ST. JOSEPH THE SECOND.
Already had the wanderer, following his porter on foot, left the steep
rocks behind and above him: already were they traversing a softer
mid-range of hills, and hastening through many a well-pruned wood, over
many a friendly meadow, forward and forward; till at last they found
themselves on a declivity, and looked down into a beautifully cultivated
valley, begirt on all sides with hills. A large monastic edifice, half
in ruins, half in repair, immediately attracted their attention. “This
is St. Joseph,” said the porter. “Pity for the fine church! Do but look
how fresh and firm it still holds up its pillars through bush and tree,
though it has lain many hundred years in decay.”
“The cloister, on the contrary,” said Wilhelm, “I observe, is kept in
good state.”
“Yes,” said the other: “there is a _Schaffner_ lives here; he manages
the husbandry, collects the dues and tithes, which the people far and
wide have to pay him.”
So speaking, they had entered through the open gate into a spacious
court, surrounded with earnest-looking, well-kept buildings, and
announcing itself as the residence of some peaceful community. Among the
children playing in the area, Wilhelm noticed Felix: the other two were
the angels of last night. The friendly trefoil came running towards him
with salutations, and assurances that papa would soon be back. He, in
the mean while, they said, must go into the hall, and rest himself.
How surprised was Wilhelm when the children led him into this apartment
which they named the hall. Passing directly from the court, through a
large door, our wanderer found himself in a very cleanly, undecayed
chapel, which however, as he saw well enough, had been fitted up for the
domestic uses of daily life. On the one side stood a table, a settle,
some chairs and benches; on the other side a neatly carved dresser, with
variegated pottery, jugs, and glasses. Some chests and trunks were
standing in suitable niches: and, simple as the whole appeared, there
was not wanting an air of comfort; and daily household life looked forth
from it with an aspect of invitation. The light fell in from high
windows on the side. But what most roused the attention of the wanderer
was a series of colored figures painted on the wall, stretching under
the windows, at a considerable height, round three quarters of the
chapel, and hanging down to the wainscot, which covered the remainder of
the wall to the ground. The pictures represented the history of St.
Joseph. Here you might see him first employed with his carpentry work:
here he meets Mary; and a lily is sprouting from the ground between
them, while angels hover round observing them. Here his betrothing takes
place: next comes the salutation of the angel. Here he is sitting
disconsolate among his neglected work: he has laid by the axe, and is
thinking to put away his wife. But now appears the angel to him in a
dream, and his situation changes. With reverence he looks on the
new-born child in the stable at Bethlehem, and prays to it. Soon after
this comes a wonderfully beautiful picture. You observe a quantity of
timber lying dressed: it is just to be put together, and by chance two
of the pieces form a cross. The child has fallen asleep on the cross;
his mother sits by, and looks at him with heartfelt love; and the
foster-father pauses with his labor, that he may not awaken him. Next
follows the flight into Egypt: it called forth a smile from the gazing
traveller, for he saw here on the walls a repetition of the living
figures he had met last night.
He had not long pursued his contemplations, when the landlord entered,
whom he directly recognized as the leader of the Holy Caravan. They
saluted each other cordially: much conversation followed, yet Wilhelm’s
chief attention continued fixed on the pictures. The host observed the
feeling of his guest, and began with a smile, “No doubt you are
wondering at the strange accordance of this building with its
inhabitants, whom you last night got acquainted with. Yet it is,
perhaps, still more singular than you suppose: the building has, in
truth, formed the inhabitants. For, when the inanimate has life, it can
also produce what has life.”
“Yes, indeed!” answered Wilhelm: “I should be surprised if the spirit,
which worked so powerfully in this mountain solitude long centuries ago,
and drew round it such a mighty body of edifices, possessions, and
rights, diffusing in return the blessings of manifold culture over the
region, could not still, out of these ruins, manifest the force of its
life on some living being. But let us not linger on general reflections:
make me acquainted with your history; let me know how it can possibly
have happened, that, without affectation and presumption, the past again
represents itself in you, and what was, again is.”
Just as Wilhelm was expecting responsive information from the lips of
his host, a friendly voice in the court cried, “Joseph!” The man obeyed
it, and went out.
“So he, too, is Joseph!” said Wilhelm to himself. “This is strange
enough, and yet not so strange as that in his life he should personate
his saint.” At the same time, looking through the door, he saw the
Virgin Mother of last night speaking with her husband. They parted at
last: the woman walked towards the opposite building. “Mary,” cried he
after her, “a word more.”
“So she, too, is Mary!” said Wilhelm inwardly. “Little would make me
feel as if I were transported eighteen hundred years into the past!” He
thought of the solemn and secluded valley in which he was, of the wrecks
and silence all around; and a strange, antiquarian mood came over him.
It was time for the landlord and children to come in. The latter called
for Wilhelm to go and walk, as the landlord had still some business to
do. And now came in view the ruins of the church, with its many shafts
and columns, with its high peaks and walls; which looked as if gathering
strength in the influence of wind and weather; for strong trees from of
old had taken root in the broad backs of the walls, and now, in company
with grass, flowers, and moss in great quantities, exhibited bold
hanging gardens vegetating in the air. Soft sward-paths led you up the
banks of a lively brook; and from a little elevation our wanderer could
now overlook the edifice and its site with more interest, as its
occupants had become still more singular in his eyes, and by their
harmony with their abode had awakened his liveliest curiosity.
The promenaders returned, and found in the religious hall a table
standing covered. At the upper end was an arm-chair, in which the
mistress of the house took her seat. Beside her she had placed a high
wicker-cradle, in which lay the little infant: the father sat next this
on her left hand, Wilhelm on her right. The three children occupied the
under space of the table. An old serving-maid brought in a well-readied
meal. Eating and drinking implements alike pointed to the past. The
children afforded matter for talk, while Wilhelm could not satisfy
himself with looking at the form and the bearing of his saintly hostess.
