Tyrol is full of these legendary tales, superstitions, and myths, to which, indeed, the geological situation of the land and the simple habits of the people conduce. When we remember that in ancient times it was the universal custom to ascribe all manifestations of Nature's laws which could not be easily traced and understood to the supernatural, it is little wonder that the simple, unsophisticated, and uneducated Tyrolese should have so attributed many of the wonders amid which they lived. One very noticeable feature of the Tyrolese character is demonstrated by the fact that, notwithstanding the centuries of evolution during which superstition played so important a part in the life of the people, and the existence of an unreflecting belief in the supernatural, their many virtues, especially those of patriotism, industry, frugality of living, morality, hospitality, and religion, have not, as with some other nations, become impaired.
Amongst the many legends of a startling and supernatural character which are found throughout Tyrol, is one connected with the pretty little village of Taur in the Innthal. It has to do with a hermit who lived in the seventeenth century in a cell overlooking the Wildbach. He is often said by the countryfolk to have been St. Romedius himself, though this, of course, could not be the case. One night, whilst the holy man was engaged in his usual meditation and prayer, a tapping was heard against the little window of his retreat. Upon opening the door, what was his amazement to see, not the benighted traveller he expected to find craving his hospitality and shelter, but the spirit of his friend the priest of Taur who had recently died. The latter entreated the holy man to have compassion upon him, saying, "Have pity upon me, Father, for my sufferings are terrible. Once when three Masses had been ordered and the fees paid I forgot to say them, and now for this sin I am being punished more than I can bear."
Then the legend goes on to say that he laid his hand upon the low-pitched roof of the little porch outside the hermit's cell, and the holy man afterwards found that the wood was charred and the impression of the tortured priest's hand was left indelibly in the wood. The poor suppliant begged his old friend the hermit to say the Masses, and to pray and fast for him. This the holy man promised faithfully to do; and keeping his promise, a year and a day afterwards the spirit once more rapped upon the casement and told him that he was now free of purgatory. In the chapel there hung at least a few years ago, and we believe now hangs, the tile with the mark of the priest's hand branded into it, beneath which is written an account of the miracle, with the date February, 1660.
In Wälsch Tyrol, especially, there are many folk-lore tales having a distinctly Biblical origin or suggestion. Possibly they are oral versions of Bible incidents handed down from generation to generation in the early years of Christianity and during the Middle Ages, until they have gradually in process of time and varied repetition lost their strictly Biblical character. One of the most usually met with (it is told by most Wälsch Tyrol mothers to their children, and is a favourite on account of its dramatic end, and because virtue triumphs) bears a very strong resemblance to the story of Joseph and his Brethren. The story runs thus: "Once long ago there lived a king who had three sons. Two were quite grown up, but the third was a child, and was his father's joy and favourite. One day the king, who had been out upon a hunting expedition, returned home from the chase of the bear and chamois fatigued, and dispirited because of the loss of a favourite feather[9] which he was accustomed to wear in his cap. There was a hue and cry raised, but no one could find the lost article. At length little (Joseph) came to his father and urged him to grieve no more but to refresh himself and then rest, "for," said the child, "either I myself or one of my brothers will find the feather."
Then the king, pleased with the child, and doubtless hopeful that he would be the one to find the missing plume, said, "To whomsoever finds the feather will I leave my kingdom."
The three brothers set out on their search, and after much trouble the youngest suddenly espied the object for which they were looking. But the two elder men, consumed by jealousy at the thought of Joseph's inheriting the kingdom, led him away into a wood and killed him, and, taking the feather to their father the king, told him that they both found it and thus jointly claimed the reward. Regarding the missing (Joseph) they said that whilst searching for the feather they missed him, and suddenly looked up to see him being borne away by a bear into the recesses of the woods, and as they were unarmed it was impossible for them to attempt to rescue him. The king was consumed by grief; search was made, but the body was not discovered; and it was not until the proverbial year and a day afterwards that a shepherd boy came across (Joseph's) bones, and, taking one of them, fashioned it into a primitive flute or shepherd's pipe. The wonderful part of the story is still to come. No sooner had the shepherd commenced to play upon the pipe than it told, in the voice of the poor child victim of jealousy, the whole story. The shepherd took the pipe to the king and played upon it before him. The king listened, and, accepting the miraculous tale it told, ordered his two sons, who were present and struck with amazement and fear, to be instantly put to death.
There are scores of other stories of a similar character told during the winter evenings around the fire in Tyrolese huts and houses. Some have a family likeness to tales of our own land, such as Cinderella, Puss in Boots, Jack and the Beanstalk (only the giant is often replaced by an immense toad who guards fabulous wealth, that is only to be obtained by killing the toad in single combat, which feat is, of course, performed by the poor boy who wishes to marry the Princess), Red Riding Hood, etc. An account of these, however, rightly belongs to a volume of comparative folk-lore, and for detailed description we have no space in the present one.
SOME QUAINT CUSTOMS
Of the many quaint customs which still prevail in different parts of Tyrol, those relating to Christmas and to All Souls are amongst the most tender and picturesque. In North Tyrol, more especially perhaps in the district of the Unter-Innthal, Christmas, which is called Christnacht and Weihnacht, is celebrated by the gift of Klaubabrod, a strange cake-like compound made of dough, almonds, slices of pears, and other preserved fruits and nuts, which, at least with the generality of foreigners, must, we think from personal experience, be "an acquired taste." The Zillerthal maidens are specially well-instructed in the making of Klaubabrod, and the one prepared for the family consumption, if the maker be engaged, must have the first slice cut out of it by her betrothed, who then kisses her and at the same time gives her some little present as a mark of his affection. In former days it was the custom of the Bishops of Brixen to make presents of fish to members of their household and to all in their employ. The fish came from Lake Garda, and was allowed by custom to pass through the dominions of the reigning Count of Tyrol and the Prince Bishop of Trent exempt from the toll which would otherwise have been levied.
In Wälsch Tyrol there is a curious Christmas custom still to be met with which consists of the arrangement, by the father of the family, of a number of heaps of flour upon a table or shelf. In these are hidden various little presents, and when the children and other members of the household have been admitted they take their heap according to the drawing of lots, or the result of some contest or competition.
The belief that animals have the gift of speech, which has during past ages been prevalent throughout Christendom, still prevails in some parts of the more remote districts and valleys of Tyrol; and strange stories are told of things said by beasts and over-heard by human beings which have come true, so that animals evidently are accredited also with the gift of prophecy.
At Epiphany, in many parts of Tyrol, performances very similar in character to the English old-time "mummers" are given. Generally three of the village boys dressed up to represent kings, one having his face blacked, go from house to house singing. Sometimes a Herod will appear at the window of the house and reply to their songs in rhyming couplets. After which the singers stand in turn and sing, and end with a chorus which contains broad hints that they would not refuse some refreshment were it offered them! They seldom or never fail to receive this, as usually some provision has been made by the hospitable village folk for the purpose.
The blessing of cattle on