as romantic as they are profuse. Its posi¬
tion close to the old Bavarian frontier made it in olden
times the constant scene of strife and warfare. Sieges as
sanguinary as they were protracted tried the mettle of
the warlike old race of Frundsbergers. We hear of one
of them, valiant Ulrich, defending Castle Matzin for
seven long weeks against a large Bavarian army intent
upon reducing the stronghold that barred the way to the
rich and fertile Unter Innthal, their favorite resort foi
4 GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
plunder. We see the last of that mighty race, the ill-
starred Hohenstauff Conradin, in whom were centered
his partisan's most ambitious projects, pass under our
window, the youthful but proudly dominant commander
of that huge army of thousands of chainmailed knights,
the noblest that mighty Germany possessed, and all as
eager as their juvenile king to wrench the crown of Naples
from his traitor uncle. We watch the vast train wind¬
ing serpent fashion through the sunny vale at our feet,
and our eyes rest upon the slim boyish figure of the royal
youth, and on that of his former playmate, now friend
and banneret knight, Frederic of Frundsberg, the no less
youthful owner of our old ruin, then a proud feudal cas¬
tle. From the very window we now occupy, his doting
mother, the noble Lady Elizabeth, probably waved him
her last adieu. Alas ! weary were the hours and days she
stood here watching for the return of her much-loved
son ; and many more were the suns that rose and set ere
she learnt that her boy, like most of his companions in
arms, fell for the cause of his royal friend Conradin,
whose lamentable end under the executioner's axe, on
the market-place at Naples, forms the most tragic episode
in the tragic history of his mighty race.
The last rays of the setting sun were tingeing the far-off
glaciers a roseate hue, and the evening bells of two dis¬
tant churches were blending their melodious sounds, when
the lonely stranger whose train of thought we have been
following turned away from his lofty point of view, and
after traversing suites of empty rooms, dismally gaunt and
spectral in the dusk, slowly descended flight upon flight
of creaking stairs, and finally stepped out into the clois¬
tered courtyard. It was surrounded on three sides by
lofty buildings, while on the fourth loomed the Roman
tower. The ground was strewn with the marble fragments
— covered by lichen, and embedded in tall grass—of the
large well that once had adorned its center. The mass¬
ive portal of huge beams, iron-plated on the outside,
stood open, and through the covered gateway a flood of
golden evening light permeated the deep dusk of the
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. S
romantic court. A smile of pleasure flits over the wan¬
derer's face ; and when, after some little time, he leaves
the picturesque old castle, a resolution seems stamped
upon his brow. Before twenty-four hours have elapsed,
the venerable pile has changed hands, and a new era
dawns for it ; four years have altered its interior aspect,
though not its exterior, which has lost none of that look
of moldy age so dear to the lover of the old ; the anti¬
quarian taste of its owner has rendered it at least inhabit¬
able ; and glancing up from his writing, and allowing his
eyes to rove over the lovely landscape visible through the
renovated oriel window, a smile of gratification flits over
his face as he recalls to himself the pleasant excitement
incidental to this his first trophy of curiosity-hunting in
It may well amaze even those who have been whirled
in the train through the two or three chief valleys of
Tyrol, to learn that this country, with a population con¬
siderably less than half that of Yorkshire, contains five
hundred and thirty-seven old castles.
These Tyro lese castles form so picturesque a feature
in scenery nearly always grand and striking, that the in¬
dulgent reader will excuse my inviting him to visit one
of their number ere I lay before him the results of my
experience amongst the people. To this end he will
kindly accompany me up the steep path leading to the
ponderous iron-barred old gate giving entrance to one of
the most ancient and historically interesting of Tyrolese
castles, — the home of this volume, — and after ascending
endless flights of stairs, find himself comfortably seated
in an armchair in front of the broad old-fashioned win¬
dow overlooking the whole of the country near.
Lying at your feet is a goodly stretch of the smiling,
exquisitely verdant valley of the Inn, skirted by two
parallel rows of noble peaks terminating in the far dis¬
tance with the glistening glacier world of the Oetz ana
Stubai Thäler.
As your eye glances down the giddy height and follows
6 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the upward course of the broad swift Inn at your feet, as it
winds like a band of silver through green meadows, eight
old castles, the remains of what were once feudal strong¬
holds, occupying the eminences of hills, or perched like
swallows' nests on the precipitous slopes of the adjacent
mountains, become discernible. Interspersed between
these hoary relics rise the amazingly slender, needle-
shaped spires of three churches, the houses belonging to
each village clustering round the sacred edifice. Of the
broad-roofed houses, hidden behind groves of apple or
nut-trees, little is to be seen ; and of such as are visible,
the greater part are of the velvety-brown timber which
is so sunny and pleasing to the eye. Only the blue rings
of smoke curling up in the gloriously-tinted evening
sky indicate the presence of human habitations secreted
behind bowers of trees. Fancy a dark green background
of precipitously rising mountains, covered with somber
pine forest, terminating in the gray cliffs that form the
eminences, thereby bringing the rich vegetation of the
verdant valley into close contrast with the sternness of
the impending peaks, and you have the type of a peace¬
ful sunny North Tyrolese landscape.
I say North Tyrolese, for Tyrol, divided into halves by
the high snow-peaked main chain of the Alps, represents,
taken as a whole, two geographically distinct countries.
North Tyrol can be identified to all practical purposes
with the German cantons of Switzerland, having an
Alpine climate, while the South, with its vineyards and its
genial air, is akin to fertile Italy. This perfect dissimi¬
larity of Northern to Southern Tyrol renders a cursory
glance at the physical appearance of the latter indispens¬
able in order to form a faithful conception of the whole
country.
Removing our chair of observation to a window of any
one of the numerous castles of-Meran in South Tyrol,
we have, though at a distance of scarcely more than
seventy-five miles as the crow flies, from our former
point of view, a landscape before our eyes as different
from the first as it well can be.
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 7
To the painter's palette supplied with various shades
of green and gray sufficient to depict North Tyrolese
scenery, we have to add the blue, yellow, and mauve of
Italian landscape.
The number of castles in our picture has increased
from eight to five and twenty or thirty. The rich ver¬
dant pasturages are supplanted either by scrubby brush¬
wood scorched to a somber brown, or by large expanses
of vineyards, while the dark green peaceful pine forests
have been replaced by the stunted fir of a brownish tint,
or by the ashy white dolomite rocks, unrelieved by a
single patch of green. In the valleys, again, the simple
cherry and apple-tree have given way to the far more
variegated and luxurious vegetation of a warmer zone,
producing, of course, a greater diversity in colors than is
created in the northern parts by the two or three shades
of green peculiar to Alpine vegetation.
Gigantic chestnut and nut-trees, ivy-clad ruins, and
venerable old castles in a good state of preservation, in
the foreground, with gardens and vineyards, surmounted
by ashy-toned cliffs, in the background, are the charac¬
teristics of South Tyrolese scenery.
If, with regard to the Tyrolese themselves, the experi¬
ence of many years spent in Tyrol gives me a right to
express an opinion varying somewhat from those of many
authors, I must say that I have found the Tyrolese in
matters of daily life a highly intelligent, bold, and exces¬
sively hard-working people, distinguished, even from the
inhabitants of other mountainous countries, by great
patriotism and by an innate unquenchable love for their
native soil, enhanced by a strangely chivalrous feeling of
manly independence. Regarding their warlike spirit, —
fostered, to a great extent, by their strong attachment to
the Hapsburg dynasty, — we need but refer to the endless
wars in which the Tyrolese were involved from the very
earliest times down to the present day. In the Middle
Ages the country was hardly ever in a state of peace
from external or internal foes. Not only was it sur¬
rounded on four sides by dire enemies, the Venetians,
8 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Italians, Swiss, and Bavarians ; but the broad Inn and
the sunny Adige valley, connected by one of the lowest
passes over the Alps, formed the chief high road between
civilized Italy and rough Germany. Not only was this
highway, paved by Nature herself, used for commerce,
accompanied, however, by a calamitous system of rapa¬
cious highwaymanry, but it was also constantly crossed
and recrossed by victorious or defeated armies marching
to or returning from Italy. Whether these armies were
hostile or friendly to the Tyrolese, the results were always
disastrous to the highway.
There are, indeed, few countries that have suffered
from war and its dire calamities so much as Tyrol ; and
though its affairs occupy but a small space in the history
of Europe, yet to the student they afford quite as rich a
field for research as the history of many a mighty and
powerful kingdom.
Great heroism distinguished the Tyrolese on every
occasion, generally indeed bringing them out the victors
against odds. Their great power of endurance, superior
muscular force, indomitable courage, and a certain love
for fighting and hard knocks, have, since the time when
the generals of Charles V. and Maximilian recruited their
best soldiers from the country, gained them high repute,
quite apart from their deadly marksmanship, which even
Napoleon's best generals and picked troops could not
withstand.
Nothing demonstrates their innate love for their native
§oil more signally than the fact that, while in other coun¬
tries a portion of the inhabitants emigrate to more propi¬
tious territories, a genuine Tyrolese very rarely indeed
leaves his country for good. When their great purpose
of life, the accumulation of small fortunes, as peddlers,
musicians, or in other vocations, is accomplished, they
never fail to return to their home, and, settling down in
their native valley, enjoy the well-earned fruits of their
industry.
There is something very pleasing in this attachment to
the home soil, which parries a man steadfastly through
THE SC Ii LOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 9
difficulties, and incites him to overcome the ups and
downs of a wandering life, and lands him at last, after
twenty or five and twenty years' toil, in the promised land
of his desires. It seems strange to meet in some remote
comer of Tyrol men who, in the course of their constant
travels, have acquired a certain polish of manners as well
as a quite unlooked-for intelligence of thought and apti¬
tude of expression.
To be addressed by one of these traveled Tyrolese,
dressed maybe in the very roughest of national cos¬
tumes, perhaps even without a coat on his back or shoes
to his feet, in the North German dialect, or in French or
English, is indeed surprising.
Some of the men, particularly those who have traveled
in the character of Tyrolese singers, have visited the four
quarters of the globe. Many who are known to me have
exhibited their musical talents at the courts of all the
potentates of Europe, and a few even in New York, Phila¬
delphia, and San Francisco. One of the latter, Ludwig
Rainer,1 owner of a charming hotel on the beautiful
shores of the Achensee in Tyrol, related to me once his
various adventures while traveling in the United States.
He had been there three times. The first time, he fell
into the hands of scoundrels who rid him of every penny
he had put by; from the second trip he returned not
much the richer ; and only the third time did he manage
to amass the comfortable fortune he is reputed to possess.
Another man, now a well-to-do peasant, related to me
in capital English, interspersed, however, with copious
Yankee slang, how he had once been blown up on a
Mississippi steamboat; while a third, owner of a small
inn in the Pustertlial, on my asking him how he had come
by his lacerated face, told me that while out bear-shooting
in one of the Northern States of America, he had been
suddenly attacked by a female bear, and, not having time
to draw his knife, he had succeeded in throttling the ani¬
mal. The man's gigantic build and resolute demeanor
was to me the best proof of his veracity.
1 He and his troupe exhibited themselves, I think, on two occasions before our
Queen, and several times at the Paris and St. Petersburg courts.
10 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The traveler who wanders through the Defferegger val¬
ley, a remote Alpine glen high up among the mountains,
may, in certain months of the year, see a very singular
sight.
The annual total emigration of the n.ale population of
this valley compels the women to do the work of the men.
There is probably not a single man above eighteen or
twenty, and below sixty or seventy years of age, in that
valley for four of the spring and summer months.
You see women fell trees, drive their heavily-laden
carts, till the ground, gather fodder, chop wood ; and if
you enter one of the village inns you will see rows of
women, their short pipes in their mouths, and elbows lean¬
ing on the table, drinking their pint of Tyrolese wine after
their hard work.
A year or two ago I happened one Sunday evening to
be present when one of the female occupants of the bar¬
room in the chief inn of St. Jacob — I being the only
man present — read to her companions a letter she had
received that day from her husband, who at the time of
writing was at Salt Lake City, among the Mormons.
Though he was only a simple peddler in hosiery, his
graphic but inexpressibly quaint description of the city
and of the customs of its inhabitants was highly amusing.
Very singular and laughable it was to watch the effects of
this description on the minds of the simple women, who
had never heard of such a thing as the plurality of wives.
Such a state of things seemed to them the height of hu¬
man iniquity. Some thought the Mormons utter barba¬
rians, while others, evidently applying the rule to their
own homes, swore they would rather be killed than suffer
any female rivals in their houses.
The Defferegger folk collect the necessary means to
purchase their stock in trade by raising joint-stock com¬
panies. The man who contributes the largest sum of
money to one of these modest commercial enterprises is
also entitled to the proportionate amount of the net gains.
They keep no books, nor have they any security in hand
for the money invested ; mutual confidence, engendered
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. II
by a certain esprit de corps, with strict honesty among
themselves, is the base upon which these companies are
built. In their business transactions with strangers while
on their tours, they exhibit a sharpness quite unlooked for,
and their simple exterior and dull speech disguise in
most cases a very remarkable shrewdness.
Twenty or thirty years ago, a very brisk and remunera¬
tive cattle-trade existed between two Tyrolese valleys and
Russia. The traders in this business used to drive their
droves of twenty or thirty head themselves from Tyrol to
Central and Eastern Russia. When they could, they took
advantage of a water-course, as, for instance, down the
Danube to the Black Sea, thence along the coast by land
to Taganrog, and thence either north or north-east. The
large fairs at Nishnei Novgorod and Orenburg were vis¬
ited by them, and very frequently they penetrated far into
Asiatic Russia. Their journey thither often occupied
eight or nine months, so that one venture entailed an ab¬
sence from home of eighteen months or two years. The
prices which they realized for the highly-prized Tyrolese
cattle used for breeding purposes were naturally very
high; 500 ducats per head (about 250/.) was by no
means an unusual figure for a beast which they had
bought in their native valley for some eight or nine
pounds.
The risks from accidents, disease, or natural causes
were of course correspondingly high, and some men in
one venture lost their all by the murrain destroying their
drove, while others grew rich and prosperous in two or
three expeditions of this kind.
Now all this is changed. The Russians are loth to pay
fancy prices, and prefer getting their breeding cattle from
England at a quarter of the former cost ; but it neverthe¬
less gives us an idea of the intrepidity and commercial
intelligence that prompted so highly venturesome and
hazardous transactions.
Many a time have I been asked by some middle-aged
rustic if I have ever been in Wolgsk, or Uralsk, or Oren¬
burg, or Astrachan, and on my giving him a negative answer
12 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
I have had to put up with the retort, "Then you have been
nowhere." One or two villages in the two valleys that
monopolized the Russian cattle-trade are entirely peopled
by families who have grown rich in this trade, and who
are now slowly descending the social ladder, step by step,
till they reach the level of peasants, the stock from which
they sprang seventy or eighty years ago.
The Tyrolese peasant has been often compared with a
small freeholder in England, though of course the latter,
in comparison with a Tyrolese cultivator, lives in the
style of a prince or king. A peasant proprietor who owns
three or four acres of tolerable land maintains himself and
his family in a simple but comfortable manner ; he and
his son being sufficient for the labors of such a farm,
while his wife and daughters spin and make the greater
part of the family clothing.
There is, however, one very striking difference in the
circumstances of a small cultivator in England and a
peasant in Tyrol.
In the latter country all the cultivators are of one and
the same class, and therefore one has the same chance as
another ; while in England there are cultivators on a large
scale able to apply to the soil capital and skill with great¬
er advantage and economy than the small proprietor.
I have said that the Tyrolese exhibit a chivalrous inde¬
pendence of character arising from an innate confidence
in their own powers. I might qualify this observation by
remarking that a kindly, good-natured courteousness tow¬
ards the female sex, and a bold, half-defiant, half-saucy
bearing among themselves, are, generally speaking, marked
characteristics of the young Tyrolese rustics.
The exuberance of animal spirits, the self-confidence
engendered by muscular strength, and the jaunty, smart
appearance of a young fellow dressed out in his best,
give him a sort of a " cock-Of-the-walk " air, increased
by the fact that fighting is looked upon by a young Tyro¬
lese very much in the same light as by a shillelah-swing-
ing Irishman on a visit to Donnybrook fair.
This defiant or saucy air generally sticks to a man up
THE SC BLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 13
to eight and twenty or thirty. Later on it is supplanted
by the natural results of an excessively toilsome life, in
the shape of a somewhat stem and even morose expres¬
sion of face. An angular, spare, but well-knit and pow¬
erful frame replaces youthful agility and rounded forms.
Hard-worked as women are in the Tyrol, their lot is by
no means an unenviable one. They are uniformly treated
in a kind manner by their husbands, and wife-beating or
brutal handling of women is entirely unknown in the
country. Their relation to man in their spinster state re¬
minds us in many points of the chivalrous manners of
society some five or six hundred years ago. Morality is
about on the same par, and the lass who yields to the
solicitations of her lover who has proved his right in a
fierce fight with his rival or rivals, stands very much in
the position of the noble lady who, five centuries ago, re¬
warded victory in combat and tournament with her love.
The very poetry of the country is yet tinted with the sen¬
timents of the " Minnesänger." What other people in
Europe treat the whole subject of love in so quaint and
charming a manner ?
Nothing proves the vitality of this people more signally
than the survival of the spirit of bygone days. Given to
•bouts of hard drinking, rough towards men, kindly in his
manner to women, bold and warlike in his youth, cool
and self-possessed in his age, the Tyrolese peasant, un-
contaminated by civilization, may be said to represent a
strikingly true picture of a knight of the days of chivalry.
Poor and primitive as the Tyrolese are, and hard-work¬
ing as they, have to be, their lot is yet far preferable to
that of many inhabitants of rural districts in Italy, France,
England, and North Germany. The man, enjoying a life
of domestic happiness, ignorant alike of real want and
superfluity, the' woman, kindly treated by her husband,
surrounded by healthy curly-headed children, can bear
comparison with most, if not all, of the lower classes
throughout Europe.
Of the defiant bearing that characterizes the young
folk, I may give one or two examples. A custom very
14 GADÜINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
dear to a genuine Tyrolese is to adorn his Sunday and
fête-day hat with the tail-feathers of the blackcock ( Te¬
trao tetrix) and the " Gamsbart," the long dark brown
hair growing along that animal's back at certain seasons
of the year. The tail-feathers of the blackcock are
curved at the extremity ; but if they are turned round so
that the curve or " hook " comes to be placed in a con¬
trary direction to that usually worn, a man is at once
metamorphosed from a peaceful native into a quarrel-
seeking " Robbler."
The manner in which a fight is brought about by any
young fellow stung by the Robbler's defiant challenge is
extremely simple. Stepping up to him he asks, "Was
kost die Feder?" ("How much for the feather?") the
answer "Fünf Finger und ein Griff" ("Five fingers and a
grip " ) being followed, before one has time to look round,
by a hasty rush and a fierce struggle, ending frequently
in bloodshed. Some fifteen or twenty years ago, this prac¬
tice prevailed throughout the greater part of North Tyrol :
now, thanks to railways and tourists, it is confined to two
or three remote vales, where even at the present moment,
and I am speaking by experience, it is not safe for a
native of some other valley to sport a "turned " feather
of the blackcock if he does not wish to invite a challenge.
I need hardly mention that the naturally quick eye of
the Tyrolese detects at the first glance if a stranger, wear¬
ing a turned blackcock feather, is a Tyrolese or not. In
the latter case the stranger can rest assured that were his
hat garnished with twenty turned feathers no harm or insult
of any kind would come to him. I have often been amused
in watching the broad grin settling on the face, and mirth
lighting up the eyes of a native, as he sees a specimen of
that most terrible species of Continental tourists — some
spindle-shanked " Berliner," his " pincenez " on his nose,
or a pale-faced, shrunken Saxon — strutting about with
blackcock feathers on their hats, and displaying the inva¬
riable Gamsbart — both, in nine cases out of ten, shams
thrice overpaid — representing animals which these would-
be sportsmen have never seen out of a zoological garden,
much less shot.
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 15
The Zillerthal, in my opinion, and in that of every
traveler who has had occasion to see some of the really
beautiful scenery to be found in other parts of Tyrol,
scarcely deserves its fame for natural beauty, yet fifteen
years ago — before it had been spoilt by the wide-spread
repute of its landscape and quaint inhabitants, it exhibited
a curious medley of ancient and half-civilized customs.
Among these institutions of the past was the "Robbler,"
or " Haggler."
The fact that a village could boast of a "Robbler" of
repute as its champion at fêtes or weddings was a matter
of importance. If two such " Robblers," or even two
young fellows who claimed this honorary title, happened
to meet, or if one should hear his rival's loud jodier,
defiant and challenging to its last note, echo from moun¬
tain to mountain, he would hasten, guided by the sound
of the repeated jodier war-cries, to the spot where per¬
haps his foe was at work, and a fierce struggle for the
supremacy in that part of the country would ensue. On
these occasions severe injuries were the rule. A year or
two ago an old wrestler, a famous Robbler in his youth, died
in his native village in the Zillerthal. The numerous dis¬
figuring wounds on his body told the tale of many a fierce
combat in his youth. His left eye, the better part of his
nose, the tip of his ear, and two fingers were " missing ; "
he had also had an arm and a leg broken.
All this has now passed away. Such meetings, if they
do occur, are decided by more legitimate means ; and
certain laws and rules, strictly enforced by those present,
confine the combat to the limits of a mere wrestling match.
The use of the knife, at present even of frequent occur¬
rence in the Highlands of Bavaria, was always discounte¬
nanced by the Tyrolese. Although the opinion may not
be expressed in so many words, it is considered a cowardly
act by the natives, and a man once caught while wrestling
in the act of lowering his hand to the trouser-pocket from
which the handle of the knife protrudes, is shunned thence¬
forth, and any quarrel with him broken off.
Sunday or fête-day fights, originating in the Wirths-
16 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
häuser, or village inns, now and then occur still. The usual
cause of these fights is, of course, some buxom Helen,
somewhat too free and indiscriminate in the display of her
favors to her several admirers. It is obvious that the
responsibilities of "mine host" on Sunday and fête-day
evenings, when wine and schnapps have done their work,
are vastly increased.
A rural " wirth " in Tyrol is a being it would require a
whole book to depict with accuracy. A farmer himself,
and owner perhaps of four or five horses, he is not only
a man of importance in the village, but generally also of
comparative wealth, sure to be, or to have been once, at
the head of the "Vorstehung," or municipality. He is
" the " man who dares to avow any anti-orthodox opinion
in the face of an enraged priest; he heads the liberal
party, if there be any, in his village ; and his word very
frequently carries the day in any question of village fac¬
tion quarrel. Large, portly men generally, they have to
be firm and resolute ; " For," as a giant " wirth " once re¬
marked to me, " a wirth who cannot expel any one of his
quarrelsome or drunken guests can never hope to keep
order in his house." Though it would be going too far
to say that this is the rule, the "wirth's" position is
always one requiring men of firm and determined char¬
acter, who know, either by their bodily strength or by their
mental superiority, how to make themselves respected and
obeyed.
Nothing illustrates the stuff these men are made of bet¬
ter than the important part they played in the memorable
war with the French. Out of nine renowned leaders of
the Tyrolese peasant troops, no less than seven were
"wirthe;" among them the Wallace of Tyrol, Andreas
Hofer, the " Sandwirth," as the populace term him.
Rare as fights are now, the customs which rule these
encounters nevertheless vary a good deal according to
the locality. In some valleys the combatants content
themselves with throwing each other ; in others, again,
severe injuries are the rule. I once happened to be
present in the Upper Zillerthal at a fight between four
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 17
men. The ferocity of the combatants and the savage
way in which they attacked each other rendered it amaz¬
ing that no serious injuries were inflicted. An eye
scooped out and two bleeding heads were about the only
visible results. I was not a little struck with the cool
and off-hand manner in which the victim of the first-
named injury replaced his eye into the socket, to which
it had remained attached by some fibers. A strip of
cloth was bound over it, and the man rejoined his com¬
panions sitting round the table, all being the best friends
in the world now that the quarrel was once settled. I
may add that loss of the eyesight is by no means the
inevitable result of a " scooped-out " eye, as long as it
remains attached to the socket, and the nerves are not
injured. I know a man whose right eye has been twice
"scooped," and yet he sees perfectly well with it.
To give an idea of the hardships which fall to the lot
of a Tyrolese peasant, I will endeavor to recount the odd
features of some of the remote valleys noticed by me in
the course of my wanderings.
In the Wild-Schönau (North Tyrol) not a few of the
houses are built on such steep slopes that a heavy chain
has to be laid round the houses and fastened to some firm
object, a large tree, or boulder of rock, higher up. In
many of the side valleys of the " Pusterthal " manure and
earth, the latter to replace the poor soil exhausted in one
or two years, have to be carried up the precipitous slopes
in large baskets, or "kraksen," on the backs of men. In
one village off the Pusterthal, and in two others off the
Oberinnthal, many of the villagers come to church with
crampons1 on their feet, the terribly steep slopes on
which their huts are built, somewhat like a swallow's nest
on a wall, requiring this precautionary measure ; and they
are so accustomed to wear them constantly on their feet
during the week that on the Sunday they even come to
church with them.
1 A sort of iron sole, supplied with six or eight spikes an inch or an inch and
a half in length. The irons are securely strapped to the shoe by means of leather
or cord fastenings. They are of great help on precipitous slopes.
18 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
In Moos, a village not very far from the Brenner, having
a population of 800 inhabitants, more than 300 men and
women have been killed since 1758 by falls from the in¬
credibly steep slopes upon which the pasturages of this
village are situated. So steep are they, in fact, that only
goats, and even they not everywhere, can be trusted to
graze on them ; and the hay for the larger cattle has to
be cut and gathered by the hand of man.
The "Wildheuer" is very numerously represented in
the Tyrol. Their occupation is very similar to the one
just described, with the difference that a "wildheuer"
climbs the highest eminences, up to eight and nine thou¬
sand feet, in search for the long Alpine grass growing on
steep slopes. Armed with his crampons, he sets out on
his dangerous task. If the precipices are too high to
admit his precipitating the bundles of hay, closely packed
in a sort of net, down the declivity, he has no other
means of transporting it but to take the heavy burden,
exceeding often a hundredweight, on his shoulder, and
return by the same perilous path by which he ascended.
So common in Tyrol are valleys having amazingly pre¬
cipitous slopes, with not a patch of level ground in their
whole stretch, that we frequently meet with proverbs
quaintly illustrating the dangerous nature of a glen.
Thus of one (Hochgallmig) the saying runs : " Here the
hens have to walk on crampons, and the cocks use
Alpine poles." Of another : " If the swallows can't find
any walls of suitable height in the rest of Tyrol, they
come to Taufers " (Oberinnthal) "to build their nests on
the slopes of the valley."
In See, a tiny village in one of the remote glens off the
latter valley, the bodies of persons who had died in win¬
ter were formerly kept in the lofts of the houses till the
snow vanished from the path traversing a mountain over
8,000 feet high, which connected See with the village to
whose parish it belonged. See, however, with its popu¬
lation of 500 souls, has been recently added to a parish
not requiring ten or twelve hours to be reached.
In another valley the letter-carrier, who visits it once a
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. T9
fortnight (in summer), is obliged to wear crampons on
his feet for two days, and each day for more than twelve
hours.
In many villages the staple article of production is but¬
ter, which is carried over mountain paths to the next large
village or town.
Thus in Hinter-Dux about half of the male popula¬
tion of that valley are occupied during the summer
months in transporting this commodity to Innsbruck.
One of these men will carry t20 to 130 pounds, or about
150 English pounds, for eleven or twelve hours constantly
on his back, and traverse two very steep ridges of moun¬
tains over which the path to Innsbruck, their market for
butter, leads.
Considering the poor pay received by these carriers,
and the exceptional fatigue attendant upon the transport
of such a weight, it is astonishing that emigration is but
rarely resorted to by natives of the Hinter-Dux and other
valleys where similar precarious means of gaining a liveli¬
hood are the rule.
Strangers, oddly enough, very often find the unsophis¬
ticated population of the remoter parts of the country the
most difficult to deal with. This is caused to a great
extent by the suspicious shyness with which these rustics
glance at the strangely-dressed invader. Nothing aids
one's efforts to penetrate the outer coat of reserve, and
at the same time to gain a true insight into the lives and
characters of this people, so much as an assimilation to
their habits, customs, language, and dress. But very nat¬
urally too, as all travelers do not care to acquire the
necessary broad German, or to walk about in short "leath¬
ers " with an old hat on one's head, I must content my¬
self with asking the reader to make his own inferences
from the following sketches of Tyrolese life.
I may as well mention here that my adoption of the
native dress and language has very frequently been the
source of great amusement to me. A worn shooting-
jacket on the back, with, short time-stained " leathers "
displaying a bronzed knee, is an apparel that not only
2 o G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
opens the hearts of the natives, but also the minds of
unsuspicious tourists. . .
Many of my readers no doubt will know the exquisite
view from the "Matreier Thörl," — a pass^ intervening
between the two villages of Matrei and Kals in the Tyrol.
On a fine August day, two or three years ago, I was lying
at full length on the short grass, basking in the warm
afternoon sun, on the height of this pass. A three-days'
unsuccessful chamois-stalking expedition high up among
the opposite range of snowy peaks had brought me on
my return to civilized quarters across this height. Feel¬
ing rather tired, I determined to while away a few hours
till approaching dusk would render advisable a speedy
descent to Kals — for that day my goal. I had not been
more than half an hour thus enjoying the grand view and
the absolute and impressive tranquillity reigning around
me, when I perceived a group of tourists slowly climbing
the narrow path leading to the celebrated point of view,
on the height of the "Joch," or pass.
Retreating to a patch of rhododendrons a few yards off,
in order to be out of the way of the puffing and "winded "
tourists, I immediately learned on their arrival, by the
"charming"s, and "delightful"s, and "beautiful"s, that
fell from the lips of the three ladies that made up the
female contingent of the group, that the guess which I
had made on first seeing the group, when yet half a mile
distant, was right.
An hour or so was spent by the party in admiring the
view, sketching the valley at their feet, and deriving ani¬
mal comfort from sundry parcels and bottles produced
from the knapsacks of the two men, one evidently the
father, the other the son and apparently a university
man. The fact that they were unprovided with guides or
porters was explained in the course of their conversation
by the casual remark of one of the ladies that they hoped
their luggage had safely reached Kals, the village they
were intending to gain that evening.
Not wishing to play the eavesdropper any longer, I had
swung my "Rucksack" on to my shoulders, and was
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 21
just taking up my rifle in order to turn my steps Kals-
ward, when a hasty exclamation of one of the younger
ladies, to the purport that she desired to sketch me as
representing a typical Tyrolese chamois-hunter, made me
hasten away. The brother, evidently the only one of the
party acquainted with German, ran after me, intending to
secure me as a model for his sister. The excuse — in
German, of course — that I was pressed for time, and
had a walk of two or three hours before me, got rid of
this proposal, only, however, to get me into a worse
scrape. Asking me if I was going to Kals, he seemed
quite astonished to hear that it was nearly three hours off,
whereupon he informed his relatives of the unwelcome
piece of information gleaned from "this fellow," point¬
ing to me. Hardly able to suppress my laughter, but
desiring to retain my incognito, I was just going to pass
on, when my interrogator asked me in his execrable Ger¬
man if I would mind showing them the way down. My
hint that the path could scarcely be missed was met by
the further request of the ladies that I would carry their
shawls, which had thus far been fastened to their waists
by straps. Escape seemed impossible, and, not wishing
to be disobliging or uncivil, I assented. Ten minutes
later I was stalking in front of the file, now rid of their
shawls and knapsacks. The latter had been introduced
into my spacious " Rucksack " by the young man, who
imagined that I had not observed the addition of weight.
" These fellows don't feel fifteen or twenty pounds more
or less on their backs," was the off-hand speech with
which he quieted the remonstrance of one of his sisters.
Close behind me tripped the two girls, the parents in
the center, and the son closing the file. The confidential
conversation of the two young ladies, both bright and
handsome specimens of that most pleasing of England's
characteristics, — her fair sex, — to which I had to listen
for two long hours, must of course remain untold in these
pages : let it suffice that the concoction of a strategical
device how to get me into their sketch-books, inter¬
mingled with personal remarks, not uniformly flattering,
2 2 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
on my humble selfs appearance, formed the chief subject
of their constant chatter, making me rejoice that the even
path and their sure-footedness rendered the extension of
a helping hand to the two fair conspirators unnecessary.
Just before dark we reached the straggling village of Kals,
and the " Gasthaus," a modest but scrupulously clean little
inn.
Dreading to enter the house in the character of a por¬
ter, as I was well known to the host and the guides, who
were sure to be lingering about the entrance, I came to a
sudden halt a few yards from the inn. Unfastening the
knapsacks and bundle of shawls from my "Riicksack,"
with the intention of handing them to the two gentlemen
of the party, I meant to make off to another little inn,
where I hoped to be safe from any unwelcome dènoûment.
An ominous whispering, and the accompanying jingle
of loose money, made me recollect that my " porter "
character entitled me to a fee. " Here, my good fellow,
are two florins for your pains," were the last words I
heard, for with a sudden turn I was off, leaving the
" paterfamilias " rooted to the ground with outstretched
hand. Fate, however, meant differently, for with a slap
on my shoulder, and "Why, my dear Mr. Grohman,
where on earth are you off to in such a hurry?" I was
brought to a dead stop, not five yards from my bewildered
" employers."
A London barrister, whom I had accidentally met some
weeks before while on a mountaineering tour in the Dolo¬
mites, was thus destined to tear off my porter disguise,
and, what was far more disagreeable, made me the object
of profound excuses on the part of my late " masters."
Of the blushes of the two charming conspirators on see¬
ing the Tyrolese chamois-hunter transformed into a fel¬
low-countryman, whom they had unwittingly made their
confidant on more than one point, it is unnecessary to
speak; nor of the upshot of the whole mystification, a
charming supper in the little parlor of the inn, and a far
more charming tour in their company back to Lienz, and
into the heart of the Dolomites, followed, five or six
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 23
months later, by several very merry dinners in a certain
house not a hundred miles from Iiyde Park Corner.
On another occasion — for this incident recalls to my
mind a host of ludicrous scenes—while sitting-at a
crowded dinner-table in Schluderbach, near Ampezzo,
and chatting with a stout old monk, I had to lend an
unwilling ear to some very severe criticisms on the part
of two somewhat emancipated English ladies of a certain
age, on the beastly custom of my stout neighbor, of in¬
dulging in very frequent doses of snuff ; and then, when
that subject was exhausted, to no less stinging remarks
on my own appearance. A flannel shirt and a shooting-
jacket of Tyrolese cut are perhaps not the guise in which
I should care to appear at a Swiss table dlhote ; but for
the primitive Tyrolese hostelries, those two ladies exer¬
cised, I am inclined to think, somewhat too harsh a
judgment.
For the benefit of those of my readers who have never
had occasion to cross, the threshold of an Alp-hut or
chalet, I may add the following short sketch of these ele¬
vated summer abodes of vast numbers of Tyrolese. In
May, when the last streaks of snow have vanished from
the mountains of medium height, the peasants, now rid
of their autumnal stock of fodder, lead their herds of
cattle up to the juicy pasturages on the mountain slopes
that encircle their native valleys. These "Alps " or pas¬
turages are resorted to at different seasons, according to
their heights, and many of them, at an elevation of 6,000
and 7,000 feet above the level of the sea, afford the
necessary food for the cattle only for a short period.
Each pasturage is provided with a hut, the chalet or
Alp-hut, and a rich peasant will tell you that he has three
and four of these "Alps," situated one above the other at¬
an interval of an hour or more between each. Thus
when the grass on the lowest, which is first resorted to,
grows scarce, the herd and his cattle migrate to the one
higher up, and in this way the highest Alp-hut is reached
in the warmest season of the year, about the month of
July.
24 GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Poorer peasants have two Alps ; and if the peasant has
but a few head of cattle to call his own he will be even
content with one, though this may be said to be the
exception in all but the very poorest valleys.
The Alp-huts are simple log-huts divided into two
unequal divisions. The larger part at the rear provides
the necessary shelter for young cattle in wet or cold
weather, while the smaller front portion is the kitchenj
parlor, and bedroom of the man or woman to whose
guardianship the cattle are intrusted. On mountains
abounding with grassy slopes we find clusters of these
huts together, often to the number of twenty or thirty.
The interior of these huts is extremely primitive. The
fireplace occupies one of the corners, and is generally a
sort of pit or trench, dug around by way of a seat, sur¬
mounted by a crane, from which is suspended the huge
black caldron or kettle, the most necessary utensil for the
manufacture of cheese.
In large and prosperous Alp-huts these caldrons are
of amazing size ; and I well remember that in my younger
days it was my habit at night, while sojourning in these
châlets, to seek a warm though somewhat confined rest¬
ing-place in the inside of one of these giant kettles.
Once, in fact, I was nigh drowned by the " Senner," or
cowherd, pouring a huge pailful of water into the caldron,
ignorant as he was of its contents.
In Styria, Upper Austria, Salzburg, and certain valleys
in Tyrol, girls — strong, healthy-looking lasses — are the
occupants of these solitary huts, while in other parts of
Tyrol and in Switzerland a man guards the cattle intrusted
to him. If the peasant to whom the Alp belongs is
unable to afford to keep such a " Senner " or " Sennerin,"
his grown-up son or daughter, as the case may be, is sent
up in that character.
These people have but little opportunity of indulging
in that Arcadian leisure which romance assigns to ten¬
ants of solitary Alp-huts. The manufacture of cheese,
the churning of butter, the milking of the cows twice a
day, the cleaning and arrangement of the dairy-utensils,
THE SC H LO SS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 25
and the responsibility of keeping their flock from straying
into dangerous places, and attending on sick cattle, give
them constant and excessively arduous occupation.
A bed of straw and a blanket on a sort of projecting
balcony in the inside of the hut is their resting-place ; and
the stranger or native who seeks a night's shelter has to
content himself with the fragrant hay on the loft right
over the second partition where the cattle seek a welcome
shelter from the inclemencies of a rough Alpine climate.
The dairy or milk-cellar is either underground or in a
small chamber off the front division. As the type of
chalet in which the Senner is the presiding master has
been often described in books on Swiss travel, I shall
confine myself to the more preferable class governed by
female hands.
Greater cleanliness in dairy matters, the generally
scrupulously clean interior of the hut itself, and the far
more pleasing and attractive welcome accorded to the
stranger, are some of the manifold merits of the latter
custom. Little more than a hundred years ago the Sen¬
ner was an unknown being ; every Alp-hut in the Tyrol
was presided over by Sennerinnen. The Archbishop of
Salzburg, to whose diocese many of the Tyrolese valleys
appertained, moved by sundry complaints respecting the
somewhat profligate life led " on high," gave strict in¬
junctions that henceforth no " Sennerin " should be
allowed. The Bishops of Trent and Brixen followed suit,
though not in so rigorous a manner. Since that time,
however, and chiefly since the wars in the first years of
this century, the buxom, healthy-looking Alp-girl has re-
occupied her former position in not a few Tyrolese valleys.
Saturday evening is the grand "reception" night of
these gay and merry lasses. Work over in the distant
valley, each young fellow who is lucky enough to be able
to sing : " A rifle on my back, a buck chamois in my
bag, and a black-eyed, merry Alp-girl in my heart," takes
his rifle, his scant stock of provisions, and is off to the
Alp-hut high up on the mountains, where he knows his
lass is awaiting him. Far off, while the low châlet is yet
26 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
but a speck, a piercing, echoing "joddler " of the lover
will bring his lass to the door, and a minute later a sharp
silvery answer will float down to the mountaineer, whose
feet cover the intervening distance with a speed that love
only can accomplish.
Sunday is devoted to stalking or poaching, and on
Monday morning, long before daybreak often, the swain
is off in order to regain the site of his daily labor by five
o'clock, the hour for beginning work.
Playing the Don Juan is not unfrequently dangerous
work for a stranger or a native of another valley, and I
have come across several instances where a speedy retri¬
bution overtook the pirate in strange waters.
In October and in cold autumns, when snow falls in
September, often even sooner, the Alp-girl, aided by a
peasant or a boy, returns with her twenty or thirty head
of cattle to the home valley. Tinkling bells, hung round
each cow's neck by broad leather belts, wreaths of flowers,
loud rejoicings, mark this event ; and lucky is the fair lass
who has made her allotted quantity of cheese, churned
the requisite hundredweights of butter, and brought back
her flock without accident or mishap to any of them.
In a closing remark to this introductory chapter, I wish
to draw the reader's attention to another peculiarity of
the Tyrolese. It is the creative genius that has distin¬
guished this people for centuries. Painters, carvers, poets,
musicians of repute, form the body of the Tyrolese con¬
tingent of celebrated or well-known names.
Musical talent is, without comparison, the gift of nature
most widely diffused in Tyrol ; and to a stranger, particu¬
larly an Englishman, it is amazing to find a finely devel¬
oped ear and a capital voice in the commonest country
lout, who scarcely knows his ABC, and to whom Bis¬
marck is an unknown being. To be able to join with a
second or third voice in a song which they have not
heard before, is a very common accomplishment. Often
have I been amused by watching the expressive face of
some country lass listening for the first time in her life to
the full tones of a p iano.
THE SCHLOSS, LANDSCAPE, AND PEOPLE. 27
To give an instance of this fine sense of music : a lady
of my acquaintance was one afternoon playing and sing¬
ing a Viennese air. The windows of the room were
open, and two country lasses passing along the road
stopped and listened for a little time. Presently, when
at my request my friend repeated the song, the two girls
feU in, one with the second and the other with the third
voice. Being a stranger to Tyrol, my friend would not
believe that the girls were common peasant lasses, unac¬
quainted with the piece of music which she played ; and
so, in order to convince her, I sent down for them, and
made them accompany her in a number of songs which
she sang to try them. Their intonation and expressive
voices excited her admiration no less than did the piano
that of the buxom lasses. My reader must not imagine,
however, that the Tyrolese are fond of exhibiting their
innate talent for music. Stubbornly shy, they will often
refuse to sing any of their national lays if they see that
their listeners are strangers. Tourists who keep to the
frequented high roads, following the ruck of travelers,
will hardly ever hear a genuine Tyrolese song. To enjoy
a musical treat of this kind, we must leave the carriage-
roads, and strike into the more unfrequented paths, and if
possible visit remote Alp-huts. If we do not press the
"Senner" or "Sennerin," or betray by any sign our wish
to hear them sing, it is probable they will begin of their
own accord.
Sitting on the low step in front of her châlet, enjoying
a quiet half-an-hour's rest in the calm evening after her
fatiguing day's work, the " Sennerin " will awake the
echoes of the surrounding heights, answered perhaps, if
there be other huts within earshot, by their inmates.
Tinkling bells, the rich silvery voice melodiously tender
in all its notes, the quiet calm of the evening, and the
grand landscape, all unite in producing an effect that will
remain impressed upon the mind for many a day to
come.
I may here remark that the Tyrolese entertain a pas¬
sionate love for the mimic art. The famous " Mystery
2 8 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Plays" of the Middle Ages are supplanted by the modern
" Passion Plays," organized on the same principles as
those at Ober-Ammergau, though in most cases on a
much smaller scale. Theatrical representations of all
descriptions are highly patronized. Of the many I have
had occasion to visit, I remember in particular one —
given in a small village near Kufstein — bearing the title
" Richard, King of England, or the Lovers' Tomb."
My mirth was great when, as an appropriate finish-up of
the cruel king, — the chief character, — his head was bit¬
ten off by a make-believe lion, while a chorus, consisting
of three peasant boys and two lasses, yelled out, " Thus
perish all cruel monarchs ! "
THE PARADISE PLAY.
29
CHAPTER II.
THE PARADISE PLAY.
EVERYBODY, of course, has seen or heard of the Ober-
Ammergau Passion Play. Who has not smiled at the
quaint manner in which Biblo-historical facts are turned
and twisted on those rural boards ? Who has not laughed
at the strange interludes, the odd sights, and comic
anomalies, that crop up on those -occasions? A "Virgin
Mary," happy mother of a couple of brats ; a widowed
Joseph, the village ne'er-do-well, as Christ, — do not sound
stranger to our ears, than the remark in the clear shrill
voice of the little fellow, one of the audience at a Tyrolese
Passion Play, who, on hearing the cock crow for the third
time, to the well-rendered discomfiture of Peter, cried
out, " Oh, mother, the cock has surely laid an egg ! "
These and a host of other incidents of a like nature, all
of which betoken the simple, uncultured minds of the
pious audience, are known to most. Far less familiar,
however, is the history of the Miracle and Christmas
plays, relics of bygone centuries, the study of which car¬
ries us back to a time when the Church looked to the
stage as a sure and safe medium to enchain the ignorant,
rendering at the same time their minds less susceptible
to the dangerous doctrines promulgated by the heretic
tongue of a Calvin or a Melanchthon. In South Germany,
Tyrol was undoubtedly the cradle of these Mystery Plays,
dealing, as they all did, with religious subjects.
The popular supposition that the Ober-Ammergau Play
is the sole remaining relic is incorrect ; and an observant
30 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
traveler who does not shrink from turning the world on
end by visiting Tyrol at Christmas or Easter-tide, instead
of in summer time, will find, if he takes the trouble to
search in the secluded by-ways of the Alps, various kinds
of religious plays enacted at these two seasons. It is a
strange fact, and one that illustrates the high rank in civ¬
ilization occupied by the Tyrolese in the Middle Ages,
that a people unacquainted with the commonest luxuries
of life, hard-working as perhaps no other race in Europe,
and deprived by their isolated position from all accesso¬
ries, such as tuition and books, to further the develop¬
ment of this taste, should yet find the wherewithal to in¬
dulge in this strange liking.
One of the most telling traits illustrating the age of
these plays, and one which it is difficult to rhyme with
the strict, not to say bigoted, religious sense peculiar to
these people, is the seemingly irreligious intermingling of
the most commonplace events of every-day life with sacred
episodes and saintly personages of the Old and New Tes¬
taments. Ere we harshly criticise this feature, we must
remember that the native looks upon it in quite a different
light than we would. A peasant, stanch Roman Catho¬
lic though he be, is so absolutely swayed by blind belief
in his creed, and by the word of his infallible priest, that
to him no wrong whatever is attached to the use, we may
say abuse, of sacred names in connection with domestic
occurrences or casualties. Now to our play.
" So you have never heard of our Paradise Play : that's
odd — I thought the whole world knew of it ; long
enough we've played it, to be sure, for you folks in towns
and cities to have heard of it."
These words, spoken by the red-faced, jolly-looking
"wirth," — innkeeper of a snug, clean-looking inn in the
village of X , situated in a remote corner of the
Eastern Alps, were the answer to a query called forth by
hearing the unusual name "Paradise Play" mingled with
some remark made by the talkative old fellow.
"Well, my dear sir," he continued, "I can only tell
you that if you've never heard of it, much less seen it,
THE PARADISE PLAY.
3«
come to this very inn, to this very room, on Christmas
Day, and you'll learn what but simple peasant folk can
do. Yes, yes, I tell you, you can't do better than come,"
he proceeded, as, with a glance at my face, he took stock
of the effect of his words.
" But, my ' lieber wirth,' that's impossible ; by that time
I shall be far away in a strange country, in the gayest
city of the world," I answered.
" And is it perhaps not worth while coming here for
the day to see us, poor peasants as we are, play the
'godly' Paradise Play?"
The idea of coming from Paris to this out-of-the-way
nook in the center of the Alps, for that purpose, made
me laugh, to the evident annoyance of mine host.
"Yes, yes, you may laugh, but I can tell you that a
better and more righteous play you can't see, were you
to search from here to the Emperor's city. We have
. played it for many centuries, and nought but good has
come of it."
I regret my hasty smile, for now, I fear, it will prob¬
ably prove more difficult to get at the kernel of the nut,
— the explanation of that strange-sounding word. Un¬
fortunately my fears come true, for presently this embodi¬
ment of country bumpkinism recommenced conversation
by asking where I might be on Christmas Day, that I
should laugh at the idea of visiting the village.
" Paris, ' herr wirth ! ' "
" Why, that's in France, where they're continually chan¬
ging and chopping — now it's an Empire, now a Republic ;
now they have one President, then again another. They
are a bad lot, those Frenchmen, and the ' Bote,' " — men¬
tioning the name of a petty local newspaper, containing
about as much matter as would fill a quarter of a column
in "The Times," — "says they'll begin war soon again.
I was but a child when they were here in 1809, but, so
help me God, if they come again, I would be the first
man in X who would take up arms against them."
And, beating his broad chest with his huge fist, the old
fellow looked the man who would do it.
32 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The man was now fairly launched in politics, and there
was no use endeavoring to stop the voluble talk in which
half a dozen peasants, who had been silent hitherto, now
joined.
I am afraid it would hardly amuse my readers as much
as it did me, to listen to the most astounding political
facts, the most atrocious canards — brought into existence
by this eminent politician, and received by his grateful
audience with nods of approval and guttural "Jo, Jo's."
To bring them under some standard or other, one may
say that even a correspondent of "The New-York Herald "
would have turned away with a painful shrug of the
shoulder.
Now England had just made peace with the Russians
(I am writing of the year 1871) ; now it is a Republic ;
then, again, England's Queen had married a German,
Consort by name ; the next minute Bismarck is made the
illegitimate son of the late King of Prussia ; and we are
told in connection with this fact, that it is only in conse¬
quence of this circumstance, that he has acquired such
power over that heretic, the present Emperor. Russia,
France, England, Turkey, and the Crimea, are cut up
into a hash, from which nought but the facts that the
Russians eat their own tallow candles, and the Turks
drown their superfluous wives, appear with any thing like
distinctness.
I sat quietly listening to these political vagaries. Not
even when he was talking of England's base policy
toward the "Icelanders" (the man meant "Irlander" —
Irish) and " the rest of the colored races," did I show
any sign of life, — not even when the positive fact was
narrated that the English soldiers in their wars with the
" blacks " dip their prisoners, as a punishment, into a
chemical wash, and turn them white ! For the sake of
the Paradise Play, I kept my blood, though it be half
that of a " colored Icelander," in a state corresponding
with the cool regions just named. Thanks to our silence,
and to the fact that the peasant audience also seemed
to have a dark inkling of the expediency of keeping
THE PARADISE PLAY.
33
quiet, our political volcano presently evinced signs of
having reached its climax.
At last he subsided, and I dared to return to the Para¬
dise Play. It was too soon ; for, leaning over toward me,
with his sparkling eyes bent on mine, he asked, —
" Is it not, perhaps, quite true, what I've said ? I don't
read the priest's weekly paper without getting some
knowledge of the world from it."
His huge fist came down upon the table with a bang,
and I drew in my horns with a celerity only equalled by
the alacrity of my answer, —
"Yes, yes; one sees very plainly you've read your
papers attentively."
Not five minutes later I had brought him back to the
track of the play.
" Why, you see, the Paradise Play is a religious per¬
formance played on Christmas Day."
"And where do you act it? — in the church, or have
you a separate building expressly for that purpose? "
" Oh, no ! we play it in this room " (a very large but
low chamber), " and have always acted it here with the
exception of the year this house was burnt down, and
then it was played in the barn belonging to the Vicarage.
Piere where we sit is the stage ; and there, on top of the
stove " (a huge pile of pottery some five feet in height),
" God the Father has his throne, then the stove is hidden
by a painted paper screen, representing clouds. Once,
it is true," he continued, "some mischievous boys lit a
fire in the stove during the play; and in the most in¬
teresting scene, just when Eve bites into the apple, God
the Father had to jump down from his throne, which, of
course, had got too warm for him ! Didn't the boys all
laugh when he rushed out of Paradise, and out of the
room, rubbing his legs and upsetting the long tailor, who
that year acted the Archangel, and who, as luck would
have it, was leaning on his flaming sword right behind
the scenes, ready to come on the stage to drive off Adam
and Eve ? I can tell you, we were nearer laughing than
crying, though the dark scowl of the Herr Vicar, who
34 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
was sitting in the first row, soon made us recollect the
sacred parts we were acting."
"But are all the actors peasants?" I asked, getting
interested.
" Oh, yes ! The most suitable men are chosen for
each part. He who has a long white beard of venerable
aspect is God the Father. You see that fellow yonder "
(pointing to a white-bearded old man, whose winkled
face and bent frame betokened a green old age), " well,
he has been our God the Father for the last five and
twenty years, though of late he is getting too old and
helpless for that hard part. Last Christmas he had to be
lifted on to his throne before the commencement of the
first scene, representing Chaos. During the first part of
that, God the Father ought not to be in sight. So he
had to crouch down on his throne, and was covered with
a blanket, upon which snow was piled, figurating a snowy
park rising beyond the ' cloud ' screen. Unfortunately,
the heat of the room melted the snow ; and when at last,
at a most solemn moment, he had to rise, and in his
character as God the Father proclaim his Creation to his
angels, his draggled look and dripping clothes called out
a storm of laughter.
" For the Evil One, we find, if we can, a red-headed
actor, with a cast in his eye and turned-in toes. For the
Archangel, a tall, middle-aged man, who is sure in his
parts, — one, in fact, upon whom we can rely. This year
we shall have to take a smaller man ; for the tailor, who
always acted the Archangel, was killed a month or two
ago by a fall from a pear-tree."
" And who acts Adam and Eve ? for we suppose these
two characters are indispensable in a Paradise Play," I
said, drawing the man on.
" Oh ! of course we've had an Adam, and an Eve too ;
but as regards these two parts being the most important
ones in the play, I say, and I have always said, that God
the Father has more talk than Adam and Eve put to¬
gether. Eve comes next, and then the Archangel. And
that's by no means an easy part to act, for the actor must
THE PARADISE PLAY.
35
work himself up into a regular rage. Some of our men
drink schnapps for this purpose ; but though I am the
person who would get a profit from these made-up rages,
I make it a point to discourage schnapps-drinking by
those who are engaged in our sacred play. For the
matter of that, we'll never again have such a fellow as
the long tailor to act the Archangel : he never touched
schnapps, or any liquor whatever, until the curtain
dropped on the last scene.
" But you asked me who play Adam and Eve : well,
we choose the prettiest couple we can get hold of in the
village ; and thank goodness, since God the Father, old
Kerchler, yonder peasant, made such a fool of himself
in that affair with his daughter, we've no difficulty in get¬
ting Eves. Some ten or twelve years ago it wasn't so
easy. A couple of accidents, following close upon each
other, showing up Adam's sinful mind, not only on the
stage but elsewhere, and bringing on certain unpleasant
consequences, made parents fight sh,y of allowing their
daughters to be kissed and embraced by fiery Adams,
who, for aught they knew, might be in secret their lov¬
ers. Well, some ten or twelve years ago, it happened
that we had no Eve up to a week before the play. You
can see what a fix we were in ; for married women we
could not ask well to take Eve's part, while of maidens
there were but few who suited, and those who did were
strictly forbidden by their parents to play Eve.
"Mary, the only daughter of our old God the Father,
was by far the most suitable lassie ; but old Kerchler
would not hear of letting her act that part. We actors
(for at that time I played the part of one of the Guardi¬
ans of Hell) had a talk over it, the upshot of which was
that the long tailor was to try his utmost to bring old
Kerchler round. If he failed, we were to make use of a
trick proposed by the tailor himself, which we all voted
for.
" ' No, tailcr, don't ask or bother me any more,' said
old God the Father, when our sly delegate went to see him
the next day ; ' I won't allow my daughter to be kissed
36 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
and hugged by a hot-headed Adam before the eyes of the
whole world : she's the richest girl of the country round,
and besides, it's not good for the morals of any decent
young woman.' — ' But I've got such a modest milksop
of an Adam,' urged the tailor. 'No, I won't] the very
same thing was said of Joe last year, and yet the parents
of Eve have now a young Joe on their hands. I won't,
and that's enough.'
" There was no use in talking any more : old Kerchler
had once said he wouldn't, and we all knew that he
meant what he said. So now we had to fall back on our
stratagem. The tailor again went to old Kerchler, and
told him that owing to his stubborn refusal, and to the
fact that there was no other girl in the village for an Eve,
they had decided that Adam's part should be acted by a
girl; would he allow his daughter to take that part?
' That's something else,' retorted old Kerchler : ' why,
Adam she can play, if you wish, with all my heart. At
least,' the old fellow continued, while a sly twinkle shone
in his eyes, ' there won't be any danger, though of course
the kissing and hugging wril lose much of its naturalness.'
" The matter was settled, and pretty Mary came back
every evening from the daily rehearsals, with a bright blush
of mischief and happiness on her cheeks. Kerchler, who
had played God the Father for so many years, knew every
word of his part by heart, and of course felt it below his
dignity to attend the rehearsals. The great evening came
at last. Guests from the neighboring villages had been
coming in all day long, and the whole house was turned
topsy-turvy. The stage put up across this corner, with
yonder door as exit, the benches and. rows of chairs ar¬
ranged in their places, the chairs in front, the benches
behind for the commoner sort of visitors — all was fixed,
and the curtain, two sheets stitched together, ready to be
drawn aside.
" Behind the scenes all was order and grave silence.
The actors were all in their costumes. The tailor, as
Archangel, on his head a fire-brigade helmet borrowed
for the occasion from the distant town, in his left hand a
THE PARADISE PLAY.
37
huge round shield — the lid of awash-tub, covered on
one side with gold paper, while in his right he held the
flaming sword, made of wood, painted so as to represent
flames dancing round the blade. The rest of his dress
was of a jacket of leather, ornamented with glass beads,
and a pair of long Spanish hose, bought some thirty
or forty years ago from a troupe of wandering jugglers.
The Evil One, dressed in the red costume of the marker
at rifle-matches, his face blackened, a pair of horns fas¬
tened to his head, and long claws made of stiff leather,
glued with cobbler's wax to his fingers, looked very terrible
indeed.
" Pretty Mary was at her post, in her disguise as Adam,
blushing a great deal at the idea of appearing before the
public in short linen knee-breeches, and a white linen
jacket cut low about the breast — that being the garment
worn customarily by Adam. Eve, on the contrary, decked
out in a beautiful white robe, kept resolutely in the dark
background. A garland of oak-leaves was ready. After
the fall of the poor couple it was to be fastened across
Eve's dress ; for fig-leaves, you know," my host con¬
tinued with the gravest mien, " we can't get hereabouts."
" But do you mean to say that Adam and Eve are
clothed in flowing garments before the Fall?" we in¬
quired.
" Why, yes, of course : you wouldn't have them come
out in the naked state in which men and women, I am
told, are not ashamed to appear on stages in your large
towns and cities ! No, no; we may be but peasants,
dull and stupid folk in your eyes, but we don't let our
sisters and daughters show their forms scarcely covered
by a few scraps of gauze," replied the host.
"Well, everything was ready ; the people came crowd¬
ing into the room, for you must know the entrance is free
to everybody who chooses to come, for of course it would
be wrong to make any money out of a sacred play.
Once, many years ago, it is true, a member of the play,
the village grocer, proposed that we should have an en¬
trance fee of six kreutzers " (two pence), "but he never
38 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
proposed it again, I can tell you. Such a hailstorm of
abuse overwhelmed him that he was glad to make his
escape. Did he think we were a set of wandering actors,
who would sell our ancient play for money ? or did he
fancy we were Jews, willing to trade off our souls' salva¬
tion for copper and silver?" cried the host, indignant at
the very memory of the affront.
" The boys were at their places behind the three can¬
dles that light the stage, each of them with a small board,
and a screen made of red paper well oiled, wherewith
they could either darken the stage, or throw a red glow
upon the scene, according to the prompter's directions.
For many years the schoolmaster has held this important
post, and a capital prompter he makes, though he is the
dread of the boys, who are always exposed to the sharp
point of his long walking-cane, by which he directs the
use of the screen, from the seat he occupies in the front
row at the side of the Herr Vicar. Of late years we've
often had trouble to get the boys for this office, for they
all dread the schoolmaster's sharp tactics : now and again
you will see one of the boys jump up with a prolonged
' O-o-oh,' and rub sundry parts of his body with all his
might. ' Down, you rascal,' the schoolmaster will then
cry, and down the boy goes, sure enough.
" But now attention : the bell rings, the curtain is pulled
on one side, and before the public lies Chaos. The back¬
ground of the stage is taken up by a large screen of blue
paper, the sky, upon which are sprinkled in tasteful dis¬
order divers suns, moons, stars, and comets. The stove,
the future throne, hidden by the screen representing
clouds, is empty. About the stage, in divers attitudes,
lie half a dozen boys in cotton worsted tights, with paste¬
board wings fastened to their shoulders : they are the
angels.
"'Ha,' cries one, 'to-day is Blue Monday; the lazy
ones can sleep as long as they like : no one need get up."
" ' But if God the Father sees us,' replied another, ' we'll
get a good thrashing, for he told us to pray and chant
as usual, and not be idle.'
THE PARADISE PLAY.
39
" ' Oh ! don't be afraid : God the Father is not at home
to-day, he is out on the ' Stör,'1 creating the world ; and
he told us he wouldn't be back for a whole week.'
" ' Ah, that's jolly ! ' cries the first one again ; ' let's have
a week's holidays ; no praying and chanting for me.'
" ' Now for some fun,' cry two or three of the ram¬
pageous angels. A game of leap-frog is commenced ;
then the lively company resort to marbles.
" They are interrupted in their game by the appearance
of the Archangel Lucifer, with his lank black tresses wav¬
ing round his shoulders, his golden lance and shield in
his hands.
" 'That's right, my young friends,' the prime minister
of the Evil One commences, ' pass your time as best you
can ; were I your master, instead of God the Father, we'd
be jolly from year's end to year's end ; fowl and the best
of wine would be our daily fare, and figs and dates our
dessert. But the old gentleman is a grumpy old fellow,
who thinks more about creating new-fangled contrivances,
such as that work of his that occupies him at present,
than of jollity and good fare. May he have endless
trouble with that world he is now creating ! may his hair
turn gray before he has finished with it,' exclaims the
Devil's archangel.
" These treasonable remarks of Lucifer are not without
effect upon his listeners. Some clap their hands, others
cry, —
" ' Oh, let's have him for our master ! we're tired of
fasting, praying, and chanting the livelong day.' Two
only are silent, and turn their backs on the fiendish
tempter.
" In this manner the week passes, the intervals of night
being indicated by darkening the stage for a few minutes
at a time, while the angels lie about the stage asleep.
Saturday afternoon, four strokes on a bell behind the
scenes denote that it is four o'clock.
1 Being on the " Stör " is the expression in use in Tyrol, indicating that an
artisan, generally the village cobbler or tailor, is on his round of' visits in quest of
work. ' He will remain a week or so in each house, receiving his board and a trifle
as wages. In most valleys this is a common proceeding.
4° CADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
" ' Now, you beggars, be quiet,' cries one of the good
angels, 'it's four o'clock, and you know God the Father
knocks off work at that hour. He must be here pres¬
ently.' While he is saying this, a seventh angel comes
running across the stage, singing, —
" ' Praised be God the father, Pie has finished the crea¬
tion, and will be back with you presently.'
" The last comer sits down in a circle formed by his
comrades, and narrates to them the various wonders of
their master's creation. He dwells in glowing language
on the beauty and joys of Paradise, and tells them it will
be the happiest day of their lives when they will be
initiated into the mysteries of this new world. Lucifer,
standing apart from the group, interrupts all of a sudden
the brilliant description, by telling them not to be such
fools as to believe that they will ever see any thing of
Paradise ; with a sneering smile of victory on his face, he
continues to dilate upon the wretched lives they lead,
and closes with the promise to bring them to a place far
superior to Paradise." He has hardly finished, when God
the Father, rising on his stove throne, becomes visible ;
the music falls in with a grand crash, and the angels,
wholly forgetful of the wicked language they have just
listened to with eager ears, commence to chant, while
Lucifer, hidyag his face in his hands, rushes from the
stage. A threshing-machine behind the scenes, worked
by a couple of strong arms, makes the hollow thunder to
set off the evil counsellor's hasty exit. The solemn an¬
nouncement, that heaven and earth, the stars, moon, and
sun are created, and that the morrow is the day of rest,
flows from the lips of God the Father, who proceeds to
tell His audience that likewise has He made living crea¬
tures of every kind, bulls and cows, cocks and hens, asses
and pigs, and, to have dominion over them, Fie has
shaped after His own image a being called man, and for
his abode He would plant a garden called Paradise.
"This finishes the Heavenly Father's speech, and, turn¬
ing round on his throne, he ducks down behind his
screen, which closes the first scene.
THE PARADISE PLAY.
41
" Hearty applause tells of the audience's admiration.
A pause of some ten minutes then follows, after which
the curtain is again pulled aside, displaying a representa¬
tion of certain underground regions. It is hell, fiery de¬
moniacal hell, with all its infernal machinery, instruments
of torture, and trapfalls for human folly. The center of
the stage is occupied by a portable forge, upon which a
bright coal-fire is burning ; a large butcher's block stands
to the right, while huge knives, gigantic tongs, and
brightly-polished axes litter the foreground. To the left
of the forge we see a couple of huge boilers filled with
steaming water. The stage is lit up by means of the red
screens, and loud howling and gnashing of teeth and
the most piercing shrieks increase the horrors of the pic¬
ture. A harsh blast of trumpets brings in the Archangel
Lucifer, the master of this fearful place. He is attended
by a troupe of young imps, and devils on a small scale,
who jump and caper round him in wicked gleefulness.
Seating himself on his throne, the butcher's bloody block,
he catches hold of the signs of his office, — a heavy iron
chain painted a bright red to represent red heat, and a
pitchfork. Round his neck is hung a chain of teeth,
human fingers (of wax),—those that were forfeited to
him for slander and perjury, — and bunches of lank
witches' hair, and several dried toads.
" When he gets fixed up that way, Lucifer holds court.
Hard questions are brought up. The new Creation is
spoken of, and the chances of overthrowing the rule of
God the Father. We hear of the various weak points of
human nature, pride, lust, jealousy, greed, &c., how ad¬
vantage could be taken of each one, and how God's in¬
fluence could be overcome. The talk is presently inter¬
rupted by two imps, who we see are two of the angels of
the Chaos scene, who seemed to give heed to Lucifer's
words, and followed him down to his underground home.
"They have found out their mistake too late.
" ' The fowls you promised us are burnt to a cinder,
and the wine is pure vinegar, and the heat is intolerable,'
they cry out in a piteous tone.
42 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
"A loud peal of fiendish laughter is the answer, and
Lucifer holds his sides, at the bad fix he has got his vic¬
tims in.
"Now you are here, you imps,' he tells them, 'and,
what's more, you'll remain here for ever, unless some
confounded Christian makes a fool of himself by under¬
taking some pilgrimage on your behalf ! '
" Thereupon the deceived angels set up a wail of dis¬
may, and the consultation they had interrupted is begun
again.
" ' Which of you has the smoothest tongue, and can
wriggle along the ground serpent-fashion ? ' asks Lucifer
of his company.
" From several candidates for this office, one is chosen,
and instructed how to act.
"The weak points of Eve's sex — disobedience and
curiosity — are to be attacked.
" A screech of delight is the answer to this news, and
a hellish song in praise of his Satanic Majesty close the
second scene.
" The third scene is a short one, and represents to the
eager public, Paradise in its perfect peace.
" God the Father occupies his stove-throne, while Adam
stands in the center of the garden near a rosebush, bor¬
rowed for the occasion from the village priest's garden.
" A long ' Ah ! ' goes through the room.
" ' Why, it's Kerchler's Mary,' is on the lips of every¬
body.
"Adam, not dreaming of the amazement his appear¬
ance has called forth, is chanting a song in praise of his
Creator.
" God the Father, supposed to be invisible to Adam,
nods all the time, pleased at the praise bestowed upon
him.
" When the song is finished, Adam amuses himself by
a walk round the place, and while doing so has a con¬
versation with sundry animals, which are, however, only
heard, not seen.
" Presently God the Father interrupts Adam by asking
him where Eve is.
THE PARADISE PLAY.
43
" ' Master, she is asleep beneath yonder tree,' exclaims
Adam, in a voice like a bell.
" ' If she's asleep, let her be ; she'll give you trouble
enough before you've finished with her ! Adam, I'm
here as your master. I wish to satisfy myself of your
obedience, so mark my words. You see that apple-tree
yonder? Neither you nor the woman Eve may taste of
its fruit. It will be the worse for both of you if you break
my commandment.'
"A few more orders that would have been just in their
place had Adam been a mischievous schoolboy, close
their talk, and God the Father again ducks and disap¬
pears from the eyes of the public.
" Now everybody is excited. The audience is dying
to see Eve, for, strange to say, nobody seems to know who
plays that part. Whispered guesses — all of which, after
all, turn out to be wrong—go the round of the crowded
room.
" Always before that everybody knew the ins and outs
of the play, and the actors, long before the great day ;
but this time it was quite something else, for Eve, like
Adam, astonished them no little ; but what was that in
comparison to the surprise in store for them !
" The fourth and last scene in the play again shows the
Garden of Eden — where the temptation and fall took
place. Towards the end of the scene God the Father
has to walk across, and can not of course occupy his
throne, for a descent from it would spoil the effect of the
whole. So he has to wait outside till he is due on the
stage.
" Ting, ting, sounds the bell, and aside goes the cur¬
tain.
" Adam and Eve are seen embracing each other most
lovingly, in a sort of bower formed by thick rose-bushes
and young fir-trees. We hear the splashing of a little
waterfall behind the scenes, and a lively concert of vari¬
ous animals' voices is kept up, such as the braying of
asses, the bellowing of bullocks, the lowing of cows, the
bleating of sheep, the barking of dogs, the caterwauling
44 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
of a tom-cat, mixed in with cock-crows, and the grunt of
pigs.
"Then the voice of God the Father, who himself is
invisible, and is speaking through the wrong end of a
paper trumpet to lend distance to his words, is heard
lecturing Adam, closing his charge with the words —
' And man shall leave father and mother, and cleave unto
his wife, and they shall be one.'
" Every eye is fixed upon Eve, a tall, fine figure, with
a healthy bloom on her fresh pretty face, shaded by
short, crisp curls of dark brown hair. The dark, fiery
eyes are bent with the greatest tenderness on those of
Adam, who is somewhat smaller in size.
" ' Who can she be ? ' everybody asks. 1 She must be
a stranger, for nobody can recollect the face.'
" Eve, meanwhile, turns round, and looks with a long¬
ing glance at an apple-tree, hung with imitation fruit
about the size of small pumpkins.
" ' Come, Eve, my dearest,' Adam exclaims, ' come, let
us sing a song in praise of our merciful Creator. Hark !
how from sheer happiness these animals bellow, bray,
bark, grunt, and crow. Listen to those birds yonder,
how sweetly they warble. Don't let us remain behind
the beasts of the field in praising our God.'
" Eve, however, of a more worldly mind, takes no heed
of her mate's words, but remarks, —
" ' Come, Adam, I be hungry ; let's have some break¬
fast.'
" A din of smothered laughter, a buzz of ' ah's ' and
' oh's,' on the part of the audience, now make themselves
heard. Who Eve is has been discovered by her voice.
" What a joke ! What fun ! It's Toni, the school¬
master's son, and pretty Mary's lover, as everybody in
the village but her father well knew.
" Quiet being restored, Eve goes on, —
" ' Look, Adam, look, how beautiful these apples are.'
" ' My Eve, don't you remember that God the Father
has forbidden us to eat them? Let us go; we'll find
something better.'
THE PARADISE PLAY.
45
" ' Oh, Adam ! do look,' urges Eve. ' Let's have at
least a taste. God the Father has surely not counted
them ; just one. It's a downright shame to let them rot
on the tree.'
"'No, Eve,' replies Adam,'no, it's forbidden fruit,
and God the Father is the best judge why he has pro¬
hibited us to eat of it.' Eve, however, won't leave the
dangerous neighborhood. ' Look, Adam,' she cries,
" look at that serpent : he has picked one of the apples,
and is holding it towards us.'
" If you love me, Eve," Adam replies, putting his arm
around her waist, and breathing a hot kiss on her brow,
'don't touch it.'
"'And, if I am your beloved Eve, you won't re¬
fuse ' —
" Eve had not time to finish the .sentence, for God the
Father, returning from his dressing-shed to the back of
the stage, had been rooted to the spot, horror-struck by
the sight that met his eyes. His daughter hugged and
kissed by that young dog of a schoolmaster's son ! A
youth of no future prospects — in fact, a poor simple
student — daring to embrace and kiss his daughter, the
richest girl of the neighborhood ! Forgetting the char¬
acter he was playing, and his venerable appearance,
the enraged father wrenched the 'flaming sword' from the
hands of the amazed Archangel Michael, and, before the
latter had time to hinder his mad design, God the Father
was seen rushing across the stage —
" 'You scoundrel, how dare you kiss my daughter? I'll
teach you to deceive me,' cried the enraged father ; ' be
off, and never let me set eyes on you again,' and the flam¬
ing sword was all the while raining down blows on the
unfortunate lover's back !
" Loud shouts of laughter interrupted these angry
words. The audience, shaken with mirth, and fully en¬
joying the comic and novel termination of their play,
cheered with all its might ; and so ended that remarkable
Christmas play," said our burly, good-humored host.
My interest in the future of the young couple having
46 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
naturally been aroused, I ask him to give some further
detail.
" Well, mein lieber Herr, Eve did at last taste^ of that
dangerous inviting apple ; but it was fruit not easily to be
got, for her purse-proud old father, having in his ignor¬
ant peasant breast a thorough contempt for the educated
though poor and self-made young student, would not hear
of granting her great wish.
" ' How dared the poor young bookworm, who, if his
learned brain gave out, did not even know how to litter a
cow, aspire to the hand of his daughter, the richest girl
of the whole village, who would in time be mistress of a
large farm and some forty head of cattle ? '
" A year or two passed : the young bookworm had got
through with his studies, and was duly entered as engi¬
neer, with a salary large enough to satisfy such simple
wants as Adam and Eve would be apt to have. And
what then could stand in the way of their making real
the words, ' And man shall leave father and mother, and
cleave unto his wife,' spoken by God the Father that
eventful evening? And so Adam, fair Mary, did leave
his father, to cleave thenceforth to Eve, the self-made
young engineer. Fate favored the persevering young
couple, and the baby arms of a young Cain accomplished
what no other earthly power could, — the reconciliation
with Mary's stubborn-hearted parent, the irascible God
the Father of our play, thus filling their cup of happiness
to the brim."
We are at the end of our story, and pause to ponder
over the strange influence these rurally primitive boards
exercise over the minds of the untutored peasantry, up¬
held and encouraged as their religious representations are,
unto this very day, by the Church.
No distance is too great, no passes too steep or rough,
no march on dusty high roads too fatiguing, if a Miracle
or Passion Play is their goal.
One meets entire families, consisting perhaps of three
and four generations, toiling along little-trodden paths.
THE PARADISE PLAY.
47
You can watch the feeble old grandfather leaning heavily
on his staff; or, if the means of the family are such,
comfortably seated on some bundles of straw on the
springless two-wheeled cart, drawn by the wall-eyed mare,
very likely a contemporary of the old man's prime. At
the side of the vehicle trudges the weather-beaten father,
erect and firm, but yet far advanced towards middle age ;
his eyes, shaded by his strongly-marked brows, are bent
with scrutiny on the members of the party under his care.
The son, a picture of manly bearing, in the early prime
of life, is attired in his Sunday best, his bronzed knees
showing well, his gray frieze coat thrown jauntily over his
shoulders, his ruddy face shaded by the broad-brimmed
Tyrolese hat, adorned with the feather of the blackcock.
Though evidently he is married — for at his heels trots
his eldest born, his chubby little fist clasped in the hand
of his buxom, gayly-attired mother — he has not quite
lost that gay devil-may-care look, that keen sparkle of
his eye, that cock-of-the-walk stride, which gave him the
victory over the numerous rivals to the hand of the wo¬
man at his side, once the belle of her village. His youth¬
ful spirit betrays itself in the very act of pushing his hat
more knowingly on one side, as he answers one of his
wife's merry sallies.
Though she be freckled by life-long exposure to the
sun's hottest rays, and though her face and neck are
burnt to a ruddy red while guarding her father's cattle on
that Alpine pasture high up yonder, exposed now to the
fierce blasts of icy-cold winds, now to noontide heat, or
to the sleety rain of Alpine heights ; her dimpled smile,
her ruby lips, her sparkling blue eyes, have lost none of
their freshness, and are yet in the sight of her husband
the embodiment of mortal charms, and the fountain of
all the happiness which braces him for his toilsome, hard¬
working life.
Hot and weary, the dust-begrimed troupe make a halt
in the cool shade of the pine forest, flanking on both
sides, for many a mile to come, the high road.
The mare is unharnessed and turned to graze ; the old
48 GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
grandfather is lifted down from the cart and seated on a
cushion of velvety moss in the center of the group, who
are all taking their rest in the most varied positions. The
curly-headed little fellow, with his head resting on his
mother's lap, has fallen asleep, tired out by a long tramp
from four o'clock in the morning till mid-day. Pipes are
pulled out from various pockets, tobacco-pouches of enor¬
mous size are produced, and the process of filling the
huge bowls is being undergone in that characteristically
sedate and patient manner peculiar to Tyrolese peasantry.
By dint of endless pulling, and after blackening the
tips of their fingers in the vain endeavor to ignite the
stuff with which their pipes are filled, it is at last set
ablaze. Vile as the tobacco is, the men relish it with a
zest wholly unaccountable to a person who has once
smelt its fumes ; but there are ways and means of im¬
proving it. That strapping young fellow stretched out at
full length at the feet of a comely black-eyed lass is in
the act of " improving," for is it in the nature of even
the vilest of tobacco to retain its stench and to burn one's
tongue, if it has been set ablaze by the lips of the loved
one?
An hour elapses, conversation is flagging, but the pipes
are alight, and no signs that their contents are coming to
an end. "There is nothing like a tobacco that keeps
burning for a good time : none of your stuff which is
consumed before one has time to pray a 'Vater unser,' "
pater noster, as I once was told by a peasant, who upheld
the merits of the saltpeter-drenched Tyrolese manufac¬
ture. Presently, however, the fiery furnaces cease smok¬
ing, and the pipes are cleared of the ashes by knocking
them against the sole of the hob-nailed shoe.
The party, now rested and cooled, must soon be start¬
ing ; for the village where they intend remaining the
night is a good way off. Before setting out, however, a
roomy basket, hitherto hidden from sight between the
bundles of straw in the cart, is pulled forth, and a simple
but substantial meal is produced from it by the head of
the party. Everybody sets to with gusto to demolish the
THE PARADISE PLAY.
49
luxuries, -— a haunch of bacon, a loaf of black bread, and
a pint of spirits, —which the careful paterfamilias has pro¬
vided for them.
In this way a whole family travels a comparatively
considerable distance without expending money, save
perhaps the sixpence which is pressed into the unwilling
hand of the kindly owner of the hayloft, their night quar¬
ters. In the evening of the second or third day they
reach their goal. Tired out by a weary day's march, they
long to stretch their limbs embedded in soft hay, but,
alas ! the tiny village is filled to overflowing by crowds of
peasants, who have all come hither to see the grand play
on the morrow. The haylofts, the barns, the spare bed¬
rooms of the modest little village inns, are one and all
filled. No room to be had for love or money. Here a
sturdy peasant, surrounded by his wife and half a dozen
girls of all ages and sizes, is bemoaning his fate, — twenty
kreutzers (four pence) per head, which that cheat of a
schoolmaster demanded for the privilege of encamping
for the night in a breezy barn with half of its roof off !
But what could he do ? his wife was in delicate health ;
on her account he could not risk camping out in the open
air.
"Why had she come, poor woman? this was no place
for her."
" Ah, sir, you must know that she's had five girls run¬
ning, and now that her time is approaching, we are going
to visit the renowned shrine of the Holy Virgin in the
next village. They say there is none like it in the whole
country, and maybe in the whole world, for working mir¬
acles in this particular line ; you see, sons are so much
more useful than girls ; and now that we have spent the
greater part of the day in prayer at the Virgin's shrine,
and offered two large pound candles and .a waxen boy,1
we thought we would stay a day longer from home, and
see the play to-morrow ; but times are changed, and
every thing is so dear, that a poor peasant like me ought
never to venture out of his home valley. Twenty kreut-
1 A miniature child of wax hung up as a volive offering in shrines and chapels.
50 GAD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
zers each for seven ; that's, let me see, a florin, forty
kreutzers, less than three shillings ; why, it's monstrous ! "
And the peasant turned away from his companions in
misfortune, to seek an airy resting-place in the barn, which
the rascally schoolmaster had imposed upon him. Our own
party, well-to-do peasantry from the fertile Unter Innthal,
can afford to spend three or four shillings for the two rooms
which are still to be had in one of the village inns.
The paterfamilias, a strict observer of decorum, mar¬
shals the females of his party into one room, while the
men, not too tired to indulge in some beer before they
retire, retain the smaller one.
The bar-room down stairs, a large chamber, is filled
with a noisy crowd, drinking, playing at cards, or throw¬
ing dice for glasses, or rather jugs, of beer ; a thick veil
of tobacco-smoke hides the features of those sitting in
the farther end of the room. The two stout Kellnerinen,
buxom and blooming on other occasions, are puffed and
exceedingly red in the face, from stress of work and con¬
stant running up and down the steep cellar-stairs.
The burly, good-tempered old host greets us with a
friendly nod and a touch of his green skull-cap, as he
makes room for us at the table where he had been sitting.
Conversation stops for a moment, and when the curiosity
of the six or seven men sitting round us has at last been
satisfied by a prolonged stare, talk is recommenced.
At first we can hardly hear a word of the conversa¬
tion, though some is carried on at the very table we are
occupying. The roar and din are terrific, — loud laugh¬
ter, louder calls for schnapps or wine,1 snatches of merry
songs, and conversations carried on in the loudest key
right across the room, from one table to the other, make
moderately loud talking quite inaudible. If you wish to
converse, you had better pitch your voice to a shout, or
you won't be heard. A momentary lull discovers that a
zither is being played at the other end of the room ; a
second later, and its tones are again entirely drowned by
the din.
1 Wine being very cheap in Tyrol, it is drunk by the poorest.
THE PARADISE PLAY. SI
A tegrific crash at the table behind makes us turn
round sharply. " Ah, they are at it again," we hear
somebody say. " At what are they ? " we ask, astonished,
for our expectations to witness a fight are seemingly not
to be fulfilled ; there is nothing hostile in the act of slam¬
ming down on the table a leather purse filled with silver
florins and thalers. But yet, strange as it seems, this pro¬
ceeding is nevertheless frequently the prologue to a dire
quarrel.
The two bucks of the valley, the only sons of the
richest peasants of that district, are the actors. The
purport of slamming down the purse, and of emptying its
contents on the table, is simply to challenge the rival to
do the same ; and the one who can show the most wins.
