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 Mustafa Soykut
Image of the "Turk" in Italy
ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 236

begründet
von Klaus Schwarz

herausgegeben
von Gerd Winkelhane
ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 236

Mustafa Soykut

Image of the "Turk" in Italy

A History of the "Other"

in Early Modern Europe: 1453-1683

K
KLAUS SCHWARZ VERLAG • BERLIN
S
Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Bibliothek
Die Deutsche Bibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der
Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten
sind im Internet über http://dnb.ddb.de abrufbar.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
http://www.bl.uk

Library of Congress control number available

http://www.loc.gov

www.klaus-schwarz-verlag.com

All rights reserved.

Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Kein Teil dieses Buches darf in
irgendeiner Form (Druck, Fotokopie oder in einem anderen
Verfahren) ohne schriftliche Genehmigung des Verlages
reproduziert oder unter Verwendung elektronischer Systeme
verarbeitet werden.

© 2001, 2010 by Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH

Erstausgabe
2. Auflage
Herstellung: J2P Berlin
Gedruckt auf chlorfrei gebleichtem Papier
Printed in Germany
ISBN 978-3-87997-289-0
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst for

the scholarship that it provided for the present research. A special thank goes to
Ingeborg Sonsuz from the German Embassy in Ankara for all the
encouragement throughout my studies. Likewise, I would like to thank also
Ahmet Evin for providing the necessary contacts with the German academia. I
am most grateful to all the members Mioni family in Padua for all the hospitality
that they have offered to me during my research in Italy. I would like to thank
especially my friend Anna and her father Alberto Mioni, not only as a host, but
also as an effervescent inspirer in academic matters. Without Professor Mioni's
circle of Veneto academics, the present book would not have come to existence.
In this respect, it has been a most felicitous event having met Paolo Preto from
Padua University, whose contribution to the present work has been immense. I
am also grateful to the most pleasant character of Gaetano Platania and his
guidance into the Vatican libraries.

The present book would have not existed, if it were not for the most full-
hearted assistance and encouragement of the two women who have been my
supervisors: namely Petra Kappert from Hamburg University and Nur Bilge
Criss from Bilkent University in Ankara. I would like to thank them both
immensely.

It is impossible to do justice to all the people - as one says in Turkish -

"who added some salt into the soup". Lastly, I thank my family for always
having supported me in my projects.
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE xi

CHAPTER I

The "Turk" as the Antithesis of the European 1

The Turk as representative of the "other" 3

CHAPTER II
Italian Images of Islam and the Turks as its
Banner-Holders: 1453 to the Eighteenth Century 15

CHAPTER III
Apostolic Dreams of European Unity and the Turks 46

The Fifteenth Century Crus ader Idea 48

An Account of the Ottoman Incursion in Friuli 56

From the First Siege of Vienna (1529) to the Aftermath of
Lepanto (1571) 62
CHAPTER IV

The Seventeenth Century Until the Final War in 1683 67

Marcello Marchesi: A bellicose oration to Pope Paul V 69

Commentary on Marchesi's manuscript 80

Congregazione di Propaganda Fide 83

Angelo Petricca da Sonnino 84

Treatise on the easy wcy cf defeating the Turk 87

Commentary on Petricca's Manuscript 99

The "Turkish Question" and European Unity 107

CHAPTER V

A New Vision from Venice: Delia Letteratura de' Turchi 112

CONCLUSION 148

APPENDIXI

Monsignor Marcello Marchesi, "The war against the

Turk": Alla Santità di nostro Signore Papa Paolo Quinto
Beatissimo Padre
154
APPENDIX II

Angelo Petricca da Sonnino, Trattato del modo facile

d'espugnare il Turco, e discacciarlo dalli molti Regni che
possiede in Europa.
Composto dal padre Maestro Angelo Petricca da Sonnino
Min: Conven: già Vicario Patriarcale di Constantinopoli,
Commissario gn~le in Oriente, e Prefetto de Missionarij di
Valacchia, et Moldavia
164

BIBLIOGRAPHY 174

APPENDIX III
List of manuscripts and of original source frontispieces 192

INDEX 208
 PREFACE

T he present book came into existence as a result of the research

that the author made in the Archivio di Stato di Venezia and
Biblioteca Marciana of Venice and Biblioteca Apostolica
Yaticana of the Vatican Gty in Spring-Summer 1998. The idea behind the
present study was to bring together a comprehensive work on the Turkish
image in Italy in the Early Modern Age, studying its origins, development and
historical meaning that it represented for Italy between 1453 and 1683, that
is, the conquest of Constantinople and the second siege of Vienna by the
Ottomans. The word "Turk" is used in the book, to denote the Ottomans,
and the two words have been used interchangeably, although remaining
conscious of the fact that "Ottoman" denotes a far larger multi-ethnic entity
than the Turks, who were only one of the ethnicities - the most dominant
one - in the Ottoman Empire. In this respect, the word Turk is used more
like the European historians have been using it, rather than the Turkish ones.
The pioneer work of excellent documentation of Prof. Paolo Preto of
Padua University1, published twenty five years ago, as well as Prof. Preto's
personal guidance constituted a milestone for the pursuit of the present study
on the Venetian component of the book. However, nothing quite like the
comprehensive work of Preto has been produced on the Turkish image in
Venice since twenty five years. Therefore, the study of this theme which fell
into oblivion for some decades was taken up by the present author,
incorporating also the role of the Papacy in creation of the Turkish image in
Italy. The valuable guidance of Prof. Gaetano Platania2 from the University
of Viterbo, enabled the study of the Vatican archives, and the book unifying
data from the Venetian and Roman libraries came into existence.
The aim of the book has been to leave the reader as often as possible
with the testimony of the original sources, backing up the theoretical part
with the varied and rich secondary sources in Italian, English, German and
1
Paolo Preto, Venezia el Turchi, (Firenze: G. C. Sansoni Editore, 1975.)
2
See the works of Gaetano Platania in the bibliography.

XI
 Preface

Turkish. In this way, the reader would have been introduced into the theme
with the secondary sources, left with appreciation of the first-hand material,
followed with the final comments and interpretation of the author. The use
of secondary sources in Turkish acted as a good element of counter-balance
on a subject like the Turkish image in Europe, which has been material for a
good deal of misperception as well as cultural antagonism. Considering the
lack of a comprehensive work on the Turkish image in Italy, the present work
hopes to have filled the gap, in the absence of much scholarly work on the
development, description, as well as political and cultural functions of the
Turkish image created in Italy between 1453 and 1683. That is, the period
which coincides with the apex of power of the Ottoman Empire and its
interaction with Europe in general and with Italy in particular, on the
political, military and cultural plains. The hereto existing works have made
valuable contributions to specific aspects of the Turkish image created as a
result of these intricate and multiple-sided relations, without which, the
present book could not have come into existence. However, what the present
work claims is to have had, is an all-encompassing approach towards the
plurality and intricacies of the Turkish image in Italy from mainly the military
and political - and finally cultural points of view, which is the by-product of
the former two.
As further explained in the following chapter, sources of popular
nature, such as popular literature, songs, poetry and the like (although are a
source of immense richness and variety) have been excluded from the present
study on grounds that their popular, and most importantly, uninformed
nature often based on popular myths and legends, would have deviated from
the course and general structure of the work. It is believed that such research
is more appropriate for scholars of literature, and therefore thought to have
been outside the scope of the present study.
Another novelty that the present study claims to have accomplished is a
balanced approach towards the theme of the Turkish image in Italy through
original sources from Venice and Rome together. Testimonies of sources
from these two cities representing veiy diverse, and often opposing and
clashing ideologies, give the reader a more complete idea of the creation of
the Turkish image and the vision of the "Turk" in Italy, rather than a work
which would have studied only one of the sources claiming to represent the
Italian point of view in the subject period.

