The following is my translation of an article called: Der Alpenhase by Hans Sammereyer. It appeared in a German popular science magazine, Kosmos Handweiser für Naturfreunde 1914, Heft 10, Seiten 443-445.
This article is unusually lyrical for Kosmos, and partly quaintly colloquial.
I'm not aware of any previous translation.
Trevor Dykes.

The Alpine hare by Hans Sammereyer

Deep, deep into the Steiermark, there where the green Mur is already a river and where the Kärntner land climbs to its borders with their deeply dark green forests, I know of a large mountain peak. From lower foothills it swings up from the green Mur water, suddenly has few trees and then, dull green, it ascends to its conclusion towards the sky as the stone grey Trutzberg, and does so as if there were no higher cliffs then itself. It greets all lands far into the distance and, if in distant Wendenland, the Karawanken wanted to close the horizon, then it would still peer out above. It greets the blue Kärtner lakes, sees the mists rising above Hungary, and the Dachstein Glacier is a familiar daily companion.

The people call it the Zirbitzkegel because so many stone pines stand upon its slopes, and the old Kogel seems to be wrapped round with a blue-green ribbon.

I know of a meadow on this Trutzberg. It is high and wide, climbs sometimes gradually and sometimes steeply, and there are only a few cliffs...

And on this meadow I know of a cliff. It grows like a four-cornered pulpit abruptly from the brown ground; that it was previously larger is shown by the cliff rubble spread all around, which had been broken off by the angry hand of the evil mountain spirit to be left in a confusion...

In the middle beneath all these cliff rocks I know, however, of a patch of juicy grass. It is protected on one side from even the worst high wind by a tell length of cliff, a Kranwettsträudel (a juniper tree) has settled in it further down towards the valley, and it is otherwise protected by a ring of rock plates that are still, but so loose that I will not willingly go there due to possible breakages of neck or leg.

And yet I know of an animal here on this grassy spot that mostly stays restricted among the lichen-grey stone blocks. It is certainly a clever animal; then, through the confusing rock garden of the mountain spirits, only the viper can come to it without sound. The animal is long, has two large but narrow ears that only move should something be active among the stones. It is blue-grey-brown when the cowherd drives the calves across the meadow; in the winter, it gets to be so white that even the snow would feel no shame from its colour. And that is simply because the wicked raven would otherwise so easily see it on the meadow... The animal is an old Alpine hare (alte Almhäsin).

Should I and the ptarmigan know where to search for it during the early winter by crossing the wide meadow, then I allow myself to visit the mistress of the castle without wall or moat, and see whether it is still alive. I will not do her any harm, then she is a good mother and has certainly already had it tough. And we get along with one another, then she only raises an ear as I climb over the cliff rubble, but otherwise she does not stir...

When the ptarmigans are white, the old mountain goat searches the breeze for food as it draws along fresh goat tracks, the mistle stretches from meadow to meadow in large populations, then it will already also be white. Only up on the tops of the ears is there a coal-raven black spot to either side. Maybe this is why it often plays so coquettishly with the ears. Or it may be because the call of the ptarmigan always sounds like a rough warning, or perhaps the stone-breakers deep down in the valley make noises like thundering shots?

If the winter day is pure and clear, and the many mountains standing around here have blue, soft, glaze (Glost), and the wind is yelling among the stones, then the old hare presses herself down beneath her rough stone. She has a warm place there. The wind above blows across the rocks, and the couple of sun-rays will reach the blossom-white fur of the experienced animal. The old hare lies there throughout the whole blue-white winter's day. Only when a snow cloud allows its coat to flutter above the mountain will the white animal figure raise itself, and one can only just see the Alpine hare in the thick drive of flakes like a snowy ghost rushing over rubble and stone, out into the open meadow, where it is now safe among the confusion of flakes from raven and fox, hawk and human. Should thick fog cover the mountain with walls of cloud, then she will undertake distant and more distant wanderings, will go far up into the dreary stone pine forest, and rush through the tangled juniper bushes. Should danger arise then, with a genuine fox leap, she will disappear beneath a low juniper bush and avoid, literally hare-brained, hound and human and everything that would mean danger.

But at night, she will not go far from her cliff castle... She knows the small place on the meadow that the insatiable winter wind will have swept free of snow during the day, and there is grazing, thin indeed, but enough to carry her through the hard time.

And when deep, deep snow covers the mountain forest, nutcracker birds will dig deep holes in the snow in order to reach their supplies of stone pine nuts, the experienced hare will avoid the mountain forest. The tiring search for the rare bushes free of snow will be left to the young. And if the wicked hunter comes with their dogs, then those beneath the good bushes will soon fall victim to their sharp noses. Or the brash, sharp noise will drive them deeper, and they will remain in the thick forest in the company of grey forest rabbits, or they will come right down onto the fields.

At the same time, the old hare searches out the very highest part of the mountain, naturally only by snow or fog or night. Then even should the white, woolly ball be recognisable for the sharp eye of a hawk, the intelligent spy will still recognise the grey feathery ball and grab the defenceless hare.- High up on the very highest peak, a trapper has set his bloody territory for this hard winter time. He is old himself, and a cruel catch has eluded him; a dog once got stuck in his iron trap. One can all too often find white ptarmigan feathers or tufts of hare wool, and these tell of the power of the Stößer (Additional note: I think, but am not sure, this refers to a goshawk).

