Part 15

St. Gall, capital of the canton of the same name, which entirely surrounds that of Appenzell, is noted for the famous abbey founded in 614 by St. Gallus, an Irish monk. He had come into this unsettled region to preach the gospel, and when his disciple Hiltiboldus urged that they would be exposed to the attacks of the bears, wolves, and boars, quietly answered, “If God is with us, who can be against us?”

The snakes which had infested that region departed for good and all at the saint’s command, and his disciple soon discovered that even the wild beasts of the forest stood in awe of so holy a man. One evening, while Gallus was praying at the foot of a rustic cross, a bear came down the mountain to devour his provisions. St. Gallus, perceiving the theft, quietly bade the bear earn the food he had eaten, by bringing wood to keep up his fire. The crestfallen Bruin humbly fulfilled this penance, and when the saint told him henceforth to remain on the heights, never ventured down into the valley again.

One day Gallus’s disciple discovered an apple-tree far up the mountain, and climbing up shook down some fruit to carry home to his master. But when he slid to the ground again, he was dismayed to find a huge bear on the other side of the tree greedily munching the fallen apples. The disciple’s first impulse was to flee, but remembering that his master was fond of fruit, he determined to secure some for him. Taking his staff, therefore, he scratched deep marks at right angles with the tree, and then gravely informed the bear that while he was welcome to the apples on his side of the line, those which fell on the other were reserved for St. Gallus. Strange to relate, the bear understood this speech, and as long as the apples lasted never ventured to touch one on the saint’s side of the line, although he devoured all those on his own!

The cell and cross of St. Gallus were the nucleus of a monastery and school, which for several centuries had no rival in Europe. Kings and emperors were wont to visit it, and the abbey, enriched by their gifts and concessions, daily increased in importance and wealth.

Within the walls of this edifice dwelt men noted for their learning, and countless scribes spent their lives there, patiently copying and illuminating manuscripts which, but for their efforts, might have been lost to mankind. Some of these manuscripts still remain in the abbey library; among others, a thirteenth century copy of the Niebelungenlied, Germany’s famous epic. Innumerable scholars visited the school and abbey at St. Gall, which is said to have been the scene of a comical encounter between the abbot and Charlemagne, almost an exact counterpart of the story of King John and the Archbishop of Canterbury.[15]

[15] See the author’s “Legends of the Rhine.”

The old monastery life so ably depicted in “Ekkehard,” by Von Scheffel, with its descriptions of the herdsmen and hermit on the Sentis, have surrounded that region with a halo of romance for all who have enjoyed the perusal of the book.

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THE Sentis, with its cap of snow, is the highest mountain in Appenzell, and the goal for travellers who wish to make a whey cure or to enjoy an excursion to its summit. From the top of this mountain the view embraces the Lake of Constance, southern Germany, the Tyrolean Mountains, and the Alps in Glarus and Bern. All the way up are various pastures with their low châlets, where butter and cheese are constantly made and carried down the steep paths for consumption in the valleys. The Sentis, like all other mountains where cattle go to pasture, is supposed to be haunted by mountain-folk, who, when well treated, always helpful to mortals.

The Devil, too, plays his part in the Sentis legends, for one of them claims that a lazy herdsman once called upon him to take his cattle, so that he need no longer run after them when they strayed into dangerous places. The words were no sooner uttered than a hurricane swept down the mountain, and the terrified peasant saw Satan, riding on the wind, drive his cows over the edge of the abyss. In sudden repentance he made a sign of the cross, fell on his knees, and cried that he had sinned grievously. At those words the wind ceased, the Devil vanished; but ever since then the pasture, which had been known as the Glücksalp, or Lucky Alp, has been called Im Fehlen, or In Sin.

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ANOTHER legend claims that the Devil once came striding across northern Switzerland with a huge bag slung over his shoulder. In this sack he had packed away a large number of houses, together with their inhabitants, and was carrying them away with the intention of removing them for ever from Swiss soil. While taking a leap over the Sentis, however, he burst a hole in his bag, and the houses all tumbled down in Appenzell, where they still stand in irregular groups, just as they fell.

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THE same story which is told of the Alphorn at Meiringen is also told of the heights near the much frequented baths of Ragatz, in the southern part of the canton of St. Gall. Not very far from this resort, and on the same wild stream, the Tamina, are the no less noted baths of Pfäfers, and farther up the gorge an ancient abbey of the same name, to which legend ascribes the following origin:--

In the beginning of the eighth century St. Pirminius and his disciple Adalbert preached the gospel in the eastern part of Switzerland. Their efforts were rewarded with such success that they determined to build a chapel and monastery in this part of the country. Wishing to secure the Pope’s consent and blessing for this undertaking, Pirminius set out for Rome, bidding Adalbert in the meantime select a suitable site and begin clearing ground.