Xll
 Preface

Last but not the least, the present study stands to have realised the
important task of having translated a considerable amount of first-hand
sources and having made it public for the use of the anglophone scholar, in
an area that remained material for Italian academicians, with few non-Italian
scholars. Furthermore, the present author is the first Turkish scholar to have
made a comprehensive research of this kind with rich original sources, on a
theme that the Turkish academia hereto largely ignored, partly due to
linguistic difficulties. This highlights the relevance of the present work when
the importance of the Italian sources are considered, especially thinking of
the later fifteenth century and the sixteenth century, when the Veneto-
Ottoman relations were at their peak Considering the rich source of works
of Venetian origin on the Ottoman Empire, where one has a shortage of
information of the Ottoman sources themselves on the social and cultural
aspects of the Ottoman society, due to the official character of the Ottoman
archives, the Italian sources become even more important. The reader will
appreciate that the comprehension and the translation of material written in
a period of history where no standard Italian existed, often with convoluted
language, has been a philological and a linguistic undertaking of its own. The
testimony of the Vatican sources becomes clear in the book, in the fourth
chapter on the seventeenth century crusader idea, which is an aspect of
European history that remained relatively neglected.
The first chapter presents an overview of the Turkish image with its
general characteristics within the historical context of its development. It
starts out with the clash of two cultural and religious spheres of civilisation,
namely those of the Christian and Islamic ones from the birth and expansion
of Islam, a religion with claim of universality. It follows with the beginnings
of the shift of power in Islamic civilisation from the Arabs to the Turks in the
eleventh century, and the final identification of the Islamic civilisation with
the Turks from the later thirteenth century onwards. The image of the Turk
representing the "other" as opposed to "Europeanness" is presented in the
light of first-hand testimony of literature pertaining to the prominent figures
of Italian statesmen and clergymen.
The following chapter on the image of Islam created in Italy, has been
based on the classical studies of scholars like D'Ancona, Malvezzi and Curcio
and Lewis.3 In addition to these classical commentaries, it sheds light to the
3
Alessandro D'Ancona, "La leggenda di Maometto in Occidente", in Giarmle Storico della
Letteratwa Italiam, (Torino: XIII, 1889); Aldobrandino Malvezzi, L 'Islatrism) e la Cdtwa

Xlll
 Preface

image that Islam and the Turks as its prime agents enjoyed, in the eye of the
Italians with testimony of less-known manuscripts of Marchesi4, da Lagni5,
Petricca6, and the works known to the scholars of the present theme, namely
those of Bessarion7 and Soranzo8.
The third chapter is both an introduction to the following chapter and
an introduction to the role of military confrontation between the Italian states
and the Ottomans in creating the Turkish image in Italy between the two
fateful dates of the fall of Constantinople and the second siege of Vienna by
the Ottomans. This chapter sheds light not only on the dynamics of the idea
of crusade against the Turks, but also brings a new interpretation to the
function of the Turkish image as a uniting factor for Europe in general, and for
Catholic Europe under the auspices of the Roman Church against Protestant
Europe in particular.
The fourth chapter concentrates on the period from the aftermath of
the battle of Lepanto in 1571 until the second siege of Vienna in 1683. This
chapter sheds light on the less-researched aspects of the Papal policy in the
seventeenth century towards the Ottoman Empire and the junction of the
Turkish image in European politics in the same century. The subject is
studied through the testimony of two unpublished manuscripts of the
seventeenth century, namely those of Marcello Marchesi (his first letter to

Europea, (Firenze: Sansoni Editore, 1956); Carlo Curdo, Europa. Stana di un Idea, (Firenze:
Vallecchi Editore, 1958); Bernard Lewis, Islam and the West, (New York-Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1993.)

4 Monsignor Marcello Marchesi, op. cit.

5Fra Paolo Da Lagni, Memoriale di fra Paolo da Lagni cappuccino alponttfice Inmmzo XI nel
quale si dimostra la necessità de' Principi Cristiani di premure il Turco ed dichiararci la guerra,
1679, (Gttà del Vaticano: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana: Vat. lat. 6926.)

6 Angelo Petricca da Sonnino, op. cit.

7 Scipione Ammirato, Orazioni dd Sigiar Scipione Ammirato a diversi principi intorno ai

preparirrenti che s'awebbono a farsi cantra la potenza dd Turco. Aggurtum nd firn le lettere &
orazioni di Monsignor Bessarione Cardinal Niceno scritte a Prindpi d'Italia, (Fiorenza: Per Filippo
Giunti, 1598.)

8 Lazaro Soranzo, L'Othormnno, (Ferrara: Vittorio Baldini-Stampatore Camerale, 1598.)

xiv
 Preface

Pope Paul V) and Angelo Petricca da Sonnino9, whose original transcriptions

are presented to the reader in the appendix section.
The Turkish image which is thematically presented until the fifth
chapter, is recapitulated in the form of an epitome in the last chapter, whose
article version has been published separately.10 The chapter is built around the
very important work of the Venetian ambassador Giambattista Dona, Delia
Letteratura de' Turchi y[, an almost forgotten book, which appeared in a
publication in detail for the first time in the author's mentioned article as a
separate theme, and for the first time ever in the English language. The work
of Dona, however, is not the only important less-known work among the
original sources. This final chapter covers a wide range of original and
secondary sources written on the theme of the Turkish image, and describes
its development and transformation well into the age of Enlightenment,
where the subject-period of the dissertation ends.
Finally, the present study claims to have filled a gap in the study of the theme
"Image of the 'Turk' in Italy" in Early Modern Europe. It is hoped that it
succeeded in bringing together hereto existing material on the subject which
remained separate, and to have organised it in an organic unity, having added
additional less-studied and/or undiscovered material. This study hopes also
to shed light on many current debates in Turkish-European relations, which
contemporary Turkish and European scholars of political science and
international relations try to answer with a history-free approach. Although
beyond the aims of the present dissertation, it is hoped that the present work
may also help a re-evaluation of the Turkish-European relations, its
drawbacks as well as its positive points. The present work does not claim to
have said the final word on current Turkish-European relations, rather it may
be considered a pioneer in future academic debates on the subject. In this
respect, the present study may deepen the understanding of a current and

9 ibid.

10 Mustafa Soykut, "The Development of the Image 'Turk' in Italy through Delia

Letteratura de' Tttnhi of Giambattista Dona", (Malta), Jamal cf Mediterranean Studies,

Volume 9, Number 2, (1999).

11Giovanni Battista Donado, Della Letteratura de' Tunhi, (Venetia: Per Andrea Poletti,
1688.)

xv
Other documents randomly have
different content
hands of the Austrians, fairly swept them into the lake, where many of
the knights were drowned.
Ever since then, at midnight on the anniversary of the battle, it is
said the lake suddenly begins to boil, and that its seething waters
assume a bloody hue. Then, from the depths of the lake, the spirits of
all these drowned warriors arise, still clad in full armour and bestriding
their huge battle steeds. Led by Death on his pale horse, brandishing
his scythe and hour-glass, the dead knights march in solemn
procession around the lake, plunging back into its waters when the
clocks in the neighbouring villages strike one.
A memorial chapel, containing a painting representing the famous
encounter at Morgarten, marks the spot where the battle was fought,
and solemn anniversary services are held there every year. This
memorable victory won so many adherents for the Swiss in their own
land, that before long the Confederation numbered eight instead of
three cantons.

