Part 6

After that incident, Kolb became one of the first “Wonder Doctors” in the Tyrol. When he was asked to cure somebody, the sufferer was compelled to come to him during the night, and it was only on special occasions that he consented to visit the house of the sick. When he was called to the assistance of a bewitched person, he made exactly at midnight the smoke of five different sorts of herbs, and, while they were burning, the bewitched was gently beaten with a martyr-thorn birch, which had also to be cut during the same night, and through which means, at each stripe that was given, the hag who had bewitched the person received the most terrible blow, so that the blood flowed at each stroke. Kolb went on beating in this way, until the hag appeared and took off the charm. But, during the operation, no one was allowed to speak, and the necromancer alone treated with the witch. If any one had spoken but one word, the Hexeler’s power would have gone for that night, and all his work would have been useless.

_THE CAT-HAGS OF GRIES._

Cats generally take a large share in anything appertaining to witchcraft, and as single apparitions, out of the company of some hag, they are scarcely, if ever, to be seen; though Peter, one of the servants at the farm of Simel, near the village of Gries, once had the misfortune to meet them.

The farmer was an excellent manager, and never allowed any of his servants to be out in the evening after the Angelus had sounded. But Peter had been a volunteer, during the revolution of 1848, and, as such, he considered himself entitled to take more liberty than the others, and to go after hours and pay a visit to his love. One evening, just as he had arranged to carry out this plan, the farmer, who was a member of the parish administration, said, after supper, to his servants, “Now you all go to bed; at two o’clock to-morrow morning I shall call you, for it has been decided by the Council that we must go oftener on patrol round about, to keep on the look out for the Welsh republicans, which are expected in the country, and to shoot them down wherever they appear, for the sake of preserving order and peace.”

This command anything but pleased Peter, who, however, apparently obeyed, and went to bed; but soon afterwards he got up very quietly, and thought to himself, “Long before the clock strikes two I shall be back;” and then he crept silently through the stables, and hurried towards the Berghof farm, on the mountain where his sweetheart lived, to bid her good-bye for ever, should it be necessary, in case he fell in the war against the Welsh rebels.

He remained till one o’clock at the Berghof, and then he set off home, running as fast as ever he could, and he had arrived already within a distance of two or three hundred feet of the Simel farm, when, just over his head, he caught the sound of suppressed whispering. He looked about, and lo! all about him, the air and ground was full of cats, of all colours and shapes, black, white and tricoloured, which sprang upon him from every direction. Frightened out of his wits, poor Peter began to pray and cross himself, when all at once the tribe of cats disappeared; but this release did not last long, for when he had reached the farm, he found the cats sitting in a swarm round the entrance-door, and they stopped him from getting in, and against this no praying, no cross-making could avail, for the cats set up such a terrific noise, that the poor bewildered fellow lost his senses of hearing and seeing. He made up his mind, however, to get into the farm at any risk, and, springing through the cats, he gained the little door by which he had gone out; but the door was closed, so he was forced to knock at the great entrance, where he was received by the farmer himself, who, after giving him a good scolding, concluded his sermon in these words:--“There is nothing so fine spun but that it comes always to the sun.”[2]

[2] “Es ist nichts so fein gesponnen, Es kommt immer an die Sonnen.”

_THE LOCKSMITH OF THE FLIEGERALM._

Under the mountain, Fliegeralm, which now belongs to the Baron Steinbach, of Mühlau, used to stand the shop of a locksmith, whose name was Huis. The hut was situated in a most beautiful position, on the edge of a rushing mountain torrent, close to the side of a dense and magnificent forest of fir-trees. The locksmith was an industrious and fearless man, and the report that during the winter a “Kaser-Mandl” (a Tyrolian mountain ghost) walked about, could not deter him from building his house just beneath the Alm; so he went up in the autumn to fell trees for its construction, about which he set determinedly to work.

The hut was soon finished, and then the locksmith lighted a large fire and commenced his business. One evening, while engaged over his work, he heard footsteps prowling round the hut, and directly afterwards the door was violently shaken, as though it would be forced in. Huis got up, and called out, “Who is there?” and then opening the door, he said, “Well, come in then;” but nobody was to be seen. He went once more to his work, and again heard the same footsteps about the house; so at last, becoming uncomfortable, he determined to retire to rest, in order that he might get up very early in the morning to finish what he was about.

He laid himself down upon a bundle of hay, on which he soon fell asleep; but an hour or two afterwards he was awakened by a most extraordinary noise, and all at once the terrible Alm ghost stood close beside him, and threw himself instantly upon him, like a big butcher’s dog, with fiery eyes, and with the fixed intention of tearing his victim to pieces. But the locksmith brought all his gigantic strength to bear upon the ghost, and dealt him a blow, which hurled him to a distance; then, after this victory, he laid down again in another corner of the hut, and slept peacefully until daybreak; but from that moment he determined never again to pass the night alone in the hut, and so he returned every evening to the valley, carrying his work with him.

He never recounted one single word to any living soul, except his wife, whom he bound down by the strongest vows never to repeat it to any mortal being; but a woman’s confidence is but a stage secret, open to the ears of all who like to listen to it.

_THE SALVE-TOAD._

It is a well-known fact in the Tyrol that the Jordan chapel, which stands on the mountain, called Salve, and which is dedicated to St. John the Baptist, has been founded by a widow, who, out of maternal weakness, had been the cause of encouraging her only son in all sorts of wickedness, which he carried so far as to become the chief of a band of robbers and cut-throats. Too late, the infatuated woman discovered the crime of which she had been guilty, and, in deep repentance, sought her son, and, after following him for many days, found him at last on the top of the Hohe Salve.