After much search Adalbert decided upon a lovely sheltered valley, where the sun shone brightly, where grass and fruit-trees were abundant, and where limpid waters flowed gently through meadows and forests. He and his converts now began felling trees, but while doing so Adalbert’s axe suddenly slipped, inflicting a deep wound in his sandalled foot. The blood gushed forth, staining the chips around, and while all were trying to check its flow, a white dove suddenly alighted near them, and catching up a gory chip, flew off to a neighbouring tree. At the same moment Adalbert’s blood stopped running, the wound closed, and in a moment he felt no more pain.

This miraculous cure seemed to all connected in some way with the dove; so when the bird flew slowly away with the chip, Adalbert determined to follow it. Flitting from tree to tree and from rock to rock, the dove entered the cold and dark Tamina gorge, and penetrating ever farther, finally perched on a sombre pine, and dropped the bloody chip at its foot. Returning to his companions, Adalbert now told them he must await Pirminius’ return, and relate these marvels to him so that he might interpret them if he could.

When the saint came back from Rome and learned what had happened, he immediately cried that Providence had sent them a sign, wishing them to build a church and abbey on the spot where the dove had dropped the bloody chip. He added that such a wild, desolate region was more fitted to encourage a life of constant penance, labour, and prayer than the valley flowing with milk and honey first chosen by Adalbert. By his orders the Abbey of Pfäfers was begun, and to this day its seal bears a white dove carrying a bloody chip in its beak, in memory of the miracle to which it owes its location.

GLARUS AND GRISONS.

Near the city of Chur or Coire, and at the foot of the majestic Calanda, are the ruins of several castles, among others that of Haldenstein. Not very far from its crumbling walls is a fine spring of clear water, where people claim a charming vision was often seen. Dressed in a long white gown which fell in classic folds to her feet, this lovely maiden was wont to linger on the sunniest spot by the edge of the spring, dabbling her hands in its cool waters. A hunter once came to this place, saw the beautiful maiden, and heard her weeping softly. He immediately drew near and looked at her so compassionately that she told him if he would only hold her hand and not let it go until she bade him, he would release her from the baleful spell which caused her tears.

The young man unhesitatingly took her slender white hand between his own sunburned palms, but started at finding it as cold as ice. While he held it tight, trying to communicate a little of his own warmth to the chilled fingers, a tiny old man came out of the castle and silently offered him a diamond basket full of gold. Although he could easily have secured this treasure by stretching out one hand, the young huntsman continued the task he had voluntarily undertaken, and was soon rewarded by feeling a little warmth steal into the slender hand he held so firmly. At the same time the girl’s sad eyes beamed with pleasure, a slight flush stole into her pallid cheeks, and looking up at him, she joyfully exclaimed,--

“I see I was not mistaken. You have proved trustworthy; so you may now let go my hand, and take that basket as a token of my gratitude.”

The maiden softly drew her hand from his, gave him the treasure, and vanished with a seraphic smile.

Since then the White Lady of Haldenstein has never been seen by mortals, but the spring over which she mounted guard became known far and wide for its curative properties. These lasted for many a year; but although the spring still flows as clear as ever, it is said to have now lost all its healing powers.

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ON the way from Coire to Castiel one passes the awful Tobel, where a huge dragon once took up its abode. Such were the ravages it made in that region that the people of Castiel, Calfriesen, and Lüen solemnly pledged themselves to provide it with a human victim every year on condition that the monster left them unmolested the rest of the time.

The dragon in the Castieltobel agreed to this arrangement, and the yearly victim was chosen by lot from each of the villages in turn. Now it came to pass that a tall, muscular stranger soon came to settle there with his only daughter, and when the lot fell upon her, he boldly declared he would accompany her to the monster’s den, and slay it or perish with her.

Leading the maiden by one hand, and holding his trusty sword tight in the other, the brave man advanced cautiously, followed at a safe distance by all the people, who wished to witness his encounter with the dragon. They did not have to wait long, for, ravenous after a whole year’s fast, the monster rushed eagerly forward to swallow its prey. It had already opened wide its capacious jaws, when the desperate father rushed toward it, thrust his sharp blade right into its throat, and inflicted such a severe wound that the dragon expired a moment later.