* * * * *
Seventy years after Morgarten, the Austrians made a second
attempt to conquer the Swiss, but they were again defeated at
Sempach, on the lake of the same name, near Lucerne. At first it
seemed as if this battle would prove fatal to the Swiss, for the
Austrians were armed with long pikes, which enabled them to make
havoc in the ranks of their opponents, whose weapons were too short
to reach them.
Perceiving his companions fall around him, without being able to
strike a single blow, Arnold von Winkelried suddenly determined to
break the enemy’s ranks. Calling loudly to his friends to look after his
wife and children, this hero seized an armful of the long Austrian
spears, and driving them into his own breast, fell, crying, “Make way
for liberty!” His countrymen, pouring into the breach he had thus made
at the expense of his life, attacked the enemy with such fury that they
soon won a brilliant victory.
 The battle of Sempach is commemorated by a monument, upon
which stands the simple inscription: “Hier hat Winkelried den seinen
eine Gasse gemacht.” 1386. (Winkelried here made a way for his
friends).
At Stanz, in Unterwald, the birthplace of Winkelried, a fine statue
represents his heroic death. The Austrian spears clasped in a last
embrace, he turns his dying glance upon his countrymen, urging them
to rush over his prostrate body against their country’s foe. On the
anniversary of the battle a ghostly voice is heard in the castle at
Richensee, dolefully calling, “Conrad! Conrad!” In answer to this cry, a
knight in black armour, with ghastly wounds in head and breast,
suddenly appears on the ruined tower, and as though responding to a
roll-call, gruffly answers, “Here, Austria!”
This apparition is said to be a lord of the castle, who fell at
Sempach, fighting for Austria as bravely as one of his ancestors who
lost his life in that cause at Morgarten.

* * * * *
An outpost of the mighty Alps, Mount Pilatus, on the boundary of
the cantons of Lucerne and Unterwald, is one of the most picturesque
features of that region.
 LUCERNE, WITH MT. PILATUS.
(Old View.)

In the days of Roman occupation a light-house (lucerna) is said to

have shone on the spot where the Wasserthurm now stands, and to
have given its name to canton, lake, and town. At that epoch Mount
Pilatus was known as Mons Fractus, Fracmont, or the Broken Mountain,
owing to the jagged crag-like appearance of its summit. This
descriptive name, however, was gradually supplanted by another,
equally appropriate, that height—seldom free from clouds—being called
Mons Pileatus, or the Capped Mountain. Every storm coming from the
north or west gathers around this majestic peak, which serves as a
natural barometer for all the people dwelling within sight of it.
According to a very old and equally popular rhyme, the weather
probabilities are that the day will be fair if the clouds merely rest upon
the mountain top; when they extend part way down, it is well to be
prepared for sudden changes; but should trails of mist reach far down
Pilatus’ rugged sides, it is considered an infallible sign of a coming
storm. In its oldest form this rhyme runs:—

“Das Wetter fein und gut

Wann Pilatus hat ’nen Hut;
Trägt er einen Degen
So gibt es Regen.”

In the course of time this jingle has undergone sundry

modifications, until the English version now reads:—

“If Pilatus wears his cap, serene will be the day;

If his collar he puts on, you may venture on the way;
But if his sword he wields, at home you’d better stay.”

With the introduction of Christianity, and the substitution of the

vernacular for the Latin language, the original meaning of pileatus was
entirely forgotten. The natives therefore soon began to claim that the
mountain was named after Pontius Pilate, the unscrupulous governor of
Judea who sentenced our Saviour to death. Little by little this belief
gave rise to the picturesque legend connected with this locality, which,
owing to numerous accretions, is singularly complete and interesting.
In the second century after Christ, there already existed an
apocryphal Epistle of Pilate, containing his account of the trial and
11
condemnation of Jesus Christ. Warned by his wife, Procla, who had
“suffered many things in a dream because of him,” and by sundry
miracles enumerated in his epistle, Pilate, convinced of the divine origin
as well as of the innocence of the Prisoner brought before him,
nevertheless weakly yielded to the threats of a few among the Jews,
and condemned our Lord to an ignominious death. A moral coward,
Pilate next sought to escape the natural consequences of his
pusillanimous compliance by publicly washing his hands, and solemnly
crying, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to it.”
 11
For the Pilate legend see the author’s
“Legends of the Virgin and Christ.”