In fertile and therefore rich valleys, such as the Unter
Innthal and the Zillerthal, these peculiar manifestations
by vain-glorious, hot-headed peasants' sons are not infre¬
quent ; and, though this species of rivalry is by no means
a laudable one, we must look at it in the light of an
emanation of boyish pride called forth by some sneering
taunt of "apron-strings," and "short commons," rather
than as an instance of purse-proud bumptiousness. Un¬
fortunately, however, this rivalry is not as harmless as it
appears, for it frequently sows the seed of a life-long ani¬
mosity. Far better that the matter be settled on the spot
by a fair fight, and the victor and vanquished shake
hands afterwards, the best friends in the world.
Let us watch the two hot-headed youths before us.
They eagerly count over their money ; one, however, has
nearly ten florins more than the other, and the vanquished,
scratching his head and looking very foolish, declares
himself beaten. A bright thought, however, flashes across
his mind : he remembers that the wirth of the inn owes
his father nigh upon twenty florins for oats and barley.
Covering the heap of silver money on the table with his
hat, he rushes off to the host, and comes back triumphantly
with two crisp ten-florin notes in his hand. " I've won ;
here are twenty florins more," he cries, as he flings the
notes upon the table. " No, by George, you haven't ;
52 GÁDDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
that isn't in the game," his foe rejoins. Eventually it is
decided that this novel stratagem was not permissible,
but that the issue of the bet was to be decided by " Fing-
erhackeln."
This game, or rather struggle, is a simple trial of
strength of arm and biceps. The table is cleared, and
the two competitors seated opposite each other, with the
table between them, stretch out their right hands so as to
let them meet in the center. Each, bending the middle
finger into the shape of a hook, intwines it with that of
the rival. At a given signal, each begins to pull, the
object being to drag the antagonist right across the
board.
Both were strapping young fellows, each'éager to show
off his prowess, and the fact that they were well-known
adepts at it, rendered the struggle doubly interesting.
Victory swayed hither and thither ; the most prodigious
efforts were made to wrest the slightest advantage from
the foe, the subtlest ruses coming into play, the most
impossible contortions of the body undergone ; and yet
the issue was as far from decision as at the very outset.
With clinched teeth, firmly-set features, and heaving
breasts, the two young fellows tug and pull, and neither
will give in. Their hands are of an angry red, and the
veins swollen to double their usual size, while drops of
perspiration on their foreheads tell of their superhuman
exertions.
Watching the face of the one, we all of a sudden see
a look of agonizing pain shoot across it ; his hand drops ;
the struggle is at an end. Poor fellow, his finger is
maimed for life ; for the chief muscle has been rent in
the fierce struggle for supremacy. Plis antagonist, by a
sudden jerk, — one of the numerous stratagems of Fing-
erhackeln, — had succeeded in unbending his foe's finger,,
though he did it at the cost of his rival's limb.
One very frequently sees in Tyrol men with a finger
bent nearly double on the right hand. If you ask the
cause, you will be invariably told that it happened while
" Fingerhackeln."
TILE PAR AD TSE PLAY.
53
In this instance it was doubly afflicting, for the maimed
youth was one of the chief actors in the grand perform¬
ance of the morrow. The news that Hauser Hansl had
his finger "aus g'hackelt," spread like wildfire. "Who
was to take his place at so short a notice? and could he
really not act? Could not somebody else carry the
cross?" were some of the numerous questions and propo¬
sitions which went the round.
The "Herr Vicar," who was enjoying his Saturday
evening game of cards in the sacred precincts of the
" Iierrenstubel," — the chamber set apart for the use of
the dignitaries of the village, such as the priest, the doc¬
tor, the schoolmaster, and the owner of the general store,
— was roused into unwonted activity by the news of this
vexatious accident ; his practical sagacity, however, came
to his aid, and, in his character of supreme head of the
Passion Play, he ordered that Hansl was to act as if
nothing had happened, and that his antagonist was to
carry the heavy cross in the last scene, as condign pun¬
ishment for his misconduct. This decision, coming as it
did from the mouth of the Vicar, was unanimously ap¬
plauded. Franzi, the delinquent, did not, I am afraid,
seem overwhelmed by grief; the idea of appearing on
the stage, be it even in the secondary character of cross-
bearer, was any thing but unpleasant to him ; in fact, it
was the very thing he desired, though brought about by
an accident quite against his will. The Vicar, having
spoken the weighty words, withdrew to his " Herren-
sttibel," followed by his fellow card-players, who had
crowded into the bar-room to see what had happened.
Hansl, though suffering, as one can imagine, great pain,
would not budge from the table ; and, a few minutes
later, a left-handed shake with his foe's right restored the
peace.
Though the night advances, the fun and noise does
not subside : on the contrary, it is on the increase, if any
thing.
Franzi, the constant butt of his friends' jokes at his
new dignity of " cross-bearer," is in the best of spirits,
54 C AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
and shows it by repeatedly paying for drinks all round.
Hansl, whose pain has been allayed by a poultice of
chamois-lard, and tincture of arnica, has forgotten his
defeat in " Fingerhackeln," and joins right merrily in the
snatches of songs, droll stories, and jokes made at his, or
at his elated rival's, expense.
Presently the old wooden clock right over the table
strikes out, in the faltering and slow manner peculiar to
this kind of timekeeper, the hour of midnight. The host
rises from the table, and, walking down the center of the
room, doffs his velvet skull-cap, announcing to his noisy
guests the "Polizeistunde" (police-hour), after which no
more drink is furnished.
Many of the party remonstrate with the host, and
maintain that on such an exceptional night, on the eve
of a Passion Play, the hour should be extended to one
o'clock ; but mine host turns a deaf ear to their eloquent
appeals ; and though the order he' gives to the Keîlnerinen
in an undertone, while pointing with his thumb over his
shoulder to the door of the " Herrenstiibel," to see that
the Herr Vicar's bottle was kept replenished, is not in
keeping with his severity, he remains firm, and our noisy
party is broken up, and leaves the bar-room among gene¬
ral hilarity ; each member, as he passes out of the room,
dipping his fingers into the receptacle of holy water
hanging on the door-post, and wetting his forehead.
We will wish them good-night, and a God-speed on
their distant homeward tramp, and join in their hope that
the morrow's performance will not only be the success
their hearts desire, but also that the pious and righteous
Passion Play will duly edify the hundreds that flock to
that singular gathering.
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. S 5
CHAPTER III.
THE CHAMOIS . AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER.
VERY frequently have I been astonished at the degree
of ignorance displayed by the traveling public re¬
specting the chamois and its habitat. In fact, it would
seem that in the minds of most people this animal is
associated with tales of miraculous feats, intermingled with
a superabundance of romance and superstition.
Let us endeavor to fathom the cause of this odd
anomaly, — an animal inhabiting the very center of Europe,
and yet enveloped in a veil of mystery.
The extraordinary powers of locomotion with which
the chamois is gifted, and the elevated nature of its
home, make its pursuit by man a difficult and dangerous
task, requiring constant training from childhood, together
with courage, an iron constitution, and a clear and steady
eye and hand. These qualities a chamois-stalker must
possess ; and very naturally it is just these that remove
chamois-stalking in its genuine sense from the hands of
educated and scientific men to those of the hardy native,
who, while willing to undergo the necessary fatigues and
privations, has the muscles and heart that furnish a
" Gamsjäger."
To a native chamois-stalker — the only person, as I
have shown, who has the opportunity of watching the
movements and habits of that animal — the idea of watch¬
ing his game with any other view'than that of sport would
seem supremely ridiculous.
Saussure and the late Mr. Boner are perhaps the only
s 6 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
two persons who have described the chamois accurately
and from their own experience. The Saussure of the
eighteenth century found the Swiss peaks still tenanted by
the fleet tribe of chamois, while Mr. Boner laid the scene
of his observation and sport in the somewhat tame scene¬
ry of the Bavarian Highlands, where sport is made easy
by large preserves, and the far less precipitous and dan¬
gerous nature of the sporting grounds.
While Switzerland has been effectually cleared of its
former tenants by the invading hosts of tourists and trav¬
elers, Tyrol has, by dint of some judicious game-laws,
managed to increase its stock to a very considerable
extent.
The three largest preserves in the country—viz., the
one near the Achensee, belonging to the Duke of Coburg ;
the one situated near Kufstein, the property of Archduke
Victor, brother of the Emperor of Austria ; and the pre¬
serve occupying the extreme end of the Zillerthal, owned
by Prince Fiirstenberg — are estimated to shelter from
2,500 to 3,000 head of chamois.
Besides these private preserves there are innumerable
parochial preserves belonging to villages and hamlets,
each house-owner having the right to shoot over a district
of vast proportions.
The villages of Brandenberg and Steinberg, in North
Tyrol, have, for instance, the shooting over not less than
48,000 Joch (about 80,000 acres) of the very best shoot¬
ing ground to be met with in Europe, excepting perhaps
some of the Scotch preserves, that cost their owners
thousands of pounds, while here the concern pays each
of the co-owners according to his annual bag.
For the benefit of those of my readers who have never
seen a chamois, I may give the following abridged descrip¬
tion of the animal.
Somewhat larger than a roe-deer, a chamois weighs
when full grown from forty to seventy pounds. Its color,
in summer of a dusky yellowish brown, changes in autumn
to a much darker hue, while in winter it is all but black.
The hair on the forehead and that which overhangs the
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 57
hoofs remain tawny brown throughout the year, while the
hair growing along the backbone is in winter dark brown
and of prodigious length ; it furnishes the much-prized
"Gamsbart," literally "beard of the chamois," with tufts'
of which the hunters love to adorn their hats.
The construction of the animal exhibits a wonderful
blending of strength and agility. The power of its mus¬
cles is rivaled by the extraordinary faculty of balancing
the body, of instantly finding, as it were, the center of
gravity. A jump of 20 or even 25 feet down a sheer
precipice on to a small pinnacle of rock, the point of
which is smaller than the palm of a man's hand, is a fact
of constant recurrence in the course of a chamois' flight.
With its four hoofs, shaped like those of a sheep, but
longer and more pointed, and of a much harder sub¬
stance, converging together, it will occupy this position
for hours, watching any particular object that has attracted
its notice.
The marvelously keen sight and scent of this fleetest
of the antelope species is equally a matter of wonder. A
chamois, frightened by some unusual sound or sight, and
dashing down the precipitous slopes of the most inacces¬
sible mountains, will suddenly stop, as if struck by light¬
ning, some yards from the spot where recent human foot¬
prints are visible "in the snow, or when, by a sudden veer¬
ing of the wind, its keen scent has warned it of the
vicinity of a human being.
It is obvious that the chase of an animal gifted with
such extraordinary powers of locomotion and endurance,
and with an amazingly keen scent detecting danger at a
great distance, requires corresponding faculties on the
part of the hunter.
The power of undergoing great fatigue, privations, and
cold, a steady hand, and a cool clear head and nerves,
are the sine quâ non that go to produce a chamois-
stalker; and it is just the knowledge and consciousness
of possessing these qualities that in nine cases out of ten
furnish the mainspring of the hunter's passion.
The hunter must rely entirely upon himself. Neither
58 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
man nor dog can be of service to him ; and no fear of
hunger, cold, and the yawning abyss at his side, should
make him waver or turn.
When following his game high up in the grand solitude
of the sublime giant peaks, he is lost to man and the pur¬
suits and passions that sway other men's destinies. He is
entirely carried away by the excitement of the sport ; he
crosses fields of snow without thinking of the chasms
which are hidden under that treacherous cover; he
plunges into the most inaccessible recesses of the moun¬
tains ; and he climbs and jumps from crag to crag, and
creeps along narrow bands of rock overhanging terrible
precipices, without once thinking how he can return.
Night finds him high up, seven or eight thousand feet,
perhaps, over the tiny little valley that contains his poor
dwelling. Alone, without fire, without light, without any
sort of shelter, he has to pass the cold night close to gla¬
ciers and vast snowfields.
The chief characteristics of a chamois-hunter's appear¬
ance might be comprised in the following short delinea¬
tion : a gaunt and bony figure, brown and sinewy knees,
scarred and scratched, hair shaggy, and hunger the ex¬
pression of the face ; dark piercing eyes, marked eye¬
brows, a bent eagle nose, and high fleshless cheek-bones.
The shirt open in front displays thé breadth of the
hairy mahogany-hued chest, while the strong and bony
but fleshless hands, with talon-like fingers constantly bent,
clutch the long and stout alpenstock.
The chamois and its chase has for ever been a rich
mine of anecdote and myth. The elder Pliny, the great
Roman naturalist, gives us in his Natural History a strik¬
ing proof of the gross superstition which attached to this
animal in old times. Among other distinctive peculiari¬
ties with which he invests the chamois, he declares that
the blood of the chamois possesses great healing powers
for several diseases, such as consumption and low fever ;
but for one ailment in particular its qualities are a spe¬
cific, namely, " the loss of one's intestines," as he terms
a malady which we must hope, for humanity's sake, has
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 59
since disappeared from the long list of mortal sufferings.
He closes his remarkable description of the animal with
the somewhat mysterious disclosure, that the blood of the
buck used in a certain manner softens the diamond into
a sort of kneadable paste. " This latter piece of impor¬
tant information," the author adds, " has recently been
doubted by skeptics."
One can not but be amazed that such absurdities were
devoutly believed for many centuries ; but it must be a
source of even greater wonder to read in modern descrip¬
tions of the chamois whole pages of nonsense not a whit
less astonishing. One recent author, for instance, main¬
tains that the hunter rarely shoots, but drives his game
into places from which further retreat is impossible ; he
then draws his knife, and " puts it to the side of the
chamois, and the animal of its own accord pushes it into
its body."
The recently-invented trick of " intelligent " hotel-
keepers in Switzerland, of placing a stuffed chamois on
some crag a couple of hundred feet over the hotel, and
then pointing it out to unsuspicious tourists, can not throw
much light on the chamois' habitat, however pleasant it
must be to sightseeing cockneys to be able to eat their
" Gamsbraten " and drink their pint of sour Swiss wine
under the very nose of a royal chamois buck.
No doubt such a make-believe sight tends to confirm
the innocent tourist in his conviction that he is in the
midst of the glorious snow and glacier-covered Alpine
peaks, watching the sportive chamois ; and we well may
suppose that the prospect of astounding willing ears on
his return home with narratives of the numerous herds of
chamois he has closely watched, gladdens his heart.
Returning to Tyrol, where such devices are as yet un¬
known, and I hope will remain so for many years to come,
we must glance once more at the chamois-stalker.
His motives, even if he is a poacher, are not merce¬
nary. It is the chase itself which attracts him, and not the
value of the prey ; it is the excitement and the very dan¬
gers themselves, which render the chamois-hunter indifter-
CO GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
ent to most other pursuits and pleasures. The glorious
Alps, the grand stem solitude reigning around him, the
gaunt peaks, and not least the exhilarating influence of
the clear, bracing air, that renders motion and exertion a
pleasure, instill in him an inordinate love for the solitary
sport. " A chamois-stalker who would exchange his life
foi that of a king is not a genuine chamois-hunter," I
have been told, not by one, but by twenty " Gamsjäger ; "
and, were I to call my own feelings into question, I must
corroborate this sentiment.
Before giving my readers any instances of my own
experience of the kingly sport, I must notice an interest¬
ing instance where a woman, urged by love, shared the
perils and hardships undergone by her lover, a noted
poacher, and exhibited a remarkable spirit of fortitude
under the most trying circumstances.
Those of my readers who have ever visited the in¬
teresting old castle "Tratzberg," near Jenbach, on the
Kufstein-Innsbruck line of rail, will no doubt have been
struck by the very remarkable workmanship of divers
groups of game in life-size, carved in wood, that ornament
the hall and passages of the castle.
They display to the eye of a connoisseur great skill in
their life-like imitation, and one is struck with the accu¬
racy of every detail, be it the bend of a noble hart's neck,
or the graceful attitude of a rose-deer, or the exact color¬
ing of the chamois' hair.
The man who, by dint of his rare skill, has thus por¬
trayed game in their wild state, was once a noted poacher,
and now has risen to be one of the best carvers in this
part of the country.
The circumstances that brought about the transformation
of a daring poacher, — who, it is said, proved himself on
more than one occasion a relentless foe of the keepers, —
into a skillful artist, are the subject of my brief biography.
Toni, for such is the Christian name of the ex-poacher,
is a native of the village E , in the Unter-Innthal ;
and the surrounding large and well-stocked preserves of
a certain noble duke afforded him, in his character of
TUE. CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 6l
poacher, the very best sport ; but, as a natural conse¬
quence, he ran the most deadly risk, every time he set
out on his expeditions, of never returning home. A
bullet, he well knew, was pretty sure to find its way into
his body, if he persisted in his reckless course.
Fortunately for him, " the course of true love " saved
him from a violent death. Pretty Moidl, a daughter of a
wealthy peasant in Toni's native village, had been for
some time past the object of his fondest hopes and the
subject of many a daring " Schnaddahiipfler " sung in the
village inn on festive occasions.
Marriage between the poor penniless poacher and the
daughter of the rich peasant was, of course, impossible ;
and so the two young people loved and sinned behind
the backs of the parents.
In a short time the dire results of the free and easy
love-making â la Tyrol began to show. The girl, terribly
frightened by the thought of her parents' wrath, deter¬
mined to elope with the choice of her heart.
When the white pall of snow had vanished from the
adjacent peaks and mountains, and the balmy May sun
was enticing the more venturesome peasants to drive their
cattle to the verdant mountain slopes, Toni and his
sweetheart suddenly disappeared, one fine day, from their
village.
Nobody knew where they had gone ; and the mystery
grew darker when, some weeks afterwards, the report was
spread that Toni had been shot in an affray with keepers.
It was not known where, and by whom ; and the
keepers, of course, took good care to give evasive answers
to any indiscreet questions on the subject of Toni's fate.
All this time our hero and his fair donna were inhabit¬
ing a disused woodcutter's hovel high up on the moun¬
tains, in a tiny and excessively wild mountain gorge,
uninhabited save by the royal hart and agile roe-deer.
For their sustenance they had to depend entirely upon
the rifle of Toni : milk, bread, flour, or any other of life's
most necessary commodities, were beyond their reach.
One night, two or three days previous to Moidl's con-
62 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
finement, Toni failed to return from his daily raid in
quest of game. The girl vas in a sad plight. Too weak
to regain the next inhabited valley, some eight or ten
hours off, she was at her wit's end, and beginning to
repent her bold step.
On the eve of the second day, unfortunate Toni entered
the hut. Bloodstained, hardly able to stand, and terribly
weakened by the effects of a wound, he presented a sad
spectacle to the loving eyes of his devoted girl. It seems
that Toni had been tracked by the keepers, and, while
watching the approach of some roe-deer, he received a
ball right through the fleshy part of his shoulder.
Springing up, he was lucky enough to escape his pur¬
suers ; and, in his dread of having his retreat discovered,
he took the opposite direction, and thus foiled the sus¬
picions of his antagonists.
Anxious to elude his foes, who he feared would institute
a close search among the adjacent peaks and passes, he
and Moidl left the miserable hut that very night.
A sort of cave, distant about two hours from their
abode, was their goal. After a wearisome and perilous
ascent in the dark night, they reached their new hiding-
place just as dawn was breaking. Both had exerted their
utmost strength ; he weak from loss of blood and the
effects of his wound, she on the eve of her confinement.
The next day Toni set out in quest of game, and on
his return towards evening with a chamois on his back,
he found poor forsaken Moidl the mother of a babe.
Being without means of lighting a fire, he could not even
cook the meat, and for the first day Moidl had to find
the necessary sustenance in the blood of the chamois, of
which she drank about two pints.
The next morning Toni set out for a distant Alp-hut,
where he hoped to find some matches and some cooking
utensil or other. He was fortunate enough to find a
box-full of the former and an iron pot.
The third day Moidl was already up and about, and
with the aid of some water and the iron pot cooked some
broth for Toni and herself.
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 63
The child born in such primitive and original quarters
throve, and formed a fresh link between the two faithful
lovers.
For eight weeks these poor creatures resided in the
cave, and would have continued very probably till ap¬
proaching winter obliged them to descend, had not an
accident occurred to poor Toni.
On one of his raids he crossed the imaginary boundary
line, running along a high ridge of mountains, which
divides Tyrol from Bavaria. As he was returning, laden
with a roebuck, two keepers from the Bavarian preserves
and two keepers from the Tyrolese shooting grounds per¬
ceived him, and united their forces in order, if possible,
to catch him alive. They succeeded only too well, and
poor Toni was transported the following day to the next
Bavarian town, some thirty or thirty-five miles off. There
he was committed for trial ; and the result was a sen¬
tence which condemned him to a comparatively long
term of imprisonment.
Luckily for him he was brought to one of the model
prisons near Munich, where he was taught the rudiments
of drawing and carving ; and when he left the peniten¬
tiary he had imbibed a strong taste for carving from
nature. After several years' imprisonment he returned
home and set up a primitive sort of workshop.
Moidl, on the contrary, finding that. Toni did not re¬
turn from his shooting expedition, waited for a. few days
longer, and then descended to civilized valleys. Afraid
to return home with the proof of her guilt in her arms, she
turned her back on Tyrol, and went on foot to Tegernsee,
a lake in Bavaria, a good distance off. There she found
kind people to take care of her child, and to her great
joy she learned too that her Toni was not shot, but only
imprisoned. After stopping a few months with her child,
she returned to her native village, and re-entered her
paternal home as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
None of her family, and none of the natives of the
village, ever learned the details of her exploit, and verv
probably they never will.
64 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
To return to Toni's career. The owner of Castle
Tratzberg, Count E , happened to see one of the
heads of a chamois turned out by Toni, and, perceiving
therein the undoubted traces of great skill, sent him, at
his own expense, to a celebrated Bavarian school for
carving in wood from nature. Here Toni staid a con¬
siderable period, and left it the finished artist he now is.
Now to instances of my own experience of the noble
sport of chamois-stalking.
Delightful old Schwaz, a quaint village dating its ex¬
istence back to the early Middle Ages, situated on the
right-hand bank of the swift Inn, has been for years a
favorite starting-point for my chamois-stalking expedi¬
tions.
Right opposite the quaint old-fashioned houses form¬
ing the main street, and on the opposite side of the val¬
ley, the high and terribly steep " Vompergebirg " rises in
one unbroken mass up to nearly 9,000 feet over the level
of the sea.
Far in among the oddly-shaped pinnacles which rise
to even a greater height than the front peaks, which are
partly visible from the Inn valley itself, there is a deep
and narrow glen, and snugly ensconced in it is a small
log-hut, surrounded by a lovely grove of beech-trees.
Built for the convenience of the gamekeepers of the vast
surrounding preserves, who have to be constantly on the
watch lest poachers, reckless of the terrible risk they
run, should enter them, it has been many scores of times
my night-quarters.
It was towards the end of October, 187-, that a six-
hours' walk from Schwaz brought me to the Zwerch-
bachhikte, the name of the hut I have just described.
My kit for chamois-stalking expeditions is of a some¬
what bulky nature, and generally a weight not far short
of eighteen pounds has accumulated by the time a big
piece of bacon, a dozen or so of hard-boiled eggs, bread,
tea, and sugar, a flask of Kirschwasser, a telescope, and
that most important of culinary implements, a small iron
pan with a hinged handle, have been packed into my
THE CHAMOIS AMD THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 65
''Rücksack." 1 The weight lies to a great extent against
the small of the back.
Having left Schwaz at daybreak, I had reached the hut
and cooked my simple repast by half-past ten o'clock. I
had thus ample time for an afternoon stalk. Leaving
every thing save my rifle, alpenstock, "Steigeisen"
(crampons), and telescope, at the hut where I intended
to pass that night, and even divesting myself of my heavy
coat, so as to reach the heights of the mountains with as
little loss of time as possible, I set out on my stalk.
As I looked up from the hut to the summit of the
snow-clad peaks, it seemed impossible that human foot
could gain them ; and yet, to have any chance with the
chamois, I must be on the top of an immense crag some
2,000 feet above my head, in an hour, or at the latest
an hour and a half.
By a few minutes after three I had gained the aforesaid
point. Night would fall at about six or half-past, and,
counting an hour to get down, I had still about two hours
to spare.
Reconnoitering with my telescope the rising precipitous
slopes of the adjacent peaks, I soon discovered a herd of
nine chamois, amongst which I perceived a patriarchal
buck.
As the wind came up from the valley — a matter of
high importance, on account of the amazingly keen scent
of the game — I had to decide to make a considerable
round in order to weather them. After an hour's hard
scramble, I had gained the same altitude as that of the
herd in view. Had the ground which now intervened
between me and the game been a little less unfavorable,
every thing would have gone well ; but the only means of
getting within range of the wary animals was by creeping
along a narrow ledge of about two to two and one-half
feet in width, that ran horizontally across the face of an
immense wall of rock, at the other end of which the
chamois were browsing on the stunted " Latschen " that
grew there.
1 A sack of strong canvas with two broad leather straps, through which the
arms are looped.
66 G AD DINGS WITI-I A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The ledge was not more than 400 or 500 yards long,
but I was obliged to proceed very slowly and carefully,
for fear of betraying myself by knocking any of the small
stones which littered the ledge down the precipice —
some two or three hundred feet in height — which yawned
at my side.
At last, after more than an hour and a half s hard work,
I managed to reach the end of the ledge, and, picking
out my buck at about 160 yards, I fired.
Intently watching the effect of my shot, I saw the
chamois rise on his hind-legs and fall over backwards, a
sure sign that he was mortally wounded.
The charm and excitement which the successful hunter
experiences in moments like this are not easily described.
Certain it is that few other pleasures that life can offer are
preferable to them.
Reloading my rifle, I hastened up to the spot, but
found the buck had vanished. The color of the blood
which lay in a pool on the rock convinced me, however,
that the game was hit hard, and could not be very far
off.
Not till now, when it was too late, did the imprudence
of proceeding so far by the waning daylight strike me.
What should I do ? Pursue the wounded buck, or try to
return to the hut? A few moments' consideration showed
me that, long before I could reach the really dangerous
places in the descent, night would have fallen. In full
daylight it required a very steady head and an extremely
sure foot, as in most parts it was certain death to place one's
foot an inch to the right or to the left of the jagged stones
projecting from the rock, by the aid of which the ascent
or descent could be accomplished. Thus I had to choose
the more prudent course of patiently enduring the pun¬
ishment of my rashness, which in this instance consisted
in camping out.
Had I been provided with the necessaries for so doing,
I should not have had any reason to dread the approach¬
ing night ; but without a coat on my back, without blanket
or any thing to cover me, and without a particle of food,
THE CHAMO/S AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 67
the case was very different ; and I entertained some un¬
pleasant notions of the coming eleven or twelve hours.
Leaving the buck to his fate, I set about looking for a
suitable nook or crevice which might offer some slight
shelter. The waning daylight enabled me to find such a
retreat in the shape of a small cave-like recess, which
looked any thing but inviting.
The vast snowfields in close proximity, the icy-cold
wind driving straight down from them, and ail atmosphere
considerably below freezing-point, did not add to my
comfort. The only consolation left to me was my pipe,
and before morning broke it had been filled and emptied
many a time. At last the rosy tinge of the heavens, now
unclouded by snow, which had begun to fall about mid¬
night, assured me that my sufferings were coming to an
end ; and never in my life do I remember greeting light
with such feelings of gratitude as on that morning. My
flannel shirt, saturated by perspiration the evening before,
was frozen, and formed an icy coat of mail for my shiv¬
ering body inside it.
Fortunately the snow lay very thin, so that it was easy to
follow the gory tracks of the wounded buck. Half an
hour's invigorating climb brought me to the place where
the animal had evidently passed the night ; large pools of
partly fresh and partly congealed blood marked the spot.
I had not proceeded more than a couple of hundred
yards farther up a narrow gorge when a shrill " phew " —
the chamois' whistle of alarm — brought my rifle to my
shoulder, and levelled at the buck, standing on a crag
projecting from the otherwise smooth surface of an im¬
mense precipice. The next instant my shot awoke the
slumbering echoes of the ravine, and the buck came
tumbling down the declivity, this time not to get up
again.
On reaching the animal I found that my first ball had
pierced its lungs. It seems hardly credible that an ani¬
mal mortally wounded could continue its flight up the
most dangerous passes and over chasm-parted crags, and
that its steel muscles could carry it on and on after losing
68 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
such quantities of blood. But. so it is, a wonder to those
who know the miraculous vitality and tenacity of life
which characterizes this magnificent little mountain ante¬
lope.
Brittling the game, — that is, removing the intestines,
and filling the cavity thus formed with twigs of a neigh¬
boring " Latschen " bush, — I managed to fasten the buck,
with the aid of my leather belt, to my back, and turned
my steps homeward. I doubt very much if I could have
reached the hut, had I not had my trusty crampons on my
feet.
The thin coat of snow covering the rocks made the
descent of a doubly dangerous nature ; added to which
I had a fifty-pound weight on my back, and naturally
felt somewhat faint for want of food. In one place I was
fairly compelled to divest myself of crampons, shoes, and
socks, and pick my faltering steps barefooted over the
projecting crags on the face of a perpendicular wall of
rock, at the foot of which, some 2,000 feet below me, lay
the hut, inviting one gigantic leap which would land me
at its very threshold. At last, after one or two somewhat
narrow escapes, I reached my asylum, and right glad I
was that this descent, one of the most perilous I ever
remember, had ended so satisfactorily.
By the time a hearty meal and a few hours' sleep on
the soft and fragrant Alpine heather had restored my
vigor, the afternoon had passed, and had it not been for
a bright full moon, which promised to light me home, I
should have remained that night in the hut.
Soon after sunset the full disk of the moon rose over a
gap in the otherwise unbroken ridge flanking the gorge
in which I was now walking homewards.
The huge gaunt forms of the peaks and crags, in many
parts in deep mysterious shade, contrasted most charm¬
ingly with the glittering snowfields and ashy-white peaks
illuminated by the rays of a full moon. Now passing a
cataract of white foaming water, glittering and gleaming
as the moonbeams touched each distinct drop, then again
traversing dense gloomy pine-forests, the tops of the trees
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 69
tinged with silvery light, the rest dark and somber ; now
fording a turbulent rivulet, rushing down the declivity in
headlong haste, then again crossing peaceful stretches of
Alpine meadow-land dotted here and there with clumps
of patriarchal pine-trees, my walk proved a delightful
close to my expedition.
The reader, however, must not infer from this narrative
that the lonely chamois-stalker always meets with success
at a cost of so little time and trouble as I experienced in
this instance.
Droves of nine head of chamois are not to be met
with in all. parts of Tyrol, and often and often has it been
my fate to be high up in the barren, terribly grand re¬
cesses of the Tyrolese Alps for days, and hardly see a
chamois ; or, at other times, an unsteady hand at the
moment of firing has obliged me to traverse glaciers,
snowfields, and passes, to seek a distant glen or peak
where the chamois had not been alarmed by the echoes
of my shot.
Frequently two days elapse from the time of leaving
the valley before a buck has been sighted and the line of
attack resolved upon ; and then often, when after end¬
less fatigue and danger the game has been nearly brought
within range, the wind may suddenly veer, and a second
later a shrill " phew " of the alarmed chamois tells you that
the fine scent of your prey has frustrated all your designs.
On one occasion, I remember, while hunting in the
rugged " Kaisergebirg," I had approached a drove of six
or seven chamois to within shooting distance, when the
sight of a " Steinadler " or golden eagle, which, circling
right over my head, was allured probably by my motion¬
less position ventre à terre for more than an hour, sent
my game away in the twinkling of an eye, and long before
I had time to venture a long shot at the wary old buck
who was keeping guard farthest off from me, and for
whose approach I had been patiently waiting.
Another time, on the same mountains, I was imprisoned
for two nights and one day on a pinnacle of rock by the
accidental slipping of the rope which had enabled me to
70 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
gain the eminence. The jump, or rather the drop, that
eventually set me free, was not much of a jump in any
ordinary place, but here it was a very serious affair indeed.
I had thrown the ill-fated rope, provided with a running
noose, so as to catch any projecting particle of the rock,
from a band of rock not more than twenty-eight or thirty
inches broad, running horizontally across the face of a
stupendous precipice four or five church-steeples high.
Now that the rope was gone, I had to jump the height, up
which I had hauled myself by means of the rope. The
distance intervening between the band of rock and the
point I was standing on was less than twelve feet in
height ; and deducting seven or eight feet which I could
cover by lowering myself and holding to the top by my
hands, the actual drop, measured from the soles of my
feet to the base of the miniature precipice where the
narrow ledge projected, was about four or five feet.
Nothing ! if you have level ground to drop upon, and no
yawning abyss at the side ; but here there were nine
chances to ten that the drop would end badly.
It was only when the pangs of hunger on the morning
of the second day, and the certainty of a lingering death
by starvation, rendered me reckless of the terrible risk,
and a sudden death seemed preferable to tortures slow
and lingering, that at last I resolved to chance the drop.
Fate favored me, and I alighted erect and firm on the
narrow strip of rock that separated me from death. I
had taken off my shoes and socks, so as to prevent my
slipping on reaching the ledge, at that part, if any thing,
shelving downwards. The slightest tremor of my knees,
or the most minute giving-way of my joints on alighting,
would have resulted in the loss of my balance ; and as
there was nothing to afford me the slightest hold on the
smooth surface of the rock, I should have been pitched
head foremost clown the abyss. My feet were badly cut
on the sharp stones on which I alighted, and for weeks
my little adventure was recalled to my mind in an un¬
pleasant manner : I ought not, however, to complain of
this insignificant injury, considering I had a somewhat
remarkable escape.
THE CHAMOIS AND THE CHAMOIS-STALKER. 71
To show ray reader that much time and exertion is ex¬
pended, and severe privations are vainly endured, by
hunters while pursuing chamois in thinly-stocked neigh¬
borhoods, I may mention that in one season I made the
two expeditions I have just referred to, besides a third into
the same range of mountains, and in all these I did not
fire one shot.
At other times, when the chamois are driven at battues
in the carefully-guarded preserves of either of the three
noble owners above mentioned, a fairly good rifle-shot,
posted on an advantageous point, can knock over from
five to six chamois in the course of a few hours.
In my humble opinion, and in that of every sportsman
who has once successfully " stalked " a chamois, the driv¬
ing of chamois deprives the sport of those highly attractive
features, which, beyond perhaps any other sport in the
world, act as an ever-new, all-engrossing excitement on
the mind of the man who has once tasted its pleasures.
It would seem to me that the wholesale slaughter of
an animal that Nature herself has placed in the most sub¬
lime recesses of her creation, and endowed with such
noble qualities and wonderful organization, is a proceed¬
ing which a true sportsman ought not to countenance.
In the preceding pages I have endeavored to give my
readers an insight into the character of the chamois-
stalker, as well as to show the nature of the sport itself.
•Manifold dangers and adventures of more or less peril,
together with the hardships natural to the craft, are the
fate of the chamois-stalker, till perhaps some day or other
he.fails to return to his châlet, to his wife, and to his little
ones. A bullet from the rifle of a hostile keeper, or a
treacherous bough or a loose stone or a false step pitches
him to the foot of a precipice hundreds of feet in height ;
and years afterwards, perhaps, his bones are found, picked
clean by the mighty eagle or by the wild animals of the
Alps. A grand and silent grave, marked by a mighty
tombstone set by his Creator himself, is only too often
the last resting-place of a chamois-stalker.
72 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER IV.
AN ENCOUNTER WITH TYROLESE POACHERS.
A FOUR-MONTHS' tour in quest of sport brought
me, in the autumn of 1867, to L , a small and
entirely isolated Alpine village in the Bavarian Highlands,
close to the Tyrolese frontier.
I do not know whether it was the result of a heavy
day's work, wading, rod in hand, in the icy-cold waters
of " Isar," or the knowledge that a certain fresh barrel
of Munich beer was to be tapped, — an event of no mean
importance in the modest inn of the village, — which in¬
duced me, when night put a stop to my fishing, to seek a
cozy retreat in the bar-room of the village Wirthshaus.
Hardly was I seated in my snug corner, right below
the execrably-daubed crucifix adorning, as is the custom
in the Tyrolese and Bavarian Highlands, the corner of
every bar-room, when in rushed, in an evident state of
excitement, the " Herr Oberförster," head-forester of the
surrounding royal game-preserves.
My query as to the cause of his unusual emotion was
speedily answered.
One of his numerous under-keepers had at that very
moment brought him the news that four " Wilddiebe," or
poachers, had been seen high up on the mountains by
two keepers, one of whom had come down in hot haste
to seek re-enforcements in order to capture the intruders.
Unquestionably, the head-keeper continued, these
poachers were the very same four Tyrolese scoundrels who
the year before had shot two of the Bavarian keepers,
ENCOUNTER WITH TYRO LESE POACHERS. 73
and, hardly three months previously, severely wounded
three others who had endeavored to take them prisoners.
This was welcome news to my friend the Herr Ober¬
förster, who had on several occasions vowed the destruc¬
tion of that fearless and daring quartet of Tyrolese, who
in less than a year had killed or maimed no less than five
of his subordinates.
All the keepers who at that precise moment were not
out among the mountains were ordered to assemble ;
and in a quarter of an hour six men, eager to avenge
their comrades' fate, were collected in the head-keeper's
cottage, whither I had accompanied him.
The evident fact that adventure of no ordinary charac¬
ter would in all probability attend this exploit, naturally
made me eager to witness the strife. After some trouble,
I succeeded in persuading the head-keeper to allow my
accompanying the party, of course, only as a mere
looker-on.
To act as combatant on this occasion lay far from my
intentions, as, strange to say, my sympathies were on the
side of the Tyrolese, though, as I have related, a twofold
manslaughter was laid to their door.
The deadly feud and animosity existing between the
Tyrolese and Bavarian Highlanders since the time of the
French wars in the beginning of the present century has
by no means died out, but flares up on frequent occa¬
sions.
The Bavarian preserves, well stocked with game, but
rigorously guarded by small corps of gamekeepers, aided
by the rural policemen or gendarmes, are looked upon
by the Tyrolese living close to the frontier as their legiti¬
mate sporting ground ; and it is just on these occasions,
when hostile parties meet, that the deadly animosity of
the Tyrolese poacher to the Bavarian keeper, and vice
versa, leads to murder and manslaughter.
To these two circumstances, and to the fact that the
Tyrolese, inhabiting mountain recesses, have an innate
love of wild sport, we must attribute the frequent encoun¬
ters resulting in the death either of the keeper or the
poacher.
74 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
They are by no means moved to this dangerous game
by any motive of gain, but simply by that love of free
nature and the excitement of the perilous chase, which
He who created the chamois and He who piled the
mountains and glaciers upon each other has placed in
their hearts, like the apple-tree in the Garden of Eden.
Thus it frequently happens that a young fellow, not
content with the sport which his own mountains afford,
leaves his home, an isolated chalet on the Tyrolese-
Bavarian frontier, crosses the mountains, and, entering
the forbidden land, fails, one day, to return to his home.
A deadly shot from behind some ambush, a cry of
anguish, and the poor fellow has paid the penalty of
death for a crime which, even were it to come before a
court of justice, would be punished with but six or nine
months' imprisonment.
The body of the unhappy poacher, if it has not fallen
down the yawning abyss at the side of which he was
walking,'unconscious of danger, is pushed down into its
deep and silent grave by the ruthless hand of the slayer,
the gamekeeper, who, not caring to risk life and limb in
a struggle with his foè, removes him from the face of
God's earth by a cowardly shot.
Of late years this feeling of mortal enmity has some¬
what abated; but at the time I am speaking of, some
seven or eight years ago, inquiries respecting the mys¬
terious disappearance of a young Tyrolese from his native
village or solitary châlet-home were invariably met by a
shrug of the shoulders and, " Shot by the Bavarians."
But to return to my narrative.
Our party, consisting of the head-keeper and six of his
men and myself, were, after making some necessary
preparations, ready to start.
With some bread, bacon, and a flask of " Kirschwasser "
in my bag, and with my revolver, in case of emergency,
in my pocket, I joined the rest, who had already left the
head-keeper's habitation.
The man who had brought the alarm led the way, then
followed the Oberförster and his other men, and I brought
up the rear.
ENCOUNTER WITH TYROLESE POACHERS. 75
The night being pitch dark, and our way lying up some
very awkward ledges and along some deep precipices,
our progress was naturally slow; and the rain, which
soon after our departure came on, did not serve to raise
our spirits. Walking, and in many places creeping along
on our hands and knees, we spent the best part of that
night before we reached the spot where the two keepers
had parted, one to give the alarm, the other to continue
his watch on the movements of the poachers.
We were astonished to find no one there, and our
undertone calls for "Johann"—the keeper—remained
unanswered.
All of a sudden, our whispered consultation was inter¬
rupted by a low stifled groan, uttered apparently by a
human being close by.
Fearing that this was part of a subtle stratagem of the
poachers, who, we were now convinced, had discovered
Johann, and intended by their groans fio entice us to
approach their ambush, we remained quite quiet for the
next hour, till day began to break.
What dawn disclosed to our eyes, the reader will be
astonished to learn.
Not thirty paces from the spot where we lay was poor
Johann, divested of his coat, and securely pinioned to a
pine-tree. With his mouth gagged, his face besmeared
with blood, his rifle, broken at the stock, at his feet, he
presented a sorry spectacle.
To cut him loose, force some spirits down his throat,
and bind up his bleeding wounds, was the work of a few
minutes. When sufficiently recovered to speak, he told
us that while he was at his post his gun had slipped from
his hand, and, striking a rock, the charge had exploded.
The poachers, then not more than 400 yards off, just
across a narrow but deep gully, at first imagined the shot
was intended for them ; but, seeing nobody, they cau¬
tiously approached, rifle in hand, the spot where poor
Johann had hid himself under some brushwood, afraid to
move.
Searching the place, they soon discovered him, and,
76 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
threatening him with immediate death, they pinioned the
poor fellow to the next tree.
His life hung upon a thread during the next five min¬
utes, while the Tyrolese were deciding the fate of their
prisoner.
The defenseless man must have moved their pity, for
they took their departure soon afterwards, after inflicting
with their iron-shod Alpenstöcke some painful prods on
their hapless victim.
Had their prisoner been one of those keepers whom
they suspected of picking off any of their comrades, a
murder would have undoubtedly preceded their departure.
Watching his foes' movements as long as the waning
daylight had allowed, he was convinced, by the direc¬
tion the four men had taken, that they were encamped
for the night in an Alp-hut not more than half an hour's
climb distant, wholly unconscious of the fact that they
had been seen by a second man, who had in a compara¬
tively short time brought overwhelming odds against
them.
As it was the month of October, and the Alp-hut, sit¬
uated high up on the mountain, was occupied only dur¬
ing the three summer months, we were convinced that
the hut was untenanted, thus affording a welcome night's
shelter to the poachers.
It was now, naturally, a matter of the greatest impor¬
tance to surprise the men while yet in the hut, and though,
as Johann informed us, three of them had each a chamois
on his back, they would not in all probability leave the
hut for their return homeward before seven or eight
o'clock.
Giving the necessary instructions to his seven men,—
Johann was sufficiently recovered to join the party, —the
Oberförster and his little army made for the hut as fast
as they could, while I was to gain, by a somewhat cir¬
cuitous route, a little eminence right over the hut, whence
I might overlook the whole scene of the coming combat
without incurring any risk.
Half an hour's scramble brought me to the height, and
ENCOUNTER WITH TYROLESE POACHERS. 77
on looking down the wreath of smoke curling up from
the opening in the roof of the hut intimated that the
poachers were still within, probably cooking their break¬
fast before starting on their perilous return over the
frontier — in this instance an imaginary line running
along the heights of the snow-covered ridge of moun¬
tains rising in one sublime wall from the plateau on
which the Alp-hut stood.
My post enabled me to see every movement of the
eight men as they cautiously approached the hut, hardly
400 yards below me.
When about 150 yards from the chalet they divided, it
being the intention of their leader to station one man at
each corner of the hut while the remaining four keepers
were to advance to the closed door.
They had hardly walked a few paces, when a thunder¬
ing "Halt! or we shoot," from the poachers within the
hut, brought the advancing force to a sudden standstill ;
and, throwing themselves flat down, they instinctively
sought shelter behind some trees and rocks which were
lying around.
Caged undoubtedly the poachers were, but by no
means caught.
To dislodge four resolute, well-armed men, dead shots,
from a bullet-proof log-hut standing in the center of a
flat piece of ground, is by no means an easy undertaking.
The Oberförster, convinced against his will of the impos¬
sibility of bring about a favorable result by force unaided
by subtle stratagem, withdrew his men to a safer place,
whence the hut could be watched without being in immi¬
nent danger from the enemy's rifles.
At the trial of the poachers, who subsequently were
made prisoners, it appeared that the silent man, attired in
the garb of a cowherd, who was sitting in the dark corner
of the bar-room the previous evening while the Ober¬
förster related the news of the poachers having been seen,
had acted as informant.
This man turned out to be a native of the next Tyrol-
ese village, and, without being in the least connected with
78 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the poachers, he had, from mere spite to the hated Bava¬
rians, warned his countrymen of the approaching surprise ;
too late, however, to enable them or him to escape to
their own side of the adjacent peaks.
This of course explained the whole thing. As I was
convinced that the head-keeper would postpone until
night all attempts on the hut, I decided to leave my post,
and by a roundabout route join the small but valiant army
encamped barely 600 yards from the object of their con¬
tinued watching.
On reaching them, I found that one of the keepers had
been despatched back to L , and on my inquiring the
reason of such an arrangement at a time when every man
was needed, I was informed by the leader that he intended
to take the hut by assault at nightfall, and for this purpose
needed a bag of gunpowder to remove the barricaded
door, and thus enable the assailants to gain the hut with
comparatively little danger.
A very easy job it may seem to take by assault, with a
force of eight men, a simple log-hut defended by just
half that number; but when you come to consider the
substantial manner in which these chalets are built, the
immense thick door, iron-bound and fastened by a huge
beam drawn across it from the inside, and the resolute,
dare-devil character of the defenders, the reader will un¬
derstand the difficulties with which the assaulting force
had to cope.
Soon after sunset the keeper returned, accompanied by
a confrère whom he had found at home.
Soon afterwards, when it was sufficiently dark, we com¬
pleted our arrangements.
The dangerous task of placing the gunpowder bag
near the door of the hut devolved on a volunteer, a
keeper whose brother had been shot by Tyrolese poachers
some years before.
Slowly creeping along, the man gained the door in
safety, and, placing the bag against the latter, lighted the
slip of tinder which was to ignite the charge, consisting
of four pounds of gunpowder.
ENCOUNTER WITH TYROLESE POACHERS. 79
A second later, two shots from the hut made us tremble
for the life of the brave volunteer.
All of a sudden a huge bright flame shot up, illuminat¬
ing with a vivid light all surrounding objects. A terrible
explosion followed, and a second later the eight men had,
with one impetuous rush, gained the hut, and were pour¬
ing in through the breach produced by the explosion.
A shot, a second one, followed by a third discharge,
intimated that the struggle inside that narrow log-hut was
waging fierce and hot.
At this moment a dark object rushed past me up the
incline on which I was standing.
A bullet whistling past me in unpleasant proximity
induced me to throw myself down, while two of the keep¬
ers, in hot pursuit of the decamping poacher, nearly
stumbled over my prostrate form. Another shot, and the
hot and fierce fight was over.
On entering the hut by the doorway, now a large and
ill-shaped breach in the timber, my attention was first
attracted by the Oberförster stooping over the body of a
man lying full length in the center of the hut. The un¬
certain light of the fire in the open fireplace prevented
my recognizing the body till quite close to it.
It .was old Berchtold, one of the most trusty subor¬
dinates of the head-keeper, shot through the body. The
poor fellow was apparently in a dying state.
Two of the other men were in the act of placing the
gigantic form of a poacher on the table, while the remain¬
ing keepers were either busy binding up a wound in the
arm one of their comrades had received, or pinioning the
only other poacher then visible.
But where were the remaining two keepers and the two
poachers, who, as we supposed, had been sheltered in the
hut, in addition to the two now before us ? And who was
that miserable object sitting or rather crouching in the
corner of the fireplace, with his hands in his lap, staring
sullenly into the fire? These were all questions which
arose in my mind while I was busying myself with the
wound of the poacher stretched out on the table.
8o GAD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Before I was able to inquire, the two missing keepers
returned, holding between them a third "Wilddieb,"
whose face, originally blackened with soot to disguise
himself, was now, by the action of the blood trickling
from a wound on the forehead, restored, in many parts at
least, to its original color.
Through all this excitement we had entirely forgotten
the brave fellow who had fired the gunpowder, which had
clone such good service in clearing the way for the assault¬
ing force.
On my reminding the Oberförster of their negligence, a
search was ordered, and the man was ultimately found,
not twenty paces from the hut, in an insensible condition.
On examining him we found that a ball had grazed his
head ; and, although it had rendered him insensible, he
was not much hurt.
When the several cases had been properly attended to,
the question arose, What had better be done with those
who were more seriously injured?
This point was not soon nor easily decided. Old
Berchtold was without doubt, of all the wounded, the one
requiring most the aid of a doctor. The poacher on the
table was sinking rapidly; but the two keepers, one
wounded in the head, the other shot through the shoul¬
der, and the poacher taken prisoner while attempting to
escape, although not very seriously injured, would all be
better for a more scientific dressing of their wounds than
we were able to bestow on them.
It was decided, therefore, to start homewards as soon as
a serviceable litter for the transport of Berchtold could
be put together.
The rest of the wounded, and the poacher who had
come out of the fight without a scratch, were to accom¬
pany the litter, while the dying poacher was to be left
behind, his end being an affair of a few hours at the most.
One of the keepers was to remain. behind to watch over
him, as well as over the mysterious man who had been
found in the hut, and whom the Oberförster determined
to detain till the arrival of the Government commission,
which was to investigate the whole affair.
ENCOUNTER WITH TYRO LESE POACHERS. 81
Two six-foot-long Alpenstöcke, with a blanket and
some branches of a pine-tree, furnished a capital litter.
Passing a fresh bandage over Berchtold's wound, we
placed him on it. Propped up with several coats, the
poor fellow was better off than we could have hoped.
Four keepers were told off to carry him, a task of con¬
siderable difficulty, owing to the steepness of the descent
and the roughness of the path.
Next came the two injured keepers, followed by two
poachers both with tied hands ; the Oberförster walking
behind them, rifle in hand, vowing he would shoot the
man attempting to escape, closed the file. One of the
front carriers of the litter, and the keeper injured by
the ball grazing his head, carried each a torch made of
dry pieces of wood, between two and three feet in length,
steeped in molten rosin.
While burning, these emit a brilliant and ruddy light ;
and as they are not easily extinguished by either wind or
rain, they are preferable to lanterns, which latter are rare¬
ly used in the Tyrol or the Bavarian Highlands.
At the last moment I changed my mind, and decided
to remain in the hut for that night instead of accompany¬
ing the "train," whose progress, torturingly slow on ac¬
count of the wounded, would in all likelihood only bring
them to L towards the morning.
On re-entering the châlet, after wishing the departing
file a safe journey, I found the poacher in the same semi¬
conscious state in which I had left him.
Lying there stretched to his full length, under the glare
of the pine-torch stuck in between two beams right over
his head, he presented a most painful spectacle.
His was a handsome, intelligent face ; his two jet-black
eyes, fierce and angry in their expression, when at inter¬
vals he opened them and bent a piercing glance at the
keeper, were the most remarkable features.
His hands, crossed over his huge brawny chest, clasped
a rosary which one of the keepers had handed him ; and
the motion of his fingers, as now and again they moved
a bead, showed he was praying.
82 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Closely watching him from my seat at the fireplace, I
perceived the pearly dew of death settling on his brow,
and matting the locks of curly black hair which hung over
his forehead. His gigantic frame, in which great power
and agility seemed to be blended, appeared to stretch,
while the muscles of his face began to twitch, and distort
his manly visage.
Presently he started up into a sitting posture, and in a
high-pitched tone cried for his rifle. Stepping up to him,
I offered to replace the bandage of his wound, which,
loosely put on from the first, had been partially displaced
by his violent movement. In a moment he fell back, ap¬
parently dead.
Both of us thought it was all over ; but I hardly had
time to resume my seat, when all of a sudden he again
started up, and, with distorted face and shaking voice,
demanded a priest ; "for," he continued, " I can not die
till I have confessed."
Hardly had he said these words when a stream of
blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell back dead.
While yet speaking these words, he had fixed his piercing
eyes, unnaturally bright, with an expression of such deadly
hate and mortal enmity, on the keeper, that when I looked
round, when all was over, I found the man with his hands
before his face, utterly stricken down by that one look of
unutterable animosity. It was only then that, by a few
words dropped by the man, I became aware of the fact
that he was the slayer of the poor fellow.
Though he had acted in accordance with the letter of
the law empowering a keeper to shoot a poacher who
refuses to surrender, or endeavors to defend himself, I
have no doubt that dying glance of his victim must have
haunted him ever after, warning him that he remained a
mark for the rifles of his victim's comrades, who would
be only too eager to avenge their, clansman's death.
I left the keeper to his unpleasant meditations, and re¬
turned to my seat at the fire.
All this time the mysterious man was crouching, with¬
out even- uttering a word, on the seat he had occupied
ENCOUNTER WITH TYRO LESE POACHERS. 83
wnen first I entered the hut, some three or four hours be¬
fore. I addressed a few questions to him ; but my queries
remained unanswered, save by a grunt and a sullen shake
of Iiis head.
Presently he rose, and going towards the doorway,
was about to leave the châlet, when the keeper, jumping
up from his seat, restrained him, and told him he was his
prisoner. The man obeyed the order to resume his seat,
without saying a word ; but the vicious glance he bent
upon the keeper assured me that he had to deal with a
ferocious customer, who at the first opportunity would be
sure to attempt an escape by foul or by fair means.
No food had passed my lips since the morning, and
nature began to demand her due in a very peremptory
manner.
After preparing my simple meal, and sharing it with the
keeper (our prisoner refused to eat), the former proceed¬
ed to narrate the particulars of the fight in the hut.
The circumstance that only one keeper was seriously
wounded in the fight was mainly due to the fact, that, a
few seconds before the explosion and the subsequent
assault, two of the defenders of the châlet had discharged
their rifles at the man who had ignited the charge.
These two shots had been fired by two of the poachers
sitting on the roof, to which they had climbed by means
of the smoke-hole, for the purpose of looking out, and
watching as much as possible the movements of the
enemy. From the inside of the hut they were unable to
do this, as the only window had to be barricaded for
reasons of safety.
The shock of the explosion, which took place before
they had time to reload their rifles, unseated and landed
them on the ground outside of the hut.
This occurrence had been partly noticed by two mem¬
bers of the assaulting force in the blaze which followed
the explosion ; and these two men proceeded to seize the
poachers, while the rest rushed into the hut.
After a short but sharp chase they succeeded in captur¬
ing the hindermost, who was struck down with a clubbed
rifle.
84 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The two poachers occupying the hut were standing
with their cocked rifles to their cheek, when Berchtold
and the rest burst into the hut.
The former, on demanding their immediate surrender,
was answered by two shots ; one of them laying him low,
while the second one pierced the shoulder of the keeper
standing at his side.
Not content with felling two men, they clubbed their
rifles, and, swinging them over their heads, were about to
attack the group clustering round the door, with the evi¬
dent design of forcing their way out. This was, however,
not to happen ; for before the foremost of the two poachers
had advanced a few steps, he fell pierced through the
lungs. His companion, who was a smaller man, had
been sheltered more or less by the huge frame of his
comrade ; as soon as that fell he surrendered, pitching
his useless rifle into the corner.
The reader will now comprehend what a fortunate cir¬
cumstance it was that the fire of two of these dare-devil
fellows on the roof had been drawn, without serious results,
before the moment when the assault actually took place.
Had these four men retained their loaded rifles, and had
they remained in the dark corner of the hut, the fight
would have been of a more equal character, and the
issue, if not reversed, would at least have involved a
greater sacrifice of life. I passed the night, for the most
part wide awake, before the fire, either watching my two
dozing companions and the grotesque shadows playing
about the walls, or replenishing the fire, which had to
serve as our candle after the torch had burned out.
Right glad I was when the gray morning light streamed
in through the open doorway, and I could depart from
the scene of the late fight without becoming a prey to
that unpleasant feeling which undoubtedly I must have
experienced had I left the previous evening, namely, that
vague, uncomfortable sense of having acted inhumanly in
leaving a dying man to the questionable care of his late
adversary.
On reaching L towards noon I found that the
ENCOUNTER WITH TYROLESE POACHERS. 85
doctor, who had been summoned from the next small
town, some seven or eight miles distant, had just arrived,
and held out some hope of Berchtold's ultimate recovery ;
though of course he would be for ever afterwards unfit
for his calling as keeper. The rest were going on well.
I left L the next morning not a little disgusted with
the heartless pleasure displayed by the villagers at the
success of the keepers' raid : that a life had been vic¬
timized, seemed to them as part of a just and proper
punishment.
My readers rnay perhaps ask why the poachers did not
surrender to an overwhelming force at the outset of the
fight. I think I have already partially answered this
question when I said that a genuine Tyrolese, reared in
the secluded parts of the glorious Alps, values freedom
and liberty more than life itself. This feeling, together
with the fact that poachers, by their reckless daring, often
succeed in vanquishing a superior number of keepers,
will explain the apparent imprudence of their resistance,
which I am nearly convinced would have brought them
through, had it not been for the stratagem of the wily
Herr Oberförster.
The worst feature of such adventures is that scores of
brave lives, gifted with powers of endurance and strength
almost superhuman, are thus sacrificed ; and, generally
speaking, it is just this vigor and force which lead their pos¬
sessors astray. The poor fellow turns poacher simply for
the love of that most exciting and dangerous sport, the
chase of the chamois, — an animal which has, indirectly,
brought more lives to grief than the savage tiger of India
or the royal lion of Africa.
86 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER V.
THE ELACKCOCK.
THE capercali, the largest of European gallinaceous
birds, and the blackcock (Tetrao tetrix), are the
two largest game-birds of Tyrol. Both belong to the
grouse species ; but while the former is of gigantic size,
weighing as much as from ten to fourteen pounds, — in
fact, quite as large as a turkey, — the latter is much small¬
er, his weight but rarely exceeding four pounds. Though
the capercali is the more magnificent bird of the two, the
blackcock is considered the nobler game. Far shyer and
more cunning, the latter is very difficult to shoot in Tyrol ;
and the sport requires great hardihood, patience, and an
accurate knowledge of the bird's peculiarities.
I believe these fine birds are to be found in some dis¬
tricts of England, especially on the estates of the Marquis
of Anglesea ; and from certain historical accounts it
appears that both the blackcock and the capercali were
once very abundant in the forests of Scotland, though the
former had always the privilege, and was considered
" royal game."
Both these species of grouse are shot in Tyrol on quite
a different principle to that in England, where the shoot¬
ing commences on Sept. i. In Tyrol, on the contrary,
they are shot during the pairing season, in April and
May, the hen-birds being carefully spared.
Strange to say, the sight and ear of the blackcock
assume during the pairing period an amazing keenness,
while those of the capercali remain very much the same
throughout the year.
TIIE BLACKCOCK.
87
This of course renders blackcock-shooting, although an
interesting, by no means an easy sport. As with chamois-
shooting, there are various ways and means of making
it easier ; and these are generally adopted by gentlemen
who have well-stocked preserves, and who shun the fa¬
tigues and exposure to the cold incidental to the genuine
sport. With the increased ease, much of its charm van¬
ishes ; and, to speak candidly, I would rather shoot one
cock according to the regular Tyrolese fashion, alone and
unaided by any artificial contrivance, than half a dozen
from the hut erected near the tree where, for days previ¬
ously, a cock has been spotted by a keeper. I must add
that the blackcock, if he remains undisturbed, invariably
returns every morning from his haunts lower down in the
woods, during the whole of the pairing season, to one
and the same tree, perched upon one of the branches of
which he sings his love-song. It is therefore not difficult
for the noble master to slay his royal game, when once
a cock has been spotted by a keeper, and a miniature
hut has been run up in the course of the day close to the
tree in question. It is simply a question of sitting a few
hours, well wrapped up in coats or furs, patiently awaiting
the advent of the game. Far different from this is the
genuine sport. An account of an expedition of this kind
may give some idea of its attractiveness, though perhaps
but few would be willing to share the fatigues and ex¬
posure to cold incidental to it.
The difficulties of the pursuit in the pairing season are
much enhanced by the great elevation of the spot selected
by the cock for the scene of his amorous adventures, and
of the fierce combats which generally precede them. I
have known as many as three or four fights take place
before the cock, who proves himself victor over his two
or three rivals, can commence his strange antics and odd-
sounding love-song, for the edification of the hens who
crowd round their polygamous lord and master. Noth¬
ing is more ludicrous than to see the love-sick cock, full
dressed in the glory of his glossy steel-blue plumage,
strut round the base of the tree selected for the scene of
88 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
action. Now trailing his wings, turkey fashion, and inflat¬
ing his glistening throat ; now throwing back his head,
his neck waving to and fro, while the tail is expanded to
its full, standing at right angles to his body ; then again,
in the ecstasy of passion, trembling all over his body,
while froth issues from his beak, and the eyes are covered
with the nictitating and glittering membrane, he will gam¬
bol and throw somersaults with amazing rapidity.
The love-song of the cock is, strange as it may seem, a
matter of great importance to the sportsman. It consists
of three distinct notes, or " Gsatzln," which are repeated
constantly, and at intervals more or less regular. Resem¬
bling the love-song of the capercali, though much louder,
the first and second notes could be compared to gurgling
chuckles, while the third, "das Schleifen," might be com¬
pared to the sound caused by sharpening an edged tool
on a whetstone. The third note is the one for which the
sportsman must wait. During its utterance the cock is
entirely insensible to danger ; his passion in this second
or two is so excessive that sight as well as hearing are
dead .to all other influences. While it is being repeated
the hunter may advance, and can even fire off his gun
without disturbing the bird ; while during the two first
notes, and during the intervals, the most perfect silence
must be observed by the hunter, hidden by rock or brush¬
wood from the amazingly keen sight of his game. A
suppressed sigh at a distance of many yards is sufficient
to send off the alarmed cock.
But now to my own account of a blackcock-shooting ex¬
pedition. With a pair of snow-hoops, my trusty crampons,
and a single-barreled large-bore fowling-piece, and with
my usual bag, filled with provisions for three or four days,
on my back, I started on a fine April morning for the
scene of action, a remote valley some eight hours off. A
week's bright sunshine had melted the snow on my path,
and even for several hundred feet above me the Alpine
pasturages and somber, dark-green pine-forests clothing
the adjacent slopes were free of their white pall. Arriving
in due time at a small peasant's cottage, — the last house
THE BLACKCOCK.
89
oil my way, — I determined to remain there till fall
of night. Entering the general room of the house, I
received a warm welcome by its owner, his family, and
Lois, a daring young native sportsman who had often
been my companion on shooting-expeditions. The rest
of the afternoon and the evening — I had decided to put
off my departure till nine o'clock at night — were passed
in agreeable company, chatting and laughing over our
glasses of schnapps, that being the only liquor the man
had in his house. A number of forgotten adventures and
odd shooting anecdotes, in which either or both of us
had played a part, came upon the tapis, to the great mirth
of the whole party, so that when the crazy old clock in
the corner of the wainscoted room began to " hum and
haw " preceding the final effort of striking the necessary
nine strokes, I was sorry to be obliged to leave the merry
company, and exchange the cozy warm room for the bit¬
terly cold air outside. On issuing forth, we saw the full
disk of the moon just cresting the high ridge of snowy
mountains, at the very base of which lay the narrow glen
in which the cottage was situated. The cold, although it
was the latter half of April, was intense ; but I was very
soon, by dint of fast walking, in that pleasant state of
warmth peculiar to violent exertion in cold weather. Put¬
ting my best foot forward, I had within five or ten minutes
reached the snow-line again. Fastening the snow-hoops to
my feet, I began work in earnest. As I sank nearly up to
my thighs at every step, it took me more than three tedious
hours to gain the first eminence, some two or three thou¬
sand feet over the hut. The dry, powdery state of the
snow had gradually given way to a greater firmness, and
at last, on reaching the top of the ridge, I found the snow
"harscht," or frozen. Owing to the depth of the ravine
up which I had traced my steps, the rays of the sun had
never touched its sides, and the snow was therefore pow¬
dery and unresisting : higher up, on the contrary, the sun
had melted the top layer of snow, which, in the long hours
of the night, froze, and resembled as much as possible
the smooth surface of a glacier after a hot August sun has
9° CADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
polished it. My snow-hoops now, of course, became not
only useless, but actually dangerous. Unfastening them,
I strapped my crampons on, and got my small ice-ax
ready.
The moon shining brightly, night was changed into
day ; it was therefore easy to continue my way up the
next ridge, from the base of which I was, however, yet
some little distance off, a sort of miniature valley lying
between me and the point where an ascent up the very
precipitous slopes was practicable. Well acquainted with
the terrain, I knew there was no chasm or rocks at the
bottom of the gully, and imagined there was no danger
attendant on sliding à la Tyrolese down the icy slope
which, as I have said, I had to cross. Cutting two or
three pine-branches off the next tree, I intwined them so
that they should furnish a sort of seat. On this I sat
down, and digging my ice-ax, as a sort of drag, into the
glistening surface, I began my descent. As the slope was
not very steep at first, my drag was of sufficient resisting
power to check the pace ; but soon, to my dismay, the
gradient grew steeper and steeper, increasing in a propor¬
tionate degree the speed at which I was traveling. My
ax was wrenched out of my hand, and I was left to the
mercy of the hindermost spokes in my crampons ; but
these, owing to the position of my body and my feet,
only scratched the ice, checking the speed but little.
The slope was some 900 or 1,000 yards in length, and
before I had reached the middle even this mode of
checking my downward course became too dangerous to
continue ; for had my crampons come in contact with
the slightest unevenness, or with the smallest stone em¬
bedded in the ice, I should have been jerked head fore¬
most off my seat, and left to continue my course at light¬
ning speed in any but a comfortable position. Fortu¬
nately this did not occur, and I reached the bottom of the
gully seated on my primitive sledge. Though my whole
downward slide could not have taken more than four or
five seconds, the terrific speed had taken away my breath,
and, what was worse, the impetus had driven me far into
THE BLACKCOCK.
91
a snowdrift of large dimensions, which had accumulated
at the foot of the slope, and which, as it was under the
lee of a high wall of rock, was protected from the sun,
and consisted therefore of powdery, loose snow, offering
hardly any resistance to my mad onslaught, which carried
me right to the center of the huge hill. After working
myself out, and dusting my coat and trousers (my gun-
lock was protected by a mackintosh wrapper), I started
once more up a steep incline covered with a coat of ice,
or rather frozen snow, polished and smoothened by the
action of a warm April sun and intense cold at night.
By two o'clock in the morning I reached the top of the
mountain, or what might pass for it, the scene of action.
I have said that the fact of knowing the precise spot
where a blackcock holds his love-court facilitates, to a
great extent, the final result. Now, the ridge of moun¬
tains upon which I was standing was some three or four
hours in length, and probably along the whole of it not
more than one, or at the utmost two, blackcocks could be
found. The choice of the right spot thus became a mat¬
ter of luck. To some extent, of course, one can be guided
in one's selection of the spot one intends to watch by the
fact that they generally choose the very highest points of
the mountains, selecting, if possible, for their headquar¬
ters, an old, gnarled, weather-beaten pine, or " Zirbe," —
a species of pine growing only in the highest regions of
vegetation.
By the time I had eaten a piece of bread and a small
bit of bacon, swallowed a gulp of the " Enzian Schnapps,"
and turned over in my mind the various " Stände " on
that ridge where a cock could possibly be, it was close
upon three o'clock, and therefore the very best time to
proceed to the spot selected. The moon had disap¬
peared ; and I was glad I had no very bad places to cross
on my way to the spot chosen by me as the most likely,
if not for seeing a cock, yet at least for hearing him, and
so spotting him for the next morning.
A quarter of an hour's cautious climbing brought me
to the northern extremity of the ridge, where, in gigantic
92 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
steps of a couple of thousand feet each, the mountain
abruptly fell off down to the valley, some four or five
thousand feet below me.
Quite close to the spot where I had killed a fine cock
the year before, I hid myself as much as possible behind
the tough branches of a Latschen bush, about ten paces
from a huge patriarchal "Zirbe," stripped of nearly all
i is branches by repeated strokes of lightning, and rear¬
ing its gaunt, gnarled trunk into the starlit sky. For the
next hour all was silent round me ; and the intense cold,
abetted by a piercing wind, succeeded in making my
place of ambush as uncomfortable as possible. Shortly
after four o'clock the heaven began to show signs of
approaching day. The snowy peaks which reared their
noble forms all round me were one by one lit up with
the exquisitely rosy tint peculiar to the reflection of the
earliest rays of the sun on unbroken surfaces of snow.
As yet the sun was not up, and would not be up for at
least a quarter of an hour ; in fact, it was just that moment
when the blackcock, whose maxim is " early to bed and
early to rise," shows the first signs of life.
A distinct "whirr" close over my head told me that
my selection had been a good one. Hardly daring to
look at the tree, for fear of betraying myself to the cock,
I perceived, relieved against the light sky, the noble bird
seated on one of the remaining branches of the Zirbe-tree.
I could do nothing, not even raise my gun, till the
third note of the song assured me that the cock was at
the height of his passion. A flap of his powerful wings,
and he had changed his perch to another branch higher
up, but hidden from my view by the trunk of the tree.
The next minute the love-sick cock was singing. Was I
to wait till he flew to the ground and began his amusing
antics, running the chance of losing him out of sight?
or was I to endeavor to " anspringen," the process of grad¬
ually approaching him by a series of jumps or strides,
performed while the cock is singing the third notes ? On
the other hand, delay seemed imprudent, as by his song
I knew the cock to be an " old " one, — that is, three
TIIE BLACKCOCK.
93
years of age, — and therefore of a particularly jealous dis¬
position, eager to fight any young interloper who might
betray his presence in the old cock's preserves by singing.
As, further, it was very early in the season, and thus likely
that the cock had not yet settled down to any one defi¬
nite spot for his morning song, but was shifting about from
place to place, singing a few stanzas at each, I presumed
it was the safest course to try " anspringen," consisting in
this instance of shifting my position a little to one side,
in order to get a view of the bird. On my right, not
more than a foot, an immense precipice fell off, so in
order to hide myself I had to move to the left, over some
rocks bare of any vegetation. Ventre à terre, I awaited
the signal to move, namely, the third note ; then jumping
up and running forward two or three steps, I had at the
conclusion of the third note, which lasts but a few
seconds, to throw myself down again, remaining quite
motionless till the next " Gsatzl."
Three of these momentary but frantic leaps brought me
to the desired spot, from whence I had a full view of the
cock, and the very next " Gsatzl " of the bird was in¬
tended by me to be its last.
Luck, however, forsook me at that moment. Inflating
his throat, and expanding his magnificent tail to its full,
he was just about to commence the second note of his
dirge, in my full view, hardly thirty yards off, when with a
slight crack a small twig snapped asunder under my weight.
The next second, before I had time to raise my gun to
venture a flying shot, the cock was off, passing in his
short but " dipping " flight the very bush behind which I
was hidden.
Cramped with the cold, wet through from lying on the
snow, and out of humor, I was just considering what to
do next, when from afar, but still on the same ridge of
mountains, I heard the song of a second cock. The dis¬
tance was too great to hold out any hopes of reaching
the cock before he was off from his rendezvous. I there¬
fore determined to " spot " him if possible, in order that
I might be sure of him the next morning.
94 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
I proceeded, therefore, with all dispatch in the direction
of the sound, and within three-quarters of an hour had
reached a prominent crag, from the top of which I had a
full view of the place where I supposed the game to be.
Lying at full length on the eminence, telescope in hand, I
scanned the isolated gnarled old pines and "Zirben"
which dotted a large expanse of barren ground, upon
which, scattered about in every direction, lay huge boul¬
ders of rock. All was silent, but shortly I saw two hens
take wing from beneath one of the trees some eight or
nine hundred yards off. Presently the cock followed suit ;
but as it was early in the season, he took a different direc¬
tion, and finally, after alighting for a moment on a tree,
crossed the valley at my feet, and disappeared in the
morning mist that filled it.
After remaining upwards of an hour seated on my
Rucksack, enjoying the splendid view rolled out at my
feet, I descended to an Alp-hut half an hour's walk from
the point I was occupying. In this hut I intended to
stop during the day and the better part of the next night,
leaving it an hour or two before sunrise next morning for
the tree upon which I had spotted the last cock. On
reaching the hut, occupying a sort of sink in the ground,
I found only the roof projecting from the snow. As in¬
gress by the door was well-nigh impossible, save by dig¬
ging a cutting down to it, I preferred the other way of
effecting an entrance, viz., by removing two or three of
the " Schindeln," small boards of larch-wood, with which
these huts are roofed, each board being nailed down, and,
further, to prevent the whole roof being carried off by
the high winds, weighted by heavy stones.
Five minutes' work and a jump down the, dark space
landed me safely in the front part of the hut, containing
a fireplace, an iron pan, a brass spoon, and a cot filled
with hay. Well provided with provisions, and even the
luxury of some newspapers to pass the time, and a candle
whereby to read them, I expected — to use an American
phrase — to have a good time in my solitary habitation.
The first quarter of an hour saw a bright fire on the open
THE BLACKCOCK.
95
hearth, a pan full of " Schmarn," my. coat and boots hung
up to dry, and an invigorating gulp of schnapps going
down my throat. Having dispatched a hearty breakfast,
and piled several logs on the fire, I turned in to have
five or six hours of sleep. Buried in a pile of fragrant
hay, I was as comfortably bedded as a tired man need
wish to be.
Awaking refreshed after nearly eight hours of rest, I
passed the remainder of the day and the evening in cook¬
ing a repetition of my breakfast for my dinner, and with
reading comfortably, stretched out on the seat running
round the fire, two or three numbers of " The Saturday
Review." The intellectual as well as the bodily man
being in a state of repletion, I turned over on the bench,
and the next minute I was sleeping. Long before it was
time to depart, I started up with an uneasy feeling of hav¬
ing overslept the right hour. Consulting my watch, I
found it had stopped ; so naught remained but to climb
up to my air-hole, and have a look at the moon, by the
■position of which in the heavens I knew I could tell the
time to within half an hour.
Re-assured, I returned to the fireplace, relit the fire,
and proceeded to brew myself a strong panful of tea,
which was followed by a " Schmarn " and a slice of
bacon.
About half-past two I collected my traps, stowed them
(" Saturday Review," candle, tea, and bacon) away in my
Rucksack, put a fresh cap on my gun, and was just creep¬
ing out of the hole in the roof, when my attention was
attracted to a small animal scampering away from the hut
over the moonlit, glittering snow. Guessing it to be a
pine-marten, I fired at it. My position at the moment
of firing was a somewhat critical one. As I was balan¬
cing myself with one foot on a thin spar inside the roof,
the least shock was sufficient to knock me down from my
nicely-poised post. A heavy charge in the gun, and a
proportionately strong recoil, sent me head over heels
down into the hay some five or six feet below me.
Re-ascending, I saw that the marten had also fallen,
9 6 CADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
though, as its motionless position indicated, its fall was
attended by more fatal results than my own tumble.
Creeping out, I closed the hole, and going over to my
prey, I found it to be a fine male pine-marten, a species
prized for its fur. If it be shot in winter, the fur gener¬
ally fetches some ten or twelve florins (ior x I. 4^.).
My sportsman reader will perhaps learn with surprise that
I ventured to fire so near the spot where I intended to
watch for the blackcock. Considering, however, that it
lay on the other side of the ridge, and that the birds
always roost in woods or brushwood considerably lower
down, I was not afraid of any bad results. I was soon
at the place of ambush selected by me the previous
morning. A cold hour followed, and then the "whirr"
of the approaching cock. It was as yet too dark to
shoot, for the moon had gone down some time before, so
I waited patiently till break of day. Meanwhile the bird
had begun to sing, flying to the ground now and again,
and performing his amusing antics, of which, however, I
saw but little. Again he was up 011 the branch, giving
me a full view of his noble shape, drawn in sharp outlines
on the cloudless sky. The next " Gsatzl " saw me raise
my gun, and the next second the noble bird was lying on
the snow.
A far-echoing " Juchheisa ! " blended with the rolling
echoes of my shot, rent the air, while with a few strides I
was at the side of my game.
Pleasant it is to look back to such moments as these.
The fatigues and privations which one undergoes —
though in this instance the latter were not worth speak¬
ing of— only increase the exhilaration at having suc¬
ceeded in spite of cold, snow, the difficulties of ascent,
and all the other hinderances which obstruct the sports¬
man's path in Tyrol.
Far different, indeed, are the feelings of the unsuccess¬
ful hunter, returning home, perhaps after two or three
days of fatigue and exposure, in the character of a
"Schneider" (tailor), the nickname given to sportsmen
returning with empty Rucksack. Dejected, sullen, and
TIΠBLACKCOCK. 97
disgusted, he returns crestfallen homewards. Doubly-
long, fearfully steep, and strangely unpicturesque and
tame, do the path and the surrounding scenery appear to
him, while the cold or the heat, as the case may be, seems
unbearable.
98 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE
CHAPTER VI.
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION.
TO the fact that Tyrol is the most exclusively moun¬
tainous country in Europe, — even Switzerland con¬
taining a larger relative proportion of open country, — we
must attribute most of the peculiarities and customs that
strike the observer.
One of the most important characteristics is the excep¬
tional position of the clergy. Tyrol, one of the strong¬
holds of the Roman Catholic faith, is ruled to an aston¬
ishing extent by the priesthood ; and though in the course
of the last ten or fifteen years the Church has lost a good
deal of her former influence and power in the three or
four larger valleys of North Tyrol, the ignorant natives of
the more secluded and poorer Alpine glens are yet terri¬
bly in the clutches of the "Blacks," —the name given to
bigoted priests. Superstition and blind belief in the
power of their Church are the two firm rocks upon which
the clergy have erected their structure of spiritual govern¬
ment, leaving the civil form of judicature far behind in
importance and energetic vigilance. In a country where
social laws are yet at a low degree of development, re¬
minding us only too often of customs and habits of the
Middle Ages, we must be glad that any power exists able
to curb the animal passions of a primitive people. At
the present moment (and I have no doubt he will do so
for many years to come) a peasant dreads the punish¬
ment inflicted by his priest —• consisting of perhaps a tem¬
porary refusal to grant absolution — a hundred times more
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. 99
than any fine or sentence of imprisonment which the law
can inflict upon him. What is a month's imprisonment
to a man whose mind is overcharged with the horrible
pictures of hell, and the everlasting tortures which are
sure to follow disobedience to the ordinances and laws of
the holy Catholic Church?
I have hinted at the low scale of morality of the Tyrol-
ese ; and without entering into any unpleasant details, it.
must be remarked that among the lower classes of the
population the intercourse between the sexes is decidedly
freer than in most other countries of Europe.
There are two or three conspicuous causes to which we
can trace this. The most prominent are the municipal
restrictions that cumber marriage among the lower classes
in the rural districts. Very recently only has the Aus¬
trian Government annulled the law which compelled a
man desirous of entering into the holy bonds of marriage
to prove a certain income, and, further, be the owner of a
house or homestead of some kind, before the license was
granted. The heads of the parishes, very naturally too,
gave the necessary permission reluctantly, if they enter¬
tained the slightest fear of having ultimately a pauper
family thrown upon the poor resources of the parish.
Owing to this, and to the fact that nearly 40,000 Tyrolese,
generally young men, leave their country every year in
search of employment which keeps them away from their
homes for the better part of the year, the majority of
couples contracting marriage in Tyrol have passed the
meridian of youth.
Next in importance, as a cause, is the lax way in which
the Church deals with licentious misconduct. Strict in
most vital points, she shows a remarkable deficiency of
energy in combating with an evil, which, it is true, does
not touch the interests of the Church herself, but yet
would be worthy of her most strenuous efforts to abolish.
Immoral intercourse between the sexes is, in her eyes, a
minor iniquity, expiated by confession. We must remem¬
ber, too, that the conduct of the priests themselves is not
infrequently open to the severest criticism. Free as the
ioo G AD DINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
intercourse between the sexes is, we have nevertheless to
note one redeeming quality, the sacred light in which the
marriage vows are held. Unrestrained as a woman's ca¬
reer may have been before her marriage, she becomes a
dutiful, hard-working wife, when once the holy knot is tied.
As in certain rural districts of England (the North and
West), where formerly women usually refrained from mar¬
rying until they were on the eve of becoming mothers,
we find that, on an average, half of the wives of Tyrolese
peasants have had children before their wedding-day;
and though it is quite true that the lover very rarely
forsakes the mother of his illegitimate offspring, and ulti¬
mately marries her, we must not ascril c this final act of
justice solely to the good feelings of the male culprit, but
rather to the power of the priest over the mind of the
sinner confessing his guilt. The priest it is who urges
him to set right an old wrong by marrying the girl who
but for the absence of the holy bond was to all purposes
his wife ; and were it not for his lively pictures of ever¬
lasting tortures in a certain subterranean abode of sinners,
the percentage of girls abandoned by their lovers would
be far greater than it is.
As in most Roman Catholic countries, the Church in
Tyrol counts her most effective and devout disciples and
followers among the female portion of the inhabitants.
The simple and credulous mind of the ignorant peasant-
woman acts as one of the mainstays and supports of the
whole structure of absolution, redemption, or, on the con¬
trary, eternal damnation, one and all dependent upon the
volition of a mortal man, her priest.
It is only in the course of the last twenty or thirty
years that the custom, spread throughout the country, of
"Fensterln" or " Gasselgehen," — the introduction of
the lover into the bedroom of his lass, —has been stopped
in the three or four larger valleys, while in the rest it flour¬
ishes to this day.
Priests have told me that thirty years ago the custom
of sleeping in an entirely nude state, and crowding all the
members of the family into one bedroom, was the con-
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. TOI
stant theme of their discourses from the pulpit ; and even
nowadays I have frequently listened to sermons of some
well-meaning rural priest, the subject of which was the
necessity of washing every day and changing one's linen
once a week. Well aware that sentiments of propriety
are foreign to the minds of his listeners, the priest does
not base his exhortations on the supposition that a clean
face once a day and a clean shirt once a week are domes¬
tic comforts necessary to the equanimity of the human
mind, but rather on the consideration that a dirty face
and filthy shirt are obstacles in the path of true love.
"For how," I once heard a loud-voiced rural priest hold
forth, " can a comely girl feel herself honored with the
love of a man approaching her in dirt-begrimed clothes,
emitting an effluvium sufficient to knock a man down at
ten paces ? " The worthy pastor was in this instance ur¬
ging the necessity of abolishing that filthy custom of the
male cowherds, who in the beginning of the summer leave
their native village for the more elevated pasturages, and
return with their cattle in autumn, having the same shirt,
unwashed the whole five or six months, on their backs.
The dirtier and thicker the coat of filth on the shirt, the
more honorable for the wearer ; for does it not speak for
itself, that the owner has been in the mean time busy and
hard-worked ? This custom, I am happy to say, is con¬
fined to those valleys where male cowherds are sent up to
the Alpine pasturages, and it is now fast disappearing.