But the old hare does not allow herself to be seen by night or day. The stormier it is, the wilder the howl of the wind and the more drives of snow that rob the Stößer of air and accuracy, the more busily she searches among the stones and on the meadows, and the wind is her faithful ally. Then it dusts new patches of the meadow free each day, and brushes the table clean. And the cold has no effect upon her; her wool is so thick and warm. No frost needles pierce through it, and the wind may blow as wildly as it will, the most it can do is to blow the long white guard hairs apart until it reaches the thick, felt, snow white wool beneath.

The sly, stupid fox has often wanted to make an acquaintanceship with my old meadow hare. But how astray it has gone when it has long trailed the hare through cliff castle, and made itself look foolish. But the hare is not disturbed. When the red coat sprang onto the confused layers of stone plates, so that it clackered and rang, then she rushed away causing the fox to yowl like a hunting hound. But the red clever Dick was not used to the way, and when its bushy brush was wagging by the end of the confusion of plates, all it caught was a final sight of the fleeing hare in the stone pine thicket at the corner of the meadow... The enthusiastic predator has often attempted to hunt her through the forest, but the hare just disappeared into a juniper bush and flew out from the other side... again rushing away, again, a step further, then another mighty spring, and in some labyrinth passage to an old trail straight back to the warm headquarters in the cliff castle... The fox, however, remained snuffling the whole stone pine forest for traces of the tasty Alpine hare, and its trail was confusing, going straight through a bush and then running out, so that it was too much for even an experienced, well-studied meadow fox...

And so my Alpine hare overcame every difficulty and piece of danger, and brought herself well through snow and water. She sometimes receives visits. There is a young Alpine hare, and he doesn't even yet have the pure white guard hairs on his back, and she punishes him with little attention, it's interesting, while she does draw out for a short while to graze together, but not for long and she is alone again.

It carries on like this until March. Gradually, the old hare explores her wider territory, and is sometimes surprised by snow on the higher cliffs and gets snowed in, so much so that the eye of no animal could recognise there is a living animal in the snow. Her fluffy coat permits her this fun. Certain is that, on other days, when the clear winter sky is decorated with thousands of lights provoking hay to be produced in the mountain forest, the greedy deer spread out for the feed... But the Sun finally fires warmer arrows, the nutcracker birds in the stone pines are unusually shy, and swish quickly through the lichened bushes of the snowed in stone pines to the cleverly hidden remains, and the crossbills, who build their nests in December, already lead flights of young. Indeed, even the black grouse have a couple of quiet voices to try, and think about courtship and love...

All at once, the March Sun conjures up a couple of grey hairs on the back of the Alpine hare. Day by day, there are more, they stand out from the sides and the white wool finally tears out so easily that, recently, when another hare introduced itself on a nightly visit, she defended herself with springs into the air and drummed with the head, and whole tufts drifted away.

It is now lively early every night at the cliff pulpit on the high mountain. When the Sperlingeule (Additional note: evidently a small owl, but I'm not sure which) shrieks lower down in the stone pine forest, white-grey figures rush around the blocks of stone chasing each other, and ghostly happenings haunt the cliffs. And strange, quiet noises can be heard and, should a pair of earth spirits sweep past on the open meadow, then they are only two Alpine hares.

And when the black grouse are playing most roughly on the meadow, down in the valley the cherry trees among the green needles know how to draw delicate patterns, then the Alpine hare is already entirely grey-brown, and the many white clumps of wool, which the mountain fox studies with great interest on the meadow floor, tell us that winter's power has passed with black grouse courting and cuckoo calls. But how delicate my Alpine hare now is! -How carefully she rushes around her camp! Indeed, there lie, just like little mice, four woolly, tiny baby hares in a fine nest. And when the parent gives a warning, should a mountain raven appear or a fox be seen in the distance on the meadow, then the agile babies immediately disappear beneath the stones where only the adder could follow them... Now there is life on the meadow. The Flüelerche (Additional note: I think this refers to the Alpine accentor Prunella collaris) shoots down from the blue like a thrown stone, the mouse buzzard circles in the sky, and the nutcracker already has nestlings in flight. Now is the joyful time for Alpine hares. When the meadow animals go down to wind-sheltered blocks in the evening, then they rush along the slope, brown and grey and, as the first long shadows of the night draw down over the heights, then the Alpine hare grazes from only the best clover. She has already lost her young, one stolen by the yellow breasted noble marten during a trip to the stone pine forest, while the other three have made off on their own.-

August has not even drawn across the meadow with its hot days, and two more woolly, tiny mouse hares are already lying above among the rock rubble of the cliff pulpit, and the old hare again hastens carefully and cleverly to her home. She then already lost those two in September... They wandered off into the stone pine forest... Inexperienced, the young put themselves among the dangers of life.- The good mother now receives quiet white guard hairs... constantly more and more, and soon she will be entirely white in time for the long, hard winter... And then, next year, when I climb up again to the meadow and cliff pulpit, then I might again see the good old Alpine hare as she raises her ears, but otherwise does not stir, within her splendid, protective cliff castle.

Then I indeed know that, one day, rather than her, I will find only a pile of wildly spread wool and a cruel red trail running along the rocks, and two small grey feathers, already curved to the sides and fluffy.

And I will then know that the Stößer (Additional note: goshawk?), the cad, who always watches for a catch from the high peak, old and clever as it is, has even out-tricked my good old snow hair.

An index of more of my translations of old Kosmos articles can be found at:

Kosmos Translations Archive
kosmostranslations.htm

A number of Mesozoic (and post-Mesozoic) location summaries can be found at Localities.