Читать книгу: «The Valleys of Tirol: Their traditions and customs and how to visit them», страница 11

A more familiar sight to an English eye is the seat-filled area of the German churches. Confessedly it is one of the home associations which one least cares to see reproduced, but the pews of the German churches are less objectionable than our own; they are lower, and not so crowded, and ample space is always left for processions, so they interfere far less with the architectural design.

CHAPTER VII.
NORTH TIROL – UNTERINNTHAL (RIGHT INN-BANK).
EXCURSIONS FROM SCHWATZ

‘Partout où touche votre regard vous rencontrez au fond sous la forme qui passe, un mystère qui demeure … chacun des mystères de ce monde est la figure, l’image de celui du monde supérieur; de sorte que tout ce que nous pouvons connaître dans l’ordre de la nature est la révélation même de l’ordre divin.’ – Chevé, Visions de l’Avenir.

Falkenstein, which may be reached by a short walk from Schwatz, is worth visiting on account of the information it affords as to the mode of working adopted in the old mines both of silver and copper. This was the locality where the greatest quantity of silver was got; it was particularly noted also for the abundance and beauty of the malachite, found in great variety and richness of tints; the turquoise was found also, but more rarely. The old shaft runs first horizontally for some two miles, and then sinks in two shafts to a depth of some two hundred and thirty fathoms. The engineering and hydraulic works seem to have been very ingenious, but the description of them does not come within the sphere of my present undertaking. It does, however, to observe that over this, as over everything else in Tirol, religion shed its halo. The miners had ejaculatory prayers, which it was their custom to utter as they passed in and out of their place of subterranean toil; and an appropriate petition for every danger, whether from fire-damp, land-slips, defective machinery, or other cause. Their greeting to each other, and to those they met by the way, in place of the national ‘Gelobt sei Jesus Christus,’ was ‘Gott gebe euch Glück und Segen!’¹²⁴ For their particular patron they selected the Prophet Daniel, whose preservation in the rocky den of the lions, as they had seen it portrayed, seemed to bear some analogy with their own condition. Of their liberality in church-building I have already spoken; but many are the churches and chapels that bear the token – a crossed chisel and hammer on a red field – of their contribution to its expense.

There are many other walks to be made from Schwatz. First there is Buch, so called from the number of beech-trees in the neighbourhood, which afford pleasant shade, and diversify the scenery, in which the castle of Tratzberg across the Inn¹²⁵ also holds an important part. Further on is Margareth, surrounded by rich pastures, which are watered by the foaming Margarethenbach. Then to the south-east is Galzein, with a number of dependent ‘groups of houses,’ particularly Kugelmoos, the view from which sweeps the Inn from Kufstein to Innsbruck. Beyond, again, but further south, is the Schwaderalpe, whence the iron worked and taken in depôt at Schwatz is got; and the Kellerspitze, with the little village of Troi, its twelve houses perched as if by supernatural handiwork on the spur of a rock, and once nearly as prolific as Falkenstein in its yield of silver. The exhausted – deaf (taub) as it is expressively qualified in German – borings of S. Anthony and S. Blaze are still sometimes explored by pedestrians.

Arzburg also is within an hour’s walk. It was once rich in copper ore, but is now comparatively little worked. Above it is the Heiligenkreuzkapelle, about which it is told, that when, on occasion of the baierische-Rumpel¹²⁶ in 1703, the bridge of Zirl was destroyed, the cross which surmounted it being carried away by the current, was here rescued and set up by the country-people, who still honour it by frequent pilgrimages.

Starting again from Schwatz by the high-road, which follows pretty nearly the course of the Inn, you pass a succession of small towns, each of which heads a valley, to which it gives its name, receiving it first from the torrent which through each pours the aggregate of the mountain streams into the river, all affording a foot-way through the Duxerthal into the further extremity of the Zillerthal – Pill, Weer, Kolsass, Wattens, and Volders.