It is in this way that the priest attains his object ; and
hundreds of instances could I recite of this indirect and
roundabout manner of overcoming prejudices deeply
rooted in the hearts of the people.
Thirty or forty years ago brutal and sanguinary fights
between rivals in the love of one and the same girl were
the invariable finish-up of fêtes, weddings, christenings,
and, in fact, all assemblies. The loss of the nose, an ear,
or a couple of fingers, bitten off by his foe, marked the
vanquished for life. The still more brutal act of scooping
out a foe's eye — by a jerk of the thumb — was at one
time a very prevalent abuse, and even nowadays in one
I02 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
or two valleys this barbarous habit still exists, though,
thanks to the strenuous efforts of the clergy, it is far less
often practiced. Among the several more or less mis¬
chievous results entailed by the great supremacy of the
clergy, the gross superstition and devout belief in their
supernatural powers are about the most harmful.
The two following instances are sufficient to substanti¬
ate my statement, and show how solicitously a Tyrolese
priest will " dress up " some commonplace event in the
garb of a semi-miracle, and how by hook or by crook he
manages to impress his parishioners with his power to
charm evil spirits.
Two years ago a certain deformed tailor in the village
of Vomp (near Schwaz, in the " Unterinnthal ") was
attacked by a somewhat violent fit of delirium tremens,
brought on by too liberal potations of spirits the day be¬
fore. His family, terribly frightened by this hitherto
unknown malady, sent for the village doctor. After a
protracted examination of the patient, this most enlight¬
ened disciple of AEsculapius declared himself incompetent
to deal with the mysterious ailment. All he could do was
to advise the immediate attendance of the priest.
This piece of advice was of course promptly followed ;
and ten minutes later the priest in his official capacity,
attended by two acolytes with swinging censer and holy-
water vessel and mop, was standing at the bedside of the
raving hunchback.
Grand opportunity to work a miracle, thought the holy
man ; and forthwith the solemn declaration that the pa¬
tient was possessed of the Devil made the assembled
household and the mob standing outside the house shake
and tremble in their shoes.
The room was cleared of the gaping and frightened
crowd ; and the priest began his course of recondite exor¬
cising manipulations, an interesting description of which
is furnished in the following literal translation of an ac¬
count (which appeared in one of the most popular local
newspapers) of the further proceedings of the Devil while
closeted in the confines of a narrow chamber with a
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. 103
priest armed with rosary and censer. I have unfortu¬
nately to refer my readers to this piece of second-hand
information, as very naturally no mortal but a clever
editor could have penetrated the veil of mystery that
clung round that dire eight-hours' struggle.
" After four hours of uninterrupted praying and decla¬
mation of Latin adjurations and exhortations that filled a
handy ' Benedictiones ' prepared for like occasions, the
holy man, faint with hunger, proposed to leave the Devil
for an hour or so in undisputed possession of the tailor,
while he, the holy but mortal man, ate his dinner. This
intention, however, was not carried out, for with a hellish
peal of scornful laughter the evil spirit informed him that
if he left, he — the Satanic Majesty — would take per¬
petual possession of his victim. This threat of course
needed a firm answer, and so with renewed vigor the
holy man continued his exorcising.
" Four hours more of Latin formularies, hailed down
hard and fast upon the Devil-possessed patient, at last
brought his Hellish Majesty to bay, and with one discord¬
ant whoop of defiance the evil visitor took his departure
through the window opened by the priest for this purpose.
"The priest, eager to close the casement, and thus to
make a return of his vile tormentor impossible, reached
the window, and was just about to shut it when a large
dog, lying in the courtyard of the house, set up a howl,
thereby indicating very plainly that the Devil, unsuccess¬
ful in other quarters, was determined to get somebody
or something to accompany him to his hellish retreat.
A rifle in the hands of the master of the house speedily
put an end to the dog's existence, and thus his Satanic
Majesty was deprived even of his canine victim.
" Eight hours of unremitting exhortation were needed
to drive the Evil Spirit, from that God-forsaken house.
" As soon as the miraculous success of this priest be¬
came known to the crowd surrounding the house, loud
rejoicings and fervent prayers were offered up."
The next Sunday this event was grandly dilated upon
from the pulpit, and after service numbers of holy pic-
104 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
tures, representing the heart of Jesus, wreathed round by
suitable verses and hymns, were distributed among the
parishioners.
These holy amulets against a second visit of the Devil
were nailed to the house-door, stable-door, and barn-door
of every house in that village ; and since then the popu¬
lation have enjoyed a blissful security from his Satanic
Majesty. For the truth of this event in all its details,
save those of course that occurred in the sickroom, I can
vouch, as I was present and saw most of the proceedings
myself. The exact date, June 23, 1873. Not sobad for
the nineteenth century, my readers will exclaim.
The second instance is much simpler and far less
wonderful.
A peasant whose fields were infested with the grub of
the cockchafer (they remain three years in their cater¬
pillar state, appearing in the fourth as chafers) complained
to the priest of his village of the nuisance, and asked his
advice how to get rid of them. It seems that they had
already been doing grievous damage to his wheat and
corn for three years, and the priest on hearing these de¬
tails found himself induced to promise their expulsion
from his parishioner's fields. The promise of a couple
of sacks of corn and a huge wax candle to the Holy Vir¬
gin no doubt had something to do with the priest's readi¬
ness to comply with the peasant's request. Two acolytes,
a basin of holy water, a huge mop wherewith to sprinkle
the fields, and some incense, were all that was needed.
On the termination of the priest's promenade round the
ground (his holy book in his hand and two acolytes
swinging the censers in front of him) he declared that
next spring the grubs would fly away.
And really, wonderful to say, next year the creeping
grubs took wing (as cockchafers), leaving the happy
owner of their playground during the last three summers
to his meditations on the miraculous power of holy water
and incense in the hands of his priest.
A recent able authoress 1 has given a rich store of myths,
1 " The Valleys of Tirol," by Miss R. H, Busk.
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. 105
superstitions, and interesting instances of what the Ger¬
mans call "Volksaberglaube," the superstition of the pop¬
ulace in Tyrol ; but there still remain in the remote parts
of the country odd customs displaying a devout belief in
good and evil spirits, national traits which, with one or
two exceptions, have not yet found their way into Eng¬
lish, nor, so far as I am aware, into German works upon
Tyrol. Looking down the long list of these customs,—
we might call them relics of the past, — I find that most
of them represent precautionary measures against evil
spirits in general and the Devil in particular. I must pre¬
mise that a Tyrolese peasant never mentions the word
" Teufel ; " to him any word is better than " Devil." We
therefore find him called the Evil One, the Black One,
the Bad Spirit, or the " Damned One ; " and even the low
oaths used by the Tyrolese are conspicuous by the
absence of the word which in English, French, German,
and most other languages is a common imprecation. I
do not by any means put this forward as a laudable char¬
acteristic of the Tyrolese ; for, like other Roman Catholics,
they will make profane use of a Name which, according
to our English feelings, is not to be called in vain.
I merely mean to say, that just as the common Tyrol¬
ese does not make the slightest difference between Prot¬
estant and Jew, but terms every non-Roman-Catholic a
Jew, the shunningtof the word "devil" illustrates in a
remarkable manner that dense ignorance on religious
matters, which is deemed by the clergy the best safeguard
against any repetition of those dangerous revolutions in
religious matters which on one or two occasions were
near overthrowing the old faith. Not once, but a hun¬
dred times, have I been struck by the uneasy glance
around and behind him, when, in joke, I have mentioned
the word " devil " to a rustic inhabitant of some remote
little village. The sign of the cross and a hasty ejacula-
tory prayer are on such occasions supposed to be the only
preservatives against an immediate appearance of the
Evil One himself !
The Tyrolese peasant connects every elementary visi-
io6 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
tation, such as hail-storms, lightning, earthquakes, heavy
rains, or long droughts, with the evil disposition of the
Unholy One, or sees in it the punishment for some un¬
righteous act.
Before he sows his field, he sprinkles it with small bits
of charcoal consecrated by the priest. When he drives
his cattle to the mountains, his Alp-hut receives the
blessing of the holy man.
When his cow calves, she is besprinkled with holy water ;
before he enters an untenanted house, he goes over his
rosary. When a thunder-storm is approaching, the village
bells are rung, and if he has a bell on his house —well-
to-do peasants in the fertile valleys very often hang a bell
on top of their house, to call to their meals their men and
women servants from their work in the fields — it is set
tolling with might and main. The object of the ringing
is to keep off or charm the dreaded lightning. The
peasant population have in this safeguard a stanch belief,
which is not shaken even if the lightning strikes that or
any adjacent house. " The bell has been bewitched,"
they argue, " and requires to be re-consecrated."
As a rule, the older the bell of chapel or church, the
more efficacious it is considered, and one or two in differ¬
ent parts of the country have a wide-spread repute as
" Wetterglocke," or storm-bells. You often will hear a
peasant express regret that his village possesses a bell
much inferior to that of the next village, and add, " Oh,
had we only the bell of Rodenegg !" — a bell enjoying
the highest repute as a lightning-charmer throughout
Tyrol.
To touch a person killed by lightning, before the priest
has spoken a short prayer over the body, is considered
highly dangerous.
To counteract the devastating results of a heavy hail¬
storm, a bunch of twigs of the round-leafed willow, duly
consecrated on Palm Sunday by the village priest, is stuck
on a pole in the middle of the field.
On Christmas Eve every door in a peasant's house is
marked with three small crosses in chalk, " to keep out
the Evil One," as they would tell you if you asked why.
ïRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. 107
When a woodcutter fells a tree slightly injured by light¬
ning, he immediately cuts three crosses on the level sur¬
face of the stump.
To wash a child before its forehead has been touched
by holy water (two or three small vessels filled with it are
never lacking in a peasant's dwelling), is highly injurious
to it.
To pass a chapel, roadside shrine, or cross, or the
wooden beam adorned with a votive tablet, without mak¬
ing the sign of the cross, or taking off your hat, is con¬
sidered by the peasants as highly improper ; and I have
known men turn round upon me with an expression of
anger or astonishment depicted upon their faces when
they remarked my non-observance of this custom.
To give an instance of the peasant's superstition
respecting lightning, I may relate here an incident that
occurred to me a year or two ago.
In a small and remote village, consisting of nine or ten
houses and a small chapel, the priest of the next village,
some hours off, used to read an occasional mass for the
benefit of the weak and decrepit who were unable to
attend the distant place of worship. In this chapel I had
discovered four very remarkable pictures of sacred sub¬
jects painted evidently by an old German master of
repute.
Though eager to purchase them, I knew my customer
too well to show any great wish to possess them, but
broached the subject by offering four new pictures in
their stead. My offer was refused, and it was only after I
had doubled the price I had previously offered, and prom¬
ised to pay for the restoration, viz., whitewashing, of the
chapel, that the owner of the edifice would hear of part¬
ing with the dusty, hardly visible old paintings.
A week later I had returned to the village accompanied
by four men, who carried the pictures which I had bought
m the mean time in Innsbruck.
Hardly had I entered the peasant's house when, to my
utter astonishment, he told me that he could not possibly
part with the paintings I desired so much to possess.
io8 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
After a considerable time spent in talking, I discovered
at last the cause of the sudden refusal.
It seems that for many years lightning had never struck
individual or house in that village, — it occupied a very
elevated plateau, and was therefore somewhat exposed
to lightning, — and now that his neighbors had heard of
this proposed exchange, they had united their voices to
urge him not to part with them. " It is just these pic¬
tures which may have preserved house and human being
hitherto from lightning," my uncomfortably superstitious
vendor informed me. All talk on the matter was useless ;
so, as a last remedy, I assembled the whole nine or ten
peasants that evening in the wainscoted low-roofed chief
room of the owner of the chapel. My persuasive powers,
however, again proved useless, and next day I had to re¬
turn to more civilized quarters, carrying the new pictures
back with me. Naturally I was greatly vexed at my dis¬
appointment and the loss of the money spent on the pic¬
tures, which now — they all represented gaudily-painted
saints, or the Virgin Mary in various poses, in heavy gilt
frames — were for the time quite useless. Fortunately,
however, I kept them, and did not give them away as I
had intended ; for, hardly six months later, a flash of
lightning fired a house in the village, and killed several
head of cattle. On hearing of this mishap, I knew I
had won the game ; and a few days later I was in pos¬
session of my prizes.
Had I got the pictures the first time, the peasants
would have said, of course, that my exchange had brought
about this untoward event.
In Ultenthal,—to give an instance or two of the belief
in local legends, — there exist at the present moment
the ruins of the strong feudal castle of Braunsberg,
founded by a noble of that name in the early part of the
twelfth century. A descendant of the founder, Knight
Henry, took a part in one of the crusades of that century,
and while on his perilous expedition, undertaken, as we
may suppose, for the redemption of a soul laden with a
long list of dark crimes, he intrusted his beautiful wife
Jutta to the care and protection of his steward.
PRIESTHOOD AND SUPERSTITION. 109
The latter, handsome Gumbert, proved himself a
shameless Don Juan. The virtue, however, of fair Jutta,
somewhat exceptional in those days, was deeply ingrafted
upon her nature, and his subtle schemes only made him
the object of her scorn and disgust.
Learning that his master, Knight Henry, had returned
from his dangerous voyage, and was but a day's journey
from his castle, Gunibert entered his mistress's chamber,
and ruthlessly tore from her fair hand the gage of love,
the wedding-ring.
Mounting a fleet steed, he left the castle, and met the
returning hero at the beginning of the valley. Producing
the ring, he told him a tale of such base and calumnious
defamation of his wife's virtue, that the enraged Count
swore he would cut off her head.
Jutta, troubled in her mind, and uncertain what to
make of Gunibert's violence, mounted the steps of the
high watch-tower, overhanging a terrible abyss at the
bottom of which a turbulent torrent boiled and seethed.
All of a sudden she perceived a large train of armor-
clad nobles and men-at-arms, headed by her husband,
riding up the steep incline leading to the gate. At the
side of the latter rode brazen-faced Gunibert, evidently
bent upon impressing his noble master with the truth of
certain facts.
Her quick eye guessed the whole truth of the faithless
retainer's revenge, and with a piercing cry she precipi¬
tated herself from the giddy height into the dark abyss
at the foot of the tower. Wonderful to say, she remained
hanging on a bush which none had ever noticed before,
overlapping the caldron of foaming water. The Count
and Gunibert, riding up to the brink of the precipice,
saw her thus suspended, and the latter, stricken by the
hand of God, threw himself into the water hundreds of
feet below him.
Even now, more than six hundred years after this
tragic event, a blue flame marks the spot where the
treacherous villain was drowned. Beautiful and faithful
Jutta, saved in so wonderful manner by the hand of God,
HO GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
accompanied by her pious husband, who was overcome
by the benevolence of his Creator, left the castle, and
entered the cloister of Weingarten, in Bavaria, where
they ended their days in a manner befitting this remark¬
able event in their lives.
The origin of the name, " Hilf mir Gott ! " (God help
me !), of a castle in the Münster valley, is based on a
similar event. A noble lass imprisoned in the castle was
one day made the object of the vile attempts of her
captor. Fleeing from his arms, she mounted the steps
of the tower, and when, pursued even to this point, she
saw no means of escape, saved her virtue at the risk of
her life by throwing herself from the giddy height.
Unharmed, and not even stunned, she reached the
ground ; and her pursuer, overawed by this miracle, turned
from his life of sin and iniquity, and became a penitent
monk in a monastery close by. " The spot is frequently
visited at night by a spirit clad in white, and encircled
by a halo of subdued light," added the simple rustic who
narrated this legend to me.
The peasant population of the country entertains a
firm belief in legends of miracles worked by supernatural
powers in bygone times ; and it would prove highly un¬
satisfactory to endeavor to make a peasant realize the
stupidity and incongruity of most of these miracles.
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
Ill
CHAPTER VII.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
IN much the same way in which philosophers divide the
human race into two distinct categories, the wicked
and the good, we can classify the fraternity of Tyrolese
village priests with a view to their religious doctrines and
their personal merits, under two distinct heads, the lean
and the stout.
Unlike many speculations apparently less vague, we
can back our theory with facts of the most convincing
description.
Who, for instance, has éver heard a portly, red-faced
Herr Vicar descant from the pulpit on the external tor¬
tures of hell, in the fiery, we might say thermometrically
impossible flow of language that gushes from the grim,
viciously compressed lips of the gaunt, Jesuit-faced Herr
Cooperator, priding himself upon his terribly realistic
language, that never fails to instill terror into the hearts of
his audience ? Who was ever inveigled to demand reli¬
gious consolation at the hands of the hypocritically rigor¬
ous underling, — his bony figure, from his lantern-jawed
sallow face down to the canonical shafts of his boots,
wrapt in the somber folds of his Jesuitical garment,—who
would care to stake his peace of mind, to jeopardize his
happiness, by such a proceeding, if at the same time the
jolly and benevolent Herr Vicar were at hand?
Does not his good-humored face, beaming with good
fare and better wine, inspire confidence, which vanishes
on the spot as we turn to examine the exterior of his
assistant ?
112 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
And what is more natural, also, than that the plump,
somewhat plethoric frame of the portly man of God,
attired in the shortest of clerical coats, — a standing eye¬
sore of his petulant confreres, — his well-rounded nether
limbs shrouded by the tightest pair of knee-breeches,
should hold forth to the sinner desirous to free his con¬
science by confession, the promise of a light penance ?
Does not the very look of the dapper and well-propor¬
tioned plump calves whose outlines are visible through
the black cotton stockings, betoken the benevolence of
mind of which the hardened sinner stands so much in
need?
Sins whispered into the ear of a man who has lost sight
of his knees lose much of their heinousness ; and absolu¬
tion is far more easily obtained from a personage of well-
rounded proportions, than from his spare brother, whose
cold, keen, glittering eyes, hidden beneath shaggy brows,
pierce into the innermost soul, while his harsh grating
voice instills terror as the most terrific threats of damna¬
tion and everlasting tortures are hissed forth from the
bloodless and cruel lips that have already appalled the
unhappy confessor by a refusal to administer absolution.
No playing at hide-and-seek with those eyes, my poor
fellow : far better for you had you borne your sins
silently, than lay open your soul to the machinations of a
clever but unscrupulous man who spares no threat, who
fears but the God of the Roman Curia. Such men as
these work ruin wherever they go. Base and worthless as
are their maxims, they develop an energy and boldness
of thought, incomprehensible, did we not know that they
were moved by religious fanaticism that shrinks from
nothing, if an end favorable to their Church is to be
attained.
We must not fancy that men of this stamp form the
majority. Happily there are many very worthy priests
among the rank and file of the Catholic Church. We
have come across not a few who are the very types of
good and conscientious servants of God. They are the
fathers of their villages, respected and beloved by all, ever
THE VILLAGE EKLEST.
eager to give advice, and to render help to those who are
in need of it. A man of this stamp has it in his power
to work no end of good. He keeps a fatherly eye on
the young generation, advancing their healthful pursuits,
and curbing the hot-spirited rivalry that tends to lead
them into excesses of every kind. His parishioners place
the utmost confidence in him ; the quarrelsome among
them make him the arbitrator of their disputes, which
otherwise would end in costly lawsuits and endless feuds.
It is a pleasing picture to watch a veteran priest on his
arduous round of duties. He brings consolation and
help wherever he turns.
The very fact that he has sprung from the same stock
as his peasant parishioners carries every word of fatherly
advice he utters nearer to the heart. He can feel with
the wretchedly clad herd, and knows the ins and outs of
agricultural life ; for was not his happy youth spent on his
father's alps, tending the cattle and living a royal life of
joyous freedom? It is true, his boyish spirits were
crushed out of him by the monastic discipline in the
ecclesiastic seminary in Brixen, where he passed eight
weary years of religious drudgery. But unlike so many
of his colleagues, who left the gloomy walls fully imbued
with the doctrines of Jesuitical hypocrisy, his character,
of too firm a mold to be impressed by the dangerous
doctrines to which he had to lend an ear, was purified by
the ordeal. He is the servant of God, and not, as the
majority of his brethren are, the slave of the Roman
Curia. He has the interest of his flock at heart, rather
than the sordid aggrandizement of his Church.
Wretchedly paid as priests are in Tyrol, — the income
of a curate averages less than fourteen pounds per an¬
num, his lodging and food being found for him by his
superior, the Vicar, — they manage to do a deal of good
with the pence they contrive to lay by. Their wants are
of the most modest description : a suit of clothes, a
couple of pairs of strong iron-shod boots, a new vestment
every two years, and a few florins for a Sunday glass of
wine or for his usual evening pipe, will be all a curate in
114 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
a rural district needs. The Vicar's income is double or
treble that of his assistant priest, and is materially aug¬
mented by the numerous fees which he pockets, generally
for work done by his wretchedly under-paid curate.
Many are the small incomings arising from christenings,
funerals, weddings, and processions to be arranged and
led to distant shrines, while newly-erected châlets call for
the Church's blessing to protect them from the Evil One
disguised in the shape of terrific avalanches. Droves of
cattle, prior to their departure for their summer pastur¬
ages, also require — no less than their bewitched kindred,
whose loud bellowing and vicious plunging at unseasona¬
ble hours betray the unhallowed presence of some super¬
natural power — the cleansing which is conferred by the
holy-water sprinkle. There are urgent cases, both of
birth and death, which require the immediate attention
of the holy man, besides sudden calls to the side of
some wretched woodcutter who has been fatally injured
while at work up high on the mountain slopes. His last
moments are full of mental anguish ; for his fears that
absolution, in the shape of the priest, will come too late,
and that he has to perish with his sins unconfessed, do
not allow him a moment of rest. Alone, and clad in his
threadbare old garments, the faithful servant of God sets
out on his mission of mercy. The messenger who has
brought him the dire news is faint with fatigue, and has to
rest in the Vicarage. With broad snow-hoops on his feet,
in one hand his staff, in the other his lantern, while in a
bag hung over his shoulder the sacraments are concealed,
he sets out in the dead of night on his weary tramp of
many hours. Be the snowstorm raging never so hard, be
the narrow path blocked by huge masses of snow four and
five feet in depth, he does not shrink. He knows that
he is awaited with that all-absorbing anguish, that fearful
doubt, " Will he come in time, or will it be all over with
me?" He quickens his steps, his exertions are re¬
doubled, to be rewarded by the consciousness of having
eased a dying man's last hours, and by that one look of
intense gratitude as the sick man perceives him entering
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
II5
the chamber of death. There the man lies, just as he
has been brought in from the scene of the accident, ■— a
giant in build, with sinews and muscles of steel. Heart¬
rending it is to watch strong nature grapple with death.
The lighted taper, the crucifix at his side, placed there at
his own behest, tells us that hope has vanished from the
stricken wife kneeling at his side bathed in tears. His
comrades, rough and uncouth, but yet with big hearts
beating within their coarse and tattered coats, crowd to¬
gether in one of the corners of the small room. Their
last service to their comrade has been accomplished :
they it was who bore him down on their backs from the
fatal scene. We hear only the sobbing of the sorrow-
smitten woman, but the regular motion of the brawny
hands of the men tells us that they are praying the ros¬
ary for the soul of their expiring friend.
The door creaks, the painful silence is broken by the
" Gelobt sei Jesus Christus " (" Praised be Jesus Christ ")
of the priest, answered by the usual " In Ewigkeit, Amen "
("In Eternity, Amen "). Pie dips his fingers into the
receptacle for holy water hung up near the door, and
the rough men bow their heads as he makes the sign of
the cross. He approaches the two benches, upon which,
propped by a pillow, lies the injured man. A glance at
the drawn face, at the moist forehead, at the eager look
of the eye, as yet conscious and clear, tells him that he
did well to hurry his steps.
He motions the assembled crowd to leave the room ;
and the heavily-shod men, uncouth in appearance, un¬
accustomed to any pace but the heaviest tramp, comply
on tiptoe, followed by the sobbing women of the next cot¬
tage, who have come to comfort the poor sorrowing wife.
The eager eyes of the dying man are bent upon her
who has sunk down on her knees at his bedside ; the
priest touches her on her shoulder, and she, poor woman,
well knows the meaning : a last fond glance, a last em¬
brace, and the bereaved wife totters out of the chamber
of death.
The priest now kneels down at the side of the rough
II6 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
couch, and bends low to bring his ear close to the mouth
of the dying man. He lies gasping for breath, his broad
strong chest crushed out of shape by that cruel trunk of
the tree he had just felled : articulation was impossible
from the first.
Poor fellow, not even of that last solace, to cheer his
dying moments, can he partake. His glittering, restless
eyes are fixed, with a look piteous to behold, on those of
the priest, while his trembling fingers endeavor to hold
the beads of the rosary. His look, so beseeching in its
expression, is understood by the man kneeling beside
him. The absolution is granted, and the last sacrament
is offered, and received by the poor sufferer. He who
a few minutes before was the picture of a sinner dying a
hard and tortuous death, now presents the calm features
of a man who has closed with life, and looks forward to
death with peace of mind traced in every line of his face.
The anxious fire in his eyes has expired : he closes them
wearily, and sinks back on his pillow with a heavy sigh.
The solemnly-intoned prayer of the priest accompanies
the fleeting soul.
He rises after some time, and, assuring himself that the
man is really dead, proceeds to inform the wretched wife
that her husband died a penitent sinner. He opens the
door, and there, crowding the narrow passage, are kneel¬
ing the dead man's comrades, devoutly praying for the
salvation of his soul. It is a solemn picture ; the
shaggy heads, visibly betraying the rough wild life they
lead, bent on the broad massive breasts, covered by
naught but a shirt and a tattered coat, both open in front,
displaying the hairy, mahogany-hued chest, their hands
crossed over it, one holding the hat adorned with that
mark of bold youth striving for championship in love and
war — the feather of the blackcock — while in the other
is clasped the rosary. A flickering pine-torch fixed into
some chink in the wall throws a ruddy glow over the
scene. The priest, standing in the doorway with the
door in his hand, announces to them their comrade's
death ; and one by one, after making the sign of the cross,
the men rise.
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
117
While the priest proceeds into the kitchen close by,
where the wretched woman is sitting with her hands before
her face, while her two little children, alarmed by their
mother's grief, are tearing at her dress, the men re-enter
the room where their dead companion is lying. One of
them steps up to the couch, places his hat at the foot of
it, and, after putting into it a couple of pieces of money,
retires to the corner of the room without saying a word.
His comrades follow his example ; and each gives, not
what he can spare, for that none of them could, but what
his kindly heart prompts him to sacrifice at the shrine of
true benevolence.
When the priest returns, followed by the widow, one of
them hands the hat, containing perhaps not more than ten
or twelve shillings, to her ; and she receives it with expres¬
sions of deep gratitude. Small as the amount is, it is
worth, in the eyes of one who metes charity-gold not by
the value a sinful world bestows on it, the thousands and
ten thousands of pounds which the rich man expends
upon some so-called charitable purpose without ever
once feeling the loss. With one of these poor fellows, a
couple of florins given away means no less than depriving
himself of a pair of shoes, of a new coat to take the place
of the tattered old garment which has ceased to keep out
the wind and the rain, or of a couple of pounds of flour
and lard a week short of the usual ration.
Let us turn away from this sad picture, and follow the
steps of our friend the Co-operator, as he follows the
urgent call of an anxious father, to perform the Noth
Taufe upon • his newly-born babe. I must premise that
the simple people of Tyrol and the neighboring moun¬
tainous countries believe that a child, as long as it is not
christened, is an infidel, and, were it to die without that
sacred rite, its soul would go straight down into hell.
Therefore a child is generally christened the very day it
is born, or at the latest the second day, — a proceeding
not at all conducive to the health of the poor little being.
Very often the child has to be carried for hours in the
bitterest cold, in rain and wind, to the parish church ;
118 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
for children will be born even in winter, when snow
blocks up all communication. In its little basket, with
a coverlet insufficient to protect it, the babe is exposed
to the inclemencies of the rough Alpine clime. It is
only when the child is ill from the moment of its birth,
and can not possibly outlive the journey, that the parents,
who entertain a great horror of its dying before the holy
rite can be enacted, send off a messenger in hot haste to
fetch the priest, and the christening is performed at
home.
In the middle of the night, in snowstorm or rain, it is
all the same, Duty calls, and the unfortunate Co-operator
has to leave his warm room to face the worst of weather.
After a weary march of many hours, the priest finally
reaches his destination ; the child is taken from its little
bed, where since its birth it has been lying quite neg¬
lected, to await the arrival of the priest ; for in many
remote districts the mother is not allowed to give the
poor thing the breast, it being the belief of the supersti¬
tious people, that to nourish a heathen is an unatonable
crime.
After the ceremony is duly performed by the holy man,
the nurse takes the child back to its mother, handing it to
her with the words, —
" A Jew we took away, and a Christian we bring back
to you."
This strange saying is very common in the eastern dis¬
tricts of Tyrol, but specially in the mountains of Styria.
It is by no means uninteresting to examine the various
local legends as to the fate of the unfortunate infant's
soul should it die unchristened.
In the Innvalley, and some of its remote branch valleys,
" Berchd " — a good spirit supposed to be Pontius Pilate's
wife — fetches the children, and trains them to accompany
her on her weird journeys.
In many parts of South Tyrol it is commonly thought
that after their death they are carried off, and have to
float betwixt heaven and earth till doomsday. In other
parts, again, they are brought into the ante-chamber of
the Evil One's habitation in hell.
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
119
111 the western parts of the country, again, the popular
belief metamorphoses them into uncanny beings inhabit¬
ing the inside of certain peaks ; while the inhabitants of
the Pasterzenthal will tell you that unbaptized children will
form the stock of a new set of beings, peopling a world
that is to be created after the Day of Judgment.
In the Isel valley, and one or two neighboring glens,
these unfortunate beings are supposed to change into
angels of an inferior class ; " for no proper spirited angel,"
as I was once told by an old woman, " will associate with
them, they having sprung from a heathenish stock."
A diligent explorer could collect a score or more of
the various local legends, every one of which will differ
from the rest in some material point.
If the habitation of the peasant to whom the priest
has been called to perform the rites of the " baptism in
need " lies far away from the village, the priest will com¬
bine with the christening the ceremony of " aussegnen,"
i.e., " churching the w.oman." Usually this is done on
the third or fourth day after the woman's confinement,
and in most localities she dare not show herself in pub¬
lic before she has been " cleansed " by the priest's hand.
Very strange customs.are observed on these occasions,
most of which show how deeply superstitious belief in
the omnipotent powers of the Roman Catholic Church is
ingrafted in the minds of the simple people.
Peasants usually name the child according to their
almanac : thus if a girl is born on the day of St. Jacob,
a male saint, the parents will often change the name into
Jacobina, and vice versa Cecilia into Cecilius.
It is amazing to see what stress is laid on that quaint
remnant of mediaeval times, the peasant almanac, a book
made on the supposition that reading is an unknown art.
To a stranger, the mysterious signs printed in red and
black ink, unexplained by a single word, are totally in¬
comprehensible. Let us inquire their meaning of a
friendly village priest. We hear first of all that the small
black triangles are the week-days, the red ones Sundays
and fête-âa.ys. We ask, Why are not the names of the.
I20 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
days given ? the priest tells us, Because the peasant does
not reckon according to them. Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday, etc., are names which are unknown to him.
He computes time according to the numberless saints, to
each one of whom a day is dedicated.
Every one of the hundred and twenty-six saints enu¬
merated in the peasant's almanac (they are dispersed
pretty equally over each of the twelve months) is repre¬
sented by a small picture, about half an inch square,
depicting the saint with some distinctive mark or sign,
enabling a person versed in almanac lore to recognize
him at a glance, and thus doing away with the names
which would take up space, and which moreover could
not be deciphered. We see St. Paul's Day represented
by a man on horseback, stretching out his left hand, the
rays of a huge sun striking him on the head. Palm Sun¬
day is marked by a figure astride of a donkey, with a
twig of a palm, larger than both beast and rider, in his
right hand. St. Romedius is portrayed as a bear walking
on his hind legs, and carrying with his front paws a huge
barrel. St. Peter is represented by a key ; St. Alexius by
a ladder ; St. John by a cottage, with smoke issuing from
the chimney ; St. Gallus by an exceedingly seedy-looking
bishop; St. Timothy by a vicious dog; St. Vitus by a
caldron ; and St. Stephen by a sheaf of arrows.
But there are other quaint signs and mysterious marks
on that strange-looking sheet of paper. The peasant is
not only told when the sun and moon rise and set, but
the almanac also prophesies the state of the weather.
A series of strange signs is devoted to meteorology. A
hand indicates cold ; a mouth, wind ; a pitcher means
rain ; a hat indicates warm weather ; a wheel, sunshine ;
a black square, snow ; an arrow, thunder ; a pyramid, an
overcast sky ; while a cross inside of a wheel means clear
weather.
Coming to the various household offices of peasant
life, we find that in these matters also the almanac is the
peasant's stanch friend and adviser. It tells him when
to use the plow, by marking the day with the picture
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
121
of that implement ; when to sow, by a clover-leaf ; when
to manure his fields, by a pitchfork ; when to cut wood,
by a hatchet ; and finally it tells him when to have his
hair cut, by a pair of scissors.
Besides all these enigmatical hieroglyphics, the twelve
signs of the zodiac turn up every second or third day :
they are of no mean importance, for the peasant stanchly
believes in their influence upon the fate of his progeny.
A child born in the sign of the lion must needs turn out
strong and healthy. A cow calving for the first time in
the sign of the twins is considered thenceforth a good
breeding animal. Marriages are rarely contracted in that
of the Virgin. And so on, to every one of the signs of
the zodiac the peasant attaches some hidden meaning.
It is but natural that I should have come across odd
characters among the countless country priests with whom
I chanced to meet in the course of my wanderings. Shut
out from the world, and having no intellectual intercourse
whatever, they are left solely to their own resources ; for
the schoolmaster, proficient as he is in instilling the ABC
into the wooden heads of his scholars, is at best a sad
ignoramus on all matters beyond the rudiments of read¬
ing and writing, and does not invite cultivation. The
four-o'clock morning mass in summer, or the six-o'clock
one in winter, once read, the rest of the long day till
evening lies as a heavy drag upon the priest's hands. It
is therefore not strange, that men of this caliber are apt
to cultivate special hobbies of their own with ardent zeal.
One man will people his modest little habitation with
flocks of birds, imprisoned in cages of artistic shape made
by himself ; one will roam about the mountains, on hot
summer days, with a big canvas bag across his shoulder,
in search of ant-hills to despoil of their contents for the
delectation of his noisy flock ; or maybe one is of a
mechanical turn of mind, leading him to excel in carv¬
ing in wood, or, as I know in one or two instances, he
will be a proficient in the art of manufacturing church-
organs of primitive make. Others, again, are great in
gardening : they set the boldest climbers in their villages
122 CADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
to get them the rarest Alpine plants, which they reset in
the tidy little patches of garden in front of their modest
cottages. Their colleague, again, will make the dairy and
cowshed his hobby, taking no little pride in the fine herd
of cattle he calls his own. He will don his frieze coat,
and, maybe, wear his short leather breeches and green
stockings, when he leads his herd up to the Alps, taking
a tender farewell from each one of his speckled pets when
duty compels him to return to his human flock far down
in the valley at his feet.
A good story is told of one of these dairy priests, who,
in his eagerness to visit his favorites on the distant Alps,
was in the habit of putting on the village church clock for
an hour, on fine summer mornings, to the bewilderment of
his peasant congregation, who, of course, on these occa¬
sions, came too late for morning mass ; till one day he
found out that his trick had been discovered, and the
tables turned upon him by his parishioners. They had
posted a boy in the steeple, and when he saw the priest
issuing from his house, bent upon his nefarious plans, the
boy put back the clock for exactly the same time that the
priest was in the habit of putting it on, and the proceed¬
ing led to a ludicrous dénoûment.
This man was a great cattle-fancier ; and when, in the
latter years of his life, he was advanced to a higher post,
he used to give prizes to further cow-fighting, — a sport
much in vogue fifty years ago, in which the strongest
cows of rival villages were pitted against each other.
His neighbor, again, will look with contempt upon the
doings of his worldly-minded colleague, and make the
artistic embellishment of his church his aim in life. He
will carve figures, or cut out and make up artificial flowers
for shrines, with a skill and diligence truly astonishing.
It is his highest ambition to adorn the whitewashed inte¬
rior of his modest church, so that it may compare favora¬
bly with those of his colleagues. He will willingly sacrifice
half of his quarter's income to purchase a couple of new
wigs, with long flowing curls, for the two life-size statues
of the Holy Virgin. He will walk his legs off to collect
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
123
a sufficient sum for a new silk bodice (these sacred
images are dressed and undressed like helpless invalids,
and they have different changes of apparel for holidays,
according to their superlative sacredness), or for a vel¬
vet skirt looped up with sashes and paste pearls. With
his own fingers, he will trim the new every-day dress of the
Virgin Mary with the gold lace and the despoiled finery
of her second-best raiment, which, after having done good
service for ten or fifteen years, is shorn of the best part
of its finery, and forthwith degraded to shroud, for the
future, the limbs of some less demonstrative saint.
Other priests, of less ambitious sentiments, are in-
thralled by the spirit of antiquarianism. They visit their
parishioners' huts, and turn over their contents from gar¬
ret to cellar, and when they have completed the round they
will begin afresh, and work them through over and over
again. Generally they will confine themselves to pictures,
and it is astonishing to see what a life-long search will
manage to collect in the way of canvas coated with paint.
The collector has been at some time priest in perhaps
three different villages, and in each has amassed a rich
hoard, piles upon piles, of the most fearful daubs ever
seen. The majority of them are "portraits" of saints,
with a goodly number of pictures representing episodes in
the life of the Virgin Mary, put in as a change.
Here we see her arrayed in superb finery, with strings
of pearls, and a jewelled crown on her head, reminding
one of our own Virgin Queen as she is depicted by her con¬
temporaries. Her heart, painted somewjiere in the region
of the pit of the stomach, is of the size of a bullock's and
is pierced by seven dagger-like swords, but the ghastly
smile that is on her face betrays any thing but pain.
Then, again, she is portrayed attired in flowing robes,
holding Jesus in her arms, surrounded by a wreath of
beings supposed to represent angels, but who are far more
like devils incarnate, nothing but the tails and the cloven
feet being wanting to complete the likeness.
Here we find her painted as a Chinese beauty, with
slit eyes, and an olive complexion. Dozens of Saint
124 G A DÖINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Georges, Michaels, and Josephs, with a couple of Saint
Florians, holding huge pails of molten silver (to repre¬
sent water) in their hands, are stacked in one corner of
the room.
The most astounding positions of the human, or rather
of the saintly body, the strangest scenes in mortal life,
the oddest anachronistic mistakes, are here displayed.
We turn to another pile, and come upon hell with all
its horrors. The most terrific scenes of diabolical tor¬
tures curdle our blood. Here we see wretches pulled slowly
to pieces by men handling huge red-hot pincers. Then
we see heaps of arms, legs, noses and ears, as a sort of
background to a scene depicting the process of boiling
some miserable creatures in caldrons of molten lead.
There we see women pinned down to the ground, being
maimed and tortured in the most diabolical manner by a
set of grinning wretches.
Whatever be the faults of these pictures, they certainly
betray an amazing power of imagination on the part of
the artists.
The house is filled from top to bottom, and woe to you
if you have been inveigled into the remark that you are
somewhat of a connoisseur in paintings ! The happy
owner will show you Rembrants, Raphaels, Dürers, in fact,
masterpieces of all the great masters of the last three or
four centuries.
"This picture," he will tell you, " I got from a peasant
for christening his baby son; " "That there, in part pay¬
ment of the marriage-fee of a young fellow who had
inherited it from his grandfather," and so on. Every
picture has a name and a history of its own.
Now and again you pitch upon a passable daub, and
ten years ago genuine works of great masters could be
found among these accumulations of rubbish. We know
of three instances where masterpieces were bought or
exchanged from collecting priests, who, ignorant of their
value, gave them away for an old song.1
1 One was a Holbein of great beauty, the second an Albrecht Dürer, and the
third a masterpiece of Martin Schon.
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
"S
Not every priest, however, has the means to cultivate a
hobby, be it never so economical a one. Some are so
poor that they have scarce enough to provide a decent
coat for their backs and a stout pair of boots for their
feet. The parish is excessively poor, and probably hid
away in the recesses of the Alps, four or five thousand
feet above the level of the sea.
Here it is that the good qualities of the lonely curate
appear to advantage. I once got to know a man of this
stamp. The village, or rather the hamlet, in which he
resided, was even too poor to keep an inn going. A barrel
or so per annum of beer or sour wine sufficed for the
wants of the wretchedly reduced inhabitants. My friend
set up shop as innkeeper, laying in a barrel of wine and
one of schnapps. I remember well the amazement of
another friend, in whose company I visited the village,
to find that the good-humored burly host, who attended
us in his shirt-sleeves and short leather breeches and
green stockings, was no other than the village priest.
Intending to start at an early hour on the morrow, we
informed the reverend host that, if it were possible, we
would like to have our breakfast at three or half-past
three the next morning.
Our host eyed us for a minute or two in a doubtful sort
of way, and then informed us that either we should have
to start an hour later, and attend the four-o'clock mass,
or we could leave at any time we chose, without our
breakfast.
"It would be a sin to eat breakfast before mass," said
he, and thus he really compelled us to earn our breakfast
by attending service.
The ceremony over, and the vestment exchanged for
the simpler raiment he had worn the night before, our
host placed our breakfast before us, and when, after pay¬
ing our bill, which for both our suppers and breakfasts
and our room came to a sum total of less than ninety
kreutzers (about one and ninepence), we took our de¬
parture, our host volunteered to show us the path as far
as the height of the pass. Before we parted from our
126 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
good-natured guide, he showed us the interior of a way¬
side shrine built on this elevated point. Within the
chapel there was a table, and upon it lay a pile of sacred
pictures painted in gaudy colors. A board over it in¬
formed pious passers-by, that by putting a kreutzer (far¬
thing) into the poor-box, they became entitled to take a
paint. Our guide informed us, with evident pride, that
there had never been one stolen, as long as he remem¬
bered.
Some change from their arduous round of duty is
afforded to priests by processions which they have to
lead to distant shrines, when any disaster in the shape of
rain, droughts, avalanches, or other elementary danger,
threatens to overtake their villages. Very ludicrous inci¬
dents frequently occur at these sacred meetings. There
are, for instance, certain shrines renowned for their quali¬
ties as weather shrines ; i.e., that any prayer for rain or
for dry weather is, if properly inaugurated by munificent
sacrifices, sure to be heard by the deity having command
over these two branches of heavenly rule.
Not very many years ago, two processions from differ¬
ent parts of the country met at one of these charmed
spots. The members of the one prayed for a cessation
of a prolonged drought : the other implored the deity to
put a speedy stop to flooding rains that were threatening
to devastate their fields. During daytime every thing
went well, each party believing that the other had come
for the same object as they themselves had. As both
processions numbered many hundreds of pilgrims, the
inns in the place were crowded, numbers of both parties
being crammed into one and the same house. A chance
word betrayed the secret, and within a few minutes the
whole village was metamorphosed into a battle-field. Each
party exerted their utmost to drive their foes out of the
place, so as to be in undisputed possession of the church,
wherein to call down the intervention of the Virgin and
her host of omnipotent saints. The battle was a furious
one, and was fought with the rage and ferocity of people
threatened with the loss of their all in case of defeat.
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
127
When, finally, the " drought " men succeeded in rout¬
ing their antagonists, they had to lament not a few of their
companions.
Processions will be undertaken for a variety of pur¬
poses. The murrain breaking out among cattle will send
off the peasant owners in a stately procession to a
" cattle " shrine, distant many weary hours, if not days,
from their homes. If you ask a man why he does not
honor the renowned shrine close by his home with his
visit, he will tell you that you are a heathen not to know
that the shrine of the Virgin Mary at Absane is for
womankind desirous of obtaining offspring, and not for
cattle. "And where are you going?" you will ask.
" Why, to St. Leonhardt's, of course, the regular shrine
of the saintly protector of 'grown cattle and horses.' "
Calves, heifers, and pigs being excluded from St. Leon¬
hardt's patronage, the hapless owner of these latter ani¬
mals has to wander off to another shrine specially dedi¬
cated to small fry.
I once asked a peasant toiling along an Alpine path in
the Unterinnthal, not far from the renowned chapel of
St. Leonhardt, where he was going. " To St. Leonhardt,"
he replied ; and on being asked why he went, he told me
that several of his flock were sick, and that three had
been killed the week before by an avalanche. I expressed
my commiseration, adding that as long as no human lives
were lost the damages were reparable.
" Ah ! " said the peasant, " the cowherd was killed too ;
but he is in heaven probably, for he had been down to
the village the day before for confession."
In many places, strange customs peculiar to the locality
form a sort of by-play. Thus, at Lienz, the usual Palm
Sunday procession is rendered a striking sight by a man,
representing our Saviour, leading the procession, seated
on a donkey, with his face towards the tail.
Agriculture plays a very conspicuous rôle in religious
outdoor ceremonies. Thus the crops are " roused "
regularly every March by the village priest, by a formal
ceremony; or, again, a bundle of straw called the
128 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
" Egerthansel," supposed to represent "Winter," is buried
in the beginning of April. What different meanings are
attributed to the very same custom in different localities,
is evinced by the fact that in other valleys this self-same
" Egerthansel " is a source of great fun to the youths of
the villages, it being the custom to " hang him up " in
front of the door of the lass who is known to be on the
lookout for a husband.
It must not be supposed that the villagers are indiffer¬
ent to the merits of their priest. On the contrary, his
resources and abilities are a matter of vast importance to
them. They are subject to constant criticism ; and his
sermons, vociferous and unintelligible as they often are,
find an exemplary audience, provided they are of a char¬
acter sufficiently realistic to please rural intellects ren¬
dered somewhat dense by a strong admixture of bigotry.
You will often hear priests praised by their parishioners
for special qualifications. Thus one priest will enjoy the
repute of possessing in a pre-eminent degree the gift of
subduing evil spirits. No supernatural machination can
withstand his potent exorcising formularies. Human
beings, no less than cattle, are instantly freed from their
uncanny tormentors, as soon as their black-coated adver¬
sary, wielding the holy-water sprinkle in his right hand,
puts in his appearance. His colleague in the next village,
maybe, is a bad hand at this kind of work, and natu¬
rally his villagers do not shrink from calling in the ser¬
vices of his talented brother priest when occasion requires ;
but then, again, there is none like their own priest, near
and far, for knowledge of efficacious "Wettersegen," —
"thunderstorm blessings." Fields that have once been
blessed by him have never been known to be ravaged by
hailstorms, while those whose owners have neglected to
call in his services are laid waste by those elementary dis¬
asters. Very like certain church-bells that enjoy a high
repute as "Wetterglocken" (storm-bells), throughout the
country, his fame will spread, to the advantage of his
larder and slender purse. Naturally, each village desires
to possess "the best man," and there is often a good deal
THE VILLAGE PRIEST.
129
of rivalry brought into play. In one of the small branch
valleys of the Pastershal, two villages are situated opposite
each other, but separated by a deep ravine at the bottom
of which flows a torrent. Not many years ago, in one vil¬
lage a young priest had but recently established himself,
while in the other reigned supreme a veteran Co-operator,
well known to prefer the cellar to the vestry. One un¬
lucky August day, a severe thunderstorm was seen to ap¬
proach ; and, as in duty bound, both priests repaired to
their churches, while the schoolmasters, turning loose
their noisy flocks, began to toll the church-bells, as usual
on such occasions. Our young friend, as his parishioners
brought forth as exculpating circumstances, " had not yet
had time to learn his craft," and failed to avert by his
prayers the danger that threatened their fields. The full
force of a terrible hailstorm swept over the village, de¬
stroying the crops, while, strange to say, not a blade of
grass was damaged on the other side of the valley apper¬
taining to the parish of the portly old " Co-operator."
The great rejoicings on the part of the exulting peasantry
whose fields and crops had passed unscathed through the
ordeal naturally did not help to remove the sting from
the wound of their unfortunate neighbors, though the lat¬
ter, good-natured as the peasantry generally are, were
careful not to pain their unlucky novice by recriminations.
Unfortunately, however, his ambitious character would
not permit the slur of incapacity to rest upon him ; and
so, after mass the subsequent Sunday, he launched forth
in bitter invectives against his elder colleague. " It was
he," said he, "who, by dint of dark practices, had
charmed the hailstorm over to our side of the valley ; it
was he who, in his forgetfulness of the doctrines of God,
had caused our fields and crops to be ravaged. Are not
my prayers as good as his ? and how was it possible, that
in spite of them God's punishment overtook us, and not
them also ? "
These perorations did not fail to go straight to the
hearts of his congregation, and created the most unneigh-
borly ill-feeling, not only towards the object of their
13° GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
priest's wrath, but towards his whole parish. Dire quar¬
rels and sanguinary fights were the immediate result, and
finally compelled the Chapter of Brixen, in whose diocese
the villages lay, to remove not only the source of all this
mischief, but also his elder and innocent rival.
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 131
CHAPTER VIII.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.
FOR brevity's sake, I head this chapter with but one
of the numerous titles of our friend the village
pedagogue. But I hasten to repair the gross injustice,
by telling my readers that in his dignified person are
coalesced all those parochial and social offices that with
us are severally represented by the beadle, the sexton,
the verger, the pew-opener, the bell-ringer, the chatty
village scribe, the cane-wielding schoolmaster, and, as we
shall presently see, by a host of various other village
characters.
What an imperfect account of this strange being is it
possible to give in these pages !
There is certainly no position in life, in which a man
endowed with a variety of talents could find a wider
field for his activity. A schoolmaster in a Tyrolese vil¬
lage has emphatically to be " good all round," as a
Yankee would express it. Plis personal address, which
would be the first to suffer by the heterogeneous nature
of his duties, is happily kept well up to the mark by the
laziness of the pompous, over-fed Vicar, no less than by
his Curate, the slim hard-worked Co-operator, who both
confide in their conscientious coadjutor.
It is impossible to imagine a village deprived of this its
chief man. Would not the church organ fall to pieces
from mere inactivity, were it not for the schoolmaster's
talented touch? The church choir would be a still-born
institution, but for our friend's knack of organization —
and boundless patience. Fancy the churchyard without
132 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the artist's brush, or imagine a votive tablet painted by
other hands than those of the village pedagogue. The
old Gamps of the neighborhood would be inevitably
driven to distraction, had they not in our hero a friend
in need, well versed in all matters connected with witch¬
craft and sorcery. The horse lamed would assuredly
perish, were it not that the village possessed in its most-
valued inhabitant, an amateur farrier. Pots and number¬
less stockings full of money are saved by the skillful
manner in which our friend performs his part as arbitrator
of all village quarrels. Again, picture to yourself a peas¬
ant anxious to petition, most humbly of course, the
mighty magistrate in the distant town. What would he
do, in the name of all that's just, had he not the school¬
master at his elbow to write out that important document,
until it should require but his rude mark as signature ?
" Modesty graces the stupid," some clever man is
reported to have said ; but does it not grace cleverness
far more ? That modesty is one of the cardinal virtues
of a schoolmaster, is proved by the following incident
which occurred to me a year or two ago, while on a
pedestrian tour with a German professor. On the eve
of the last day of our excursion among the mountains, we
reached a small Alpine village, where my friend, who had
not indulged in a shave since departing from home,
inquired if there was anybody in the village who could
handle a razor.
" Oh, yes, the schoolmaster shaves !" we learned from
the host of the little inn.
Presently we found the schoolhouse, and, walking in,
unwittingly disturbed the village worthy in the middle
of his discourse to a crowded audience of ruddy-faced,
blue-eyed and curly-headed urchins of a remarkably
robust cast. My friend, wishing to wait till school was
over, beat a hasty retreat. Our schoolmaster, however,
being of a different opinion, rushed out, and, on hearing
the stranger's request, begged him to " step up the ladder
to his study." The Professor's scruples about disturbing
the studies of the young students were quieted by the
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 133
man's remark, not to " mind the brats," they being
accustomed to wait often for an hour or two at a time,
while he was away in church attending to his duties as
verger and bell-ringer, or while accompanying the priest
to a sick bed with the holy sacrament.
The Professor opened his eyes, for in reality he had
but a very superficial acquaintance with the numerous
duties of his Tyrolese colleagues.
The schoolmaster, having shaved him, was made su¬
premely happy by a fourpenny-bit (twenty kreuzen) about
treble the amount he had asked. The man's heart opened
towards the free-handed stranger, and he boldly asked
him the " what's and where's " of his residence and pro¬
fession. Our friend informed him with a smile on his
face that they were " fellow-workers."
" And does every one of your customers pay fourpence
for shaving ? " was his next question, " for then I can un¬
derstand how you can travel for amusement, and wear
gold spectacles and a gold ring."
" No, my friend, you are mistaken : I teach the young
as you do," replied the thunderstruck Professor.
" Ah, yes ! that's right well possible, for of course you've
got to teach your apprentices. That's quite something
else than driving the ABC into dull heads, as I have to
do."
Finally we got him to understand that the Professor
was his colleague in "t'other things." His astonishment
was boundless on hearing that a schoolmaster stood be¬
fore him. " But to give fourpence for a shave," that was
evidently beyond his horizon. The gold spectacles might
be sham, likewise the ring ; but the fourpence, they were
genuine coins of the realm, and no mistake about them.
We parted the best friends, deeply regretting to leave a
neighborhood where barbers were better men than pro¬
fessors.
Men like this original are not to be found everywhere ;
but I am not very far wrong in saying that the majority
of rural Tyrolese schoolmasters are characters in their
way. I have found but few whose dealings and thoughts
134 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
are not out of the common, or whose individualities are
not worth a passing scrutiny.
Would the reader mind being introduced to a confrere
of the barber? It is true, he is a superior kind of man,
not given to making strange mistakes, and therefore his
acquaintance will prove less amusing than that of the
former; but nevertheless his simple tale will perhaps
awake some little interest. Our friend's name is Georg
S , and he is a schoolmaster in one of the most con¬
siderable villages in the Passeir valley.
While most villages in their relation to the village ty¬
rant— the schoolmaster—-share the fate of the hapless
husband in the Scotch saying, " Every man can guide an
ill wife weel, but him that lias her," our hero makes a
brilliant exception. He is beloved by the children,
looked up to by their parents, and prized beyond measure
by the parochial dignitaries, and by his superiors, the
Vicar and the Co-operator.
Georg's predecessor, after a weary spell of more than
half a century's cane-wielding and knuckle-rapping,
evinced, one fine autumn day, a sad lack of proper feel¬
ing and compliance to custom and rule, by departing
very suddenly from the scene of his protracted actiyity
among his fellow-beings, — he died.
Unaccustomed to such a flagrant want of decorum, the
village authorities were placed in a sad fix. They had
not foreseen the possibility of such an event, imagining,
very probably, that when once a man had proved to pos-,
sess a constitution akin to that of Methuselah, there was
no earthly cause for making their minds uneasy by specu¬
lations on the question of a successor.
Months went by, and, to the great joy of the village
children, the post remained vacant. Eight pounds a year
for salary was evidently losing, in the dear times, its allur¬
ing charms ; for, to the untold perplexity of the authori¬
ties, no application for the enviable post reached them.
The burgomaster and councilors put their heads to¬
gether, scratched them very vigorously, and finally de¬
cided, after a deal of squabbling, to raise the salary to
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 135
ninety-five florins (£9. ior.) This was an unheard-of
piece of liberality on the part of the authorities, for no
people shrink more from outstepping bounds drawn by
their fathers and grandfathers than your genuine Tyrolese
peasants.
" My ancestors did so and so, and spent so and so
much for this or that purpose, and I'll do the like," is the
invariable answer to any proposition entailing any innova¬
tion.
To swerve from a time-honored practice, be it ever so
ill-adapted to meet the demands of civilization, be it ever
so disadvantageous to their interest, is contrary to the na¬
ture of the more remote Tyrolese : they stick to it with
a strange persistency bordering on pig-headedness, un¬
accountable in the character of a people by no means
inactive or stupid. " Their ancestors, their grandfathers,
and their fathers tolled the house-bell when a thunder¬
storm was approaching, to ward off the lightning, and
they'll do it too : it does no harm, at any rate, and one
can't tell if it may not do good."
In vain you argue that it does no good whatever, but
on the contrary it may do a great deal of mischief. An
incredulous smile will be the answer.
We can fancy, therefore, what a sacrifice of feeling it
must have cost these venerable village dignitaries to ex¬
ceed the sum their fathers and grandfathers had for time
out of memory expended upon the education of their
offspring.
But there was no help for it. A schoolmaster, or,
what was far more necessary, a sexton and proper bell-
ringer, they must have.
" Why, only last Sunday," remarked one of the coun¬
cilors, " that rascal of a cobbler's apprentice " (on whom
the office of ringing the church-bells had been delegated
at the death of the schoolmaster) " brought the whole
village to church fully an hour and a half too early. It
was just gone four in the morning when the third bell
rang, and I hurried to church, wondering all the way how
it came that I had overslept myself."
136 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Five months later, our friend Georg had taken posses¬
sion of the cottage close to the church, containing the
large schoolroom on the ground-floor, and two little rooms
and a kitchen overhead for him and his sister. The latter,
a pattern of a prim old maid, was well versed in household
matters, having been thoroughly drilled as housekeeper
and cook in that best of schools, a vicarage in a wretch¬
edly poor parish. For her the cottage afforded ample
room, but not so for her artist brother and his atelier,
without which he could not exist.
An expenditure of some ten or twelve florins — a very
considerable sum for Georg, for hitherto he had school-
mastered for eight pounds a year — finally enabled him
to convert a sort of garret into an airy and roomy studio.
In peace and content did this couple pass their days
in their modest habitation, the brother busy from half-
past three o'clock in the morning — for at a quarter to
four the early mass had to be rung in — till a late hour in
the evening ; the sister keeping house for him, and attend¬
ing to the urgent calls for her services as medicine-woman
for man and beast. Her fame as such spread near and
far. For every ailment of body and mind, her solace,
her simple but efficacious remedies, were eagerly sought.
She was the Good Samaritan of the village.
Fier weary journeys up to the distant châlet in the
depth of winter ; her indefatigable nursing of some sick
child, or of the poor suffering peasant severely injured
by an accident while out on the mountains ; or her sage
advice to a bewildered neighbor on the treatment of his
cattle, who, by their loud bellowing and strange antics,
were betraying sure signs of being bewitched, — these,
and a host of similar traits of a humane heart, had gained
her the love of the whole village.
By the time we make the acquaintance of the couple,
they had resided for upwards of twenty years in the vil¬
lage. Both were old and gray-haired, and both had that
quiet smile, the unobtrusive manners, the same kindly
eyes, which gained my good-will the first time I entered
the neat, trimly-kept cottage, in my character of an eager
bric-à-brac hunter.
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.
m
In the evening, after an arduous day's work, foraging
about in peasants', houses pointed out by Georg as the
most likely ones to contain that of which I was in search,
I repaired to the village inn. While Georg, whom I had
invited to join in a chat and glass of wine, was absent
ringing the evening bells, I put some questions relating
to Georg to the garrulous old host.
" Ah ! we've got a treasure in that couple : there's none
near and far to equal them. Georg gained our hearts the
first month he came here, by putting us again on an equal
footing with the rest of the Passeierer villages."
"On an equal footing?" we inquire.
"Yes," replied our informant. "You know," he con¬
tinued, " we are a poor and primitive people. Many of
us have hardly enough to find bread and clothing for our
own. The pastures on the Alps are by no means rich,
the soil in the valley is exceedingly poor, and our sons
and daughters leave their parents, to gain their livelihood
by some trade or other, at the very time their hands are
most wanted at home. It is a poor valley, but still all
of us take a great pride in our churches. We spend on
them and their endowment a deal of money, more, per¬
haps, than we can afford. The inhabitants of the several
villages in our valley rival with each other in the fitting
out of the sacred edifices, as well as in the gorgeous
equipment of our religious processions, which are held at
certain periods of the year. Well, the village churches
in B——- and in St. L ," naming two neighboring par¬
ishes, " set up some twenty years ago a ' Holy Dove ' and
an ' Ascension of Christ.' "
In answer to my query what that meant, I was informed
that the former is an imitation dove, made of feathers
and pasteboard, representing the symbol of the Holy
Ghost. On Whit-Sunday it is let down, by means of
cords, from an opening in the ceiling of the church,
while the priests chant the " Deo Gratia," and the con¬
gregation are on their knees, gazing upwards, and intently
watching the holy emblem slowly descending, and then,
when nearly touching their heads, rising again, circling
138 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
upwards, till finally it disappears through the opening in
the arch.
" You can not imagine," my informant continued, "how
devoutly the people watch this religious performance, and
indeed it is a grand sight, and one that does one good.
The solemn tones of the priest as he chants his prayers,
the deep hush that lies over the multitude, the full tones
of the organ breaking in now and again, the thin wreaths
of incense rising on both sides of the altar, the tinkling of
the tiny little silver bells in the hands of the acolytes, —•
all these unite in producing a vivid impression upon the
mind."
" And what is the Ascension of Christ? " I ask, curious
to hear what that meant.
" It's something very similar. Instead of the dove, it's
the life-size figure of Christ, which on Ascension Day is
raised by cords from the altar,1 amid the devout prayers
of the congregation, the burning of incense, and bless¬
ings pronounced by the priest, arrayed in the gorgeous
vestments they wear on that day."
I remembered having heard of this before, in connec¬
tion with a somewhat startling event that occurred years
ago in a church at Hall.
The cords by which "Christ" was to be pulled up
were old and worn ; and one Ascension Day they broke,
and the life-size figure of our Saviour came tumbling down,
smashing all the appurtenances on the decorated altar.
The whole ceremony would have been spoilt, and the pious
congregation — numbers of which had wandered many a
weary mile in order to witness the renowned ceremony—-
would have been deprived of the show, had not some per¬
son or other connected with the church (undoubtedly he
had the blood of a schoolmaster in him, if he was not
one himself) pitched upon a happy remedy, with a pres¬
ence of mind and ingenuity worthy of a higher reward
than the mere praise of the Vicar.
1 In other places, again, the figure of Christ is placed in a shrine in the centei
aisle, and from thence is drawn up to the opening in the arch used on Whit-Sundav
for the " Holy Ghost." 3
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 139
A large mason's bucket being fetched, the handle tied
to a cord, was let down from the hole at the top, and the
fragments of the figure representing Christ, such as head,
legs, and arms, crammed into the pail.
The " Te Deo Profundi " was recommenced ; and amid
the chimes of the silver bells, the chanting of the choir,
and the full sounds of the organ, the " Ascension " was
performed, with the shattered pieces of Christ's figure
stowed away in the tub.
"Georg," continued our talkative old host, "seeing
that the absence of these two pious frauds was having a
decidedly bad effect upon the minds of his fellow-parish¬
ioners, determined that the church should possess not
only a Holy Dove, but also an Ascension, and in the course
of the next fortnight had himself succeeded in construct¬
ing the emblem of peace, and wheedling a life-size figure
of Christ out of a peasant carver. The next Whit-Sunday
the congregation were pleasantly surprised by the welcome
sight of the ' Holy Ghost ' descending upon them, an
occurrence putting them again on an equal footing with
their rivals ; and from that day Georg's reputation and
position were secure."
The conversation with mine host was interrupted by the
entrance of Georg himself, who, after his usual greeting,
" Gelobt sei Jesus," sat down with us, and helped him¬
self to the wine placed before him.
We were soon in deep conversation. Many an inter¬
esting incident and quaint passage in his life I gleaned
from him. Eager to please the wanderer who seemingly
took so lively an interest in the affairs of the poor little
village, he naturally, and in the most touching manner,
betrayed the desire to exhibit its brightest sides.
His heart was wrapped up in the limited sphere of his
activity, and his greatest pleasure was to improve the lot
of his fellow-villagers, and to amend the prospects of the
community as a whole.
" Ah ! " he would exclaim, "were we not so wretchedly
poor, a great deal could be done. The ground could be
made more productive, were the young not obliged to
14° G A EVINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
leave their homes, and then the children could remain
longer at school. What is four months of school in the
year for a child, and that only at an age rarely exceeding
thirteen? At fourteen they must begin work for them¬
selves, and most likely remain on their father's Alps the
livelong summer, where the rudiments of reading and
writing, which they had acquired the preceding years, are
speedily replaced by more profitable knowledge of milk¬
ing, churning, and cheesemaking. A comparatively very
small sum of money would suffice to better the breed of
cattle, to drive new ideas into the thick heads of the in¬
habitants, and to introduce new trades, as other valleys
have."
With these and other subjects our evening passed away
very pleasantly ; and the next morning I paid his modest
dwelling a visit, and was honored with an invitation to in¬
spect his "painting-room," as he termed his atelier at the
top of the cottage.
I had been in many a village schoolmaster's " study "
before, but in none did it look so tidy and clean. On
one side of the wall were ranged, side by side, some
twenty or thirty small studies of male and female heads,
some of which betrayed a certain talent, though of course
the work was rough in the extreme. On the other side
of the room were piles of iron crosses such as are placed
on the tombs. Over them was a shelf laden with various
wax figures, each about three or four inches high, repre¬
senting, besides men, women, and children, every imagin¬
able limb and organ of the human body. They were for
votive offerings to the Virgin Mary, or to some other
favorite saint, in acknowledgment of blessings besought
from them. The poor woodcutter, who has injured his
leg desperately with his ax, on being cured, forthwith
purchases a wax leg, and hangs it up at the shrine of the
saint whose blessed services he besought in the hour of
despair and sickness. This is the very least he will do ;
others go a greater length in demonstrating their gratitude,
to Heaven for a miraculous cure. An instance of this
came under my notice a short time ago. A huntsman
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 141
had been shot by a poacher, and left for dead in the
mountains. Two days after receiving his wound, he was
accidentally discovered ; too late, however, to save his leg.
It had to be amputated, and the sufferer ordered the limb
to be buried close to the spot where he had been wounded.
When he was cured, he himself presented a votive tablet,
and set it up over his leg's grave, and whenever he passed
he never failed to sprinkle holy water over it, which he
carried with him in a bottle for that purpose.
The mother whose babe recovered from a severe illness,
by the help of the Virgin and of her patron saint, spends
a part of her savings in the purchase of a wax representa¬
tion of a baby in swaddling-clothes, and, tying a bright
blue ribbon round its neck, hangs it up at the altar of her
patron saint.
The poor cripple whose sufferings are at length, after
being endured for months or years, relieved by judicious
medical treatment, remembers in his gratitude, first of all,
the supernatural powers that favored his recovery, and
hangs a couple of miniature crutches, or a leg of wax, on
one of the walls in his village chapel. Not till afterwards
does he recollect the services of the country Hïsculap.
With eyes, ears, and all other distinct organs or mem¬
bers of the human body, it is the same way, and many a
chapel's interior is more like an anatomical museum than
a place of worship. Hearts, we need hardly tell our fair
readers, preponderate. In many districts the sex of the
one offered can be distinguished at the first glance, the
male ones being of red wax, while those of females are of
white.
A certain degree of superstition is at the bottom of all
votive gifts ; a far greater degree, however, is perceptible
in another form of votive offerings, for, not in a few
chapels hang, cheek by jowl with hearts, legs, arms, and
eyes, toads shaped of wax. Now, the toad is undoubtedly
one of the few animals in creation which are universally
considered unclean. Our Tyrolese goes farther : he in¬
vests it with certain powers of witchcraft and sorcery, in¬
asmuch as all witches and sorceresses are, according to
142 GADD1NGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
his belief, turned at their death into toads. It is therefore
all the more singular, that this highly suspicious animal
should find a place in the sacred precincts of a chapel.
The reason is, that the offering of a waxen toad is the
sure sign that the person offering it has been the victim
of witchcraft, and that his fears, prayers, and the promises
of a sacrifice in the shape of a votive gift, were the effect¬
ual means of bringing about his delivery.
There are many ways in which a person can become
the victim of these uncanny tormentors. Cattle will
evince strange signs of brute sagacity, or, by loud bellow¬
ing, betray tokens of some unholy spirit's presence, or
their milk, after a few hours, will turn sour. Children,
specially babies in their cradles, are liable to be " charmed
by the evil eye," an event making itself known by long
spells of crying and squalling, and by a strange restless¬
ness.
The far commoner circumstances connected with the
offering of toads are, however, the non-appearance of
heirs to increase the wedded happiness of some young
couple or other. What else can possibly cause this sad
disappointment of the would-be parents' hopes and de¬
sires, but. the spiteful "charm " exercised by some witch
who for unknown reasons bears them a grudge? They
pray devoutly, and perform penance ; and, if their means
allow it, they will undertake a pilgrimage to the shrine of
the Virgin Mary, at Absam,1 a place of pilgrimage spe¬
cially favored by persons anxious to be rendered happy
by an increase of family. The occurrence of the happy
event, the fulfillment of their wish, is followed either by
the presentation of a waxen baby in swaddling-clothes, or,
if the parents ascribe the delay to supernatural causes, by
presenting a toad to the next shrine.
■Were we to do justice to all these quaint offerings,
many a page could be filled. Let us glance at a few
others. A considerable number represent cattle,—• cows,
with or without calves at their sides, bullocks with huge
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.
*43
horns, sheep, goats, and pigs. I once happened to be
ensconced behind a pillar in a small chapel in a remote
valley, occupied with sketching the altar. At first no¬
body was in the chapel ; but presently there entered a
buxom lass of some nineteen or twenty years, whose
ruddy color betokened a long stay on the exposed pas¬
turages of the Alps. Not observing me in the corner,
she advanced to the railings in front of the altar, and knelt
down to pray. Imagining she was alone, she prayed
aloud, so that I could hear every word of her simple out¬
pourings. It was really touching, to hear the simple
maiden express her gratitude to her patroness, the Virgin
Mary, for conceding to her the boon she had besought
Of her. While tending her cattle in the solitude of the
Alps, a cow had slipped down a slope, and had broken
her leg. Naught but a miracle worked by the Virgin
Mary could save the life of the cow, and the maiden
from the disgrace which this untoward event would cast
upon her.
In her extremity she resolved to implore the interces¬
sion of her benign patroness, and vow to pray a certain
number of "rosaries," and also to offer a waxen cow at
her shrine, if the animal should recover from her injuries.
She remained constantly at the side of the injured beast,
bathing the wounded limb with a decoction of certain
herbs, and, wonderful to say, at the end of a week the
beast could rise, and in a fortnight was able to move about
as usual. Now that autumn and snow had set in, she had
returned from her exposed summer abode ; and, when
the animal had long been restored to her, hastened, the
very day she descended with her flock from the Alps, to
the distant chapel, to fulfill her vow. More than two
hours she remains on her knees ; and then, rising to her
feet, and pulling a neatly-folded handkerchief from her
pocket, discloses the waxen effigy of a cow, some three
inches in height. A ribbon is tied round the body, and
the offering is hung on a nail at the side of the altar.
But what is that strange-looking box, somewhat resem¬
bling a large cigar-box, nailed to the wall near the altar?
144 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Let us examine it. We find that it contains about a hun¬
dred squares of cardboard, each having a number on it.
It is a "soul's lottery," and used by penitent sinners after
confession. They draw one of the squares from the box,
and have to pray so many prayers as are indicated by the
number on the ticket. As they run from one to ninety,
and as to pray a rosary is an affair of half an hour, a sin¬
ner who has not luck on his side may be condemned to
a forty-eight or forty-nine hours' prayer.
But to return to the studio of our friend. Georg was
the purveyor to the village, not only of these wax effigies,
but also, as we have heard, of crosses for the tombs.
More important perhaps than these two articles, were
the huge wax candles sold by him to devout and penitent
sinners. Throughout all Roman Catholic countries, it is
a wide-spread custom to offer up candles for the salvation
of one's soul.
There are different ways and means of encompassing
this favorable end ; the most original, and decidedly the
safest at the end, was that of a certain old woman in
Brixen, who, after buying three pound wax candles, light¬
ed two before the shrine of the Virgin Mary, and reserved
the third for a large statue of St. George, with his cus¬
tomary footstool in the shape of a huge dragon. She
stuck the sacred taper, after lighting it carefully, right on
the end of the fierce demon's tail, and then retired to her
pew to pray. The verger, on entering the church half an
hour later, was not a little astonished to find St. George's
dragon lighted up in this unusual manner. As he was
about to remove the .candle, the old woman rushed out
of her pew, and told him to let it be.
" For," said she, " I have given two candles to the
Virgin, and this one I mean to offer to the Evil One, who,
I take it, is meant to be represented by that brute."
The verger, thunderstruck at this piece of sacrilegious
profanity, remonstrated with her, but it was futile.
" One can't know, after all, where one comes to after
death. Maybe this candle will save me no end of hell¬
ish tortures ; at all-events, it's best to have friends in both
places," was her answer, and she stuck to it.
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 145
Many a schoolmaster whose lot has been cast in a
good neighborhood, which means one containing a goodly
number of devout and penitent sinners, or a lack of mar¬
riageable swains, turns manya dishonest penny by defraud¬
ing the devout of half or a third of each candle burnt
by them at the shrine of their saints.
At shrines visited by large numbers of pilgrims, the
item of wax is an exceedingly profitable one, both for the
seller of the commodity and for those who make it their
trade to pilfer half-burnt candles from the altar during the
night.
Our friend Georg is not one of these. He lets every
soul have its due in the way of salvation called down by
the sacrifice of candles. " Hell is hot enough for them,
poor things ! "
We have not yet finished our examination of the studio.
In the center of the room stood a painter's easel, and in
front of it a block of wood for a chair. Here Georg
passed, as he tells us, the happiest hours of his life. It
was odd to hear the old fellow dilate upon the mysteries
of the painter's craft. He who had never had the slight¬
est tuition of any kind, who had not even seen a painter
at work, spoke of foreground and background, light and
shade, foliage and rock-work, with the confidence of an
accomplished artist.
While we were turning over the leaves of an old design-
book of his, an old woman entered the chamber. Georg,
who knew her, of course began chatting with her.
We soon learned that the old dame had lost her son the
previous winter : he had been crushed by a tree which
he was about to slide down the precipitous slopes of the
adjacent mountain. The woman had come to order a
votive tablet to be painted and put up on the spot where
the accident had occurred.
It was odd to hear the artist inquire of his customer
how she wished him to "paint" Franze. Was he to lie,
or to stand upright, or to kneel ? did she wish the figure
to be large, or small ? was he to paint " blood," or did she,
perhaps, wish to have a portrait only?
146 GAD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Oh, no ! she wanted the accident to be depicted just
as it happened, and as regards the likeness it did not
matter. And glancing along the several rows of " study
heads " ranged along the wall, she pointed to one, and
said that face there pleased her ; and though the youth
depicted had black hair and black eyes, and her " Frañze "
was blonde, it did not matter ! It was the only head
there that was as handsome as " Franze," and that lay
next the fond mother's heart.
The next thing to be settled was the inscription beneath
the picture. It took a long time to compose one that
pleased the old lady.
One was too short, the other did not speak in suffi¬
ciently meritorious terms of her son's virtues ; the third
was quite a mistake, for in it was not mentioned that
"Franze" had, fortunately, been to confession the Sun¬
day previous to the accident, and that therefore it was
probable that he had died without a sin unconfessed and
unabsolved on his conscience.
All this had to be put forth with due impressement in
the inscription.
" And underneath, schoolmaster," the old lady ended,
" you must paint the tortures of hell ; but make them as
horrible as you possibly can, for then wanderers who pass
will be reminded of the terrible fate that awaits the sin¬
ner, and will pray a " Vater unser " or two for the salva¬
tion of rny 'Frunze's ' soul."
The price of this work of art was moderate in the
extreme, being less than three shillings.
In three days the woman was to fetch the tablet,
When she had left, I turned the conversation to this
subject, being anxious to hear some more particulars
regarding it. I had often been struck by the circum¬
stance, that not infrequently votive tablets are placed in
the church, and not on the spot where the accident itself
had occurred. I inquired the reason ; and he told me
that generally it was done when the relatives of the per¬
son who had been killed deemed it likely that he had died
with a sin on his conscience.
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 147
"You know," he said, "were the tablet to be placed in
the out-of-the-way place where the accident had occurred,
it would seldom chance that anybody passed, and thus
very few prayers for the redemption of the victim's soul
would be prayed. If the picture, on the contrary, hangs
in the church, it is seen by many who are willing, at a
cost of praying a rosary or two, to lighten the wretched
sinner's tortures in hell."
The schoolmaster's brush is likewise called into requi¬
sition on other occasions, to depict scenes in domestic
life.
Thus the peasant who has passed the better part of his
married life in constant warfare with his wife will, when
finally some happy contingency has ended this feud of
long standing, order a votive picture to be painted. He
need but give the artist the cue " domestic quarrel," and
the latter knows what to do.
He will paint a small altar, on the right side of which
kneels the penitent husband, on the other the wife, both
in the attitude of prayer, with their rosaries in their hands.
Underneath will be written the names and date, and a
verse, commonly hinting at the cause of the conjugal
dispute. Here are one or two, copied at random from
votive tablets in Unterinnthal chapels : —
" Accept this little offering
From hearts penitent and pure,
And screen us, while our sins forgiving,
At night and day from friends."
The second one runs : —
" Thanks be to you, O Heavenly Mary,
For hearing our prayers, and joiningtwo hearts
That now are one, but had been twain,
By giving us a son."
The artist has completed his work to the satisfaction of
his patron, and after receiving his fee, amounting perhaps
to a shilling or eighteen pence, he accompanies the re¬
united couple next Sunday to the chapel destined to be
148 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
adorned by his work of art. A nail is fixed into the wall ;
and while husband and wife are kneeling at the altar, the
picture is hung up side by side with dozens of others of
like import.
There is another contingency in home life that fre¬
quently calls for the artist's faithful brush. I have already
referred to it when speaking of wax votive offerings ; it
is the fulfillment of the long-prayed-for " happy event."
The pictures depicting these pleasurable occurrences
of married life might well be termed family pictures,
though, of course, their place is on the sacred walls of
the chapel, and not, as the subject would indicate, on
those of the peasant's best room.
Examining the work of art, we see a woman lying in
bed, on each side of which kneel the male and female
relations in attitudes of prayer. Over the bed, floating in
the air, is a baby of huge proportions, in swaddling-
clothes, à la Tyrolese ; and right over it, near the top of
the picture, which rarely exceeds some twelve or fourteen
inches square, we see the Virgin and the Child, seated on
her usual throne of clouds, peeping down at the happy
family of wooden humanity collected at her feet. Under
the picture are usually written some words informing the
reader that the picture was presented by So-and-So, in
accordance with a vow made at the shrine of the Virgin
Mary at Absam, or at any other of the countless places
of pilgrimage reputed to work miracles in the " family
way."
Now we will descend the steep, ladder-like stairs, and,
as we pass the door, cast one glance into the schoolroom.
It has been observed by an eminent traveler, that
schoolrooms are like each other all over the globe and
indeed we can not make an exception in Tyrol. The
rows of empty benches are alike dreary, be they in pic¬
turesque Tyrol, or in smoke-grilled London or Manches¬
ter. The large blackboard in the background is as grim
and forbidding in a mountainous country as in a flat one.
Were we to examine a little closer into the interior of the
Tyrolese schoolroom in a remote valley, a strange-look-
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. r49
ing contrivance in the corner would arrest our attention.
We inquire its use, and learn that between the two verti¬
cal pillars are placed the billets of wood which those of
the poorer children who are unable to pay the school
money — a farthing a day — bring in lieu of it.
In the porch we bid good-by to our host and friend,
the venerable and kindly schoolmaster. Let us not for¬
get the appointment we have made with him, to meet
him a couple of months hence at the " Ehehaft teidignug "
or general assembly of all the peasants in the largest
village, that of St. Leonhardt. This is an institution carry¬
ing us back to the very earliest times, when the adminis¬
tration of justice was centered in the hands of the high
and mighty lord of the territory, who troubled himself
but little with the home affairs of his oppressed villains.
The old territorial laws that are kept up to the present
day with strange persistency, inflict a very heavy fine on
those who absent themselves from this annual assembly.
It partakes, or rather it partook, — for of late years some
of the strangest customs have been done away with, —
more of the character of a general settling day, in all
matters connected with justice and money transactions,
than of any thing else to which we could liken it. Quar¬
rels between neighbors are decided by three umpires,
generally mutual friends of the opponents. Debts are
paid, sales of stock and wood are effected, extensions of
credit are demanded and accorded ; in fact, the business
affairs of an entire twelve months are decided. It is a
grand and excessively busy day for Georg. He has to be
here and there and everywhere at once. Contracts and
deeds have to be drawn up and witnessed ; old charters
pored over, and their meaning explained to an anxious
audience; legal points in a hotly-debated controversy
looked up, and advice upon them given to stubborn peas¬
ants. The tithes are collected that day, and outstanding
school-money paid : in fact, it is the one and sole busi¬
ness day in the Passeier valley. From an early hour in
the morning, the whole village is filled with a gay
crowd. All kinds of merchandise are here collected
150 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
in one and the same booth, — from the unwieldy felt
hat down to the diminutive looking-glass about the size
of a five-shilling piece, protected by a wooden casing,
from the ponderous bell for the leading cow on the Alp,
down to packets of tin-tacks. The village church bells
have been going from an early hour in the morning, and
now and again we hear faint echoes of shots, with which
well-to-do peasants are fond of announcing to their neigh¬
bors that they are on the point of leaving their homes,
many a weary mile away, to attend the " Ehehaft teidig-
nug" at St. Leonhardt.
While following our friend's steps to this re-union, I
entirely forgot to mention a second very important day
for the schoolmaster guild. It is Candlemas Day, on
which it is his and his deputies' duty to go the round
from house to house, collecting money for the wax candles
burned in the village church throughout the year.
These collectors have no easy task to perform : they
have to possess a glib tongue, and a rich store of infor¬
mation of saintly personages. Not every one is willing to
give. While one peasant complains that, notwithstanding
the money he gave last year towards St. Sebastian's can¬
dles, his wheat, when just ready to cut, was entirely de¬
stroyed by a hailstorm ; his neighbor, again, will stubbornly
refuse to contribute to St. Leonhardt, the patron of cattle,
on the ground that the two florins which he had spent
on that saint the previous year had been more than thrown
away, as two head of his herd had perished by slipping
down a precipice. All manner of threats have to be
urged ere a stingy skeptic will hand over his mite.
" St. Blasius " will strike him with fell disease ; " St. Flo¬
rian," the protector against fire, will make a bonfire of
his farm ; or " St. Apolonia " will torment him with an
attack of maddening toothache. No saint will suffer
himself to be snubbed or slighted, and woe to the traitor
who would jeopardize the welfare of the whole village by
his treasonable parsimony ! The peasant whose wits
have been sharpened by his misplaced confidence the
year before is finally won over, and grudgingly pays his
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.
money-offering, leaving the choice of the saint to his
woman-folk. The wife, who perhaps has no money to give
away, offers the collector a couple of knots of hemp, or
a quarter-sack of fine flour, or a stone-weight of butter,
as her own special contribution. If there are any lasses
in the house, they will secretly press a shilling into his
hand, and whisper to him the magic name of St. Kilian, a
saint who occupies a somewhat ambiguous position among
his colleagues, for he is not only the protector of tur¬
nips, but also the guardian of love, and especially of
clandestine amour.
