The image now to be seen only dates from 1491, and there is no record regarding the disappearance of the original "miraculous" one which it must have replaced. The interior of this church has suffered both from neglect and whitewashing at various times. But there are some quaint and excellent carvings, including a few pew ends, and also some fine iron work, and the figures adorning the ten columns which surround the high altar are interesting. It is as one comes into the village that the prettiest view of the church is obtained.

Rattenberg, which is some five miles distant from Kundl on the main line and road, is not much visited by tourists, and is chiefly of note on account of the copper mines, which are still worked. The town is, however, decidedly picturesque and repays a visit. Scarcely anywhere in Tyrol in a place of similarly small size does one get such contrasts in architecture. And, doubtless, for this reason one seldom fails, during the summer months, to find several artists at work in the narrow streets. One side of the river is occupied by houses and buildings of the most solid, gloomy, and altogether unprepossessing character, whilst on the opposite bank one finds the very ant.i.thesis in the pretty, light-looking dwellings, quaintly painted in delicate shades of buff, pink, and sky-blue. Beside them and between them are quaint courtyards and narrow alleys of often an extremely picturesque character.

[Sidenote: WILHELM BIENER]

Many people seem to confuse the Castle of Rattenberg, which dominates the little town and river, with that of Rottenberg, the crumbling ruins of which lie on an eminence overlooking the roads which lead out of the Inn Thal into the Achen Thal and Ziller Thal, once the seat of one of the most powerful feudal families of Tyrol. Rattenberg Castle is said by some authorities to date back to the days of the Roman occupation, and even to Etruscan times, and its history has been not less stirring and chequered than that of most other similarly placed fortresses of the Inn Thal. The chief event in connection with it was the imprisonment of Wilhelm Biener, the brilliant Chancellor of Claudia Felicitas de Medici, wife of the Archduke Leopold V. Biener, unfortunately, afterwards fell into disfavour with the pro-Italians at the Court of Claudia's son and successor, the Archduke Ferdinand Karl, Regent of Tyrol, and was executed at Rattenberg in 1649 and buried near the wall of the churchyard. Those who wish to know more of the romantic and stirring period of Tyrolese history in which Biener lived and died cannot do better than read that fine historical novel, "Der Kanzler von Tyrol" (The Chancellor of Tyrol), by Herman Schmid.

The story of Biener's fall may be briefly told. Claudia de Medici, on the death of her husband, with her Chancellor's advice and a.s.sistance, succeeded, not only in governing Tyrol wisely and well during the minority of her two sons, but, by the exercise of great wisdom, contrived to escape embroilment in the terrible and disastrous Thirty Years' War in which the whole of the rest of the German Empire was involved. Her rule, however, was not altogether without some harshness, which was chiefly shown in the collection of taxes, and in this matter the Chancellor Biener was naturally concerned, with a result that his zeal for his beautiful mistress's interests caused him to incur the hatred of a certain section of the Court and community at large. On one occasion he found himself in serious opposition to the then Bishop of Brixen concerning the payment of certain dues, the legality of which the bishop questioned. Biener appears for once to have failed in his usual skilful and diplomatic treatment of affairs.

He wrote a very intemperate letter to the bishop, which the latter never forgot nor forgave. Years after the death of Claudia, the resentment against Biener took more definite shape, and he was accused of having misappropriated some of the money belonging to the State which had pa.s.sed through his hands. Tried by two Italian judges, he was found guilty (though, apparently, upon very flimsy evidence), and condemned to death.

The fallen Chancellor made a last appeal to the Archduke Ferdinand Karl, son of his late mistress, and the Archduke, thoroughly believing in Biener's good faith and innocence, and, doubtless, remembering his many distinguished services to his family, reprieved him. Unhappily for the condemned man, his greatest enemy, the President of the Council, named Schmaus, was able to so delay the messenger that he arrived too late to save the Chancellor.

Biener was led out for execution, and on stepping on to the scaffold, he cried out, "As truly as I am innocent of this thing, I summon my accuser (Schmaus) before the Judgment Seat above before another year shall pa.s.s away."

When the executioner had done his work, and stooped to pick up the head to exhibit it to the mult.i.tude, he found that he had also unknowingly smitten off three fingers of the victims right hand, strangely (so the story goes) bringing to mind the remark of the Bishop of Brixen on reading Biener's letter years before--"The man who could write a letter like this to me deserves that his fingers which held the pen should be cut off."

