The Forest Farm: Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

by Peter Rosegger

The monstrance, as we all know, is the house in which the Host resides surrounded by a wreath of golden rays, resting on a crescent-shaped holder and protected by a crystal glass.

The most important factor in this procession is faith; and that is present in abundance. They worship not the bread, but the symbolic mystery in whose lap rests our eternal destiny. It is really incorrect to speak of the worship of images, or of the idolatry of the heathen: they all mean one and the same thing, the symbolic divine mystery which each represents to himself after his own fashion and feels according to his nature. And the power to transfer the intangible, endless mystery to a substance which our senses can apprehend and thus to enter into more intimate relations with it: that power is the gift of faith.

The files of people reach the open-air altar and the foremost have to pass along until the priest arrives at the spot. When there, he places the Sacrament in the tabernacle and reads some verses from one of the four gospels. Then, to the booming of the cannon, he lifts the monstrance, turns with it to the four points of the compass and blesses the meadows, the fields and the air, that the summer may be fruitful and no storm destroy the husbandman's labour. And the procession moves on.

This is in the larger villages. In the small mountain districts, the feast is celebrated more simply, but no less solemnly. As, in such places, all the lanes and streets are formed of live trees and shrubs, there is no need to set up birches, except at the wayside crucifixes, where they keep holy guard, one on the right and one on the left. As the people of small places have not four altars to erect, there is a small, portable altar, a little four-legged table with a white cloth to cover it and a tabernacle with angels painted on a blue ground kneeling before the "Holy Name." Above this is a little canopy with gold tassels. Behind are straps by means of which a boy can take the altar on his back and carry it, during the procession, from one gospel-place to the other.

They have one of these little altars at Kathrein am Hauenstein. Should you care to see it, it stands, in summer, in the church, in front of the great picture of the Fourteen Helpers.[10] It has stood there as long as I can remember; and, in my young days, it was the duty and the privilege of Kaunigl, him with the hare-lip, to carry it from gospel-place to gospel-place. As soon as one gospel was read and the procession starting on its way again, he strapped the altar to his back, took the candlesticks and the hassock in his hands and hurried over the hill by the short cut through the woods, so as to obtain a lead and set up the altar in the next place. He would fix a stone or two under the feet of the little table to prevent any rocking, put the hassock in position and light the candles; and, by that time, the first banner was once more in sight.

Now it happened, one day, that this was the occasion of my being mixed up in a business that threatened the destruction of my immortal soul. I had just reached the age when nobody knows how a young scamp is going to turn out. He may develop into a more or less decent fellow, or else into a lout of the first water: who can tell? None but God really; and even He leaves the choice to the lanky, pale-faced lad himself. On the day in question, I had either overslept myself in my forest home or had more trouble than usual in getting my lace-boots on; or perhaps breakfast was not ready in time. Anyhow, by the time I reached Kathrein church, everything was in full swing, with the red banners waving and the candles twinkling between the trees. I stole round to the back, for I was mortally ashamed to do the right thing and simply go straight up to the procession and mix with the people. Here again God left the choice to me, to join the worshippers or slink away through the bushes like a gaol-bird. I slunk like a gaol-bird through the bushes and there met Kaunigl with the altar. He at once asked me to help him carry it. This suited me perfectly, for it justified the roundabout road which I had taken. I relieved Kaunigl of the hassock and candlesticks; and we hurried through the young trees up to the Föhrenriegel, behind the church, where the last gospel was to be read. We worked together loyally; and soon the little altar was fixed against the rock, with the candles burning upon it. The procession was not yet in sight, for it had taken a longer road through the green fields; but this Kaunigl boy was not the fellow to let time slip by and be wasted. He thrust his hand in his trousers-pocket, produced a pack of cards and flung it on the altar so that the candles flickered before the fluttering bits of pasteboard. Silently, as though what he was doing were a matter of course, he dealt himself and me a hand at Brandel. It was not the first time that he and I had "taken each other on"; so I picked up the cards and we played a strict game on the Corpus Christi altar, by the light of the wax candles burning solemnly. There was time for a second "bout"; and then, while Kaunigl was dealing the cards again, the men at the head of the procession appeared round the corner, praying aloud with heads uncovered. No cat could have pounced upon nimble mouse quicker than Kaunigl gathered up those cards and shoved them in his pocket. Then we took up our positions on either side, in all innocence, and pulled off our caps.

Soon the musicians hove in sight: Eggbauer with the bugle-horn, his son with the first trumpet, Naz the tailor (who afterwards became my master) with the second, Erhard's boy with the clarionet, Zenz the smith with the kettle-drum, while long-nosed Franz carried the big drum on his back, to be pounded with might and main by the Haustein innkeeper. Ferdl the huntsman handled the "tinklers."

Behind this loud music came the baldachino. The old white-haired parish priest carried the Most Holy high in front of him and held his head bowed low, partly in veneration and partly because age had already greatly bent his neck. He walked up to the little altar to place the monstrance on it. He was on the point of doing so when suddenly he stopped and stood for a moment with a stare upon his face. He had caught sight of the ten of clubs peeping from between the folds of the white altar-cloth! The confounded card had remained there hidden and unperceived! To decorate the Corpus Christi altar with "green" of this kind[11] could hardly seem correct in the eyes of his reverence. Without a word, without a sign of displeasure, he turned to the rock and placed the monstrance on a projecting stone.

Only a very few people had realised why this was done. The gospel was read and the benediction given without further incident, but I peeped through the hazel-bushes and saw that the old priest was white to the lips. Had he shown anger at his discovery on the altar, had he stormed and ordered the culprit to be taken by the ears, I should have thought it no more than just; but his humble silence, his look of sorrow, and the fact that he had to place the Saviour, rendered homeless by that sacrilegious game at cards, upon the bare rock: these were things that cut into me as with a knife. He cannot have known who the accomplice was, but he could easily have found out by my conscience-stricken face, however much it might try to hide itself behind the hazel-bushes.

Afterwards, when high mass began in church, Kaunigl pulled me by the skirt of my jacket and invited me to climb into the tower with him, where we could toll the bell at the Sanctus and the elevation and play cards in between. He had recovered possession of the ten of clubs. True, I did not accept; but I remained lost, for all that. From that day forward I no longer ventured into the confessional. Kaunigl did venture in; but it was not quite so simple as he imagined, as he himself told me afterwards.