Were it not indiscreet to confidentially cross-question
the collector, it would be interesting to know into which
pocket (for it is but natural to suppose that St. Kilian
keeps the change he receives in his twofold character,
properly separated) the poor maiden's shilling found its
way.
Those that are curious on this point had better step
into the village church the following Sunday during ser¬
vice. The bashful look of the maiden, as she bends her
eyes upon the life-size figure of the love saint, — whose
gilt armor reflects the light of her votive wax taper,—
tells its own tale ; and to satisfy us that the shilling was
not wasted on turnips, we need not stop to catch her fur¬
tive glance at her sturdy, bright-eyed lover, who is vainly
endeavoring to fix his attention upon his rosary, as he
leans agäinst the opposite wall of the church. Ten years
hence, when St. Kilian's services are no longer required
to keep the flame of conjugal love alive, but when the
family's welfare is sorely dependent upon the thriving
condition of their turnip-crop, St. Kilian will probably find
himself again the object of their prayer. What with love
and turnips, and turnips and love, we may suppose Kilian's
saintly memory must be put to a sore test.
The collector is about to leave the peasant's cottage,
satisfied with his harvest, when out rushes the youngest
of the household, a little girl of twelve or thirteen, housed
and fed by the peasant for charity's sake, and, running up
to the man, presses a penny into his hand, exclaiming
in childlike innocence, —
152 GAD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
" I have naught else to give you, for I have nothing
but a pair of new shoes, and a dear old mother ill in bed
at home."
When asked for what saint the modest offering was
destined, she replies, —
" For my patron, to remind him to guard over my flock
of goats."
Poor little thing ! What a tale those words tell of an
ever-present dread that one of her wild and willful charges
should come to harm, — of a constant fear that, by some
accidental mishap, she should be deprived of her wretched
pittance, amounting probably to no more than fourpence
a week. How anxiously her eyes watch her penny-
piece disappear into the capacious pockets of the great
man, and how her little heart flutters to hear from his
benign lips that henceforth her patron saint will guard
and watch over her flock ! And yet what had she done ?
Given away a quarter of her weekly earnings—to her
a vast sum — which usually procured some little luxury
for her poor bedridden old mother.
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 153
CHAPTER IX.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL.
NO doubt many of the facts mentioned in the preced¬
ing chapters, especially those in connection with the
religious life in Tyrol, must sound strange to English ears ;
and very likely many readers will ask how it is that I have
so far penetrated into the mysteries of the clerical, no
less than of the scholastic cloth. I divulge the secret of
my success with evil forebodings, for I confess to belong
to those unintelligible beings whose soul is tainted by a
love, not for the modern, but for the old and bygone. In
fact, I confess to being an amateur antiquarian — a curi¬
osity-hunter if you will.
How many quires could I fill with accounts of strange
adventures and ludicrous incidents which have befallen
me while in pursuit of that all-engrossing sport among the
mountains of Tyrol !
A glance around the room in which I am writing, a
view of the table, one look at the walls, carries me back
to the modest little chalet, the ruined old castle, the crazy
old mansion, the quaint old inn, the tumble-down me¬
diaeval church, each the scene of some happy discovery
or some spirited barter. I am surrounded by trophies of
that chase.
In a previous chapter I endeavored to depict the all-
engrossing charms of chamois-stalking. I now-want to
do the same in respect to curiosity-hunting, for in my
eyes the latter is a sport no less keen than the former.
But chamois and antiquities are getting decidedly
scarce ; and while the next generation will perhaps be the
154 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
one to kill the last venerable old buck in Tyrol, I fear it
will be the present one's lot to buy up the last old chest
and the last old tankard.
The knack of curiosity-hunting, no less than that of
chamois-stalking, can only be acquired by long practice,
and one who has not passed a thorough apprenticeship to
either sport will assuredly blunder on some important
point the very first time he is out.
It will probably amaze our readers to hear that a poor
country — and Tyrol undoubtedly is that — should har¬
bor works of art of any sort. In a cottage in England
how rarely does one stumble upon a carved or inlaid cab¬
inet, or a curious old book, say of the first half of the
sixteenth century !
Twenty years ago, I may safely say, there was no house
in the whole Tyrolese country that did not possess some
article of vertu. Perhaps it was but an old halberd curi¬
ously engraved, or a helmet, or a broad two-handed
sword, or a rusty shirt of mail — all relics of the time
when the peasant owner of the house was chained to the
soil as a noble's " villain." Or, to speak of furniture, no
house was without a couple of those curious old wedding
chests, generally painted with allegorical designs, often
inlaid, and now and then beautifully carved in oak in the
rich style of the Renaissance.
Nothing can give one a better idea of the very promi¬
nent state of ail trades connected with art in the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries in Tyrol, than to hear of the vast
amount of the exquisite pieces of workmanship of that
period which have been discovered in this country, in the
course of the last thirty years.
The South Kensington Museum possesses, to my knowl¬
edge, six or seven very valuable objects of Tyrolese origin,
which were bought for very considerable sums.
The well-known curiosity trade of Munich and Vienna
drew its chief stock from this small country. No wonder
that the once immensely rich mine has been all but ex¬
hausted. It is only by dint of the most minute search,
of the most indefatigable labor, that one succeeds now-
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 155
adays in securing a treasure. But then, does not that one
piece — perhaps a rare old Gothic cabinet, with a huge
lock and queer out-of-the-way drawers, and secret springs,
bought for less than a pound sterling ; or a couple of huge
halberds, on the surface of which, after carefully removing
the rust of centuries, you find the armorial bearings of
some well-known noble house etched in first-rate workman¬
ship— repay one for endless trouble? Far greater than
the mere knowledge of having acquired a decidedly good
haul, does the soupçon please you of having succeeded in
your endeavors to drive a good bargain.
The owner is stubborn : for instance, he " won't part
with it ; the cabinet," he says, "has been in his family for
centuries, and he won't sell it. His son," pointing to a
lout sitting at the other side of the room, " might per¬
haps part with it when once he is master of the con¬
cern."
You look at the peasant, and you find him a hale and
robust man in the prime of life. Your heart sinks within
you; and if you are a "green one " you turn glum, and
leave the house disgusted with your bad luck. This you
will do if you are a new hand at it, and have no knowl¬
edge of the character of the peasantry, their weak and
their strong points.
There is one golden rule which, if it is strictly followed,
will very nearly always land you as victor at a fifth of the
costs which would have arisen had you pressed on in un¬
due haste. It is patience, — nothing more nor nothing
less.
How tantalizing it is to be obliged to sit there and talk
to the phlegmatic old peasant, owner of some priceless
treasure you have discovered stowed away in the inner¬
most recesses of the lumber-corner in the cellar or under
the roof !
"Talk?" Yes, but not of the subject that is upper¬
most in your mind ; but of the state of the crops, of the
weather, of the last fête day village fight, in fact, of any
thing and every thing save the bargain. While your
hand itches to snatch out your purse to give him the
156 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
money he may ask for it, it has to wander in your coat-
pocket to produce your tobacco-pouch, to be handed to
the old villain, who has sniffed the air, remarking, " That's
good tobacco you are smoking."
There goes an ounce at least of your prized English
bird's-eye, to fill the huge bowl of the peasant's pipe, he
stuffing it down with his little finger into the seemingly
bottomless receptacle.
Now he lights it leisurely, puffs a few whiffs, and with a
solemn "Yes, yes," he sinks back in his chair to enjoy
the luxury of a good smoke, with that phlegmatic repose
peculiar to the peasant class. What do you care to hear
the praise of your tobacco? You know it's good, and
that is sufficient for you. You sit on pins and needles.
But patience, patience ; the peasant has promised to go
up with you under the roof "by and by," to look at that
" crazy old lumber-chest," as he terms that priceless
Gothic cabinet the son showed you a few hours before.
You are certain it is not only carved, but also inlaid
with different kinds of wood ; but the thick coat of dust
and dirt hid the details of the workmanship from your
view ; and the presence of the lout standing at your side,
half muttering to himself that " it's better, after all, he did
not chop it up for firewood, as he did t'other last year,"
detains you from examining it closer.
You are burning with the desire to convince yourself
of the truth of your supposition, but you must not move ;
the magic "by and by" of the owner chains you to your
chair. You answer the tiresome questions in a sprightly
chaffing tone, while in your heart you curse the question¬
er's unbearable phlegm.
To your horror, the buxom daughter now enters the
room, and, after placing a napkin on the table, puts the
huge pan of Schmarn, the peasant's dinner, in its center.
The bell, hanging in the miniature belfry on the roof
of the house, is set in motion ; the farm-servants file into
the room one by one, and stand round the table saying
grace prior to sitting down.
You sit by, and watch the contents of the huge pan
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 157
disappear. The people seem ravenous ; will they never
stop eating? you think. "Oh, no ! there's yet half of its
contents left, but no sign of flagging energy is visible."
On they eat, slowly and phlegmatically, as they do most
things.
Ah ! now the bottom of the iron vessel becomes visible.
Another five minutes, and the sides are scraped clean.
"We want fine weather, you see, sir, and now we'll
have it," remarks the master of the house laughingly, al¬
luding to an old saying that " a clean pan brings clean
weather."
The company rise and say grace. The peasant, while
we've been addressing a few words to one of the plump
maidservants, whom we happened to meet on an Alp last
summer, has sat himself down again, and before we have
time to interpose he has relit his furnace.
"Just let me finish this pipe," he says, as with annoy¬
ance painted in every line of your features you bite your
lips and pull out your watch.
By an almost superhuman effort you restrain your anger,
and reply quite sprightly, ■—-
" Oh ! my good fellow, don't hurry yourself : that old
lumber-chest can wait another quarter of an hour, it has
waited patiently so many hundred years."
Your eyes belie your words, for they roll about in an
agony of suspense.
"Yes, that tobacco of yours is decidedly first-rate
stuff," the old rascal continues. "I should say that it
cost at least fifty or sixty kreutzers (a shilling or fourteen
pence) a pound, eh?"
What are you to answer to this insult, unintentional as
it may be? If you tell him that he is somewhat mis¬
taken, and own that you paid about six times as much,
you would spoil all ; for the man would then see that your
coat need not necessarily be a worn old shooting-jacket,
and that if you can afford to smoke such expensive to¬
bacco, you can pay at least treble the sum he originally
would have asked for the cabinet.
The old fellow puffs away at his pipe, which seemingly
158 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
is never coming to an end. Ah, at last ! Slowly knock¬
ing out the ashes, he replaces it in his breast-pocket, and
rising, proceeds to lead the way out of the room, up the
narrow, ladder-like stairs, to the loft under the roof.
You follow with a beating heart, and approach the cor¬
ner where the cabinet is standing amid a heap of rubbish,
pieces of old harness, broken agricultural implements, and
cracked pots and pans. " Will he try any game on me ? "
you ask yourself, as he proceeds to push aside the heap
of rubbish in order to get close up to the chest. You
are longing to follow, just one rub with the moist finger is
all you want ; but you dare not. A broken barrel is close
by : you sit down upon it, and assume a stoical air of in¬
difference while the peasant is circling about the prized
object, now pulling out a drawer, now trying the lock and
key, now giving it a rough shove which nearly sends it
toppling over.
"Well, peasant," you open conversation, "how much
must I give you for it ? You see yourself it's a rubbishing
old chest, sadly out of repair, and probably it will hardly
bear the transport down to the next village, from whence
I can have it fetched in a cart."
"Well," he says, "when I was in 'Sprugg (meaning
Innsbruck) the last time, four years come Whitsuntide, I
saw a chest very like this in a shop-window, and a ticket
011 it, with two hundred florins marked on the paper."
(Our heart is in our mouth.) " But of course there must
have been something very valuable inside the chest, per¬
haps some jewels in one of the drawers."
" Very likely," you press out in an agony of despair ;
and by a supreme effort you re-assume the sprightly jocu¬
lar tone, exclaiming that you want but the chest, not the
jewels inside.
■ " I guess there are none in this," the peasant replies,
"so we'll say a tener (ten florins, less than a pound), and
a couple of pipes of your tobacco."
You breathe again, relieved from the hundred-ton
weight that has been resting on your mind since that fatal
account of the visit to 'Sprugg. "Well, I don't mind
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 159
giving you ten florins, if you will transport it down to the
next village."
This the peasant won't do ; and after a quarter of ail
hour's haggling, you buy the chest for eight florins (six¬
teen shillings), agreeing to take it down at your own ex¬
pense and risk.
"And for what may you want that lumbering box?"
the peasant asks, as you descend the ladder-like stairs
into the general room.
In this instance there was no maneuvering to speak of.
Quite differently have you to handle a peasant who knows
that the old sword, the curious cabinet, has a certain value
beyond that of old iron or of firewood. For five and
six times you have to visit him, and a year or eighteen
months will perhaps have to elapse ere you can close the
bargain.
In villages near towns, the peasant population know by
experience that antiquities command high prices. Igno¬
rant of the meaning of the word "antiquities," they ask
monstrous prices for things perfectly valueless, as, for in¬
stance, some picture daubed by some bygone village artist,
if only covered with dirt and dust, attains, in their eyes, a
priceless value.
Again they will bring you a broken jar, a cracked pot,
of the workmanship of some fifty years ago, and demand
its weight in gold ; and when you inform them that they
are worthless, they'll exclaim, quite amazed, " But they
are old ! we thought you bought everything that is old ! "
To offer an explanation upon the nature of the articles
you are in search of, is worse than useless. You have to
depend solely upon your own talents at foraging, and
then, when you have found something, to manage to buy
it up as cheaply as possible. You get laughed at behind
your back, whether you give a high price or a low one.
The fancy for the old, not alone on account of its being
old, but on account of the fine workmanship, the taste,
and the interest one attaches very naturally to an object
that was in use three or four centuries ago, is wholly in¬
explicable to the simple-minded peasantry, who admire a
l6o GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
plain deal chest daubed with red, green, and blue flowers
and ornaments, far more than the finely-chiseled, rare
old cabinet in the pure Gothic or in the rich Renais¬
sance style.
The schoolmaster is the first person in a village to whom
curiosity-hunters should apply, not only because he is the
most likely person to know the whereabouts of " old
things " in his village, but also because he is the guardian
of the church, and in that character a personage whose
complaisant favor one has to secure at any cost.
It must be remembered that though most of the village
churches are very old, dating back their history to the
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, the outward
signs of their age have been ruthlessly ravaged by the
iconoclastic improvers of the last century. The disas¬
trous preference for rococo, or, as the Germans have ap¬
propriately nicknamed it, the pigtail style, superseded by
a branch of architectural mannerism, that most vile of all
styles, the Jesuit's (called so on account of its gaudy prod¬
igality), stripped the majority of Tyrolese churches of the
pure severe lines of the Gothic and of the rich but no
less pure details of the early Renaissance ornamental de¬
signs that adorned their interior and exterior, and meta¬
morphosed them into the highly inartistic structures that
pain one's eyes in some Tyrolese valleys.
One could hardly furnish a more striking instance of
the slavish inthrallment of the human mind in the
shackles of fashion than by pointing out the bulky, lum¬
bering structures resembling two turnips piled one upon
the other, that were created in the Jesuitical era, in lieu
of the tapering, needle-shaped spires, so elegant in their
simplicity, and so eminently suitable to mountain land¬
scape.
Fortunately for the country, and thanks to the strenu¬
ous efforts of the present day, these relics of a very taste¬
less period are gradually disappearing. The decorations
which fell a prey to the ruthless hand of the last century
were either thrown or given away, or they were stowed
pell-mell under the roof of the church. In the latter
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 161
place, therefore, an exceedingly rich harvest of curiosities
was to made some ten or fifteen years ago. Nowadays, I
am sorry to say, they have been ransacked over and over
again by the greedy hands of dealers from Innspruck,
Munich, or Vienna. There is perhaps not a church in
the whole country that has not been visited by some of
these.
Rich prizes were to be made — old Venetian candela¬
bra of colored glass, Gothic cabinets of the very best
workmanship, life-size figures of saints, carved by the
hands of artists, and rare scroll-work in oak and iron.
Over all these things the schoolmasters in their character
of sexton were the guardians, and as many of them fan¬
cied they knew something of " old things " in general,
one had to be a good hand to bring over one's bird with¬
out an extra expenditure of powder.
To odd stratagems one had to resort, which, examined
by a strong light, would not infrequently leave a tiny but
yet perceptible spot on the characters of our heroes. But
while groping about in the dark corners of the church-
loft, one was not incommoded by the light of day. It
was dark work in both senses. I have known four and
five big cart-loads of cabinets, chests, candelabra, carved
decorations, pieces of iron scroll-work, carried off from
one single modest little Tyrolese village church, the whole
cargo being sold for a trifle, while a worthless old daub
owned by the sexton, or by the priest, if he were of a very
meddling disposition, would fetch a hundred florins or
even more. The fact that all moneys accruing from
church property replenish the foundation's exchequer,
explains the excessive price of the daub.
In many instances, specially in those where the peas¬
ant owner of some curiosity of value knows its merits, or
has formed an exaggerated opinion regarding the price
he can demand, the curiosity-hunter flies to the village
schoolmaster. To him he lays open his heart, promis¬
ing him not only his eternal gratitude, but a handsome
douceur, if he succeeds in capturing the prized article at
a more moderate price.
162 G ADDING S WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Stalking chamois and hunting for curiosities — the one
a work of nature, the other that of man — are two pur¬
suits that seemingly can never be combined, and yet in
Tyrol they can.
Curiosities, it is true, are not to be found among peaks
and glaciers, and chamois eschew the haunts of man. If
the reader wishes to know how this anomalous end can
be brought about, let him follow my steps as I set out on
one of my expeditions, which (let us take a common in¬
stance) is the result of an invitation to hunt chamois in a
distant district, belonging maybe to a peasant community,
or perhaps to a sportsman of high rank. Were we to put
our best foot foremost, we might possibly reach our goal
in one day • but we prefer to take it easy, and decide to
cover the distance, some twenty hours' march, in' two
days. My kit compactly stowed in our ample " Ruck¬
sack," a species of haversack, and much preferable to a
knapsack, consists only of the most necessary articles,
and hence does not interfere with marching efficiency,
for as yet it has not been augmented by the dead weight
of rations for two or three days' consumption, and, in¬
cluding the rifle, hardly exceeds fifteen or twenty pounds.
By starting before daybreak, we gain three or four
hours' rest in the middle of the day. They are, how¬
ever, not spent in after-lunch laziness, for our six hours'
forenoon stroll along pleasant paths over pass and Alpine
mead has acted as an invigorating stimulant, and anti¬
quarian lust has taken possession of the soul. The frugal
but ample ten-o'clock dinner dispatched, we leave rifle
and haversack at the inn, and stroll down the village to
the simple little church. Before we reach it we perceive
the village priest, followed by the verger-schoolmaster,
issue from the porch. The black flowing robes of the
former flutter and stream in the wind, as with long strides;
the man of God hastens to his dinner. Both recall to us
Cowper's lines, —
u There goes the parson, oh ! illustrious spark !
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk."
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 163
They pass unnoticed the stranger, whose individuality
is successfully secreted behind the worn country guise
and battered hat ; and after watching them into their re¬
spective houses, we are free to enter the sacred edifice.
A glance at its architecture, and another at its interior
decorations, tell us what we want to know. The building,
originally of Gothic construction, as is betrayed by the
clean-cut arches and well-molded pillars, no less than
by the noble fifteenth-century portal, bears in every de¬
tail that stamp of fell eighteenth-century Vandalism per¬
petrated by the Jesuits. The stucco-ceiling daubed with
pink and blue, the gaudy altar of gilt woodwork, and
countless pot-bellied angels scattered about with terrible
profuseness, the chancel, stripped Of its old oak paneling,
adorned with a glistening coat of varnish and gold, the
latter streaked and spotted by the damp, are in keeping
with the hideous windows and the whitewashed aisle.
We know that very probably the old fittings-up of the
church, the chiseled mural decorations, the Renaissance
altar, and the carved oak pews were, when the ruthless
hand of its fanatic renovator dismantled the edifice, stored
away as so much waste lumber in the church-loft, or in
the top story of the bell-tower. The door to the latter
is open, and we hasten up the gloomy creaking steps, and
mount the ladder that gives ingress into the dark, never-
visited loft. We are at home in these regions, otherwise
it would be breakneck work ; for the numerous holes cut
in the floor, through which the workmen are let down
when whitewashing the ceiling, are man-traps of a very
treacherous kind; rotten planks cover them, and one
false step will send you down the giddy depth. Alas !
the first gleam of the pocket-lantern, which I always
carry on these occasions, shows that others have been
before us, and that the treasures have been carried off
by the marauding hands of a dealer, or by one of the
many private collectors of Innsbruck or Munich. We
grope about the dismal place ; dust an inch in depth
covers the huge cross-beams and the floor. Our light
divulges to us vast emptiness wherever we turn. The
164 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
group of dusky figures we presently spy out looming
forth from one of the corners, we discover, to our infinite
disgust, to consist of armless and headless saints of last
century's hideous make, piled up in ghastly array. Their
gilt carcasses, astounding in anatomy, await the day of
resurrection which will furnish them with new heads and
arms, and place them as a special favor in the sacred pre¬
cincts of some remote little chapel too poor to provide
new ones. Next to them stands a Virgin Mary of saintly
memory. It is the cast-off figure of that personage once
used at processions, but some years back forced to yield
up her supremacy to a larger and if possible more gaudy
image. Her waxen face is blanched, and the vacant
smile about her mouth is rendered all the more specter¬
like by her eyeless sockets and her hairless head, for with
her retirement from public life she had to relinquish her
azure glass orbs and her full wig of blonde curls, and both
now grace the head of her successor and rival.
We descend the steps disappointed mortals ; and our
ill-humor is not allayed-, when on meeting the verger-
schoolmaster in front of the church, we put him under
cross-examination, and elicit that the loft was cleared by
a Jew dealer in antiquities a year or two' back.
" We were very glad, I can tell you, to get rid of the
rubbish ; and though he gave me but a trifle for the whole
lot, it must have cost him a good deal to get the things
away, there was such a quantity. Far better that the loft
is once more nice and empty, and not filled with old
wood and worm-eaten bits of carving."
We are too vexed to say much, so let the old idiot talk
on.
Presently his eldest grandchild, a boy of some ten or
twelve years of age, comes running up, giving him the huge
bunch of enormous keys he had forgotten when he left
his home.
This reminds us that we have not yet seen the sacristy,
and, slipping some trifling coin into the man's hand, we
ask him to show it us. This the talkative old fellow does
most willingly.
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 165
Our eyes, sharpened by our cantankerous mood, are
on the look-out for stray straws ; and presently we detect,
in a corner under the steps leading to the bell-loft, a large
frame covered with dust, and tattered beyond recognition.
We walk up to it in our most fastidiously leisurely man¬
ner, and after removing some of the dust, we perceive it
is a Renaissance altar-cloth of leather (Antependium),
used in Roman Catholic churches at that period. Its
exquisite workmanship, the first-rate designs embossed
upon it in gold and color, convince us that were it not
for its wrecked condition it would be a very valuable prize.
" Oh ! that was left behind by the Jew ; he said it was
torn beyond reparation, and no wonder, for I well remem¬
ber, when I was a boy, we used it as a target ; but since
the Jew was here I discovered another one just like it,
but not a hole in it."
" Well, and where is it now? " one of us demands in
as steady a voice as he can command.
" Oh ! the leather being thick and perfect, I took it
home, scraped the gold from it, and gave it my daughter,
who, you must know, has a lot of brats, and can use it
capitally for mending her boys' trousers."
A shiver goes through our bodies as we hear this, and
for the rest of our interview with the verger we are silent.
" Perhaps there is a bit left which I could show you, as
you seem to take interest in these things," are words
which recall us to ourselves, and we hasten to notify our
assent.
We reach the cottage, and enter the general room,
where sits, busy at her spinning-wheel, the buxom daughter.
"There is nothing left of the leather, father," she
replies to the old man's query, " for I used the last to
make Johnnie a new pair of house shoes ; but here,"
cries she, and, opening the door, calls in two or three of
her male progeny, playing in front of the house, " come
here, Franzel," and poor Franzel, trembling all over, is
taken in hand by his mother, and laid across her knees,
and lo ! a large patch of leather of gorgeous coloring and
design, is seen where little boys first tear their trousers.
i 66 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
A square of this self-same leather, much smaller, it is
true, than either of the three or four patches that were
exhibited to us on the persons of the leather-bound little
fellows, has found a last resting-place among my miscel¬
lanies, and will always recall that ludicrous scene.
But to return to our foraging. Not always, fortunately,
are dirty hands and dust-begrimed faces the only rewards
for patient and thorough exploration of church-lofts.
Now and again the lantern throws its friendly rays upon
rich treasure-trove. Many and various are the spoils thus
obtained. The beautifully-tinted antique Venetian glass
chandelier, in perfect preservation, which some fifty or
sixty years ago had to give way to some gilt abomination,
and has since hung up here unnoticed and undusted ;
rich pieces of carving ; graceful caryatides in rich mellow
oak of the sixteenth century, once part of the Renaissance
pulpit or chancel, — all are found in these ecclesiastic
lumber-rooms.
Discoveries of this kind, when they are made, require
a deft hand. An invitation to a quiet glass of wine in
the cozy wood-paneled " Herrenstube " in the village inn,
extended not only to the priest, but also to his second,
self, the verger.-schoolmaster, and, if circumstances are
such, also to the housekeeper-cook of the former, will be
the first thing you do. At a late hour, when all is con¬
viviality and smiles, the subject is broached, and the bar¬
gain struck, comprising the whole contents of the loft.
Exchanges aré by no means without the pale of priestly
dignity. Here is an instance : Some yeansJago I was the
happy possessor of a hideous statue of Saint Michael, in
wood, more than life-size, and weighing something over
four hundredweight. His exterior was such as would
please rural tastes ; for though, being originally intended to
occupy an elevated position, his nether limbs were small,
out of all proportion, this slight blemish was far out¬
weighed by his. gaudy attire, his brazen helmet, his gilt
armor, and, as a clerical friend of ours hinted, by the
well-rounded and comfortable " continuation of the chest."
I had used him for divers purposes. His life-like
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 167
shape made him a capital target for long-distance pistol
practice — " potting our saint," as friends used to term
that sportive amusement. His enormous weight once
caused him to be used as counterpoise for the house
crane, and an amusing sight it was to see him bob up and
down. Then, having one fine day discovered that his
huge inside was hollow, and, after a prolonged search,
detected that there was a door in his back, hidden by a
coat of thick paint, I forced him open, but found him
empty. After that he was used to hang my wet shooting-
coat and flannels on to dry. He was decidedly of an
imposing exterior, but never more so than when heading,
in military fashion, my twelve apostles — life-size figures,
creatures of the same abominable period, carved also in
solid wood, of which I became the happy owner by one
of my wholesale church-loft purchases. His top-heavy
appearance was in perfect keeping with that of his simi¬
larly afflicted comrades, who further were distinguished
by very extraordinary deformities of the body, and facial
contortions. The waggish leer of St. Luke, the sportive
wink of St. John, the knowing look of St. Mark, and the
whining glance that marked St. Matthew, were not less
comic than the gouty exterior of Simon, the convulsive
grasp of Peter's hand on his abdominal regions, the plain¬
tive not to say simpering manner in which James held a
dove to his breast, or the " all-over-the-place " look of
Andrew's disjointed body.
Some little time did this distinguished company abide
in one of my empty rooms, and I was seriously thinking
of handing them over to the tender mercies of the wood-
chopper to convert them into firewood, when an Ameri¬
can friend, in a weak moment, expressed the wish to pos¬
sess them, and to take them to his own country.
The next moment I had presented him with the twelve
apostles, reserving to myself, however, very useful Mi¬
chael.
They were to be sent in cases, each man having a sep¬
arate one for himself. Unfortunately, pressing business
called me away, preventing my superintending the pack-
168 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
ing : so after ordering the twelve cases, from a country
joiner, I also deputed to him the duty of fixing them in.
When I returned, this operation had already been com¬
pleted ; for securely screwed down in their coffins, the
lids only wanting to be nailed down, lay the twelve
corpses in solemn state.
I passed along the file, but suddenly started back, for
what — oh, horror ! — did I see ?
The cases were all of the same size, but unfortunately
the bodies were not. How was gouty Simon, with his
arms akimbo and one leg miles away from the other, to
adapt himself to the same-sized box in which slim An¬
drew fitted easily? How was crane-necked Peter, who,
in the agony of his digestive disorder, protruded his
abdomen in a most unwieldy fashion, to match St. John,
clothed in long robes, and his arms hanging down in a
most exemplary manner at both sides of his body?
In my absence, the joiner, a modern Columbus, reme¬
died this short-sighted error in a radical manner. His
sawflopped off all obstructions ; " for," said he quite
quaintly, " it is much easier to glue the pieces on than to
make new packing-cases."
Very true, but what havoc had this fallacy worked !
Here was St. Mark minus his toes and the dog-like lion
that had been squatting at his feet. There St. John had
lost half of his eagle, while St. Luke had been deprived
of several fingers of his right hand, and the book they
held. Poor Simon had both his elbows chopped off, and
half of his leg. Colicky Peter had lying at his side a
slice of his faulty organ, and half his head, and the tip of
his nose, carefully wrapped up in paper; while Philip,
Thomas, and Bartholomew, all three rather stout person¬
ages, could only, as our joiner remarked, be cajoled to
fit into their respective coffins by having their backs
planed down.
I turned away from the impressive scene a wiser if not
a better man ; and half an hour later the twelve victims of
country ignorance were carried down each by four men to
the long file of one-horse sieighs that were to take them
THE ANTIQUARIAN IN TYROL. 169
to the distant railway-station. Six weeks later I received
the following laconic letter from the New York shipping
agent, to whom the parcel had been addressed : —
" Dear Sir, — The s.s. ' Adele,' from Rotterdam to this port,
arrived here the 16th inst. As per instructions, we cleared your
parcel as ' old woodwork of no value,' but the local Custom House
authorities, after appealing to the Upper Board, and consulting
two experts, defined your goods as ' art statuary,' and as such they
come under schedule seventy-seven.
" We are,
" Dear sir,
" Y ours very obediently,
So much for the twelve apostles, their journey to a dis¬
tant clime, and their difficulties with schedule seventy-
seven. They are now at rest, half a dozen in a brand-
new Roman Catholic chapel, and six adorning our friend's
house in the same State.
St. Michael, after losing his company, retired to an
empty lumber-room, where he remained confined for a
year or two, till finally a priestly amateur of eighteenth-
century statuary, on being led through the room, ex¬
claimed, enraptured of his vast proportions and august
demeanor, —•
" Ah, had we but such a figure for our new chapel ! and
here," he added with sly meaning, " here he is, stowed
away in an empty room where nobody ever sees him."
I diel not like to tell him that I was of the decided
opinion that Michael's present abode was the only one
befitting his extraordinary exterior ; and, not having any
further use for him in either of his former characters, I
gracefully presented the delighted priest with this valuable
and ponderous piece of some benighted last-century
wood-carver.
My free-handed generosity will be perhaps understood
all the better if I betray that the priest, or rather his
church, was owner of one or two chefs-d' œuvre in seven¬
teenth-century silk and gold-thread embroidery, upon
which, for some time past, I had fixed greedy eyes, but
170 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
hitherto ineffectually. My expectations were not disap¬
pointed ; for now we easily came to terms, and a few days
later I was in possession of the articles. Not so, how¬
ever, the priest, for Master Michael was an awkward cus¬
tomer to deal with ; the chapel lay in a remote locality,
very difficult of access, no carriage or cart road leading
to it. It was decided to transport him up to his desti¬
nation on the back of a mule, but no sufficiently-strong
animal could be found ; twice it was tried, — the statue
strapped lengthwise to the animal's back, but both times
the beast broke down ; and Michael returned to his home
to be hoisted up by the crane, to which in bygone days
he had acted as counterweight, and replaced in his lum¬
ber-room. His owner maintains that the next severe
winter will enable him to take him up by sleigh; but
though three winters have elapsed, he is yet in his old
comer. I feel rather grateful to Michael !
THE WOODCUTTER.
171
CHAPTER X.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE WOODCUTTER.
THOUGH I have not laid special stress on the fact
that Tyrol possesses certain characteristics not to be
met with in other parts of civilized Europe, the reader
will no doubt have gathered this from the preceding
chapters.
The survival of an ancient type is in no class of the
population so apparent as in the fraternity of the wood¬
cutters.
Cut off from the world, working in solitude amid the
grandest of Alpine scenery, rough and uncouth in their
exterior, inured to every danger, and hardy to quite an
amazing degree, the " Holzhacker " affords a most inter¬
esting study not only for the artist, but also for those who
delight in laying bare the vein of quaint originality mixed
up with the other characteristics of a people untouched
by that species of civilization which follows in the wake
of tourists.
The immense tracts of forest which are still to be found
in the northern and central districts of Tyrol, and which
afford the staple resources of those parts, are, generally
speaking, the property of the Crown.
A large number of men are employed by Government
in felling the timber, in cultivating new plantations, and
in keeping in repair the huge wood-drifts which are estab¬
lished in these parts.
From 3,000 to 4,000 men thus find sustenance in con¬
nection with the "Forstwesen," or management of the
forests, in Tyrol.
172 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
These laborers are generally natives of neighboring
valleys, and in most cases they are younger sons of
peasants, — farmers who own the land they till, —• whose
miniature homestead, consisting perhaps of a few acres
of the very poorest soil, or a patch of meadow sufficient
to keep three or four cows, proves inadequate to sustain
an increasing family. The eldest son usually remains
with the father, nominally inheriting the whole property
at his death.
I say nominally, as, by virtue of the old laws of inher¬
itance passed in the end of the last century, a division of
the property is inadmissible, and the happy nominal owner
is not a whit better, if he be not worse, off than his
brothers ; for on the death of the father a Government
appraiser values the property, fixing the estimate rather
higher than the real value. This sum is divided into as
many equal shares as there are sons, each of whom
receives a mortgage on the property for the amount of
his share.
The eldest son, in lieu- of his share, takes possession of
the property, and endeavors, by dint of the greatest econ¬
omy and care, to pay off mortgage after mortgage. If he
fails in this, or if he is a spendthrift, his children, if he
has any, are doomed to be paupers, as a further division
of their father's share does not take place, and the prop¬
erty is sold. Not infrequently the mortgagees, unwilling
to let their home pass into strange hands, club together
and buy it up ; or, if they cannot muster a sufficient cap¬
ital between them, they with one consent cancel the debt,
and install as master of the concern the one who has the
most knowledge of farming, and in whom they have the
most confidence, or, if none are willing to undertake
the charge, one of their nephews.
The daughters of a peasant either receive a certain sum
as dowry, or, if they are unmarried at their father's death,
the few hundred florins which have been saved up by
their parents fall to their share.
It shows well for the Tyrolese, that, in many of the re¬
moter valleys, the peasants date the history of their family
THE WOODCUTTER.
I73
and that of their property back for many centuries ; and
the old crossbows and pieces of armor, which are fre¬
quently to be found among the rubbish in the loft under
the roof, tell tales of former bondage and serfdom to the
person of the next knight or baron.
Returning to the lot of the younger sons, I must here
mention that the choice of their profession depends
entirely upon the customs which are prevalent in their
valley. Some few valleys furnish the wandering hawkers
of carpets and manufactures of plaited straw, that turn up
at large fairs throughout Europe ; and I am speaking from
experience when I say that no capital in Europe is with¬
out a few of them. The inhabitants of some glens have
acquired the art of carving figures in wood ; other valleys
produce hawkers of gloves and articles of chamois-leather.
While one Alpine glen is celebrated for its " Kirschwas¬
ser," a spirituous liquor distilled from cherries, another is
renowned for a particular kind of cheese.
Three or four centuries ago, Tyrol was the richest min¬
ing country in the world ; but now most of the prolific
gold, silver, and copper mines are exhausted, and only
two or three valleys contain mines that pay.
In each of the valleys I have enumerated, the whole
population, save perhaps the peasant-farmer, is interested
in the special branch of occupation which is the distinc¬
tive feature of the place, and which tends, in a more or
less injurious manner, to make the people acquainted with
the outer world, its ways and its habits ; thereby occa¬
sioning that gradual loss of the ancient typical customs
whose partial survival I pointed out in my introductory
remarks as one of the attractive characteristics of Tyrol.
In those valleys where forests form the chief resource of
the inhabitants, the results of contact with the outer world
do not appear. The occupation of a woodcutter, the
scene of his thrifty labor, and his own predilection, take
him far out of the way of railways and tourists.
For seven or eight months he is out among the moun¬
tains ; the rest of the year, when the huge quantity of
snow makes outdoor occupation impossible, he retreats to
174 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
his home, now doubly and trebly secure from any attempt
of a tourist to push his way into these nooks and corners
of the Eastern Alps.
Many of these hardy fellows have never seen a railway,
and Bismarck and Moltke might conquer the universe
without their knowing any thing of it.
Have any of my readers ever been asked, as I have,
if London is a village in Welsch-Tyrol (the southern part,
where Italian is spoken), or if England is a town in Ba¬
varia? Borrowing the pirrase from our American cousins,
I venture to say, " I guess not ! "
After this digression, which was needed to place the
character of the woodcutter in the proper light, let us
return once more to his occupation. The youngest and
strongest men among the three or four thousand who, in
one way or the other, find employment in connection
with the forests, are the fellers of timber.
Their vocation is one in which dangers, arising from
the most varied causes, and from exposure to all the in¬
clemencies of a rough Alpine climate, make an iron con¬
stitution, a clear head, and powerful body indispensable.
What would my reader, be he a retired backwoodsman or
not, think of living from March or April till November on
a mountain slope, in the close proximity, perhaps, of vast
snowfields, and rarely at a lower altitude than 5,000 feet
above the level of the sea, in a hovel, the roof and sides
of which are of the thin and porous bark of the pine-tree ?
Yet thus they pass the summer months ; and more con¬
tent and cheerful fellows than they are it would be im¬
possible to find.
The dangers which beset their rugged path are numer¬
ous. They arise either from their own recklessness, from
avalanches, landslips, or from elementary causes such as
lightning and water-spouts.
Tourists are often astonished at the wonderful number
of sacrecl pictures, shrines, and votive tablets which line
the highways and byways of the country. In nine cases
out of ten, they simply commemorate a woodcutter's vio¬
lent death, or some other fatal accident which has taken
THE WOODCUTTER.
T75
place on or near the spot. In the larger valleys these
votive tablets are generally some fearful specimen of the
brush of the local stonemason, who in his leisure hours
turns artist, and " paints " sacred subjects to order. In
the more remote valleys, similar fatal occurrences axe com¬
memorated by pictures representing the accident itself.
Underneath the painting a few lines acquaint the passer¬
by with the name of the unfortunate victim, and add a
request to pray a couple of " Vater unser " (Paternosters),
for the benefit of his soul. The wording of these epi¬
taphs is, if it were possible, even more ludicrous than the
style of the picture which heads them. Two or three
samples, literally translated, will corroborate this.
In the first we see a falling tree, under which, spread-
eagle fashion, lies a man. The epitaph runs: "Johann
Lemberger, aged 52J years. This upright and virtuous
youth1 (Jüngling) was squashed by a falling tree on the
nth December, 1849. Pious passers-by are implored to
say three Lord's Prayers to redeem his tortured soul from
the fires of purgatory."
The second represents a woman falling down a preci¬
pice ; the epitaph runs as follows : " On that rock yonder
perished the virtuous and honored maiden, Maria Nau-
ders, in her twenty-second year. The kind wanderer is
begged to release ' two ' purgatoried souls from the tor¬
tures of hell.
"This wench was with child."
A third, rather more laconic, runs : —
MICHAEL GERSTNER,
" Climbed up, fell down, and was dead."
The picture of a man falling down from an apple-tree
made it clear why the unfortunate Michael had climbed
it.
A very comical picture near the " Kaiserclause," a large
wood-drift, depicts three men sitting, one behind the
other, astraddle of one large block of wood, which is in
1 Unmarried men are called " youths " all their lives.
176 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the act of being drifted down the turbulent and foaming
waters. Each man has a cross over his head, and the
expression of the faces is comicality itself.
This epitaph is one of the best of its kind, and shows
a good deal of humor on the part of its author : " On this
spot did Johann Memmen, Christoph Müller, and Alois
Hausler, on the 24th June, 1838, set out on a long and
perilous journey. They hoped to find the gates of heaven
open."
Underneath this is a picture of the three men in the
furnace, and below that again is written : —
" In case their journey ends in hell, the pious wanderer
is requested to say the rosary to save them from some of
the tortures which await them."
Were it in my power to add the orthography of the
epitaphs, it would greatly heighten the effect of these prim¬
itive and curious remnants of a very ancient custom.
The reckless daring which is a prominent feature in the
character of a woodcutter is the natural result of a hardy
confidence in his own powers and a long immunity from
accidents, and makes him look upon the most urgent pre¬
cautions dictated by his craft as needless. The felled
tree falling a moment too soon, or the sharp axe glancing
off from the hard-frozen wood, are only too frequently the
origins of votive tablets.
Drifting the wood, too, though apparently a very safe
occupation, is the source of many accidents, as we have
seen by the fate of the three travelers, the subject of the
last epitaph.
A short sketch of the opening of a drift will give my
readers an idea of the sort of work which falls to the lot
of these fellows.
The timber which has been felled in the course of the
autumn and spring on the slopes of a valley is brought
down to the waterside in May and the commencement of
June. Important wood-valleys have a wood-drift of their
own, erected by Government. It consists of a huge bar¬
rier of the strongest timber at the upper end of the val¬
ley, right across the drift-stream. On the upper side of
THE WOODCUTTER.
177
this structure a deep reservoir is excavated, inwhich large
quantities of wood accumulate, thereby considerably rais¬
ing the water-level. As soon as this artificial pond is
filled with timber and water, the ponderous iron-bound
gates of the drift, thus far tightly closed, are sprung open,
and with a terrific roar, making the earth around shake,
the water and huge blocks of wood rush through the bar¬
rier on to their destination, frequently ten or fifteen miles
farther down, and close to the conflux of the drift-stream
with a larger one, when the wood is caught up and piled
in huge stacks. Drifts are necessarily erected only in
streams in which the ordinary water-power would prove
inadequate to float timber measuring from three to eigh¬
teen feet in length, and from two to five feet in diameter.
If the drifting stream takes its course through narrow
gorges and defiles of walls of rock several hundred feet
in height, the floating of timber calls for great exertion
on the part of the men engaged in it. In these places
the timber is very liable to get jammed together. In a
few minutes the whole bulk of the wood, very often 2,000
or 3,000 " klafter " or " cords," may choke up the narrow
-passage in one stationary mass, while the water runs to
waste, either in channels underneath the mass, or by over¬
flowing it. When one of these "blocks" occurs, the
men have to be lowered by ropes from the brink of the
chasm above ; and with saws and long poles, provided
with ponderous iron hooks at one extremity, they strive
to bring the whole mass into motion by sawing through
the timber which has produced the block, or if this fails,
by working off block after block, which latter often re¬
quires the incessant labor of months.
The dangers which attend this occupation are very
obvious. If the mass should begin to move again before
the men standing about in, different positions on the
blocks are prepared for it, and before they have regained
their ropes, they are inevitably crushed to pancakes by
the bumping and crashing timber.
There are instances in which a whole party, numbering
twelve or fifteen individuals, has perished in this manner.
178 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Where, again, the stream covers a large surface, and is
dotted here and there by huge boulders that have tum¬
bled down the precipitous slopes of the valley, the drifted
wood is sometimes caught ; or if the banks are shallow,
a huge block will get stranded or shoved up high and
dry by the impetuous rush of the blocks in its rear. In
such cases the men have to stand up to their waists in
the icy-cold water the livelong day, while endeavoring to
push block after block back into the turbulent stream, the
least inattention or carelessness on their part being fol¬
lowed by disastrous consequences. The fellers of the
timber, on the contrary, have, by the time the drifting
begins, already been for some time high up on the moun¬
tain slopes, preparing a fresh stock for next year's drift ;
and if my reader will follow me on an unsuccessful
chamois-stalking expedition, which brought me into a
woodcutter's hovel high up on the Tyrolese Alps, he will
make the acquaintance of as quaint and primitive a set
of human beings as can well be met with this side of the
ocean.
A thunder-storm in the High Alps is a somewhat hack¬
neyed subject, numerous authors of Alpine literature hav¬
ing been caught by thunder-storms which surpassed every
thing of the kind hitherto known.
It was during one of these grand spectacles that I was
picking my steps down a rugged and steep Alpine path,
after my unsuccessful chase. A stay of three days and
two nights among the peaks and grand snowfields had
exhausted my provisions, and I was obliged to seek hos¬
pitable quarters in die little Alpine valley lying some five
or six thousand feet below me.
Securing the lock of my rifle, and covering my " Ruck¬
sack " with a waterproof hood, I cared little for thunder
and lightning, and the heavy downpour of rain which
accompanied them.
Soon after reaching the line of vegetation, my path led
me through a dark and gloomy forest of huge patriarchal
old pine-trees, coated with gigantic moss beards yards in
length, which imparted a vivid appearance to many an
THE WOODCUTTER.
179
oddly-shaped tree. After having walked some time down
the steep slope, vaulting now and again over the prostrate
form of one of these giants of the forest, I came upon a
large clearing. The huge stems, like hoary monsters slain
by a dwarfs hand, lay scattered about in reckless confu¬
sion, while the fresh surface of the stumps indicated that
ax and saw had been but very recently at work. Proceed¬
ing down the edge of the clearing, and making mental
calculations of how many thousand per cent profit one
would derive by the transmission by fairy hand of a batch
of these huge trunks to any of the large timber-devouring
cities in England, I perceived a few minutes later the
miserable hovel of the destructive dwarfs, the wood-
fellers.
A thin wreath of blue smoke curling up, in spite of the
rain, from a hole cut in the roof, convinced me that my
anticipation of finding the dwelling inhabited was correct.
Well aware that no other human habitation was within
a five or six hours' walk at the very least, I gladly availed
myself of the hospitable " Geh eina, Bua " (" Come in,
boy"), —young men up to the thirtieth year are invaria¬
bly termed boys, — which greeted me on showing my
dripping head inside the low doorway.
Four men, all woodcutters, were sitting round a roar¬
ing fire ; and though it was hardly half-past five, they were
busy preparing their evening meal, the appetizing odor of
which reminded me in a most inviting manner that I had
not tasted a warm dish of any kind since leaving home
some three days before.
The usual questions, " Who art thou ? " and " Whence
dost thou come ? " having been answered by me to the
satisfaction of my hosts, I had in the twinkling of an eye
divested myself of my dripping coat, shoes, and stockings,
and placed them as near to the fire as the arrangements
of the party permitted.
I may as well mention that on such occasions I care¬
fully refrain from playing the fine gentleman. For the
questions who I am and whence I come, I have suitable
answers ; for were they even to learn that I am not a
l8o GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
native, but a stranger, shyness would take the place of
frank open-hearted mirth, and suspicion of the probable
purpose of my presence in so outlandish a place, divest
a meeting of this kind of all its characteristic features ;
and to make myself accurately acquainted with these
characteristics had formed, to speak plainly, one of the
causes of my attachment to Tyrol.
The primitive interior and exterior of this hovel call
for a few words of description. To begin with the con¬
struction of the building, which, it must be remembered,
is the work of a few hours for three or four men, we first
of all find four stakes driven into the ground. They are
the corners of the edifice, and, in order that the roof may
receive the necessary incline, one pair of stakes are left
longer than the other two ; or they are of equal length,
but the upper two stand on rising ground. The tops of
these four stakes are connected by stout poles, and across
these rows of laths, or, if they can not be procured, fir-
branches, are laid. On these again the roof, consisting of
large sheets of the bark of pine-trees that have been
soaked for gome time in the next streamlet, is nailed
with wooden pegs or weighed down by heavy stones : the
sides or walls are of the same material. Woodcutter's
huts are rarely more than nine to eleven feet square,
except when they are erected for permanency, and then
they are log-cabins varying in their size according to the
numbers which are to live in them.
The present one was not larger than nine feet square.
The fireplace, a heap of stones raised to about two feet
from the ground, occupying the center ; the outlet for the
smoke, a square hole in the corner, opposite the low and
narrow doorway, unprotected by a door of any kind ; and
finally, the four slanting boards in lieu of beds,—were the
chief objects that struck the eye as one entered.
Each man had his haversack hanging on a peg over
his board ; the latter, covered by fir-branches and a rough
blanket, must have proved a somewhat hard, uncomfort¬
able, and cold couch for six or seven .months of the year.
The huge iron frying-pan, filled to the brim with
THE WOODCUTTER.
i8i
"Schmarn" (flour, water, butter, and salt), suspended by
an ingenious mechanism over the roaring wood fire, was
beginning to utter signs of welcome import.
Plates, dishes, tables, and chairs are unknown luxuries •
in one of these dwellings. The pan, placed on a huge
log measuring some three feet across the level surface, was
our plate, dish, and table in common ; the spoon, invaria¬
bly carried along with the sharp knife in a separate
pocket of the owner, conveyed the steaming mess from
the pan to the mouth ; and a small barrel holding some
eight or ten quarts of water, with a hollow piece of wood
an inch or two in length placed near the bung-hole, was
our glass and jug.
It requires a very formidable appetite to be able to eat
any quantity of a genuine woodcutter's "Schmarn."
Terribly greasy, it satiates with marvelous rapidity; and
one can only look on with astonishment at the incredible
quantities which these men will consume. They eat it
three times a day ; in fact, it is their only food, save a
hunch of bread, and perhaps now and again a few slices
of bacon.
A small bag-full of tea invariably forms part of my
chamois-stalking kit, and so, after the dispatch of our sup¬
per, I proposed to indulge in the inestimable luxury of a
panful of tea. Now, to the mind of a Tyrolese the word
tea (or "Thee") conveys anything but an agreeable
impression. Teas are with them the simple decoctions of
herbs and leaves of certain trees and bushes, used only
for medicinal purpose. Thus they have a tea for coughs,
a tea for pains in the chest, another foi bile, rheumatism,
and even, strange to say, a tea for sprained ankles or dis¬
located joints ! My proposition therefore called forth
the usual inquiry, "Wo feilts?" ("Where is the ail¬
ing?") My explaining to them that this was Chinese tea,
and that certain nations drank it once or twice every day
of their lives, created a general laughter, and the covert
hint that no wonder the " Städtler," or people from towns,
were such pale-faced and spindle-shanked individuals.
4 Filling the pan with clean water, I re-adjusted it over
182 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the fire, and looked about me for a second vessel into
which to pour the boiling water. My inquiry to this effect
brought forth a somewhat odd " teapot." It was a tin
wash-hand-basin, knocked in and beat into a hardly rec¬
ognizable shape. The traces of lard on its sides indicated
very plainly to what use it had been put, namely, for the
conveyance of their store of this indispensable com¬
modity.
Well cleaned with hot water, it was a capital substitute
for a teapot, and often I have not even had one so ser¬
viceable.
After placing a handful of tea in a muslin bag expressly
reserved for this purpose, and putting the latter into the
" teapot," I poured the boiling water over it ; a few min¬
utes later, a steaming bowl of tea, free from the leaves,
which remained in the bag, was standing on the log.
Sweetening it with some sugar from my store, I invited
my companions, who had been watching my proceedings
with a half-comical, half-serious expression of face, to
partake of the " Chinese tea."
A few drops satisfied them ; and they put down their
spoons with the hint that they were not ill.
Well knowing their tastes, I first of all drank as much
as I wanted, and then poured an ample allowance of
" Schnapps " into the tea. This produced a great change
for the better, as my hosts informed me, and they finished
the basin with great relish. Far more, however, than the
tea, did they admire my tobacco ; and soon the hut was
filled with dense clouds of my bird's-eye (smuggled into
Austria at the cost of great trouble and stratagem), of
which, being an inveterate smoker, I always carry a goodly
store with me on expeditions of like kind.
Tea and tobacco had loosened our tongues as only
those two comforts of life can do. Merry songs, gay
stories of sporting exploits or serious adventures, told in
a quaint, pleasing fashion, that attracts the listener in an
inexplicable manner, went round, making very frequently
the frail structure over our heads resound with our merry
peals of laughter.
THE WOODCUTTER. 183
The cold night air — we were at an altitude of consid¬
erably over 6,000 feet — and the splashing of rain that
found an easy ingress through the unprotected doorway,
the smoke-hole, and various clefts and holes in the sides
and roof of the hut, made me glad of my coat; while
these marvelously hardy fellows, in their shirt-sleeves,
open shirt-fronts, and short leathers displaying limbs of
truly gigantic power, and knees as scarred and scratched
and mahogany-hued as one can possibly imagine, seemed
as comfortable and warm in their scanty attire as if the
midday sun of a summer's day were shining upon us.
Two of the four woodcutters turned out to be noted
poachers ; and after I had gained their confidence by
means of several little knacks with which long practice
has made me acquainted, they came out with some of
their adventures while following that dangerous craft.
They produced their rifles, — hidden among the dry
branches of the roof, — and showed me their simple but
effective mechanism. The stock, namely, could be un¬
screwed from the barrel, and thus the whole rifle could
be carried underneath the coat or in the "Rücksack,"
without awakening suspicion in the mind of any keeper
who happened to meet them. The older of the two, a
man of about thirty-two, had had several very close en¬
counters with the keepers of the neighboring Bavarian
preserves. A terrible cut, disfiguring his whole face, was
one of the wounds, while the brawny back he exposed to
my view to corroborate his tale bore in numerous holes
the marks of a gunshot wound.
On my asking him when and how it happened, he re¬
plied, with a somewhat grim smile, that he was willing to
tell me the story; "For," he added, "that shot," meaning
the one in his back, " was the last one that (keeper)
fired. Why did he miss me with his rifle ? As if I cared
much for these peas at a distance of more than forty
yards ! " The fact that many keepers carry double-bar¬
reled guns, one barrel rifled for ball, the second for shot,
explains these words. The keeper had missed the poacher
with his first barrel, and, instead of keeping his shot till
184 GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
closer quarters, had fired it when the poacher was yet
some forty yards distant. The latter had turned instinc¬
tively when he saw the keeper intending to fire, and thus
received the small-sized shot in his back, doing but little
injury, and without preventing him from taking vengeance
in too summary a manner on the person of the foe, who,
I must add, had shot at him on a previous occasion.
The second poacher, my neighbor to the right, I knew
by reputation.
Of gigantic build, rare power and agility, he one time
succeeded in beating off three keepers. They had just
left an Alp-hut in order to fetch some wood to make a
fire, and had left their rifles in the inside of the châlet,
when all of a sudden " Dare-devil Hans " (the name by
which my friend went) appeared on the scene. Perceiv¬
ing that they were armed only with their alpenstocks
and a hatchet, he placed himself with his back to the
outside of the closed door of the hut, and defended him¬
self so bravely with his alpenstock against his would-be
captors, that he not only injured two very severely, but
actually put them to the rout, bagging their three rifles
and a chamois as his legitimate spoils. Two years after
his relating me this tale, the poor fellow had to pay with
his life for his daring raids in strange preserves. Like
numbers of his brethren, he fell a victim to the hatred of
his relentless foes, the keepers. Shot right through the
body, he had yet sufficient strength to outstrip his pur¬
suers ; and, faint with loss of blood, he made his way to
the distant Alp-hut tenanted by his girl, only to expire in
her arms the following day.
To show how close temptation lay to my hosts, I may
mention that they had simply to cross a sort of gorge,
ascend the opposite slope, and they were within the
boundaries of a royal Bavarian preserve splendidly
stocked with game.
Saturday afternoon and Sunday are the woodcutters'
days of recreation. The men either follow their perilous
sport, or they visit their sweethearts in their solitary châ-
lets, or they descend from their lofty perch and make their
THE WOODCUTTER.
way to the verdant valley, whence, staggering under the
potent influence of strong liquor, with bags filled with
flour, bread, butter, and lard,—their provisions for the
next fortnight or three weeks, — they re-ascend late on
Sunday night. Their wages, I may add, vary between
90 kreutzers and 1 florin 40 kreutzers (ir. 10d. to 2s.
10if.). The proceeds of poached game are generally
ridiculously low, for the innkeeper who buys it knows
very well how they have come by it, and the vendor has
to accept quite nominal prices. Thus a roebuck fetches
2 to 3 florins (4J. to 6s.), and a chamois even less.
We retired to our couches at a late hour ; quite soon
enough, however, for me to pass an uncomfortable night,
wedged in between two of my strapping hosts. At half-
past four we were up cooking our breakfast ; and while
they were buckling on their crampons (these men hardly
ever work without them on their feet) I examined my
rifle, intending to enjoy a stalk on my way home.
The rain was still coming down in torrents ; and the
rivulet, quite an insignificant watercourse the night be¬
fore, was now a swollen and roaring torrent.
We were just about to set out on our different voca¬
tions when in rushed a man dripping with water. It
seems that about two hours off another gang of wood¬
cutters were at work. Their hut, built on the brink of a
rivulet, had been torn away in the night, while they were
sleeping, by the rushing and roaring masses of water of
the rivulet, now a mighty torrent. Two of them had been
injured, — one rather severely, the man told us, the other
but slightly. He had come to ask us to aid him and
his comrade to transport the injured men to the nearest
houses, where medical aid could be procured.
Of course we were all ready to accompany him, and
putting our best foot foremost, we reached the scene of
the disaster within an hour and a half from the time we
started. Not a stick or vestige of the hut remained to
indicate the spot where it had stood.
The poor fellows were in a sad plight : they had lost
their provisions, bags, axes, and crampons ; and though
l86 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the two latter articles were subsequently recovered some
considerable way down the bed of the torrent, yet their
loss was for them a very severe one.
By means of a litter made of two long poles, some
pine-branches, and my blanket, we transported the se¬
verely-injured man to the next house, five hours off;
while his companion, who had been stunned, had recov¬
ered himself sufficiently not to require our help. He and
one of his confreres remained at the scene of the disas¬
ter in order to raise another hut in a more secure spot.
About noon we reached our destination, the first house of
a straggling little hamlet.
The doctor, who lived in a large village, some fifteen
miles off, was immediately sent for, and about ten o'clock
at night he arrived, accompanied by our faithful messenger.
The injuries which the man had received were severe,
but his strong constitution pulled him through ; and
when, some four or five months later, I had occasion to
pass through this hamlet again, I was told that he had
joined his mates some weeks before.
It must seem strange to readers surrounded by luxuries
and comforts of every kind, to hear that a patient had to
wait ten hours for medical assistance. This, however, is
by no means a particularly long delay in the arrival of
medical aid. I have known forty-eight hours to elapse
after an accident before the doctor or surgeon came. In
winter it is often quite impossible to cross the mountains
between straggling hamlets and the next village which
boasts of a doctor. That the duties of a medical man
in the rural districts of Tyrol are excessively arduous, —
and they are shamefully underpaid by Government, — we
can well fancy.
In many of the villages the doctor has to leave his
bed, winter and summer, at half-past three o'clock in the
morning to attend to the peasants who need his advice.
They come from the surrounding heights and mountain
slopes, their homes, to attend the four-o'clock early mass ;
and prior to their entering the church they look in upon
the doctor, state their ailings, and then at half-past four,
THE WOODCUTTER.
187
when mass is over, they fetch the medicine which the •
doctor has made up in the mean while.
To return to the wood-fellers : I have yet to relate a
little adventure which I once experienced along with
three of these rough, original beings.
We had been shooting in the preserves of my compan¬
ion's native village, skirting the Bavarian frontier for many
miles. I had been unsuccessful on both days, when at
last, towards the evening of the second one, I got a shot
at a splendid stag carrying fourteen points. He had
come up a short ravine, and was just breasting the top
when my ball entered his chest, striking it, however, in
an oblique direction. My ball, a large one, failed to pene¬
trate the animal, but nevertheless brought him down upon
his knees. The Bavarian frontier was not more than a
hundred yards off, and should the stag succeed in regain¬
ing the use of his limbs and crossing the frontier line, he
was lost to us, further pursuit involving great danger on
account of the ever-watchful Bavarian keepers. Hastily
reloading my rifle, I made for the spot where my victim
was kneeling. To reach him I had to scramble down
some very precipitous cliffs, at tire bottom of which a
small stream ran. Intending to ford this stream at a
certain point, I rushed down the cliffs. - On reaching the
bottom I saw that I had mistaken the site of the ford ;
but it was too late to stop my headlong course, and, the
streamlet being too broad to be crossed by a flying leap,
I and my rifle were floundering a second later in a deep
hole worn in the solid rock by the action of the water.
On regaining the shore, a matter of some difficulty,
owing to the smooth, polished rock that surrounded me
on every side, I put aside my now useless rifle, and,
armed with my knife, I hastened up the steep cliff flank¬
ing the gorge to the spot where I expected to find the
stap-. He was gone, and the gory track left no doubt in
what direction, — of course down the ravine, right into
the Bavarian preserves. My mortification can be fancied :
a " fourteener " — a rare piece of good luck — to be lost
at the very moment of success. The wounded hart could
188 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
not have gone far, very probably not farther than a few
hundred yards, and there, breaking down, would die a
lingering death within a few paces of the frontier.
My three companions, attracted by my shot, soon made'
their appearance. To pursue the wounded stag would
be certainly a very risky undertaking, and yet we could
not leave the noble animal to its fate. My companions,
though woodcutters, were in this instance no poachers,
and entertained a wholesome dread of the sharp practices
of the Bavarian keepers, who often follow their call to
surrender by the sharp bang of their dreaded rifles. We
decided to refrain from taking any decisive step that
evening, but rather to await the morrow. By that time,
we hoped, any keeper who might have been attracted to
the spot by my shot would have left, leaving us free scope
to pursue the wounded hart. Dawn of day found us
tracing the track of the stag across the frontier down the
slopes of the ridge, along the height of which ran the
boundary line. We had not proceeded for more than a
mile at the utmost when we came upon the stag, stretched
out below the overhanging boughs of a huge pine ; he
was yet living, though evidently in a dying state. The
" Knickfang " with my hunting-knife, i.e., the severing the
spinal cord at the point where neck and back join, soon
put the poor animal out of its pain. To enable the
reader to understand the details of the following incident,
I must mention that the tree under which the wounded
stag had taken refuge stood in the center of a clearing,
flanked on two sides by high bluffs, while steep precipices
hedged it in on the two other sides. We were just pre¬
paring to brittle the noble animal, intending to quarter
it afterwards, in order to carry it off in this way, when,
without the slightest notice on the part of our assailants,
two shots were fired at us. The distance was, however,
fortunately so great —- the keepers were ambuscaded
behind some bushes on the top of the bluffs overlooking
the level clearing — that both struck the ground some
yards from our position. We did not give our foes time
for a repetition of the volley, for, with sundry angry oaths,
THE WOODCUTTER.
my three companions collected their rifles and the sacks
they had laid aside, and, following in my wake, we gained
the sheltering wood, and some minutes later our own pre¬
serves in safety. Of course the stag was lost to us, the
keepers not only obliging us to retreat, but being rewarded
for their watching by a noble " fourteener."
igo GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER XI.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE SMUGGLER.
FIVE and seventy years ago smuggling was one of the
chief resources for many of the inhabitants of remote
valleys and glens in Tyrol, adjoining either Bavarian or
Italian boundaries.
The Tyrolese smugglers were renowned in those days,
not only for the bold and cunning manner in which they
carried on these dangerous trades, often on an amazingly
large scale, but also for the daring courage with which
they resisted the armed excisemen. Nowadays the
decrease of duty on the two or three articles that were
smuggled, such as tobacco and silk into Tyrol, and gun¬
powder, schnapps (spirits), and salt, out of it, renders it
far less remunerative than formerly.
Nothing proves the decrease of smuggling more strik¬
ingly than the fact that, while formerly forty and fifty
smugglers and customs officials were annually killed or
severely wounded in nocturnal encounters in the by-ways
of the Alps, nowadays scarcely four or five men fall vic¬
tims to the rifle of the officer or of the smuggler.
Pitched battles between small bodies of the detested
"Grenzwächter," or "Finanzer" — customs officers —
and well-armed smugglers were of yore by no means
rare occurrences ; but now, owing, as I have said, to the
decrease of duty, they happen but very rarely, and no
doubt the next ten years will witness the total extinction
of an interesting race, that of the " Schwärzer " or " free¬
trader."
In speaking, therefore, of Tyrolese smugglers of the
THE SMUGGLER.
191
old and genuine type, hardy and dauntless mountaineers,
wily and resolute foes of the Government officers, we are
speaking of beings of the past ; and just on that account
it may, before their existence becomes a matter of tradi¬
tion, or at the best of hearsay, prove of some interest,
perhaps, to touch upon the manifold dangers that beset
the path of these daring fellows.
In the course of my wanderings in Tyrol, and among
the queer people met in odd, out-of-the-way nooks and
corners, I have come across not a few smugglers and
ex-smugglers. A little practice and close watching of a
man's behavior soon enables one to say, after a quarter or
half an hour's conversation, if he is or was a member of
the fraternity in question. In many instances I have
succeeded in drawing out my victim by the dark hint
that I was aware of his present or former avocation ; and
my assertion, based, I need hardly say, upon my impres¬
sion only, has been generally rewarded by the mention
of one or two interesting adventures, told with that trust¬
ing sincerity and quaint humor, entirely free from bravado
or exaggeration, which, when once you have known how
to gain their cpnfidence, distinguish friendly intercourse
with Tyrolese in remote districts.
The most interesting man of this stamp I have ever
met with was, beyond doubt, Johann K , whose ac¬
quaintance I happened to make in an odd manner.
Eight or nine years ago, in fact, one of the first sum¬
mers I spent in my second home, Tyrol, I was making a
pedestrian tour among the medium-sized mountain ridges
that skirt the Achenthal, close to the Bavarian frontier.
One day, while I was yet high up on the peaks, night
overtook me ; and not being acquainted with the ground
I intended to pass, and no Alp-hut being near, I had to
make the best of a small log-hut erected by the owner of
the elevated pasturage as a storehouse for the winter's
fodder.
On entering by the square hole about three feet by two
feet, cut in the solid timber, I found the lower partition of
the hut, measuring perhaps thirteen or fourteen feet square,
192 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
empty. A ladder leading up to a square opening in the
boards that formed the ceiling invited me to a closer
inspection of the top story, in hopes of finding a couple
of armfuls of hay for a bed. The roof, shelving down on
both sides, was in the center only three feet from the floor,
so that, an erect position being quite out of the question,
I had to crawl about in search of the hay. In one of the
corners I at last came upon some spread out and flattened
down by its frequently having been lain on.
Finishing the remains of a very frugal dinner, I was
soon in possession of this soft corner, and shortly after¬
wards fell asleep with my head resting on my Rucksack.
Two or three hours might have passed, when all of a
sudden I was awaked by a heavy weight bumping against
my side. Lying quite still, I soon became aware that it
was a man who had thus disturbed me. Five minutes
later loud snoring proved that he was fast asleep.
Now only did I rise upon my knees, and, creeping for¬
ward, take a peep down the hole, to which I had been
attracted by the light of a fire and the loud voices of
several men.
The sight that struck my eyes was odd and fantastic,
forcibly reminding me of the thrilling scenes in tales of
robbers and brigands, with which a boy's youthful mind
is inthralled. A bright fire burning in the center of the
hut on the bare floor showed me five stalwart men, with
soot-blackened faces, lying in various poses round the
burning logs, with their rifles at their side, and six huge
packages piled up against the hole which served as door¬
way. No doubt was left in my mind that the occupants
of the hut, whose mysterious arrival I had not heard,
were smugglers, and the hut their rendezvous. The man¬
ner in which this trade was formerly carried on required
that there should be a place of meeting in some remote
and inaccessible part of the mountains close to the fron¬
tier. Here the smugglers would meet, the Bavarians
bringing tobacco and silk stuffs ; the Tyrolese, schnapps,
salt, or gunpowder. After settling their accounts, each
man paying for what he received, they again parted, the
THE SMUGGLER.
l93
Bavarians returning with the salt or powder, the Tyrolese
with tobacco and silk, on their backs. These meetings
occurred at certain intervals, were conducted with the
greatest caution and secrecy, and always took place at
night, in order that both parties might reach their starting-
point before daybreak.
My position, of course, was not the most agreeable.
Had I been discovered by them, and suspected of espion¬
age, my lot might perhaps have been a somewhat tragical
finish to a pedestrian tour.
Retreating to my corner when my curiosity was satis¬
fied, I took up my Rucksack, and hid it and myself
in the opposite corner of the hut.
Lying down ventre à terre, and squeezing myself into
the angle produced by the shelving roof and floor, I was
not only pretty safe from discovery as long as darkness
reigned around me, but was also enabled, through a chink
in the floor, which I cautiously widened by means of my
knife, to watch the company lounging round the fire a
few feet below me. For more than two hours did I watch
the group. Merry stories, snatches of lively songs, and
tid-bits of the last village-ball scandal, went the rounds
when once business and shop had been talked over, and
the money for the tobacco and silks brought hither by the
Bavarians paid by the Tyrolese ; the salt and schnapps
which the latter had brought being naturally of much less
value, the balance owed by them was considerable, in one
instance amounting to more than eighty florins (,¿8), the
man in question carrying the enormous weight of 120
German pounds, or about 150 pounds English.
It must have been some time between twelve and one
o'clock when they rose, and began their preparations for
starting. One of them, running up the ladder, poked his
head through the hole and called his sleeping companion.
A couple of grunts and an audible bump of the head
against the rafters of the roof were the signal that my bed¬
fellow was leaving his somewhat confined resting-place.
On emerging from the darkness, when he reached the
bottom of the ladder, I was astonished to perceive that he
194 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
had not blackened his face, an omission which he, how¬
ever, made good by pulling out a black mask and fasten¬
ing it by strings before his face. In the few minutes that
elapsed prior to his doing so, I had ample time for a close
scrutiny. A man of about fifty-four, of large proportions
and evidently great muscular strength, he seemed to exer¬
cise a sort of command not only over his two companions,
but also over the three Bavarian smugglers. Taking up
his huge package on his back, and his rifle at half-cock
under his arm, he made his exit through the low and
narrow hole that served as a door. One of his compan¬
ions had gone before him to see if the coast was clear ;
and on his reporting that every thing was safe, the fire
was raked out, the bundles taken up, and a few seconds
later the hut was empty.
Just five years after this adventure, I was one day
sitting in the bar-room of the village of A——, drinking a
glass of beer after a somewhat hot and dusty tramp of
many hours on the scorched high-road leading from Te¬
gernsee to the Achensee, when a man entered the room,
and sat down close to me. I knew his face ; but when
and where I had seen him I could not say. I began a
conversation with him, asking him point-blank if he did not
remember me. A sharp glance from beneath his shaggy
eyebrows, and a curt " No," was his answer. After a few
more words my taciturn vis-à-vis rose, paid for his beer,
and with a short " B'hiit di," for a good-by, left the room
and the house. Asking the "Kellnerin" if she knew
who the man was, she told me in a mysterious sort of
way that he was now a well-to-do peasant, having once
been but a poor penniless lad ; but how he had amassed
his wealth — a man with eight or nine hundred pounds'
fortune is considered rich — nobody knew; nor could
they say why pretty Nannie, the only daughter of a well-
to-do peasant, could have married taciturn and even
morose Johann twice as old as herself. On pressing her
a little further, she hinted that people said he had been
years ago a daring smuggler, and that Nannie's father was
supposed to have been one of his comrades in this dan-
THE SMUGGLER.
195
gerous trade. She had hardly pronounced the word
"Schwärzer"—smuggler —when the whole scene of
that night in the hovel flashed across my mind. My curt
vis-à-vis was none other than my bed-fellow in the hay¬
loft five years before. A couple of months after this
second meeting I succeeded, not without some difficulty,
in making the acquaintance of Johann K , the rich
peasant and ex-smuggler.
One evening, on returning from deer-stalking in the
forests close to Johann's house, which latter I had made
my night-quarters, on purpose to have a quiet chat, I was
sitting alone with him, in front of his house, under the
broad awning of the balcony running the whole length
of the first floor, when I led the conversation to the ridge
of mountains — about six hours off —■ the site of my first
rencontre. Knowing it would be useless to endeavor to
gain the confidence of my reticent host by any other
means, I shortly afterwards told him that I knew what
his former occupation had been, and related to him how
the whole thing came to pass. Jumping up, he placed
himself in front of me, and offered me his brawny palm.
My bold tactics had gained the man's trust ; and the reti¬
cent smuggler, evidently convinced of my sincerity by
my having kept his secret, was now a grave but frank
man, of that bold and firm character which, in Tyrol, is
frequently hidden under a mask of suspicious moroseness
repelling the approach of strangers.
That same night, sitting in the roomy parlor, uninter¬
rupted by wife or child, he related to me his whole life's
adventures and exploits.
"My grandfather," he began, "and my father were
both engaged in the smuggling trade between M ,
my native village in Bavaria, and Tyrol. The former,
owner of an inn, chiefly confined himself to concealing
the goods smuggled in by others, and selling them secretly
to peasants, grocers, and innkeepers. One night a descent
was made on his house by the custom-officers, and before
the sacks of powder and kegs of spirits that had just
196 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
been brought could be concealed in their usual hiding-
place, the armed officials had effected an entrance, and
my grandfather and two of his mates were taken prison¬
ers. Condemned to a long term of imprisonment, my
grandfather died before its expiration. My father, a lad
of twenty at the time, leaving the management of the
inn to his mother, left for Tyrol, where he found employ¬
ment as a cattle-driver. Detesting his country, he en¬
listed as a common soldier in the Tyrolese ranks on the
outbreak of the French war in the last year of the last
century. He fought at several battles, and in one — that
of Berg Isel (1809), near Innsbrück — where less than
18,000 Tyrolese peasants routed more than 26,000 Bava¬
rian and French troops, he distinguished himself in so
marked a manner that Iiofer, the Tyrolese general, made
him a lieutenant on the battlefield. At one of the last
engagements of that memorable war, he was severely
wounded, and while he lay at the point of death in a
peasant's house, the news of his mother's death reached
him.
" He recovered, and subsequently married the peasant's
daughter who had nursed him through his illness.
" Fearing to return to Bavaria, lest he should be prose¬
cuted for espousing the Tyrolese cause in the late war, he
sold the heavily-mortgaged inn, and dividing the proceeds
with his brother, invested his share, amounting to a few
hundred florins, in cattle. He made one journey to Cen¬
tral Russia with his breeding cows, but on his way back
was robbed of every penny, and he gave up this business.
As I had been born in his absence, he decided, on the
earnest wish of my mother, to turn to farming. Renting
a small peasant's cottage and three or four acres of land,
he recommenced life. His hopes of succeeding in his
farming, however, were destined to be disappointed, for
hardly had he been on his farm a year when the murrain
killed his two cows, and he was at starvation's door.
" In this moment of need his brother, who, it seems,
had kept up a connection with the smugglers with whom
my grandfather had been associated, succeeded in enti-
THE SMUGGLER.
197
cing my father to join him and three or four other daring
fellows, to establish a regular smuggling trade between
Kufstein and a small townlet in Bavaria.
"The Alpine passes traversed by these intrepid free¬
traders were high and steep, rendering each venture or
expedition a fatiguing march of some ten or twelve hours.
All went well for a year or so, till one unlucky night my
father and three others were successfully waylaid by a
party of six customs officials. The ' Halt, or we shoot ! '
ringing out in the dark night at a few paces' distance,
brought my father's rifle to his shoulder — he usually
walked with it under his arm at half-cock — and before
the aggressors had the opportunity to act upon their
threat, my father had fired at the dark form of the leader,
hardly five or six paces off. The path was at that point
very narrow, and skirted on one side by a high wall of
rock, on the other by a diminutive precipice some twenty
or five and twenty feet in depth, ending, as my father
knew, in ground covered by the dense brushwood of the
latschen. The moment he fired, he leaped down the
precipice, four or five shots passing over his head. The
weight of his load saved him, for he fell on his back,
the strong wicker-work ' Kraksen ' in which he carried
the gunpowder, the article of his venture on that occa¬
sion, breaking his fall.
" The man in his rear was shot, while one of the re¬
maining two was taken prisoner, the third escaping.
" Hastily hiding his goods under some brushwood, my
father took to his heels, and reached home in safety before
daybreak. This unpleasant rencontre naturally cast a
deep gloom over the members of the ' company ' [as my
informer naïvely termed it]. The man who had been
shot died the same night. The official whom my father
had shot at was wounded in the arm ; while the second
member, who, as I have related, was captured, proved
' game,' and resolutely refused to mention the names of
his comrades, though he well knew that his sentence
would only be the severer by his reticence.
" Notwithstanding this, however, suspicion fell upon
198 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
my father, and the house was ransacked by customs
officials. They not finding any thing of a suspicious
nature, my father escaped with a solemn warning. For
nearly two years their trade was at a standstill ; and it was
only when dire want stared us in the face that my father
thought of resuming his dangerous traffic.
, " This time, however, he undertook it alone, and on his
own account ; and by dint of great caution, and by leav¬
ing an interval of more than a week between each journey,
he managed to escape detection for a considerable period.
Once, indeed, he was on the point of being discovered.
The man who always met him on the frontier to exchange
tobacco and silks for the spirits or salt had been prevented
by some reason or other from keeping the rendezvous.
" After waiting the whole night for him in the usual
place, a cave, my father determined to pass the frontier,
and repair to the man's habitation, an outlying peasant's
cottage four or five hours off.
" Having washed his blackened face at a brook, — as in
daytime it would tend to attract attention, — he secreted
his rifle in the cave, and then crossed the imaginary fron¬
tier line, formed by a high ridge of mountains, and entered
Bavaria, his native soil, untrodden by him for many years,
though his ' trade ' brought him to within a few yards of
its boundary forty or fifty times in the year.
" He had not proceeded far down the slopes on the
Bavarian side when he perceived, a short distance off, a
Bavarian 'Grenzwächter.'
"Trusting he would let him pass under the supposi¬
tion that he was a peasant on a legitimate errand, and
seeing that flight was impossible, he continued to walk on.
" Whether it was that some remnant of soot on my
father's face, or some other sign, roused the officer's sus¬
picion, certain it is that on coming up to him he ordered
my father to show him the contents of the ' Kraksen ' on
his back.
"Resistance to this command, unarmed as he was,
would have been madness, the official having his gun at
full cock in his hands, ready to shoot at the first sign of
resistance.
THE SMUGGLER.
199
"My father, pulling down his Kraksen, and playing
the part of a pig-headed peasant lout, replied that 1 he
well knew that there was no law compelling a peaceful
peasant, carrying his butter from his chalet to the village,
to show the contents of his Kraksen to every man who
might desire it. If he wanted to see what was in it he
would please kindly open it himself, for he would not.'
The officer, though assured by my father's quiet tone that
he was not a smuggler, but rather a stubborn peasant boor,
thought he would punish this saucy demeanor by turning
the contents of the Kraksen upside down, and laying
aside his gun, bent down to unfasten the divers strings
that held down the lid. This was just what my father
had waited for ; and with one sledge-hammer stroke of
his enormous fist he floored the unfortunate officer.
" My father, of course, decamped with his Kraksen ;
but before doing so he broke the officer's rifle, sword, and
bayonet across his knee, leaving the pieces in a pile by
the side of his senseless foe. Strange to say, he never
heard any more of this affair ; but he vowed that he
would never again cross the Bavarian frontier, and he
kept his word.
" Several years passed, and I was about fourteen, when
one day my father called me aside, and told me in. his
abrupt manner that he would take me with him on a
'journey' that night. My father's manner and serious
tone assured me that my accompaying him was no ordi¬
nary occurrence of life, an impression rendering superflu¬
ous the caution that I was to keep all that I might see or
hear a profound secret. ' If you behave well and do all
that I tell you,' my father continued, ' you need not at¬
tend school any longer.' Now, this was a grand and joy¬
ous vista to a boy who detested school work as I did ;
and though as five months of the year were holidays, and
I was in the last year of school, my joy was perhaps
foolish at my sudden promotion to manhood, yet never¬
theless that day was the happiest of my life.
" Full of impatience and curiosity, I refrained from
retiring to my bed at the usual hour Of eight or half-past,
200 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
but waited up for the return of my father, who had gone
out when he had finished his tilling for the day. I need
hardly tell you that my father's occupation as smuggler
had been kept a dead secret ; only my mother knew of it,
and when now and again I met him returning home at an
early hour in the morning, I never troubled my mind
about it.
" At nine o'clock my father returned, and bidding me
follow him, led the way into the dark night. For two
hours he walked on with his usual quick and long step.
"We had passed up through a dense forest, and on
emerging from it crossed a small plateau, on which were
scattered here and there log-built huts for hay.
" The one highest up belonged to the peasant property
which we rented. A low whistle of my father was answered
in the same key, and we jumped through the hole giving
entrance to the hut.
" By the light of a small lantern, which my father lit,
I perceived three men sitting on logs. Only when two
of them accosted me by my name did I recognize my
uncle and one of our neighbors, their blackened faces
disguising them completely. The third man was a
stranger to me.
" Pulling out a box full of soot, my father proceeded
to blacken his own face and mine. While we were busy,
two of the men had pushed aside a heap of hay in one
of the corners, and after removing a few inches of earth,
they laid bare a sort of trap-door. Opening it, they both
disappeared in the cavity below it, re-appearing in a few
seconds with two large Kraksen.
"This maneuver they repeated twice or three times,
bringing to light two more large Kraksen, a smaller one
which was apparently empty, and four rifles.
" The smaller Kraksen being filled with hay, and the
lid carefully bound down, my father told me to take it on
my back, and proceeded to give me his instructions.
According to them I was to proceed at a moderate pace
up a certain path leading towards the Bavarian frontier,
and passing a deserted châlet, about two or two hours and
a half from our starting-point.
THE SMUGGLER.
20 X
" On approaching this hut I was to sing a certain
'jodier.' A whistle from within would be my signal to
enter the hut, but before entering I was to 'jodeln'in a
loud voice. On my way up, my father continued, I should
at intervals of five minutes give the signal that all was
right, by singing. I may mention that I was by no means
a bad singer, being not only a strong boy for my age, but
possessing great taste for music, and a strong voice.
" The four men were to follow in my wake, leaving a
certain distance between me and them.
"The nature of the business was now no longer a
riddle to me ; and thus my father's hint, that in case I
should be stopped by anybody I should desist from
'jodelning,'and so give them a negative warning, was
quite superfluous.
"A little before half-past eleven I started in my new
character as scout ; and right merrily did I make my
'jodels ' ring out in the dark night, the surrounding
heights and precipices returning the sound two and three¬
fold.
" In the allotted time I reached the hut ; and my merry
' A braunauged's Dirnd'e h'an i'im Herzen ' (' A brown-
eyed maid is in my heart'), — the song indicated by my
father,—was answered by the preconcerted low whistle.