Overcome with joy at having saved his beloved daughter, the father now fell on his knees, and raising his hands to Heaven, gave solemn thanks for her preservation. While he was in that attitude, a drop of dragon-blood fell from his sword upon his head, and such was the deadly nature of the venom that it instantly killed him. The village people were so grateful to him for delivering them from this dragon, however, that they generously provided for his daughter, and erected a church on the very spot where he had breathed his last.

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ABOUT half-way between Castiel and Davos is the village of Arosa, where grows a fine tree from beneath whose roots gushes a living spring. According to popular superstition, lucky people can find a golden key in the hollow whence this water flows from the ground. As soon as secured, one suddenly perceives a passage-way barred by an iron door, which can only be opened by means of this golden key.

A herdsman, who once came to refresh himself at this spring, discovered this key by great good fortune, and boldly opening the locked door, found himself in a vast cave. There a dwarf bade him choose between a heap of gold and diamonds, which would make him the wealthiest man in the country; a golden cow-bell which would assure him the possession of the finest cattle for miles around; or a lovely girl, whose eyes were fixed imploringly upon him, and who softly whispered that he would find true happiness only with her.

The young man hesitated, but as he had a passion for fine cows, he finally left the cave with the golden bell. He felt so weary upon leaving this place, however, that he lay down to rest a moment near the spring, and soon fell asleep. When he awoke, the magic key had vanished, and he might have believed the whole adventure a mere dream, had not the golden bell still lain beside him.

On returning to his post, he found his herd miraculously increased, and all his cows were so handsome that his neighbours soon became jealous of him, and refused to have anything more to do with him. The young herdsman, therefore, left alone with his cattle, often regretted he had not chosen an intelligent companion to share his solitude; but although he frequently tried to find the golden key again, and thus secure the fair maid he had once seen, it was all in vain. Within a year from that time, he lost all his fine cattle, because he brooded continually over his loneliness instead of taking care of them, and before long he committed suicide by flinging himself down from the top of one of the sharp peaks near there.

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EAST of Coire and south of the lovely Prätigau, is Davos Platz, so charmingly located near the top of a pass, where it is well sheltered from the northeast winds. Besides its interest as a health resort visited by many noted people, and the beautiful scenery and healthful climate, this place derives additional charms from its legends. On the western slope of the Davos Schwartzhorn, for instance, there is a place generally known as the Dead Alp. Not a shrub or blade of grass is seen there now; so it offers a striking contrast to the many other fine pastures in that vicinity.

In olden days this desolate spot was the finest grazing-ground for miles around, for it was then thickly covered with heavy grass, and watered by springs of the freshest water. At one time the land belonged to a rich young dairy maid, who came down into the valley one fine Sunday afternoon to dance on the village green. She had so many partners, and so thoroughly enjoyed herself with them, that she did not want to go home, although she knew that it was time to milk the cows. Duty warned her to return; but the delights of dancing proved so tempting that she determined to linger, and tried to silence the voice of conscience by recklessly cursing both pasture and kine. This malediction had scarcely left her lips, when her fruitful alp was turned into a desert, her cows all vanished, and she suddenly found herself deprived of all the worldly goods she had so little known how to appreciate!

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OTHER Davos herdsmen, as pleasure-loving as she, once cursed the Icelandic moss or Cyprian herb which was then so rich in milk-producing qualities that they had to milk their cows several times a day. No sooner was the curse uttered than the luscious herb dried up, and ever since then it has been the poorest sort of fodder, which no animal will eat as long as something else can be found to satisfy its hunger.

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NOT very far from the Dead Alp, you can see, summer and winter, a broad field of snow, far below the usual snow-line. This, too, was once a luxuriant pasture, where herdsmen were kept very busy tending their cows, and making butter and cheese from the milk they gave in such profusion.

The owner of this alp was so good and generous that the poor were in the habit of going up there for food whenever they were hungry, and there was much wailing among them when he grew ill and died, and they heard the pasture now belonged to an avaricious man. They soon found the new proprietor was even worse than they expected, for he was very cruel too, and drove all beggars away with curses and hard blows.

A poor but numerous family, travelling through the country, climbed up these heights one cold and foggy day, to beg for the food and shelter no one else could have denied them. But when they drew near the châlet, cross dogs rushed out to meet them, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth in the fiercest way. The poor people nevertheless made their way to the door, where they stood, humble suppliants, while the oldest among them described their pitiful plight and asked for aid.

The hard-hearted herdsman would not listen to him, however, roughly bade him begone with all his family, and seeing he did not immediately obey, called out to his men to drive the beggars away. This order was only too promptly obeyed. The rough servants rushed out, and falling upon the poor family, lashed them with their long whips, threw stones at them, and laughed with uproarious glee when their fierce dogs began to chase the beggars down the mountain.