First, there is Pill, a frequent name in Tirol, and derived by Weber from Bühl or Büchl, a knoll; it is the wildest and most enclosed of any of these lateral valleys, and exposed to the ravages of the torrent, which often in winter carries away both bridges and paths, and makes its recesses inaccessible even to the hardy herdsmen. The following story may serve to show how hardy they are: – Three sons of a peasant, whose wealth consisted in his grazing rights over a certain tract of the neighbouring slopes, were engaged one day in gathering herbage along the steep bank for the kids of their father’s flock. The steep must have been difficult indeed on which they were afraid to trust mountain kids to cater for themselves; and the youngest of the boys was but six, the eldest only fifteen. The eldest lost his balance, and was precipitated into the roaring torrent, just then swollen to unusual proportions; he managed to cling fast behind one of the rocky projections which mark its bed, but his strength was utterly unable to bear him out of the stream. The second brother, aged ten, without hesitating, embraced the risk of almost certain death, let himself down the side of the precipice by clinging to the scanty roots which garnished its almost perpendicular side. Arrived at the bottom, he sprang with the lightness of a chamois across the foaming waters on to the rock where the boy was now slackening his exhausted hold, and succeeded in dragging him up on to the surface; but even there there seemed no chance of help, far out of sound as they were of all human ears. But the youngest, meantime, with a thoughtfulness beyond his years, had made his way home alone, and apprised the father, who readily found the means of rescuing his offspring.

The break into the Weerthal is at some little distance from the high road; its church, situated on a little high-level plain, is surrounded with fir-trees. A little lake is pointed out, of which a similar legend is told to ‘the judgment of Achensee,’ which is indeed one not infrequently met with; it is said that it covers a spot where stood a mighty castle, once submerged for the haughtiness of its inhabitants, and the waters placed there that no one might again build on the site for ever. The greatest ornament of the valley is the rambling ruin of Schloss Rettenberg, on its woody height, once a fortress of the Rottenburgers; afterwards it passed to Florian Waldauf, whose history I have already given when speaking of Hall.¹²⁷ It was bought by the commune in 1810, and the present church built up out of the materials it afforded, the former church having been burnt down that year. The old site and its remains are looked upon by the people as haunted by a steward of the castle and his wife, who in the days of its prosperity dealt hardly with the widow and the orphan, and must now wander sighing and breathing death on all who come within their baleful influence. A shepherd once fell asleep in the noontide heat, while his sheep were browsing on the grass-grown eminence. When he woke, they were no longer in sight; at last he found them dead within the castle keep. ‘Guard thy flock better,’ shouted a hoarse voice, ‘for this enclosure is mine, and none who come hither escape me.’ None ventured within the precincts after this; but many a time those who were bold enough to peep through a fissure in the crazy walls reported that they had seen the hard-hearted steward as a pale, weary, grey-bearded man, sit sighing on the crumbling stones.

The Kolsassthal merges into the Weerthal and is hardly distinguished from it, and affords a sort of counterpart, though on more broken ground, to the Gnadenwald on the opposite side of the river. It is from this abundance of shady woods that its name is derived, through the old German kuol, cool, and sazz, a settlement. In the church, the altar-piece of the Assumption is by Zoller. The church of Wattens has an altar-piece by a more esteemed Tirolean artist, Schöpf; it represents S. Laurence, to whom the church is dedicated. The many forges busily at work making implements of agriculture, nails, &c., keep you well aware of the thrift and industry of the place; its prosperity is further supported by a paper manufactory, which has always remained in the hands of the family which started it in 1559, and supplies the greater part of Tirol. A self-taught villager, Joseph Schwaighofer, enjoyed some reputation here a few years ago as a guitar maker. The Wattenserthal, like the Kolsassthal, is also very woody, and contains some little settlements of charcoal-burners; but it is also diversified by a great many fertile glades, which are diligently sought out for pasture. At Walchen, where a few shepherds’ huts are clustered at the confluence of two mountain streams, the valley is broken into two branches – one, Möls, running nearly due south into the Navisthal, by paths increasing in difficulty as you proceed; the other, Lizumthal, by the south-east to Hinterdux, passing at the Innerlahn the so-called ‘Blue Lake,’ of considerable depth.¹²⁸

Following the road again, Volders is reached at about a mile from Wattens. As at the latter place, your ears are liberally greeted with the sounds of the smithy. Volders has quite a celebrity for its production of scythes; some ten or twelve thousand are said to be exported annually. The Post Inn affords tolerable quarters for a night or two while exploring the neighbourhood.

The prolific pencil of Schöpf has provided the church with an altar-piece of the Holy Family; though an ancient foundation, it does not present any object of special interest.