The inside of the châlet was very similar to the one I had
left two or three hours ago, the only difference being that
a fire was burning on the ground, round which four men
were taking their ease. The single window there was
boarded up so that not a ray of light would betray them,
and with their rifles at their side the men were evidently
prepared for danger.
" All of them being strangers to me, my position was
for the first moment somewhat embarrassing.
"For the first moment, however, only; for, slapping
my back, and praising my accurate observance of the
instructions i-eceived from my father, they offered me a
bottle of schnapps, and, after I had a good pull at it, the
owner invited me to share his seat beside the fire. How
grand it seemed to me thus to be treated as a irían and
202 gaddings with a primitive people.
fellow-smuggler ! How elated I was at the few words of
praise that fell from the lips of my ' companions ! '
" My father and his three confederates shortly arrived ;
and now for the first time I learned that the venture of
that night was one of especial importance, the smuggled
goods being of great value. The Bavarians, for such
were the first occupants of the hut, after paying for the
goods and leaving their bales of tobacco, departed shortly
afterwards, it being later than usual.
" Our return was performed in a manner similar to our
journey thither ; and having deposited our Kxaksen and
rifles in the usual hiding-place, we reached our respective
homes shortly after break of day.
" Thus ended my momentous début in the character
of smuggler. The sense of danger lurking at one's heels,
the free life, and, lastly but not least, the animating in¬
fluence of the constant state of alertness which must dis¬
tinguish a smuggler successful in his craft, engendered in
me the resolution that henceforth free-trading should be
my occupation, and success in it the goal of my ambition.
" For two years I acted as my father's scout, and on
two different occasions did my tactics save him and his
companions. When I was stopped in my nocturnal
wanderings by the usual ' Halt, or we shoot ! ' of the
' C-renzwächter,' you can paint to yourself their dis¬
appointment and mortification when the supposed smug¬
gler turned out to be but a poor ' Wurzengraber ' — digger
of roots—and the contents of my Kraksen, the object
of their researches, proved to be roots of the Gentiana1
— or other Alpine plants.
" My two years' apprenticeship had made me an expert
and daring smuggler ; and you can conceive my pleasure
when one day my father announced to me that hence¬
forth I should participate in their gains, and ' carry my
own goods.'
" To enable me to buy the necessary stock for my first
two or three ventures, my father handed me a compara-
1 These roots are used very largely for distilling purposes, a strong and bittex
spirit being manufactured from them.
THE SMUGGLER.
203
tively ample sum of money, making me, however, prom¬
ise that I would pay 01T my debt by installments.
" For two years our trade went on swimmingly, and I
was laying up money for the proverbial rainy day. Soon¬
er than we thought, did it make its appearance. One
night on our return from the usual place of meeting, as
we were hurrying down the narrow path leading to the
hut where we used to conceal our goods, the ominous
challenge of the Grenzwächter brought us to a dead halt.
From the front and from the rear we were inclosed, and
the formidable precipice at our side prevented any escape
in that direction.
" My father, who was leading, fired, I following suit a
second later. Of what happened afterwards I can give
you no clear description. A fierce struggle with one of
the Grenzwächter occupied me for the next few minutes.
My great strength enabled me to rid myself of my foe
very soon. Not so, however, of one of his mates, who,
larger than I, made a fierce rush at me the moment I had
regained my breath. I closed with him, and a terrible
struggle began. Hither and thither we swayed, both of
us trying to use our knives, but each firmly grasping the
arm of the other. At last my firm grasp with my free
hand upon my foe's throat began to tell, and a few seconds
later .he was lying half-dead at my feet. My father, who
had shot the leader, had been himself wounded by a bul¬
let, but not so severely as to render him hors de co?nbat.
One of our two confederates was disabled : the other was
engaged in a fierce combat with two officials, who were
endeavoring to get at him with their swords, while he kept
them off with his clubbed rifle.
" Matters were terribly critical ; but there was yet some
chance of escape for those who were not disabled, when,
to my dismay and horror, I heard shouts of approaching
men, and a second or two later three shots rang out, and
my father, to whose aid I was just making, fell to the
ground with a groan. The feeble moonlight enabled me
to perceive that a re-enforcement of three men, probably
stationed farther down the road, had arrived.
204 gaddings with a primitive people.
" They were standing two abreast, the third at their rear,
when, maddened by my father's fall, and knowing that this
was my only chance of escape, I rushed at them, and by
the mere impetus of my attack sent one sprawling to the
ground, while the second gave way, and the third, at his
back, was floored by a blow of my clubbed rifle. Pursuit
was vain: my limbs and sinews, strung to their utmost,
would have defied much fleeter men than they. I reached
home covered with perspiration, and nearly out of my
wits at the fate of my father. Plelp of any kind was out
of the question ; and the only thing that remained for me
to do was to inform my mother of his fate, and collect
such trifles as I needed, together with the money I had
saved. I knew that in a few hours our house would be
closely searched for me. Bidding a tearful farewell to
my mother, and telling her to write to me to her brother
living in South Tyrol, I was off within twenty minutes of
my arrival.
" Skirting the high roads, and keeping to forest-paths,
I was fortunate enough to reach the next town within
fourteen hours of my leaving our remote homestead.
" I slept in the hayloft of one of the houses outside of
the town, and proceeded on my weary tramp the next
day at sunrise.
" Eleven days of marching brought me finally to my
destination, my uncle's house, where I found a letter
from my mother, in which she informed me that my
father had died shortly after receiving his second and fatal
wound, that one of our companions was severely wounded,
and the other captured.
" The Grenzwächter had two dead and three wounded :
you see, therefore, that our resistance was a vigorous one.
" For more than five years I stopped with my uncle,.
aiding him in his timber trade, and extending a helping
hand wherever it was needed. On my uncle's death I
inherited half his modest fortune, which I embarked in
cattle. In the course of the next fifteen years I made a
number of journeys to Russia with varying success, so
that at the end of this period, on getting tired of my
THE SMUGGLER.
2°5
wandering life, I found myself the richer by nearly 2,500
florins (less than ^250). I gave up my cattle business,
and being then nearly forty, I resolved to marry.
" My mother had died years before, and the residue
of my father's savings, his brother had received.
" On visiting my old home, I could not refrain from
seeing if my smuggler comrade, who had been taken
prisoner that disastrous night, was still living. On enter¬
ing his house, quite close to my home, now in strange
hands, I learned that he had died ten cr twelve years be¬
fore, and that his widow had married again. Iiis daugh¬
ter had accompanied her mother to her new home some
distance off, that peasant's house yonder. Having nothing
better on hand, I determined to visit the widow of the
most intimate friend of my youth. On this visit I made
the acquaintance of Nannie, now my wife. Young, very
pretty, gay, and well aware that she was the heiress to a
goodly fortune for a peasant-girl, she lent any thing but a
willing ear to the courting of a somewhat mysterious per¬
sonage, more than double her age (she was then seven¬
teen), with no home over his head, and, for aught she
knew, a penniless beggar ; I had refrained from telling
her or her mother of my savings. Twice I asked her
if she would have me, and twice I was refused. Hum¬
bled in my own eyes, and mortified at the girl's disdain,
I left her dangerous neighborhood shortly after my second
repulse.
" In my frame of mind, dissatisfied as I was with my¬
self and with the world in general, the recollection of
my youthful life as smuggler had a strange charm ; what
if the mature man, long past the giddy days of youth,
should exchange a life of daily drudgery and poor re¬
turns for the free and animating avocation to which I
had served my apprenticeship twenty long years before ?
More and more did this plan attract me ; and from day
to day the life of a smuggler, with its constant danger,
seemed the only way to dispel my discontent. Deter¬
mined and impulsive as I am, it did not take long to
ripen my plans. My money placed in safe hands, I at
206 gaddings with a primitive people.
once made overtures to a set of smugglers by reputation
more daring and bold than the ordinary run of men of
this stamp. A week later I was a member of their ' com¬
pany,' and had opened my campaign with an expedition
of more than usual importance.
" Chopping and changing from one place to another,
just where my fancy and the promise of large returns led
me, I passed seven years. A lull in my trade enabled
me to pay a visit to the house of Nannie's stepfather. I
had not seen her during the intervening years. Hand¬
somer than she was at seventeen, sedate, and more at¬
tractive than ever, the girl enchained my heart a second
time ; this time, however, my wooing was crowned with
success, and a few months later I led my bride to the
altar. My savings and the returns of my seven-years'
smuggling ventures had nearly quadrupled the original
sum. I bought the house we are sitting in, and the twen¬
ty-five acres surrounding it. For several years I lived
the life of a steady-going peasant, happy and content.
Gradually, however, my quiet humdrum life began to
pall upon me, and an irrepressible longing to return to
my old life came back. Rich, with all the comforts of
life I desired, a loving and devoted wife at my side, and
two children at my knee, I might well have been thought
mad to endanger my life by exchanging my present posi¬
tion for that of a smuggler. Still, do what I would, the
recollections of my old life were for ever dazzling my eyes.
" My former confederates, eager to win me back to my
old course, succeeded at last in their endeavors. On and
off, leaving often an interval of a month between ven¬
tures, I left my home for the two or three days necessary
to reach and return from the scene of our smuggling
operations. Fortune seemed to favor me, for not once
were we stopped. My three companions, who looked
upon smuggling as the means of gaining their daily bread,
and not, as I did, as a pastime, had been fortunate in
their transactions, so that one by one they dropped off,
settling down in each case as steady peasants. The time
you saw us we had lost only one member, the second one
THE SMUGGLER.
207
following his example a short time afterwards. My wife,
to whom I had confided my design, was of course greatly
against it from the beginning, imploring me to desist from
my ruinous procedure. Four years ago, when my third
and last companion resolved to bid adieu to the trade,
she at last succeeded in making me promise never again
to put the mask before my face.
" Since that day I have lived a happy and contented
life ; the youthful fire has burnt out, and the wreck of
the former smuggler is stranded high and dry on the
shore of home life."
It was late when this simple narrative of a life of rest¬
less adventures came to a close, and the stalwart, broad-
shouldered man of sixty, rising from his seat, proffered
me his brawny palm. With mine resting in his strong
grip, and with glistening eyes, while pointing to the door
of the next room, where his wife lay asleep, he remarked
with deep feeling, " My life's gratitude can not repay my
debt to that woman : she it was, and she alone, that saved
me perhaps from an ignominious death, and made me
the man I am."
208 gaddings with a primitive people.
CHAPTER XII.
ALPINE CHARACTERS : THE MOUNTAIN EELLE.
AN old German proverb, oft quoted by sixteenth-cen¬
tury authors, says : " If thou wilt be jolly for a day,
kill a pig ; if thou purposest to spend a festive week, have
thyself bled and thy skin well scoured in the bath ; if thou
wishest to be happy for a month, take to thyself a young
and buxom wife : but if thou desirest peace for the rest
of thy days, do neither."
What a vast field for the pen plowshare of a fastidi¬
ous critic does this quaint saying present ! Strange as it
may sound, I would, however, humbly suggest to the
carper intent upon caviling at this emanation of medise-
val moralists, that before he puts pen to paper he spend a
summer holiday on a visit to any one of the hundred
remote Tyrolese villages nestling among somber pine for¬
ests, a.nd overshadowed by craggy ridges of Alpine peaks
far out of the track of the busy throng — a primitive little
ant-hill world by itself.
An intimate acquaintance with the robust inhabitants
— manly, not to say defiant, in their bearing, hardwork¬
ing, but strangely vigorous and healthy, poor, but oddly
content and satisfied with their lot, would prove to our
frondeur that in this sprout of the dull mind of our fore¬
father moralists, lies embedded a pearl of truth.
Poverty, or rather Dame Nature herself, by bequeath¬
ing to this hardy race a wretched soil and an inhospitable
clime, has providentially taken care that the jolly days
spent at the cost of pigs' lives are of a limited number ;
and likewise has she, by instilling into their minds a
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
209
wholesome horror of all doctors, and, alas ! of water also,
guarded against the frequent return of festive weeks ; and,
lastly, have the people themselves — their primitive good
sense deserves all comment — recognized, perhaps unwit¬
tingly, perhaps after bitter experience, the striking truth
in these momentous words : " If thou desirest peace for
the rest of thy days, then do neither."
True, impaired digestions, and minds morbidly alive to
the so-called blessings of .¿Esculap's craft, are decidedly
more according to the dictates of civilization, than frugal
habits ; for dirt, mind you, is eminently healthy, provided
it is not that of civilization, but rather the cobwebbed
mustiness of primitive habits — the dirt, in fact, of those
generations of our forefathers, who knew not what soap
was, and yet were men of a stamp which our modern civ¬
ilization but very rarely manages to produce.
It is, however, not so much with the nice discernment
evinced by the Tyrolese in regard to what is good for them
in the way of eating, and respecting the degree of clean¬
liness which is beneficial to their vigorous health, that we
wish to deal, but rather with their wonderful acumen that
led them to recognize the sophistic meaning of those
words, " then do neither."
If on examining the idiosyncrasies of this, old and com¬
mon-sense race we are lured into the belief that, appar¬
ently, they fail to act up to the letter of the warning, or,
in other words, that a certain percentage of the males
do take unto themselves wives, this discovery, on further
consideration, turns out to be a chimera ; for though a
number of luckless wights commit that act of self-abnega¬
tion, for, as Mr. Pickwick would say, the good of their
race, they withal act upon the old proverb, which, without
their really ever acknowledging or clearly knowing of its
existence, has made them what they are ; for they but
rarely take unto themselves that article against which the
old romancers waxed wroth, namely, a young and buxom
wife, but rather lead to the altar what was once upon a
time young and buxom, but now is middle-aged, — a
person, in fact, of whose qualities of character they have
2IO GAD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
assured themselves by long experience, who in the hey¬
day of her youth rewarded her future husband, the bold
champion of many a sanguinary contest for her favors,
with the free love of impulsive youth.
The Tyrolese are a stanch old race, strong in their
desires, and, as everybody knows, singularly attached to
their soil, and the customs of their forefathers. Hitherto
they have resolutely turned their backs upon civilization ;
and Nature, hiding them away among the remotest re¬
cesses of the Alps, has herself helped very naturally in
warding off the advances, good and bad, of the idol to
which we all bow down.
Their lives are a true mirror of the thoughts and fea¬
tures, not of the late Middle Ages, as has often been
remarked, but of centuries preceding that period, when
man was man, however uncouth, and perhaps, to a civil¬
ized eye, uninviting in aspect.
All this is on the eve of radical changes. Civilization
is making rapid strides in its endeavors to level the people
to the common standard of half-educated clodhoppers
who know how to handle a steam-plow, and equally well
how to cheat their neighbors. The change will soon be
rung ; but for the people's character, and I maintain also
for their moral tone, it is a Welsher's ring. Their manly
uprightness, their primitive yet honest dealing between
themselves, will soon be a thing of the past, and in future
will be replaced by "civilized" sharpness; and for their
characteristic features, their love of the soil and independ¬
ent tone, will be substituted the uniform 'cuteness of a
new world, where man — his specific idiosyncrasies — is
whitewashed by a degenerating coat of selfish greed of
gain, while the counterbalancing merits of enlightenment
and real civilization are thrust from the site of this regen¬
eration by the hand of Nature.
But what, the reader will exclaim, has all this to do with
the heading of our chapter ? what connection can there
possibly exist between a mountain belle and cogitations of
such a dismal cast ? And yet there is a link, and a very
strong one, between the history of a rural beauty and our
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
211
speculations respecting the future of the country ; for, kind
reader, you must know that much of what I am going to
tell you of the fair one's life belongs already actually to
the past, or stands, at least, on the verge of oblivion,
awaiting that self-same civilization's sarcastic sneer to con¬
sign it to the grave, or to the rambling memory of some
old hag, who some years hence, perhaps, will astonish
interviewing Cookites with a garbled account of her youth¬
ful love and folly.
There are, however, one or two spots left — favorite
resorts of mine — where many of the old customs are
still to be witnessed, not by the casual tourist, it is true,
— for successive generations of bold young champions
guard them most vigilantly against prying eyes, — but by
those who have succeeded, by dint of assimilation to their
habits, customs, and language, in penetrating die outer coat
of reserve, and in gaining their confidence.
Will the reader be introduced to one of these favored
spots ? If so, he had better accept the proffered invita¬
tion of the robust young giant dressed in his Sunday best,
in his hat a bunch of bright carnations, and a bold feather
of the blackcock, the latter " turned " in the most ap¬
proved champion fashion, to accompany him on his walk
up to yonder Alp, whither " business " takes him.
It is a balmy summer Sunday morning. Every thing
around us appears fresh and green ; the snowy peaks that
ride overhead look enticingly cool, as they stand out in
bold relief against the blue — the Alpine blue — of the
heavens : far, far below us stands, amid a group of timber
cottages, the little cleanly whitewashed village church, a
speck of white in the vast expanse of various tints of ver¬
dant green. The eight-o'clock service is being rung in,
and the soft melodious tones are wafted up, intermingled
now and again by the distant echoes of a joyous jodel,
issuing from the massive chest of some stalwart young
swain, climbing, miles upon miles away from our own
point of view, the steep declivities leading to the upland
pasturages, and bent, as he would tell you, were you to ask
him, on precisely the same errand as lends such length of
212 gaddings with a primitive people.
stride, such vigor, to our companion at our side, — some
mysterious business, brooking no delay, in the lonely Alp-
hut on high. We have to put our best foot foremost to
keep up with our eager young friend, who scales the steep
declivities, who vaults the swift Alpine streamlet coursing
down from the snow-fields above, with a rapidity and ease
such as only muscles born and bred to Alpine work can
command.
" But, pray," we are half inclined to ask of our compan¬
ion, " what might be the nature of this pressing errand
that lures you away, the only day you have to yourself,
from human haunts, from your boon companions ; that
prompts you to exchange the gay scene of the shooting-
match held this afternoon in the village, and where you
were sure of winning a prize, or the no less exciting skit¬
tle-match where are pitted the best players of two rival
villages, for the lonely Alp-hut on high? " Shall we press
him to divulge the true reason? We had better not, me-
thinks ; for were we to do so, we would hear that a cow
now about to calve, a bull suddenly to be fetched from
the highland pasturages to be slaughtered, or some other
equally innocent beast in sore exigency, required the
presence of our guide ; and after all a very Simon Pure
would soon detect the real nature of the errand, even
without the tell-tale flowers, the elated air, and the long-
drawn, far-echoing jodier, that now is sent forth into
the tranquil morning air. What dullard could mistake
the import of that strain, so full of exuberant life and
vigor, so full of tell-tale longing, and yet withal from the
first note to the last so strikingly melodious and pleas¬
ingly harmonious in its varied cadence ?
The echoes are yet ringing from side to side of the
valley, when from far above us floats down the answer,
emanating not from a rival's stalwart breast, swelled by
jealous wrath, but from the full lips of the buxom lass for
whose ear the strain, so full of appealing import, was in¬
tended. A note or two higher, in the full sweetness of a
woman's silvery voice, it strikes the ear yet more sweetly
than did the more sonorous love-cry of the man. At last
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
213
the echoes have died away, lost in the somber forests at
our feet, in grand Nature, herself ; they have returned to
her that created them.
Our companion jerks his hat more on one side, and
throws his jacket jauntily over his shoulder, while a smile
of elated pride spreads over his face, as we resume our
upward march.
" Ah, sir ! " he presently, in the fullness of his heart, will
begin, " she's all that I have, she's more than life itself to
me ; she's the truest, the prettiest lass in the village."
We let him talk on, for his heart is brim-full of joy : he
has a happy twenty-four hours before him.
His mind is free from trouble and care ; for before set¬
ting out, like a good Christian he attended four-o'clock
mass, and afterwards confessed the last fortnight's sins
and transgressions. Absolution was accorded him, and
he started on his lover's errand with a clean bill of eternal
health. Won't it please his pretty dark-eyed " Kati,"
when he tells her that the good kind Herr Vicar granted
him absolution so readily, no penance to speak of was
imposed ; for the three " rosaries " he got will be prayed
in the company of his lass, kneeling at the large weather-
cross standing beside her elevated summer residence,
where one short twelvemonth ago he plighted his troth.
From that day the dark-eyed lassie was his sole though
perhaps not undisputed property.
Long strides and powerful lungs take us up the last
steep incline in double-quick time, and presently we gain
the eminence, and sally forth from the somber pine-cov¬
ered forest into an undulating Alpine plateau covered
with verdure from end to end. There yonder stands
the lowly little hut, the timber browned by time and
weather ; and in front of it sits the pretty queen of this
Alpine retreat, fair " Kati." Our steps quicken, and soon
we are at her side. Her dimpled cheek of a healthy
brown is permeated by a pleasant smile as she extends
her hand to us. We turn to watch the greeting between
the two lovers ; but beyond a warm smile, and perhaps a
shade more color on her face, nothing betrays that he is
214 GADDINGS V/ITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
more to her than we the strangers. She does not give
him her hand, nor does he seem to expect it ; and where
more demonstrative mortals would have gushingly evinced
their mutual delight, they turn aside from each other reti¬
cent and self-possessed. But so they are, these moun¬
tain-bred children of stern nature. Reserved to a degree,
they are only too prone to exhibit to the curious gaze of
the stranger their cold rugged outside, gnarled by hard
work and privation. To him it is enough to know that
he is near her, that presently under the cover of some
kindly shelter he will press her to his heart, while to her —
who for the last fortnight has most probably not seen any
human face, much less set eyes upon the constant object
of her thoughts — the bunch of bright carnations which
she has stolen from her lover's hat will in the mean while
be the visible proof of his presence. We sit down on the
narrow bench while our hostess hurries to her under¬
ground dairy to fetch milk, butter, and bread. Presently
she returns, picking her steps daintily over the large step¬
ping-stones that enable one to reach the hut dry-shod ;
for like all these primitive huts — Arcadian temples we
have heard them called — a quagmire of not the sweetest
character surrounds the dwelling. Usually she is not as
careful, but to-day, the day of rest, she has five or six
hours to herself ; so after finishing her morning work of
milking, and settling up the cowshed, she has washed and
scrubbed herself, has platted her long tresses, and for the
bright hours of repose has donned her Sunday gown and
shoes and stockings. The milk and butter are rendered
all the more inviting by the kindly way she presses us to
partake of them, by the finely-formed hand stretching
across the table, a hand seemingly incapable of the hard
masculine work it has to do, and by the dark, quiet eyes
that are bent upon us with a winning smile. Again she
disappears into the hut, returning presently with a hoarded
bottle of kirsch, or some other kindred spirit she herself
has distilled in a most primitive fashion from some Alpine
fruit. She tastes of it, and then presents it to her lover,
who, after a hearty pull at its contents, returns it with a
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
2I5
contented mien ; for, let it be mentioned here, this pota¬
tion means much.
It is a love-draught, and none but a lover will ever be
offered the like by fair hands. It is the first token by
which the charmer evinces her preference, and hence the
saying, " He has drunk of her liquor," is tantamount to
— well, never mind to what ; certainly to more than is
good for the young people. Once that magic drink has
wetted the manly lips, the house of the fair one, be it the
lonely Alp-hut or the more substantial peasant's house in
the village, is open to him ; and the peasant in whose
service the lass stands concedes to him free ingress when,
after the hard day's toil is over, the womenfolk sit round
the wood-paneled living-room spinning or straining flax,
while the men lean half recumbent, with their backs to
the stove, smoking their evening pipes. He drops id
then, and, sitting at the side of his lass, will add his quota
of chat to the general conversation.
Or, again, on Sundays he need not ask her master's
consent, if a village dance or shooting-match attracts
rural crowds to the chief inn, to take his girl hither.
Their relationship to each other is tacitly understood ; and
till the lass herself gives him the go-by, he need not dread
any interference on the part of the peasant.
It is different if the girl is at home, and the parents
have by a quiet hint evinced their disapprobation of the
lover's advances. Maybe the girl is the daughter of a
rich peasant, while the swain is a poor lad solely depend¬
ent upon his hands for a living ; or, again, his worldly
prospects may be such as would entitle him to a friendly
reception on the part of her parents, but then strange
whispers respecting his character are abroad, — report
points him out as having already tasted of several maid¬
ens' liquor ; or tattlers will know that the free chamois on
yonder mountains have too great attractions for the wild
young poacher who is quite willing to stake his life in the
forbidden pursuit.
In such cases, all the stratagems of love are brought
into play ; the iron-grated window of the fair one's cham-
2l6 gaddings with a primitive people.
ber is the nocturnal trysting-place, and the important
flask, endowing the bold suitor with prerogatives so long
desired, is handed through the bars which only too often
prove inefficient barbican in the hands of vigorous youth
inflamed by hot passion.
In the case before us we need not inquire if the swain's
advances met the approbation of his love's friends. The
girl is a poor lass, earning her bread as dairymaid to a
peasant. Her mother, once a beauty like her, is long
dead ; she never knew who her father was, beyond the
suspicions awakened in her mind by scandal-loving old
women.
Like so many of her sisters, she is the offspring of pas¬
sion. Sent up to the lonely Alp for a long six months,
at the tender age of seventeen, this was her second sea¬
son on high. Cut off from the world, rarely seeing a
human face beyond the gruff features of a stray keeper
who sees in her a willing helpmate of his enemies, or the
blackened visage of a poacher, and the morose old
" knecht " who every fortnight brings her bread and salt
for the cattle in exchange for which he returns with a
heavy load of butter and cheese, she is left entirely to her
own resources.
She has to tackle the vicious bull single-handed ; she
has to tame the cow, no longer, since her calf was taken
away from her, the docile creature that would come when
she called her name. The fierce thunderstorm, the no
less trying heavy fall of snow in September, the swollen tor¬
rent that threatens to carry away her hut, all have to be
met by ready defense and prompt means of warding off
the threatening danger. Heavy stones have to be piled
on the shingle roof of the hut to keep it from being blown
away ; the snow, accumulated to an astonishing depth in
the course of one night, has to be cleared off round the
hut, and a path made from the cattle-shed to the water-
tank. Timber has to be felled to stave the foaming, angry
watercourse. Sick cattle have to be treated with physic
and poultices ; the calving cow, the heifer that has broken
its leg by an unlucky slip, have to be attended ; the wild
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
217
goats have to be kept from straying too far ; and besides
all this, her daily round of heavy work in the hut, milk¬
ing twice a day some twenty head of cattle, churning, and
making cheese, cleaning the shed, and keeping her milk-
pails, boiler, and churning-machine scrupulously clean.
And what does she get for all this, —for six months of
the roughest work, and privations of all kinds, to be fol¬
lowed by the winter, with the various household duties in
the peasant's home in the village? Why, two pounds in
money, a pair of shoes, and two hempen skirts of the
coarsest texture, per annum !
And yet a happier young lassie, more brim-full of spirit
and love for nature, it would be difficult to find out of
Tyrol. The day — along day too — from three or four
o'clock in the morning till long after sundown, is one
round of work ; the evening passes quickly, spent either
before her open fire on the primitive hearth, or sitting in
front of her châlet, watching the last pink tinges dying
out on the snow-peaked old friends that start up on all
sides in gallant array, or singing some of her favorite
" Schnaddahüpfler " songs ; and by half-past eight or nine
she is in her hay berth.
She knows not what fear is ; and if perchance in the
dead hours of the night a sudden commotion in the cow¬
shed will awaken her from her sound slumber, she will
fearlessly step out into the darkness, and find her way
to the adjoining shed, and allay the playful or maybe
vicious liveliness of her kine by her word, or by the help
of a stout cudgel.
Can we grudge her — the victim of so many lonesome
hours —■ the happy moments spent at the side of her stal¬
wart lover? or can we, considering all we have said,
blame her, when, forgotten and apparently forsaken by
the rest of the world, the friendless maiden goes one step
— a short step, in her eyes — farther than the codes of
civilization, than the laws of society, permit ?
I say no, decidedly no ; for, reader, remember before
you condemn her, that from her earliest youth no guiding
hand, no tuition, except the primitive instruction of the
218 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
village schoolmaster as he drummed into her head suffi¬
cient to write her name, was extended to her. And, more,
the law itself, by raising nigh insurmountable obstacles in
the path of the poor desirous of marrying, lends its right
hand in bringing about the deplorable state of things to
which I allude.
Pretty Kati was no exception to the rule : poor as a
church mouse, her fortune was not worse than that of her
lover. She knew that there was no hope of their being
able to marry for fifteen or twenty years ahead, for as yet
our friend had a long seven-years soldiering before him :
so, to cut a long story short, she trusted and loved.
But let us, before we leave this quiet retreat, and rid
the young couple of our presence, cast a passing glance
at the interior of her bower, poor and primitive as it is.
There, in one corner, is her berth filled with hay, — bed
we hardly can call the box-like inclosure, and one thick
blanket for a cover. Underneath or rather beside it, are
ranged on a shelf half a dozen bottles. They contain her
ready remedies for sudden sickness or accidents among
her dumb charges. Beside them, nailed to the wall, is a
crucifix, surrounded by a wreath of freshly-picked rho¬
dodendrons, edelweiss, and the azure-tinted gentians of
the Alps. On a peg below it hangs her hat of green felt,
worn and stained. Stuck in it coquettishly is a single
feather of the blackcock. How prettily it sits the well-
shapen head with its wealth of auburn tresses ! Jauntily
set on one side, it admirably suits her air of half-modest,
half-daring grace. It's her Sunday hat, too, — a hat that
has served as best for two years, and perforce must last
a third, for on work-days she can not afford that indul¬
gence ; a handkerchief tied under her chin does just as
well, and saves a lot. On the foot-board of her couch is
fastened a tiny looking-glass, not more than two inches
square ; it is the only one luxury of civilized life we per¬
ceive in the hut. Beside it are a comb, kept perfectly
clean, and a bit of soap — her Sunday soap — for on
week-days she makes a few handfuls of wood-ashes do in
its stead. A rosary and a much-wom old prayer-book —
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
219
not to forget the huge peasant's almanac with its red and
black hieroglyphics — are all that remain to be mentioned.
The deal box, very like a seaman's sea-chest, containing
her Sunday gown, the silver string of beads (the sole re¬
membrance of her mother), and the ring with a gaudy glass
jewel in it, the gift of her lover, not to omit a change of
linen, viz., a shirt, is stored in her underground milk cel¬
lar ; the only receptacle that can be locked, not so much
on account of thieves, but on that of the goats, who will
stray into the hut in expectancy of their wonted handful
of salt. The fireplace, sunk lower than the floor, is sur¬
rounded by a trench ; here one places one's feet, while
the floor itself is the seat. The huge copper caldron, so
necessary for cheesemaking, its outside crusted with soot,
the inside bright as a mirror, hangs on a crane-like ma¬
chine, enabling it to be swung round when not used.
The low door, provided with a wicket, gives ingress
into the cowshed, where are ranged into two rows her
charges. Each one has its name, and answers to it : the
bell cow, however, being the queen over all. Adorned
with the largest bell, she leads the long file, and is as
proud and jealous of her position as any human being
could be. When a cow strays from the herd, and the
Alp-girl sets out on a wearisome search, she accompanies
her, bellowing from time to time to recall the lost one.
Such is the empire over which this lonesome queen
exercises unlimited control.
Dusk is beginning to set in as we bid good-bye to the
young people, and turn our back upon the quiet little
dwelling, the harbor of two hearts beating high and fast
in all the joy and fire of ardent passion, such as only is
the gift of uncontaminated natural youth.
Three long months will the lassie still have to endure
on high till Rosenkranz Sunday, the day when they all re¬
turn from their Alpine pasturages, comes round. I say
endure ; for while formerly she loved her summer abode
above any thing, and delighted in the free life amid her
mountains and kine, she now somehow begins to envy
her more fortunate companions who all the year round
2 20 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
remain in the village near their sweethearts and their
friends. A pang of jealous fear crosses her mind as she
pictures to herself her handsome lover, the best wrest¬
ler, the keenest shot of the village, exposed to the allure¬
ments of some dangerous and unscrupulous rival beauty.
Not all, as she well knows, are as loyal-hearted as she ;
and many a mountain belle holds court in her upland
dominion, not only to one, but to half a dozen ardent
swains. Her favors are contested for in sanguinary
fights ; for the passions of the mettlesome youths once
roused, their hatred is as fierce as that of Red Indians,
in some parts of the Alps, in fact, the knife is, on such
occasions, only too often called in requisition. Wielded
by hands as strong as they are ill-intentioned, it generally
leaves one or the other of the combatants a bleeding
corpse on the ground.
At last Rosary Sunday — the 16th after Trinity^-
comes round. The preceding day the two burly sons of
her master, and the old "knecht," go up to the Alp, and
help the lass to bring down her traps. One of them will
carry the huge caldron, filled with milk-pails, and pots,
and pans, tied on a " Kraksen," upon his broad back, the
other two dividing the rest of the lumbersome domestic
paraphernalia between them. They go first ; then come
the cattle with their heavy bells on broad leather straps
adorned with embroidery, and each animal sporting a
wreath of fresh Alpine flowers wound round its horns,
trooping in stately array to the lead of the bell-cow, who
walks in dignified solitude at the head of the file. The
wreath that adorns her is larger than the rest, and its
flowers are the best and brightest that the lass could find.
Behind the last calf, jogging along at a half-trot, comes
the girl, decked out in her Sunday finery, her hat for this
occasion being adorned with a bunch of edelweiss and
gentians, for, alas ! the bright rhododendrons, her favor¬
ites, are long faded. At her heels again trips the wayward
little flock of goats, bucking and scampering about in
gleeful ignorance of the dark months that are to follow,
of the close confinement in their shed through the long
and dreary winter.
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
221
The weather is fine, — one of those glorious autumn
days that make one's heart bound in vigor, called forth
by the keen and yet balmy air on high. Every thing
around us seems full of life and enjoyment : the bells of
different tone keep up a constant though not unmelodi-
ous chime, while from the vanguard, who are already far
ahead, consecutive peals of merry jodlers reach our ears,
answered by the silvery voice of the lass, who before
she turns the last corner, shutting out from her view her
now- deserted little creel, sends forth a last farewell, so
plaintive and yet so joyful of cadence, that involuntarily
we halt to hear the last note die away ; a tear glistens
in her eye as the next step takes her out of sight of the
spot where withal she has spent the happiest hours of
her young life. She has not gone far when the bushes
suddenly part, and from his ambush leaps her lover.
Poor fellow, he has sacrificed a whole day's earnings to
be able to walk with her for a few hours ; for long before
they reach the village he has to disappear again, lest a
chance passer-by should see him, and some stinging sar¬
casm greet his ears when next he steps into the inn or
meets any of his boon companions.
Oft have I watched couples in similar plight tread side
by side hardly perceptible paths, and it has always struck
me that at no time do the specific lineaments of the race
come to the front as much as just then. The man carries
himself high ; and the eyes, that to the casual obsërver
seem usually perhaps a trifle too lifeless, light up, and an
expression of bold defiance permeates the face. The
woman, too, shows features of her own. No false shame
or vapid sentimentality is portrayed on her face : she
looks what she is, a fearless woman, who well knows, if
occasion requires, how to thrust back the advances of a
man whose character she does not trust.
Long before the flock reaches the first outlying houses,
the bells of numbers of other herds, all returning from
their summer pasturages in the same gay array, are heard,
all joining in one continued chime.
The whole village has turned out to watch, with critical
222 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
eye, the different flocks all converging to the one center.
Opinions vary ; and half-angry discussions between the
richer peasants — each eager to be the owner of the finest
cattle — are heard in the momentary pauses in the gen¬
eral uproar and din.
By the next morning the excitement of the rural crowd
has cooled down, and the eight-o'clock service unites the
populace, filling the church with nigh double the number
that formed the congregation throughout the summer.
In a corner of the edifice, in front of the altar devoted
to her patron saint, kneels pretty " Kati," praying in the
full gratitude of her heart ; for has she not every cause
to be grateful ? Not one cow has she lost by sickness
or accident. Did not the sleek condition of each beast
redound to her praise? Had she not found a true-
hearted lover? Was she not loudly praised by her mas¬
ter? But where is he, the object of her thoughts, and
maybe prayer, all this time ? Ah ! in yonder corner,
leaning against a pillar, lost in thought evidently of not
the most agreeable kind. There she is quite close to him ;
and yet he dare not be seen at her side, lest people should
be set talking, and he be made the butt for their caustic
quizzing. He is no coward, no ! for he would face any
danger unflinchingly ; but the chaff of his companions,
that is something beyond what he can endure. It seems
a hard, a very hard struggle he is fighting with himself.
He knows how pleased would be " Kati " if she were to
walk out of church across tire open green, through the
throng of chattering neighbors, with him at her side as
her acknowledged lover ; but the man who fears no foe,
who risks his life in deadly combat with the revengeful
keepers thirsting for his blood, trembles and turns hot at
the thought that he would be making a fool of himself in
the eyes of his devil-may-care loose-tongued associates.
At last he seems to have arrived at some determination :
his mind is made up one way or the other, for his brow
is'knit, and his hand clinched. He steps forth, and walks
up to where his girl is still kneeling. A touch on her
shoulder, and the short word "come," is all; but as she
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
223
rises and silently places herself at his side, she knows
what is meant. A happy smile steals over her face, and
she glances up to her lover with a glistening eye. He
does not see it, for his head is bent, and his long stride
does not halt.
As they pass under the old porch, out into the sunny
world, his manner suddenly changes : his head is erect,
his face set, but not in anger, his eyes sparkle, and his
whole bearing is proud and defiant. His arm steals round
her waist, and thus they meet the gaze of their neighbors.
Sterling nature has vanquished.
Where the girl is under the protecting influences of
home, the love-making proceeds in different fashion. In
order to give the reader a faithful picture of the period of
engagement, we will follow the steps of fair young Gretl,
one of the Unterinnthal peasantry, as she returns home
from church 011 a fine Sunday morning, and, after care¬
fully laying aside her Sunday finery — her silver chain
necklace, her bright blue kerchief, and her gold-tasseled
hat, — stealthily leaves her chamber, and gains the adjoin¬
ing granary, where in a few minutes she is joined by her
lover, bright-eyed Hansel.
The two have made it all right between them ; for only
the week before, at the wedding of a mutual friend, Han¬
sel took advantage of a quiet five minutes to assure him¬
self that his courtship was welcome to the object of his
desires. They are now consulting about the next step,
asking the permission of Gretl's mother to visit the house
for the Hoamgart, i.e., to chat. They are not long about
it ; for presently they part, Hansel to leave the granary,
and put in his appearance at the front door, and Gretl to
regain her chamber.
Five minutes later we see Gretl opening the house-
door, and giving Hansel a short, formal welcome, for she
knows her mother is in the kitchen close by, and has
sharp ears.
" Mother ! " she presently cries, " Mother ! let me tell
you that Hansel is outside."
"Who wants him? I did not call him," replies the
sharp-tongued mother.
2 24 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
" Oh, come, mother ! don't let him stand waiting out
there," pleads the daughter from under the house-door,
while she gives Hansel a sly wink.
" I did not call him, nor did I fix him to the spot by
a spell (.Festbannen) : for my sake he need not be loun¬
ging about," replies the suspicious dame.
" Do come out, mother, and talk to him," cries the
daughter.
" I don't want to talk to him : you talk to him out
there ; I have something better to do : " and, as if to
confirm her words, she begins to scrape and clatter with
her iron frying-pans.
" Now, don't be uncivil, mother, he is such a well-
spoken fellow. Do come out, I beg of you."
"You tiresome wench, come in, then, and stir the pan¬
cakes, while I talk to him," ejaculates the parent. And
so she does talk to bright-eyed Hansel ; and the upshot
of the conversation is, that Hansel is invited to enter the
house, and take a seat in the family room, where he is
joined by happy Gretl.
My reader will ask, But why so much fuss about noth¬
ing? But it is by no means nothing; for Hansel, by
soliciting the permission to pay a visit, has virtually asked
for fair Gretl's hand, and, by granting the wished-for leave,
the mother has evinced her approbation. The happy
lover may now come as often as he likes to pay open
court to Gretl. There is an odd custom in connection
with this important step ; for, the very first time he pays
a visit as avowed lover, he brings with him a bottle of
wine, of which he pours out a glass, and presents it to
the object of his desires. If she accepts of it, the whole
affair is settled. Very often the girl has not yet made up
her mind ; and then she will take refuge in excuses, so as
not to drink of the wine, and yet not refuse it point-
blank, for that is considered a gross insult, proving that
she has been merely trifling with the affections of her
lover. She will, for instance, maintain that the wine
" looks sour," or that wine disagrees with her, or that she
is afraid of getting tipsy, or that the priest has forbidden
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
225
her to take any ; in fact, she makes use of any subterfuge
that presents itself at that moment. The purport of
these excuses is, that she has not yet come to a decision,
and that the wine offering is premature.
This strange custom, dating very far back,1 is called
" bringing the wine," and is, as I have heard, synony¬
mous with the act of proposing. Shy lovers, loth to
make sure of their case beforehand, find it, as we may
suppose, a very happy institution. Not a word need be
spoken, and the girl is spared the painful " no " of civ¬
ilization. If any of the wine is spilt, or the glass or
bottle is broken, it is considered a most unhappy omen :
in fact, there is a peasant's saying for an unhappy mar¬
riage, " They have spilt the wine between them."
For Hansel's happiness and peace of mind, we will as¬
sume that his wine was not found sour, but, on the con¬
trary, was relished by fair Gretl. The wedding is arranged
to take place some months hence, "when the hay has
been brought in, and the fields set with the autumnal
crop," as the careful old housewife remarks. About a
fortnight before the wedding, bride and bridegroom un¬
dertake the usual pilgrimage to some sacred shrine, to
cleanse their souls from " bachelor " sins, as the saying
naively terms those delinquencies that are committed by
unmarried adults.
Maria Stein, near Worgl, is a favorite place of pilgrim¬
age on those occasions. Let us metamorphose ourselves
into the shadows of Hansel and Gretl, as at daybreak, on
a fine September day, they set out on their pious errand.
They have a long walk before them, a reason on ac¬
count of which they chose Maria Stein, for the longer the
pilgrimage the more efficacious is the excursion supposed
to be. They watch for roadside chapels, votive tablets,
or sacred pictures, for it is part of a pilgrim's duty to pray
a certain number of prayers at every one of these sacred
symbols. If it be a chapel, they enter it and kneel down,
1 In not a few of the Minnelays of Oswald Wolkenstein, Walther von der
Vogelweide, we find this custom mentioned. According to one account, it was
known as early as the ninth century.
226 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
he on the right side, she on the left of the diminutive
chancel. If it be but a votive tablet, or sacred picture of
the Virgin, fastened to a tree or to a simple cross, they
merely stand in front of it, rosary in hand, and pray half
a dozen prayers for the salvation of the soul of him whose
dire fate the inscription laments.
It is a pretty sight to see them standing side by side,
both attired in their picturesque national costumes, framed
in by the somber branches of the gaunt pine-trees. Pres¬
ently they bring their devotion to a close ; and, after
making the sign of the cross, they turn away, and the
next minute the youthful couple are deeply engaged in a
very worldly conversation.
At midday they reach the first outworks of the sacred
shrine, the goal of their pilgrimage.
It is a tiny chapel, and just as they are about to enter
it we hear a silvery little bell being tolled in the miniature
spire.
" It is St. Anthony's bell," remarks Gretl.
" I wonder who is ringing it, and what he has lost,"
responds Hansel.
St. Anthony is a saint whose powers to return lost
articles to their owner are supposed to be unlimited. If
a cow strays, if a calf is lost on the mountain slopes, if an
economic housewife loses her chickens or her goat, St.
Anthony's bell is forthwith set going. But what can the
wizened old woman have lost, who, as we enter the chapel,
stops tugging at the bell-rope, which is hanging at the side
of the porch, and looks at us with anxious expectation in
her face ? We think to ourselves that probably the old
lady has, by our appearance, detected the town-bred hea¬
thens who would deride her did they know that she was
calling upon St. Anthony to find her lost spectacles or
the prized snuff-box she has mislaid.
Alas ! we are mistaken, for we learn presently that the
old woman is half-witted, and daily rings the bell till her
arms drop. And for whom and for what does she ring?
we ask. For her only son, a curly-headed young fellow,
who left his home one day some ten years ago to pursue
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
227
the fleet chamois, and never returned. The fell bullet of
the keeper, that overtook the daring young poacher,
wrecked also the fond mother's life. Since that day she
is what we see her now, — the ruin of her former self.
Of all the numberless hands that tugged at the worn old
rope, there were probably none but hers that pulled the
death-knell of two lives.
The rope is yet swinging to and fro when our friend,
fair Gretl, passing it within reach, thoughtless of harm,
gives it a violent tug, to which the bell over our head
responds with a stroke or two.
Hansel, who has been brought up a "good " Catholic,
turns round, and with an expression of wonder depicted
on his face, asks her why she rang.
"You know it's wicked to pull at that bell if you
haven't lost any thing. And to-day, of all days, you
ought not to have done so," says honest Hansel, full of
reproach.
" And pray, how do you know that I have not lost any
thing? " replies Gretl, with eyes brim-full of sparkling fun,
for she is the smarter of the two, and is not going to let
a petty quarrel darken the festive day.
A pause of a second or two, and Hansel, dull of com¬
prehension, also sees the point.
" Did she want to have her heart back?"
" No ; a thousand times no," she muses to herself,
while Hansel clinches her hand tighter in his, as they
walk up the aisle towards the altar.
The young people are alone in the quaint little chapel.
A few short prayers, and they rise to continue their pil¬
grimage. Maria Stein, their goal, is soon reached, and
they trudge up the crazy old stairs that lead to the chapel
containing the miracle-working picture of the Virgin.
The stairs are lined with old votive tablets, some of which
are of antiquarian interest, for they date back to the six¬
teenth and seventeenth centuries.
Let us read one of the quaint inscriptions, in old Ger¬
man characters. The one we choose is of the year 1617,
and informs us " that in that year the honorable and sage
2 28 G AD DING S WITH A PRIMI TI VE PEOPLE.
Hanns Jacob Schwalher, Justice of the Peace in Ratten¬
berg, was attacked by a fearful pain in the inside of his
body, whereat he thought he must burst. While suffering
thus terribly he vowed, in case he recovered, to make a
pilgrimage, with his wife, to Maria Stein. After making
this vow he soon got better. On the 17th October, he
and his wife performed the pilgrimage."
Our pious young couple, while ascending the stairs,
glance over the row of veteran votive tablets ; but their
effort to decipher the quaint old-fashioned characters is
not crowned with success. Before they enter the church,
they inform the white-headed old verger that they want
to confess, and beg him to inform the priest of their
presence.
While waiting for the holy man, they inspect the inte¬
rior of the church. Countless votive tablets, the work of
generations upon generations of rural schoolmasters, cover
the wall.
The allegorical pictures, in the worst style of the Rococo
age, that decorate the arched ceiling, next attract their
attention ; but it requires trained eyes to make head or
tail of the motley collection of ill-shapen bodies, hideous
faces, and limbs out of all proportion.
At this moment the priest enters the church through a
side door, and, bending his knee as he passes the altar,
walks straight towards one of the confessionals. The
wicket closes on him as he disappears in the center parti¬
tion ; and the two lovers kneel down, one at each side,
but so that the whispered confession of the one remains
inaudible to the other.
It would be indiscreet, were we to endeavor to pene¬
trate the veil of secrecy that shrouds the words whispered
into the priestly ear. Let it suffice to know that confes¬
sion took up the best part of an hour.
Absolution granted, our young friends leave, and retire
to separate nooks in dark corners of the church, and
there pray for some time.
This brings their pilgrimage, in so far as it concerns the
Church, to an end ; for now they can eat and drink at
THE MOUNTAIN BELLE.
229
the adjacent inn with the zest resulting from the con¬
sciousness of possessing "cleansed souls."
Our lover friends are not slow to restore their exhausted
frames by a very hearty meal, partaken of in the large,
stately hostelry which evidently has seen better days of
" piety and jollity." We greet its appearance with pleas¬
ure, for does not the very look of dejected emptiness
stamped upon it prove the decrease of superstitious big¬
otry among the populace ? Where formerly scores upon
scores of weary pilgrims sought nightly shelter, a whole
week passes now without bringing more than a couple
of dozen.
230 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER XIII.
a peasant's wedding.
CARNIVAL, in most Continental countries a period of
general festivity, is distinguished in the secluded
Alpine valleys of Tyrol solely by the circumstance that
weddings arranged in the course of the preceding year
are, if it be possible, celebrated in that period.
Now, carnival is in winter, and winter in Tyrol is a
season specially adapted for the observance of quaint
old-fashioned customs, hallowed by the use of centuries.
These striking mementos of a past age specially charac¬
terize a rural peasant's wedding ; and it is in order to
introduce my reader to one of these merry-makings that
I have to request him to follow me, on a bright but un¬
commonly cold February day in 1875, to the village of
Brandenberg, a little Alpine hamlet in the valley of the
same name.
Though exceedingly heavy falls of snow had made the
narrow bridle-path leading from the broad Inn valley to
Brandenberg almost impassable, I had faithfully prom¬
ised to so many of the frugal inhabitants of that vale to
honor the wedding of a charmifig young peasant-girl
with a special protege of mine, that I was determined to
surmount all difficulties, and prove myself a man of my
word.
Where in summer it would have required but a two-
hours' walk to reach my goal, now, in the depth of win¬
ter, it was a seven-hours' battle with snow that covered
the ground to a depth of three and in many places of
four and five feet, before I found myself in the roomy inn
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
231
of the village. Countless outstretched hands, brawny and
muscular, small and plump, clean and dirty, were imme¬
diately offered to greet me. As it was Sunday, and the
eve of the wedding-day, the " Gaststube," or bar-room,
was crowded with Brandenbergers, young and old, fair
and ugly. My arrival, and a few minutes' conversation
with my old patron, the " Herr Vicar," in which I sought
his permission for a few hours' dancing (it is usually not
the custom to dance on the eve of a wedding-day), very
soon put the musicians into requisition. A couple of
florins (about four shillings) for the evening's music
brought a broad grin of satisfaction on the honest faces
of the three "Musiker," — a flute, a trombone, and a
guitar.
Repairing to the dancing-chamber, a narrow room
about thirty-five feet in length, I was immediately sur¬
rounded by a group of young fellows, offering me, as a
mark of courtesy, their bright-eyed lasses. Choice was
not difficult ; and the next minute I was dancing the "pas
seid," that is, one dance round the room, while the other
couples line the wall, and fall in at its termination.
The striking character of the national dances of the
Tyrolese calls for a few words of description.
In Brandenberg, and in some other valleys, the male
dancer encircles the waist of his partner with both arms,
while she, standing up as closely as possible, embraces
him with both arms round his neck. A peculiar and un¬
graceful shuffling motion is the necessary result, and were
it not for the frequent intervals of separate dancing, the
dance would be ungainly in the extreme.
For the first minutes of every dance the motion of the
whole group is slow, and the floor trembles beneath the
heavy tramp of the strapping fellows with immensely
heavy ironshod shoes.
All of a sudden the music changes, and the whole
aspect of the room is changed with it.
The man, letting go his partner, commences a series
of capers and jumps, and gymnastic evolutions, display¬
ing an agility very remarkable, and quite unlooked for in
their heavy, solidly-knit frames.
232 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Various as these movements are, I will endeavor to
describe the most, striking. One of the commonest is to
throw one's self on one's knees, fold both arms over the
chest, and bend back till the back of the head, touching
the floor, gives a few sounding raps on the hard boards,
and then, with one powerful jerk, without touching the
floor with the hands, to regain one's erect position.
In another, the man kneels down, and with his bare
knees beats a sounding rat-ta-ta-ta on the floor, and then
with one agile bound he has regained his feet.
I have tried innumerable times to imitate some of
these figures ; but, although I am a fair gymnast, I sel¬
dom succeed with any but the easiest.
To touch the floor with the back of the head only, with
arms folded over the chest, and the knees resting on the
ground, is a feat which many an athlete of repute could
not imitate save by long practice.
To jump high up in the air, and come down upon the
knees with the full force, is very common.
All these capers, jumps, and evolutions are accom¬
panied by loud shrill whistling and peculiar smacking
sounds of the lips and tongue, in imitation of those
emitted by the blackcock and capercali. Indeed, many
of their movements, too, are performed with a view to out¬
do the capers and circling jumps and spinning motion
performed by these lovesick birds of the mountains.
The accompanying sounding slaps on the muscular
thighs and on the iron-shod soles of the heavy shoes by
the brawny horny hands of these fellows, the crowing,
loud shouts, snatches of songs, intermingled with shrill
whistling, ferocious stamping on the ground with the
greatest possible force, create a din and a roar of which
only they who have heard it can form any conception.
The floor rocks, the wooden beams of the ceiling
tremble, the windows — if there are any — clatter as if
an earthquake were shaking the very foundations of the
house.
The pushing and crushing before the separation of the
couples has occurred, and the whole company is yc t
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
*33
dancing the valse in a fashion more or less akin to the
one seen in our own ballrooms, are often terrible, and
the bumps against the wall or doorway are generally of
huge force ; but nobody shows any ill-feelings or anger,
be the push ever so hard, or the heavy tramp on the foot
ever so painful. All is mirth, gay and rollicking fun.
While the male dancer performs his odd antics, his
partner, holding her short but ample skirts with both
hands, continues to dance in a circling motion round
him, smiling approvingly the madder and higher he
jumps, or the more difficult his gymnastic evolutions.
In Brandenburg, and one or two other Tyrolese valleys
which boast of a particularly muscular fair sex, the girl
at the conclusion of her swain's fantastical jumps catches
hold of him by his braces, and hoists him up bodily
(aided of course by a corresponding jerky action of her
partner), and while he, balancing himself with both hands
on her shoulders, treads the ceiling of the low room to
the tune of the music, she continues her dance round the
room, displaying a strength and power that can only be
appreciated if one has seen the strapping six-foot fel¬
lows that are thus handled by their fair partners. If
many dancers crowd the room (more or less confined, if
it be not a large barn), this practice is fraught with some
danger, as of course when swinging himself, down the
dancer very frequently pitches upon some unfortunate
couple who may at that moment be close to the spot
where this singular gymnastic dance is about to terminate.
This figure affords, of course, a very striking sight ; and
though there are rarely more than four or five men
" hoisted " at one time (not every one of the girls has
the power, nor every dancer the requisite agility), it
serves, taken as a whole, to increase the remarkable fea¬
tures of a " Tanzboden," or dancing-room, in the remote
valleys of the country.
It is a somewhat erroneous impression, that there
exists a dance called " Schuhblatteln " or shoe-slapping.
The term denotes merely that movement — introduced
into the valse, polka, and any other of the few dances
234 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
these people know — in which the male dancer strikes
the soles of his shoes and his thighs with the outspread
palm of his hand, accompanying this movement with the
antics and the sounds I have described. Those who are
unable to do this continue the round dance.
In many of the valleys the girls are passionately fond
of smoking ; and it is an odd sight to see many of the
comely lasses pace it with a blazing cigar or pipe between
their chubby lips. It is quite consonant with the eti¬
quette of one of these rustic ballrooms to smoke while
dancing ; in fact, the man who can perform any agile feat
while smoking increases thereby his reputation for agility.
Now and then young fellows from the neighboring val¬
leys visit a ballroom for the express purpose of creating
a disturbance, ending in a fight, often of alarming dimen¬
sions, if the natives are not in sufficient force to eject the
rioters from the precincts of the house. I once had
the luck to get mixed up in one of these affrays. Even
the musicians were drawn in ; and one of them, I remem¬
ber well, distinguished himself by dealing heavy blows
with his brass trombone, leaving it at the termination of
the disturbance a useless, misshapen mass of metal.
To place one's hat on the head of one's fair partner is
synonymous with the declaration " Thou art mine ; " and
beware of danger if the girl has allowed this distinction,
having at the same time another swain ! Of course a
native will not commit himself in this way before he is
quite certain of his case, or if he has not the express de¬
sire to call his rival out to fight ; but strangers, or such
as may be unacquainted with this odd custom, are hot
unfrequently entrapped. I have seen several strangers
and tourists very roughly handled indeed by the enraged
rivals — in fact, the majority of fights among the hot¬
headed young fellows of a village are caused by quarrels
originating on the "Tanzboden." Jealousy is in the
Highlands of Tyrol no less a feature of ardent youth
than in the most civilized country of the world; the only
difference between the manner in which these differences
are settled being that in the former the fist, the teeth, and
unfortunately also the knife, play a conspicuous role.
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
233
I have actually witnessed only two fights that termi¬
nated fatally, one on the frontier of Bavaria, the other near
Schwaz, in the Inn valley. In both instances the knife
was used ; and the victim was in each case the stronger of
the two combatants, as fine specimens of stalwart youth¬
ful manhood as one could see.
In the Highlands of Bavaria, as I have said once be¬
fore, the use of the knife is far more prevalent than in
Tyrol, and I have known as many as three young fellows
fall its victims in one village in one year. These knives
are worn in a small sheath sticking in a separate pócket
in the leather trousers ; and as the handle protrudes, it is
a dangerously handy weapon, though the blade com¬
monly does not exceed four inches in length. It is not
very long since the use of knives was prohibited by law,
and any one carrying one was fined. This salutary meas¬
ure, however, did not long remain in force, and the
abuses of the knife are now in Bavaria as frequent as
ever.
Returning to our ballroom, we find that the dances
are short, and follow each other closely, the interval
between each being filled up by a " Schnaddahiipfier," —
a short song, or rather series of rhymes, expressing senti¬
ments either of defiance or derision destined for some
rival's ear. It is sung by one of the dancers, standing in
front of the slightly raised platform upon which the musi¬
cians are seated ; his girl stands at his side, generally
with cast-down eyes, and profuse blushes mantling her
cheeks. It is marvelous with what rapidity the object of
the affront or scoff will compose his reply, replete with
imputations of like or worse kind, and in this manner two
rival bards will continue for a considerable length of time
to take turns in casting impromptu slander or scornful
contempt at each other. The girl, if there is no refrain
to her swain's off-hand poem in which she can join, has
to remain silent ; the pre-occupation of the poet's mind
while raiting together those incidents of his rival's life
which he fancies he can turn to account, and the mental
labor of composing while dancing, excluding very natu-
236 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
rally the possibility of repeating the brand-new " Schnad-
dahiipfler " to his partner in the five or six minutes each
dance lasts. Love, of course, furnishes by far the great¬
er portion of subjects for this modern " troubadouring."
A girl changing lovers, or refusing the hand of an ar¬
dent wooer, will be the welcome subject of scores of
" Schnaddahiipfler " at the next dance or wedding ; and
though they are generally of a very dubious morality,
these songs furnish a capital illustration of that poetic
vein which marks the inhabitants of most mountainous
countries, and the Tyrolese pre-eminently.
Not every young fellow ventures to fling one of these
daring compositions at the head of his rival. Want of
skill, or the fear of giving out after the first or second
song, obliges him to be satisfied with one of the usual
national lays, in which his girl, and very frequently sun¬
dry other voices, join.
At twelve o'clock the priest, carrying a huge stable-
lantern in his hand, entered the room and ordered the
music to cease. Retiring in a body down to the bar¬
room, we awaited the departure of the conscientious
guardian of order ; and as soon as his back was turned
out came a Zither and a Hackbrettel, and five seconds
later several couples were pacing it to the charming tune
of a genuine " Landler." Zither and Hackbrettel are
two instruments unknown in England ; and though the
first may have often been seen by tourists in the hands of
Tyrolese, the latter is much more rarely met with. Rows
of small oblong pieces of a particular kind of wood are
fixed on plaits of straw. The pieces of wood, being of
different length or shape, emit different sounds when
struck with a small wooden mallet, of which the player
holds one in each hand. Though this instrument is very
primitive, and never can rival the Zither — in my opinion
the most charming musical instrument existing — it does
very well for dancing purposes, and hundreds of times
have the two little hammers been in motion the better
part of a night, while I and two or three natives were
"kicking up our heels," making the barn or the low-
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
237
roofed bar-room resound with our vigorous " Schuhblat-
teln." In this instance, as both instruments were in use,
the tunes followed each other with rapidity, and, making
us very thirsty, increased our beer-consuming powers to
an astonishing extent.
At four o'clock we separated, each dancer accompany¬
ing his girl home, —• a precaution in this instance at least
necessary, as fresh snow had fallen, and some of the girls
had come a good distance.
Four hours' sleep in a bed — for a wonder comfortable,
and not more than about eighteen inches too short—-was
a welcome refresher ; and as I well knew the next night
would be a sleepless one, I was glád to get at least that
rest.
Repairing to the church at a few minutes before nine,
I was just in time to see the two " happy " couples enter
the edifice. I say " two " couples ; for in this instance the
ceremony was a double one, the parents of the bridegroom
celebrating their golden wedding the very same day their
son was married. The old couple, having the prece¬
dence, were led to the altar, a wreath was placed on the
old lady's head, and the whole marriage ceremony gone
through as it had been just fifty years before. After the
two old people had been duly and solemnly re-wedded
for the rest of their days, the young couple were led up
to the priest standing on the steps of the altar. There is
nothing very striking to us in the marriage ceremony of
the Catholic Church, so we will accompany the whole fes¬
tive party back to the inn, where a substantial meal was
awaiting them. On leaving the church a bunch of artifi¬
cial flowers adorned with gold and silver tinsel was pre¬
sented to each of the "guests," or persons invited to
partake of the meals at the table of the bride and bride¬
groom. A huge specimen placed by fair hands on my
hat corroborated my fears that I should have to share
their meal, in lieu of taking part at the shooting-match
that was then just about to commence. A refusal on my
part to " dine " with the rest of the guests would have
been considered the height of rudeness or the result of
238 CAÜDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
great pride ; and as I did not wish to incur either of these
reproaches, I had to make the best of it, and accept the
seat of honor between the bride and the "Herr Vicar."
My late breakfast had reduced to a minimum my capa¬
bilities of partaking of a ten-o'clock forenoon dinner, and
enabled me all the better to watch the feats of eating
accomplished around me on all sides. Meats cooked in
various manners, in all of which, however, fat and grease
predominated, were the chief features of that early dinner ;
and even considering that these frugal people rarely touch
meat more than twice or three times a year, their appe¬
tites for this delicacy were amazing. The last dish con¬
sisted of huge cuts of bacon swimming in a sea of mol¬
ten butter, and the hearty way this "plat "was attacked
could not fail to increase the astonishment of an observer
unaccustomed to appetites à la Brandenberg. Dinner
lasted three hours, and finally, after drinking the health of
the old and the young couple in numerous glasses of
wine, the party rose and made their way to the dancing-
room, where music and dancing had been going on for
three hours already, for the benefit of those who had not
been invited to dinner. After looking on for a few min¬
utes and applauding the two old people's performance in
a steady valse, I retired, eager to join the rifle-match.
To the mind of a Tyrolese, the shooting-match is by
far the most important feature of any fête, wedding, or
feast-day that may have charmed him from his cottage.
Rain, wind, hail, thunder, cold, or snow, is incapable of
keeping him at home when he knows that at the next vil¬
lage or lonely country inn a rifle-match is going on.
In this instance the innkeeper had arranged the match :
two "running stags" and two fixed targets had been
placed in the rifle-range, and the markers at each target
paid by him. He had even gone farther in honor of the
occasion, and had given three prizes, consisting of silver
florins sewed on large bright-colored handkerchiefs. The
priest had added another prize, and a citizen from the
next townlet had sent a huge pipe, while another had
presented a new rifle. Adding to these prizes the few
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
239
silver florin-pieces with which I had provided myself for
this occasion, I took my stand in the little shed, open on
all sides, from whence the competitors fired.
My hand being still rather shaky from the wine at din¬
ner, I confined myself at first to the fixed targets at 200
yards, presenting a bull's-eye six inches in diameter, pro¬
vided with three rings each an inch apart. The center,
a pin's head, counts five ; the first ring, measuring two
inches in diameter, counts three ; the next, four inches in
diameter, two ; and the last ring in the bull's-eye, only one
point. The white space round the bull's-eye is not sub¬
divided into rings, as any shot striking blank counts
nothing. Thus it will be seen that a man who can not
hit every time the No. 1 ring at least, or, in other words,
who cannot pierce at 200 yards a saucer measuring six
inches in diameter, has very little chance of winning a
prize at a Tyrolese shooting-match. In the larger valleys,
where the same attention is not given to rifle-practice, a
stranger would have a better chance ; but in the more
secluded glens, where the rifle is constantly in the hands
of a man, he must be indeed a good shot to get even a
minor prize.
An hour's practice steadied my nerves, and I changed
my position to the next partition of the shed, set apart
for the marksmen firing at the stag. The " running stag "
consists of the wooden figure of a stag rigged up by
means of a huge pendulum in such a manner that when
loosened it would dart across an open space eight feet
in width, between tall and dense bushes. The pace at
which this imitation stag traveled was about equal to that
of a living specimen in full flight. A bull's-eye, painted
on the " Blatt "-region of the heart, had to be hit in the
same way as a fixed target, but of course this was a hun¬
dred times more difficult, considering the rapid move¬
ment of the mark ; and yet there were three or four men
present who had, out of six shots, hit the bull's-eye five
times, — a marvelous feat, seeming well-nigh incredible,
as, at a distance of 140 yards, you saw the stag flash past
you. One of the stags was for practice ; the other was,
240 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
however, the mark upon which nearly all the prizes were
staked. A large number of competitors being present, it
was found necessary to restrict each man to six shots at
the " grand count ; " and fortunately for me, I determined
to shoot my six shots that day, and not keep any over for
the next (the match was extended over both days), as I
dreaded " wild " shooting after a long night of dancing
and drinking. The sequel proved that I had done very
wisely, as all those men who had not followed this pre¬
cautionary measure shot in such bad form the next day,
that, at the termination of the match, I pulled off sixth,
with a prize.
After firing my allotment I was glad to get back into
the house, as loading and shooting at a temperature of
4° Fah. were rather uninviting occupations. I dare say
many of my readers would have been amazed to see
these men, with bare knees and open shirt, and in many
instances even without their coats, just as they came out
from dancing in the heated atmosphere to fire a few shots,
stand there for an hour, and hardly remark that " To-day
it is a bit cold."
Dancing, which had commenced at ten o'clock in the
morning, was now at its height, and was kept up without
intermission till six o'clock, when supper was announced.
At the morning dinner the relatives and next friends only,
not mentioning myself, had been invited. Now every¬
body present, and there were considerably over 250 peo¬
ple, ate and drank at the expense of the " happy couple."
Huge long tables with benches on both sides were fixed
wherever there was room ; and the dishes, consisting of
" Knödel," huge balls of cooked dough, with small pieces
of fat bacon, and " Geselchtes," a sort of smoked pork
boiled in fat rather than water, were placed in huge bowls,
as large as a moderate foot-pan, on each table. Those
who had no plates helped themselves direct from the
dishes, while large stone jugs filled with beer, or, if the
marriage is "rich," as they say, with wine, passed from
mouth to mouth. At our table, where the same company
assembled as in the morning, we had a repetition of the
A FEASANT'S WEDDING.
241
" dinner " dishes, and the long interval had given me the
necessary zest to enjoy the rich viands. The din and
roar throughout the house was something terrific. Here
a man, elated by his happy shot right in the center of the
stag's bull's-eye, was singing a " Schnaddahiipfler," in
which, he was deriding an unlucky companion who had
lost two Mass wine —- about three quarts — in a bet on
that shot ; there a man had recommenced an old quarrel
with his vis-à-vis about a certain chamois which both
swore they had hit, and still there was only one hole in
the carcass. In one corner a man was bawling for more
drink ; while in the opposite one two young fellows,
stretched across a table, were endeavoring to settle the
question of their relative muscular strength by a game
of " Fingerhackeln ; " there two lasses lighting their pipes
with one match, and vieing to outdo each other in produ¬
cing the most dense clouds of vile tobacco-smoke.
Though mirth was at its height, and wherever one
looked laughing faces might be seen, there was no drunk¬
enness among the two or three hundred guests.
Supper lasted for more than two hours. Fresh pans of
" Knödel " and huge platters of meat were forever appear¬
ing, and their contents disappearing, with a rapidity most
wonderful to behold. My neighbor to the right, the
brother of the bride, whose capacities in the way of
" Knödels " and "Speck " I had watched at the morning
meal, fairly outdid himself in the evening. To my cer¬
tain knowledge, fourteen of the former, measuring each
at the very least three inches in diameter, fell by his hand,
not to mention sundry hunches of the very fattest bacon ;
and it was not astonishing that at the termination of his
repast his head sank on his breast, his eyelids drooped,
and five minutes later he was fast asleep, with his shaggy
head resting on the festive board.
At about half-past nine, when most of the people had
left for the dancing-rooms (a second room had been
emptied of chairs and tables, and devoted to dancing)
tire " Ehrengang," an institution of great antiquity, in use
as early as the fourteenth century, began.
242 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
It consists of the presentation of money to the newly-
married couple by each person, be it man, woman, or
child, present at the wedding.
The chief table, where the couple had sat during sup¬
per, being cleared, a large brass or pewter dish, covered
by a clean napkin, is placed at the head in front of the
godmother of the bride — the mother is rigorously ex¬
cluded from being present at any part of her daughter's
wedding. At the side of the former sits an uncle or
brother of the bride, a sheet of paper before him, and a
pencil in his hand. The gift of each guest has to consist
of at least two florins (about four shillings), one florin
being a present, the second one is supposed to pay for
the supper. Those who are present at both meals are
expected to give at least three florins, while those who
come in later and have no share in the eating and drink¬
ing give one florin. The money is placed in the hands
of the godmother, and is hidden by her underneath the
napkin, while her neighbor scribe notes down the name
of the donor and amount of his gift, a proceeding which,
though somewhat business-like and odd, arises from the
reciprocal custom, that when the giver marries he expects
the exact amount of money from the bridegroom that he
had given at the occasion of the latter's wedding.
The bride and her affianced stand a little apart from
the table, she with an ever-full wineglass in her hand, he
at the side of a gigantic basket filled with huge buns
of coarse flour, and unpalatably greasy. As each guest
emerges from the crowd hovering around the " pay-table,"
the bride presents the full wineglass, the bridegroom a
bun ; the former is drunk off to the health and prosperity
of the couple, the latter forthwith disappears in the coat
or dress-pocket of the well-wisher, to be hoarded up for
the next Sunday cup of coffee, or any other propitious
occasion.
I was highly amused in watching the various expressions
of the guests' physiognomies as they tendered their hard-
earned florins to the steady matron, who just bowed her
head in a stately manner as each individual pressed the
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
243
two or three pieces of crumpled paper or silver florins
into her hand. Now and again, when a " fiver " made its
appearance, a smile of welcome would hover round her
lips; but never a "thank you" or other expression of
gratitude passed her lips. As the money is not hers, the
thanking is left to the rightful owners, the happy couple.
No less amused would a stranger be to watch the so¬
licitude with which the elderly female relations of the
couple collect in the ample folds of clean napkins the
pieces of meat, bacon, or pastry that have remained in
the dishes.
Neatly packed up, they are carefully carried home, and
furnish a Sunday dinner ; or, if they happen to be of an
imperishable nature, they are hoarded up for years as
mementos of the fête.
In other parts of Tyrol presents in the shape of furni¬
ture, such as a bed, a chest, or a table, are given ; and
though such gifts as these are commonly restricted to rel¬
atives of the couple, the same law of returning, at the
proper occasion, exactly the same description of " ca¬
deau," holds good also in these instances.
A much more singular custom in the way of wedding-
presents is to be met with in several of the remotest Tyr-
olese valleys, — the presentation of a cradle to the bride
by each one of her discarded lovers.
At the wedding of a rustic belle, who for a series of
years has held court in her summer palace, the Alp-hut,
and who can boast of a whole train of ardent admirer's,
frequently five, six, and seven cradles, of the very rough¬
est construction, are found in front of the house-door, on
the morning after the wedding.
Very often it happens that just those girls who have
enjoyed life to the utmost ultimately marry some man
much older than themselves, who can offer them what
most of their lovers could not, a house and. home ; and
though it may not exactly be conducive to the serene
conjugal happiness of the husband to find, on awakening
on the morning after his wedding, his doorway blocked
up with these tangible proofs of his wife's faux pas, they
244 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
tend, no doubt, to set at rest any doubts he may have
entertained as to their exact number.
The " Ehrentanz," or the dance of honor, takes place
immediately after the last guest has presented his gift.
This is the solemn dance of the bride and bridegroom, the
nearest of her relations, and any guests whom the bride¬
groom desires to honor and distinguish. All the rest of
the dancers line the wall, while the host of the inn and his
wife stand near to the musicians. As each couple, slowly
waltzing round the room, pass the host, a full glass, of wine
is presented to the man, who has to present it to his part¬
ner, and only after she has drunk of it may he drain the
glass. Upon the brother of the bride, or, if she has none,
upon the bridegroom's, devolves the duty of singing a short
"rhyme " in praise of the occasion after each of his rounds ;
and now comes the most comical feature of the whole.
If the bridegroom has been a gay Lothario in his day, or
the bride a little too fond of her male admirers, or if, worst
of all, there are any tangible proofs of her former miscon¬
duct, any one of the dancers lining the wall can stand forth,
and in a gay rhyme accuse him or her of any incidents
that are of questionable character.
To these the brother, the champion for both bride and
bridegroom, has to answer, and if possible retaliate with
some severe cut. In Brandenberg this custom is not so
generally observed as in several other valleys ; I have seen
as many as fifteen and twenty of these public accusers tell
tales of former sins. As they are invariably of a highly
questionable character, I must refrain from giving in¬
stances.
For a rejected lover, or one that has been thrown
overboard in lieu of a richer or handsomer one, this is
obviously the best opportunity possible for revenging him¬
self ; and very frequently scenes of former love come upon
the tapis that seem to civilized ears, to say the least, un¬
seemly.
In the Bavarian valleys they have long dances, each one
lasting frequently an hour at a time, which have their dis¬
tinct names : — the "Bride's dance," the "Hunger dance,"
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
245
the "Drink dance," the "Cabbage dance," and several
others, among them the " Kranzl," or "Wreath dance,"
which corresponds to the "Ehrentanz" of Tyrol. It is
the last in which bride or bridegroom participate. The
former dances it with the " best man " — who, as we see,
is till the very last a plagued individual — as her partner,
while her newly-wedded spouse performs " the steps " with
the "honorary mother," an aged dame who represents the
mother on that important day. In Bavaria, when the com¬
pany chaffs the bridegroom, his aged partner gets her share
too, and in a feigned paroxysm of rage he bundles her on to
a wheelbarrow (which has been secreted, expressly for this
purpose, underneath the musicians' platform), and trun¬
dles her out of the room amidst loud laughter and vocifer¬
ous cheers. On his return he is surrounded by the brides¬
maids, who have robbed the bride of her bridal wreath.
A sprig of rosemary is torn from it, and, placing it on a
wooden platter, after having broken the sprig in two, they
present it to the husband, accompanying this performance
with the somewhat prosaic words, " And now, Mr. Bride¬
groom, we all wish you a good appetite."
After the "Ehrentanz" the newly-married couple de¬
part, and the musicians, whom thus far they had paid, are
now entirely dependent upon the public. True, not quite
so entirely as one might suppose, for if the receipts do
not come up to their standard, they begin to scratch the
fiddle, and display in other ways their contempt for the
close-fisted public.
The way in which they are paid by the dancers is singue
lar. A plate is put in front of the musicians, and after
every dance one or the other of the dancers is expected
to accompany his " Schnaddahüpfler " song with a ten or
twenty kreutzer piece (about twopence or fourpence).
After the " Ehrentanz " the dancers settled down to real
good earnest work, to be kept up the whole night. Mer¬
rier and merrier got the crowd, and oftener and oftener
did the glowing couples disappear to quench their thirst
in quarts of beer or gills of "Schnapps."
A novel and certainly dangerous way of cooling one's
246 GADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
glowing face and throbbing heart is put into practice by
these hardy fellows. Coat and waistcoat have long since
been discarded as too hot ; and so in their shirt-sleeves,
accompanied by their partners, they adjourn to the well
in the courtyard. While he breaks off the long icicles
that crest the spout, the lass lays hold of the pump-handle,
and in the icy-cold water that spurts forth he bathes face,
neck, and chest ! And yet consumption or any com¬
plaint of the chest is, if not quite unknown, of very rare
occurrence in these valleys.
Dancing ceased at six oclock in the morning, for the
tolling church-bell announced early service in honor of
the saint whose " day" it happened to be.
At seven o'clock, when service was over, we were again
at it with fresh vigor, obtained, in my case at least, in the
shape of a very solid breakfast. An hour later shooting
in the range commenced ; but on trying my luck, when I
finally got tired of dancing, I found that a night's " spree "
does not tend to steady one's hand. I gave it up as a
bad job after firing some ten or twelve rounds.
Re-commencing dancing with a batch of fresh fair
dancers, — who had not been up the whole night, — the
fifteen or twenty young fellows, including myself, who had
determined to hold out as long as there was a nail in our
shoes, were animated with fresh strength. We kept it up,
with an hour's intermission for dinner, till six o'clock that
evening ; or in other words, we had accomplished the feat
of dancing more than thirty-two hours, with the sole
break of the four hours that had been given up to sleep
the first night.
After indulging in a hearty supper we commenced our
preparations for our start homewards. Three young fel¬
lows, natives of a village close to my home, had decided
to accompany me that night rather than to stop the night
at the inn and return next morning.
Provided with huge bundles of pine torches and a
bottle of " Schnapps," we started at about eight o'clock
that evening.
Heavy falls of snow had obliterated every trace of the
A PEASANT'S WEDDING.
247
steps that had been imprinted in the deep snow the pre¬
vious day, thereby materially increasing the difficulties of
our task.
Though we had, all four of us, broad snow-hoops on
our feet, we sank far beyond our knees in the yielding-
mass of snow.
Had I not been so fatigued by my uninterrupted dan¬
cing the two previous days, our march home would have
been a pleasing and interesting finish to my midwinter
expedition to Brandenberg.
Silently we pushed on for many hours. The glare of
the torches, the mysterious silence of nature under a
heavy pall of snow, the ghostlike appearance of the trees,
the odd and fantastical shadows on the white background,
and finally the dull thud and roar now and again when a
tree, giving way under the weight resting on every portion
of it, snapped asunder, were all features of my nocturnal
return home from a peasant's wedding.
In many of the larger valleys, as for instance, the Unter¬
innthal, Zillerthal, and Brixenthal, which, as the German
phrase has it, " are licked by civilization," the old wedding
customs have of late years, to a grest extent at least, been
done away with. In some instances innovation in these
quaint and pleasing relics of bygone ages were a source
of contention for that part of 'the population who, though
the shriek of the locomotive was within earshot, were not
ashamed to continue to do as their forefathers did.
Several years ago an instance of the general unpopu¬
larity in which the modernized wedding customs were
held came under my immediate notice. A wealthy young
" Wirth " — who had been for several years in Munich
and Vienna, imbibing there a predilection for town man¬
ners and habits — had his wedding with a damsel of his
native townlet conducted strictly on " town principles,"
inviting only a limited number of guests, doing away with
the usual public dancing, and, in fact, turning the usual
merrymakings at a rural wedding into the torturously
wearisome ceremony prescribed by the rigorous code of
civilization. The .young fellows and fair lasses of his
248 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
native townlet took this remodeling of time-honored
customs, and particularly the fact that they were deprived
of their dance, greatly amiss. Not content with showing
their dissatisfaction in various ways, they determined to
carry out the bright idea, proposed by one of them, of
arranging a "blind wedding" on the very day and in the
very inn selected by the object of their wrath for the
solemnization of his marriage.
The indignation and wrath of the pompous bride¬
groom can be fancied when he perceived taking place an
exact counterpart of his own ceremony, going into every
detail, such as the same number of carriages, and the
same number of " poller " shots — small cannon. Short
of the actual marriage-scene in the church, the comic
farce was an exact copy of the genuine ceremony and
the subsequent festivities. The roomy Wirthshaus, the
site of both wedding dinners, was divided into two
antagonistic strongholds, the genuine guests occupying
the rooms on the ground floor, the sham ones disport¬
ing themselves in the upper apartments. A band of
music having been provided by the latter, dancing com¬
menced shortly after dinner; the male guests of the
bridegroom, numbering about a fourth of their uproari¬
ously gay enemies, and being obliged therefore, in view
of the heavy odds that would be brought to bear against
them if any quarrel arose, to keep very quiet, had not
only to pocket the insult of the whole proceeding, but
actually were constrained to stand by and witness their
sisters, daughters, or sweethearts carried off to the dan¬
cing-room by their rivals.
The sham bride, a dressed-up man, brought the matter
to a head by entering the room tenanted by the bride¬
groom's party, and going up to him knocked the hat off
his head, and picking it up placed it on his own. I have
said what the act of placing one's hat on a girl's head
means. The bride, bursting into tears at this further in¬
dignity, upbraided her affianced for his conduct. The
latter, stung to the quick by the whole affair, was just
about laying hands on the fiend in woman's shape, when
A PEASANT'S WEDDING. 249
a body of gendarmes — the rural police — entered the
room, and put a stop to any further disturbance. The
host, well aware that a fight on a grand scale would very
probably be the finish-up of this whole farce, had dis¬
patched a messenger on horseback, at an early hour in
the morning, to the next town, to fetch a body of these
peacemakers. Their arrival in the evening occurred, as
we have seen, in the nick of time : a few minutes later,
and they would have found the whole house a scene of
fierce fighting, on a scale rendering even the intervention
of twenty or thirty gendarmes of but little use. As it
was, three gendarmes, posted at the foot of the stairs,
cut off all communication between the two hostile parties,
and were able to keep the peace for the rest of the night.
25° G A DÖINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER XIV.
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS.
I HOPE the last chapter has not entirely forestalled the
interest in some other wedding customs of which I
learned on other occasions.
A fashionable marriage solemnized at any of our aris¬
tocratic hymeneal altars, and a wedding celebrated in a
primitive little mountain hamlet in Tyrol, are both spec¬
tacles unique in their way ; but only those who have
chanced to witness both can know what an unfathoma¬
ble source of interesting speculation is afforded by a
contemplative comparison of the two ceremonies. The
moralist could fill a short volume with collations of social
features of the two respective countries ; the national
economist could do the same with interesting deductions ;
a mental equation could be worked out, in which Eng¬
land's wealth and love of display, and Tyrolese appetite
and intellectual stagnation, formed the unknown numbers.
The antiquarian, again, would be enabled to throw strong
light upon the origin and gradual development of tail¬
coats and wedding-cakes.
I, however, belong to neither of these classes, and con¬
tent myself with having given a few useful hints for the
benefit of the learned.1
Foremost in all matters connected with a rural wed¬
ding is the Hochzeitlader, or best man ; in fact, his posi¬
tion is, generally speaking, of far greater consequence
than that of the happy bridegroom himself.
1 Wedding customs differ considerably throughout the Tyrol. For some rea¬
sons and minor details, see appendix.
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 251
Dressed in his Sunday best, bright many-colored rib¬
bons on his hat, a nosegay composed of carnations in his
button-hole, he sets out, four or five weeks before the
wedding, on his round of visits. His duty is to invite
relations and acquaintances to the wedding of his friend.
