Near the Aletsch Glacier, there is said to have once stood a little wooden cottage, blackened by age. That is where Old Schmidja lived. She prayed often for the poor souls in the Aletsch Glacier, who were waiting there for salvation. Especially on long winter nights, she would sit diligently at her spinning wheel by candlelight and pray. When she went to bed, she would open the window and let the poor souls to warm themselves in her parlour: ‘Now – but without harming me!’ she said, leaving a candle stub to burn and lying down to sleep. It wasn’t long before countless, barely audible footsteps scurried and shuffled, as if many people were crowding into the parlour and around the warm stove. After the bells rang for evening prayers, she heard the same scurrying again until it was finally quiet.

Once, however, old Schmidja stayed awake longer than usual. It was bitterly cold outside. Then she heard voices outside the window: “Look, old Schmidja, she’s still spinning.”

“I just want to finish spinning this little lock of tow,” cried old Schmidja.

But it wasn’t long before the cries from outside in the cold grew louder: “Look, old Schmidja, she’s still spinning!”

Then she grew impatient: “If you can’t wait until I’m finished, then just come in now.” But she forgot to add: “Without harming me!” The front door flew open as if by a gust of wind; one could hear the footsteps of many, many feet and a rustling sound, but no one could be seen.

Old Schmidja felt uneasy and her chest tightened with all those departed souls in the parlour, and she thought: “In future, I’ll finish spinning more quickly and go to bed earlier, so that the poor souls don’t have to wait so long in the cold.” And so she did, right up until the last day of her life. There she lay on the bed, and from outside one could hear the voices of the poor souls calling: “Look, old Schmidja is still alive!”

The old woman opened her eyes once more and saw many lights outside her window, stretching from her house to the glacier. They were the lights she had kept burning all her life for the poor souls. A smile flitted across the old woman’s face and she drew her last breath. Now the poor souls lit the way for her, across to the other side.

Version by D. Jaenike, based on: M. Tscheinen, P. J. Ruppen, Walliser Sagen, Sitten 1872 ©Mutabor