Pilate’s report and various other rumours concerning the death and
resurrection of Christ, together with frequent bitter complaints of
extortion and misgovernment, finally reached the ears of Tiberius.
Moved by anger and curiosity, this emperor immediately summoned the
accused official to Rome to render a minute account of his stewardship.
But before Pilate could reach the Eternal City, Tiberius died and was
succeeded by Caligula, who, equally incensed against the faithless
governor, loudly boasted that he would make very short work of his
trial. The Roman courtiers were therefore seized with unbounded
astonishment when they beheld their savage master treat Pontius Pilate
with every mark of extreme courtesy, and heard the mild and gentle
tones in which he addressed him. But no sooner had Pilate left the
tribunal than all Caligula’s wrath flamed up anew, and he peremptorily
ordered the delinquent governor to be brought in again.
When Pilate stood before his irate judge, the latter, suddenly and
mysteriously soothed, once more overwhelmed him with tokens of the
highest favour instead of punishing him as he wished. The courtiers’
wonder grew apace, nor did it diminish when, after Pilate’s second exit,
the emperor breathed forth curses and threats even more violent than
before. Summoned a third time with the same baffling result, Caligula,
convinced that Pilate must be protected by some amulet of great
power, bade his courtiers carefully search the Judean governor ere they
brought him into his presence for a fourth and last time.
In executing these orders, the courtiers discovered that Pilate wore
under his usual garments the “seamless robe” of Our Lord, which he
had purchased from the soldier to whom it had fallen by lot. Stripped of
this talisman, Pilate stood before Caligula, who, no longer restrained
from anger and vituperation by the presence of the holy relic, poured
out all the vials of his wrath upon the prisoner’s head, and sentenced
him to an ignominious death.
 To avoid the jeers of the Roman mob, and the disgrace of a public
execution, Pilate is said to have committed suicide in his prison by
stabbing himself with his table-knife. His corpse—as was then
customary in cases of self-murder—was cast into the Tiber. But the
waters, refusing to suffer such pollution, rose with unprecedented fury
and overflowed their banks, while the thunder rolled, the lightning
flashed, and the earth shook with such violence that all hearts were
filled with awe. The terrified Romans therefore hastened to consult
their oracles, and learning that the dreadful tumult was occasioned by
Pilate’s corpse, they quickly withdrew it from the Tiber, whose fury
immediately subsided as if by magic. To dispose of the body,—which
could not be buried in the usual way,—it was now cast into the
Mediterranean Sea. But there, too, its presence caused such dire
commotion that to ward off further misfortunes it was again removed.
Finding earth and water equally loath to harbour such an abhorred
tenant, the Romans, remembering they owed a grudge to the
inhabitants of Vienne, in Gaul, carefully placed Pilate’s corpse upon a
barge, and sent it up the Rhône. Arrived at Vienne, the Roman envoys
obediently cast the body into the deepest spot in the river. But its
presence there caused such damages that the frightened inhabitants
hastened to forward it on to Lausanne. The same unpleasant
phenomena recurring there also, Pilate’s remains were finally sent out
into the wilderness, far from the haunts of men. After carrying them for
many days up hill and down dale, the bearers finally reached an almost
inaccessible mountain. Convinced that this point was sufficiently remote
from civilisation to satisfy all reasonable requirements, they cast their
uncanny burden into a small lake at the foot of a barren peak, and
hastened away as quickly as they could. Still, it was only with the
utmost difficulty that they managed to reach home, for no sooner had
Pilate’s body touched the waters of the lonely tarn, than it stirred up
such a tempest as had never before been seen in that region.
Night and day, year in and year out, the storm went on raging
around the lonely mountain-top, filling with awe the hearts of the
simple peasant-folk who dwelt in the neighbouring valleys. They too
soon longed to be rid of the unquiet spirit, but could find no people
willing to harbour a ghost which raged round the mountain, waded
about the lake until it overflowed, stormed up and down the jagged
rocks howling with fear and remorse, and which occasionally indulged
in fearful wrestling-bouts with the spirit of King Herod, or those of
other famous malefactors. Even in his comparatively quiet moments,
Pilate was dreaded, for then he sat aloft on the Güppe,—one of the
peaks of the mountain,—grimly conjuring new storms, washing his
hands in the dripping clouds, and shaking huge rain-drops from his
trembling fingers down upon the fertile pastures below him. None of
the shepherds dared venture near him, because he stampeded their
flocks by his violent gestures, and often hurled cows and goats over
the precipices and down on the sharp rocks, where they were dashed
to pieces.
Years, therefore, passed by without Pilate’s being molested in any
way; but at last there came a travelling scholar, who, having mastered
the Black Art at Salamanca, was fully competent to deal with spirits of
all kinds. The people no sooner heard of his unusual accomplishments
than they crowded around him, eagerly imploring him to cast a quieting
spell upon Pilate’s restless ghost, and proffering rich rewards if he
would only put an end to their woes.
Thus urged, the magician consented to try his skill. Journeying up
the mountain, he came, after several hours of hard climbing, to the
foot of the peak upon which Pontius Pilate sat watching his approach
with lowering brows. Placing himself upon a large stone, the conjurer
drew a magic circle around him, and then began his incantations. But
even his most powerful formulas left Pilate unmoved, although they
made the rocks around him quiver and shake as if about to fall. When
the magician perceived this, he changed his position to a peak directly
opposite the one Pilate had chosen for his favourite seat, and
undismayed by his first failure, again began reciting all the most potent
exorcisms he knew. This time they were not without effect, for Pilate
suddenly rose in anger from his rocky throne and rushed toward the
intruder as if to sweep him off the face of the earth. But balked of this
amiable intention by the magic circle, instead of whisking the magician
off into space, Pilate could only rage around and around him, trampling
the ground with such fury that no grass can even now grow on that
spot. Indeed, his mere footprints laid such a curse upon the soil that no
dew has fallen upon it, nor any animal ventured to cross it since that
day!
After careering thus wildly around the scholar for some time,
Pilate’s ghost, weakening perceptibly, finally agreed to retire to the tarn
high up the mountain side. There he promised to remain in peace,
provided no one wantonly disturbed his rest, and he was allowed to
range the mountain at will one day in the year.
The exorcist having consented to this stipulation, Pilate further
proved he had not sojourned among the Jews in vain, by carefully
bargaining that a steed should be provided to bear him off in state to
his last resting-place. The Salamancan scholar therefore called up from
the depths a flame-breathing steed of the blackest hue, which bore
Pontius Pilate off at a truly infernal pace. As they dashed over the
rocks, the steed’s clattering hoofs struck out so many sparks that the
mountain was illumined from base to summit, and it stamped so hard
that the marks of its flying feet can still be seen in the rocks near the
tarn.
Arriving there, Pontius Pilate vanished in the depths of the lake, or
morass, where he quietly stayed, thus honestly keeping his part of the
agreement. Since then, unless disturbed by sceptics coming to mock at
him, or cast sticks and stones into his retreat, Pilate has quietly
reposed in the depths of his lake. But although sure to resent any mark
of disrespect, by rising to stir up a fearful storm, his spirit has always
been sufficiently discriminating to make no demonstration when his
rest is broken by accident or through ignorance.
Such was the dread of rousing Pilate’s wrath, that the magistrates
of Lucerne solemnly issued a decree forbidding all strangers to visit the
tarn. They also made all the herdsmen take a yearly oath not to guide
any foreigner thither, or to point out the road which led there. Any
infringement of this edict was punished with the utmost severity, as can
still be seen in the annals of Lucerne; and the law remained in force
until 1585, the time of the Reformation.
Then a doughty pastor prevailed upon the magistrates to repeal
their edict, and climbed up to the tarn. There he convinced all the
people that there was no further cause for their superstitious fears, by
flinging stones into the water, calling out every imaginable insult, and
boldly challenging Pilate’s ghost to rise and do its worst.
Pilate’s spirit, banned by the Salamancan student, has ever since
been said to rise only on Good Friday. Clad in purple, he then sits upon
a judgment seat, which comes up out of the lake, and repeats in
pantomime the actions he performed on the fatal and memorable day
when he sentenced Christ to the cross. Then, too, Pilate always washes
his shaking hands, in the futile effort to cleanse himself from all share
in that deadly sin; and any wanderer who, by choice or accident, gazes
at his distorted features at that time is sure to die within the year. On
Good Friday, too, Pilate often rages around the mountain in despairing
remorse, but at midnight he invariably sinks down again into his
morass.
There are numerous variations of this legend, one of which claims
that Pilate ruled in Vienne, where he committed suicide by casting
himself into the Rhône. Another version says that, full of remorse for
his crime, he wandered from place to place, until in despair he finally
drowned himself in the lake on the mountain bearing his name.
Such was the terror inspired by this mountain, and the difficulty of
reaching its summit, that the first ascension is said to have taken place
only in 1518. As one can seldom obtain a clear view even after bearing
the fatigue of such an arduous climb, it was rarely visited by strangers
until the wonderful railway was built which now enables travellers to
reach its top with the utmost ease. Since then Mount Pilatus has
become a favourite goal for excursions, and those who have once
beheld the extensive panorama visible from its crest can never forget
the marvellous view, which, extending as far as the eye can reach,
includes glaciers, mountains, valleys, streams, and lakes, not to
mention picturesque towns, villages, churches, and castles, which
abound in that section of the country.