The Voldererthal runs beneath some peaks dear to Alpine climbers, the Grafmarterspitz, the Glunggeser, the Kreuzjoch, and the Pfunerjoch. Its entrance is commanded by the castles of Hanzenheim, sometimes called Starkelberg, from having belonged to a family of that name, and used as a hospital during the campaign of 1809; and Friedberg, which is still inhabited, having been carefully restored by the present owner, Count Albert von Cristalnigg. It was originally built in the ninth or tenth century, as a tower to guard the bridge; it gave its name to a powerful family, who are often mentioned in the history of Tirol. At the end of the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth centuries, it was one of the castles annexed by Friedrich mit der leeren Tasche. It contains also the Voldererbad, a mineral spring, which is much visited, but more conveniently reached by way of Windegg than through the valley itself.

In the Voldererwald is a group of houses, Aschbach by name, which belongs ecclesiastically to the parish of Mils, on the opposite side; and the following story is given to account for the anomaly: – At the time when the territory of Volders belonged parochially to Kolsass (it must have been before the year 1630, as it was that year formed into an independent parish), the neighbourhood was once ravaged by the plague. A farmer of Aschbach being stricken by it, sent to beg the spiritual assistance of the priest of Kolsass. The priest attended to the summons; but when he reached the threshold of the infected dwelling, and saw what a pitiable sight the sick man presented, his fears got the better of his resolution, and he could not prevail on himself to enter the room. Not to leave his penitent entirely without comfort, however, he exhorted him to repentance, heard his confession, and absolved him from where he stood; and then uncovering the sacred Host, bid him gaze on it in a spirit of faith, and assured him he should thereby receive all the benefit of actual Communion. The visit thus completed, he hurried back to Kolsass in all speed. Meantime the sick man, not satisfied with the office thus performed, sent for the priest of Mils, who, supported by apostolic charity, approached him without hesitation, and administered the sacred mysteries. Contrary to all expectation, the farmer recovered, resumed his usual labours, and in due course garnered his harvest. In due course also came round the season for paying his tithe. With commendable punctuality the farmer loaded his waggon with the sacred tribute, and started alacritously on the way to Kolsass. Any one who watched him might have observed a twinkle of his eye, which portended some unusual dénouement to the yearly journey. As he approached Kolsass the twinkle kindled more humorously, and the oxen felt the goad applied more vigorously. The pastor of Kolsass turned out to see the waggon approaching at the unusual pace, and was already counting the tempting sheaves of golden corn. To his surprise, however, his frolicsome parishioner wheeled round his team before he brought it to a stand, and then cried aloud, ‘Gaze, Father! yes, gaze in faith on the goodly sight, and believe me, your faith shall stand you in stead of the actual fruition!’ With that he drove his waggon at the same pace at which he had come, straight off to the pastor of Mils, at whose worthy feet he laid the tithe. And this act of ‘poetical justice’ was ratified by ecclesiastical authority as a censure on the pusillanimity of the priest of Kolsass, by the transfer of the tithing of Aschbach to the parish of Mils. I have met a counterpart of this story both in England and in Spain; so true is it, as Carlyle has prettily said, that though many traditions have but one root they grow, like the banyan, into a whole overarching labyrinth.

The stately Serviten-kloster outside Volders suggests another adaptation of this metaphor. From the root of one saint’s maxims and example, what an ‘over-arching labyrinth’ of good works will grow up and spread over and adorn the face of the earth, even in the most distant parts. In the year 1590 there was born at Trent a boy named Hyppolitus Guarinoni, who was destined to graft upon Tirol the singular virtues of St. Charles Borromeo. Attached early to the household of the saintly Archbishop of Milan, Guarinoni grew up to embody in action his spirit of devotion and charity. By St. Charles’s advice and assistance he followed the study of medicine, and took his degree in his twenty-fifth year. Shortly after, he was appointed physician in ordinary to the then ruler of Tirol, Archduke Ferdinand II. His fervent piety marked him as specially fit to be further entrusted with the sanitary care of the convent founded some years before by the Princesses Magdalen, Margaret, and Helena, Ferdinand’s sisters, at Hall, and called the Königliche Damenstift.¹²⁹ All the time that was left free by these public engagements he spent by the bedsides of the poor of the neighbourhood. The care of the soul ever accompanied his care for their bodies, and many a wanderer owed his reconciliation with heaven to his timely exhortations. Just about this time the incursions of the new doctrines were making themselves felt in this part of Tirol, and some localities, which from their remoteness were out of the way of regular parochial ministrations, were beginning to listen to them. Guarinoni discovered this in the course of his charitable labours, for which no outlying Sennerhütte was inaccessible. In 1628 he obtained special leave, though a layman, from the Bishop of Brixen, to preach in localities which had no resident pastor; he further published a little work which he used to distribute among the people, designed to show them how many corporal infirmities are induced by neglect of the whole-some maxims of religion. Besides the restored unity of the faith in his country, two other monuments of his piety remain: the Church of St. Charles by the bridge of Volders, and the Sanctuary of Judenstein. In his moments of leisure it was his favourite occupation to commit to writing for the instruction of posterity the traditional details of the life of St. Nothburga, and of the holy child Andreas of Rinn, which were at his date even more rife in the mouths of the peasantry of the neighbourhood than at present. He only died in 1654, having devoted himself to these good works for nearly half a century.