Let us follow his steps as he enters the house of a
well-to-do peasant, a " Freund " of the bridegroom.
("Freund," or friend, means with the peasantry a person
more or less distantly related.) He walks into the chief
room, and, without saying a word of greeting, immedi¬
ately commences his set speech of invitation. " Bride
and bridegroom," he begins, " send me hither to convey
to you their good wishes, and it is their simple behest,
and my pleasant duty, to ask you to be present at the
pleasures and merrymakings at their wedding. They ask
you to partake of a breakfast in the bride's paternal
house. Subsequently you will have the goodness to ac¬
company them on the roads and on the paths, across woods
and meads, across the country and the fields, across the
mountains and the hills, to the village church, where re¬
sides St. Jacob. There you will find present a reverend
priest, who will tie the knot sacred and indissoluble save
by death. After this holy ceremony we'll accompany the
bride and bridegroom back to the 'wedding house,'
where a rib of beef, a forkful of ' kraut,' a spoonful of
soup, a glassful of wine, and a bit of bread, such as God
Almighty has placed in cellar and kitchen, will be offered
to us. As long as the hackbrettel will stick together, and
as long as there's a string left on the guitar, we'll dance,
jump, and be merry."
The invited party answer this polite invitation by ac¬
cepting it, not in word, but by placing before the ex¬
hausted best man a dish of rich pancakes and a bottle of
wine. This act of hospitality signifies their acquiescence.
If, on the contrary, they thank him, and say they will
come, without offering him his well-earned reward for a
tramp of many hours across mountain and moor, he
knows that the festive board on the wedding-day will not
be honored by their presence.
2$2 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
In other valleys, again, etiquette requires that the in¬
vited persons should simulate the utmost astonishment
when informed that their " friend " is about to enter the
holy bonds of matrimony. They cross-question the mes¬
senger, and exhibit a feigned surprise at every word he
tells them, that speaks well for their talent as actors.
They accept the invitation with the most profound ex¬
pressions of gratitude, but it is left entirely to the wily
eye of the best man to detect if their acceptai is meant
as such, or is simply to be taken as a ruse to get him
away as quickly as possible.
This is a very critical point for our friend. His sharp
eye and practiced discernment must guide him through it ;
for woe to him if the estimate of the number of guests
who attend the wedding proves to be wrong ! If less
people come than he expected, he and his friend, the
bridegroom, must pay for the covers that were ordered
for the defaulters. If, on the contrary, more people come
than be expected, the case is no less awkward, for offense
is easily taken by the peasantry, and though perhaps they
will not show it at the time, a lifelong grudge is the result.
The price of a cover at a rich peasant's wedding fre¬
quently runs up to five and six florins. The cost of the
cover is included in the money-present every guest, be
he a relation or only an acquaintance, has to make to the
bridegroom and bride. Many a man, not disposed to
purchase a day's carousal at the cost of eight or ten
florins, will therefore endeavor to get out of it as best he
can, without actually declining the invitation point-blank.
We see that the difficulties that beset the path of our
friend are not a few. In many places — as, for instance, in
the majority of the Bavarian Highland valleys -— profes¬
sional " best men " are employed, rather than personal
friends of the bridegroom. These men are the wits of
their villages. They are but rarely duped, for their natu¬
ral sharpness, and especially their long practice, make
that nigh impossible ; and the estimate made by a profes¬
sional best man will hardly ever be at fault.
In poorer valleys the bridegroom imitates the example
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 253
of some of his Tyrolese confreres, and does the inviting
business himself. In others a persona cómica in the
shape of the so-called " Hennen Klemmer " (we might
render this word by " hen-prigger ") appears at the side
of the " marriage-broker " when on his rounds of festive
import.
This character, usually the brother of the bride, has
the prerogative of stealing a hen from every peasant's
house his companion enters for the purpose of inviting
any one of the members of the family. If he can man¬
age to do so unobserved, the booty is his ; but if, on the
contrary, he is discovered, nothing but immediate flight
will save him from a ducking in the large pump-troughs,
or a sound beating.
Let us skip the fortnight that intervenes between the
last invitation and the important morning.
The day has hardly dawned when we are startled by
loud poller1 shots, accompanied by far-echoing jodlers
and the shrill blast of sundry musical instruments.
The paternal house of the fair bride begins to fill with
crowds of gayly-attired peasants, to each of whom wed¬
ding favors, in the shape of bunches of artificial flowers,
are given.
Presently the "best man," accompanied, if the bride
is the daughter of a wealthy peasant, by two assistant
groomsmen, is perceived by the watchful mother, wending
his or their steps, as the case may be, up the steep path
leading to the house.
The company assembled is hushed, the people sit down
in formal rows on chairs or benches, to await the coming
ceremony, in dignified silence. The best man enters the
room, and, without taking any notice of the rest of the
crowd, he walks up to where the bride's father is seated,
and addresses him as follows : —
" When we were here last we appointed a maiden to
pick rosemaries, and to darn her torn linen : we would
like to see her now, and to convince ourselves if she has
1 A small cannon.
2 54 CADDINGS WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
done her duty ; for, otherwise, we won't pay her her
wages."
The peasant nods smilingly, and tells his wife to bring
in the maiden. Instead of complying with this order,
the oldest and the ugliest of the maid-servants of the
peasants is ushered in. A broad grin lights up the wrin¬
kled face of the hag, as she steps up to the best man, and,
holding up her skirts, makes a dainty little bow to that
august personage, saying —
" I have done what you told me ; here is a fine nose¬
gay of rosemaries," and, holding up a bunch of nettles,
she waves it to and fro under the very nose of the man,
whose part compels him to feign supreme astonishment.
" Aren't they fine, and don't they smell sweetly? " the old
hag continues, while she uncovers a huge basket filled to
the brim with rags and shreds of household linen. " Here
is the linen I have darned," are her words, as she brings
a handful of rags under the close inspection of the bewil¬
dered " best man," who now pulls out a huge pair of imi¬
tation spectacles of wood, and, after fixing them on his
nose, cries out, —
"Why, you have aged amazingly since I last saw you,"
and, catching hold of her, he turns her round, examining
her closely. " Why, you are humpbacked, and you squint,
and your hair is gray, and your face is wrinkled, and you
haven't a tooth in your mouth. I fear you have been
bewitched by Mistress Trude," exclaims the "best man ; "
" but I have got a salve which will restore your beauty,
and make your hump vanish from your back ; " and
forthwith he draws from his pocket a piece of paper, in
which is wrapped a shilling or two.
The old hag, wagging her head, says, —
" It's no use." She knows well that she never can be
made young again, but to please him she'll try ; and with
these words she collects her rags and nettles, and hobbles
out of the room.
The best man then repeats his speech to the father, who
now gets up and leaves the room, saying he will look for
his daughter himself. Presently he returns, leading her.
MORIS ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 255
In her right hand she holds a bunch of rosemaries, and
in her left a shirt of homespun linen made by herself.
Both of these she presents to the best man, as a reward
for his pains. The whole party then sit down to a " break¬
fast " of somewhat substantial dimensions, consisting of
broth, several meats dressed with a sauce of melted but¬
ter, and bacon swimming in grease.
While this meal is partaken of, the musicians of the
village arrive, and station themselves outside of the house,
where they set up a discordant peal of shrieks and blasts.
Nothing but a piece of money and a jug of beer or wine
will tune their instruments. At last the party breaks up,
and headed by the band, now restored to good-humor,
the train slowly wends its way down the steep slope, across
the meads and woods, on their way to the village church.
It is a charming sight to see the gayly-attired crowd, full
of mirth and fun, glide along the quiet lanes, traverse
somber forests, as yet untouched by the morning rays of
the sun. The merry strains of the music wafted up to
you by the cool morning breeze, the splendid landscape
round you, the rolling echoes of the pöller-shots and the
loud melodious jodlers, all unite in forming a very pleas¬
ing scene ; which, if you are in the least a lover of nature
and of the stalwart merry people who inhabit the less-
known mountain recesses, will remain impressed upon
your mind for many a clay to come.
The harmonious sounds of the distant village church-
bells, as they " ring in " the couple, float up to our point
of view, and startle us from the deep revery into which
the sight of the merry train, of the unspeakable beauties
of nature, has cast us. We hasten down the stêep wind¬
ing path towards the church, where we arrive just in time
to witness the " salting of the kraut." This ceremony is
a very common one all through the Alps, and is decidedly
a remnant of the customs that were peculiar to the Ger¬
manic tribes more than a thousand years ago.
The hostess of the inn where the wedding-meal and
the dance are to be held posts herself near the church-
door, and, when the bridal train approaches, she catches
256 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
hold of the bride, and obliges her to accompany her into
the inn. They enter the large kitchen, crowded with
busy women, cooking and preparing the numberless dishes
which are to appear on the festive board.
A huge iron pot filled with kraut — a sort of cabbage
— is presented to the bride, the person doing this accom¬
panying the act by the rhyme, —
Jungfer Braut,
Loss dar a guade Lehr geben :
Salz dei Kraut
Ober versalz dein Monn nit's Leben.
Which translated means, —
My maiden bride,
Take heed of my advice :
Salt well thy cabbage,
But not thy husband's life.
The blushing bride has then to throw a handful of salt
into the pot ; and the women in the kitchen chant a song,
which finishes the ceremony.
The whole company then repair to the neighboring
church, where the sacred knot is tied.
What a bright blush mantles the girl's fair cheeks !
What a smile of perfect content plays about the well-
shaped mouth of the stalwart bridegroom, as hand in
hand they descend the church steps, to be received by
salvos of pöller-shots, loud rejoicings, and tremendous
blasts of the trumpet and clarionet ! Wine in large two-
quart bottles is produced, and amid laughter and jollity
it is drank on the spot.
The party then repair to the inn, where the dinner ■—
the reader must remember it is hardly ten o'clock by this
time — is spread on numerous tables. It begins with two
kinds of soups, followed by from eight to twenty different
courses of meat, bacon, pastry, &c. It is frequently four
and five o'clock in the afternoon when the last guest
leaves the table, only to return to it in the course of the
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 257
next two or three hours, for there are yet two meals to be
cleared off that day.
At the termination of the last meal, at a late hour of
the night, the usual toasts on the bride and bridegroom
are drank : a good harvest, a fine breed of cattle, and
finally, but not least, a tubful of children, are wishes
which are rarely omitted.
The toasting finished, the best man rises, and, taking a
glass of wine in his hand, addresses to the company a
comic speech, running as follows : —
" My dear married couples, and boys, and wenches, I
drink this glass to your health. Were I to-day, for once,
God Almighty, I would present you with all the riches of
the world, and a long life to enjoy them. To the couple
yonder I would give two dozen children into the bargain ;
or, were I Joshua, I would command the sun to remain
on the sky above us for ever and ever, so that this day's
feasting, dancing, and singing would never come to an
end ; but as I am neither the Creator himself, nor his
henchman Joshua, I can't forbear to remind you all, who
are here present, that you've eaten like wolves, and have
drank like beasts, and yet nobody has thought of the
' Wirth,' and of paying for this feast. But our kind enter¬
tainer makes you a present of the meats, and of the
soups, and of the wine — not that you deserve it ; but he
requires to be paid for the bones of the meat, for the salt
in the soup, and for the water you drank. The males
present are all rascals and drunkards, forever at the pot¬
house, the Evil One's chapel, and so he'll let you have
the lot for two florins each : but the women here, who are
rarely to be seen in the inns, they, by the name of St.
Michael, must pay double the amount for their meal ;
they each must pay two hundred kreutzers (which is
exactly the same as two florins) slap down upon the table.
" And now, because I have come to an end with my
say, let's join in a prayer to Jesus Christ to honor this
wedding with His presence, in the same way as He did the
one in Galilee, so that we all, the bride and fire bride¬
groom, the village and the vale, may receive the ' Holy
Virgin's ' most gracious blessing. Amen."
258 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The company then rise and adjourn to the large Tanz¬
boden of the roomy inn. This, the dancing-room of the
house, is frequently a semi-detached shed, with large
openings, but no windows, all round, in order that a
thorough draught may refresh the indefatigable dancers.
The Ehrentanz, the dance of honor, is then performed,
and a series of comical by-plays are enacted by the gay¬
est and wittiest of the young village bucks. Now the
bride is suddenly carried off and hidden.
The sharpest lads of the village are selected for this
exploit. The attention of the bridegroom is diverted by
various means, and while he is lending a willing ear to
some tale of mortal combat between poachers and
keepers, or retaliating some sarcastic attack, the bride is
carried off by her captors. If the bridegroom is not
liked, and there is any cause for spite, she is borne in a
carriage to another village and brought to the inn, where
the gay party set to work to run up as large a bill as they
possibly can. The best the kitchen and cellar contains is
ordered up, and by the time the angry bridegroom has
tracked their steps, a prodigious figure is summed up on
the slate tablet of the Kellnerin. The bridegroom has to
square accounts, or he will not get possession of his bride
till all hours of the night, or maybe he will find his
cart overturned, or his horses unharnessed and turned
loose. If, on the contrary, he is a popular personage, the
captors will content themselves with carrying off their
prize to the next inn of the same village, or, if there be
only one, to the house of some friend of the bride.
Sometimes during the festivities a sack is thrown over
the head of the bridegroom, and he is not released till he
guesses the name of the malefactor. For every name he
calls out he has to pay a certain quantity of wine or beer.
At eleven the couple generally leave for their distant
home. The boys of the village have, however, not been
idle in the mean while. When the couple arrive at their
house, they find the doorway blocked up by a huge tree
fresh fromihe wood. This is the so-called " Wiegenholz,"
wood for the cradle ; if the bride has had a little mishap
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 259
prior to her nuptial day, the tree is coated with pitch,
obliging the angry husband to sully his hands in his efforts
to clear an entrance.
This tree plays also another rôle in the history of vil¬
lage life. Peeled of its bark, and decorated with flags
and flitter of the most heterogeneous kind, it is placed at
night-time in front of the bedroom window of the lass
whom the village "bucks " desire to distinguish very par¬
ticularly.
It is the highest honor that can be conferred upon any
damsel, and makes her queen of the village, but, we must
in justice add, the object of the bitterest envy of the
female rivals, who leave no stone unturned in their en¬
deavors to overthrow the supremacy. Sarcastic remarks,
dark hints, and backbiting are, it is needless to say, the
arms employed. In the Unterinnthal, it is also customary
for the male friends of the bridegroom to play him some
trick on the wedding night. He will find his house-door
nailed fast, or some sharp lad will have found his way
into the bedroom and sewed the quilt to the sheet, or he
will be douched with a pailful of cold water as he enters
his house. These tricks, disagreeable as they may be at
the time, are accepted by the bridegroom in a demure
spirit. He knows too well that a show of ill-humor is of
no earthly use, and can bear but evil results.
Badly does the bridegroom fare if he be a widower
who is reported to have dealt unkindly towards his first
wife, or if he be generally unpopular. He is then made
the subject for the so-called " Buhu musi " — owl's chant,
we might translate it — to which formerly the blind or
wild wedding served as introduction. The " owl's chant "
is very much the same as the German " Katzen music,"
or cat's concert, to which unpopular professors at univer¬
sities have not infrequently to lend an unwilling ear. It
is performed on old kettles, empty barrels, cowbells, and
a host of other domestic and agricultural instruments.
The noise is something terrific, and continues as long
as brawny arms can make it ; for, unlike other occasions
where discordant strains are de rigueur, no bribe will
silence this outbreak of popular indignation.
2ÓO GADDINGS WITIl A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Of the " blind " wedding, to which I have referred,
a specimen has been given in the preceding chapter.
Generally the proceeding is meant to hit off the conduct
of some unfortunate couple who have delayed the wed¬
ding day till, in the eyes of the population, it is too late
to repair mischief. Thus, tp give a second instance
which came under my special notice, the host of a vil¬
lage inn, a widower himself, had promised to wed his
fair young " Kellnerin," or waitress. The wedding, how¬
ever, was not to take place too soon, for our widowed
Lothario postponed the ceremony from month to month,
till finally the populace, roused to indignation by the
evidently intentional dilatoriness of the faithless widower,
determined to oblige him to fulfill his promise by per¬
forming the "blind " wedding.
The next fête-day was chosen. At an early hour of
the morning a gay wedding train moved through the vil¬
lage, amidst festive music and volleys of pöller-shots. In
the course of the night some handy young fellows had
erected a sort of altar right opposite the victim's house.
Here a man dressed as a priest awaited the train, which
presently reached the selected spot. In front marched
the two " pot-carriers," bearing huge beakers filled with
water instead of wine. Behind them walked the usual
company of gayly-attired guests, in the midst of which
were the fictitious couple, made to resemble as much as
possible the veritable malefactor and his confiding victim.
At their side were four beardless young fellows, dressed
as bridesmaids, holding huge bunches of nettles in their
hands. When the assembled company were duly sta¬
tioned at their several posts, the priest asked the couple
if they would marry each other " for worse and not for
better." Both replying, "Yes," he handed the husband
a wooden clog and the wife a broom, and proceeded to
preach the sermon he and his companions had compiled
specially for the occasion. In it he recounted all the
vices and failings of their victim ; he warned his audi¬
ence against tampering with wine and women — " Both
turn sour," he says ; and, in fact, not a word nor an act
of mine host was left hidden by his tormentor.
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 261
A fortnight later, the fictitious wedding was followed
by a genuine one ; and, as I was told later on, the hus¬
band turned out to be quite a model.
The reader will join in praising these "blind" wed¬
dings. Their bad sides — and they have decidedly some
weak points — are fully atoned by their good ones. Popu¬
lar feeling is by no means so generally at fault as we civil¬
ized beings take a pride in believing.
But to return to the more cheerful ceremonies. In the
Ampezzo valley, hardly is the wedding company out of
the village, on their way to the distant homestead, when
they are met by a troop of horsemen, armed with swords,
halberds, and every species of antiquated arms that can
be found. This troop is composed of those of the bride¬
groom's friends and neighbors who have not been invited
to the wedding.
While three or four of the horsemen dismount, the
others surround the party, so that escape becomes impos¬
sible. A fictitious fight ensues, the resistance offered by
the bridal train being of the weakest. They are over¬
powered, and the bride is borne off in triumph.
While her routed companions make the best of their
defeat, and continue their walk towards the bride's house,
the captors proceed to the church, and oblige their fail
prisoner to walk three times round the center aisle, where¬
upon they take her to the next inn, and treat her to wine
and cake at the expense of her husband, who, we may
presume, not infrequently makes a sour face when, later
on, he has to pay for his defeat. The body of cavalry
escort the bride back to her own home, but do not release
her until the bridegroom has promised to pay for a sub¬
stantial meal as a fair ransom.
After the wedding feast in the inn, the party breaks up,
and repairs to the future home of the bride, — her hus¬
band's house, where a second repast is awaiting them.
But before they have time to finish it, their tormentors
of the morning, the cavalry, appear on the scene. The
house-door is locked and barred, but the valiant assault
of the horsemen, who dismount for this purpose, renders
202 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
it dangerous to hold out any longer. The besieged begin
to parley with the enemy, who declare that there is con¬
traband in the house, and that they don't believe the
couple who were in church that morning are really
married.
A large basketful of eatables, and jugs of wine, are
handed out to the ferocious and voracious foes, with the
words, "That's all the contraband we've got;" and the
kiss which the bridegroom bestows upon his bride con¬
vinces them that " all is in order." A merry dance in
which the cavalrymen join finishes the day.
Now let us glance at the wedding day in any one of
the large well-to-do Bavarian villages north or north west
of the Tyrolese frontier, surrounded by wooded hills, the
spurs of the Alps. We see plenty around us. The sub¬
stantial bi'oad-roofed houses are stone-built, with wooden
balconies running round the first floor ; the huge barns
are filled to overflowing with corn ; the ample sheds are
stocked with herds of well-kept cattle ; the very dress of
the peasantry, with their silver pieces as buttons on their
coats, betokens wealth. The swift Inn sweeps past the
village, bearing on its majestic waters rafts laden with
timber, salt, or general goods. The roads connecting
one village with the others are good, and every house is
accessible by carriage, or else how could that huge
"fedelwagen" — dowry-cart — upon which are piled the
numberless odds and ends of the bride's dowry, reach its
destination, the young wife's new home?
It is a strange sight, shortly before the wedding, to see
one of these gigantic machines, drawn by four and often
six black horses, decorated with boughs, flowers and rib¬
bons, toil along the high road.
Amongst the load we discover the " Hochzeitstruhe,"
a chest filled with homespun household linen ; another
chest containg the bride's dresses, &c. ; a huge double
bedstead, the nuptial couch ; a large crucifix for the bed¬
room ; several of those terrible plumots — feather-beds —-
in their red and white coverings ; and finally, quite on
the top of the huge pile, we perceive the spinning-wheel,
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 263
with its distaff adorned with red and blue ribbons and
gay tinsel, and cheelc by jowl to it is the symbol of mar¬
riage, the new rocking cradle ! In front of the pile a seat
has been prepared for the bride, who, in the character of
future mistress, guards the transport of her dowry.
In some parts, the bride, instead of sitting on the cart,
follows it on foot. On her head she balances the new
gayly-painted milk-pail, filled with flax and hemp instead
of milk. In one hand she holds the distaff, while with
the other she leads the bell-cow, the prize animal of her
herd. A charming picture ! The laughing face, the long
plaits of her golden hair hanging down to her waist, she
might be likened to the goddess of domestic happiness.
As invited guests, we have the right to follow the cart,
bearing company maybe to the merry-eyed lass who leads
the stately cow, a parting gift of the indulgent father.
But no, our company is hardly recommendable ; we are
evidently de trop. That stalwart young fellow in his pic¬
turesque attire, shouldering a glittering ax, has evidently
more chances to find favor in the eyes of the damsel than
we, the invisible followers. But who is he ? we ask, and
what's the meaning of the ax he carries ? Oh ! he is- but
the village carpenter, who, in the hopes of a free share in
the wedding meal and a glass of " schnapps," offers the
services of his craft to make up and put together the nup¬
tial couch, that chef-d'œuvre of his art, the several parts
of which we have noticed amongst the rest of the load.
Up hill and down dale the heavy cart travels on its festive
journey. Swinging to and fro, it seems to us in great
danger of being turned over, and landed in the deep
ditch at our side.
All of a sudden the caravan comes to a dead halt ; we
hear the oaths and heavy cracks of the enraged wagon-
driver's long-lashed whip ; we hasten forward to see the
cause of all this hubbub, and lo ! what do we perceive ?
A huge barrier of heavy beams, spars, and sticks, inter¬
spersed with the tough branches of the " latschenbush,"
is constructed right across the road, where it makes a
sharp angle. The bride smiles, the driver swears and
2 64 G AD DING S WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
cracks his whip threateningly, and the fair lass leading the
cow spies about her into the dense shade of the wood,
trying to discover a trace of the mischievous waylayers.
But what does the barrier mean ? Are we not living in
the nineteenth century? And who dares to obstruct the
high road in this scandalous manner? We join in the
driver's maledictions, and declare ourselves willing to lend
him a helping hand in removing the barrier, for the beams
are covered with pitch and rosin ; but our hands rue the
rash offer, and when we finally have managed to wrench
them away, we look at them ruefully. Peals of scornful
laughter greet our ears : we look round us to discover the
insolent scoffers ; but they are so cleverly hidden at the
top of the dense trees and behind clumps of latschen-
bushes, that we fail to discover the slightest trace of
them.
But what are we to do ? The carpenter, the only per¬
son who could remove the barrier by a few strokes of his
sharp adze, declares he dare not risk the anger of the
waylayers, who would inevitably revenge themselves were
he to defraud them of their legitimate ransom. Nothing
is left but to fetch the bridegroom : a horse is detached
from the cart, led round the barricade, and the carpenter,
mounting it, rides to the bridegroom's house, where the
latter has been anxiously awaiting his bride's arrival for
the last hour.
He sees the horseman toiling up the road, and guess¬
ing very rightly the cause of the delay and the import of
the messenger's mission, hastens down to meet him. His
fears are confirmed: the bride's dowry-cart is "locked,"
and nothing can open that pitchy lock but a ransom of a
couple of florins.
When the bridegroom approaches the barrier, the evil
spirits suddenly appear ; their faces blackened, or painted
with red stripes, or hidden behind gauze masks. They
commence a dance of rejoicing, and jodel right merrily ;
when their victim, flattered and pleased in reality, but
feigning displeasure at the delay that his bride has experi¬
enced, reluctantly distributes the ransom in the shape of
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 265
two or three pieces of silver. A few strokes with the
sharp hatchet, and the barrier, which has been most in¬
geniously arranged, falls asunder, leaving a free opening
through which the carriage continues its progress, whilst
from the surrounding heights pistol-shots and songs give
out a pleasing echo.
The bridegroom hastens away, for country etiquette
requires that he should be stationed at his own house-
door to receive his bride's dowry. When the lumbering
cart finally reaches its destination, pöller-shots and loud
jodlers announce the happy event.
He awaits the caravan, standing on his doorstep. A
stalwart, handsome man, dressed in his Sunday best ; the
glistening row of silver buttons shine in the rays of the
sun, round his well-shaped mouth plays a smile of satis¬
fied pride. Is it the goodly dowry, or the handsome
merry-eyed lass, which calls it forth? Rather than exam¬
ine this question, let us watch his elastic step, as he ap¬
proaches the cart, and, placing his hands underneath his
bride's armpits, swings her down from her high perch in
approved style, right on the doorstep of his house.
He knows that the lookers-on lay stress upon this act,
for does it not signify the actual taking possession of the
bride and her goods and chattels? The bystanders ap¬
plaud him, and a smile of flattered pride again plays
round his mouth. The carpenter lends a helping hand
in unloading the cart, and when every thing is down he
proceeds to put up the nuptial couch.
Every thing but the ungainly straw mattress for the
bed has been put in its proper place. The former, how¬
ever, the bridegroom himself must carry to the bedroom,
a proceeding which is lustily cheered by the company,
who immediately afterwards assemble in the parlor to
witness the formal act of "giving over." This consists
in the bride handing to her future husband the keys
of all her treasures, accompanying them with a gift of a
homespun shirt and a pair of new shoes.
The bridegroom then shows his bride and the train of
followers over the whole house ; he brings them in to the
2 66 G AD DINGS WITH A FRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
milk-cellar, where long rows of huge wooden bowls tell
of the number of cows in the stalls ; he takes them into
the roomy kitchen, the store-room, the cowshed, the gran¬
ary, the flour-room ; in fact, no nook or corner of the
house is left unexplored. While this is going on, the
priest has made his appearance : he is hospitably re¬
ceived, with wine or beer, bread, butter, and cheese.
After partaking of these, he proceeds to bless the house,
the nuptial couch, and the stores which the bride has
brought, according to the old Roman ritual, " Benedictio
thori et thalami." 1
For this ceremony the priest receives a half-florin piece
(ir.), which is placed together with a new pocket-hand¬
kerchief on a plate, and thus both are presented to him.
A pleasing custom is connected with this transport of
the dowry ; whilst it is taking place, the parish priest is
paid to read a mass for every one of the lately deceased
relations of bride and bridegroom. Elsewhere the day
is brought to a close by a visit en masse to the village
graveyard, the bride and bridgroom kneeling down and
praying a certain number of prayers at the graves of
their relations.
The wedding eve was formerly a night of revelry in the
bride's home. Work over, the youths and maidens of
the village repaired thither, each one bringing something
in the eatable line.
From the stores thus collected, a simple repast was
prepared; and when justice had been done to it, the
whole company repaired to the barn or granary adjoining
the house, where the real fête was to take place.
The smooth floor, sloping slightly, is carefully swept, a
few wooden benches placed here and there in the dark
corners for lovers' seats, and the huge stable-lantern at¬
tached to one of the center beams overhead is trimmed
and lighted. The musical entertainment, duly provided
by the village lads, is of modest description, but it is
nevertheless more than sufficient for the merry youths
1 In other districts this blessing takes place in the bride's paternal home be¬
fore the goods and chattels constituting the dowry are removed.
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 267
and fair lasses who have begun to pair off in loving
couples. The Zither, accompanied by the stirring bell¬
like tones of the Hackbrettel, has begun to exercise its
resistless influence : the heavy tramp, the gay jodel, the
agile figure, the shrill whistle, and the peculiar tones of
" Schuhblatteln," betray the zest and vigor of the young
dancers.
Unrestrained by the presence of elderly lookers-on or
anxious mothers, the fair lassies are, with one or two
exceptions only, encircled by the strong arms of their
respective stalwart young lovers.
It is not very many years ago that a strange custom
was the chief feature of this evening. It was called the
Cock-dance, though in reality it was rather a cock-fight
than a dance. The two largest cocks of the village were
the actors. One represented the wife, and to this end
his proud tail-feathers were cut short, and his comb tied
down and hidden by a linen rag : the other cock, play¬
ing the part of the husband, was left in full possession of
his manly attributes. The two birds were then incited to
fight. If the "wife " beat, loud cheering and a host of
sarcastical rhymes, deriding petticoat government, made
the hapless bridegroom wretched for the rest of the even¬
ing. He was obliged to tie an apron round his waist,
and to undergo various indignities ; and a huge imita¬
tion key of wood was formally presented to the bride as
a token of her future supremacy. The whole evening
was one succession of merry-making and gayety ; in fact,
it was the symbol of the last maidenly pleasures of the
bride. No dancing hereafter, no love-making, and no
Schnaddahiipflers intoned by dauntless lads in her praise.
If she ever did enter the dancing-room again, it was on
the arm of her husband at a formal Ehrentanz, at the
wedding of some near friend or relation.
And now, to make good our lengthy introduction, let
us don our hats, gayly decorated, and take our stand
among the crowd of guests. The selection of the day
upon which the wedding is to be solemnized is by no
means left to the free choice of the couple, but is strictly
268 GADD1NGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
regulated according to local custom. In Tyrol it is gen¬
erally Monday, in Styria Wednesday, while in Ampezzo
and Bavaria they are usually held on Tuesdays.
Tuesday is a safe day ; it portends no foreboding evil ;
on Tuesday, no witchcraft, nor sorcery of any sort or kind,
can throw a shadow upon the future of the happy couple ;
on that day no malicious act of jealousy can be enacted
by envious persons. A couple, in fact, married on that
day, have no need to disquietude on the score of super¬
natural visitations.
The substantial " Morgensuppe" (morning soup), a meal
consisting of several dishes of rich viands, opens the cam¬
paign at an early hour of the morning, — in many places
as early as five and six o'clock. Only the very nearest
relations and most honored guests partake of it. We are
received by a hearty shake of the hand by the bride's
parents, attired in their stately parade dress — a fashion
getting from year to year more out of use. The bride,
with her wreath of rosemary already in her hair, stands
behind her sturdy parents ; a smile of welcome is on her
face, as she extends to us her hand, with a merry " Griiss
Gott ! " (" God greet thee.") Her winsome blue eyes,
sparkling with pleasure, enhance the beauty of the rosy-
hued face, fringed by a halo of naturally-curling golden
hair.
The bridegroom and his party are rigorously shut out
from this morning meal. We need not give way to qualms
of conscience as we seat ourselves at her side ; for are not
the company and conversation of a charming young lassie
far preferable to those of her stiffly formal elders, who, in
a series of ludicrous compliments, outvie each other in
exhibiting a proper sense of the importance of the day?
The time for starting has arrived : our undertone tête-à-
tête with the fair bride has to terminate, for with a hem
ancl cough the Procurator rises from his seat, and proceeds
to "out-thank" (ausdanken) the bride.
This means nothing but a speech in which the Procu¬
rator, in the name of the bride, thanks her parents for the
love, forbearance, care, &c., that they have bestowed upon
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 269
her in her childhood and youth. Very quaint and odd this
speech sounds to us, and, though the sentiments betrayed
therein are pleasing, we can not but smile at the manner
of expressing them, and at the words in which they are
clothed. This ceremony concluded, the " Ehrengürtel "
is fastened round the bride's waist by the two bridesmaids.
This " Ehrengürtel" is a broad girdle of leather, plated
with silver, and highly ornamented. Every village in cer¬
tain districts possesses or possessed them formerly. The
girdle, after parading for the day on the bride's waist, is
carefully returned to the keeping of the village sexton,
together with a present for the poor. Lax as the moral
sense of the peasantry throughout the Bavarian Highlands,
Tyrol, and other mountainous countries is, the privilege
of appearing with the " girdle of maiden honor " was rig¬
orously refused to a bride whose former conduct led one
to suppose that she had forfeited her right to it.
Happily this was not the case at our wedding; and
though the fair lassie, blushing deeply when her compan¬
ions encircle her full waist with that honorable circlet, has
had a score of lovers after her, she knew how to repel their
dangerous advances, and even then, when she had singled
out her future husband from the ranks, she abstained from
jeopardizing the great privilege of pure maidenhood.
Every thing is prepared for the final leave-taking pre¬
ceding the bride's departure from her home.
In the prosperous Bavarian valley, the bride has to " feed
in " the horses that are to take her to church. Laying a
slice of bread for each horse, on a plate, after besprink¬
ling the former with salt and " holy water," she steps up
to each of the huge beasts, and gives it its share. When
she has done this with all four, she walks thrice round the
carriage, and after the third time she dashes the plate
against the right hind-wheel of the vehicle.
The carriages, for here the roads are good and each
house is accessible to them, are waiting at the door. The
four stately dray-horses, her father's pride, are pawing the
ground. Their long silky tails and glossy manes, care¬
fully braided into numberless little plaits, are adorned with
270 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
red and blue ribbons and bows. The carriages, for there
are four or five, are but modest Leiterwagen — ladder carts
— the sides of which are formed by rows of slanting laths,
resembling ladders. They are festooned with wreaths of
flowers and garlands of yew-branches, and furnished with
planks to sit on, offering accommodation to ten or twelve
people on each vehicle. The bride is swung on to the
cart by her father, or, if he is weak and old, by the stal¬
wart Procurator, who takes an inordinate pride in the
knack of heaving her up with elegant ease.
Salvos of pöller-shots fired off behind the house make
both us and the horses start ; we scramble up on the last
of the four carts, and down the sloping hill we go at full
gallop. If the distance to the church is not too great,
this pace is kept up the whole distance. Cheers, loud
jodels, and smart cracks of the long whips wielded by
strong arms, mingle with the thundering peals of the
pollers. In the pauses we hear the village bells chiming
in right merrily. Joyous mirth, laughing faces, merry
songs, half-comical, half-sarcastical rhymes in countless
Schnaddahiipflers, meet eye and ear. It is a merry sight,
combining the picturesque features of nature with the
novelty, to a town-bred person, of seeing around naught
but pleased faces. Mirth is depicted in every look and
feature of man, woman, and child who crowd down to
watch the gay party drive past, and to shout a last " B'hiit
Gott ! " (" God protect thee ! ") to the happy bride.
The merry strains of a band are heard as we approach
the village itself, for the paternal house of the bride was
a lonely peasant-dwelling situated some distance from the
village. Again salvos of pollers awake the rolling echoes
of the hills; this time they are fired off by the host of
the inn, who does not grudge a few pounds of powder
wherewith to honor the couple.
In the doorway of his house stands the portly host,
who doffs his green velvet skull-cap as we pass him at
full gallop on our way to the bridegroom's house. Here
we draw up in grand style ; the Procurator jumps down
and nimbly swings the bride in his approved styie to the
MORE ABOUT WEDDINGS IN THE ALPS. 271
ground. The whole party enters the house in order to
receive the wedding favors, which consist in these parts
of a red and white ribbon, which is knotted round the
right arm. The bridegroom's favors are of violet silk,
and he sports moreover a large bunch of rosemary on
his hat.
The bridal train begins to form : it is close upon ten
o'clock, and no time to be lost.
The men of both parties head the train ; they are led
by the bridegroom, attended by the Procurator and the
" hen-prigger," that clown-like personage whose duties we
have before alluded to.
The female contingent follow ; they are led by the
bride surrounded by her " Kranzeljungfern " bridesmaids.
In front marches the band, with long ribbons fluttering
from the various instruments and hats of the men.
The Procurator's duties by no means terminate with
the drive to the church : it is he who has to act the chev¬
alier in the sacred edifice ; he is the only person beside
the Ehrenmutter — honorary mother — who accompanies
the couple up the altar-steps. Hardly is the usual church
ceremony over, when his duties recommence. Pie has
furnished himself with a bottle of white wine, which the
officiating priest has now to bless, when some of it is
poured out in two glasses, one of which is handed to the
couple, who have to nip thrice at its contents, while the
other goes the round of the guests present.
When this has been done, the organist intones a sacred
hymn ; the party return to their seats, while the priest
reads a mass for the recently-deceased relatives of the
couple, for which " a sacrifice," i.e., some money, is laid
on the altar-steps by the bridegroom. This finishes the
sacred part of the ceremony, and the party now leaves
the church amid loud rejoicings. In front of the princi¬
pal inn on the village green, the usual "Brautlauf"
(bride's race) is held, in which the fleetest runners
among the invited guests participate. The distance is
about four hundred yards, and the goal is represented by
two bundles of straw, which the competitor who first
272 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
reaches them has to take up in his arms and carry back
to the bride.
The bride then enters the inn, and " salts the cab¬
bage ; " after which, the usual heavy meal is begun
between eleven and twelve o'clock, and is followed by
the dancing and the " Ehrengang " with the money con¬
tribution as already described.
In the Bavarian valleys, the happy couple have yet to
undergo another ordeal before they can take their depart¬
ure. The musicians, the cook and her attendants, the
maidservants, and in fact every servant in the house,
must be presented with a " trinkgeld," or douceur. This
is done in a comical manner. The musicians, for in¬
stance, will assemble round the couple and begin a sere¬
nade ; all of a sudden every instrument gets out of tune,
— the strings creak, the flute squeaks, the trombone gives
forth a discordant roar, and so on. The bridegroom pro¬
duces a small piece of money, but the caterwauling con¬
tinues till finally he satisfies his tormentors with a couple
of broad silver florins. The cook and her attendants
present broken pots, cracked glasses, and smashed pot¬
tery of all sorts, while the housemaid and " Kellnerin "
bring up the rear with broken brooms, and bundles of
rags. Every one of these articles must be "mended"
by a handsome douceur. This ceremony is the last of
the many the plagued couple have undergone in the
course of the eventful day. They are now free to depart
for their home, — a liberty of which, as we may suppose,
they are not slow to take advantage.
We will not follow them on their homeward walk, along
the rippling stream, and through the dark gloomy forest ;
nor will we listen to their words, intended only for them¬
selves. We prefer another dance or two.
A «KIRCHTAG" /LVZ> RIFLE-MATCH. 273
CHAPTER XV.
A TYROLESE " KIRCHTAG " AND RIFLE-MATCH.
UNLIKE our own sports — cricket, hunting, and horse-
racing— rifle-shooting in Tyrol is one in which the
poorest native can participate. The fact that it would be
difficult to find a more telling illustration of the tenacity
to old customs that distinguishes the Tyrolese, than the
quaint and humorous manner in which rifle-matches are
conducted, renders this sport doubly interesting to the
stranger accustomed to see it conducted in a business-like
manner, unrelieved by the amusing originality that marks
its pursuit in Tyrol.
We all know that the Tyrolese are noted for their skill
at rifle-shooting ; and the large but generally uninteresting
international rifle-matches which have been held of late
years in most of the Continental cities have proved that
the Tyrolese, as long as they are permitted to compete
with their own rifles, rank among the best Continental
marksmen.
It is not, as might be supposed, at large assemblies of
marksmen, that an observer has the opportunity of wit¬
nessing the quaint by-play to which we have alluded, but
rather as matches in the remote and secluded Alpine glens,
to one of which, the Wildschönau valley, in North Tyrol,
I intend asking our reader to accompany me on a fine
October day.
A long and tedious tramp of four hours from Ratten¬
berg, a small townlet at the foot of the chain of mountains
we have to traverse on our way to this out-of-the-way
nook, has brought us at last to their eminence. Before
2 74 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
us, bathed in the lovely rays of the morning sun, lies an
Alpine valley, terminating, some two thousand feet higher
up, in a row of snow-clad peaks, while broken ridges of
somber pine-clad mountains form the foreground of the
open, emerald-green Alpine mead upon which our goal,
the charming little village of Oberau, is situated.
Its amazingly slender, needle-shaped church-spire, rising
as if to rival the glistening domes of Nature in the back¬
ground, is just visible over groves of dark-green trees, be¬
tween which peep out here and there picturesque Tyrolese
cottages of velvety-brown timber, with balconies under
the eaves of the broad, projecting roof, garnished with
rows of bright-colored flowers, the whole picture forming
a charming contrast to the grand but barren impending
peaks.
Turning our backs on this pleasant scene, and looking
once more down to the sunny stretch of the Inn valley —
our starting-point that morning — some four or five thou¬
sand feet below us, we see the broad silvery band of the
river, innumerable villages scattered about, each one
clustering round a sharp-pointed church-spire, groves of
fruit-trees, and finally a straight white line, drawn by the
ruler, — the path of that omnipotent harbinger of civiliza¬
tion, steam.
A far-resounding " jodel " awakens grotesque echoes
among the precipitous slopes of the little glen up which
we have just climbed, and we hasten down the gentle
incline leading to our destination.
The heavy, cumbrous rifle, in its leather sheath, slung
over my shoulder, and the gay bunches of carnations in
my hat are, in the eyes of two comely country lasses, whose
company we joined a few hundred yards before reaching
the village itself, signs investing them with the privilege
of making us the butt of their chaff.
" How often do you intend missing the target ?" " Did
your mother place that bunch of carnations on your hat? "
this being the prerogative of a young fellow's sweetheart.
"Will you promise to share your prizes with us?" and
finally, alluding to the weather-beaten condition of my
A "KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 275
short leather nethers, they hint very plainly that " a chap
visiting a strange valley on the 'Kirchtag' (the great fête-
day of the year) might don his best Sunday ' Gwandl'
(clothes) ; or have you, perhaps, none ? " they contin¬
ue, while with laughing faces they nudge each other, and
smile approvingly ; when, stung by their satire, I endeav¬
or to retaliate their slander by a bold Schnaddahüpfler
in which I embody, as well as I can, the most stinging
criticism of the female sex in general, and of our two
tormentors in particular.
Presently we reach the village inn, a cozy, clean-looking
house, right opposite to which is the shooting-range, decked
out with gay festoons of pine-branches, and surmounted by
a large black and yellow flag — the pride of the village.
The church-bell tolls out the hour of nine, and the
church, crowded to excess by throngs of peasants, begins
to empty itself.
The " Kirchtag," as I have said, is the grand fête-day
of the year in the secluded valleys in Tyrol. Falling in
the latter half of October, those of the primitive inhabit¬
ants of the vale who have spent the six spring and sum¬
mer months high up on the Alps, tending their cattle,
making butter and cheese, felling trees, and drifting them
down to their village, have by this time returned from their
elevated summer residences. Brother and sister, father
and son, mother and daughter, the lover and his sweetheart,
meet again, after a parting of nearly half a year.
Laughing faces, merry jokes, a deal of hand-shaking,
chaff, and fun, are to be seen and heard around us, and
betray the high spirits of the crowd, which, on issuing
from the church, takes its stand on the open green in
front of the sacred edifice.
For the next half-hour the events of the past half-year
are eagerly discussed. While one peasant is engrossed in
a tale of woe, how his " Glocknerin," or bell-cow, was
killed by a fall down a precipice, his neighbor relates his
piece of luck in selling his two black cows at a remark¬
ably high price, "in fact," as he said, "making a clean
forty florins (^4) by the two."
2 7 6 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Considering the man had fed and tended them for six
months, a profit of two pounds per head would be deemed
very insignificant by English farmers, who in the same
space of time would probably expect to realize just ten
times as much.
Strange as it sounds, Tyrolese peasants entertain a
great aversion to black cows, and they are quite willing
to make a sacrifice if they can find a purchaser for them.
Of this circumstance the foreign cattle-dealers, who buy
very largely in Tyrol, are perfectly aware, and by keeping
the credulous native in his belief of the inferiority of
black cows, they succeed in realizing much larger profits
than on cattle of another color.
Business discussed, the crowd follows the one or two
leaders who had adjourned to the inn immediately on
leaving church ; and in the course of_ five minutes the
spacious bar-room, furnished with long benches and pro¬
portionately long tables, is filled by a laughing and sing¬
ing throng of men, eager to wash down the dry morning
sermon with a glass of beer or wine ere they returned to
their distant homes.
Most of the women have gone straight home. Our
two buxom lady friends who had made us the victims of
their chaff that morning were, however, among the more
emancipated who deemed their sex no disqualification
for a forenoon " drink ; " and as we re-enter the bar-room,
after enjoying a hearty breakfast in the kitchen, they
proffer us, according to the custom of the country, their
full glasses.
Sitting down at their side, to the evident annoyance of
their lovers, who eye us askance as highly suspicious per¬
sonages, — for are we not strangers to them, and appar¬
ently poaching upon their preserves ? — we are soon
engaged in a fierce battle of pointed jokes, and returning
a heavy cross-fire of sarcastic raillery, in which very
shortly our sullen neighbors, drawn on by the spirit of
the gay damsels, are not loth to join. Nobody is spared ;
but the tone of good-humored hilarity that reigns over the
company heals instantaneously the wound inflicted by the
sharp arrow of personal raillery.
A "KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 277
Blow for blow, chaff for chaff; the harder you hit,
provided you keep within certain bounds, the more your
company is appreciated. Be your coat of the finest, and
your manners the most elegant, you will find, unless you
can hold your own in the duel of chaff which you have
challenged, no pity at the hands of your neighbor, the
poorly-clad woodcutter.
In the more secluded valleys fairs are usually held on
the " Kirchtag," for it must be remembered there are no
shops or stores of any kind where the necessary house¬
hold goods can be purchased. The " Kirchtag " is there¬
fore the grand day of purchase for these primitive people,
who hardly ever leave their secluded homes, and have,
therefore, no other opportunity to supply themselves with
those necessaries of life that are not produced at home.
Fortunately, fashion in Tyrol is not subject to the
strange, not to say fantastic, changes before which we
civilized beings bow down and worship. The stout frieze
bought by the ancestors of the present generation has
remained the same in texture and color. The blue cot¬
ton stuff that made up the Sunday best gown of the
great-grandmother is still the fashion with her little grand¬
children ; the very same caps of fur trimmed with velvet,
worn by the mothers of the heroes who helped Marl¬
borough to vanquish the French, are nowadays still the
treasure of the rural belle.
Let us approach one of the dozen or so of wooden
sheds run up of light unplaned planks, rather more with
the view of examining the contents of the primitive shop,
than with the intention of purchasing any of the wares
exhibited therein.
We find that a strange medley of articles are thrown
together higgledy-piggledy. A huge iron caldron, of the
shape used on Alps for manufacturing cheese, is turned
into a receptacle for sundry articles of apparel. Gay
ribbons of fine texture but of the most flaring hue,
colored pocket-handkerchiefs of sheet-like proportions,
having painted on them bird's-eye views of some cele¬
brated place of pilgrimage or of some sacred shrine
278 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
endowed in the minds of the simple people with miracu¬
lous powers, piles of rosaries, dozens upon dozens of
small* metal crosses, charms to be worn round the neck,
glass beads enough to delight a whole tribe of Mr. Stan¬
ley's African friends, — these and a host of other articles,
too numerous to be enumerated, are stored away in the
spacious, brightly-polished caldron.
Next to it we see parcels of various implements for
domestic as well as agricultural use. The tailor's scissors,
the cobbler's hammer, bradawls, plowshares, pickaxes,
ax-heads, nails of all sizes, cradle-saws, small saws, large
saws, wooden cooking utensils, parcels of red and green
suspenders, piles of rough gray frieze, and rolls of coarse
homespun linen, cover the primitive counter ; while above
it, hung on the poles that serve as rafters for the support
of the primitive roofing, are exhibited gaudy silk necker¬
chiefs, scarfs, and gray and green felt hats, with gold and
silver tassels, for thé women. Underneath the counter
are chests filled with boots and shoes of the roughest
make, the leather being in an untanned state.
In the next shed, a " Herrgottmacher " (Lord-God-
maker, as the literal translation would be) is exhibiting
his wares, consisting, as the name implies, of images in
various sizes carved in wood, representing, one and all,
our Saviour on the cross. He has made them all himself.
The gnarled old Zirbentree (Jtinus cemnbra), occupying
the very outskirts of vegetation high up on the Alps, was
felled by his own hand, cut up and dragged down to his
lonely cottage by his wife and children ; and when, after
being duly seasoned, the blocks were ready for the saw,
his knife and paint-brush metamorphosed them into the
rows of "Saviours on the cross," in all sizes, we see
before us.
It is true that the same ghastly expression is stamped
upon all the faces : the same weird, emaciated body, the
same deformed position of arms and legs, calling forth an
involuntary shudder, is common to every one, be the fig¬
ure a miniature one hardly a couple of inches in length,
or be it a life-size representation of our Lord. The sim-
A "KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 279
pie-minded artist has made hundreds of dozens in his life,
and it is not surprising that his imagination has long given
out, and his labor is reduced to a mere mechanical appli¬
cation of his knife and brush.
His stall is surrounded by a crowd of pious natives, all
eager to examine and admire the holy wares. The ex¬
pression of the face, the position of the body and the
wounds, if they are represented sufficiently ghastly for
their taste or not, is criticised ; and finally, when a partic¬
ularly " fine " image has been selected, and they think
that its price will suit their purse, the artist dealer, who has
been looking on in stoical indifference at the crowd criti¬
cising his wares, is asked the cost. After several minutes
of haggling, the peasant produces his money, takes his
figure, maybe a "Christ" some two or three feet long,
under his arm, or stows it away in the ample folds of his
" Riicksack," with its head adorned with the usual crown
of thorns sticking out, and marches off to complete his
purchases prior to his return home.
And what does a "Christ" cost? You may get one
for twopence, and you may actually spend a pound on a
life-size figure. The latter, however, are usually pur¬
chased by priests only, who want them for decorating the
interior of their churches, or for the village cemetery.
The figures bought most commonly by the peasants are
from one to two and a half feet high, and cost from six¬
pence to five shillings. If you ask the purchaser where
he will put the sacred image, he will most probably tell
you, in the corner of his living-room, right over the table,
where he and his family and his servants meet at meal¬
times. " That figure has such a painful expression, it is
really beautiful," he will add, and perhaps he will inform
you that the " Christ " that hitherto occupied that hon¬
ored position will henceforth grace the doorway of his
Alp-hut, or mark the spot where one of his " Knechte "
(male servant) was accidentally killed by a falling tree
some years ago, and which spot was hitherto but marked
by a votive tablet. " No doubt the poor wretch's soul
will enjoy a little respite in hell by that pious gift," the
28o GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
superstitious peasant adds, and rejoices within himself
that the exceptionally favorable sale of his cow enabled
him to spend a shilling or two for the devout purpose.
These Tyrolese carvers are, generally speaking, in a
mild way, great humbugs. Women, particularly old
maids, addicted to piety, — the German nickname calls
them "Betschwestern," — fall easy victims to the glib
tongue of most " Herrgottmachers." Among them are
certain men that enjoy the reputation of being surrounded
by a halo of miraculous power. The man before us is
one, and ten words spoken by him in praise of a " Christ "
convince more old women of the emphatic necessity of
purchasing a third or fourth graven representation of our
Lord than thousands of words spoken by others of his
calling.
But how did he gain his renown? That evening an
acquaintance of mine, the liberal-minded doctor of Wör-
gel, the next village in the Inn valley, who had come up
to attend a patient, told me the man's story. One night,
some ten or twelve years ago, this dealer in art and hum¬
bug was returning from a fair in the company of a couple
of convivial spirits. The liquor they had drunk and the
pitchy dark night, no less than the dangerous nature of
the path, were too much for our party, and our hero was
pitched down a precipice more than a hundred and fifty
feet in depth.
Fortunately for him, he had at the time his huge wicker
basket filled with his usual stock-in-trade, hundreds of
" Christs," on his back ; and, wonderful to say, his fearful
fall was so broken by pitching back foremost from the
hard rocks, that he soon could arise not much the worse
for his fall. His business-like mind, however, saw in the
miraculous escape he had just had a heavenly omen por¬
tending great renown for him, and the bright idea flashed
across it to turn his accident to account. He emptied
his basket of its contents, and, placing the " Christs " in
rows on the ground, lay down in the midst of them, and
a few minutes later was asleep.
His companions in the mean while, shocked beyond
A "KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 2S1
measure at the terrible fate of their companion, hastened
back to the distant village to fetch lights and assistance,
never once hoping to find him alive. What was their
astonishment, therefore, when they returned after three
or four hours, to find him peacefully asleep in the midst
of his sacred images !
The men who had accompanied them would not believe
it at first ; but the fact of our hero's hat being discovered,
when morning broke, hanging on a bush half way up the
precipice, convinced them of the truth.
"That was the making of him," added our informant,
laughingly ; " since then he has the odor of sanctity hang¬
ing around him, and, were it not for his partiality for
drink, he would be a rich man by this time."
My informant refused to tell us how he had come by
the accurate information he possessed ; but we heard some
time afterwards that he had attended our hero through a
very severe attack of D. T., in the course of which he
most likely made him his confidant.
The crowd is thinning rapidly, for by far the greater
part have a long walk homewards before them, and they
have been on their legs since three o'clock in the morning ;
for we must remember that these early-rising people count
the day as half over by nine o'clock, and hence the busi¬
est time at a fair is at about six o'clock in the morning.
The village church bells toll twelve o'clock ; and hardly
has the last stroke resounded, when a thundering salvo of
pöller-shots announce the commencement of the rifle-
match. A " Kirchtag " without rifle-shooting would be
something like Christmas without a plum-pudding with us.
The rifle-range, we have said, was situated opposite the
inn, and so after partaking of some solid refreshment as a
lunch, or rather as an early dinner, we step across the road
and enter the range. It is a low narrow timber-built hut,
provided with a long table in the center, at which the
marksmen load, and with three boxes or partitions open
in front, taking up the side of the hut towards the targets.
The center box is reserved for the " Schreiber " or score-
keeper, the two others are for the marksmen to fire from.
282 GADDINGS WITI-I A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The targets are placed at a distance of 150 yards. They
have already been described on p. 239.
Our readers, though they may understand nothing of
rifle-shooting, will nevertheless become aware of the sur¬
prising accuracy of Tyrolese marksmen, when we mention
that we have seen the pin's head shot away six and seven
times in the course of one day's match, and that we have
known as many as five consecutive marksmen taken at
hap-hazard, firing one after the other, to hit each a mark
of the size of a sixpence, at a distance of 150 yards.
Considering that the marksman may not support any part
of his body or his rifle, but has to stand free, holding the
heavy rifle in his outstretched arm, feats like this are won¬
derful.
I remember once leading a friend into a shooting-range
in North Tyrol. A stranger to Tyrol, he entertained a
prejudice against rifle-practice, notifying his dislike with
the observation " that it was simply a waste of powder and
lead, and that if it came to trying the steadiness of one's
hand, a much simpler test could be furnished on scientific
principles." He watched some of the peasant marksmen
closely, and told me afterwards, that, had he not seen it
with his own eyes, he would never have believed that
human muscles and nerves could remain so rigid, and
apparently motionless, as some of these men's. He left
the booth an ardent admirer of Tyrolean rifle-matches.
The " zieler," or marker, who is stationed at the target,
and has to plug each shot-hole, is an important personage.
Attired in a jacket of checkered colors, wide baglike pan¬
taloons, of two colors generally, — one leg red, the other
white, — while a huge felt cone, adorned at the top with
a bunch of many-colored ribbons, serves him as a hat, he
cuts a highly comic figure. In his hand he holds his
"spoon," a short stick, at the end of which a disk about
the size of a saucer is fastened. One side of the latter is
white, the other black. This instrument is used to indi¬
cate the exact position of each shot to the marksman,
anxious to see where his ball has hit. If the shot has hit
" black," —the bull's-eye, — the white side ; if outside of
A "KIRCHTAG» AND RIFLE-MATCH. 283
the black, the black side of the spoon is turned towards
the range. In the former case, the number of the ring
or circle within the bull's-eye, which has been hit, is indi¬
cated by a series of preconcerted signs by the " zieler,"
thus obviating the necessity of having a telegraphic com¬
munication, a contrivance entirely unknown at Tyrolese
rifle-ranges. If the number three ring, having a diameter
of less than two inches, is hit, the " zieler " dances, that
is, he jumps once round the target, accompanying this
performance with a "jodier," If it is the number four
ring, — the size of a sixpence, — which the lucky marks¬
man has hit, the "zieler" exhibits frantic excitement.
On perceiving the position of the shot, he will crouch
down, and creep, clown-like, back to his hut some paces
off, to fetch his " spectacles." These are huge imitation
spectacles of wood ; and, with them fastened to his head
by a string, he issues forth to assure himself, as it were,
if the shot is really a " four," the whole performance be¬
ing of course only a farce, enacted so as to prolong the
pleasant excitement of the marksman ; a couple of joyous
" jodlers," two dances round the target, and other not the
less comic evolutions, bring his pranks to a close.
A "centrum" shot is followed by a series of the above
antics in an exaggerated degree ; if the " zieler " is an
agile youth, we have seen him reach the shooting-range
by a succession of the most extraordinary summersaults,
holding all the time the bull's-eye, which can be detached
from the board, in his hand. A quart of wine, or half a
pint of strong schnapps, are invariably the reward given
lay the happy marksman to that most abused of mortals,
the "zieler." I say "most abused of mortals," with good
cause, for, with the innate injustice peculiar to the human
race when failure has attended its endeavors, a bad shot
is laid to the door of the unfortunate marker.
" Won't he dance ? I'll make him fetch his spectacles,
the infernal rascal ! marking my shot two inches short !
d—n him ! " or when an unlucky marksman, jealous of
his luckier neighbor, who has sent a quart of wine to the
"zieler" in consequence of a "centrum shot," he will
exclaim angrily, —
284 G AD DING S WITII A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
"As if the man were not tipsy enough ! Now he will
be quite blind with liquor ; " and grumblingly adds, " Of
course he won't find my bullet-hole ! "
These and a host of other ejaculations of anger, often
of a worse kind, are constantly to be heard from marks¬
men, who in the heat of the moment blame the marker
for the effects of that last glass of brandy, or for that
most minute, but yet in its result very perceptible, un¬
steadiness of the hand, or for the decreasing keenness
of the eye.
Hundreds of excuses there are besides, in which an
indifferent shot will take refuge, to explain to his mali¬
ciously smiling neighbor that it was not his fault that he
missed the bull's-eye : everybody and every thing is to
blame rather than he himself. " That infernal wind, just
blowing its strongest when I fired ; " "I told you I would
miss it, I followed your advice of aiming more to the
right ; " "There ! look at that shot, just three inches too
short — that beastly powder is getting worse every day ; "
" that dunce of a zieler must have overlooked my shot-
hole." Now the wind is blowing front the wrong direc¬
tion, now it depresses, then again it elevates, the bullet's
flight. Now it is the bad liquor which makes his hand
shake ; then again the daylight is delusive, bringing out
the target in too strong a light, now leaving it in darkness
when an inopportune cloud obscures the sun. His per¬
sonal bad luck comes in for its share of blame too : " why
did I come?" while, if the truth were known, naught
but his own wish influenced him. His wife would have
gladly seen him stop at home, rather than know him risk
his hardly-earned money in competing with numbers of
better rifle-shots than he is.
Let us look about us in the shooting-range. More
than a dozen strapping young fellows have arrived before
us. Their hats, decorated with bunches of carnations,
set jauntily on one side of their heads, their picturesque
national costume, and the gay "jodel " which now and
again breaks forth from a lucky marksman, all unite in
producing a charming ensemble. Here in a corner two
A "KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 2S5
or three are loading their rifles ; there a couple are en¬
gaged in an earnest consultation as to the exact effect of
the wind : "was it blowing from right to left," — east and
west are expressions unknown to them, — "or was it
blowing steadily from the hills," and thus, instead of
effecting the ball's flight from right to left, depressing it?
The majority of those present are, however, clustering
round the three partitions the use of which we have men¬
tioned already.
Let us watch for a moment that young fellow, whom,
nodding to us as he takes up his rifle, we recognize as
one of our two fair tormentors' most assiduous swains.
Glancing at the sheet in front of the score-keeper, we
see that he has a number " three " and a couple of
" two's " to his score.
Standing like a statue of bronze in his little partition,
Iiis broad back turned towards us, we have a capital
opportunity to watch the steadiness of his aim. Once
at his shoulder, the rifle remains as if fastened in a vise
— no tremor, no budging whatever ; a slight click tells
us that he has set the hair-trigger ; half a second later the
sharp crack rings out into the crisp air.
"Black it must be!" he says, as he lowers his rifle;
and we have little cause to doubt his assertion, if perfect
steadiness of hand be a fair criterion. The "zieler" is at
the target ; all of a sudden we see him crouch down,
while with his cap drawn over his eyes he crawls back to
his hut, emerging from it with his spectacles that hide
his whole face. Approaching the target, he wags his
head, and imitates the movements of a short-sighted per¬
son looking intently at something ; finally, after spending
a minute or two in this make-believe examination of the
target, he suddenly leaps up, and a piercing jodier tells
us that he is on the track of the bullet. " A centrum, by
Jove ! " exclaims the excited crowd; and so it is, for by
a succession of wild leaps the " zieler " has reached the
small flag, stuck in the ground in front of the hut to indi¬
cate to the marksman the direction and force of the wind,
wrenches it out of the ground, and runs back to the tar¬
get with it in his hand.
286 G A DÖINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
A smile of satisfaction and pleasure has settled upon
the face of the lucky marksman ; the score-keeper who
sits at his elbow, and who has been watching the capers
of the "zieler," proffers him his full bottle of wine, and
adds his congratulation to those of the other young fel¬
lows crowding round their lucky companion.
"The first centrum that day!" He hopes it may be
the last one too ; for does it not entitle him to that lovely
blue and red silk pocket-handkerchief of gigantic dimen¬
sions, which, together with seven or eight minor prizes, is
hanging on a board right over the scorekeeper's head ?
"Won't the six silver florin-pieces which adorn it — the
first prize—be jolly? He and his girl will be able to
dance as often as they like that evening ; and won't she,
the belle of the village, be proud to see her lover's hat
adorned with its gaudy folds, after the shooting-match is
over ? What lover's request will he tag on to the presen¬
tation of that resplendent silk handkerchief, when, in the
small hours of the morning, he and his ' Gretl ' are re¬
turning to their homes ? "
All this, and more perhaps, passes through his head, as
he retires to the corner to load his rifle afresh.
Alas ! his hopes are destined to be rudely shaken ; for
who should make their quite unexpected appearance,
but two noted " Raubers ! " This word means no less
than robbers ; and in this instance it is applied to the very
best shots of the country, who, on account of their un¬
erring marksmanship, are dreaded competitors, carrying
off generally the first prizes in each match.
They travel from village to village, cross mountains,
and find no distance too great if it comes within the
scope of a stout pair of legs in a day's or even two days'
march. As long as their hand retains its amazing steadi¬
ness, and their eye its keenness, they live by rifle-shoot¬
ing. Hundreds of prizes, stripped, however, of the gold
or silver pieces that once adorned the gaudy handker¬
chief of silk, the bright ribbon, or the bunch of gayly-
colored artificial flowers which are hidden away in their
cottages, attest the remarkable skill of these men.
A " KIRCHTAG" AND RIFLE-MATCH. 287
No wonder, therefore, that the unexpected appearance
of two very noted robbers at a match in a secluded little
valley was more than unwelcome to the native marks¬
men, each eager to carry off a prize himself. But there
was no help : a " Freischiessen " —that is, a match open
to all comers — it was, and they had grumblingly to
ascribe it to their bad luck, that these men had heard of
the match, and, though the amount of the prizes was in
reality insignificant, had taken the trouble to cross moun¬
tains and valleys to reach the place in good time.
Together with them arrived three portly, jolly-looking
country priests, each carrying his rifle in approved fash¬
ion.
It is a strange sight to see priests, dressed in their
canonical garb, handling rifles, and shooting with an
activity unsurpassed by the peasants themselves. Some
of them are by no means bad shots ; in fact, there is a
large monastery in Oberinnthal (Stams), boasting of sev¬
eral excellent shots among its becowled inhabitants.
Strange to say, the peasants delight to see their village
priest compete with them at the rifle-range, and it is
quite a matter of jealous rivalry for the villages in the
larger valleys to be the possessor of the best clerical shot.
Though these sporting priests put themselves on an equal
footing with the rest of the company while shooting, the
peasants rarely forget their presence ; and if a hasty oath
at a piece of exceptionally bad luck does escape the lips
of one, he will turn round quickly, with his hand up to
his mouth, as if he intended to wipe away from his lips
tire wicked words that escaped them, and assure himself
that they were not heard by his spiritual counselor.
While the peasant does not forget that he is in the
presence of his priest, the latter likewise remembers what
is due to his position as a man of God ; and you will
often see one of these black-coated and top-booted
competitors praying his rosary to himself, or reading his
breviary, while he is waiting for his turn to shoot.
The man before him has shot, the marker has made
his capers, and it is his turn to step into the box from
288 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
whence he is to fire. The book of hours, the prayer-
book, or the rosary disappears in one of the ample pock¬
ets, and the man of God takes up his riñe, and steps
into the little den, no longer a priest, but rather a marks¬
man passionately fond of the sport.
Of course, rifle-shooting priests are the exception in
Tyrol, but I have always found that they are general
favorites among their flocks.
Unfortunately, there are only too many valleys and
districts in fair Tyrol where the spirit of the population is
broken by the austere rule of the Roman Catholic Church,
centered as that rule is in the hands of rank Jesuits.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 289
CHAPTER XVI.
A VISIT TO A TYROLESE PEASANT WATERING-PLACE.
HAVING passed a day with my readers at a Tyrolese
" Kirchtag," I now propose asking them to join me
on a trip to a scene equally favorable to the study of the
quaint sayings and doings of the Tyrolese peasantry,
namely, a genuine peasant watering-place ; and for this
purpose, though I know it to be a most preposterous
request, I boldly invite them to accompany me in a
third-class compartment 011 the recently-constructed rail¬
way through the Pusterthal, one of the chief Tyrolese
valleys.
We can enjoy a good view of the grand landscape, of
the verdant hillsides and wooded mountain-slopes, along
which our train is slowly creeping towards the remote
little station, from whence a bridle-path and stout legs
will in three short hours bring us to our goal, — the
primitive little watering-place of S , hid away among
Alpine fastnesses, at the extremity of one of the small and
very steep Alpine glens branching off from the above-
mentioned mother valley.
Traveling in Tyrol in third-class carriages has its good
and its bad points. Jostling you up into your corner is
a weather-beaten young fellow of gigantic proportions.
His short leather trousers are old, and patched in so
many places that scarce any of the original hide can be
distinguished. His bare knees are of a mahogany hue,
and are as scarred and scratched as his breeches are
patched.
His bare feet are stuck into huge shoes of formidable
290 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
weight. The weather being hot, he is- in his shirt-sleeves,
his coat hanging jauntily over his right shoulder. The
shirt, open in front, gives you the opportunity to glance
at his magnificently-built chest and breadth of shoulder,
both of Herculean cast. The healthy complexion of a
ruddy brown, his sparkling eyes, his glistening white
teeth, and, above all, the torn and battered old hat,
adorned with the inevitable blackcock feathers, set jaunti¬
ly on one side of his well-shapen head, betray the genu¬
ine son of the mountains.
There is something noble and manly about these fellows,
though their exterior be more like that of a footpad in
come-down circumstances. The firm tread, the upright
bearing, the keen glance, the fearless eyes, and, above
all, the manly self-assurance betrayed by each gesture,
tell of the splendid stuff they are made of.
Between his legs he holds a large cradle-saw some four
feet long, and a bright, glistening ax, round the head of
which are slung a pair of enormous crampons, polished
to a silvery brightness by constant use. These imple¬
ments tell us his vocation at a glance.
He is a woodcutter, fresh from the mountains. It is
Saturday afternoon ; and after a six-weeks' spell of hard
work clearing some gloomy old forest situated some three
or four thousand feet over the valley, on the impending
slopes of a peak, he is about to return to his home, to his
wife and child maybe, or to his coy sweetheart.
He will tell you presently he has never traveled on a
railway before, for the route on which we are traveling
has been quite recently opened. Every thing is new to
him. His bright eyes are turned here and there as if
seeking to unravel the supreme mystery of that marvel¬
ous power able to propel heavy cars filled with people,
cattle, and goods, at twice the pace the fastest horse he
has ever seen could travel.
He scratches his head, and a look of bewildered curi¬
osity steals over his face ; for there is nothing about the
newly-varnished seats and walls, nor, as far as he can dis¬
cover, about the freshly-painted outside of the car, that
gives him a clew.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 291
He sits lost in a maze of thought. He can see no
horses pulling, no machinery, and yet the heavy train is
going along at a rapid pace.
" Ah ! " thinks he to himself, " maybe the priest was
right, after all ; it is the Devil's work, and nothing else.
What fools we all were to be enticed by the high wages
offered by the contractors ! Did not our worthy guardian
warn us from lending our hands to this evil undertaking,
and did he not tell us often that the road to hell was
broad and smooth, and that you went down it at a sharp
pace ? "
These are the thoughts of our neighbor, — thoughts
instilled into an active mind by a set of intriguing schem¬
ers, in whose interest it lies to keep up the barbarous
ignorance of the populace, well knowing it to be one of
the mainstays of their power.
Let us see if, by an application of a little common
sense, we can not hanish the ghost of superstitious igno¬
rance from an otherwise intelligent and active mind.
We endeavor, first of all, to explain to our neighbor the
nature of steam, and the enormous power dormant in
that element. It is a difficult undertaking ; for, to go to
the very root of the question, these simple people do not
even know what a teakettle is, thus rendering an illustra¬
tion of Watt's wonderful discovery, by that homely simile,
impossible. But, after all, we succeed far more easily
than we anticipated at the outset ; for the man's mind is
open to common-sense argument, and when he leaves us
at the next station, the intelligent smile on his bright face
Confirms us in our agreeable conviction that we have won
over to the cause of the nineteenth century a disciple of
the bigoted ignorance of the sixteenth.
In his place an entire peasant family rushes into the
carriage in a statq of excitement bordering on frenzy.
They are from primitive Enneberg : they have never seen,
far less traveled on, a railway before ; and the very mo¬
tion of driving is new to them, for their roads, except for
the springless carts used in Tyrol, are far too steep and
too wretchedly kept up.
292 GADDIHGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
As we listen to their rambling talk, expressing the most
vague notions respecting the origin of the moving power,
we are reminded of days long past, and we wonder
whether everybody was at first a victim to the specula¬
tions and doubts to which our neighbors are a prey.
Presently our thoughts are interrupted by a loud shriek,
and at the same moment the train is ingulfed in a
tunnel.
When, after a minute or two, we emerge into daylight
again, the whole family is discovered in a state of col¬
lapse pitiful to behold. They gaze about them, quite
astonished that nobody seems the worse for the ordeal
they have just undergone. Fright makes them all the
more eager to enter into conversation with the traveler
sitting quietly in his corner, coolly smoking his cigar,
while a veritable smile is flitting about his face.
It might be the Evil One himself, come hither to
amuse himself at their abject terror. My voice is there¬
fore greeted with joy ; and very shortly I find myself en¬
gaged in a conversation with the party, who, I hear pres¬
ently, are traveling to the same place as we are. Feeling
conscious that I have but a very hazy idea of the medici¬
nal qualities of the waters of S , I determine to
acquire some more definite knowledge by questioning our
fellow-travelers.
My hopes, alas ! are not to be fulfilled, for all I can get
out of them is that the water " scours you out." I pitch
upon a more roundabout but surer way of getting at the
information, by questioning them regarding their ailments.
" That must lead to it," I fondly imagine, but again am
disappointed. The father, a broad-shouldered, keen-eyed
man, past his first youth, tells us he is suffering from
an old wound in his leg, inflicted by an Italian rifle-ball.
The wife, healthy and robust as she is looking, complains,
on the other hand, of rheumatism in her whole body ;
while her daughter, a girl of nineteen, is subject to faint¬
ing-fits that have defied all quacks. The two boys, one
of fourteen, the other of twelve, are described by the
parents as " appetiteless," — a statement belied by the
appearance of the apple-cheeked, sturdy little fellows.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 293
" And will all of you use the waters of S ?" I ask,
for as yet we have not arrived at any clear idea as to their
quality.
• " Oh, yes, certainly ! why would you have us go thither,
a long way off from home, if we did not use the baths? "
Our short "Of course " ends the conversation, and we
are left to our own thoughts.
In due time we arrive at the station, from whence we
have to proceed on foot to S . We watch the happy
family being pulled out one by one by the impatient
guard, for we are the only passengers alighting at the
remote little halting-place, and the man is impatient to
give the signal to move on. But he is not to get off so
quickly ; for now one small boy rushes back to the train, and
endeavors to scramble up to the door in quest of the fam¬
ily umbrella that was intrusted to his care, and which he
thinks he has forgotten in the train. He is dragged off '<ke
step by the angry official, while he orders the bewildered
father to show his tickets, for which the latter has been
vainly searching for the last two or three minutes. His
pockets are turned out one by one ; and their contents,
consisting of the most heterogeneous odds and ends of
household and domestic life, piled up into the hat which
the hapless peasant has taken off his head for that pur¬
pose. The tickets are not to be found, and the guard is
swearing lustily at the perplexed paterfamilias. Suddenly
the wretched man remembers that he has put them be¬
tween the lining of his hat ; and, not waiting to empty that
receptacle by restoring each article to its proper pocket,
he turns it over on the ground, and fishes the tickets
triumphantly from the secret folds of that strange hiding-
place.
The train moves on, leaving ruin and confusion behind
it. The mother of the family has had apparently her
share of trouble too ; for there she sits on a heap of stones,
bewailing the fate of a large iron frying-pan, the handle
of which, protruding from a well-filled haversack, has
been bent out of all shape by a fall from the railway car¬
riage. Anxious to see what other damage has been done
2 94 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
to her precious bag, she unties the strings, and out bulge
half a dozen or so of cooking-utensils of a size that clearly
show they are intended for family use.
We ask ourselves why on earth these people carry their
kitchen about with them. Did they not tell us that they
were bent on a visit to a watering-place ? Maybe they
know no better, poor wretches. We smile at their igno¬
rance, and flatter ourselves with the thought that, after all,
there is nothing like knocking about the world to teach a
fellow savoir faire, and endow him with the faculty to do
the right thing at the right place.
Who would think that we, and not they, will be the
laughing-stock of the visitors at S ? We certainly not,
as we glance at the modest size of their luggage, very
apt to make one entertain some suspicion that they are,
after all, a company of wandering tinkers, and not the
respectable, well-to-do peasant family they led us to believe
them to be by their conversation.
What on earth can three little bundles, tied up in blue
cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, contain in the way of linen
and clean clothes for the use of five persons? We look
around us in the hopes of seeing some trunk or box ; but
our search is in vain, for, in truth, no luggage whatever
was set down on the platform.
We shoulder our knapsacks, and proceed on our way to
S . A three-hours' charming walk through shady for¬
est, where we meet not a soul, brings us to a cluster of
modest little châlets, standing in the middle of a grand
extent of Alpine meadow-land, hedged in by a belt of
dark somber pine forest, over which again tower the gla¬
cier-clad giants of the Tauern. We sit down on a con¬
venient boulder, and examine the picturesque landscape.
The fresh bracing air (we are at an altitude of considera¬
bly over five thousand feet), the grand sweep of glacier
in close proximity, the faint wreaths of smoke curling up
from the simple log house, disappearing very nearly under
roofs weighted with heavy stones and projecting several
yards on all sides, and the distant lowing of cattle, and
the murmuring of an adjacent rivulet, all tend to carry us
into dreamland.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 295
Separated from the settlement by a grove of beech-trees,
stands the diminutive chapel erected by some pious vis¬
itor. It is a simple structure of logs, neatly whitewashed
in and outside, and will hold some thirty people closely
packed. The steeple, some forty feet high, is of the same
material, and sports two bells of silvery tone.
But where is the bath-house, the hotel, the Kursaal, and
the other buildings that greet the visitor in most watering-
places of any repute ? There are no more than five or
six huts visible.
We leave our post of observation, and approach the
dwellings by a narrow path meandering through the mead¬
ow. Presently we reach the first house : it is a log-cabin
like the rest, though covering, perhaps, a slightly larger
area than its neighbors. Two rows of benches and tables
in front of the hut are occupied by a laughing merry
crowd of peasant-folk. All of them are types of their
respective homes. We see the inhabitants of Enneberg,
Ähren, Taufers, Lappach, St. Georgen, Ehrenburg, and a
number of other valleys that branch off from the expan¬
sive Pusterthal.
Each valley owns some distinctive feature in dress. If
it is not the hat or the cut of the coat, or the color of the
waistcoat and braces, it is sure to be the excessive width
or strange trimming of the pantaloons, or the color of the
coat, that betrays their homes.
Some thirty peasants are here assembled, playing at
cards, or chatting together in groups, emitting clouds of
tobacco-smoke in the pauses of conversation. We have
the visitors of the baths of S before us. A wooden
tablet with " Bath-house " written on it, in a hardly
legible hand, is fixed over the doorway, where, engaged
in a lively conversation with a stout old priest, stands the
master of the establishment. He is evidently a person
of some importance. He owns the surrounding fields,
and farms them himself ; he has a dozen head of cattle,
attends personally on his guests, aided by an old male
attendant (a very tyrannical Sultan we find him to be) ;
and, finally, he does not mind turning stray pennies by
his skill and repute as veterinary surgeon.
296 CADDINGS, WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
We look around us, hoping to find some traces of
inhabitable quarters. The two buildings adjoining the
bath-house, of the interior of which we shall make a
nearer examination on the morrow, form evidently part
of the establishment. We are curious to see what their
inside is like ; and we peep into the first, and find that it
contains naught but a row of fireplaces and shelves upon
which are placed, in formidable array, rows of frying-
pans, pots, and plates.
This is the kitchen common to all visitors. He who
wants to eat must cook his food himself ; for it is the
utmost that mine host does to furnish the raw materials,
such as flour, bread, and now and again a haunch of
beef. Now only do we understand the strange outfit of
our happy family. We retreat to the kitchen, and cross¬
ing the path enter the third habitation. It is a barn with
two tiers, one for the women and the other for the men.
Rough blankets and a few sheets are hung on pegs along
the wall, while the ground itself is covered by a layer of
sweet-smelling hay, the mattress in common to all visitors.
Our walk has made us hungry and thirsty, so we boldly
attack mine host with a demand to furnish us with food.
He eyes us from top to bottom, evidently taking stock of
our personality, and making a shrewd guess at the ailings
to which our poor flesh is prone, and which probably have
brought us hither.
" The Herr can have flour and salt, and bread and
wine, and maybe some of the men at that table will
lend him a frying-pan," was the answer we got.
We are doomed to turn cook, and woe to one who has
neglected his education as such ! The host disappears,
coming back, after the lapse of a few minutes, with a bag
of flour, a handful of coarse salt, a pannikin full of milk,
and a couple of eggs.
" Maybe you'd care for an egg or two," says the man,
wondering all the while if the price he intends to ask for
each (about a halfpenny) will meet our approval ; for
eggs, you must know, are decidedly luxuries in S .
We pay for the articles the host has brought ; and, after
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 297
borrowing a frying-pan from a young fellow at our side,
we disappear into the dark gulf of the kitchen. Wood
is plentiful hereabouts, and everybody can help himself
to as much as he likes.
In ten minutes a savory omelet is standing before us,
side by side with' a bumper of country wine. Have any
of my readers ever tried to cook their own supper?
Those only that have, can appreciate the relish that
seasons the dish, be it ever so simple.
Before the evening has closed in, we have undergone a
thorough course of cross-examination at the hands of our
neighbors as to the object of our visit, from whence we
hail, how long we intend to stop, and as to the nature of
our ailments. Was there any thing the matter with our
digestion, or did we suffer from rheumatism? We do
our best to satisfy our companions' curiosity.
Presently the stout party in a Franciscan's cowl, who has
been standing near the doorway, engaged in conversation
with several peasants, honors us by sitting down at our
side, again putting us under a strict cross-examination
respecting the whence and wheres of our journey, nation¬
ality, &c.
While we are thus engaged, the happy family, our
fellow-travelers of the morning, arrive. They are evi¬
dently more at home here than on railways ; for the father
masters the position at a glance, and, after getting a supply
of flour and milk, the family disappear in the kitchen,
where they take formal possession of a fireplace and of a
shelf. Early hours are the rule. The evening bell has
tolled, the stout priest has prayed the rosary, the whole
company, standing up with uncovered heads, joining
devoutly in the responses. It is hardly quite dark yet,
when the majority of the company retire to their roosts
in the hay-loft. Two couples remain behind ; they are
deep in a game of cards, and the heavy bangs of clinched
fists on the table betray the excited state of the men,
hardly warranted by the exceedingly moderate stakes for
which they are playing.
Soon afterwards the men finish their game, and retire
298 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
to the bedroom shed. We are loth to leave the comfort¬
able seats and the balmy evening breeze ; but the host
informs us that at nine o'clock the stable-lantern which
lights the barn is put out, and that without its friendly
but exceeding dim rays we will find it impossible to dis¬
cover an unoccupied corner for ourselves, without stum¬
bling over dozens of sleeping forms. We each pay the
five kreutzers (one penny) demanded by the host for the
night's accommodation, and hurry after the men who
preceded us. We find the inside of the barn full of life
and commotion. The women are on the upper tier, the
men on the ground floor ; when the last woman has
mounted the ladder, and has disappeared through the
square hole, the ladder is drawn up, and all further com¬
munication is thus cut off. This is always the signal for
numberless jokes on the part of the men, answered by
biting sarcasm from the upper story. We have just had
time to ensconce ourselves in the farthest comer, under
a mountain of sweet-smelling hay, when the light is put
out, and darkness reigns supreme. The gurgling and
splashing sound of the spring, close by the barn, lulls us
to sleep ; and after as comfortable a night's rest as we
could wish, we rise with the sun.
We are among the last to leave our barn dormitory ; for
our companions, both male and female, have left nigh an
hour before us, eager to engage in the fierce combat that
decided the ownership of each one of the available tubs,
some fifteen or sixteen in number.
Our limited knowledge of Tyrolese peasant watering-
places leads us to commit a second mistake of far more
disagreeable consequences than those attendant upon our
late rising. Ignorant of the excessively long time these
people stop in their tubs, we put off our breakfast, or
rather we delay the irksome duty of preparing that meal
ourselves, in order to enjoy a good dip in the invigorating
waters of S . We enter the crazy old doorway giving
entrance to the log-built bath-house, intent upon our an¬
ticipated plunge ; but we proceed no farther, for rooted to
the ground we gaze thunderstruck at the strange sight
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 299
that meets our eyes. Imagine a long chamber, lighted by
half a score of windows, cut in the timber, but unprotected
by glass. The roof of the hut is the ceiling of the room ;
and hanging from the rafters, at regular intervals of some
five or six feet, are sheets, so arranged that they serve
first of all as screens, and then as towels to dry. A
screen larger than the rest divides the chamber into two
unequal portions, the larger one with nine tubs being re¬
served for the males, the smaller with six tanks for the
females. Beyond a few chairs and a table in the center,
whereupon are placed the watches and purses of the
bathers, the building contains no furniture whatever. A
low doorway leads into an out-house, where the water is
heated in several large boilers. We perceive all this at a
glance ; for the curtains are drawn aside, and the whole
chamber, male and female division, is free from end to
end.