By an equally remarkable occurrence, we are told, the President of the Council, who had been not only Biener's most relentless enemy but his chief accuser, died within the specified time of a terrible disease.

The wife of the Chancellor is supposed to haunt the mountain paths in the neighbourhood, and at night may be sometimes met with proclaiming her husband's innocence in a moaning voice. The story, doubtless, has its basis in the circ.u.mstance that the unfortunate woman lost her reason and ran away no one knew whither, but was ultimately found wandering aimlessly, and quite bereft of her senses, on the mountain-side between Brixlegg and Rattenberg. There was for many years (and may be still for aught we know) a tradition that when any one was about to die in the little village near Innsbruck, where Biener's wife, after her marriage, lived happily for many years, she appears to warn them.

Near the town, in one of the mining buildings, is a most curious picture done upon a wooden panel, combining a representation of the mining works about 1500 with one of the Crucifixion, in which the miners, with their pickaxes and shovels laid down beside them, are seen kneeling in prayer.

[Sidenote: BRIXLEGG]

Brixlegg is but a mile or so from Rattenberg. The neighbourhood is pretty, and there is a charming view from the bridge. The little busy town also forms an excellent centre from which to make some of the shorter excursions into the Ziller Thal and Achen Thal. But, although there are considerable smelting works and a wire-drawing industry at Brixlegg, to the tourist it is chiefly its reputation for peasant dramas which forms the chief attraction in the town, which is, however, quaint and in a measure picturesque.

The rural plays of Brixlegg are not only interesting by reason of the historical scenes they many of them represent, but also as survivals of a very early (if not the earliest) type of German dramatic expression and art which has come down to us. Most of the plays, types of costume, plots, and all the various items which go to make up these performances have done service for generations; but occasionally new plays are written and staged, mostly dealing with historical incidents and characters. In some parts of Tyrol where these plays survive, till at least very recent times, old masks were extant, which must have been handed down from the early Middle Ages, and possibly (so some competent authorities a.s.sert) date from Roman and Etruscan times. The Brixlegg performances should most certainly be seen by all who are interested in the true peasant drama and the evolution of dramatic art. The representations are far more interesting as native and peasant art than those of Meran, where to a certain extent outside criticism and influence have served to bring about modifications, the Meran performances lacking some of the naiveness and spontaneity of these simpler peasant dramatic plays.

[Sidenote: SCHLOSS MATZEN]

Just after leaving Brixlegg, on the left-hand side of the road stand three castles of note--Matzen, Lichtwer, and Kropfsberg. The first named is one of the most interesting and well-preserved examples of the mediaeval schloss in Tyrol. A whole volume might be devoted to a description of its beauty of situation, architecture, romantic history and sieges, and yet leave much unsaid. Its huge round tower dominates the landscape, just as its beautiful lower courtyard, with its four tiers of cloistered corridors round two sides, with the "springs" of the arches supported upon short columns of unworked marble, its fine main hall, with priceless carved and panelled oak and hunting trophies, make it a unique possession. There is a charming view of its rivals, Lichtwer and Kropfsberg, from the drawing-room window, whilst standing at which (according to old chroniclers) one of the Frundbergs was shot dead by a crossbow bolt fired by his brother from the tower of Lichtwer, of which castle the latter was the owner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCHLOSS MATZEN]

Of special interest to most visitors who may be fortunate enough to be permitted to see Matzen and its treasures will undoubtedly be the famous figure of Christ upon the cross in the chapel; the library--one of the oldest rooms--with its fine Renaissance chest; the fine collection of old pewter; the hunting-room, with the many trophies of its famous "sporting" as well as literary owner;[23] and perhaps not without interest to most visitors will also be the stone table, once standing upon the place of execution at the other end of the castle, but now in the shadow of the great circular Roman tower, just outside the postern entrance from the garden. At this table in olden times, it is said, the owner of Matzen sat when dispensing justice to his va.s.sals or retainers. Set in the wide valley, and girt around by trees, Matzen is one of the most picturesque as it is one of the most interesting and historic castles in Tyrol.

There is not much to detain one at Jenbach, which is a small town at the entrance to the Achen Thal, on the northern, and the Ziller Thal on the southern, bank of the Inn.

Just before one reaches Schwaz, one sees storied Castle Tratzberg high on a wooded spur of the Bavarian Alps, with its three turrets in line, seeming to overhang the rocky eminence upon which it stands. Up above the castle, scarcely visible from the valley, is the famous pilgrimage church of Georgenberg, which all who can should visit.