The church by which he endeavoured to bring under observation and imitation the distinguishing qualities of St. Charles, was erected on a spot famous in the Middle Ages as a bandit’s den; the building occupied thirty-four years, and was consecrated but a short time before his death. Baron Karl von Fieger, from whom he bought the site, a few years later added to it the Servite monastery, which, though it exhibits all the vices of the architecture of its date, yet bears tokens that its imperfections are not due to any stint of means. Its three cupolas and other structural arrangements are designed in commemoration of the Holy Trinity – a mystery which is held in very special honour throughout Austria. In the decorations, later benefactors have carried on Guarinoni’s intention, the acts of St. Charles being portrayed in the frescoes, completed in 1764, by which Knoller has earned some celebrity in the world of art for himself and for the church: they display his conversion from the stiffer German style of his master, Paul Trogger, to the Italian manner. That over the entrance conveys a tradition of St. Charles, predicting to Guarinoni, while his page, that he would one day erect a church in his honour; that of the larger cupola is an apotheosis of the saint. The picture of the high-altar sets forth the saint ministering to the plague-stricken; it is Knoller’s boldest attempt at colouring.

Near the entrance door may be observed a considerable piece of rock built into the wall, entitled by the people ‘Stein des Gehorsams,’¹³⁰ its history being that at the time when the church was building it was detached from the rock above by a landslip, and threatened the workmen with destruction. Its course was arrested at the behest of a pious monk, who was overseeing the works.¹³¹

After passing the Servitenkloster a footpath may easily be found which leads to Judenstein and Rinn, the seat of one of the much-contested mediæval beliefs accusing the Jews of the sacrifice of Christian children. It may be better, in describing this stem of this banyan, to visit Rinn the further place first, and take Judenstein on our way back. The country traversed is well wooded, and further diversified by the bizarre outlines of the steeples of Hall seen across the river, while the mighty Glunggeser-Spitz rises 7,500 feet above you. It invites a visit for its amenity and its associations, though the relics of the infant Saint ‘Anderle’ are no longer there. His father died, it would seem, while he was a child in arms; his mother earned her living in the fields, and while she was absent used to leave her boy at Pentzenhof in charge of his godfather, Mayr. One day, when he was about three years old – it was the 12th July 1462 – she was cutting corn, when suddenly she saw three drops of blood upon her hand without any apparent means of accounting for the token, one with which many superstitions were connected.¹³² Her motherly instincts were alarmed, and, without an instant’s consideration, she threw down her sickle and hurried home. A little field-chapel to St. Isidor the husbandman, St. Nothburga, and St. Andrew of Rinn, was subsequently built upon this spot. Arrived at Mayr’s house, the forebodings of her anxious heart were redoubled at not finding her darling playing about as he was wont. The faithless godfather, taken by surprise at her unexpected return, only stammered broken excuses in answer to her reiterated inquiries. At last he exclaimed, thinking to calm her frenzy, ‘If he is not here, here is something better – a hat full of golden pieces, which we will share between us.’ He took down his hat, but to his consternation instead of finding it heavy with its golden contents, there was nothing in it but withered leaves! At this sight he was overcome with fear and horror; his speech forsook him, and his senses together, and he ended his days raving mad.