* * * * *
Besides the legend from which Mount Pilatus is popularly supposed
to have derived its name, many others are told relating to various
points on the mountain. For instance, it is said that a cooper from
Lucerne once climbed up its rocky sides in quest of wood for barrel
hoops and staves, and fell into a deep gully whose sides were so high
and steep that he could not get out of it again. The soil at the bottom
was so soft and slimy that the cooper, uninjured by his fall, next tried
to make his way out by following the bottom of this cleft. He could find
no issue, however, but finally came to a sort of tunnel in the rocks.
Entering boldly, he suddenly found himself face to face with a couple of
huge, fire-breathing dragons. A hasty sign of the cross, and a fervent,
if trembling prayer for the Virgin’s protection, effectively closed the
mouths of the dragons already gaping wide to devour him, and
transformed them into gentle creatures which fawned upon him,
humbly licking his hands and feet. Their manners were so ingratiating
that the cooper soon ceased to fear them, and sitting down beside
them, spent six months in their company, feeding as they did upon a
salty substance which exuded from a crack in the rocks.
Winter over, the dragons, who had lain supine in the cave all that
time, wriggled slowly out into the gorge, where they began stretching
and shaking themselves, spreading and furling their wings, as if to
make sure their pliancy had not suffered from a long period of inaction.
Then the amazed cooper suddenly beheld one of the monsters rise
straight up into the air, and once out of the deep cleft, fly in wide
circles far above his head and finally pass out of sight.
The second dragon soon after showing signs of a desire to follow
its mate, the cooper promptly grasped it by the tail, and was whisked
up out of the abyss, but gently set down again on a soft grass plot near
the city of Lucerne. On entering that town, he was rapturously
welcomed by his friends, who, after vainly seeking him on the
mountain, had given him up as dead.
In token of gratitude for his marvellous preservation, and safe
return to his native city, the cooper gave a communion service to the
church of St. Leodegarius in 1420. On this service is a quaint
representation of his adventure with the dragons on Mount Pilatus. The
legend declares, however, that, unable to digest common viands after
living so long upon the dragons’ mysterious food, the cooper died of
starvation two months after his return to Lucerne.
 * * * * *
Another legend claims that a peasant from Lucerne once beheld a
dragon rise slowly from the Rigi and fly heavily towards Mount Pilatus.
Gazing in open-mouthed astonishment at this wonderful sight, the
peasant next saw the monster drop something, and when sufficiently
recovered from his terror to investigate what it might be, he discovered
it was a huge clot of blood in which lay imbedded a precious stone.
This jewel was found in time to possess wonderful curative powers,
for a mere touch of it healed victims of the pest and of other equally
fatal diseases. The Dragonstone was, therefore, carefully preserved in
the city, where it can still be seen, although for some time past its
medicinal powers are said to have deserted it.

* * * * *
While the summit of Mount Pilatus is quite barren, the lower slopes
provide pasture for large herds of cows and goats which graze there
under the care of their herdsmen. One of the highest and finest
pastures is the Bründlisalp, near which is a cave known as the
Dominikhöhle or Dominican’s Grotto. A huge rock bearing the rough
semblance of a human form stands at the entrance to this cave.
According to tradition, a mountain giant was once posted in this
grotto to keep watch over the region round about, and give the people
due notice of the approach of any foe. When an enemy drew near, he
gave the alarm; then, placing himself at the head of the natives,
attacked the foe with such strength and fury that he always secured
the victory for his country.
But a day finally came when the Swiss, who had never borne arms
except to defend themselves against the incursions of strangers,
suddenly found themselves unable to agree, and resorting to force,
began a civil war. Feeling strife in the air, the giant rushed out of his
cave to ascertain what was the matter. But when he beheld brother
armed against brother, saw the Swiss attack each other with rage, and
viewed their blood flow in torrents, he was so horror-struck that his cry
died on his lips, his blood froze in his veins, and he stood there
immovable, turned into stone! Ever since then, the petrified giant at
the entrance of the Dominican Cave is pointed out as an emblem of
patriotism and as a solemn warning against civil strife.

* * * * *
Mount Pilatus is said to have long been the home of countless little
gnomes who hid in every nook and crevice and under every stone.
These dwarfs were about eighteen inches high, and wore long green
mantles to conceal the fact that they had goose-shaped feet. Bright red
caps were jauntily perched on top of their snow-white hair, while long
beards of the same colour flowed down over their breasts. The gnomes
not only watched over the chamois, bounding from rock to rock, but
tended the fish sporting in the depths of the mountain streams, and
protected all game from the greed of wanton sportsmen.
These gnomes were so obliging that they cheerfully helped the
herdsmen watch and tend their cattle, milk the cows, make butter or
cheese, and in exchange for their manifold services merely required a
small bowlful of milk or cream. Gentle and helpful as long as they were
treated kindly, the gnomes were sure to revenge themselves upon any
mortals who ill-treated them or their protégés, or hurt their feelings by
trying to get a sight of their misshapen feet.
A rich peasant once pastured his cattle high up on the beautiful
Kastelnalp, on Mount Pilatus, where the grass was so rich that the cows
had to be milked three times a day. Magdalen, the only daughter of a
widowed cousin, once painfully made her way up to this alp to beg for
a little help for her sick mother, who had neither food nor medicine in
the house. The rich man, who had provisions in plenty, and who stored
away cheese after cheese in his cellars, nevertheless refused to help
his poor relatives, and sent Magdalen home empty-handed and in
tears.
Overtaken on her way down the mountain by a sudden thunder-
storm, the girl sought shelter in the hut of her lover, a herdsman to
whom she confided all her sorrows. A generous, noble-hearted fellow,
Alois no sooner heard of his sweetheart’s destitution and
disappointment than he ran to get a small cheese, the only food he had
in the house, and forced her to accept it for her starving mother. The
storm over, Magdalen set out again with lightened heart, but her foot
suddenly slipping on the wet grass, she let go the precious cheese,
which, bounding from rock to rock, rolled over the edge of a precipice,
into whose depths it disappeared.
Magdalen’s tears now flowed afresh; but while she sat there
wringing her hands in despair, she suddenly felt a twitch at her dress.
Looking down, she there beheld one of the tiny mountain spirits,
carrying a small cheese upon his shoulder, and holding a bundle of
medicinal herbs in his hand.
“Weep no longer,” the little man gently said. “The hard-hearted
owner of the Kastelnalp shall be duly punished for his refusal to help
you. In the meantime take these herbs, which will restore your
mother’s health, and I am sure both you and she will enjoy this
cheese.”
The little man then vanished, leaving his gifts behind him, and
Magdalen hastened joyfully home. Her first care was to prepare herb
tea for the patient, whose health was miraculously restored as soon as
she had tasted it. But when Magdalen tried to cut the cheese the kind-
hearted gnome had given her, she was amazed to find it was a solid
lump of pure gold! She and her mother were so rich with this treasure
that they soon purchased the Bründlisalp, where Magdalen and Alois, a
happy husband and wife, tended their flocks together.
As for the hard-hearted owner of the Kastelnalp, he was justly
punished for his lack of charity. The sudden rain-storm, loosening the
rocks above his pasture, started a landslide which covered his alp with
such a mass of loose stones that not a blade of grass has ever been
seen on it since. Besides this, a fragment of rock struck the owner as
he fled, and breaking both his legs, left him so badly crippled that he
never walked without crutches again.

* * * * *
 As picturesque as Mount Pilatus, although in a different way, and
far more accessible for pedestrians, the Rigi has long been a centre of
attraction for travellers from all parts of the world. Before the two
railways were built, which now carry passengers up to the mountain-
top in less than an hour and a half, ascensions were frequently made
on foot or on horseback. This climb was cheerfully undertaken in hopes
of enjoying the marvellous views obtainable from many points on the
mountain, and the vast panorama, with changing hues at sunset and
sunrise, which can best be seen from the mountain’s crest.