The path, though toilsome, winds through a sweet-scented pine forest.

As one nears the goal of one's pilgrimage, the way is marked by stations of the cross. One pa.s.ses through a silent region, and, as one ascends, the pretty villages scattered below in the valley of the Inn are gradually and for a time lost to view. Scarcely any one is met save a stray pilgrim or some tourist curious enough to make the ascent, and no sound is heard save the soughing of the summer breeze in the pines and the tinkle of little streams or the water-music of the Stallen torrents. At last, through an opening in the environing forest, one catches the first glimpse of the white church, with its Romanesque tower and rust-red roof, standing on a steep and barren rock some three hundred feet in height, to reach which the covered wooden bridge spanning the deep ravine must be crossed.

And what a shrine it is! An isolated tabernacle set upon a rock in a solitary place, and amid surroundings of the greatest beauty and impressiveness; shut out of the world and shut in with nature. The cross at the head of the bridge records the miraculous escape of a girl long ago who, whilst attempting to pick the fairest flowers for a chaplet to place upon the Madonna's head or lay upon the altar, fell into the ravine, a distance of over one hundred and fifty feet, and yet escaped serious injury when death seemed certain.

The impression one receives when at last the summit of the rock upon which the church stands is reached is one of great solemnity and even of grandeur. For a time the outer world has receded from one's mind and ceased to exist. And when one enters the church itself, the impression which has been created cannot fail to be intensified by the silent, kneeling figures almost always found within, with their faces illumined with rapture and faith or transfigured by religious fervour.

[Sidenote: ST. GEORGENBERG]

The little chapel of "Our Lady of Sorrows" (Schmerzhaften Mutter) comes first, surrounded with a tiny graveyard, in which are buried the favoured few who have had their wish gratified to rest in death in the solitary but beautiful spot they loved and visited when alive. The larger building, the church of St. George opposite the chapel, contains one of those most curious legendary relics of which not a few have been preserved from time immemorial in Tyrol. The story of the miracle which produced the relic is briefly as follows:--About the year 1310, in the days when Rupert I. was the fourteenth abbot in charge of the Monastery of Georgenberg, the ruins of which surround the present church, a Benedictine monk was saying Ma.s.s in this very church. Just as he was about to consecrate the cup, a doubt came into his mind as to whether such a miracle as the changing of the water and wine into blood could be accomplished in his unworthy hands. Torn with doubt, he nevertheless proceeded to use the words of consecration; and he was struck dumb with astonishment and awe to find, in place of the white wine and water he had placed in the cup, blood, which overflowed the chalice and fell upon the wafers. Some portion of this miraculous blood was preserved in a phial, which was set in a reliquary and placed upon the altar. In former times this precious relic, we are told, has worked many miracles, and is venerated almost as much to-day as in mediaeval times.

[Sidenote: A WOODLAND SHRINE]

The pilgrimage of St. Georgenberg is one of the most famous and ancient in Tyrol. So ancient, indeed, that its origin appears to have dated as far back as the end of the tenth century, when a chapel was consecrated here by Albuin, the then Bishop of Brixen. Even before this, however, Scherer a.s.serts that a young Bavarian n.o.bleman named Rathhold, from Aiblingen, "having learned the hollowness of the joys of even his great position, made up his mind to live apart from the haunts of men in some wilderness and solitary spot." And in pursuit of this determination he wandered on through the fertile fields and valleys of his own land and those of the Inn until he at length reached this spot in the Stallen valley, and ultimately came to the rock upon which the church stands. Up on the mountain-side he carved out for himself a cave where he lived as a hermit. But after a while a desire possessed him to go to some of the shrines of the greatest saints. He visited many, even travelling so far afield as to the shrine of St. Jago de Compostella; and at length returned once more to his hermit's cave to finish his days in prayer and contemplation. But he brought back with him a picture of the Madonna, over which with his own hands he reverently erected a protective shrine.

Soon from all the district round about, and even from distant parts of Tyrol and Bavaria, people came to worship at the shrine; and ere long "Our Beloved Lady under the Lindens" became a great pilgrimage resort.