The distracted mother, meantime, pursued her inquiries and perquisitions; but all she could learn was that certain Jews,¹³³ returning from their harvesting at Botzen, had over-tempted Mayr by their offers and persuaded him to sell the child to them, but with the assurance that he should come to no harm. Little reassured by the announcement, she ran madly into the neighbouring birchwood, whither she had learned they had bent their steps, and there came upon the lifeless body of her treasure, hanging bloodless and mangled from a tree. A large stone near bore traces of having been used as a sacrificial stone, and the clothes, which had been rudely torn off, lay scattered about; the many wounds of his tender form showed by how cruel a martyrdom he had been called to share in the massacre of the Innocents.

His remains were tenderly gathered and laid to rest, and his memory held in affection by all the neighbourhood; nevertheless, though there were many signs of the supernatural connected with the event, it did not receive all the veneration it might have been expected to call forth.

About ten years later a similar event occurred at Trent, and the remains of the infant S. Simeon were treated with so great honour that the people of Rinn were awakened to an appreciation of the treasure they had suffered to lie in their churchyard almost unheeded.¹³⁴ The Emperor Maximilian I. contemplated building a church over the spot where the martyrdom occurred, hence call Judenstein. His intentions were frustrated by the knavery of the builder, and only a small chapel was built at this time; and though on occasion of its consecration the relics of the child martyr were carried thither in solemn procession, they were still for some time after preserved at Rinn. It was Hippolitus Gruarinoni to whom the honour is due of saving the spot from oblivion. The chisel of the Tirolese sculptor Nissl has set forth in grotesque design a group of Jews fulfilling their fearful deed. A portrait of Gruarinoni was likewise hung up there. The relics were translated thither with due solemnity in 1678. An afflux of pilgrims was immediately attracted, and the numerous tablets which crowd the walls attest the estimation in which it has been held. Then the people began to remember the wonders that had surrounded it. The ghost of Godfather Mayr, which for two centuries had been frequently met howling through the woods, now seemed to have found its rest, for it was never more seen or heard. And they recalled how a beautiful white lily, with strange letters on its petals, had bloomed spontaneously on the holy infant’s grave;¹³⁵ that when a wilful boy, Pögler by name, snapped the stem while they were still pondering what the unknown letters might mean, he had his arm withered; and further that for generations after, every Pögler had died an untimely or a violent death. How in like manner, for seven consecutive winters, the birch-tree, on which the innocent child’s body was hung by his persecutors, put forth fresh green sprouts as if in spring, and how when a thoughtless woodman one day hewed it down for a common tree, it happened that he met with a terrible accident on his homeward way, whereof he died. It may well be imagined that where such legends prevailed Jews obtained little favour; so that to the present day it is said there is but few Jew families settled among them, though they are numerous and influential in other parts of the Austrian dominion.¹³⁶

Another memory yet of Hippolitus Guarinoni lingers in the neighbourhood. By a path which branches off near Judenstein to the left (going from Volders and following the stream), the Volderbad is reached; a sulphur spring discovered and brought into notice by him, and now much frequented in summer, perhaps as much for its pleasant mountain breezes as for the medicinal properties of the waters.

There is another interesting excursion which should be followed before reaching Innsbruck, but it is more easily made from Hall than from Volders, though still on the right bank of the Inn. The first village on it is Ampass, a walk of about four miles from Hall through the most charming scenery; it is so called simply as being situated on a pass between the hills traversed on the road to Hall. Then you pass the remains of the former seat of the house of Brandhausen; and following the road cut by Maria Theresa through the Wippthal to facilitate the commerce in wine and salt between Matrei and Hall, you pass Altrans and Lans, having always the green heights of the Patscherkofl smiling before you, an easy ascent for those who desire to practise climbing, from Lans, where the Wilder Mann affords possible quarters for a night.¹³⁷ A path branching off from the Mattrei road leads hence to Sistrans, a village whose church boasts of having been embellished by Claudia de’ Medici. Its situation is delightful; the green plain is strewed with fifteen towns and villages, including Hall and Innsbruck, and behind these rise the great range of alps, while on the immediate foreground is the tiny Lansersee which will afford excellent Forellen for luncheon. The bed of this same Lansersee, it is said, was once covered with a flourishing though not extensive forest, its wood the only substance of a humble peasant, who had received it from his fathers. A nobleman living near took a fancy to the bit of forest ground, but instead of offering to purchase it, he endeavoured to set up some obsolete claim in a court of law. The judge, afraid to offend the powerful lord, decided in his favour. The poor man heard the sentence with as much grief at the dishonour done to his forefathers’ honour as distress at his own ruin. ‘There is no help for me on earth, I know,’ said the poor man. ‘I have no money to make an appeal. I may not contend in arms with one of noble blood. But surely He who sitteth in heaven, and who avenged Naboth, will not suffer this injustice. As for me, my needs are few; I refuse not to work; the sweat of my brow will bring me bread enough; but the inheritance of my fathers which I have preserved faithfully as I received it from them, shall it pass to another?’ and in the bitterness of his soul he wept and fell asleep; but as he slept in peace a mighty roaring sound disturbed the slumbers of the unjust noble; it seemed to him in his dream as though the foundations of his castle were shattered and the floods passing over them. When they awoke in the morning the forest was no more to be seen – a clear calm lake mirrored the justice of heaven, and registered its decree that the trees of the poor man should never enrich the store of his unscrupulous neighbour.