In each of the large tubs, some Tour feet in length, is
confined a human being. I say confined, for nothing but
the head peeps out ; a close-fitting covering of boards,
with a semicircular hole at one end for the neck, shuts
you in as completely as were you a Jack-in-the-box. A
brisk conversation is carried on. Here a husband, his
bronzed face at a red glow, is scolding his demure wife at
the other end of the long chamber ; there two peasants,
late partners in a game at cards, endeavor to settle a
disputed point in a high-pitched wrangle.
Others again, highly shocked by the hilarity and de¬
pravity evinced by their companions, are conscientiously
following the advice given to them by their spiritual ad¬
viser. They are praying the rosary in most devout fash¬
ion. Their hands, rendered invisible by the lid, are busy
telling their beads lent to them by the master of the
establishment ; for unlike the common rosaries, they have
to be of some substance that withstands the effect of an
immersion of several hours in hot water. Look at that
picture of human frailty yonder ! By dint of a close
examination of each feature we finally recognize in the
miserable object before us the stout monk of yesterday.
300 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
His face is of a coppery red, reminding us of a person
convulsed by an apoplectic fit ; heavy drops of perspira¬
tion are coursing down his forehead, and from thence
shaping themselves into a veritable cascade down his
puffed-out cheeks. His eyes, starting from his head, stare
at you with a wild expression alarming to behold. His
sufferings must be intense ; for, with the rest of his super-
stitiously ignorant flock, he firmly believes that the hotter
the water the speedier the cure. Poor fellow ! he has
even forgotten his rosary, for the words that now and
again slip from his lips are decidedly no sacred ones. In
the "tub next to him a peasant is descanting upon his suf¬
ferings in a more rational manner, but suddenly forgetting
totally the heinousness of his words, especially if ad¬
dressed to a servant of the Holy Church, he remarks to
his neighbor, — who as we have seen is not in that frame
of mind to appreciate a joke, —- " that if hell was as hot
a place as this, it must be as good as a bath ! " Hardly
have these words escaped his lips, when he is struck by
their wickedness, and forgetting his bondage, and eager
to atone for his crime by making the sign of the cross,
raps his knuckles severely on the boards of the lid.
Unhappy wretch ! Glance where we will, we see misery
in the most comic form. The attendant of the bath, an
elderly man of imperturbable nerves, goes his rounds in
a business-like manner, that betrays his unimpressionable
heart hardened against all human feelings. The placid
nod, saying as plainly as words could do, "You fool," is
dealt out most sparingly ; in fact, quite as scantily as the
penny fees of the guests.
The watchful guardian of order in this primitive estab¬
lishment has nearly arrived at the end of his round, when,
to his astonishment, he perceives that from the lid belong¬
ing to the tub last in the row, project two human heads,
one of which suddenly disappears as he turns his eyes in
that direction.
He approaches the tub, and finds, to his utter aston¬
ishment, that a second hole has been cut at the foot end
of the lid. He plunges his arm down into the hot water,
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 301
and finally drags forth, by the hair of the head, a young
urchin, highly frightened, and crying very freely.
It seems that our friend of the day before, the pater¬
familias with whom we traveled part of the way, anxious
to save the fifteen kreutzers (three pence) for a bath for
his youngest son, had, in an unobserved moment, cut
out with his pocket-knife a second opening in the cover
of the tub where his elder son was already seated.
The simple-minded father trusted that his stratagem
would escape the notice of the watchful Cerberus, and
ordered his surreptitiously-introduced offspring to duck
down whenever the " bath-man " passed that way. The
poor little fellow, in an agony of fear all the while, had
difficulty enough to squeeze his head down through the
hole ; but, as we have seen, the lynx-eyed attendant dis¬
covered him nevertheless.
Loud mirth greeted his violent expostulations, that
were met on the part of the father by a stoical indiffer¬
ence. The extra bath money, and thirty kreutzers for
repairs, were demanded from our friend ; but finally the
claim was settled by a fourpenny-bit.
Our own thoughts are naturally diverted from the object
of our visit by the amusing scene before us. We had
been some time in the bath-house before the thought
recurred to us that we were here to bathe. The com¬
pany, however, evinced not the slightest sign of bringing
their immersion to a close.
We asked the attendant, and learned from him that at
nine o'clock the company would leave their tubs, and
adjourn to dinner.
"And don't they breakfast?" we ask; and are an¬
swered in the negative, — "They eat all the more at
dinner."
Not inclined to forego our breakfast in lieu of a nine or
ten o'clock dinner, we tell the man to reserve us tubs, and
leave the hot atmosphere of the bath-house, for a walle
through the bright green meadow-land and shady pine-
forests that inclose the little settlement on all sides.
In an hour's time we are back,—just in time to
watch the closing scene of that morning's bathing.
3°2 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Punctually at nine o'clock the attendant pulls the cur¬
tains, transforming the whole space into two distinct
divisions ; and each of these again into as many little
cabinets as there are tubs. A passage is left free between
the two rows, and from thence you can watch the violent
movements of the curtains, while they are being used as
towels.
The whereabouts of the portly priest was easily dis¬
covered ; for presently we saw the coarse linen sheet
Dulge out, and then, wet as it was, mark the outlines of
ris formidable corpus.
On going out, each person pays his fifteen kreutzers,
md gives his orders respecting the afternoon. Some of
the poorer visitors, not being able to afford a second hot
dilution, take advantage of the privilege accorded to
them by the owner, namely, of being allowed to use the
vater of the morning a second time in the afternoon. In
the course of the four hours that intervene between the
two baths, the water has got quite cold ; but there is no
lelp for the poor wretches who are driven to these straits.
While the first half of the visitors are eating their din-
lers, the second batch, among whom we find ourselves,
idjourn to the bath-house. This only occurs in the
leight of the season, when the press of visitors is great.
We astonish our attendant by stopping in the water but
íalf an hour ; and he gives vent to this feeling by remark-
ng to us that we must nevertheless pay three pence, " as
f you had stopped your three hours in it."
We do so very willingly, for the bath is a delightful one.
Slot so was our breakfast ; for we have to wait for more
:han half an hour till one of the fireplaces in the kitchen
las become vacant, and then, it being Friday, and no
neat obtainable for love or money, we have to appease
iur appetite with a plate of " Schmarn."
After breakfast we are joined by the owner of the es-
:ablishment, a simple peasant, as unrefined and rough-
ooking as his visitors.
One question leads to another, and very shortly we are
ieep in an interesting conversation with the man. His
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 303
father, it turns out, had built the two log houses, and had
increased the number of tubs from three to twelve. On
the death of his parent, he and his sister inherited the
establishment and a valuable Alpine pasturage with two
huts, on yonder mountain slopes.
" She is up there now tending our herd of cattle, and
sends down, twice a week, milk, butter, and cheese for
the visitors at the bath."
From this our conversation turns upon other topics,
amongst which are some questions we put to the peasant
regarding his visitors.
"Are they all peasants? Doés he really think the
waters of S have such beneficial results? or is it not
perhaps the perfect rest, and the regular way of living,
that accomplishes the cure ? "
In answer our host gives us some startling instances of
cures effected by a visit to S .
We then proceed to ask him why he does not make
some suitable arrangements for the accommodation of
his visitors, —a separate hut, with a few little rooms con¬
taining a bed or two each, and a woman to cook for those
who could not handle a frying-pan themselves.
We are told that these improvements would be the
ruin of the place.
"This is but a peasants' watering-place, and it is
arranged especially for them. We do not want ' Iierr-
enleut ' (gentlefolk) to come here. There are enough
watering-places for them in Tyrol. Wherever purse-proud
town-folk are, living is dear, and peasant-folk are there¬
fore shut out. Beds, cooks, and table d'hote are all very
well for those who can afford such luxuries. Here a man
can live as economically as at home. He pays five
kreutzers for his bed, the same sum for the use of the
kitchen, and fifteen for his bath, and say thirty kreutzers
a day for his food, making a sum total of fifty-five kreut¬
zers (about thirteen pence).
" These are different prices from those that town-folk
are willing to pay ; why, I have heard that at many water¬
ing-places a man is obliged to pay as much as two shil-
3°4 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
lings for his bed and room, and not much less for his
dinner ! Were I to make any improvements such as you
referred to, I would have to raise my prices ; and while this
out-of-the-way nook would be rarely visited by people
who could afford paying for these luxuries, I would drive
away my peasant customers. We rejoice that we are left
to ourselves ; and, as long as I live, the place shall remain
as you see it now."
At this moment the tiny bell in the chapel, which we
noticed yesterday on our journey hither, begins to toll.
" 'Tis Friday mass," says our host, and explains sub¬
sequently that a rich peasant, who had been cured from
a severe ailing in S , had left as a pious legacy a munifi¬
cent sum wherewith every Friday a mass is said for the
salvation of his soul. A part of the foundation was ap¬
propriated to repair the chapel and furnish it with a regu¬
lar supply of wax candles.
"But have you always a priest stopping here? " we ask.
" Oh, yes ! that's the most important personage in a
bath. Why, not a single peasant would stop scarcely
twenty-four hours, were there no priest to read morning
mass every day. I generally get them from some of the
monasteries in the Pusterthal or from Brixen."
"But do you mean to say you order them ?" we in¬
quire.
" Oh, yes ! at the beginning of the season I -write to the
prior of one of these establishments, telling him that for
that and that month I want a Capuchin, or a Franciscan,
or a Benedictine pater up here, and he tells me if he
can let me have one. I am always kept supplied with
them, for they have every thing free here except flour
and wine ; I don't charge them for their hay couch, the
use of the kitchen, nor for their bath, nor for what they
eat, except flour. They like vcoming, for they lead a
much gayer life up here than down in the gloomy cells
of their monastery. I often get two at a time ; and then
I make them each pay for their food, and give them every
thing else gratuitously. Father Cœlestin " (referring to
the stout party whose miserable plight in the steam-bath
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 305
I took occasion to note) " has been here for three weeks
the last twelve or fifteen years ! but, poor fellow, he leaves
the bath every year stouter than he arrived. He was
pretty slim at first, but now he has grown very stout-
bodied ; and though he bathes in water four or five de¬
grees hotter than any of the other visitors dare use, the
good fare and the jolly life counterbalance the effects of
the torture to which he submits twice a day. He is the
favorite among the peasants : his sermons are of the best,
for he describes the tortures of hell with a reality and
force that none of the other priests can equal, and you
will know yourself that peasants love ' strong ' sermons.
Pater Ccelestin's words go straight to one's heart, they
say, and one really gets convinced of the terrible fate
that awaits sinners."
Our host leaves us to join the crowd that is hurrying
towards the chapel. Let us follow this simple-minded
congregation, and cast a glance at the inside of the way¬
side shrine. The edifice is crowded to suffocation, and
there is hardly a foot of free space intervening between
the altar-step and the first row of devotees.
There is no vestry, nor any other free space for the
officiating priest to dress in, and we wonder how the stout
father will manage to crowd through the densely-packed
congregation. Presently we see the slip of red curtain at
the side of the altar pushed aside, and the portly monk
squeezes himself out sideways through an opening in the
wall barely sufficient to allow a lean person to pass
through comfortably. A titter runs through the congrega¬
tion, for the sight is ridiculous in the extreme. While
our friend reads mass, and the little boy of the owner
tinkles a cracked bell, we examine the walls of the sacred
building. There are numberless votive offerings lining
them. Here we see rows of crutches of all lengths and
sizes, each adorned with some faded ribbon ; yonder a
rank and file of arms, legs, eyes, and ears, shaped in wax ;
there dozens of little pictures, horrible daubs, the work of
village schoolmasters or rural stonemasons. They are all
the gifts of peasants whose ailings have been cured by
3<)0 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
the waters of S , and who demonstrate their grate¬
ful acknowledgments by offering up the very crutches by
the aid of which they reached the miraculous source ; or
by presenting a miniature image of the diseased limb or
organ, shaped in white or red wax. Let us read the in¬
scriptions on one or two of the pictures close at our side.
On one we see a man and woman kneeling at an altar :
they are dressed in the old-fashioned many-colored garb
of the Ehrenbergers. Above them, floating on a throne
of clouds, is the Virgin and the Child. In one hand she
is holding a crutch, in the other a pail of water, the insig¬
nia of watering-places. Both devotees at her feet are in
the attitude of prayer ; and underneath is written, that
Johann Klausner and Gertraud his housewife were healed
and cured of terrible sickness with the aid of the Virgin
Mary, and that, as a token of gratitude, they have offered
up this picture, and have vowed to make a pilgrimage to
Maria Shrine : " Thou blessed and immaculate mothei of
mankind, thou wife of God, thou source of all blessings,
be with us, and protect us for ever and ever."
Underneath the picture and this quaint inscription, is
a lively representation of hell. Three youths and two
maidens are immured up to their waists in a caldron filled
with molten lead ; and a select company of imps and
young devils are dancing round the martyrs.
The other picture, hanging just below the one we have
described, shows us a peasant in the same attitude and
with the same surroundings as those of the couple in the
preceding picture. The inscription is more laconic ; but
betrays humor on the part of the owner : —
" God and the Virgin Mary give us sudden good luck,
And protect us from costly fare I "
What the donor meant by these at first quite unintelli¬
gible words, was explained to us later on by the monk.
The man had fallen down a deep precipice, and instead
of breaking his neck he had but broken his arm : that
was the "sudden good luck." The "costly fare " meant
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 307
physic. He had been dosing himself with quantities of
quack medicines ; but nothing availed him till he came
to S .
The mass is finished ; the congregation files out of the
low porch, leaving us to our quiet contemplation of the
motley array of waxen arms and legs. Why is it, we ex¬
claim, as our glance ranges along the walls, that in this
strange and fantastic display of superstition only bodily
shortcomings of mankind are represented? Surely the
human mind, so much more delicately framed, has equal
claims to a peg in the walls of Tyrolese wayside chapels.
The peasant invalid deposits, when cured, his now use¬
less crutches in the next shrine. And why, we ask, could
not the unsuccessful critic-damned author, in his frantic
endeavors to propitiate a never-satisfied public, devote his
scribbled-out nibs, as a cheap sacrificial offering to the
deity ? He certainly would be doing no more than the
peasant, who, by a judicious contribution to the priest's
stock of firewood, encompasses such big ends.
Speaking of baths in Tyrol, and their singularly primi¬
tive arrangements, I am forcibly reminded of a highly-
amusing pamphlet I once came across. The owner of
it, an old peasant, who studied it with the greatest assidu¬
ity, was loth to part with it ; but finally I managed to
overcome his scruples, and the little book is now lying
before me.
Printed in Brixen, in the year of grace 1681, its lan¬
guage abounds with Latin words and phrases, then so
much in vogue. Its author, a certain Dr. Johannes Tile-
mann, writes for a Tyrolese public ; and as he deals with
watering-places in that country then in existence, I ven¬
ture to lay a few extracts before those of my readers who
may be in want of a thorough "renovation," as our
author puts it, or for the benefit of those who may feel
some curiosity as to the " experientiœ prœsertim fine
Indico, ac ratione verarum causarum factce," of the sana¬
tive waters to be found in Tyrol, A.D. 1681.
Our author commences his " Instructions " 'with the
advice : " Before you go to a watering-place, it is best to
308 gaddings with a primitive people.
reconcilíate your soul with the Lord, and to wash and
cleanse your body thoroughly. Should you require it, you
can have yourself bled, in order that the impurities of
your former life may go off. Those who are of a very
weak constitution, and fain can not 'endure,' had better
not remain longer than four hours in the water for the
first three or four days. They can then increase it to
eight or nine and even ten hours a day. It is best to
arrange your journey to the watering-place you have
chosen so as to commence the actual cure when the moon
is on the decrease, and if you suffer from a skin-disease,
not to cease till you are quite cured. I would advise you,
in copia humorum, to get into your bath with an empty
stomach at an early hour of the day. If you bathe of
afternoons, too, you must wait three or at least two hours
after your dinner, in order that the food you have eaten
may get in fundo Ventriculi " — a novel expression for
digestion.
" If you are so excessively weak so as not to be able to
endure for at least two hours and a half at a time in the
water, you may take some hot broth as a stimulant, pro¬
vided your ' Medici ' has not ordered you to drink hot
bath water."
Our authority continues to inform his readers that in
most of the watering-places the patient is left entirely to
his own resources, no "Medici" residing there. In
consequence of this circumstance, he advises his readers
to procure for themselves a medicine-chest before visiting
one of these spas of the Middle Ages. To enable them
to do so, he proceeds to fill half a page with a list of such
drugs, draughts, and medical instruments as formed, ac¬
cording to the fearfully-neglected state of the medical
science of those days, the most necessary attributes of the
profession. Among a number of the most filthy draughts,
and cheek by jowl with certain deadly drugs, we find enu¬
merated as the contents of a properly-filled out medicine-
chest : boiled eggs, manna, palm-oil, sweet apples, and
raisins. Dr. Johannes, evidently forgetting that not every
one of his readers was acquainted with the use of the
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 309
drugs, instruments, &c., he tells them to provide them¬
selves with, omits to give them directions how to use the
latter, or in what quantities the poisonous drugs could be
taken without danger.
" It is better to eat well than to drink well. Before
your meals take some exercise, but in every case keep
your mind as undisturbed as possible by ' música,' cards,
and the chords of the harp."
It is a remarkable sign of the morbid craving for mon¬
strous quantities of rich food, to which most people in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were given, that by
far the most numerous ills of mankind enumerated by our
authority in the pages of his pamphlet arose from an im¬
paired digestion. Not more than a page is given to other
illnesses, the whole subject being dismissed by a quaint
admonition, " that, in case the waters do not produce the
desired effect, it is high time for help."
To give my readers an idea what " doing a spa " meant
in those days, I will pick out one of the six " Day and
Hour Tables " given in Dr. Johannes' erudite work.
By the aid of these tables, a person visiting a watering-
place, and knowing beforehand how long it would take to
accomplish his cure ( ! ), could fix upon the time he should
remain in his bath every day.
Choosing the shortstone, i.e., the tablet for a cure of
twelve days, we read that, —
On the first day he has to bathe for five hours ; on the
second, eight ; on the third, eleven ; on the fourth,
twelve ; on the fifth, twelve ; on the sixth, twelve ; on the
seventh, twelve ; on the eighth, twelve ; on the ninth,
twelve ; on the tenth, twelve ; on the eleventh, ten ; on
the twelfth, six.
This is for the shortest stay, the other tablets giving
the hours for a visit of thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, twenty-
five, and thirty-two days.
" And people were really so idiotic as to keep to these
monstrous instructions ? " my readers will exclaim. Dr.
Johannes took good care that they did; for, in a solemnly-
worded admonition which precedes these tablets, he
3IO GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
warns his readers that " vomitu," severe pains, and swell¬
ings in various parts of the body, are sure to punish irreg¬
ularity.
A right pleasant life it must have been in one of these
baths !
Our author then gives a list of the principal watering-
places in Tyrol. Two, or at the utmost three, lines con¬
tain all the information he has to give of each. He says,
for instance : —
" The baths of Vahren, for leprosy (a common disease
at that time), to be taken cold, also one can bathe in
the water." Of another, that at Lisru, he says, "A good
bath for mothers, used internally cold, externally warm."
Dr. Johannes closes his little volume with the exhorta¬
tion to his readers " to thank the Almighty, — a ' Medici '
evincing greater solicitude for the healths than for the
pockets of his patients ; " but spoils the whole by tagging
on, "if you leave the bath alive and hale."
In another way this bit of goody-goodism is somewhat
out of part, for in the sentence preceding the one I have
mentioned, he says, "This book is for the rich only."
A year or two ago, I had occasion to examine a most
interesting manuscript, dating from the year 1479.
It was nothing less than a diary kept by a noble knight
while on a visit to Pfäffers, in Switzerland, at that time
one of the most renowned watering-places on the Conti¬
nent.1
By all accounts Pfäffers was at that time in very bad
repute. In fact, in the later Middle Ages, all watering-
places and public bathing-houses in large towns were
places where licentiousness was more or less rife.
Knight Iörg, for that was his Christian name, begins
his diary very much in the same manner as he would
have done a deed : —
" I, the virtuous Knight Iörg, have undertaken the
perilous and .long journey from my native country (Ty-
1 Pfäffers is in St. Gallen. Its waters were first discovered in the thirteenth
century, and, owing to several marvelous cures, it quickly became celebrated.
The Benedictine Abbey in the village of Pfäffers was founded as early as 739
A VISIT TO A TT AS A JVT WATERING-PLACE. 311
rol) for the sake and for the benefit of my health, so that
the running wound of the lance-point may perish."
Let us hope that he succeeded in routing the lance-
point and curing his wound, received, probably, in battle.
Knight Iörg then goes on to give a description of the
place, " how males and females from large towns bathed
in excavations in the rock," &c. He next gives us a list
of his wearing-apparel. By it we see how very simply,
and not to say scantily, the wardrobe of a nobleman was
then stocked : —
" One shirt (pfeit) for best, with collar and strings ;
one pair of Spanish hose, dark blue and striped ; item
one, pair of Flandish hose, not for best ; item one, doublet
of red stuff and velvet, very beautiful, for best."
Underclothing was not worn in those days.
Pfäffers had a doctor of its own, for on the third page
of the diary we find him mentioned, —
"To-day, on Tuesday after Peter and Paul (in July),
paid the ' Medici,' a very handy man, three kreutzers
for a medicine-bottle, three goodly pills, for bleed¬
ing me, and for cutting my toe-nails."
Very shortly afterwards, his services are again called
into requisition, though this time our visitor seems to
have been less satisfied with the handy man.
He calls him in to have one of his teeth extracted, and
remarks very naïvely : " Though I could have done it
much better myself, his charge was moderate. It was a
bad job."
Very amusing is the description of the gay life led by
many of the visitors, evidently to the great and ill-dis¬
guised astonishment of our friend Knight Iörg, who,
judging by the length of time he remained in his bath
every day, meant business, and could not imagine any¬
body coming to a watering-place for pleasure alone.
Some of his remarks are worth quoting : —
" A strange lot of people I see in this place. Some
care little for their health, but only for amusement. They
troop together, they swear and drink, and never think of
their God. Worst of all are the damsels from large towns "
312 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
(evidently the fashionable demi-monde of that day).
" They wear gaudy dresses and immense trains, and put
on strange manners, but they are without virtue. They
single out the rich ; and, as long as their pockets and
bellies are kept filled, they care for naught. Gambling,
drinking, swearing, and 'piggery ' is their day's work."
" How is it," our author exclaims, " that these creatures
have escaped the Lord's judgment?"1
Knight Iörg seems, however, to have grown tired of
his virtue, for on the day before he starts on his home¬
ward journey, he enters into his diary : " This day I put
seventeen kreutzers and four perner into the devil's pock¬
et," meaning thereby, we suppose, that he lost that sum
at cards. Probably one or the other of the " light dam¬
sels " at Pfáffers managed to mark the " odd trick."
The next day's entry betrays that Knight Iörg "felt
bad," for he closes his diary with the remark : " The
Lord be thanked that I leave this God-forsaken, devil-be-
ridden Sodom, a hale man ! "
What with twelve hours in the bath, and the constant
eyesore in the shape of those light damsels, he had for¬
sooth every reason to be grateful that he left Pfäffers
alive, and, let us hope as charitable Christians, virtuous.
Pfäffers of A.D. 1479, and Monaco of A.D. 1878 ! —
what a difference, and yet what great resemblance ! Civ¬
ilization, whatever be its merits, has certainly failed very
materially as long as the eye and ear sores of Knight
Iörg are left in the flourishing conditions of to-day.
There is, however, one point that calls for the most pro¬
found applause on the part of the nineteenth-century
man. It is that four hundred years hence no preying
hand, rooting about the ruins of the West End or of
Piccadilly, will by any mortal chance find occasion to
expose to the public of A.D. 2279 meditations and senti¬
ments similar to those of our virtuous Knight Iörg of
1479, when describing the horrors of gay Pfáffers. Let
the reader compile to himself a diary kept by a fashiona-
1 He evidently refers to the plague, one of the most common scourges of man¬
kind in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 313
ble "knight " of any of the swell clubs, while out on a
tour through the " devil-be-ridden " Pfáffers of our own
day : he will arrive, very probably, at a more complete
stock of wearing-apparel, but I am afraid the sum total
of virtue will be in exactly the inverse ratio to the in¬
crease of shirts and coats.
As a sequel to this sketch of the life led by knightly
visitors to Pfäffers, and as a befitting close to this chap¬
ter on watering-places in Tyrol, I may narrate a not un¬
interesting adventure that some thirty years ago befell an
obscure country squire, at a small peasants' watering-
place called Mitterbad, in the Ulten valley in South
Tyrol.
In the year 1841 a young Prussian country squire
visited this remote -little watering-place, and for several
years afterwards was one of the little flock of strangers
that came hither. Josepha Holzner, the daughter of
the then owner of the establishment, though yet in her
teens, was a beauty, and hence the object of the flatter¬
ing attentions of most male visitors. Our squire, then
in the first prime of youthful manhood, was for the first
year or two among her most assiduous swains, repelling
not a few of his faint-hearted rivals by his austere.manner.
The flirtation — for we must presume that at first it was
naught else — soon ripened into something more serious.
Old Hoisl, the attendant at the bathing establishment
(who a year ago was still alive) tells numberless anec¬
dotes of this courtship : how one after the other the
rivals dropped away, abashed by our squire's austere and
overbearing hauteur; of the innumerable love-letters
that passed through his hands in his character of postil¬
ion d'amour ; of the stolen rendezvous that took place
under his immediate supervision — for Josepha's father
was from the first against the " heretic Prussian's " atten¬
tions, and of course in a small place like Mitterbad the
utmost caution was necessary to outwit the father's vigi¬
lant eyes and ears.
This lasted for some time, the strangely-matched pair
growing fonder of each other from clay to day, and con-
¡I 4 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
vincing our hero that life without Josepha would be a
blank. It must have cost a terrific struggle with himself
to come finally to the determination to marry fair Jose¬
pha. He was a Prussian "Junker" par excellence, who,
we must presume, at that remote period of his life had
not yet had occasion to cast from him the belief, so
marked a peculiarity of Prussian nobility, that an im¬
measurable gap divides the noble from the burgher class¬
es, and that a union with a member of the latter entailed,
to say the very least, a loss of caste.
The decisive day arrived ; and our hero, never dream¬
ing that the simple peasant would refuse him the hand
of his daughter, visited old Holzner for the purpose of
asking fair Josepha in marriage.
Old Holzner, amazed beyond description at the thought
of uniting his daughter with a heretic, stormed and swore,
and once for all declined the honor. The old faith to
him was more than worldly advancement, and the stanch
Catholic peasant sent the noble wooer, with a peremp¬
tory " no," about his business.
The squire left Mitterbad the next morning, and Jose¬
pha was married several years afterwards to a petty offi¬
cial of the Episcopal Court of Justice in Salzburg.
This tale would be hardly worth telling (for its kith
and kin are out of number), were the hero (though at
the time, as I have said, an entirely unknown country
nobleman of the lowest rank) not at present the most
renowned man this century has produced ; in fact, no less
a personage than Bismarck.1
How vastly different might have been the course of Bis¬
marck's life, had the " no " been a " yes " ! Might not his
life have run in channels far removed from political strife?
Might not the charm of a country life at the side of his
first love have outbalanced his greed of fame? What
would Prussia have been without him ? Would Sadowa
and Sedan have been the turning-point of the Father¬
land's fate? Would the little chapel in Chiselhurst
L This event is strictly true in all its details. Not only has it found its way
into several books, but I have taken occasion to verify the details myself.
A VISIT TO A PEASANT WATERING-PLACE. 315
have been the last resting-place of Napoleon? These
and a host of other questions arise when we read this
simple little love story. Does it not seem that the work
on which the great man is at present engaged is part of
an act of retribution? The bigoted creed that deprived
him of his love seems destined to fall by his own hand.
¡i6 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE.
NEXT to the poacher, the golden eagle (Aquila Chrys-
aëtos) and the lämmergeier (Gypaè'tas barbatus)
are the two greatest enemies of the chamois and roedeer.
Far less noble than the eagle in his proportions and build,
the latter does not develop the exclusive appetite for
blood and live flesh which distinguishes the eagle among
the rapacious birds of prey.
The eagle, the tiger of his race, bears off his prey in
triumph. The geier very seldom attempts to remove it,
but devours it on the spot : indeed, his grasp is too fee¬
ble to permit him to manage effectually any but a com¬
paratively trifling weight. The eagle, on the contrary,
rarely touches carrion ; and his terribly-powerful wings
and talons enable him to carry off the strong-limbed
chamois, or a full-grown goat or sheep weighing consid¬
erably over thirty pounds.
If the animal singled out as his prey is too heavy, the
eagle will swoop down upon it with resistless fury, and by
mere force of the concussion will hurl it down the abyss
at the brink of which it happened to graze or feed.
Several times have I had occasion to watch a golden
eagle carrying off a young chamois or roe. The great
weight of his prey would oblige him now and again to
loosen his hold upon it, while circling at a terrible height
over ravine and peak. As it falls, the eagle will dart after
it ; and, catching it up in his claws, allow himself to sink
for twenty or thirty feet by the mere impetuosity of his
downward flight, and then, spreading his mightv wings to
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 317
their widest, resume his circling ascent with his prey
firmly clutched.
Tyrol, judged by what I have seen of it, does not har¬
bor more than eight or ten pairs of golden eagles ; and
Switzerland, I am told, is quite rid of these noble but
terribly destructive birds of prey. The scale on which a
pair of these birds will carry on their depredations among
the game stocking the ravines and glens near the site of
the eagle's home, the aerie, is incredibly large. Quite a
halo of celebrity is therefore thrown about the lucky shot
who has brought down one of these royal highwaymen of
the Alps. Far more exciting and difficult than shooting
is the extraction of a young eagle from his nest or aerie.
Eight or ten years ago I assisted in an attempt to rob
an eagle's äerie of its young inhabitants, in a remote glen
in the Bavarian Highlands. Owing to the inadequacy of
our means for approaching the goal, the attempt failed ;
but it left so vivid an impression on my mind that for four
or five consecutive springs I was continually on the look¬
out for a repetition of this adventurous exploit. The diffi¬
culties of tracing one of the parent-birds home to the
aerie are, however, so great, that the site of one of these
royal homesteads is seldom discovered.
On my return to Tyrol from a tour in France and Spain
in the first week of July, 1872, the very first person greet¬
ing me at Kufstein, the frontier station, was destined to
be the bearer of the most welcome news, that the site of
a golden eagle's aerie had been discovered in one of the
side glens of the broad Inn valley.
Old Hansel, my informant, was one of the gamekeepers
on a large imperial preserve close by Kufstein. Some
years previously, I had on more than one occasion shared
a hard couch with him under the stunted pines, when
inopportune night overtook us high up in some Alpine
wilderness, or near the glaciers and huge snowfields, while
in hot pursuit of the chamois.
Hansel had heard of the discovery of the aerie and was
just about to take train to the small railway-station/about1
an hour's walk from the opening of the B valley,
3l8 g a wings with a primitive people.
at the remotest extremity of which, some ten or twelve
hours' walk off, the serie had been found.
Telegraphing to my friend, who was awaiting my arrival
in Ampezzo in order to make some ascents in the Dolo¬
mites, that I should be detained for three or four days, I re¬
entered the train that was to carry us to our destination.
The next morning long before sunrise we were on our
eight-hours' tramp to our goal for that day, — the small
cottage of a drift-keeper, in close proximity to the very
wild and well-nigh inaccessible ravine which was to be
the scene of the coming adventure.
Few of my fellow-travelers of the day before would
have recognized me as the town-clad through passenger
from Paris to Kufstein. An old time-worn country-made
shooting-coat of the very roughest frieze ; short leather
trousers, as patched and discolored, as the poorest wood¬
cutter's ; gray stockings, displaying to the critical glances
of the natives my knees, still bronzed from the exposure
attendant on a long course of Alpine climbing in the pre¬
vious years ; and a seasoned hat, which had been origin¬
ally green, then brown, and had now turned gray, on my
head, — would, I presume, at least have rendered recogni¬
tion a matter of difficulty.
Tonerl, the keeper of the wood-drift, was an old ac¬
quaintance of mine, whose qualities as a keen sportsman
had shone forth when, four or five years previous to the
date of the present exploit, I had quartered myself for a
month in his secluded habitation ; spending the day, and
not infrequently also the night, on the peaks and passes
surrounding his modest cottage. To buxom Moidl, his
pretty young wife, I was also no stranger ; and her smile
and blush on welcoming us assured me that she still
remembered the time when, reigning supreme over her
father's cattle on a neighboring Alp, she had ministered
on more than one occasion to the wants of the young
sportsman who sought a night's shelter in her lonesome
chalet (distant at least five hours' walk from the next
human habitation), in which she, a young girl of nineteen
or twenty, did not shrink from playing the hermit for four
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 319
Many a merry evening had I spent in the low, oak-
paneled "general room" of Tonerl's cottage, when he
was still a gay though middle-aged bachelor. No changes
had since been made in the aspect of the apartment.
In one corner stood the huge pile of pottery, which,
being used for heating the room, one might by mistake
have termed a stove. Over this singular masterpiece of
pottership, about two feet from the ceiling, was fixed a
sort of shelf, four feet broad and six long. This repre¬
sented the nuptial couch of the couple. <' In winter," as
Tonerl laughingly remarked, " it is warm and cozy ; and
in summer it has the advantage of being a bed taking up
but little space." Running the whole length of two walls
of the room was a broad bench, in front of which were
placed the two strong oak tables, round which, on Sunday
evening, such of the woodcutters as were at work in the
near neighborhood used to congregate, to laugh, sing,
and quarrel over the glasses of home-brewed "schnapps,"
which Tonerl, in utter defiance of the excise-officers, ven¬
tured to sell to them.
We arrived at Tonerl's cottage just as they were begin¬
ning their twelve-o'clock dinner. A second edition of
a huge iron pan, filled with the savory but somewhat
too greasy Schmarn, very soon made its welcome appear¬
ance. Amid laughter and merriment our repast came to
an end ; and we began our confab as to the best means
of attaining our end, viz., the young eagle.
Two woodcutters, whom we had found seated at one
of the tables on our arrival, were dispatched to a neigh¬
boring woodcutter's hut in order to fetch the four inhabit¬
ants of the same, whose presence at our consultation was
a matter of vital importance.
As it was Saturday, they had knocked off work in the
course of the afternoon, and had adjourned to the hay¬
loft for a few hours' sleep, prior to setting out for a poach¬
ing raid to the distant Bavarian preserves.
On learning the object of my presence, they immedi¬
ately hurried down to Tonerl's cottage ; and half an hour
later I was in possession of all the facts and information
320 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
regarding the whereabouts of the "horst," or aerie, the
difficulties which would have to be surmounted, and the
manner in which the discovery had been made.
Their vocation as woodcutters, it seems, had brought
them, while decimating a forest distant about nine miles
from the hut, to the extreme end of a narrow and wild
mountain ravine, just opposite the aerie, which, with the
usual parental care, was built in one of the small crevices
by which the Falknerwand, a peak the side of which to¬
wards the valley is a perpendicular wall some 900 or 1,000
feet in height, is riven.
The evening was spent in discussing the details of the
exploit, and getting our various implements in order.
•We were up in the morning by three, and an hour later
we were ready to start.
Our force consisted of six woodcutters,—who were
only too glad to give up their poaching expedition for the
more exciting one on which we were now bent, — Tonerl,
Hansel, and myself. After shouting a last jodier to
his wife, who returned the greeting with her clear, bell¬
like voice, though her heart was doubtless beating fast
under her smartly-laced bodice as she waved us a last
adieu, Tonerl took the lead of our long file.
Three hours later we had reached the base of the wall,
the site of the aerie. I immediately saw that, besides
being a more adventurous affair than I had anticipated,
nothing could be done from this side of the peak. Indeed,
the precipice seemed not only perpendicular, but actually
inclining forward in its upper part ; and this impression
seemed to be borne out by the fact of our finding, close
to the base, numerous blackened remains of fires which
had been lit under the shelter of the cliffs by belated
keepers, or, what seemed even more probable, by poachers.
By a circuit of considerable length we finally gained the
summit of the peak, and, throwing down our various bur¬
dens, we began to reconnoiter the terrain, which we did
ventre à terre, bending over the cliff as far as we dared.
Great was our dismay on perceiving, some eighty or
ninety feet below us, that a narrow rocky ledge, which had
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS A ERIE. 321
escaped our notice when looking up from the foot of the
cliff, projected shelf-like from the face of the precipice,
and shut out all view of the crevice which we supposed
contained the aerie.
After consulting some time we decided to lower our¬
selves down to this rock band, and make it the base of
our further movements, instead of operating, as we had
intended, from the crest of the cliff, where every thing,
but for this obstacle, would have been tenfold easier.
Posting one of the men at the top of the crag to lower
our heavy fifty-fathom half-inch rope by a cord, after we
had gained the ledge, we descended one by one, hand
over hand, to the site of the coming exploit.
The ledge was of varying breadth : in some places it
was less than two feet, in others again it widened to about
seven or eight feet ; but at the place right over the crev¬
ice, where the men handling the rope had to take up their
position, it was from three to four feet in width. Of
course this was a somewhat embarrassing circumstance,
necessitating extreme caution in all our movements, be¬
sides causing the disagreeable feeling of standing at the
very edge of a yawning gulf some eight hundred feet in
depth, and nothing to lay hold of for support but the
smooth face of the rock.
We had lowered ourselves in the order which the men
had to occupy during the ensuing operations. First came
Hansel, then the five remaining woodcutters, then myself,
and finally Tonerl, the first and the last provided with
their rifles.
On reaching the ledge we immediately began operations
by driving a strong iron hook into the solid rock at a
point some two or three feet above the ledge. Through
this hook the rope was passed, one end pendent over the
cliff; and to obviate the peril of its being frayed and
speedily severed by the sharp outer edge of our platform,
we rigged up a block of wood with some iron stays, to
serve as an immovable pulley. By means of the hook the
rope was directed sideways to the spot where the men
told off for pulling were standing in single file, a space of
about three feet between each.
322 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
After completing our arrangements I turned my atten¬
tion to the broad leather belt, similar to the one worn by
our fire-brigade men, that was to fasten me to the rope.
To fasten the belt round my waist, to run the rope
through the strong iron ring in front of it, and knot it
securely to a strong piece of wood, my seat, were our
next proceedings. This manner of fastening one's self to
a rope is preferable to the orthodox way of binding waist
and both legs to the rope, as it impedes free movement
far less ; and even if I were to slip off my wooden horse,
I could not fall, the wood preventing the rope from pass¬
ing through the ring.
A large hunting-knife was in my belt, a small but pow¬
erful Smith revolver in my pocket, and in my hand a long
pole, shod with iron at one end, and at the other fitted
with a strong boat-hook, which we had forged the night
before in the miniature smithy of Tonerl's cottage.
The five woodcutters took hold of the rope, while the
two keepers, ventre à terre, began their duties as my
guardian angels by cocking their trusty rifles, in case of
any attack of the old eagles while I was engaged in my
work of spoliation. On their watchfulness and on their
unerring aim my life would, in case of such an emer¬
gency, depend, just as much as on the muscular arms of
the five shaggy-headed woodcutters.
Laying hold of the pole, I gave myself a gentle push,
.which sent me clear of the edge into space. Although it
was not the first time I had been in a similar position,
the prodigious height was, for the first two or three min¬
utes, not without a sort of exciting effect on my nerves.
Five minutes later I had quite recovered ; and, hang¬
ing on a rope, scarcely thicker than a man's finger, over
an abyss of nearly 1,000 feet in depth, I enjoyed the
novel position. Any new and hitherto unknown sense
of danger charms the minds of men fond of rough Alpine
climbing and mountaineering in the strict sense of the
word.
The descent lasted not more than ten or fifteen min¬
utes ; and when I arrived opposite the crevice, where the
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 323
existence of the aerie was plainly indicated by a mass of
dry sticks and refuse of all kinds strewn about, I stopped
further progress by two distinct jerks at the signal-line.
The distance separating me from the aerie was, owing
to the projecting nature of the ledge on which the men
holding me were standing, and to the overhanging for¬
mation of the entire precipice, some ten or twelve feet ;
but by the use of my pole, the hook of which I caught
on a projecting stone, this difficulty was soon overcome.
At first the bulwark of dry sticks, the interstices be¬
tween them being filled with dry moss, prevented my
seeing any thing. Cautiously crawling up an inclined
slab of rock that led to the aerie, and slowly raising my
head over the side of the latter, while with my right hand
I guarded my head and face against any attempt of the
young eagle to attack me, I looked in. My surprise and
pleasure on finding not one, but two young eagles therein,
may be imagined.
A peal of shrill shrieks, and sundry rather ominous-
sounding hisses, greeted my unlooked-for appearance.
Vainly flapping their enormous wings, while with their
small but inexpressibly wild eyes they kept staring at
me, they opened their beaks — hooked at the end, and
already of an alarming size and strength — to their widest
extent, plainly indicating that their breakfast-hour was
nigh.
Detaching from my seat the stout canvas bag with
which I had provided myself, I proceeded to bag one of
my young prisoners. While he was yet struggling in the
ample folds of the bag which I had thrown over his head,
I pinioned his formidable talons, and then, unbagging
him, I proceeded to secure his wings and beak by means
of a piece of cord. I then deposited him in the bag,
which, although a good-sized one, he entirely filled out,
thus excluding the idea of putting the other bird into the
same receptacle. As it is a rare occurrence that two
young eagles are found in one aerie, I was unprovided
with a second bag, and consequently was placed in a fix
regarding the means of securing my second prisoner.
324 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
After a good many ineffectual trials, I at last managed to
secure him by flinging my coat over him, and then slip¬
ping a running-noose over his feet, after which it was
easy enough to bind and prevent him from doing any
mischief.
The bag containing the first bird I tied to the signal-
cord hanging by my side : the other I resolved to carry
up in my hand, there being little danger of his hurting
me if the cords of his shackles held out against his vigor¬
ous efforts to get free.
I was glad to get out of the aerie after having brought
my expedition to this successful termination ; for the
stench created by the putrefying flesh strewn by the parent-
birds about the adjacent rocks was something dreadful
and overpowing to any senses more delicate than those
of a bird of prey. These relics, which I had the curios¬
ity to count, consisted of a half-devoured carcass of a
chamois, three pairs of chamois-horns, with correspond¬
ing bones of the animals, the skeleton of a goat picked
clean, the remains of an Alpine hare, and the head and
neck of a fawn. Arranging myself on my seat, I fixed
the hook of my pole in its old place, and gave the signal
to hoist me up. The bird I held in my left hand, while
with my right I intended to let myself gradually swing
out till I reached the perpendicular position.
As the sequel shows, I had reckoned without my host.
The first hard pull of the men at the rope, nearly two
hundred feet over my head, which, contrary to my instruc¬
tions, was much too vigorous, wrenched the pole out of
my grasp, sending the latter to the bottom of the preci¬
pice, and me at a fearful pace outwards. My position
was, as anybody can imagine, most dangerous. The ve¬
locity of the retrograde movement would dash me with
terrible force against the solid wall of the rock. There
was only one way, and that a very dubious one, of saving
myself. Fortunately my presence of mind did not forsake
me in this critical moment, and I grasped at this only
chance of preserving my life and limbs. Tilting the up¬
per part of my body backward and my legs forward, I
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 325
awaited the dreaded shock, taking, of course, the chance
of my striking the rock feet foremost as the only way of
saving myself.
The retrograde movement of the pendulum, to which
my weight supplied the velocity, set in, and a second
afterwards I was saved, having struck the rock with my
feet, which, well protected as they were by my immensely
heavy iron-shod shoes, were the only part of my body
which could have effectually resisted the shock. The
only bad result of the contact with the rock was a par¬
alyzed feeling in my legs, and a prickling sensation in my
back and loins.
Need I say how thankful I was that I had not followed
the promptings of my companions to take off, before leav¬
ing the ledge, my shoes and stockings, in order to facili¬
tate the climbing, which, as we supposed, would be a
matter of necessity to enable me to reach the aerie ?
For what reason I refused to follow this advice, and do
a thing which, in the course of my chamois-stalking ex¬
perience, I had done so very often, is a mystery which I
do not care to solve ; the fact of my life having been thus
saved being sufficient for me.
While the above incident occurred I had remarked that
a dark object had flashed past me, so close that I dis¬
tinctly felt the pressure of the air, and heard the whistling
sound it created, as of falling from seemingly a great
height. Thinking it was a stone, I paid no further heed
to it, my attention being moreover attracted to a sharpish
gash in my thigh, which the bird placed under my arm had
managed to inflict, although his beak was bound with my
pocket-handkerchief. Some loose gunpowder strewn into
the wound was an effectual if somewhat painful cure ;
and it was only after having applied it that I remarked
that, instead of being pulled upwards, I was quite sta¬
tionary.
It appeared afterwards that the object which flashed
past me a few minutes before was the block over which
the rope ran, and which was of vital importance in secur¬
ing my safety. This of course I did not know at the time,
326 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
and consequently my anxiety grew from minute to minute.
An hour and then another passed, and still I remained in
my most helpless position.
The boulder of rock, projecting a few feet over my
head, prevented any view of the ledge ; and my shouts
asking the cause of the delay received indistinct answers,
the words "patience " and "wait" being the only intelli¬
gible ones.
These words might have been consoling, but for the
fact that Nature, to cool my impatience and make my
position more ridiculous in her eyes, destined me for a
cold bath, the water being supplied by one of those short
but terribly grand thunder-storms, which victimize Alpine
regions in summer-time.
My position exposed me to its full fury, without any
possibility of escape ; and ere long it burst over my head,
drenching me to my skin in the first five minutes, while
the lightning played about me in every direction, and ter¬
rific claps of thunder followed each other at intervals of
scarcely a few seconds.
What heightened the danger as well as the absurdity
of my situation was the chance that one or both of the
eld eagles might return at any moment, under circum¬
stances that must render a struggle, if any ensued, a most
unequal one. Supposing my guardians to be still at their
post, the distance of the ledge was such as to make a shot
at a flying bird, large as it might be, any thing but a sure
one ; and the tactics of the golden eagle, when defending
its home, do not allow of any second attempt. A speck
is seen on the horizon, and the next moment the powerful
bird is down with one fell swoop. A flap with its strong
wings, and the unhappy victim is stunned, and immedi¬
ately ripped open from his chest to his hip, while his
skull is cleft or fractured by a single blow of the tremen¬
dous beak. Instances are however known in which the
cool, self-possessed "pendant" has shot or cut down his
foe at the very instant of the encounter. Happily my own
powers were not put to so severe a test : the old birds
were that day far off, circling probably in majestic swoops
over some distant valley or gorge.
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 327
I was forced, however, to be constantly on the alert ;
and my impatience and perplexity may be imagined as
hours elapsed, and there were still no signs of my ap¬
proaching deliverance. The storm had long since passed
over, and darkness was settling down, when I felt a pull at
the rope, and my ascent, begun nearly four hours before,
again went on.
It was of the utmost importance that the whole party
should regain the top of the cliff before night had fairly
set in : I therefore deferred, on my arrival at the ledge,
all questions till we had gained a place of safety. The
heavy rope, fastened to the cord, was hauled up by the
man on the top, and after it had been secured to a tree-
stump we swarmed up without loss of time.
We had still before us a somewhat perilous scramble in
the darkness down the steep incline ; but the exhaustion
attendant upon the fatigues and privations we had under¬
gone made it necessary that we should first recruit our
strength by means of the food and bottle of schnapps we
had brought with us. While we were doing justice to the
bread and bacon, and taking gulps of undiluted spirits,
the tale of the different mishaps of the day was told, now
by one, now by another, of the sufferers.
It seems that as soon as the accident which sent the
block to the bottom of the Falknerwand was perceived by
the men engaged in hoisting me up hand over hand, they
desisted from their task, lest the rope, now unprotected,
should be injured by the sharp-edged stones, and thus
place my life in imminent danger. They communi¬
cated the mishap to the man on the top of the cliff, who
immediately went to get a substitute. Descending to the
base of the peak, he felled a young tree, and shaped a
block similar to the one lost. As he was returning to the
crest of the Falknerwand with the block on his shoulder,
the thunderstorm overtook him ; and one of the vivid
flashes of lightning playing around him cleft and splintered
a rock, weighing hundreds of tons, that had stood within
thirty paces of him. He received no injury, except being
thrown on the ground, and partially stunned by the terri-
328 GADDINGS V/ITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
ble concussion ; but it was not till after a considerable
time that he was able to rise and continue his ascent.
What would have become of us, and me in particular, had
the man been killed by the lightning, it is difficult to say ;
most probably starvation would have been our fate. The
next human habitation, excepting old Tonerl's cottage,
was eight or nine hours' walk from the Falknerwand ; and
as Tonerl's wife did not know the direction of the aerie,
the chances of her finding us in time for mortal help were
small, — indeed, so small that when I hinted the thought
to my sturdy companions, the momentary gloom and dark
frown on their shaggy brows told me but too plainly that
they concurred in my dark anticipation.
Our meal ended, we placed our pinioned prisoners in
a large hamper specially provided for their transport, and
after some trouble contrived to manufacture two torches,
in the ruddy glare of which we wended our steps down
the steep incline to the bottom of the Falknerwand.
From some dry wood found beneath the sheltering pre¬
cipice, we made some more torches, and finally reached
Tonerl's cottage at a late hour, rather worn and hungry,
but highly satisfied with our success.
A steaming " Schmarn " and " Speck " (bacon) —the
latter a great treat for the men — soon appeased our hun¬
ger ; the thirst, however, seemed to me to be of a more
formidable nature, for it was close upon two o'clock when
the last touch on the chords of the " Zither," which ac¬
companied the final " Schnaddahiipfler," sent us up our
ladder to the hayloft.
On my return next morning from my morning stalk,
with a roebuck on my back, I had full leisure to look at
the young eagles, who, released from their shackles, had
been placed in a small barn, the door of which had been
unhinged, and in its stead stout wooden laths fixed across
the opening. Before their fetters were untied, the wings
had been measured, those of the hen-bird being fully two
or three inches larger than the wings of the cock-bird,
though the latter had the finer head. The hen-bird
measured six feet eleven inches in the span, and when
TIIE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 329
full grown the breadth would very probably reach eight
feet, or eight feet six inches.
The "Aufbruch," or entrails of my buck, together with
two live rabbits, furnished a luxurious breakfast for the
young captives. The rapidity with which it was dis¬
patched made old Tonerl, who was standing at my side
watching the proceedings, shake his head, and ask me
how on earth he could find the wherewithal to feed these
two voracious babies.
A week after their capture they were "feathered" for
the first time. This process consists in pulling out the
long, down-like plumes on the under side of the strong
tail-feathers. These plumes, which, if taken from a full-
grown eagle, frequently measure seven or eight inches in
length, are highly prized by the Tyrolese peasants, but
still more by the inhabitants of the neighboring Bavarian
Highlands, who do not hesitate to expend a month's
wages in the purchase of two or three, with which to
adorn their hats, or those of their sweethearts.
The value of a crop of plumes varies somewhat ; gen¬
erally, however, an eagle yields about forty florins' (¿4.)
worth of plumes per annum.
Six weeks after this incident I again found my way
into the secluded B valley, and found that the
hen-bird had been sold to a neighboring head-keeper of
a large ducal preserve, for forty-five florins (£4. ior.)
The cock-bird I found alive and kicking. Being curious
to see if his confinement had subdued his wild and fero¬
cious spirit, I removed one of the laths, and entered the
barn. An angry hiss, similar to that of a snake, warned
me of danger, but too late to save my hands from severe
scratches. With one bound and a flap of his gigantic
wings he was on me ; and had it not been for Tonerl,
who was standing just behind me armed with a stout cud¬
gel, I should have paid dearly for my visit.
Tonerl's predecessor, an old man when the latter suc¬
ceeded him in office, knew of but one single family of
eagles, though earlier the Vomperloch very likely gave
shelter to many a couple of these noble birds. The
33° GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
aerie of this single family, however, neither he nor Tonerl
could discover. Often and often had both these veteran
sportsmen sacrificed a night's rest in order to be out on
some prominent point long before daybreak to watch the
movements of the paternal birds as they proceeded to
feed their voracious offspring. But it was just as if a
telegraphic dispatch had warned the sly old robbers of
their foe : the eagles were sure to remain invisible that
morning, much to the annoyance, as we may suppose, of
their famished progeny. Tonerl, who would have given
a good deal to discover the object of his highest ambi¬
tion, even went as far as to stop out two days running, at
a period of the year—the beginning of July — when
the young birds must have been very nearly fledged, and
hence developing an appetite truly amazing. But be it
that the eagles' larder was well stocked, or that the par¬
ents half starved their young ones rather than betray the
site of the aerie, certain it is that up to the year 1868
no one ever knew the exact locality of the robbers' den.
In that year, on one of the last days of June, Tonerl by
dint of constant watching at last succeeded in discover¬
ing the aerie's site, and for three consecutive days did he,
aided by six or seven men, endeavor to get at the nest.
The third day, after endless trouble and danger, he got
within reach, and was hauled up with the young eagle —
measuring close upon seven feet span — securely shackled
in his hands. The young prisoner was transported to one
of the keeper's cottages, and placed in a large covered
pigsty. At first he flourished ; but one day the door of
his cage was left ajar, and he got at some water, which,
so I was told by the keeper, brought about his death.
I have been assured by several people, who had had ex¬
perience with the treatment of golden eagles, that water
to them is a deadly poison. If this be really the case, —
a fact which I have not assured myself of, —• it would be
a strange phenomenon in natural history, and one that
deserves investigation. The next year the parent-birds
built their aerie on a spot of easier approach, and the
young heir to the Vomperloch domain was again cap-
THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND ITS AERIE. 331
tured, this time by the head Jäger, Leiter, who like To-
nerl, had to be let down attached to a long heavy rope.
The young captive survived for nearly a year. In the
turmoil of a fire in the keeper's house, where he was
confined, he mysteriously disappeared.
The two captures, following as they did closely upon
each other, served as a warning to the old birds ; and
not for four years afterward was the aerie discovered. At
last, in the spring of 1873, it was detected by a young
Jäger, in a minute cleft in the middle of a stupendous
precipice some five hundred feet high. I heard of the
discovery in time to attend the attack ; but though my
eagerness to participate was wrought to a high pitch by
my having quite recently played a conspicuous part in a
similar exploit in another part of the country, as just
narrated, I was unfoitunately compelled to remain a
mere looker-on from below ; for I had neglected to take
my crampons, and the ascent proved to be such a stiffisn
bit of work, that I dared not follow my companions, who
were all armed with this essential help in rock-climbing.
The attempt proved quite a success ; for two young eagles
were captured by the intrepid keeper, who was let down
the giddy height.
The very next year witnessed the destruction of the
whole family. The male eagle was shot by the same
Jäger who had robbed his home the year before, while
the female bird, the larger of the two, and a splendid
specimen, measuring close upon nine feet in the span,
was trapped. This occurred a few days before the young
birds were fledged ; but nobody knew the exact locality
of the aerie. By dint of constant watching, it was finally
discovered by the cries of the famished young ones.
The site, however, was so ingeniously chosen by the par¬
ent-birds, that approach was impossible. The aerie was
built in the middle of a very high wall, the top of which
projected so far out that a distance of at least thirty feet
intervened between the aerie itself and the man who, on
being let down, reached its level. Nothing was left but
to shoot the young inmates from the opposite heights.
332 G AD DINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The distance being very great, a considerable number of
shots were fired into the aerie. The deadly effect of the
bullets could be easily seen by the aid of a telescope ;
and when finally both young eagles were lying stretched
out, with their heads hanging over the bulwark of boughs
that formed the sides of the nest, the successful party left
the site of their exploit.
What was the astonishment of one of their number, on
casually visiting that neighborhood, about a week later, to
hear both young eagles crying vociferously for food ! The
young dodgers had evidently simulated death, and had
thus gained a respite of some days. This time their fate
was more disastrous than before ; for my friend's sure
rifle picked them off very quickly, and so exterminated
an ancient and noble race, whose ancestors for centuries
had made the Vomperloch their home.
I know of no instance in which human skill has sub¬
dued, in the slightest degree, the haughty spirit of the
free-born golden eagle. An untamable ferocity is the
predominating characteristic of this noble bird, more than
of any other animal. Circling majestically among the
fleeting clouds, he reigns lord paramount over his vast
domain, avoiding the sight and resenting the approach
of man.
AN ALPINE WALIC.
333
CHAPTER XVIII.
AN ALPINE WALK.
THE Vomperloch1 and its many branch glens are, in
the opinion of the very few who have ever visited
our favorite mountain haunt, the most remarkable local¬
ity for barren wildness of scenery in the whole range of
the North Tyrolese Alps.
It is a grand wilderness of stupendous crags, huge
walls of rock piled upon each other, their pinnacles,
thousands of feet overhead, crowned by needle-shaped
spires and the boldest ridges. The whole territory is cut
up by a number of ravines of apparently unfathomable
depth. Entering one of these — "Graben "as they are
called in the local idiom — by the narrow portal, invisi¬
ble till one is quite close to it, you hold your breath,
over-awed by the grand solitude, by the terrible barren¬
ness, by the death-like silence that reigns around.
Wherever you glance, you see naught but huge cliffs
rising heavenwards : no tree or patch of green breaks
the ashy tint of the rock. You are cut off from the world.
You look around, startled perhaps by the hoarse shriek
of the golden eagle, the monarch over all you see, as he
holds a survey over his vast domain, sweeping in majestic
circles high, high overhead.
You pick your way over huge boulders, over water-worn
stones, marking the course of the fierce torrent, that evil
first-born of an Alpine thunderstorm, when, brooking no
1 Situated in the heart of the wild chalk chain, variously called Northern Chalk
Alps, Karawendel Gebirg, &c., in formation very similar to the much better known
Dolomite range in South Tyrol.
334. GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
resistance, massive pieces of rock share the fate of the
smallest pebble, and are piled over each other in fantastic
array.
Presently you come to a standstill : the smooth surface
of a rock of wall stares you in the face, and blocks up
the passage.
Perchance, if you are a good climber, and do not
shrink to divest yourselves of shoes and stockings, or if
you have a trusty pair of crampons buckled to your boots,
you can manage to scramble up the high perpendicular
wall. You have reached the top. You gaze in amaze¬
ment around you : a second " Graben," precisely similar
to the one you have just left, opens out before your eyes.
Prompted by a vague sense of mystery, you proceed on
your journey of investigation. The bleached bones of a
chamois, picked clean by the eagle, who also was most
probably its murderer, meets your gaze. You shudder,
as you remember that, were you to perish in this desolate
wilderness, a similar fate would befall your corpse. And
how easily an accident could occur to you ! A slip, a
boulder crushing against your feet, a sudden giddiness, or
a fall down some small height sufficient to break your leg
or to sprain your ankle, and you would be lost, — lost as
surely as had you tumbled down that precipice, six times
church-steeple deep. And far better had it been for you
to be lying there, an ill-shapen mass of flesh and splin¬
tered bones, than to linger on in the fearful agonies of
death by starvation, to hear the monotonous shriek of the
eagle, as from day to day you watch him circling nearer
and nearer, kept off but by the wild movements of your
arms. Lucky are you, if your rifle has escaped injury, and
you can put an end to your misery, when once the fierce
pangs of hunger become unbearable, or your senses are
veiled by delirium. "Why suffer these fearful tortures
when a touch on a finely-set hair-trigger effectually ends
your agony? Another twelve hours you will wait, and
then" None but those who have lived through
hours and days of this supreme mental anguish, who have
clutched the rifle as they would clutch the hand that
AN ALPINE WALK.
335
saved from drowning, can realize the agony of hope¬
less hope. It is in places like this that the chamois-
hunter's heart beats with freshening vigor. To none but
him does the supreme silence, the ghastly barrenness,
partake not of the terrible. To the painter, to the poet,
to the tourist, and to the mountaineer who is not a sports¬
man, scenery of this kind is void of interest. Far different
emotions do the ashy cliff, the slip of blue sky overhead,
and the utter silence, call forth in the hunter's mind.
Approachable only from one side, the Vomperloch can
be entered by but one little path, where the pellucid
stream deriving its name from the gorge, after a pro¬
longed journey through countless terrific gorges, somber
and icy cool even when the sun stands at his highest,
leaves its home to join the swift Inn. The path worn by
the feet of the keepers who have to guard the vast do¬
main brings one, in two or three hours, to where the first
side glen branches off, Here it stops, and from thence
the whole vast range of mountain is one grand pathless
wilderness of craggy peaks.
Very lovely has always seemed to me this primitive
little track, winding along through varied scenery, now
passing dense forests, or traversing the gently-sloping
verdant meads that, ere the locality became sacred to
game, appertained to a small "Alp" which was allowed
to conceal itself in this desolate district. Then it again
disappears from view as we proceed to ford a limpid,
insignificant little brook, that finally finds its way to the
stream at the bottom of the gorge. It is walled in by
huge masses of rock, and so shallow as hardly to float a
quarter-of-a-pound trout.
But what agency brought hither those huge blocks of
stone, each bigger than a cottage, or those water-worn
skeletons of giant trees lying scattered about on the
banks? Surely not the tiny brook, so sleepily meander¬
ing down the rocks. And yet it was the very same
streamlet that wrenched the boulder from the mother
rock, and uprooted the trees of centuries' growth from
the soil where, from time out of memory, they had defied
the elements.
336 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
The ghostly grandeur of a raging torrent in the high
Alps, when swollen by one of those terrific thunderstorms,
was once demonstrated to me in a marked manner, at
precisely this spot. I happened to reach it when the
storm was at its height, scarce ten minutes after the first
drop had wet my hands. The foaming waters were roar¬
ing down the deep gully with amazing force, and had
attained a depth of three or four feet, rendering it utterly
impossible to ford its angry masses.
A bold buttress of rock projecting far into the surging
waves offered a safe resting-place from whence I could
watch the turmoil around. A quarter of an hour later,
while the rain still continued to pour down in quantities
unsurpassed, my point of observation was cut off from
the bank, and I was standing right in the center of the
raging torrent.
Though I knew I was perfectly safe, as neither the
water nor the trees, which now were commencing to
come down in mad flight, could ever reach my post, ele¬
vated some thirty feet over the angry element, yet it was
with a peculiar feeling that I surveyed the surroundings,
and became convinced that I was completely cut off from
the world.
An unspeakably grand scene it was, and one well
adapted to strike awe into the stanchest heart. The
mighty thunder-claps, whose echoes were thrown from
side to side of the narrow, rock-bound cleft, followed so
closely upon each other that they were blended into one
continuous roar.
The darkness which had so suddenly set in was lighted
up by flashes of lightning, whose intensity I have never
seen equalled ; the roar of rushing water was no longer
distinct, for mixed up with it was the rumbling of huge
boulders careering down the bed of the torrent, or the
crashing sound of splintered wood. It was a scene giv¬
ing one a true sense of human frailty in comparison with
Nature's anger.
Had a kingdom awaited me on the other side of the
waters, I could not have passed them to grasp it.
AN ALPINE WALK.
337
Though wet to the skin, of course, and shivering with
cold, I enjoyed amazingly the four or five hours on that
crag.
Very different is it as we now step across the limpid
brook, on our way to the recesses of the Vomperloch.
We are not pressed for time, so we saunter along, now
peeping down the precipitous slopes of the mountain¬
side, to discover if possible a wary chamois out on his
evening graze orr the cliffs forming the opposite side of
the deep ravine, then again sitting down on a log or a
stone to scan with our telescopes the bluffs and huge crags
overhead.
How charming the walk seems ! how delightful it is to
be back again in free Nature, rid of worldly care, of the
dust, din, and roar of town-life !
Our eyes feast on the gaunt forms of the bold peaks,
on the deep green of the silent, somber pine-forests, and
by the aid of the telescope we bring close to view the
lonely little Alp chalet, standing in the center of an
emerald isle of verdure on the opposite range of moun¬
tains. We watch the speckled cattle roaming about, and
the white-aproned, burly young Alp-girl moving from
beast to beast as she milks them on the open green.
We fancy we can hear the tinkling of bells and the
mooing of the kine. But how could we? More than
ten miles intervene between the lonely watcher and the
no less lonely watched.
The sun had gone down behind the crags ; the delicate
purple tint which filled the ravine at our feet and which
had been diffused over the giant peaks, coloring forest
and mead, has given way to the dull ashy pallor peculiar
to the chalk formation after sunset. The deep gully, at
the bottom of which a short half-hour before we had
watched the limpid, bright, sparkling waters of the Vom¬
perloch, is filled with evening mists, gradually obscuring
the view.
Slowly they rise, like ghosts called up by the medita¬
tions of an evil mind ; and we know it is high time to
proceed on our walk, and get under shelter for the night,
for in half an hour darkness will overshadow all.
338 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
We have not far to walk, for our goal, the Zwerehbach-
hiitte, a primitive log hut erected for the benefit of the
keepers in this inhospitable neighborhood, lies just round
that comer in the first of the side ravines. We cross a
couple of steep "arrêtes," and enter the tiny copse of
beech-trces, right in the center of which, in a small clear¬
ing, lies the hut.
We are standing in front of the solitary little chalet,
and I ask myself, as I invariably do on reaching this pre¬
cise spot, "How often have you been here?" It is a
nook which exercises a spell over my mind. I have
visited it at all times of the year,—in spring, when that
copse of beech-trees, transplanted to this otherwise
strangely barren locality, as if by some fairy hand, has
burst out in fresh green buds, and formed a lovely con¬
trast to the few giant pine-trees that dot the steep decliv¬
ity around it ; or in summer, when the heat, though tem¬
pered by elevation, invites delicious repose under their
shady boughs. Many an autumn day have I passed,
basking in the warm sunlight, or sitting on a crag, tele¬
scope in one hand, and rifle in the other, watching for
hours some wary old buck as he treads his favorite paths
on the face of a sheer precipice, or again, acrobat-like,
posing for half the day at a time on some needle-shaped
prominence. And winter — why, even winter has seen
me here, though the treat of viewing Nature in her dense
white robe had to be purchased by hours of wading in
deep snow and other exposures no less severe, not to
speak of the risk the invader has to run of being snowed
in, with escape hopeless.
I once passed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, like
a mole, in this very log hut, burrowed under five feet of
snow. And though the fare was of the very simplest,
and the solidary toasts had to be drank in " schnapps," I
look back on those two days with pleasure.
But the reader will exclaim, " What is it that lends this
spot such surpassing charms? Is it the grand landscape?
Is it the utter silence, the strange solitude that reigns
around? Or is it the awe-inspiring height of the rocky
AN ALPINE WALK.
339
walls that rise in steep precipices thousands of feet on
every side ? Or is it the fantastic shapes and the weird
forms of the crags overhead? Or, again, is it the con¬
sciousness that we are invading one of the very most
lonely territories in the whole stretch of the Alps, and
that solitude, such as can be found in few spots in Europe,
if in any, surrounds us?" No paths, no track, cross the
peaks before us. The very native, be he never so bold a
climber, shuns to enter the trackless wilderness.
The last châlet is far behind us : there is not a single
human habitation in the vast mass of mountains that faces
us. No forest nor scanty growth of Alpine hay tempts
the all-invading woodcutter and daring "Wildheuer" to
turn his steps hither. The very poacher, not easily
daunted we are assured, turns back before the difficulties
of access, the entire absence of chalets or sheltering huts
wherein he could pass his lonely nights, and the great
danger to him from the facility for the keepers overlook¬
ing very large tracts from prominent eminences.
Nature and man have combined to make this district
as solitary a spot as well can be.
Let us enter the hut after a long absence of nearly a
year, and cast a glance at its primitive interior, — at the
deal table, fastened by a hinge to the wall ; the two cots
filled with hay ; the pewter spoon, knife, and fork, stuck
in the crevice, and the glittering ax for chopping wood
beside them.
We prepare our simple meal on the open fireplace
outside, protected from rain by the overhanging roof.
The dish of somewhat greasy " Schmarn " is washed
down by a large jorum of strong tea, boiled, it must be
confessed, in the very same pan (the only one the hut
contains) in which our more solid dish was cooked.
Our pipes lit, and fresh fuel thrown on the fire, we
settle down to a revery. We are recalled to our senses
by the chill night wind coming straight down from the
neighboring glaciers. The full disc of the moon has
risen over the walls of our prison, and her mellow light
adds a new charm to its. picturesqueness.
34° GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Some of the snowfields, worn to a high polish by a
hot August sun, reflect the light with mysterious brilliancy,
while others left in the shade assume ghoul-like forms,
and seem to stand out from the dark background like
gigantic hobgoblins.
Break of day has to see us up : so, rather than dally
any longer, we retire to our cots, and, after throwing aside
coat and shoes, stretch ourselves comfortably on the
fragrant bed, which, after a nine-months' experience of
more luxurious couches, seems, for the first moments,
somewhat strange.
The bright moonbeams stealing sideways through the
window, the dead silence withal (for the ear has long
become accustomed to the monotonous, low rumbling of
the seething Zwerchbach), lull eyes and ears, a haze
steals over the senses, and in the next five minutes sleep
has conquered.
Some seven or eight hours before the conventional
time for rising in town, we leave our couches, and com¬
plete our toilets, which, however, does not take us very
much longer than it does a Central African ; the lacing of
our boots, perhaps, giving a black competitor the only
chance to win a dressing race.
But what on earth have we to do, you ask, at this
unseasonable hour? for it is only three o'clock, and as yet
no faint tint of light on the sky betrays coming day.
I propose to visit a saltlick for chamois, and for this
purpose have to be up betimes. Everybody knows how
fond sheep and goats are of salt : less known is the cir¬
cumstance that chamois often betray, at certain seasons,
a great partiality for it.
Most of the large preserves in Styria and Tyrol have
regular " Sulzen," or saltlicks, constantly provided with
that attraction. The cavity in the rock, into which the
blocks are fastened by iron stays, is worn and polished by
countless hoofs ; and it is one of the most fascinating
sights to watch, from some favorable ambush close at
hand, the playful gambols, the amazing jumps, the end¬
less gymnastic feats and tricks, of a whole herd at one of
these places.
AN ALPINE WALK.
341
The one I am about to visit is not far from the hut, in
one of those stupendous cross-ravines which I endeav¬
ored to describe in the commencement of the chapter.
Some distance from it, I have to divest myself of shoes
and stockings, in order to pick my steps noiselessly along
a narrow ledge running at some height over the gorge.
I have not more than perhaps two hundred yards to go,
yet it takes upwards of a quarter of an hour. Now
creeping along on all-fours, now rising cautiously in order
to leap the gap where the ledge has been worn away by
a watercourse, then again lying still, hardly daring to
raise the eyes, or now bending over the edge as far as I
dare to assure myself that no chamois are in the ravine
below, I finally reach the miniature platform which is the
point of view. A few stones are piled up, and through
the chinks the watcher can look down at the saltlick,
some thirty yards below, without being seen by the cha¬
mois.
Ventre à terre, after throwing aside my hat, lest the
blackcock feather on it might protrude over the stones
and thus betray me, I approach the pile. The first
glance through a chink shows the whole slope beneath
peopled with chamois ! The eyes feast upon the scene ;
chamois of every age and size, from the giddy little kid
up to the sedate and wary old buck, who raises his head
from minute to minute to scent. But the wind is dead
against him, so he lowers it again, wholly unsuspicious of
my close proximity.
Generally speaking, the sportsman abstains from shoot¬
ing or disturbing the game at saltlicks ; for if he does so
repeatedly the animals are loth to return to it, and thus
they are deprived of the luxury conducive to vigorous
health.
Exceptions to this rule are, however, now and again
made ; as, for instance, in the case of well-known old
bucks, who have managed, by dint of their marvelously
keen scent and watchfulness, to elude the fell bullet for
years upon years.
Every preserve contains some of these patriarchs
342 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
among chamois, the object of countless plots and tricks
on the parts of the sager stalker, all of which have failed ;
the buck has escaped from combats out of number un¬
scathed, or, at the very most, but slightly wounded. He
has become notorious by his marvelous good fortune.
He instinctively seeks the most secluded spots, and
selects the most impassable cliffs for his hiding-places.
What Nature has left undone for his protection, he sup¬
plements by his wary caution. There are, however, sea¬
sons of the year when even these grandfathers of their
tribes have perforce to leave their seclusion to mingle
with the gay young herd whose giddy company they care¬
fully eschew the rest of the year.
In July and August, when the days are the hottest, and
the poor animals know not whither to turn for shade, the
saltlick, whose luxuries are enjoyed long before the sun
has breasted the cliffs overhead, offers a temptation none
can withstand. While watching the fascinating sight, all
of a sudden the heart stops beating, and the whole body
grows rigid, for with a couple of strides an old foe •— a
very notorious buck whose tracks I have unsuccessfully
followed times out of number, — steps into sight.
It is a moment of supreme excitement ; my hands
tremble as I grope for the rifle. Could I be mistaken?
No ! for there, his head thrown well back sniffing the air,
I can plainly see the stump of his right horn which one
of the keepers shot off more than ten years ago. I cau¬
tiously draw back from the wall, cock the rifle, stick the
barrel through a chink, and proceed to take steady aim.
The slight click of the hair-trigger, as I set it, and the
next moment is to be the last of the longed-for prize.
But no, it was not to be, for the hammer strikes the nip¬
ple without exploding the cap. What a scene of confu¬
sion that slight noise produces ! with a loud whistle of
alarm, the whole company disperse in all directions, as
if they were chaff chased by a strong wind. Of the fifty
or sixty chamois assembled at the saltlick, the greater
part pass just underneath the place of ambush, while two
or three, not knowing at first whence the danger threat-
AN ALPINE WALK.
343
ened, actually make for my platform, and approach with¬
in three paces before they perceive my prostrate form,
and with a shrill "whew " are down the precipice to seek
safety elsewhere.
Again that old buck had escaped his doom, for by the
time I had placed a fresh cap on the nipple he was out
of sight. For the next two years he disappeared entirely ;
none of the keepers set eyes upon him, until finally one
fine day, at a large drive for chamois in this district, we
discovered him through the telescope, standing as if hewn
in stone on the knife-edge of a pinnacle some thousand
feet over our heads, and watching the goings-on of the
sportsmen and beaters below him. His size and crippled
horn removed all doubt respecting his identity. The
rolling echo of the shot, announcing the commencement
of the drive, roused him at last, and in a few minutes he
was lost to our eyes in the maze of crags ; and there,
secure from even the very boldest pursuers, he may be
roaming at the present moment.
A bunch of his long hair in one's hat, and his fine
though crippled "head" in one's hall, would be the
proudest trophies one can fancy.
I return to my hut, naturally not in the best of humors
with myself ; but a plunge into the icy waters of the adja¬
cent torrent, which at my usual bathing-place forms a
caldron of some depth, does much to console me for the
failure. One who has never enjoyed a dip in a moun¬
tain-stream early in the day can little fancy its delights,
ending as they do with a sharp run back, that reminds us
in its speed of the last exciting home-spurt of that healthy
exercise for boyish lungs, — a well kept-up paper-chase.
A large dish of "Schmarn," of one's own cooking, lays a
capital bottom for a hard day's work, particularly if' you
eat it with appetite sharpened by a previous cold tub.
What is it, I often ask myself, that steals over you,
when, after establishing a substantial " fonde," you sling
the trusty rifle over your shoulder, light your pipe, and
start off for a long stalk? Does the native, I wonder,
enjoy that delicious feeling Of mental ease, that con-
344 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
sciousness of active power, shrinking from no obstacle?
Does he too feel that exuberant wish to " do " some¬
thing which nobody else can do, — " to outshine " his
companion, be he even his best friend ? Is it the result
of youth coupled with sound bodily health ? or is it per¬
haps the product of the sublime scenery surrounding us ?
or again is it the vista of good sport? or possibly could
these joyous spirits be born and reared in that greasy pan
in which we cooked our substantial breakfast? No : an
instinct tells us that they are inborn, that they are the
happy prerogative of " meat, ma'am, meat," as Mr. Bum¬
ble would describe that " something " which distinguishes
the buffed Britisher from all other nationalities, and, fairy¬
like, endows him with the gift to enjoy intensely a pleasure
which to the rest of mankind — to the slothful Russian,
the brain-fed German, the Frenchman of impaired vitality,
or the enervated Italian — is usually a source of displeas¬
ure ; namely, healthful exercise.
But I am interrupting my walk by idle speculations, in¬
stead of doing justice, as I now propose to do, to two
trusted companions — human features of the Vomperloch,
I might term them — at whose sides I have often scaled
the fastnesses of this wild region, and in whose company
I have trodden the most dangerous paths. They are the
"Jägers," who though at the time I am speaking of, sim¬
ple keepers to the outer world, were the kings and rulers
of this vast hunting-ground.
Tonerl, the elder of the two, has a cottage of his own
in the secluded little hamlet of some half a dozen houses,
nestling on the high plateau at the very entrance of the
Vomperloch. Our visit being unexpected, we find Tonerl
from home, and his sturdy wife Theresa tells us that he
is collecting brushwood on yonder precipitous slopes.
Let us, seated on the rustic bench placed under a
couple of gnarled fruitless apple-trees in front of the lowly
little cottage, await his return. Glancing up from the
huge dish of delicious milk, which has received our par¬
ticular attention, we scan the steep declivity down which
Tonerl has to come. Presently we detect, high up on a
AN ALINNE WALK.
345
sort of cutting, a bundle gliding down the very precipitous
gradient at lightning speed. By the aid of the pocket-
telescope, we discover that this bundle is nothing less than
Tonerl in front of a sledge, upon which are stacked and
bound down two huge bundles of brushwood. Leaning
back upon his cargo, his feet well forward and armed with
crampons, he holds on to the two " horns " of the sledge.
To one who has never watched a descent of this kind, it
seems utterly impossible for a human being to slide down
a narrow cutting at a gradient of fifty or sixty degrees,
with a huge load of wood behind him, and not be dashed
to pieces long before he reaches the bottom. Small pre¬
cipices of six to seven feet in depth are passed in one
bound ; stones of great size, embedded in the course, are
likewise no obstacle to speak of. It requires strong nerves,
a steady eye, and cool courage, to guide one of these
summer sleighs on a steep slope. Your breath is taken,
your eyes blink, now you imagine nothing can save you
from dashing with fearful violence into a boulder the size
of a moderate house, while a slight touch of your cram¬
pon-armed foot will guide the sleigh to the left, and you
pass it at a close shave ; then again you believe your very
bones must be shaken to pieces, as with a gay jodier the
guiding steersman clears a small precipice, when you have
to cling as for your life to the ropes wherewith the bundles
upon which you sit are tied down. " Hold hard ! " you
cry, as with dismay you see a couple of huge trunks of
trees lying athwart your course ; but it is too late, the
steersman, when as if about to crash against the huge
beams, lifts the front of the sledge, and you and the bun¬
dles pass over them in safety. Nothing can be more ex¬
citing than one of these summer sleighing parties ; and
though severe accidents do sometimes occur, the prime
fun of the expedition will outweigh your fears, and you
take your seat behind the steersman, or, as is frequently
the case in remote valleys, behind the betrousered steers-
woman, with quickened pulse. In late autumn and early
spring, one of the chief amusements that varies the mo¬
notonous life of the peasantry is to bring down the hay
346 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
from the small log-built hay-huts that dot the highest pas¬
turages, in which it was stored when fresh cut. Snow, of
not too great a depth, covers the steep slopes, rendering
the descent a swift and delightful sleigh.
Very often the duty of bringing down the hay, being a
lighter kind of work, falls to the lot of the girls, probably
the daughters of the owner. With trousers of stout can¬
vas in lieu of the usual female dress, and sharp crampons
on their feet, two or three of these buxom lasses will set
out. Hours of hard toil will finally bring them and their
sleighs to their goal. The hay, packed in nets of strong
cord, is tied down on the sledge ; and then lighting their
pipes, and making the valley at their feet ring with their
merry jodlers, each girl placing herself in front of the
sleigh, on which, towering far over her head, the huge
bundles of fragrant Alpine grass are lying, sets out on her
dangerous descent. Away they speed like lightning, a
few yards intervening between them. Now they have
reached the bottom of the meadow : next comes a dense
wood, rendering further progress seemingly impossible,
and yet, with a loud whoop, they enter the narrow cutting
which has been made through the wood, and like a flash
of lightning they pass through the gloomy forest. In
this way these dauntless lasses cover, in two or three min¬
utes, ground which it took them as many hours to ascend.
Words fail me to describe the gay scene, and the feel¬
ing of joyous lightness which takes possession of one.
Every thing combines to make it one of the pleasantest
scenes of Alpine life, — the valley far down at your feet,
the grand peaks rising from a belt of dark-green pine-for¬
ests, the crisp air, and the lightning speed at which you
travel, comfortably seated on the top of the bundles, with
your legs hanging down one at each side of your fair
guide's head.
At one of these sleighings, at which I happened to
participate, the fun was greatly enhanced by a ludicrous
incident. We had been traveling for several seconds, as
usual at a tremendous pace, when all of a sudden I no¬
ticed that the hay bundle on which I sat was smokmg. I
AN ALPINE WALK.
347
cried to the lass who guided the sleigh ; and on turning
she saw that the hay had been set alight by a spark of
her pipe. Had we gone on for a minute, the whole cargo
would have been ablaze, and my position rendered very
dangerous. She knew she could not stop the sleigh, as
we were just at the very steepest part of the descent ; so,
quick as lightning, she made the sleigh swerve to the left,
right into a deep bank of snow. The sudden stoppage
sent, me flying over my companion's head into the snow.
To see me dig myself out, must have been a highly ludi¬
crous sight ; but for all that the fire was stifled, and no¬
body was hurt.
But we have been sadly led away. Old Tonerl, we
have seen, was coming down in the way described ; and
a few minutes later the weatherbeaten old fellow was
standing in front of us, stretching out his brawny right
hand, while with his left he wiped the perspiration from
his forehead.
" That's right ; you've come at last. I thought you
had quite forgotten the old place. But you look pale ;
I'm sure you've been tumbling about dusty cities, instead
of visiting your old haunts."
Old Tonerl, a man of fifty-five or fifty-six, whose
strongly-knit figure and powerful limbs would hardly
betray his age, has, for a mountain-born Tyrolese, seen a
deal of the world. In his younger days he had been a
soldier, — one of that renowned corps, "The Kaiser Jä¬
ger," the Emperor's chasseurs, who executed such deeds
of bravery under their beloved veteran leader, Marshal
Radetzky, in the Italian campaigns of 1848. He had
fought, as he will tell you with sparkling eyes, the first ten
minutes of your acquaintance with him, in seven battles,
and more than a dozen engagements.