One day, years afterwards, so the story goes, there came to the place another young Bavarian n.o.bleman who had wandered far in pursuit of game, and on hearing of the shrine had determined to visit it himself to ascertain what were the attractions and virtues of a place which was so venerated by the peasants of the mountains and valley round about. On his arrival at the little chapel he sought the hermit guardian, when what was his joy and astonishment to discover, in the white-bearded recluse, the elder brother whose strange disappearance from his castle home years before had caused much grief. Overjoyed at the meeting, the younger brother vowed that he would build a chapel on the spot more adequate for the protection of the holy and miraculous picture, and also a "shelter house" for pilgrims.

The work was soon started, and from far and near peasants and even n.o.bles came or sent offerings so that they might have some part in the work. Then a strange thing happened. All the virtue, which had made the spot one of miracles, and one of such good fortune to the halt, diseased, blind, and dumb, seemed to depart. Hardly had the workmen commenced the foundations of the proposed chapel ere accident after accident occurred, some of them fatal. The stones would not remain in place, and everything connected with the building "went wrong."

Another curious happening was the presence day by day of two white doves, which came down, apparently from out of the woods higher up the mountain-side, and picked up every chip of wood upon which any of the workers' blood had fallen when they cut themselves with their tools (as they frequently did), and then at once flew away with the chips in their beaks.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A WAYSIDE SHRINE IN A PINE WOOD]

Finding that this action of the doves continued and that no progress could be made, the hermit determined to seek an explanation of the mystery, and so one day he followed the birds up the mountain-side, and on reaching the spot where he saw them descend he found to his astonishment a perfect miniature chapel or shrine which had been constructed out of the chips and shavings the doves had carried away.

"In this miracle the hermit discovered the directing hand of G.o.d, and going down again to his brother he entreated him to have the contemplated chapel built upon the spot which had been so miraculously pointed out." This the latter willingly consented to do, and the work now progressed without accident or other interruption. The chapel so erected, which is further up the hillside than the larger church of St. George, was rebuilt at the time the latter was erected in the eighteenth century.

From time to time other pilgrims both n.o.ble and simple who visited the shrine set amid the woods and mountains were moved to remain, and thus gradually a community was gathered together living in roughly built huts in the vicinity of the hermit's cell, which in course of time about the twelfth century was put by the then Bishop of Brixen under the rules governing the order of St. Benedict. The monks not only built a monastery but cultivated the surrounding land, and quite a large community at last dwelt in this secluded spot. But the life of the monks was destined to be very chequered, and often troubled with grave misfortunes. Fire, avalanches, famine, and disease all did their best to extirpate the brotherhood. And at last, at the beginning of the eighteenth century--after having been established at St.

Georgenberg for more than five hundred years--it was decided to remove the monastic inst.i.tutions to Fiecht.

Vast funds were needed, for the then abbot, named Celestin Bohmen, who was a native of Vienna, and had formerly been an officer of artillery, projected the new monastery and buildings upon a lavish and colossal scale. There was, however, no lack of funds. St. Georgenberg held a place in the hearts of all the people for a wide district round about, and money also flowed into the monastic coffers from foreign lands from which pilgrims had come to the famous shrine. Then a great disaster happened. The abbot, tempted by the vast wealth which had been placed in his hands, and perhaps weary of his life of retirement from the world in which he had once been a prominent figure, fled with the money which was to have been used for the new abbey at Fiecht. The work of building was for a time brought to a standstill, as no trace of the defaulting abbot could be discovered. But after some years a sufficient sum of money was obtained to permit of the work being continued under the direction of Abbot Lambert. The result was the present handsome late Renaissance building; which, however, comprises but a small portion of the first magnificent scheme. The renegade Abbot, Celestin Bohmen, some years after his flight and crime, once more became enamoured of a life of contemplation, and suddenly appeared at the monastery, confessing his wrong-doing and throwing himself upon the mercy of his former companions. He did not appeal to their clemency in vain; for, refusing to deliver him up to justice, they allowed him to end his days in piety and repentance, which one can only trust was genuine.

Such, at all events, is substantially the story as told by Burglechner and other writers.

A strange fascination seems to enshroud this quiet and secluded shrine of St. Georgenberg, and certainly it is one of the pilgrimage places which most inspire one with the spirit of those remote ages when in the making of such journeys many found comfort, peace of mind, and refreshment. Indeed, one almost wonders that the monks should have deserted it for a new home and a less quiet situation on the hillside near Schwaz, which has now for some years been used as a school.