Sistrans was once famous for a champion wrestler who had long carried off the palm from all the country round; but like him of Schwatz, he was not content with his great natural strength; he was always afraid a stronger than he might arise and conquer him in turn; and so he determined to put himself beyond the reach of another’s challenge. To effect this he arranged with great seeming devotion to serve the Mass on Christmas night; and while the priest’s eye was averted, laid a second wafer upon the one that he had had laid ready. The priest, suspecting nothing, consecrated as usual; and then at the moment of the Wandlung, when the priest was absorbed in the solemnity of his act, as he approached to lift the chasuble he stealthily abstracted the Host he had surreptitiously laid on the altar. The precious talisman carefully concealed, he bound it on his arm the instant Mass was over; and from that day forth no one could stand against him. And not only this, but he had power too in a multitude of other ways. Had anyone committed a theft, it needed but to consult our wrestler; if he began saying certain words and walking solemnly along, immediately, step by step, were he far or near, the thief, wherever he was, was bound by secret and resistless impulse to tread as he trod, and bring back the booty to the place whence he had taken it. Was anyone’s cattle stricken with sickness, it needed but to call our wrestler; a few words solemnly pronounced, and the touch of his potent arm, sufficed to restore the beast to perfect health. Moreover, no bird could escape his snare, no fox or hare or chamois outrun him for swiftness.

Thus all went well; he had played a bold stake, and had won his game. But at last the time came for him to die. Weary of his struggles, and even of his successes, our wrestler would fain have laid his head to rest under the soft green turf of the field of peace, by the wayside of those who pass in to pray, and lulled by the sound of the holy bells. But in vain he lay in his bed; death came not. True, there were all his symptoms in due force – the glazed eye and palsied tongue and wringing agony; but for all that he could not die. At last, the priest, astonished at what he saw, asked him if he had not on his conscience some sin weighty above the wont, and so moved him to a sense of penance that he confessed his impiety with tears of contrition; and it was not till he had told all, and the priest had received the sacred particle he had misused, that, shriven and blessed, his soul could depart in peace. There is a spot outside Sistrans called the Todsünden-marterle, but whether it has any connection with this tradition, or whether it has one of its own, I have not been able to learn.

A couple of hours further is the pilgrimage chapel of Heiligenwasser, which is much visited both by the pious and the valetudinarian. Its history is that in 1606 two shepherd boys keeping their father’s herd upon the mountains lost two young kine. In vain they sought them through the toilful path and beneath the burning sun; the kine were nowhere to be found. At last in despair of any further labour proving successful, they fell on their knees and prayed with tears for help from above. Then a bright light fell upon them, and the Gnadenmutter appeared beside them, and bid them be of good cheer, for the cattle were gone home to their stall; moreover she added, ‘Drink, children, for the day is hot, and ye are weary with wandering.’ ‘Drink!’ exclaimed the famished children, ‘where shall we find water? there is no water near!’ but even as they spoke the Gnadenmutter was taken from their sight, but in the place where the light surrounding her had shone there welled up a clear and bubbling stream between the rocks, which has never ceased to flow since. The boys went home, but had not the courage to tell how great a favour had been bestowed on them; yet they never went by that way without turning to give glory to God, and say a prayer beneath the holy spring.