Their repast over, the company separated. The landlord took his guest to
a shady spot in the ruin, where, from an elevated station, the pleasant
prospect down the valley lay entire before them; and, farther off, the
heights of the lower country, with their fruitful declivities and woody
backs, were seen protruding one behind the other. “It is fair,” said the
landlord, “that I satisfy your curiosity; and the rather, as I feel that
you can view the strange with seriousness when you find it resting on a
serious ground. This religious foundation, the remains of which are
lying round us, was dedicated to the Holy Family, and in old times noted
as a place of pilgrimage for many wonders done in it. The church was
consecrated to the Mother and the Son. It has lain for several centuries
in ruins. The chapel, dedicated to the holy foster-father, still
remains, as does likewise the serviceable part of the cloister. The
revenues have for many years belonged to a temporal prince, who keeps a
steward or _Schaffner_ here: this _Schaffner_ am I, son of the last
_Schaffner_, who also succeeded his father in the office.
“St. Joseph, though any regular worship of him has long ceased here, had
been so helpful to our family, that it is not to be wondered at if they
felt particularly well inclined towards him: hence came it that they had
me baptized by the name of Joseph, and thereby, I may say, in some sense
determined my whole future way of life. I grew up; and, if I used to
help my father in managing the dues, I attached myself as gladly, nay,
still more gladly, to my mother, who cheerfully distributed her bounty
according to her fortune, and for her kindness and good deeds was known
and loved over all the mountains. Erelong she would send me out, now
this way, now that; now to fetch, now to carry, now direct; and I very
speedily began to be at home in this sort of pious occupation.
“In general, our mountain life has something more humane in it than the
life of Lowlanders. The inhabitants here are nearer, and, if you will,
more remote also. Our wants are smaller, but more pressing. Each man is
placed more on his own footing: he must learn to depend on his own
hands, on his own limbs. The laborer, the post, the porter, all unite in
one person: each of us is more connected with the other, meets him
oftener, and lives with him in joint activity.
“As I was still young, and my shoulders could not bear heavy burdens, I
fell upon a thought of furnishing a little ass with panniers, which I
might drive before me up and down the steep foot-paths. In the mountains
the ass is no such despicable animal as in the plain country, where the
laborer that ploughs with horses reckons himself better than he that
turns his furrow with oxen. And I walked behind my beast with the less
hesitation, as I had before observed in the chapel, that an animal of
this same sort had been promoted to such honor as to carry God and his
Mother. This chapel was not then, however, in the state you now see it
in. It had been treated as a cart-house, nay, almost as a stable.
Firewood, stakes, implements, barrels, and ladders, every thing that
came to hand, lay huddled together in it. Lucky that the pictures were
so high, and the wainscot could stand some hardships. But even in my
childhood I used many a time to clamber over the wood, and delight
myself with looking at the pictures, which no one could properly explain
to me. However, I knew at least that the saint whose life stood depicted
on these walls was my patron; and I rejoiced in him as much as if he had
been my uncle. I waxed in stature; and it being an express condition,
that whoever meant to aspire after this post of _Schaffner_ must
practise some handicraft, our family, desiring that I might inherit so
good a benefice, determined on putting me to learn some trade, and such
a one, at the same time, as might be useful here in our upland way of
life.
“My father was a cooper, and had been accustomed to supply of himself
whatever was required in that sort; from which there arose no little
profit, both to himself and the country. But I could not prevail on
myself to follow him in this business. My inclination drew me
irresistibly to the joiner trade, the tools and materials of which I had
seen, from infancy upwards, so accurately and circumstantially painted
beside my patron saint. I signified my wish: nothing could be objected
to it,--the less, as in our frequent buildings the carpenter is often
wanted here; nay, if he have any sleight in his trade, and fondness for
it, especially in forest districts, the arts of the cabinet-maker, and
even of the carver, lie close beside his province. And what still
further confirmed me in my higher purposes was a picture, which now,
alas! is almost effaced. If once you know what it is meant to represent,
you may still be able to decipher the figures, when I take you to look
at it. St. Joseph had got no lower a commission than to make a throne
for King Herod. The royal seat was to be erected between two given
pillars. Joseph carefully measures the breadth and height, and fashions
a costly throne. But how astonished is he, how alarmed, on carrying his
finished work to the place: the throne is too high, and not broad
enough. King Herod, as we know, was a man that did not understand
jesting: the pious wright is in the greatest perplexity. The divine
Child, accustomed to follow him everywhere, and in childlike, humble
sport to carry his tools after him, observes his strait, and is
immediately at hand with advice and assistance. He requires of his
foster-father to take hold of the throne by the one side, he himself
grasps it by the other, and both begin to pull. Easily and pliantly, as
if it had been made of leather, the carved throne extends in breadth,
contracts proportionately in length, and fits itself to the place with
the nicest accuracy, to the great comfort of the re-assured master, and
the perfect satisfaction of the king.
“This throne was, in my youth, quite distinctly visible; and by the
remains of the one side you will still be able to discern that there was
no want of carving on it,--which, indeed, must have been easier for the
painter than it would have been for the carpenter, had such a thing been
required of him.
“That circumstance, however, raised no scruples in me; but I looked on
the handicraft to which I had devoted myself in so honorable a light,
that I was all impatience to be apprenticed to it,--a longing which was
the easier to fulfil, as a master of the trade lived in our
neighborhood, who worked for the whole district, and kept several
apprentices and journeymen about him. Thus I continued in the
neighborhood of my parents, and to a certain extent pursued my former
way of life also; seeing I employed my leisure hours and holidays in
doing those charitable messages which my mother still intrusted to me.”
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