THE RIGI

The slopes of the Rigi are now all covered with orchards and rich
pastures, for although snow frequently falls on its summit even in mid-
summer, it never lingers there long, owing to the warm rays of the sun
striking directly upon it. There are countless points of interest to be
seen on this mountain, but the most characteristic of all its legends is
connected with the gushing spring of ice-cold water at Rigi-Kaltbad.
We are told that in the days when Austrian bailiffs still exercised
their tyranny over the land, three lovely sisters dwelt in the Arth valley
at the foot of the Rigi. Not content with despoiling these defenceless
maidens of all their worldly goods, the bailiff of Schwanau, although
aware that they loathed him, persecuted them with his unwelcome
attentions, and even attempted to rob them of their honour.
In their terror lest they should become victims of this evil man’s
lust, the sisters fled from Arth one night, and boldly rushed into the
dense forest which then covered all the slopes of the mountain. The
wild beasts abounding in that region seemed to these helpless maidens
far less to be dreaded than the human beast whose pursuit they were
trying to escape. They therefore bravely threaded their way up the Rigi
by the dim light of the stars, nor paused in their flight until they
reached a sheltered plateau high up on the mountain.
Exposed to the southern sun, and provided with a spring of
crystalline water flowing plentifully from the rocks near by, this place
seemed so remote from mankind, and so fitted by nature to serve as a
safe retreat, that the three sisters determined to spend the rest of their
lives there. They therefore built a little hut of bark stripped from the
trunks of fallen trees and of wattled branches, and gathering moss for
their beds, spent summer and winter there in utter seclusion. The
berries and edible roots collected on the mountain side were their only
food, while the sparkling water from the fountain served as their sole
beverage. In their gratitude for escaping from their cruel persecutor,
the sisters, who had always been remarkable for their piety, spent most
of their days and part of their nights in praising God for their
deliverance, fervently praying that they might live and die in the service
of their Maker.
Although entirely cut off from mankind,—for no one ever ventured
so far up the mountain then,—and notwithstanding the cold and the
other privations they had to endure, the sisters dwelt here year after
year, without a murmur over their hard fate. Such was their piety, that
the angels kept constant watch over them, and finally bore their sinless
souls to heaven, leaving three lambent flames to hover over their
tenantless bodies.
In the meantime no one knew what had become of the three girls
who had vanished so mysteriously from the Arth valley, and their
former friends, gazing up at Mount Rigi, little suspected that those
tender maidens were even then living like hermits far above their
heads. When the sisters died, however, the miraculous lights hovering
over their bodies were distinctly perceived from various parts of the
lake and valley, greatly rousing the curiosity of all who saw them. Night
after night the lights twinkled up there in undiminished brightness, until
the stars paled and the sun rose, flooding mountain, lake, and valley
with its golden beams.
Thinking some holy hermit must have built his cell up there, and
wishing to satisfy their curiosity as well as secure his blessing, some
herdsmen determined to make their way up the mountain in spite of
pathless forests and dense undergrowth. After a long and arduous
climb, they finally reached the plateau, where they were amazed to
find a hut showing signs of prolonged occupation, but now fast falling
into ruins. In searching for further traces of the supposed hermit, they
suddenly discovered the bodies lying side by side near the ever-flowing
spring, and beheld the three flames float slowly upward and vanish into
the blue sky.
Awed by this miracle, the herdsmen reverently buried the three
corpses, and over the spot where they rested, built a rustic chapel
which was first dedicated to the Virgin Mary and then to the archangel
St. Michael. A church now stands on this hallowed spot, which is
frequently visited by pilgrims, as well as by those who come to Rigi-
Kaltbad for health or for pleasure. The spring, which still gushes from
the rock, was long known as the Schwesternborn, in memory of the
pious sisters, whose sinless lives and death cast a glamour of romance
over that spot.

* * * * *
The ruins of the Castle of Schwanau, on the island of the same
name, in the Lake of Lowertz, at the foot of the Rigi, are connected
with the above legend, because here lived the cruel persecutor from
whom the pious sisters fled. Not content with driving these girls away
from home, the Lord of Schwanau once kidnapped a maiden from Arth,
whom he carried by force into this castle, where she vainly tried to
escape from his clutches. This lady, however, was not entirely destitute
of male protectors, and when her brothers heard how she had been
treated, they sallied forth in anger and slew her ravisher. Then calling
the freemen of Schwyz to their aid, they captured and destroyed the
castle, leaving it a mass of smoking ruins, with only one tower standing
to serve as a monument of the Lord of Schwanau’s crimes and of their
revenge.
It is said that although the cruel kidnapper was slain nearly six
hundred years ago, his spirit can still find no rest. Every year, at
midnight, on the anniversary of the day when the frantic girl rushed
wildly through the castle to escape his pursuit, a flash of lightning and
a deep roll of thunder herald his return to the scene of his crime.
Suddenly he appears in the midst of the ruins, where he stands,
quaking with fear, until a maiden, clad in white and bearing a flaming
torch, rushes out of the tower. Then the bailiff utters a blood-curdling
cry of terror, and turning, races madly from one part of the castle to
the other, closely pursued by his innocent victim. Over crumbling
stones, up and down the ruined tower, through former passages and
along ruined battlements, pursuer and pursued hasten with flying
steps, until, seeing no other hope of escape, the Lord of Schwanau,
with a last mad shriek, plunges from the parapet into the lake, whose
dark waters close with a dull splash over his head. Then the avenging
maiden vanishes, not to be seen again until the hour strikes when she
must once more sally forth to torture the bailiff for his heinous crime.

* * * * *
Another legend, also connected with the Lake of Lowertz, claims
that a church once stood very near the edge of the water. There, while
the women and children of the neighbourhood knelt within its holy
precincts, Sunday after Sunday, dutifully reciting their prayers, the men
sat on the church steps, smoking, drinking, and gambling. Such was
their lack of respect for religion and the divine service, that they even
swore out loud, and flung their dice down upon the stones with such
violence that the noise often drowned all sounds of prayer and praise.
These wicked men, who mocked at the priest whenever he tried to
make them change their evil ways, were, however, to be sorely
punished for their sacrilegious behaviour. One Sunday, while gambling
on the church steps as usual, a sudden storm swept over the little lake,
and before they could gather up their dice or scramble to their feet, a
huge wave swept right over their heads. At the same moment the
church sank down into the depths of the lake, where it still lies many
fathoms under water. Some of the local boatmen claim that the top of
the church spire can still be seen when the water is clear, and that at
the wonted hour for worship the bells can always be heard ringing a
soft and musical peal. Then the sound of prayer and praise becomes
faintly audible, and very keen ears can distinguish a rattle of dice and
muttered oaths. The women and children are said to be perfectly
happy in their endless adoration, but the men are compelled to
continue for ever the sacrilegious game which has become prolonged
and unbearable torture.