She then tried to persuade him to give himself up to justice, but he was obdurate; until one night, in a dream, the ghastly head of St. John the Baptist appeared to him; after which he gave himself up to the authorities, and his head, with those of all his companions, was chopped off. The guilty mother buried all the heads together, on the top of the mountain, sold all she had, and devoted it to the erection of the chapel, which is still standing there.

Other people recount this legend in a different manner; they say that the brigand had vowed to make a pilgrimage upon the Hohe Salve, if Heaven would only assist him to rid himself of his evil companions, and help him to lead again a good life. But, after having obtained the assistance of Heaven, the brigand forgot his vow, and for that reason he was compelled after his death to crawl up to the top of the mountain in the form of a toad, and to enter into the chapel. After a long time, the poor toad succeeded in climbing the mountain, but at the entrance of the chapel there were always people who pushed and kicked him away. At length, however, he succeeded in entering the chapel, and crawled three times round the altar, after which he was instantly changed into the form of a handsome man, who addressed the people who were praying there, telling them of his brigand life and hard penance, and then he suddenly disappeared from their eyes.

_THE UNHOLDENHOF._

In the days of Maximilian the First, Emperor of Germany, there was a forester attached to the Court, who was a real “Unhold” (or monster), of almost supernatural bodily strength, and so much so that he was generally regarded as a giant. After the Emperor’s death, the forester left the Court with his only son, who was in every degree the image of his father, and went into the parish of Kreith, in which, since that time, fourteen peasants have built their farms, which, for the most part, are all situated on the Middle Mountain, above the rivers Sill and Rutz, between meadows, uplands, and forests. At the bottom of the valley the whirr of a “Säge,” _i.e._ a saw-mill, is constantly to be heard, which stands on the bridge over the Klausbach, over which the roads lead on into the Stubeithal.

There a beautiful spring, well protected by a statue of the holy Nepomuk, offers refreshment and rest to the tired traveller, and about half a mile further on, the road divides into two, and the left-hand branch leads off into a charming mountain-path, on each side of which lies a magnificent forest of Alpine firs and pines, and after a quarter of an hour’s ascent, one arrives at a rich and thriving farm, which comprises in its possessions an ancient chapel; but with all this it bears a very bad name, and is called the “Unholdenhof” (or monster farm).

It was on this self-same spot that the forester and his son took up their abode, and they became the dread and abomination of the whole surrounding country, for they practised, partly openly and partly in secret, the most manifold iniquities, so that their nature and bearing grew into something demoniacal. As quarrellers very strong, and as enemies dreadfully revengeful, they showed their diabolical nature by the most inhuman deeds, which brought down injury, not only on those against whom their wrath was directed, but also upon their families for centuries. In the heights of the mountains they turned the beds of the torrents, and devastated by this means the most flourishing tracts of land; on other places, the Unholde set on fire whole mountain-forests, to allow free room for the avalanches to rush down and overwhelm the farms. Through certain means they cut holes and fissures in the rocks, in which, during the summer, quantities of water collected, which froze in the winter, and then in the spring the thawing ice split the rocks, which then rolled down into the valleys, destroying everything before them. Some of these terrific rock-falls prepared by them ensued only some forty or fifty years afterwards.

Through these iniquitous deeds, they gained the dreaded name of Unholde, which has descended to their abode to the present day; but at last Heaven’s vengeance reached them. An earthquake threw the forester’s house into ruins, wild mountain torrents tore over it, and thunderbolts set all around it in a blaze; and by fire and water, with which they had sinned, father and son perished, and were condemned to everlasting torments. Up to the present day, they are to be seen at nightfall on the mountain, in the form of two fiery boars.

A better generation has built a new farm upon the same spot on which the old Unholdenhof used to stand; but, against their wish and will, the new house has kept up the old name, which sometimes changes into that of Starkenhof, because the wicked foresters were also called “die Starken” (the strong ones).

The old peasant Hohlenbauer, who still is living in the village of Mutters, can recount to the traveller a great deal about the Unholdenhof; and, among other things, he would tell him how one day the forester, in his stupidity, sold valuable parchments to a child’s-drum maker of Innsbruck, who, as stupid as he of whom he had bought them, erased the writing with a stone, and covered little drums with the priceless documents.

_THE FIERY BOAR OF KOHLERSTADL._

On the main road from the village of Mutters to the hamlet of Götzens lies a brown wooden hut in the middle of a lovely flowery plain, which is called the “Broat-Wiese” (broad meadow). The road leads through dells and valleys, and in passing through this grand and desolate spot, the traveller is unable to overcome a certain sense of awe, which overhangs this dreaded spot, particularly should he happen to pass that way after the shades of evening have fallen. The hut is an old hay-shed, which has the resemblance of a large dark coffin; close to this hut stands a little chapel, erected to the memory of a poor traveller, who was frozen to death on that spot, in the year 1815.

This place is decried and avoided, on account of the fearful apparition, which is said to wander round the spot; and many a one who has tried to pass that way during the night has been glad to return safely back again to the village. Close by lies a dense forest of fir-trees, the rendezvous of tribes of ravens, which render the surroundings still more dismal with their ominous croakings. If, perchance, the traveller hears the cuckoo, he crosses himself, for it bears in the Tyrol the reputation of being the devil’s own bird, and the evil one himself, the worst of the phantoms, rejoices in adopting his voice.

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

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

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

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

_THE BUTCHER OF IMST._

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

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

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

_MATZ-LAUTER, THE SORCERER OF BRIXEN._

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

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

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

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

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

_THE MOUNTAIN GHOST OF THE VIVANNA._

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

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

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

_THE OBERLEITNER OF TERENTEN._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_THE TAILOR OF THE ZIROCKALM._