The Spirit of the Zirl Usurer

Beneath the Solstein, which stands over 9000 feet high, and upon whose

summit on certain Thursdays the witches are said to dance, is situated

a dreadful chasm, which takes its name from the charming village of

Zirl, which lies at the foot of the mountain, and has more the aspect

of a little town than an Alpine village. There once lived a wealthy

miller, a noted usurer, who amassed no end of unjustly gained money,

and, as after his death none of his wealth was restored to those whom

he had defrauded, his spirit was condemned to the depths of the chasm,

where he suffered indescribable torments, and often during the night

his screams have been heard crying, “Help, help me!”

About twenty years ago, two merry gazelle hunters were walking in the

night from the village of Soln, over the Schützensteig, on their way

to Hötting, and, as it became very dark, they resolved to pass the

night above the Zirl chasm, for fear of falling, in the darkness, over

some precipice, or meeting with any other accident. They lighted a

large fire, and during the night they heard somebody call out, “Help,

help me.” The two men immediately thought some one had fallen down the

precipice, and one of them shouted, “Have patience, for the night is

too dark for us to venture down the gully, but to-morrow we will help

you out.” In the early dawn they set off to hunt for a track by which

to descend the precipice to the rescue of the unfortunate traveller.

On their way they met the shepherd of Soln, and told him of their

night’s adventure, and, as they recounted it to him, he said, “There

you may look in vain, for this call comes not from a lost traveller,

but from the wicked miller;” and he then told them all he knew about

the wretched money usurer. Many people of Zirl have also heard these

frightful screams for help, first in one place and then in another, for

the chasm is dreadfully deep and long. In the very depth of it, and at

the foot of the Solstein, lies the Graupenloch, where a roaring torrent

forms a high cascade, and fills the chasm with the roar of thunder,

and even to this day nobody has ever dared to descend to this spot.

There sits the spirit of the miserable usurer, howling, with chattering

teeth, in his freezing torment.