* * * * *
Leaving the city of Stanz and going up the Aa valley, toward the
Titlis, which forms the boundary between the cantons of Uri and Bern,
you pass Engelberg, and the Sürenenalp, of which the following
characteristic legends are told.
Count Conrad von Seldenbüren, in a moment of great danger,
made a solemn vow that he would build a monastery should he escape
unharmed. Saved from his imminent peril, he immediately prepared to
keep his promise, and with that purpose in view, set out with a number
of his friends and retainers to select a site for the projected building.
Riding along the valley, he drew rein from time to time to admire
the lovely landscape, and to inhale the perfumed breezes wafted down
from the surrounding mountains. There were so many charming spots
that Conrad, quite bewildered by the choice, finally breathed a fervent
inward prayer for divine guidance. Looking up a moment later, he
suddenly beheld an angel host sweep down through the blue sky. They
alighted on a neighbouring eminence, where the celestial choir intoned
a hymn of praise, their voices faintly reaching Conrad’s ear and filling
his heart with ineffable bliss.
The hymn ended, the angels again rose up into heaven; but
Conrad, overjoyed by the miracle vouchsafed him, loudly declared that
not only should the monastery be built on the hill upon which the
angels had rested, but that it should ever after be known as the
Engelberg, or Angels’ Mountain.
Founded in 1119, the Engelberg Abbey soon became rich and
prosperous, for the monks owned all the pastures around there, and
had so many head of cattle that they stored away countless cheeses in
their great cellars. The choicest of all their grazing grounds were,
however, on the Sürenenalp, where they sent their herdsmen with their
finest cattle.
One of these men is said to have developed a special affection for a
silvery-white sheep entrusted to his care, which followed him wherever
he went, and so became a great pet. His fondness for the creature
became such that he finally baptized it with holy water stolen from the
monastery chapel. He did this, hoping to preserve it from all harm; but
no sooner was the sacrilegious ceremony accomplished than the
silvery-fleeced sheep, transformed into a raging monster, fiercely
attacked shepherds and flocks, and drove them away from the rich
pastures. Such was the fear inspired by this creature—which no
weapon could wound—that the peasants, one and all, refused to
venture up the mountain, and even the much frequented Sürenen Pass
was entirely deserted.
The monks of Engelberg, unable to use their pastures themselves,
or to derive any income by renting them out to others, finally sold them
for a mere song to the people of Uri. The latter, thrifty in the extreme,
could not bear the thought that the fine grass on the Sürenenalp was
going to waste, so they tried various devices to kill or capture the
demoniacal sheep. Weapons, prayers, and exorcisms proving equally
unavailing, they finally bespoke the good offices of a travelling scholar,
who had studied the Black Art under no less capable an instructor than
Satan himself.
 After sundry liberal potations of the warm southern wine brought
by the Urners from Italy over the famous St. Gothard and Furka
passes, and after duly securing a pocketful of gold, the magician gave
the people minute directions, assuring them that if carefully carried out
they would settle the obnoxious sheep for ever.
By his directions, the Urners selected a snow-white bull, which was
fed with the milk of one cow during the first year, and with that of two
during the second. Increasing the rations of this animal at the rate of a
cow per year, the bull in the ninth year was consuming the entire
produce of nine cows, and had grown to a prodigious size.
The ninth year ended, a virgin from Attinghausen, carefully arrayed
in bridal white, was told to lead the chosen bull to the Sürenenalp. Her
little hand passed through the ring set in the bull’s nose, this maiden
slowly wended her way up the mountain, followed by the bull, which
obeyed her slightest touch. When they reached the choicest pasture,
the maiden suddenly let go her charge, for the monster sheep stood
very near and about to attack her. At the same moment the bull
thundered past her with lowered horns, and rushing toward the
christened sheep began a terrible fight. The mountain shook and
groaned beneath the trampling feet of the animals, which wrestled
together with locked horns, while black clouds loomed up over the
pasture, blotting out the bright sunshine, and making the air
oppressively hot and close.
The darkness soon grew so intense that the people in the valley
could no longer distinguish either trembling maiden or struggling
monsters. All at once a dazzling flash of lightning rent the black clouds
asunder, and it was instantly followed by a peal of thunder so loud and
prolonged that the peasants, ducking their heads between their knees
in terror, tightly closed their eyes.
When they again ventured to look up, they fairly gasped with
amazement, for the blue sky again arched above the alp, the storm
clouds were rapidly drifting away, and golden sunbeams flooded the
spot where bull and sheep had met.
No trace of cattle or maiden being visible, the peasants, after some
hesitation, timidly ventured up the mountain to see what had become
of both. On the grass they found a bloody and trampled mound of
flesh, which upon investigation proved to be the remains of the
accursed sheep, but the maiden had vanished for ever, leaving no
trace. On the banks of the Aawasser, quite near its source, they further
discovered the body of the snow-white bull, which, having drank too
greedily of the ice-cold waters while overheated from his exertions, had
met with a sudden but natural death.
Since then, the place where the bull expired has been known as
the Bull’s Stream, or the Steersbrook, and cows, sheep, and goats have
feasted unmolested upon the luscious pastures on the Sürenenalp.
Besides, in grateful recognition for the white bull’s services, the people
of Uri placed his head upon a shield, decreeing that ever after the head
of a bull should grace the official seal of the canton of Uri and form its
sole coat of arms.

* * * * *
At the northern extremity of the canton of Uri, and at the point
where the Lake of Lucerne makes a sudden southward bend, rises the
Seelisberg, renowned alike for its beautiful scenery and rich pastures.
Here once dwelt a peasant who, having won the good-will of the
mountain dwarfs, often received their help. The herdsman, in return for
their favours, lavished upon them the best of all he had, and when
called away by urgent business, often left them in charge of châlet and
herd.
The mountain dwarfs could always be trusted to see to everything,
provided the Föhn, or south wind, did not blow. But whenever the
breath of that strong wind swept over the glaciers, they one and all
crept far down into the bowels of the earth; whence they did not
emerge until it ceased to rage.
Once, while the herdsman was on the opposite side of the lake, the
Föhn suddenly broke loose with such fury that although he made
frantic efforts to cross the water, it was four whole days before the
waves subsided enough to enable him to return home. During all that
time the dwarfs had cowered down in the depths of the earth; so
nearly all the cattle had perished from hunger and thirst. When the
peasant entered his stables and saw this sad state of affairs, he tore
his hair, and in his despair even cursed his little friends. The latter, who
in ordinary times would have resented the slightest approach to bad
language, patiently bore all his reviling, and when he was somewhat
cooler, offered to teach him the art of making cheese from sweet milk.
This would enable him to use much produce generally lost because it
did not thicken in time for use.
The herdsmen, on hearing this offer, reluctantly admitted that if it
were possible to make cheese from sweet milk, he might yet retrieve
his fortunes. So the dwarfs bade him kill his old goat, showed him how
to curdle milk by using its stomach, as rennet, and taught him to make
the excellent cheese for which the Seelisberg is still noted. Thanks to
the secret revealed by the repentant dwarfs, the peasant soon became
rich again, and when he died at a good old age, he left behind him fine
pastures, countless heads of cattle, and the invaluable receipt which he
had learned from his little friends, and which his descendants still use.

* * * * *
In going over the Klausen Pass, and in crossing the boundary of the
cantons of Glarus and Uri, one is reminded of the famous old quarrel
concerning this frontier. Both cantons once claimed the best pastures
along it, and as the herdsmen often came to blows over this matter, it
was finally arranged to settle the dispute once for all.
The jury before whom the matter was laid, composed of the most
honest and influential citizens in both cantons, decreed that as the
matter could not be settled satisfactorily otherwise, it should be
decided by a race. According to their minute directions, each canton
was to select a cock and a champion. On an appointed day, at their
respective cocks’ first crow, these champions were to start from Altorf
and the Linth valley, and running with all their might, fix the boundary
line for ever on the spot where they finally met. This wise decree
pleased both cantons; cocks and champions were duly chosen, and the
day for the race was eagerly expected.
The people of Glarus, thinking their rooster would be most likely to
wake early if well fed and tended, lavished every care upon him, while
those of Uri kept theirs half starved, declaring he would sleep little if
hungry and thirsty.
When fall came and the time appointed for the race, the Urner’s
conjectures proved correct, for their skinny rooster awoke at the very
first gleam of dawn. His hoarse crow had scarcely been uttered, when
their champion set out from Altorf for his race to the frontier.
Over in Glarus, however, matters were less promising, for while all
the people of the Linth valley stood in expectant silence around their
cock, he slept on and on, until all the changing tints of dawn had
coloured the sky in turn, and the sun rose triumphant above the
horizon. Then he gave a lusty crow; but although the Glarus champion
ran his best, he had set out so long after his rival that he soon saw him
coming rapidly down the Grat.
When they met, the Urner triumphantly cried: “Here is the
boundary!”
But the Glarner, pleading for his community, said: “Neighbour, I
pray thee, be so just as to grant me a bit of the fine pasture land thou
hast acquired by good luck.”
At first the Urner would not consent, but as his antagonist
continued to plead with gentle importunity, he finally exclaimed: “Well,
friend, thou shalt have as much ground as thou canst carry me over!”
The overjoyed man from Glarus now picked up his opponent, and
although the latter was heavy, and the road led up a steep hill, toiled
valiantly onward until he sank down lifeless far up the slope. By his
heroic efforts this man thus won a considerable piece of pasture land
for his fellow-citizens, who, in grateful memory of his efforts in their
behalf, buried him on the spot where he fell, and still speak of his feat
of strength with wonder and admiration.