Besides several old people, there were weak women and puny little children among these poor fugitives; still these cruel men felt no respect for age or sex, and merely urged on their dogs worse than ever. Their inhumanity proved too much for an old man, who, as he tottered last down the path, with torn garments and bleeding limbs, suddenly turned around and cursed their alp, wishing it might soon be hidden beneath a covering of snow that might rest upon it for ever.

That wish was fulfilled the self-same night, for huge masses of snow and ice fell down upon the pasture, transforming it into a wintry waste, which well deserves its name, the Cursed Alp. Since then, whenever a storm rages, or whenever fog envelops the mountain, the buried herdsmen rise from their shroud of snow, and one can again hear them snapping their whips, exciting their dogs, and hotly pursuing ghosts of beggars whom they are condemned to chase for ever in punishment for their sins.

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IN the centre of the Grisons arises a reddish peak known as the Rothhorn, which towers above all the other heights around it, and from whence a fine view can be enjoyed.

It is said that the people of Plurs once exploited the gold mines in this mountain, and thus became very rich. All this prosperity was not owing to their exertions alone, but due mainly to the fact that they had won the good graces of the gnomes, who, at noon every day, poured a canful of liquid gold down into a vein which they could easily reach.

Unfortunately, the people of Plurs did not make a wise use of this wealth, but drank, gambled, and led vicious lives. This fact so incensed their former friends, the mountain spirits, that they slyly loosened great masses of stones and dirt, and hurled them down upon the city one dark night in 1618.

Only one of the inhabitants, a pack-driver, escaped from general destruction. He had arrived in the village late, intending to tarry there overnight, but his leading mule refused to stop at the inn, and passing on was dutifully followed by all the rest, although the driver tried to stop them. Three times this man drove his train back to the inn, but three times they passed by, and the pack-driver had to follow.

When they had gone some distance from the city for the third and last time, the man suddenly heard a terrible noise, and, looking behind him, witnessed the landslide and the total destruction of the once prosperous little city.

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THE Engadine Valley, noted for its bracing climate, is rather bleak, for, according to a popular saying, it boasts nine months of winter and three of cold.

In the seventh century St. Florinus with one disciple came to Rémus, in the northern part of this valley, to preach the gospel. Feeling very weak and ill one day, the saint bade his faithful companion beg some wine at a neighbouring castle to restore his failing strength.

The disciple obeyed, and having secured a crockful, slowly wended his way home. He soon met a poor woman weeping bitterly, and inquiring the cause of her sorrow, learned that her husband had been very ill, and that she had no money to buy the wine he needed to restore his strength. Touched by her tears, the disciple poured all he had received into the vessel she held, and then went back to the castle to beg for more. But the people up there, having seen him give the wine to the poor woman, now reproved him harshly, and sent him empty-handed away. The disciple departed sadly, regretting his generous deed; and, fearing to present himself before his master with an empty crock, he filled it with water at a wayside spring. As soon as St. Florinus saw him standing at his bedside, he reached up eagerly, seized the crock, and took a long deep draught. The disciple, who fully expected an exclamation of bitter disappointment, was dumfounded to hear the saint declare he had never tasted such good and strengthening wine; and, when invited to try it also, he discovered that the miracle of Cana had been repeated, for the Lord had again turned water into wine. This transformation took place, as long as the saint needed a tonic; but when he was quite well, the crock was found to contain nothing but water as before.

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THE people of the Engadine valley are very simple indeed; so simple that a legend claims they were often cheated, and never could decide what it was best to do. A traveller, hearing the people of Sils complain, mischievously suggested that they ought to buy a little wisdom, and when they seriously inquired what it was and where it could be procured, he gravely informed them that it was a precious herb, purchasable only in Venice.

The people, believing him implicitly, took up a collection and sent an emissary to Italy to buy the rare plant. After a long painful journey, this man came home, having purchased from a charlatan the only sprout of the herb of wisdom still to be had in that city. The people all crowded eagerly around their emissary to see and admire the wonderful herb, compared it exhaustively with those which grew around them, and although they could perceive but little difference, planted it carefully on their village green. But, while they were indulging in a great jollification to celebrate the advent of wisdom among them, an old donkey came straying along, and before they could prevent it, ate up the precious plant!

Since then, the people of Sils have never been able to secure another specimen, and it is said they still grievously mourn their great loss.

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THE scene of the above legend is located in the Upper Engadine or Inn Valley, south of the much frequented towns of St. Moritz and Pontresina.