[Sidenote: CASTLE OF TRATZBERG]

Just before reaching Schwaz one pa.s.ses the old and fine castle of Tratzberg, which well deserves a visit, not only on account of its art and other treasures, but also by reason of the delightful views obtained from it. Tratzberg, which was sold by the Duke Frederick to a rich mine-owner named Christian Tanzel in 1470, with the t.i.tle of Knight of Tratzberg, was often visited by the Emperor Maximilian I. on his various hunting expeditions in the neighbourhood. Knight Tanzel spared no expenditure to make it one of the most beautiful and famous castles in the Inn Thal. Not the least interesting of the many finely decorated rooms which it contains are those which were generally occupied by Maximilian on his visits, and the fine apartment known as the Queen's room, with beautiful presses, interesting portraits, and magnificent panelled ceiling. The armoury, too, full of mediaeval cannon, pikes, lances and other ancient weapons, never fails to interest the student and archaeologist, who, whilst wandering through these ancient and wonderfully well-preserved rooms, gains a more vivid idea of the conditions of life in the Middle Ages than much "book learning" could give him. In the great hall are some remarkable frescoes in _tempera_, depicting the genealogical tree of the house of Habsburg with quaint groups of portraits. Some of the antlers, which are so attached to the wall as to serve as portions of the design, are said to have been hunting trophies of Maximilian himself.

The two Maximilian rooms, which open one into the other, are happily in much the same condition and state as when occupied by the Emperor.

The panelling, whilst not comparing for elaborateness with that in some of the other rooms, is good, and the ancient stove, dating from the fifteenth century, is of great interest. On the walls of the room in which this stands is an inscription in chalk, said to have been written by Maximilian himself, which sums up a quaint philosophy, and has been translated thus--

"I live I know not how long, I die I know not when; Must go I know not whither; The wonder that I so joyful am."

[Sidenote: A GRUESOME STORY]

In 1573 the castle and lands pa.s.sed into the possession of the famous Fugger family, and ultimately into that of the Enzenbergs, one of whom is the present owner. There is at least one gruesome story and tradition told in connection with Tratzberg, which is not itself at all gruesome-looking, as Tyrol castles go.

It appears that the ancient owners of the castle were most of them more noted for love of the chase than for being "instant in prayer,"

and one was so great a defaulter in this respect that, although he could always hear the notes of the hunting horn blown early in the morning and rise with alacrity to obey its summons, sad to relate, when the chapel bell rang for Ma.s.s, it was quite a different matter.

One morning the bell woke him as usual, and as usual he yawned, and turned over in his bed for another nap, thinking, no doubt, pityingly of the folk who had got up early to attend the service. He had no sooner done this than he had a dream or vision of the old chaplain performing the service in the chapel, and of the devout worshippers gathered to listen to him. Then the triple tinkling of the Ma.s.s bell announced to him the most solemn rite of the service was being performed. Then came a rumbling noise, the very foundations of the castle seemed to shake, and the building to sway as though about to collapse, and the hundreds of windows rattled and shook. The knight, who was superst.i.tious if not religious, terrified beyond control, shrieked aloud, and then tried to hide himself under the bedclothes in his terror. His cry was heard by some of the servants and retainers, who came hurrying to the room; and upon entering they were horror-struck to find their master dead, whilst upon his throat were the imprints of three claws, which had burned as well as torn the skin. The inference drawn was that the knight had been enjoined by some Heavenly spirit to rise and repair to the celebration of the Ma.s.s, but had resisted the Divine influence, and had been claimed by his master, the Devil, who had strangled him. Some marks on the walls of the room where he died were for years afterwards shown as those of the wicked knight's blood.

There are many other traditions and legends attached to this famous castle, which is one of the several buildings in Europe making a claim to possess exactly as many windows as there are days in the year; but for these stories, interesting though they are as exhibiting the credulity, barbarism, and imaginativeness of mediaeval times, we have not s.p.a.ce.

Not far from Tratzberg is the quaint, interesting, and flourishing town of Schwaz, on the right bank of the Inn, and overlooked by the Castle of Frundsberg. It was, far back in the times of the Roman occupation of Tyrol, a station of considerable importance and size; but after the evacuation of the country it gradually declined until the fourteenth century, when it was little more than a scattered hamlet of poor houses, with an inn for the accommodation of travellers who were too weary to proceed further on their way to Innsbruck, or who had been overtaken near the place by nightfall.

[Sidenote: SCHWAZ MINERS]