* * * * *
The marvellous St. Gothard Railway, which cost ten years of
persistent labour, crosses almost countless tunnels and bridges, and
gives the traveller an opportunity to see some of the finest and wildest
scenery in the world. At Altorf it passes the Capuchin Monastery, in
connection with which the following story is told.
The monks, in olden times, lived on a very friendly footing with the
people all around there, until one of them, meeting a pretty girl on a
lonely path, declared he must have the bunch of Alpine flowers she
wore on her breast, and a kiss besides. The peasant maiden, who had
picked the flowers for her lover, and who was far from expecting such
behaviour on the part of one of the monks, gave a loud shriek when he
attempted to secure the bouquet and salute her by force.
At the same instant the ground shook, a wide crevice appeared,
whence rose a cloud of smoke. Then a slip knot suddenly closed
around the neck of the monk, who was dragged down into the abyss,
which closed over him with an ominous crash! Since then, if we are to
believe the chronicles, no monk from the Capuchin convent has ever
dared raise his eyes to any of the girls of the town, or to exchange
even a conventional greeting with them.

* * * * *
One of the tunnels crossed by the railroad, is near a ravine which is
known as the Pfaffensprung or the Monk’s Leap, and owes its name to
the following legend. A wicked monk once kidnapped a young girl, and
was fleeing with her through the mountains, when he suddenly
discovered that he was pursued. To escape from his would-be captors,
and retain possession of the girl he had carried off, this monk ran to
the edge of the Reuss. There, seizing her in his arms, he took a
desperate leap, and—helped by the Devil—landed safely on the other
side! According to some versions of the story, the monk was none other
than the Evil One himself, for it is claimed no one else could have
leaped across a chasm which measures no less than twenty-two feet at
this place.

* * * * *
The old-fashioned stage road which winds its way over the St.
Gothard, passes through Schoellenen, Goeschenen (the entrance to the
St. Gothard tunnel), and over the new Devil’s Bridge. This is built
across the Reuss at a point where steep rocks tower above and below
it on all sides, and where the scenery is extremely wild and impressive.
From the new bridge one can see the remains of a more ancient
structure, of which the following legend is told, as well as of all old
bridges built in dangerous or difficult places, such as that of Pont-la-
Ville over the Sarine in Fribourg, and the one in the ravine of the Morge
in the Valais.
Already in very olden times the people of Uri had discovered that if
they could only establish a safe road over the St. Gothard mountain
they would be able to earn many a penny by trading with Italy. They
therefore spared neither pains nor expense, and built one foot after
another of the road, even piercing the hard rock in one spot to make
what is still known as the Urner Loch, or Hole of Uri. Countless
apparently insurmountable obstacles were gradually overcome, and the
road, which had been begun on both sides of the mountain, was
rapidly drawing close together near the banks of Reuss. There,
however, the builders paused appalled on either bank, for it seemed
quite impossible to bridge the awful chasm near the falls.
A meeting was therefore called at Goeschenen, where, although
there was no lack of talking, smoking, and drinking, no satisfactory
decision could be reached. A stranger, clad in black, with broad-
brimmed hat and bold heron feather, sat at a neighbouring table and
listened attentively to this discussion. Finally, seeing the meeting about
to break up, he drew near the talkers, and taking a seat beside the
principal magistrate in front of the fire, announced that he was a
famous builder, and could span the stream before morning. He even
offered to show them a fine bridge there at dawn, on the next day,
provided they were willing to pay his price.
One and all now exclaimed that nothing he could ask would seem
too much, so the stranger in black quickly responded,—
“Very well, then, it is a bargain! To-morrow you shall have your
bridge, but in payment I shall claim the first living creature which
passes over it. Here is my hand upon it!”
 Saying these words, he seized the hand of the astonished
magistrate beside him, and before any one could add another word,
disappeared. The people gazed at one another in silence for a moment,
then made furtive signs of the cross. As soon as the chief magistrate
could speak, he loudly declared the stranger must be his Satanic
Majesty in person! In support of this assertion, he declared that the
stranger, while sitting in front of the fire, had boldly thrust his feet right
into the red-hot coals, where he kept them while talking, as if the heat
were agreeable to him; and added that he had distinctly felt sharp
claws when the man in black shook hands with him to close the
bargain.
All now shuddered with fear, and a general wail of terror arose. But
a tailor who was present at the meeting, promptly bade his fellow-
citizens fear naught, for he would settle the bill with their architect on
the morrow. This offer was gladly accepted, the meeting was speedily
dissolved, and all hastened home, because none of them cared to be
out after dark while still under the spell of their recent encounter with
the Spirit of Evil. That night no one slept in the neighbourhood, for
although the sky had been clear when they went to bed, a sudden
storm arose and raged with fury until morning.
Amid the roll of thunder, incessant flashes of vivid lightning, and
violent gusts of wind, they heard the splitting and falling of rocks,
which seemed to roll all the way down the steep mountain side and
crash into the valley. But when morning came, no signs of storm were
left, and as soon as the sun had risen and they again dared venture
out, all rushed forth in a body to see what had happened. When they
drew near the Reuss, they could not sufficiently express their wonder
and admiration, for a fine stone bridge arched boldly over the swift
stream.
On the opposite side stood the black-garbed stranger, grinning
fiendishly and encouraging the people by word and gesture to test his
bridge by walking across it. Just then the tailor appeared, carrying a
large bag. He advanced as if to cross first, but instead of setting foot
upon the structure, deftly opened his bag, from which escaped rats and
mice, closely followed by a few cats.
 The Devil, for it was he, gave a yell of rage when he saw himself
thus outwitted, and, forgetting the part he had played until then, cast
off his disguise and ran down Goeschenen for a huge rock, which he
intended to hurl at the bridge so as to wreck it entirely before any
other living creature could cross.
On his way back, however, Satan met a little old woman, who,
frightened by his black looks, made a sign of the cross which caused
him to drop his burden and beat a hasty retreat into his own realm. To
this day, however, the people still point out the huge boulder in which
the marks of Satan’s claws are still visible, and which is known as the
Devil’s Stone.
 THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE.

According to another version, the Devil no sooner saw himself

outwitted than he seized handfuls of rock which he hurled at the
bridge. But these missiles were all deflected by a cross which the tailor
planted in the middle of the structure as soon as the animals reached
the other side. These big stones now lie scattered in the bed of the
Reuss, and around the pillars of the bridge, where, to the Devil’s
constant chagrin, they only serve to strengthen his construction.
To avenge himself in a slight measure, however, the Evil One
posted one of his own imps in this valley. When travellers pass, this
demon pounces down upon them unseen, snatches their hats off their
heads, and with a slight mocking whistle tosses them into the middle of
the stream. This imp, known as the Hat Fiend, or Hut Schelm, still
haunts the valley, although centuries have passed since the Devil
played the part of engineer for the people of Uri.
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