" Ah, those infernal ' Welsche ' (the name by which
the Italian-speaking people of South Tyrol and of Italy
itself are known), didn't we just lick them! With our
rifles stocked, we stormed their barricades, and clubbed
them down like so many curs."
The man's eyes light up when he reverts to his soldier
days ; and you see he loved fighting for fighting's sake.
348 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Tonerl will close a long rigmarole about the country
in which he spent so many years of his life (he had been
in Italy eleven years), by telling you that there's only
one good thing about it, — otherwise a rotten country,
inhabited by a set of treacherous rascals, — and that is
its cheap wines. "Why," he would continue, "you could
get a ' mass ' of capital wine for two kreutzers of the old
currency. Ah, those were times ! and schnapps," he
would add, " schnapps as much as you could get down
your throat for a 'groschen.' "
Once, on returning from a few months' stay in Italy,
I revisited my old friend ; and the very first question he
asked, on hearing that we had "been in Italy, was, " How
dear is the wine there now?" When I told him that I
had paid but little attention to that topic, he looked quite
aghast ; and some time later I overheard him telling his
wife that I had been in Italy for several months, and ac¬
tually did not know what the wine cost.
I felt that I had fallen very considerably in Tonerl's
opinion, and naught could restore me to the elevated
position I had formerly occupied. His suspicions must
have been aroused by this instance of gross ignorance on
my part ; for presently he subjected me to a severe cross-
examination, which, following closely on my first discom¬
fiture, did for me entirely.
In the eleven years he had soldiered about Italy, he
had got to know many of the fortified towns, such as
Mantua, Milan, Verona, Padua, &c., and had stood on
guard hundreds of times at their numberless gates.
His questions were in accordance with these experi¬
ences ; for, on my displaying ignorance of the number
and names of the gates that Verona or Mantua has, he
gave me up as a sad story-teller, and hinted as much as
that my Italian travels were myths.
With the exception of the two phrases, " Give me some
wine," and "What's the price of this wine?" he had for¬
gotten every word of the Italian tongue ; and even these
two phrases time had metamorphosed into oaths, and his
" Quantocostavins " rolled out in right awe-inspiring style.
AN ALP/NE WALK.
349
According to old Tonerl, fair Italy was metamorphosed
into a country the like of which, for bad qualities, it would
be impossible to find. And, indeed, if you listened to
his tale of woe, — how the malignant fevers had decimated
the ranks of his regiment far more severely than their
enemies' bayonets ; what fearful sufferings they had to
undergo in the suffocating heat of the summer ; how
treacherously the Italians behaved ; that the assassin's
dagger or poison, handled by patriotic but misguided
women, was for ever at work, — one could well fancy that
the open character of these mountain-born troops grew
hardened and vindictive, and that treacherous cruelty was
met by rough-and-ready violence.
Looking at Tonerl now, one could hardly fancy in him
a veteran soldier ; nothing whatever indicates his former
vocation. He represents as true a type of a chamois-
hunter, born and bred in his native valley, as one could
fancy.
His powerful though under-sized frame has about it that
look of well-knit bones and joints which characterizes the
peasantry ; his figure has the stoop so peculiar to the
hunter, his very gait, the long swing and heavy tread of
the mountaineer. These trivial details are an instance of
Nature's power over man.
Fourteen years of soldiering meant, at the period I am
speaking of, serving that number of years, in the prime of
life, under an iron rule of pig-tailed pipe-clay, which re¬
duced the free man into a machine far more complicated
and nicely adjusted than the most intricate machinery of
a chronometer. His very thoughts, words, and actions
were regulated strictly according to the word of command.
In a character less imbued with the idiosyncrasy of
his people, an indelible effect would have been produced,
an effect no number of years or change of vocation could
efface. How easy it generally is to recognize the soldier,
be it even under puzzling disguise !
But with the mountain-born Tyrolese the case is differ¬
ent. When he is once back among his Alps, Nature
effaces every trace of the foreign element. The man
35° GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
casts off his soldier's guise as effectually as his noble game,
the hart, sheds his antlers. Nothing remains to tell of
that long life of clockwork misery. Grand Nature, that
surrounds him on all sides, acts as the furnace in which
the sterling metal of the independent mountaineer frees
itself of the alloy so foreign to it.
Leiter, the other keeper, was a little wiry man some
forty years of age, and about the best cragsman I have
ever met. In intelligence he was far above the common
run of his comrades, who usually are naught but sports¬
men, born, reared, and condemned to die in the solitude
of their beloved mountains. Many an agreeable day's
stalking have I enjoyed in bygone years at the side of this
man ; and when late in the evenings, after a two or three
days' stalk, we would return to his humble cottage, a
steaming supper, a bright cleanly-kept room, and the
smiling face of his pretty young wife, would await us.
Poor fellow ! Little did we think that his days were
numbered, when, on a raw November day some years ago,
we returned from our last expedition into the Vomperloch
for that year.
And yet it was that very stalking excursion that brought
Leiter to grief, and widowed poor "Nanni." It was a
cold autumn day. The mountains were already coated
with their winter's pall. We had been in the Vomperloch
for a couple of days, and in the afternoon of the second
we proposed to make a short " drive " for chamois. Leiter
and Tonerl were to act as beaters, while I was to station
myself near the banks of the torrent, expecting that the
game would endeavor — as it usually does in winter— to
escape across the water.
No chamois came, and after waiting several hours, the
beaters at last returned. It was getting dark, and so it
was proposed that, rather than scramble up the impend¬
ing excessively steep slopes to reach the path, we should
follow the watercourse, which would save us at least a
good hour. As the torrent was skirted by walls of rock of
considerable height, forming gorges of great length, we
had to wade in the icy-cold stream.
AN ALPINE WALK.
351
It varied in depth, but being autumn and hence there
being very little water in comparison to that of summer,
when it would reach a depth of eighteen or twenty feet,
it never came up higher than our hips. Yet, the force of
the stream being considerable, we had hard work to keep
on our legs, particularly as it was getting quite dark.
Laughing and joking, we proceeded on our wade, the'
stupendous cliffs around us re-echoing every word with
tenfold force. Cold work we thought it, as quarter of an
hour after quarter of an hour elapsed, and we were still
immersed in the icy water. Finally, after nearly two
hours of it, we reached two lonely cottages, built at the
very last extremity of habitable ground, right at the com¬
mencement of the "Vomperloch Glen." One was Lei-
ter's habitation, the other the inn, whose owner combined
a smithy with his other vocations as petty farmer and
host of the inn.
Here we parted, and I proceeded to gain my own
quarters, some little distance off. That time twelve hours,
I was entering the express, and just forty hours later was
stepping into a hansom at Victoria. A week afterwards I
received the news of poor Leiter's death. An acute
inflammation carried off my trusty companion — nay, I
may even say friend — in less than three days.
I have now sketched, as best I could, the characters of
my two favorite comrades ; but there yet remains another
human feature of our favorite district, and one that will
probably prove of more interest.
Ferocious Jokel was a character in strict harmony with
these wild regions, which were, I may at once betray, his
favorite hunting-ground. He was a poacher of the very
first caliber. How well I remember his startling aspect !
those glittering, restless black eyes hid beneath his shaggy
brows, his muscular and gigantic frame, spare and with¬
out an ounce of superfluous flesh on it, his coffee-colored
chest, open alike in summer and winter, and covered
with hair. His taciturn demeanor, his piercing glance
as with one look he had examined you from head to foot,
that air of unapproachable hauteur, had all attracted my
352 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
attention the very first minute — now many years ago —
when I first saw him. He was leaning over a heap of
smoldering embers in that forlorn shepherd's hut, where
I met him the first and the only time in my life. It was
a strange meeting, and one that I shall remember.
I had been out several days in these very mountains,
and on the evening of the third day was returning to
more habitable quarters, when, overtaken by a fierce thun¬
derstorm, I had to take refuge in a deserted chalet situ¬
ated in the very wildest and most secluded nook, many
hours' walk from the next inhabited Alp hut. The boards
that did for a door were pushed aside, and a fire burnt
on the open hearth. A loud peal of thunder, which
shook the very earth, had drowned the noise of my en¬
trance, and I stood in the hut before its occupant, who was
staring pensively into the flames, had noticed my pres¬
ence. The next second he looked up : his eyes seemed
to devour me, as with one agile leap he gained the bench
upon which his rifle was lying. The next moment it was
leveled at my breast, and Jokel, for it was no less a per¬
sonage than that noted poacher, though at the time I Avas
ignorant of his name and fame, demanded gruffly what I
wanted of him.
Before I had time to answer, he had lowered his rifle,
for he perceived I was unarmed, and in a voice scarcely
less gruff than before, said, —
" Never mind ; I thought you were one of those
accursed keepers."
I passed that night in his company, slept on the floor
back to back with him, and drank out of the same bat¬
tered old copper drinking-vessel. My judgment of this
desperado's character was fully borne out by what I sub¬
sequently heard of him. Countless traits came to my
knowledge ; some betraying a reckless ferocity that bor¬
dered upon the supernatural, but others betokening a
sterling uprightness that loathed a lie of any sort, and that
would have prompted him to cut off Iiis hand rather than
steal a loaf Of bread.
"And this man a common poacher ! " the reader will
AN ALPINE WALK.
353
exclaim. Yes, nothing worse and nothing better than a
poacher was Jokel. He saw no more wrong in killing a
chamois — in his eyes a free gift of nature—than in pick¬
ing up a stone on the high road. Who had a better right
to the wild denizens of the Alps, roaming hither and
thither from pass to pass, from peak to peak, than he,
the free-born child of nature, whose home, the wild Alps,
was also their home, and who was willing to undergo
privations and dangers quite unknown to the legitimate
owners of his noble game, as he followed them alone and
unaided by beaters and huntsmen from crag to crag, from
ravine to ravine, exposed night and day to the same in¬
clemencies of climate, to the same dangers, that they, the
fleet chamois, had to undergo ?
And yet is it possible that a phlegmatic and undemon¬
strative native, whose very look, whose very words, seem to
betray his total indifference to Nature's charms, could be
swayed by motives other than sordid, in giving chase to
the wary chamois and risking life and limb in the sport ?
Yet.this is the case; for the commonest peasant loves
Nature, though probably no words of admiration ever
pass his lips, far more intensely than the stranger tourist
who, though with difficulty, finds words to express his
feelings. Because their undemonstrative characters shrink
from giving utterance to their sensations in the voluble
manner peculiar to strangers, we must not conclude that
they are dead to the charms that surround them.
Nay, on the contrary, love of nature is innate with
their very existence, and if we were to examine their
character a little closer we would find that they are hardly
aware of the presence of this feeling for their mountains
and their chamois. To the tourists the feeling is new,
and if it is genuine, it is but natural that they try to ex¬
press it in words, though a remark I once heard from a
guide is very true, —
" Why the goodness don't they " (the tourists) " stop
in the country, if they profess to admire Nature so amaz¬
ingly?"
Is it likely that Jokel, or any other strong, vigorous
354 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
man able to gain a comfortable livelihood, had he turned
laborer or peasant farmer, would prefer, were it not for
that " something " that lures him on to risk his life, to
undergo untold privations merely from the sordid mo¬
tives that prompt the common run of poachers, — a
" something " that lets him forget the hardships of the
last resultless expedition, that makes cold bearable, hun¬
ger pangless, thirst endurable, and the facing of number¬
less dangers a very pleasure in itself? And what is that
mysterious charm that seduces the man from steady
labor, from a comfortable homestead, but the love for
Nature in its noblest form?
In Jokel's history we see this feeling predominating to
a more than common extent. The son of well-to-do
parents, he had wasted his comfortable patrimony. Field
after field was sold off to ransom himself from prison, and
when finally all was gone, he disappeared from the neigh¬
borhood, and betook himself to the Bavarian Highlands,
where he soon became the most dreaded poacher near
and far. Game was plentiful, but as long as his frugal
wants were covered, he cared not what became of the
chamois he killed. He would hang them at night to the
door of one of the keepers' cottages, or in the same
stealthy manner would present the village priests with a
buck, or he would give the proceeds of his raids to the
poor. He was only happy in the mountains, and when
not out hunting, he would roam through the wildest dis¬
tricts, or engage himself as a woodcutter. But his strange
violence of character, his dislike of company, and his
taciturn hauteur, won him no friends among his comrades,
and so he was generally shunned.
The strangest tales were told of his incredible strength,
—how he once, unarmed, faced a mad bull, and after a
severe tussle threw him on his back ; how he saved a
couple of children from a watery grave in a torrent ; how
he battered in, with his head, a stout oaken house-door ;
how he lifted a heavy cart-horse bodily from the ground ;
how he vanquished seven Bavarian gendarmes, who were
about to capture him, and broke their bayonets and swords
over their own backs.
AN ALPINE WALK.
355
With all his fierce recklessness, Jokel was not dead to
human kindness, as is strikingly illustrated by one of his
strange freaks. His widowed sister was wretchedly poor,
and, when Christmas came round, had scarcely bit or sup
in her cupboard. Jokel heard of her distress ; and, though
winter had set in with great rigor, he immediately started
for the mountains, vowing he would not return without a
chamois on his back. And he did it too, though he was
out six days without shelter or fire in the long nights, and
exposed to the terrible cold with nothing on his back but
his coarse shirt and his frieze jacket. His death, the re¬
sult of his fierce untamable temperament, was as strange
as his life. I will tell it as, some months after the occur¬
rence, Tonerl told it to me while sitting at my side, after
a hard day's climb among the crags and peaks which
were the favorite hunting-ground of the dead man.
One day early in the season, Leiter was out on his
regular round, and while passing through the gorge To¬
nerl and I were now occupying, lie was startled by the
rolling echoes of a shot.
Scrambling up a projecting crag affording a good view
round, he whipped out his telescope, and proceeded to
scan the bluffs and surrounding heights. Knowing that
Tonerl was at home, and could not have fired the shot,
he instinctively attributed it to our ferocious friend.
"At his old game again," muttered Leiter; and being
well acquainted with the artful character of the poacher,
he watched for more than three hours, with his telescope
constantly at his eye, but no trace of human being was
discernible. He began to think he had been misled by
the echo, and that in reality the shot had been fired in
quite another direction.
But no. " There ! I am right, after all," ejaculated
wary Leiter ; for just as he was examining with his tele¬
scope a boulder with some brushwood about it, he saw a
hat and then a blackened face cautiously raised over the
stone that gave shelter to the rest of the man's body.
" Aha ! got you at last, old devil ; this time you won't
escape us as you did when you gave us the slip last year,
35ö GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
you infernal rascal," thought Leiter, as he continued to
watch his foe's movements.
Jokel was notorious for the dare-devil pranks he loved
to play the keepers of the adjoining estates, who stood in
no little fear of him.
Just a twelvemonth before, Leiter and Tonerl had dis¬
covered Jokel carrying away a chamois he had shot on
their preserves, quite close to the spot he was now
secreted in. They gave chase, but the rascal was soon
lost to their eyes.
Suddenly they heard loud jeering laughter right over
their heads ; and on looking up the perpendicular face of
the precipice at the bottom of which they were standing,
they saw right over their heads Jokel, picking his steps
across a ledge barely broader than a man's foot, and
where they, good mountaineers as they both were, had
never dared to go. The fellow was too high up for a
rifle-ball to reach him.
Presently he stopped, and increased their anger not a
little by shouting down most insulting epithets. The
wily old dog wanted to draw them on to a certain spot,
where he intended to surprise them by one of his tricks.
The two keepers followed the base of the wall of rock
for some time, until they saw him disappear up a cleft
shaped just like a chimney-flue. He gained the top by
swarming up just in the fashion of chimney-sweeps,
though, of course, his progress was fraught with great
danger, as he had a fifty-pound chamois, his kit, and his
rifle on his back, and the " chimney " boasted of but
three sides, the fourth being open.
The two pursuers hastened their steps, as they imagined
there was yet a chance of capturing him if he failed to
strike the right path across the frontier. They had
entered a deep Graben, the sides of which were hardly
more than fifty or sixty yards apart, and were just in the
middle of it when a peal of laughter again jarred on
their ears, and a tremendous shower of stones of all
sizes came pelting down upon them.
The walls of rock afforded no shelter whatever, as the
AN ALPINE WALK.
357
stones rebounded from side to side, and there was not a
single boulder or tree in the dismal Graben behind which
they could seek safety. Nothing remained but to run,
which they did with alacrity.
A second and third shower rattled down about their
ears, but they escaped without a scratch, but vowing san¬
guinary revenge. Dead or alive they would get him the
next time he gave them a chance.
And surely this time, a year later, Jokel's skin looked
" cheap." Here he was, right under the telescope of his
implacable enemy, the keeper, evidently deeming him¬
self unobserved by mortal being, and preparing to hide
himself and the game he had killed, for the rest of the
day, till darkness should aid his escape over the boundary.
The face to which the hat belonged turned hither and
thither, examining with the most minute scrutiny the neigh¬
borhood. Every thing was quiet, and Jokel's suspicions
were lulled. He crawled forth from behind the stone,
and ran towards a slight eminence, behind which he dis¬
appeared, returning, however, in the course of a few
minutes, with a chamois on his back. The wary poacher
had observed that necessary caution of lying close after
firing his shot.
But this time it availed him little ; the pitcher was
destined to break, for Leiter, in whose ear a certain scorn¬
ful laugh still tingled with unabated vividness, had held
out on his post, and his patience, as we have seen, was
rewarded by finally discovering the malefactor.
But now in Leiter's mind arose the question how to
get at the poacher so as to effect his capture.
The distance between the watcher and the watched
was scarcely more than three miles as the crow flies, but
to walk it would take more than double that number of
hours, for there intervened a deep impassable gully, at the
bottom of which the stream boiled and seethed. This
obliged one to make an immense round to gain the oppo¬
site bank, where the poacher was now busy brittling the
game.
Leiter continued to watch his movements, and saw
35 8 G AD DING S WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
him take up the chamois and his rifle, and bend his steps
upwards towards a precipice which rose many hundred
feet in one bold bluff.
When Jokel approached the wall, he proceeded to di¬
vest himself of his shoes, — stockings he wore none, —
and commenced to pick his way up a minute slanting
ledge. When he got to the end, where a couple of
stunted " Latschen " grew, he pulled himself up by the
aid of their tenacious branches to a sort of cavity in the
rock, which Leiter had failed to observe until the poacher
was right in it.
" Ha ! old rascal, is that your game ? " thought Leiter,
who now knew that Jokel was intending to occupy this
hiding-place for the rest of the day, and leave when night
should render his return home far less hazardous than it
was in daytime.
He watched him settling himself down on the jagged
stones, and putting the dead chamois as a pillow under¬
neath his head, evidently intending to enjoy a nap.
Leiter pulled out his watch, and found that it was nigh
upon twelve o'clock.
Would he have time to hasten down to Vomperberg to
Tonerl's cottage? or would he have to undertake the cap¬
ture alone? The latter undertaking seemed somewhat
too dangerous. Jokel's dauntless recklessness he well
knew; and,.if he failed to catch him asleep, the odds
would be greatly against himself, for Jokel had chosen for
his resting-place a natural fortress.
One man only could ascend the ledge at a time, and
the formation of the ground was such that from no point
could the would-be captors fire into the fortress, while
they, on the contrary, would be constantly exposed to
the poacher's unerring aim.
Leiter wavered but a few moments, and then rushed
down the steep slope on his way home. Within two
hours he, covered with perspiration, reached Tonerl's hab¬
itation. Tonerl was at home, and in a twinkling had
pulled on his coat and shoes, and taken up his rifle and a.,
coil of rope that hung on the next peg. Scarcely five
AN ALPINE WALK.
359
minutes after Leiter's arrival the two men were walking
off at their fastest.
In the four hours they took to reach the scene of ac¬
tion, they had ample time to devise the best means of
surprising Jokel before he should have time to offer re¬
sistance.
Long before they reached the neighborhood of the
precipice, in a cleft of which old Jokel lay hid (asleep
too, it was to be hoped), they refrained from talking or
making the slightest noise, lest his sharp ears should de¬
tect them approaching.
By the time they got to the base of the precipice it
was nearly six o'clock ; the sun was going down, and it
was high time to begin their operations, lest darkness
should enable their foe to make good his escape.
Tonerl, taking off his shoes, crept up the slanting ledge,
Leiter following as close in his wake as possible, both
holding their guns at full cock.
The former had very nearly gained the height, and was
just about to lay hold of the Latschen branches to pull
himself up, when Jokel, who had been lying awake for
some time, heard them, and, with a terrible oath pushed
the Latschen apart to enable him to see who was there.
To see Tonerl, and to level his rifle at Leiter, who was
just about to reciprocate, were the work of a moment.
The former, who was hanging on the branches, could not
of course use his own weapon, but, what was far better, he
swung himself up, and at the very moment Jokel fired,
struck aside his rifle. It went off, however, and the next
moment the two men were grappling on the miniature
platform edged by the gulf. Leiter quickly came to his
comrade's rescue, and the poacher was overpowered.
After he had received a sound thrashing by his captors,
they proceeded to take him down.
This they had to do with great caution, for the difficult
descent obliged them to allow Jokel to accomplish it
unbound. In front crept Tonerl, then came their pris¬
oner followed by Leiter with his rifle at full cock, and
vowing he would shoot him the instant he made the
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 361
CHAPTER XIX.
A WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER.
ÂMONG the manifold descriptions and recitals of trav¬
els and tours in Tyrol, there are none that deal with
the country and its features during winter-time.
Travelers visiting the country in the full tide of sun¬
shine and warmth have, I am afraid, very little concep¬
tion of what it is like in the rough season of the year, and
still less idea of the terrible straits in which the frugal
inhabitants are involved by a fall of snow three to five
feet high, for four and five months of the year.
I have frequently been amused to ob.serve the curling
lip and half-scornful smile of some native, as he watched
the abortive attempt of a shivering tourist on a wet day
in July or August, to seek shelter and warmth in the ample
folds of a shawl or greatcoat ; and considering that this
very same mountaineer, attired in the very same garb that
he wears in summer, short leathers and frieze coat, will
brave a cold of the intensity of which we in England can
form no conception, his scornful derision at the effemi¬
nate stranger may well be understood. In those parts of
Tyrol north of the vast mountain chain which divides the
country into halves, winter lasts for many months ; indeed,
to speak more definitely, the fact may be mentioned that
in the courtyard of Castle Matzen, snow lay from Nov.
13, 1874, till the first week of the following May. Many
valleys are entirely cut off from the world, every com¬
munication being stopped by the depth of snow on the
paths and roads that connect them with the next large
village or town.
360 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
slightest attempt to escape. This they were afraid he
would try by a bold jump down the miniature precipice,
some eighteen or twenty feet in height, at their very side.
When they reached the bottom of the wall, they pro¬
ceeded to bind their prisoner's hands. Then only it
appeared that his right hand was shattered into splinters.
His rifle, a clumsy old arm, had burst. Though his
wound must have pained him desperately, he did. not
utter a groan. His firmly-set teeth, gleaming out from
his black face besmeared with blood, and his eyes, glit¬
tering fiercely from behind the shaggy hair which hung
down his forehead, were all that told of his sufferings,
enhanced though they were a thousand-fold by his igno¬
minious capture.
It was after midnight when the two keepers arrived at
Tonerl's cottage with their captive. Here his wound was
washed and bound up, prior to his being delivered up to
the authorities at Hall, some four or five hours' walk off.
When they arrived there, Jokel obstinately refused to
have his wound attended by a doctor ; and when, after
getting him securely manacled, the surgeon managed to
amputate the hand, he succeeded in tearing off the ban¬
dages with his teeth. The next day mortification set in,
and the third day ferocious Jokel was dead.
So ended the life of this iron-hearted son of nature ;
and, in the eyes of his captors, his last act was not one
to lessen the awe in which they had stood of him.
To him, as to so many of his confreres, a death-shot
received in the open is but what, during a course of years,
was constantly expected, and never brings with it any
other feeling than " that it was to be ; " but to suffer igno¬
minious imprisonment at the hands of the servants of the
law which, from his youth, he had loved but to defeat, was
to him a disgrace he could not live through. We leave
him at rest at last, reposing under a modest wooden cross
in the cenaetery at Hall.
362 CADDINCS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
On the mountains the snow accumulates to an aston¬
ishing depth, masses twelve and fifteen feet being by no
means unusual ; and Alp-huts situated a few thousand
feet above the base of the adjacent valley disappear
entirely.
A short time ago I was one of a party of about twenty
men that were called together to aid an old couple whose
hut had been entirely buried by snow. After a terribly
fatiguing march up slopes which, owing to their steepness,
were covered by only three or feet of snow, we reached
the site of the hut ; nothing but a gable of the roof showed
that we were standing right over it.
A trench dug down to the door enabled us at last to
deliver the old people, who had been thus imprisoned for
nine days. Fortunately they had a goat in their hut, and
a few loaves of bread in their store-room ; without these
they would have perished by starvation long before our
arms and shovels could have liberated them from their
living grave.
Two incidents of my own experience will illustrate the
difficulties attendant upon winter-sport in a severe winter
in the Tyrol : the first a shooting-adventure in a remote
Tyrolese valley well stocked with game ; the second an
ascent of one of the highest mountain-peaks in mid¬
winter.
The autumn of 1874 was, as those of my readers who
happened to be on the Continent at that period will un¬
doubtedly recollect, a remarkably fine one.
On November the 8th, with ten companions, natives of
the B valley in North Tyrol, I started on a sporting-
expedition, intending to be away five or six days.
Our goal was a remote little Alpine ravine surrounded
by high peaks, affording the very liest sport possible. As
our quarters we chose one of those odd " Wurzenhütten "
— a small chalet where in summer-time spirits are dis¬
tilled from the fragrant herbs (especially the gentiana)
that grow on the slopes and rocks. This hut, about
6,000 feet above the level of the sea, is one of the high¬
est-situated of the kind I know, and, for its remote posi-
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 363
tion, the fact that we had a ten-hours' march to it from
the last human habitation will speak for itself. We of
course expected to find the hut untenanted, the season
being so very far advanced ; what was therefore our sur¬
prise, on reaching the chalet, to find it inhabited by the
young daughter of the old rascal who was owner of this
illicit distillery !
I must mention that the reason of its inaccessibility is
to be found in the excise-laws of Austria. All spirits are
subject to a heavy duty, and the purpose of the owners
of these secret distilleries is, of course, simply to defraud
Government.1 Lena (the daughter) had been obliged to
remain " on high," in order to finish a certain quantity
of spirits ordered by the innkeeper of her native village.
The first four days were warm and balmy, and our
sport capital ; five chamois, four roedeer, and three splen¬
did harts rewarded our pains. The fifth day, Nov. 13,
the weather changed, and snow began to fall in such
masses that on the eve of the third day we found, on our
return to the hut, just the roof-beams sticking out of the
snow. Lena, our cook, was glad to see daylight again,
when, after some considerable trouble, we managed to
dig a sort of cutting down to the door. Our bag had
now increased to twenty-five head in all, — nine chamois,
six roedeer, and ten harts.
The snow still continued to fall, and owing to the diffi¬
culties of the previous day we decided to remain within
our hut, and not to venture out into the wilderness of
snow. Every three or four hours two or three of us took
turns with the spade, which we had fortunately discovered
in the hut, to keep open our passage in front of the door.
A pack of terribly greasy cards and an ample store of
tobacco and spirits helped to while away that long day ;
the next was no better, the third just the same, and at
last, on the morning of the fourth, the sky cleared, and it
ceased snowing. To return to the village was, until the
snow should be settled down, an impossibility.
1 The quantities produced in these distilleries are very small, some distilleries
averaging not more than ten or twelve gallons per annum.
364 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
Shooting was likewise impracticable, and so we had
simply to wait till the cold rendered the snow more capa¬
ble of sustaining the weight of a mar; with snow-hoops.
With the latter we were unprovided, never imagining that
such a terrific fall of snow would imprison us. With a
little patience, a sharp knife, a bit of string and cord, and
the tough branches of the fir-tree, we managed to man¬
ufacture serviceable substitutes, so that at the end of six
more days we started, and after a most fatiguing march
of nearly twenty hours we reached the snowed-up village.
Lena, with admirable fortitude and a remarkable degree
of endurance, kept up with us in good style, though of
course she had the benefit of our steps, or rather knee-
deep holes in the snow, she bringing up the rear of our
long file.
The lighter head of game, such as roe and chamois,
we carried along with us ; the rest we buried in the snow.
On arriving at the village late at night, we found every¬
body in commotion, and full of anxiety on our account.
On the morrow they had intended to send a large body
of men to our aid. Our absence of more than seventeen
days, coupled with the amazingly heavy fall of snow, had
made the villagers fear some accident might have befallen
us.
Lena, in her short leather breeches, — she had donned
a pair of her father's, which had been left in the hut, so
as to be able to walk unhampered by the skirts of her
dress, — created quite a stir ; and indeed the poor girl,
dead with fatigue, well deserved the warm praise and the
hearty shake of many a brawny palm extended to her in
recognition of her brave spirit.
A week afterwards twenty-one young fellows, armed
with shovels and snow-hoops, returned to the hut to fetch
the ten stags still buried in the snow.
I was unfortunately unable to accompany them, but
saw some of them a few days after their return.
Sleighs being impracticable, the men had to carry the
stags on their shoulders ; and, amazing as it may seem,
there were three or four among the lot who each carried
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 365
a stag for nearly an hour at a time. As the weight of a
hart showing eight or ten points is considerably more
than three hundred' pounds, this may serve to show the
powerful build and great strength of some of the inhabit¬
ants of remote valleys.
The " Ortler Spitze " and the " Gross Glockner " are
the two highest mountains in Tyrol. Both close upon
thirteen thousand feet, the latter was formerly supposed
to be the loftier of the two ; but lately, owing to more
accurate measurements, the Order has been found to be
a hundred feet higher. Though of a greater height, the
latter is not nearly so noble a peak. Not unlike the Mat¬
terhorn, the Glockner is from several points of view even
of a sharper and more needle-like formation.
Several ascents of this peak in the summer months —
the Glockner is by no means a difficult mountain, and
even ladies have ascended it — developed in me the wish
to try once an ascent in the depth of winter ; and though
I frequently thought of this plan for several consecutive
years, I never had the opportunity or time to carry it into
execution.
At last, in December, 1874,1 resolved to take advantage
of a fortnight's spare time, and try the ascent1 I had de¬
termined upon years ago.
From what I knew of the peak I came to the conclusion
that any attempt must be made from Kals ; there being two
points from whence this peak can be ascended, Kals and
Heiligen Blut.
To Thomas Groder, the head of the guides at Kals, a
man of great experience in all matters of mountaineering,
I expressed my desire to receive accurate information re¬
specting the depth of snow, and state of the latter, — if yet
soft, or already coated with a crust of ice.
The answer I received was certainly not encouraging :
snow nearly five feet deep in the valley, very soft, and the
probability that no guide would venture to undertake so
perilous an attempt.
Not easily daunted, I determined to convince myself
1 See the Alpine Journal, May, 1875.
366 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
by eyesight of the real state of things. A railway journey
of ten hours — we were snowed up twice — brought me
to Lienz, in the Pusterthal. Engaging a sleigh, I pro¬
ceeded to the " Huben," a comfortable inn on the road
from Lienz to Windish Matrei, at the point where the val¬
ley in which Kals is situated branches off. My coachman
laughed right in my face when I answered his question,
what brought me, in the depth of winter, and of so severe
a winter too, into the valley of Matrei, by telling him that
I intended to ascend the Gross Glockner. " Why, that is
beyond what a mad Englishman would do," exclaimed
the astonished native, little imagining he was in reality
addressing a member of the mad " Engländer nation."
" Why, look only at the eight-feet-high wall of snow
(lining the road, cleared by means of a huge snow-plow
drawn by twelve horses), and imagine what must be the
depth of the snow high up yonder mountains ; and they
are about a third of the Gross Glockner's height."
Indeed, the aspect of things was any thing but prom¬
ising, and my driver's gloomy prophecy did not tend to
brighten my hopes.
At the inn I discharged the sleigh, intending to stop the
night there, and proceed next morning on foot to Kals.
I ordered my supper to be brought into the bar-room, in
order to indulge in a chat with mine host, whom I knew
from former times. Even he, who, I felt sure, had a high
opinion of my mountaineering experience, thought me
demented to venture on such a trip. " In other winters
there might be a chance of succeeding, but this year will
be an unprecedentedly severe one : you have not a
shadow of a chance to reach even a height of 8,000 feet."
Resolved upon trying what perseverance in a good
cause could accomplish, I started next morning at an early
hour for Kals.
A four-hours' tough struggle with snow, which had fallen
to a depth of nearly a foot on the path made in the deep
snow the clay before by the villagers passing to and from
the larger Matrei valley, brought me to my destination.
The greater part of the afternoon of that day, Dec. 29,
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 367
was spent in serious consultation with several guides,
chiefly with Groder, their head. The verdict was unani¬
mous : "Impossible; but if you will pay us well, we will
try how far we can get up on the slopes of the Gross
Glockner."
Now, to try, and not succeed, did not suit my plans at
all. I told them, however, that I was willing to enter upon
" their " proposition, and would engage all such men as
would volunteer, and who had had some practice in bat¬
tling with snow, as chamois-stalkers. I left them twenty-
four hours to consider " my " proposition, and at their
termination four men offered themselves for the dangerous
work.
It continued snowing on the 30th, and on the forenoon
of the 31st, December.
On New Year's Eve, towards dusk, the wind changed
and the weather cleared, so that when I went out in the
open air in front of the house, a few minutes before mid¬
night, in order to hear them ring in the New Year, the
stars were shining brightly, and the thermometer, my con¬
stant companion in those anxious days, was marking 11° R.
(or 50 Fah.). I returned to bed full of hope that the next
day would witness our departure, but sorry that my favor¬
ite project of reaching the top of the Giant's Peak on New
Year's Day had become impossible, not only on account
of the unpropitious state of the weather on the morning
of the 31st, but also owing to the religious scruples of my
four guides, who refused to be absent from the morning
service on New Year's Day.
The tolling bells and the bright sun shining into my
comfortable wainscoted chamber woke me at eight
o'clock. Looking out of the window, which I had to
open to be able to see any thing, my joy can be imagined
at seeing a bright sky and a further retreat of the quick¬
silver (hung up in a shady corner) ; it now marked 12° R.,
thus rendering it very probable that the snow would be in
that state termed by the natives " harscht," able to bear a
man's weight, spread, as it would be, over the broad sur¬
face covered by the snow-hoop.
368 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
After their dinner, or, in other words, at half-past eleven
in the forenoon, we met for a final consultation in the
crowded bar-room of the Wirthshaus. We five were
determined to start, however strong and vociferous might
be the party opposed to the whole undertaking. With the
words, "Hinsein können wir nur oin mal," or "Die we
can but once," the leader of my intrepid little party, Peter
Groder, closed the consultation, and they all left for their
several homes, to change their dress and bid good-bye to
their families. The provisions, four bottles of wine, two
bottles of schnapps, three of cold tea, some lard, flour,
sugar, salt, six loaves of bread, tea and coffee, were all
collected on the center-table of the room.
At one o'clock the men returned, and we set about
dividing the stores into five equal parts. I was determined
to carry my own share, and, in fact, by taking upon myself
an accurate fifth part of all danger, work, and fatigue, not
to give the men a chance of turning upon me with the
excuse that they carried more than I did, or that I took
the lazy man's post at the rear of the party.
Punctually at two in the afternoon we started. Our
aspect, wending our steps in single file through the narrow
cutting in the deep mass of snow that lay between the
houses of the village, must have been extremely comical.
A fool's errand it seemed from the beginning to the
greater part of the villagers, but never more so than now.
Each man bore on his back an ample Rucksack, from
which dangled on one side the large snow-hoops, from
the other a pair of crampons, while a short ax, or large
bundles of dry wood, or the handle of a gigantic iron pan,
or coil of rope, were the visible contents of the several
bags, as we passed the criticising review of numerous
groups of natives and guides, who had turned out to
witness our departure.
For nearly an hour and a half we found a comfortable
path connecting the outlying peasant-houses with the
village.
At the last house we halted for a moment, strapped the
snow-hoops to our feet, and began work in earnest. Con-
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 369
trary to our expectations, we found the snow in the very
worst state. Fine-grained and dust-like, it did not resist
our weight in the very least ; and when, at the outset, I
saw my front man sink in up to his thighs, my hopes grew
faint, and I heard several very distinct grumbling sounds
from the three men walking in my rear.
We plowed on, however, doing our duty in a manful
and spirited way. Every quarter of an hour we changed
leaders, the latter, of course, having comparatively the
most fatiguing work, making die steps for his companions.
At five or half-past darkness set in ; and, lighting our
two large lanterns, we continued our march by their light.
At nine o'clock or thereabouts, we reached the "Jör¬
genhut," a châlet tenanted in summer by a herd and his
cattle, and of late years but rarely used by mountaineers
as their night-quarters, the comfortable " Stüdlhiitte," two
hours farther up, being a far preferable abode for a night.
We halted, and, digging a sort of passage to the door¬
way, — the snow reached up to the rafters of the hut, —
we entered the desolate habitation. Here we intended
to leave the bulk of our various utensils not actually
required in the ascent.
After some trouble we lit a fire with the wood we had
brought with us ; and half an hour later we were sitting
round a gigantic pan filled to the brim with " Schmarn,"
and a large iron pot full of strong tea.
We had determined to try the ascent by a route
entirely impracticable in summer; and, as the Jörgenhut
was the last Alp-hut on our way, it would be our last meal
till we returned. No wonder we sat nearly two hours
over our supper, making it necessary, in fact, to cook a
second edition of the "Schmarn," and to make a third
and fourth jorum of tea.
At midnight we started, leaving every thing behind
save some bread, meat, a bottle of schnapps, one of tea
and one of wine, and the implements, such as ropes,
crampons, &c., necessary for the ascent itself. The night
was one of intense cold ; the thermometer on leaving the
hut marked 17o R., or 6° below o° Fah.
37° GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
For two hours our road lay along a small valley ; at
the end very steep slopes ensued, terminating in the large
Kodnitz glacier, forming a sort of slightly-inclined plateau.
At the extreme end of it, in one bold sweep of more than
4,000 feet, rises the noble Gross Glockner itself.
On reaching the slopes leading to the glacier, we
changed our respective positions, leaving a space of some
thirty yards between each of us. The first man, the
center man, and the rear man were supplied each with a
lantern. The great danger of avalanches, frequently set
into motion by the mere vibration of the air resulting from
a shot or loud shout, made great precaution necessary.
Peter Groder, to whom I had given the command of
the party, and who was by far the best man of the guides,
had had the misfortune to get into avalanches twice in
his life, but was saved on both occasions by miracles.
We had been ascending the slope for about an hour or
so, when suddenly the solemn stillness reigning around us
was broken by a rumbling sound, increasing in intensity
from second to second, and making the very earth shake
and tremble. A huge avalanche, measuring some hun¬
dreds of yards in breadth and thirty or forty feet in depth,
thundered down the adjacent slopes, in unpleasant prox¬
imity to the place on which we were standing. I was
just then the leading man, and on looking back towards
Peter, who was walking at my rear, I perceived him and
his three companions engaged in a whispered consulta¬
tion. Turning, I learned on my approach that Peter,
unhinged and frightened, was endeavoring to prevail
upon the others to turn back. It cost me ten minutes'
talk to persuade him to continue the ascent. Silently,
not daring to speak a loud word, we climbed on, now
sinking up to our chests in heaps of drifted snow, now
traversing the firm pathway of an avalanche, only to sink
in far over our knees on leaving the track of our danger¬
ous foe.
Two more avalanches passed us that night ; and each
time Groder, daring and bold as he was on all other occa¬
sions of danger, evinced signs of fear, and but for my
arguments he would have turned back each time.
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 371
At half-past three we reached the glacier, and travers¬
ing its breadth, we came to another, bit of stiffish climbing.
At half-past six or seven we were standing on the top of
a narrow ridge, the "Adlersruhe," that connects the Gross
Glockner with some minor peaks on its right.
Here we saw the sun rise, a spectacle of unique grand¬
eur. The cold had abated, but the wind, terribly keen,
was sufficient to freeze the marrow in our bones.
On looking towards the mountain which rose in a fear¬
fully steep incline from the point we were occupying, we
perceived by the rays of the sun that the whole grand
peak was one mass of pure ice.
Unfortunately we had never thought of this possibility,
and had therefore failed to provide ourselves with ice-
axes. The men, amazed to find ice, were for the first
moment quite thunderstruck, — indeed, my own feelings
were very much of the same tenor as those of my four
guides. Fastening ourselves together with the rope, and
leaving the lanterns and snow-hoops behind us, we deter¬
mined to try at least what could be done with the aid of
the iron shovel and the sharp and long-pronged Alpen¬
stöcke, and cramptons on our feet.
Hard and dangerous work it proved to be, and had we
only had an ax we should have reached our goal (not
more than two thousand feet over our heads) at least an
hour and a half or two hours sooner.
Cutting steps with an iron shovel into hard ice on a
very steep incline, while the wind, cold and piercing, was
blowing big guns, was no very inviting occupation.
The top of the peak is divided by a sort of incision —
the Saddle — into two distinct horns, one the Gross
Glockner, about a hundred feet higher than the other,
the Klein Glockner, which latter we had to pass on our
way to the former. At half-past nine we were standing
on the top of the lower horn, and there came across a
phenomenon which had never been witnessed by any of
us five.
The top of the Klein Glockner is ordinarily a mere
sharp, knife-like edge running towards the more elevated
372 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
peak, and divided from it, as I have said, by the Saddle.
Instead of this we found on reaching the top that we
were standing on a broad platform some sixty feet long,
and from twelve to sixteen feet wide.
I was at that moment the second in the file, and stick¬
ing my Bergstock — a stout ash pole seven feet long —
into the half-frozen snow, which formed the platform, I
found that it penetrated, and would have slipped through
had I not held it firmly. On looking down through the
hole which I had made with the alpenstock I perceived,
perpendicularly some four thousand feet below me, the
Pasterze Glacier. Of course we retreated precipitately ;
but nevertheless I and the leading guide had been stand¬
ing for some minutes on a shelf of snow which the wind
had drifted against the smooth surface of the precipice
forming the northern side of the Klein Glockner.
It is wonderful that this shelf, not thicker than three
feet where it joined the rock, should have withstood our
double weight ; and at the same time it serves to illus¬
trate the incredible force of gales in winter-time at high
elevations.
The "saddle " over which we had to pass was a decid¬
edly bad place, and even in summer, when the wire rope
that has been fastened across it can be used, every pre¬
caution is necessary. Now the rope was invisible, embed¬
ded in ice, in fact, and consequently we were obliged to
walk for thirty or forty feet along an edge not broader
than nine or ten inches, having on both sides precipices
three thousand and four thousand feet deep.
To render this feat even more dangerous, the wind had
increased, making it difficult to keep one's equilibrium
while balancing one's self across this icy knife-back.
At five minutes to ten o'clock, a.m., on Jan. 2, 1875,
we five mortals were standing on the top of the Gross
Glockner, having successfully accomplished a feat, which,
as my guides afterwards hinted to me, they would not
repeat for five hundred florins each. The men dropped
upon their knees, and offered up a short prayer, — a pro¬
ceeding quite unusual with these fearless fellows,.showing
WINTER ASCENT OF THE GROSS GLOCKNER. 373
more than any thing else that the dangers we had passed
through were exceptionally great.
The cold had abated, — 6° R., or 18° Fah., was quite
bearable, but not sufficient to thaw our provisions, which
were frozen as hard as stone. The strong schnapps even
was in a half-frozen state ; and considering the bad nature
of the descent, and our exhausted condition, we refrained
from taking any for fear of evil consequences. The meat,
tea, and wine, of which we stood so much in need, had
to be returned untasted into our spacious " Riicksacke."
My card, with the date of the ascent and the names
of the four intrepid guides scrawled as legibly as my stiff
fingers and shaking frame allowed, I deposited in the
cairn that had been raised by preceding mountaineers.
A large flagstaff, lying buried under the ice and drifted
snow, was dug out, and, after having fixed upon it the
remnants of a red flag, was stuck into a deep hole made
by means of our sharp-pronged Alpenstöcke.
The view was magnificent beyond description. The
sky was of a dark, dead blue, and the air so clear that
we could make out peaks never yet seen from the Gross
Glockner.
The Ortler and the Bernina group, invisible in summer
from this height, were quite distinct, and seemed hardly
farther off than the Marmolatta peak (in the Dolomites)
in summer.
Far beyond the Bemina we perceived rows of glittering
rose-tinted giant peaks, though of course the great dis¬
tance made it impossible to determine their names.
We remained about thirty-five minutes on our elevated
post, and then, waving our hats and shouting one simul¬
taneous "jodier " as a last greeting to the flag fluttering
in the wind, we turned our backs on that well-known
cairn, thirteen thousand feet over the level of the sea.
By means of my telescope I had noticed groups of
people standing in front of the Heiligen Blut Church
lying, as it were, at our very feet, and needing but one
gigantic leap of some eight or nine thousand feet to
reach it. What their feelings were on seeing our flag,
374 GADDINGS WITH A PRIMITIVE PEOPLE.
none but a jealously-inclined mountaineer can imagine.
Three consecutive winters had they tried to vanquish the
Gross Glockner ; and though they once got as far as the
■slopes leading to the Klein Glockner, they had on every
occasion failed to reach the spot we were just about
leaving.
These attempts, I may add, had been made in winters
when a much smaller quantity of snow made high eleva¬
tions less inaccessible. As we looked down the terribly
steep slopes, which were one mass of ice, it seemed im¬
possible, unprovided as we were with any instrument to
cut proper steps, or to anchor ourselves effectually if one
of us slipped, to get down in safety. " One slip, and we
are killed," were the words with which dauntless Peter
took the lead down that icy incline.
With the greatest caution, and making use of our
crampons, which latter were of the most vital service, we
managed to reach the "Adlersruhe." From that point
to Kals we met with nothing extraordinary, excepting one
avalanche. It seems strange that in ascending in the
cold night we had seen three of them, while on our re¬
turn in daytime, with a bright sun shining, we only came
across one.
So eager were we to reach Kals and announce our suc¬
cess, that our descent from the "Adlersruhe" was accom¬
plished in double-quick time, the evening-prayer bell (four
o'clock) ringing in our victorious return to Kals. Our
flag had been seen, and a large crowd of inhabitants
came to meet us and proffer us their congratulations.
A fast of nearly eighteen hours, and great bodily exer¬
tions, had left us famishing. Our attacks on food of
every sort were closely watched and admired by a
crowded audience in the Glockner Wirth's cozy parlor.
APPENDIX.
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 377
APPENDIX.
ADDITIONAL DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS.
IN Tyrol we have to note a diversity of wedding cus¬
toms, inexplicable, did we not take into consideration
the numerous quite distinct races of the population, each
having some special traits. We find that the inhabitants
of the Unterinnthal are in character quite a different
race from the Pusterthaler or Oberländer peasant. The
Unterinnthalers enjoy the reputation of being the gay¬
est and liveliest ; a circumstance which is to be brought
into intimate connection with the more enlightened spirit
of the population in all matters concerning religion. The
clergy have less power, and, with the exception of one or
two localities, refrain from interfering in questions of
social amusements, provided they are kept within the
bounds of propriety.
In other parts of Tyrol, especially in the Oetzthal, Ober-
innthal, Passeierthal, and Vintshgau, the clergy exercise
an unlimited power. Most of the quaint old customs
have been suppressed by them, and dancing and merry¬
makings of every sort are strictly prohibited. The dan¬
cing at weddings is confined to a few ceremonious evolu¬
tions, headed by the bride and bridegroom, and ending
with their departure. We find none of that gay rollicking
mirth of the northern districts of Tyrol. Carnival, again,
in other parts a period of general merry-makings, is bare
of all those quaint and highly characteristic amusements
that were, some twenty or thirty years ago, common to
every valley. Strange to say, the last quarter of a cen¬
tury has worked all these changes. It would lead too far,
378
APPENDIX.
to fathom the cause of this strict surveillance on the part
of the clergy ; for apparently a casual dance or a harm¬
less masquerade, in which local events are caricatured, do
not stand in any very intimate connection with the power
of the Church.
The Ampezzo valley in South Tyrol is distinguished
for several odd customs of which no trace is to be found
in the rest of Tyrol. First of all, it is the circumstance
that by mutual consent all weddings that are going to be
held within a certain period are arranged to take place on
one and the same day. Thus we find that not infre¬
quently eight or nine " Hochzeiten " are held at the
same time, — of course in carnival if it is any ways pos¬
sible.
The bride is called " Novice " from the day of her be¬
trothal to that of her wedding, and receives, either at the
hands of her parents or of those of the "Vicar," a
female guardian of her honor, who goes by the comical
name of "Brontola," "the growling bear." This female
never leaves the side of her charge for the whole time of
the betrothal. The bride may not show her face outside
of the house without her at her side ; and she it is who
regulates the visits of the bridegroom, much, as we may
suppose, to his chagrin.
How very strict a watch is kept over the hapless bride,
may be conceived when we hear that a fine of ten florins
is inflicted if the bride is discovered giving her betrothed
a kiss.
On the Saturday preceding the Sunday on which the
bans of the several couples are proclaimed for the first
time, the village sexton has to perform an important offi¬
cial act. At an early hour of the day the several brides,
accompanied by their " Brontolas," meet in the church.
The sexton, arrayed in his robes of dingy white, puts him¬
self at the head of the file, and leads them three times
round the church. At every altar the procession halts,
and a certain number of prayers are prayed. When this
has been performed, the sexton leads the file to the Vicar¬
age close by, where the maidens have to pass a species
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 379
of examination by the reverend gentleman. They have
to know the Creed, the Ten Commandments, and the
usual and " unusual " prayers of the Holy Roman Catho¬
lic Church.
The examination passed, the whole party adjourns -to
the village inn, where an ample meal and full glasses
await the fagged-out sexton and his female troupe.
Unlike some other districts, where the brides are not
present when their bans are published, they are required
to be so in Ampezzo.
On the first Sunday their dresses are green, and their
hats are trimmed with the same color ; on the second
Sunday they appear all blue ; on the third and last they
again wear green apparel. On these three important
days the " Brontolas," who of course accompany the fair
ones to church, distribute, at the end of the service,
cakes and buns to their charges.
At an early hour on the important morning, the brides
are called for, at their respective homes, by the best men
and the Brontolas.
They all assemble in the parish church, and by ten
o'clock the sacred ceremony is over.
Then they repair to the Vicarage close by, where they
pay their respects to the Vicar and Co-operator, and in¬
vite them humbly to partake of their meal, which request
the holy men comply with by visiting each house in rota¬
tion. If the couples are numerous and live far apart, the
Co-operator takes the half of the invitations upon himself,
while the Vicar attends to the other couples, according to
the neighborhood.
On issuing forth from the Vicarage, the party separate,
and each couple, accompanied by the Brontola, the best
man, and the select few who have been invited, repair to
the house of the bride's parents.
In Pergine some ten or twenty years ago, a very'strange
and highly interesting series of customs was rigorously
observed. Of late it has disappeared ; for one of the
former priests in that valley, on discovering that the cus¬
tom was doubtlessly of heathen origin, moved heaven
38o
APPENDIX.
and earth to suppress it. The couple about to be mar¬
ried were accompanied on their walk to the parish church
on the wedding morning by two "Brumoli," or best men,
one of whom held a stick in his hand, at one end of
which was attached a live hen. The other carried a
complete spinning-wheel with its distaff wound round
with flax. The hen was the symbol of a careful house¬
wife and a loving mother, the other an emblem of assid¬
uous application to the cares of the household.
When the holy knot was tied, the couple, accompanied
by the two Brumoli, repaired to the bridegroom's house.
On approaching the latter, the house-door was suddenly
slammed in their faces, and the party came to a sudden
standstill.
A very quaint conversation between the mother-in-law
inside the door, and the daughter-in-law outside the
porch, now occurred.
The girl commenced the proceeding by reciting, in a
loud voice, a set speech composed of words in an un¬
known language, which nobody understood. For centu¬
ries this formula had been in constant use on like occa¬
sions without its meaning being ever known ; and it is
highly probable it would have remained unknown to the
present day, had not a certain famous linguist, a native
of Trent, fully unraveled the mystery by discovering that
the words used were the very ones recited by the Romans
on like occasions. The well-known " Ubi tu Cajus, ego
Cajer," spoken by the Roman bride, had been metamor¬
phosed in the course of the sixteen or eighteen centuries
into a sequel of words, the import of which no one knew
or cared to know.
The mother-in-law then asked the bride what she was
doing at the side of her son. " She wanted to enter the
house, as her son's lawful wife," the latter answered ;
whereupon the former demanded to know by what right
she was the lawful wife of her son, and what traits of
character, favorable and unfavorable, she would confess
to possess. " By the rites of the holy Roman Catholic
Church, I am your son's lawfully wedded wife, in life and
LtETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 381
in death inseparable from him. I mean to be true to my
master (the husband). I intend to revere his parents ; I
promise to love his brothers and sisters ; I am pious,
I am diligent, and I am accustomed to the hardships of
life,' ' was the wife's quaintly-put answer, which removed
the fictitious doubts entertained by the dame, who now
flung open the doors of the house, and welcomed her
dutiful daughter with a motherly embrace.
In the Groden valley, to give our last instance of South
Tyrolese customs, the inhabitants have retained the lan¬
guage, the quaint institutions and laws, of their forefathers,
in a remarkably perfect manner. The weddings there
are marked by a spirit of ceremonious poxnp quite at
variance with the mirth and gayety of North Tyrolese
Hochzieten.
As an instance of this, we may allude to the speech of
the best man — here he is called Prim Dunsell — when
calling for the bride at the paternal house 011 the wedding
morn : —
" I am aware that a precious jewel, owned by my friend
the bridegroom, has been left in your charge and care ; I
have come to fetch that jewel ; I hope, therefore, that
the honest guardians will deliver it to me without let or
hinderance, to the end that I may lead her into the pres¬
ence of her Almighty Creator, Who, if He deem her a
fit subject for His mercy and bienfaisance, will unite her
to a male 'for the good of mankind.' "
Though Groden and Ampezzo are neighboring valleys,
the institution of Brontola, and the fines in connection
with this office, are unknown in the former, and a bridal
kiss is considered there no transgression of the municipal
laws. In the same way the betrothed couple may appear
in each other's company whenever they please ; local
etiquette, in fact, requires that the couple should not be
present in their village church on the Sunday their banns
are published for the first time ; they have to repair to
the next village church, often many hours distant.
On the second Sunday the betrothed appear in grand
state, she with a blue dress with red sleeves, and a green
382
APPENDIX.
hat, and accompanied by her Prima Dunsella ; he "with
ribbons and flowers on his hat.
During the week preceding the " third " Sunday, the
couple dressed in black go their round of visits of invita¬
tion. Their first call is invariably to the Vicar and his
assistant Co-operator. Custom requires that they should
shape their invitation in a Latin verse of some eight lines ;
this verse is the same as was in use in the fourteenth cen¬
tury, but, owing to the circumstance that Latin is of course
an unknown tongue to the populace, the words have
gradually been so much changed and adapted to the
local idiom that when the verse was on one occasion
repeated to me, I did not understand one single word.
The presence of the Vicar or the Co-operator at the
wedding-meal is a matter of great importance to the
affianced : the people believe that if they are absent it is
an infallible token that the couple never will have occa¬
sion for the services of the priest ; i.e., that their married
life will remain issueless, and that they both will die, if
not of a violent, of a sudden death.
The Tuesday following the third Sunday is the day
fixed for the wedding ; the friends of the bridegroom
repair to the latter's house, while those of the bride has¬
ten to keep her company in her paternal domicile. In
both houses a sumptuous breakfast is served, after which
the best man, — Prim Dunsell, — the guest of the bride¬
groom, leaves the gay company in order to call for the
bride, which he does in the way we have described.
The whole company then repair to the church, where
the Vicar unites the couple, let us hope " for the benefit
of mankind."
A ceremonious procession is then formed, and proceeds
to the roomy village inn. The sumptuous meal, consist¬
ing of rich viands, awaits them already, and the whole
party sits down to it strictly according to the custom of
centuries ; the Vicar to the right, the Co-operator to the
left of the bride. The orderly, not to say ceremonious
way in which the meal is conducted, renders it a dull
affair withal. The mirth and hilarity, which in other parts
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 383
of the country give zest to the meal and drink, are sadly
wanting.
We have once already remarked what an important
rôle kraut (cabbage) plays in country weddings ; and it
is singular that even in Groden, so totally different from
the German district of Tyrol, we find that the dance,
which takes place about the middle of the meal, when a.
huge dish of this vegetable is placed on the table, goes
by the name of Bal du Kraut, in other words the cab¬
bage dance. At the termination of the meal, the Prim
Dunsell rises, and in a well-composed speech thanks the
company for having assisted at the wedding. The
Vicar — or if he is not present, the Co-operator — has to
answer this speech by a sort of instructive lecture on the
blessings of married life, on the reciprocal duties of hus¬
band and wife, &c. After this the company rise from the
table, and adjourn to the dancing-room. The couple
then leave, in order to invite their parents, who, accord¬
ing to the ancient custom of the valleys, may not be
present at the wedding festivities. When they return in
their company, a substantial meal is placed before them,
while the young couple leave them to enjoy a few of the
solemn dances which are going on in the adjoining room.
At ten o'clock husband and wife depart, and with them
the whole company disperse to assemble again on the
following day (if the couple are well-to-do) in the same
inn, to enjoy a second dinner, on a small scale. This
meal, as its chief dish is a sort of pancake, is termed
" Ueves in té Schmaziz " — eggs in butter.
In the districts adjoining the Bavarian Iiighlands, a
very ancient and common custom is " Auf B'schau
gehen ; " i.e., inspection of the houses belonging to the
parents of bride and bridegroom. It sounds strange to
our ears, so rigorously trained in the conventional usages
of modern life, to hear that this somewhat ostentatious
custom, which takes place some weeks before the betroth¬
al, purports to satisfy the parents' mercenary anxiety re¬
specting each other's stability and worthiness of the honor
about to be'conferred on them.
384
APPENDIX.
Take, for instance, the case of a rich peasant, proved
possessor of an ample house, perhaps containing even a
spare bedroom fitted up with such splendor as a ward¬
robe and a veritable looking-glass, — luxuries which ren¬
der it worthy to shelter the portly village priest himself, —
not to mention the fact that he is owner of twenty or
thirty head of fine cattle and of two Alps on yonder
mountain ; for a man of his stamp, we say, it would hard¬
ly do to allow his son, the heir to all these riches, to marry
the daughter of his unfortunate neighbor, whose house
has no top-story to it, and who owns but one Alp upon
which to graze his herd, consisting of just half the num¬
ber of his own.
These important family discussions are no trifling
affairs, for though you may have been hundreds of times
over your neighbor's house from kitchen to garret, yet
again, for the hundred-and-first time must you inspect
minutely every article, useful or ornamental, which the
house contains. Your scrutinizing glance has to rest
upon the milk-pail or water-bucket as if it were the first
time ill your life you had seen these utensils.
The inspection is formally announced days and weeks
before ; so that, what with incessant scouring, cleaning,
settling, mending, and repairing, the house is more like a
Dutch cottage home than a Tyrolese peasant's habitation,
where cleanliness is not always a primary object of its
mistress.
The cattle-shed and its inmates are matters of great
consideration. Every cow is examined, every calf looked
at.
When the survey is finally completed, the company
assemble in the living-room. Here we hear how much
our poorer neighbor is inclined to give in money and
kind as his daughter's dowry. A cow more or less, a
couple of " teners " (ten-florin notes) on or off, will de¬
cide the fate of the young couple.
Etiquette forbids us to say that we agree or that we do
not agree with the proposals of our neighbor. At the
most we may opine that five cows are too few, he must
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 385
give seven ; or, that we won't pay for the wedding ex¬
penses, he must do that.
We leave our neighbor without imparting to him by
word or mien to what determination we have come. If
the match is " no go," he won't hear any more about it,
the matter drops, and nobody speaks of the abortive in¬
spection. If, on the contrary, we give our consent, the
bridegroom, dressed in his best garment, and his hat
decorated with ribbons and flowers, while a bunch of
rosemary is sticking in his buttonhole, repairs on a Sun¬
day afternoon, in his official capacity, to the father of
the object of his desires. He announces to him that the
thing is settled, that his family has consented to the
union. This is called ratifying.
From the father he hastens to the daughter, to present
her the " arrha," earnest-money, the amount of which
varies according to the wealth of the bridegroom. Gen¬
erally about five to ten silver thalers are pressed into the
hand of the bride.
This clinches the business ; and one hears very rarely
of the " arrha ' ' being returned, a circumstance which
casts a lasting slur upon both parties.
This money gift is followed by the so-called " Yes-
pancake," of which both bride and bridegroom partake.
Both these strange practices can be traced back to the
eleventh century.
In an interesting wedding " inspeximus " of that cen¬
tury, preserved in the Munich Archives, both customs are
mentioned.
The best man, in the sense we have employed this
word throughout the text, is no less an important person¬
age in the Bavarian Highlands than elsewhere in the Alps.
Farther north, towards Munich, we find that profession¬
als are employed. The Highlander sports, as a very ap¬
propriate token of his craft, a long staff, bent on one end
similar to our hockey-sticks.
"Hooking" is a procedure in which these marriage
brokers must be adepts. They are not only undisputed
masters of the field, but they can give their frolicsome
386
APPENDIX.
fancy free reins, playing as many tricks and practical
jokes as they choose.
Not a few of them are considered by their fellow-
villagers walking marriage-brokers. Many a timid man —
— for there are timid men among the peasantry, just as
well as in any other class of society —• has been furnished
with a wife by these confidential go-betweens.
For the ordinary business routine to him, he is remu¬
nerated for his trouble according to a standard rate.
Thus, for instance, he will receive in the Friedberg dis¬
tricts four kreutzers (about twopence) for every guest he
invites ; in Traungau he gets about half a crown per
diem when he is out on his round of visits of invitations,
besides which each guest must give- him a present of one
penny ; in other districts, as, for instance, in Ampes and
Chiemgau, he is paid in ldnd, — a new shirt, one peck of
oats, and one of Indian com being the usual fee for his
missions to the numerous wedding-guests, whose habita¬
tions are spread about over a large expanse of ground.
The number of the wedding guests, and their connec¬
tion with either the bride or bridegroom, vary according
to the wealth of the contracting parties and to the locality.
In the remote little frontier valleys of Bavaria and Tyrol
the whole village is invited, and every house-owner sends
at least one member of his household to represent the
family at the festival.
The farther out one gets towards the plains, the more
restricted is the number, culminating in some places north
of Munich, where only the very next relations of the
couple are invited.
In the Bavarian Highlands and districts adjoining
Tyrol, a "poor " wedding will consist of about forty invited
guests, a "middling" one of about ninety, and a "rich"
one of a hundred and fifty to two hundred. In Tyrol
proper the same numbers hold good, with the exception
of the very poorest valleys, or those not containing more
than fifty or sixty inhabitants all told.
The guests are not counted each singly, but according
to the number of tables (each to seat twelve) that are
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 387
brought into requisition. Thus one hears frequently a
wedding described as being one of " twelve or fifteen
tables."
A very nice point, and one that forms part of our
friend the best man's heterogeneous duties, is the ar¬
rangement of guests at the various tables according to
rank, wealth, or position. Here again we find a variety
of customs in vogue in different localities. In some
places thus, for instance, in the Caar-river district, the
bride and two bridesmaids sit at the " bridal table " (the
honorary board), while the bridegroom and the wretched
best man are obliged to stow themselves in some modest
out-of-the-way corner near one of the last tables.
Differ as customs may, one rule holds good throughout
the whole country ; that is the hospitable reception of the
" best man " by the family he is about to invite to the
wedding of his " patron."
In some places, as for instance in Traungau, the bride
is the first person invited. A quaint custom prevails there
in connection with this invitation to her own wedding.
As soon as the important personage, attended by his
clown, the hen-prigger, are seen to approach the house,
the bride hastens to hide herself. On entering the room,
the "Procurator," for thus he is called, looks about him.
and snuffing the air, he exclaims, —
" Methinks, methinks I scent the smell of a bride."
A search in the whole house is instituted, and finally
the blushing lass is discovered, and is borne in triumph
into the chief room. Here she at first plays bashful, pre¬
tends to be deaf, or not to understand the Procurator's
language. At last she relents, and listens quietly to the
ceremonious speech addressed to her.
In other districts, again, each invitation involves a de¬
lay of two days, it being the custom that the Procurator
is strictly prohibited to allude to the purport of his visit
the first day. He has to converse of every thing else but
the real cause of his coming; and though everybody
knows of course the object of his visit, he has to spend
the evening in their company, eating and drinking, and
388
APPENDIX.
must pass the night under the peasant's hospitable roof.
Next morning, after a solid breakfast has been polished
off, he may revert to the cause of his coming by repeating
the set speech for these occasions, in which the accurate
price of the wedding meal is generally also mentioned.
The invited person has to feign the most intense amaze¬
ment and wonder at this piece of news, and, as becomes
a modest character, declines the honor of assisting at the
festivities.
The Procurator's powers of persuasion now come into
play; the peasant's objections, be they based on modesty,
unworthiness of the honor bestowed, or on the ground
that he is no relation of either bride or bridegroom, van¬
ish one by one, and finally the victim signifies his willing¬
ness to accept the inestimable honor.
On the Procurator's return from his invitation trip, the
result of his journey, in the shape of the number of
guests who he thinks will attend, is immediately commu¬
nicated to the landlord of the inn where the meal is to
be held.
After this he accompanies the betrothed couple to the
village priest, when the formal betrothal in the presence
of two witnesses takes place. They receive a certificate
from the Vicar, and with it they repair to the municipal
authorities of the district — very frequently a day's jour¬
ney off — in order to get the marriage-license, a matter
of some difficulty if the parties are both poor.
Up to a few years ago it was imperatively necessary
that the bridegroom should prove the possession of a
homestead. Now it suffices if he can show that he is in
receipt of fixed wages which suffice for the modest wants
of a family. Thus a man earning a florin (two shillings)
a day, all the year round, will receive the desired permis¬
sion ; but to a homeless woodcutter, for instance, earning
the same sum per day, but only for six or seven summer
months, it will be refused if he or his bride have not
some savings in addition. It seems, perhaps, very easy
to be able to prove that one is earning a florin a day all
the year round ; but in the remote glens there are very
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 389
few indeed who can say it. The long winters, the huge
masses of snow, burying nature under a deep white pall,
are insurmountable impediments, rendering a fixed occu¬
pation throughout the year nigh an impossibility. Even
the tailor and cobbler, if the village does boast of these
artisans, have to shut up shop in the depth of winter, and
live upon the savings of their summer's trade. In less
remote valleys, it is of course different ; and a fairly dili¬
gent man, who has learned any one particular craft, can
nowadays marry before he is thirty.
When the preparatory formalities with priest and ma¬
gistrate have been all settled, the " Krautessen," cabbage
dinner — a customary fête in many of the north-western
frontier valleys of Tyrol — is held. It is a simple meal
in the village inn, at which bride, bridegroom, and best
man meet. A dish of cabbage, which from time imme¬
morial is a symbol of married life, forms the chief part of
it.
When the dish is placed on the table, the bride asks of
her betrothed, —
"How much will you give me for this dish of cab¬
bage?"
The bridegroom answers, —
" I want none ; " but finally relents, and lends a willing
ear to the entreaties of his bride. He bids a florin for
the cabbage.
" That's too little ; I'll give two for it," retorts the best
man.
And so, after several bids, the unfortunate bridegroom
has to fork out some eight or ten florins, which are handed
to the smiling lassie by the Kellnerin, who receives the
money from the bridegroom.
Formerly these meals were frequently of prodigious
dimensions ; and the assembled guests, if the bridegroom
was rich and could afford it, bid him up to fifty and sixty
florins.
In Bavaria, besides the bride's race, other outdoor
games are also frequently held. In this case, the bride's
race proper is limited to competitors who are of the same
39°
APPENDIX.
calling as the bridegroom, while the others are open to
all comers.
The prizes do not consist in money, but in various
presents. The first, however, is invariably the same, i.e.,
a wooden key, carefully gilt, and adorned with bright
ribbons.
The bride's race is an institution once common with
all Gennanic tribes, and of which the very earliest ac¬
counts are in existence. Originally it was a race for the
key of the bridal chamber, in which the bridegroom par¬
ticipated. If he was beaten, he had to pay a certain
ransom to regain possession of this valuable prize. At
" silver " and " golden " weddings this race is never omit¬
ted, although only old men are permitted to compete.
The bride is generally stolen after the solemn " cabbage
dish" has been dispatched; and while the bridegroom's
party is on the search for the missing fair one, the other
lassies at the table disappear one by one. They are
"buying their boys," that is, purchasing little presents,
generally silk handkerchiefs, for their lovers, which, on
their return, they stealthily pin to their hats, which have
been thrown aside before sitting down to the festive board.
This "buying her boy " is the open acknowledgment
of her lover, who now has to pay for her drink, and show
his gallantry in various ways, while it also bestows upon
him the right to place his hat upon his fair partner's head
while dancing. He is from thence her champion, and the
slightest sneer against her must be taken up by him as an
insult to himself.
While the fair bride is salting the cabbage, her female
companions lay aside their wedding state, re-appearing in
their usual Sunday finery ; the picturesque conical green
felt hat with its bold eagle's plume and silver tassels taking
the place of the artificial-flower wreaths, which, if the fair
owner has a " boy " or lover, is pinned to the latter's hat,
thus publicly declaring the object of her choice.
Local etiquette requires that the bride, or, in other
places, the bridegroom, should not participate at the dan¬
cing. In the former case she keeps on her wedding finery,
DETAILS OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS. 391
and forms the center of a group of admiring relatives,
while her bridesmaids and the rest of the female guests
seek recreation in the arms of the dancers.
In the Bavarian regions, the speech of the Procurator
before the " Ehrengang " is peculiar and in rhymes. He
tells the company of an accident that has befallen the
young couple's newly-bought crockery ware. A hen,
followed by her brood of thirty chickens, has flown into
the kitchen, and in the attempt to catch the invaders,
every pot, cup and saucer has been broken into thousand
'bits. Would the honorable company not give a trifle each
towards buying a new set of crockery? When the " Ehren¬
gang," or presentation, is concluded, the Procurator rises
again and reminds the company that, " having eaten well
and drank much, the poor ought not to be forgotten."
He thereupon places a large dish, covered with a clean
napkin, on the table, and the guests place their alms on it.
INDEX.
Almanac, the peasant, 119.
Alp-huts and their occupants, 23 ;
a night in one, 94.
Alps, Northern Chalk, 333.
Altar-cloth, Renaissance, 165.
Amulets, 104.
Apostles, statues of the, 167 ;
ludicrous packing of, 168.
Arrha, the, 385.
Art, works of, 154.
Ascension of Christ, the, 138;
accident at Halle, 138 ; in a
bucket, 139.
Ascent of the Gross Glockner in
winter, 365.
Assembly, annual, at St. Leon-
hardt, '149.
Avalanches, 370.
Bachelor sins, 225.
Battle of Berg Isel, 196.
Bear, fight with a, 9.
Bell, St. Anthony's, 226.
Belle, a mountain, 213; her
work, 216; her wages, 217;
her virtue, 217 ; her hut, 218.
Bells rung by wind, 2 ; rung to
protect from lightning, 100.
Berchtl, legend of, 118.
Bismarck, his love-affair at Mit¬
te rbad, 313.
Blackcock, the, 86 ; shooting, 87,
92 ; its love-song, 88.
Boner, reference to, 55.
Boy, praying to the Virgin for
one, 49.
Brandenberg, wedding at, 230.
Brontola, the, 378.
Brumoli, 380.
Busk, Miss, reference to her
"Valleys of Tirol," 104.
Butter, 19.
Cabbage at weddings, 383, 389.
Candlemas, 150.
Capercali, the, 86.
Carnival, weddings in, 230.
Carvers, 280; story of one, 280.
Castles, Braunsberg, story of the,
108 ; Hilf mir Gott, story of,
110; Matzin, defense of, 3;
Tratzberg, 60 ; of Tyrol, 5.
Cats' concert, 259.
Cattle trade, 11 ; prices of Tyr-
olese, 11.
Chamois-stalking, 55 ; preserves,
56; the animal described, 56;
the hunter described, 58 ; Pliny
cited, 58; at a saltlick, 341.
Charcoal, consecrated, 106.
Christ, cost of, 279.
Christening, 117.
Christmas in a chalet, 338.
Churches, design and ornaments
of, 160; contents of the loft,
163.
393
394
INDEX.
Churching of women, 119.
Cleanliness, a priest's exhorta¬
tion to, 101.
Clock and priest, anecdote of a,
122.
Cockchafers driven off by holy
water, 104.
Condottieri, the, r.
Conradin, Hohenstauff, 4.
Contest called " Fingerhackeln,"
52-
" Costly fare," 306.
Costume, effect of, 19.
Couch, a curious, 319.
Courtship in the mountains, 212 ;
in the villages, 223.
Cow-fighting, 122.
Cows, black, 276; profit on, 275.
Cradles, presentation of at wed-
dings, 243.
Crampons, 17.
Curiosity-hunting, 153 ; in church¬
es, 160.
Dances, Tyrolese, 231 ; various
bridal, 244.
Dancing-room, 258.
Dare-devil Hans, 184.
Death of a woodcutter, 115.
Defferegger valley, male emigra¬
tion from, 10.
Devil, casting out a, 102; avoid¬
ance of the word, 105.
Dirt, the healthful kind, 209.
Distillery, an illicit, 362.
Doctor, waiting for, 186; pay
of, 186.
Dress of holy images, 122.
Eagle, the golden, 316; feathers,
^ 329; robbing its nest, 317,
331 ; the young, 328, 330.
Ehrengang, the, 241.
Ehrentanz, the, 244.
Emigration of men from Def¬
feregger valley, 10.
Epitaphs, 175.
Eyes scooped but not spoiled,
17'
Fairs, 277.
Falls, death by, 18.
Fashions, stable, 277.
Feathers, eagle, 329 j as a gage
of battle, 14.
Fiddlers, paying the, 245.
Fights, how provoked, 14; at
dances, 234; fatal, 235; Sun¬
day, 15, 16.
Fingerhackeln, 52.
Forests, management of, 171.
Frederic of Frundsberg, 4.
Frundsberg knights, 1.
Game, price of poached, 185.
Gamsbart, the, 14, 57.
Genius of the Tyrolese, 26.
Gentiana, roots of, 202.
Geselchtes, 240.
Glacier, the Kodnitz, 370.
Graben described, 333.
Gross Glöckner, the, 365 ; ascent
of, in winter, 365.
Hackbrettel, the, 236.
Hagglers, 15.
Hardships of the peasantry, 17.
Hat, placing on partner's head,
234.
Hawkers, 173.
Hofer, Andreas, 16.
Holy dove, a, 137.
Images, manufacture and sale of,
278.
Incantation, bridal, 256.
Infants, unchristened, 118.
Inn, river and valley, 3, 5.
Innkeepers, character of, 16.
Inspection of houses on wedding
occasions, 384.
Jägers of the Vomperloch, 344.
Jesuits, influence of, 288; van¬
dalism in architecture, 163.
Jodeling as a signal, 201.
Johann K , the story of his
life, 192.
Joint-stock companies, 10.
INDEX.
395
Jokel, a poacher, described, 351 ;
his history, 354: his capture
and death, 355.
Kirchtag, 275.
Kirschwasser, 173.
Klein Glockner, the, 371.
Knife, use of, in fights, 15, 235.
Knight Henry, and Jutta, story
of, 108.
Knight Iörg, his diary, 310.
Knödel, 240.
Lämmergeier, the, 316.
Landscape, a North-Tyrolese, 6 ;
South-Tyrolese, 7.
Landsknechte, the, 2.
Leiter, described, 350 ; his death,
.351-.
Licentiousness, causes of, 99.
Lord-God-maker, the, 278.
Lottery, a soul's, 144.
Love and turnips, 151.
Love-draught, a, 215.
Lovers in Alp-huts, 25 ; moun¬
tain, 212; combats of, 220.
Maria Stein, 225; pilgrimages
to, 227.
Marker, at shooting-match, 282.
Marriage, 209 ; customs, various,
377 (see also Weddings) ;
licenses, 388.
Marten, one shot, 95 ; value, 96.
Masciacum, 1.
Matreier Thörl, adventure in, 20.
Maximilian I., his chair, 1.
Mines, 173.
Miracle of the carver, 280.
Mitterbad, adventure at, 313.
Money, challenge concerning, 51.
Moos village, 18.
Mormons described in a letter,
10.
Musical anecdote, 27.
Novice, a, 378.
Oberau, 274.
Ortler Spitze, the, 365.
Owl's chant, the, 259.
Pamphlet on water-cure, 307.
Peasantry compared with Eng¬
lish, 12 ; with other countries,
13-
Pfäffers, baths of, 310; com¬
pared with Monaco, 312.
Pictures, anecdote of, 107 ; col¬
lection by priests, 123 ; occa¬
sional masterpieces, 124.
Pilgrimage before marriage, 225.
Plays, Mystery and Passion, 27,
29 ; Paradise, 30, 33 ; descrip¬
tion of a party going to, 47.
Poachers, 183 ; one turned artist,
60; fights with, 72, 183; a
wounded one described, 81 ;
Jokel, 351.
Politics discussed in an inn, 31.
Praying for rain or for drought,
anecdote of, 126.
Priests, classification of, hi;
incomes, 113; one as an inn¬
keeper, 125; maintaining ig¬
norance, 291 ; occupations,
121; power, 98, 128; as rifle¬
shots, 287 ; rivalry between,
129 ; at a watering-place, 304.
Prima Dunsella, 382.
Prim Dunsell, 381.
Processions, 126; Palm Sunday
at Lienz, 127.
Property, inheritance and divis¬
ion of, 172.
Proverb, a German, quoted, 208 ;
of steepness, 18.
Quotation from Cowper, 162.
Railway-ride, a, 289.
Rainier, Ludwig, his adventur.es
in America, 9.
Raubers, at shooting-matches,
286.
Rifle, a poacher's, 183.
Rifle-range, 281 ; shooting, 273,
281.
396
INDEX.
Roads, ancient, 3.
Roadside shrines and tablets, 174.
Robblers, 14; maimed, 15.
Rococo, 160.
Rothschilds of the Middle Ages,
2.
Riicksack, a, 65.
St. Michael, statue of, 166, 169.
Salting of the kraut, 255.
Saltlick, visiting one for chamois,
340.
Saussure, reference to, 55.
Saviours on the cross, 278.
Schmarn, 181.
Schnaddahüpfler, a, 235, 275.
Schoolmaster, the village, char¬
acter and duties, 131 ; as an
agent in buying curiosities,
161 ; as a barber (anecdote),
132; salary, 134 ; Georg S.
and his sister, 136.
Schwaz, village of, 64.
See village, 18.
Senners, 25.
Sermons, " strong," 305.
Shooting, accurate, 282, 285; a
match, 238.
Shoe-slapping, 233.
Shrines, specialties of, 127.
Sins, bachelor, 225.
Slide, a perilous, 90; with a
load of wood, 345; with hay,
by girls, 346.
Smoking, by girls, 234.
Smugglers, 190 ; fights with cus¬
toms officers, 190, 197, 203 ;
adventure within a hut, 191 ;
Johann K , 192; his ac¬
count of himself, 195.
Snow-bound, 363.
Snowed up, an old couple, 362.
Soldiering, 349.
Song, ballroom, 235.
Stag, adventure with a "four-
teener," 187 ; a man carrying
a, 364.
Steam, explaining it to a peas¬
ant, 291.
Stör, on the, 39.
Superstition, 102 ; various ob¬
servances, 106; concerning
pictures, 107 ; concerning chris¬
tening, 118; toads, 141.
Targets, 239.
Tea in a woodcutter's hut, 181.
Theatrical representations, 28.
Thunderstorms, Alpine, 178, 327,
336.
Tilemann, Dr., his pamphlet, 307.
Timber-drifts, 176.
Toads, superstition concerning,
Ï4I.
Tobacco, smuggled, in a wood¬
cutter's hut, 182.
Tonerl, old, described, 347 ; his
ideas of Italy, 349.
Toni and Moidl, story of, 61.
Torches, 81.
Tourists, adventures with, 20.
Travels of the Tyrolese, 9.
Tyrol, spelling of, xi.
Tyrolese character, ix., 7,13, 210.
Ulrich's defence of Castle Mat-
zin, 3.
Vertu, articles of, 154.
Vompergebirg, the, 64.
Vomperloch, the, 333.
Votive offerings, of wax, 140;
toads, 172; a cow, 143; can¬
dles, 144 ; tablet (anecdote),
145; verses quoted, 147; for
birth of children, 148 ; wood¬
cutters', 175; at Maria Stein,
228 ; at watering-places, 305.
Water-cure, pamphlet on, 307.
Watering-place, a, 289, 294;
bath-house, 298 ; demi-monde
at, in the fifteenth century,
311 ; diary at, in the fifteenth
century, 310; family going to
a, 292 ; prices, 303 ; priest at,
304 ; religious services, 305 ;
votive offerings, 305.
Weddings, observances at, barrí-
INDEX.
397
cade, 263 ; a Bavarian, 262 ;
best man, his fees, 386; his
speeches, 251, 253, 257; bless¬
ing the house, 266; a blind,
260; bride carried off, 258;
catechised, 379 ; challenged,
380; dress of, 379, 381 ; bridal
train stopped, 261 ; bride's
race, 271, 389; buying a boy,
cock-dance, 267 ; couch, 263,
265; cradle, wood for, 258;
dance, 266; day, selection of,
267 ; dinner, 238, 256 ; dowry,
262 ; dowry-cart, 262 ; Ehren¬
gürtel, the, 269; favors, 271 j
feeding-in, 269 ; a golden, 237 ;
house besieged, 261 ; invita¬
tions, 251, 387; masses and
prayers, 266, 271 ; money, 242 ;
Morgensuppe, 268 ; out-thank¬
ing, 268; presents, 243; pro¬
cession, 255; procurator, 271 ;
salting the cabbage, 272; a
sham, 248 ; the train, 271;
trinkgeld, 272; wine of be¬
trothal, 224.
Wiegenholz, the, 258.
Wilclheuer, 18.
Wines, cheap, 348.
Winter mountaineering, 361.
Witchcraft, 142.
Wood-carving at Tratzberg, 60.
Woodcutters, Alpine, 171, 174;
their hut, 179; as poachers,
183; holidays, 184; in a rail¬
way-carriage, 289 ; wages, 185.
Woodcutter's hut carried away
by a torrent, 185.
Women, doing work of men, 10;
treatment of, 13.
Yes-pancake, the, 385.
Zillerthal, the, 15.
Zirbentree, the, 278.
Zither, the, 236.
Zwerchbach, the, 340.
Zwerchbachhütte, the, 64.
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