Delphi Collected Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe \(Illustrated\) pdfdrive com

CHAPTER II.

ST. JOSEPH THE SECOND.

Already had the traveller, following on foot his porter’s steps, left steep rocks

behind  and  above  him;  already  were  they  traversing  a  less  rugged  intermediate

range,  ever  hurrying  forwards,  through  many  a  well-wooded  forest,  through

many  a  pleasant  meadow-ground,  until  at  last  they  found  themselves  upon  a

declivity, and looked down into a carefully cultivated valley shut in all round by

hills.  A  large  monastic  building,  half  in  ruins,  half  in  good  repair,  at  once

attracted their attention.

“This is St. Joseph’s,” said the carrier; “a great pity for the beautiful church!

Only  look  how  fresh  its  pillars  and  columns  still  look  through  the  underwood

and the trees, although it has been lying so many hundreds of years in ruins.”

“The convent buildings, on the other hand,” replied Wilhelm, “are still, I see,

in good preservation.”

“Yes,”  said  the  other,  “a  steward  lives  on  the  spot,  who  manages  the

household, and collects the rents and tithes which have to be paid here from far

around.”

With  these  words  they  had  entered,  through  the  open  gate,  a  spacious

courtyard,  which,  surrounded  by  solemn  well-preserved  buildings,  announced

itself as the abode of a peaceful community. He at once perceived his Felix, with

the angels of yesterday, busy round a big market-basket, which a strongly-built

woman  had  placed  in  front  of  her.  They  were  just  about  to  buy  some  cherries;

but  in  point  of  fact,  Felix,  who  always  carried  some  money  about  him,  was

beating down the price. He now played the part of host as well as guest, and was

lavishing  an  abundance  of  fruit  on  his  playmates;  even  to  his  father  the

refreshment  was  welcome  amidst  these  barren  mossy  wilds,  where  the  colored

shining fruits always seemed so beautiful. “She brought them up some distance

from  a  large  garden,”  the  fruit-woman  remarked,  in  order  to  make  the  price

satisfactory to the buyers, to whom it had seemed somewhat too high.

“Father  will  soon  return,”  said  the  children;  “in  the  meanwhile  you  must  go

into the hall and rest there.”

Yet  how  astonished  was  Wilhelm  when  the  children  took  him  to  the  room

which they called the hall. It was entered directly from the courtyard by a large

door,  and  our  traveller  found  himself  in  a  very  clean  well-preserved  chapel,

which,  however,  as  in  fact  he  saw,  had  been  arranged  for  the  domestic  use  of

daily life. On one side stood a table, a settle, several chairs and benches; on the

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other side a carved dresser with various-colored pottery, jugs and glasses. There

were  not  wanting  a  number  of  chests  and  boxes,  and,  neatly  ordered  as

everything  was,  there  was  no  want  of  what  is  attractive  in  domestic  everyday

life. The light fell through high windows at the side. But what most aroused the

traveller’s  attention  were  colored  pictures  painted  on  the  wall  at  a  moderate

height  below  the  windows,  extended  like  tapestries  round  three  sides  of  the

chapel,  and  coming  down  to  a  panelled  skirting  which  covered  the  rest  of  the

wall to the ground. The pictures represented the history of St. Joseph. Here you

saw him busy with his carpenter’s work; there he was meeting Mary, and a lily

sprouted  out  of  the  ground  between  them,  whilst  several  angels  hovered

watchfully  about  them.  Here  he  is  being  betrothed;  then  follows  the  angelic

salutation. There he is sitting despondent amidst unfinished work, letting his axe

lie,  and  is  thinking  of  leaving  his  wife.  But  presently  there  appears  to  him  the

angel in a dream, and his position is changed. With devotion he regards the new-

born  Child  in  the  manger  at  Bethlehem,  and  adores  it.  Soon  after  follows  a

wonderfully  beautiful  picture.  All  kinds  of  carpentered  wood  are  seen;  it  is  on

the point of being put together, and accidentally a couple of pieces form a cross.

The  Child  has  fallen  asleep  upon  the  cross;  its  mother  is  sitting  close  by

regarding it with tender love, and the foster-father stops his work in order not to

disturb its sleep. Immediately after follows the Flight into Egypt. It provoked a

smile from the traveller as he looked at it, when he saw on the wall the repetition

of the living picture of yesterday.

He had not been left long to his meditations when the host entered, whom he

recognized  immediately  as  the  leader  of  the  holy  caravan.  They  saluted  each

other most cordially; a conversation on sundry matters followed; still Wilhelm’s

attention remained directed towards the picture. The host saw the interest of his

guest, and commenced laughingly:

“No  doubt  you  are  wondering  at  the  harmony  of  this  structure  with  its

inhabitants,  whom  you  learned  to  know  yesterday.  But  it  is  perhaps  still  more

strange than might be supposed; the building has, in fact, made the inhabitants.

For, if the lifeless comes to life, then it may well be able also to create a living

thing.”

“Oh, yes,” rejoined Wilhelm, “it would surprise me if the spirit who centuries

ago worked so powerfully amid this mountain desert, and attracted towards itself

such  a  huge  mass  of  buildings,  possessions  and  rights,  and  thereby  diffused

manifold culture in the neighborhood, — it would surprise me if it did not still

display its vital energy even out of these ruins upon a living human being. Still,

let us not abide by the general; make me acquainted with your history, in order

that I may learn how it was possible that, without trifling or pretension, the past

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is again represented in you, and that which is past and gone comes a second time

upon the scene.”

Just as Wilhelm was expecting an instructive answer from the lips of his host,

a friendly voice in the courtyard shouted the name of Joseph. The host heard it,

and went to the door.

So  he  is  called  Joseph,  too!  said  Wilhelm  to  himself.  That  is  wonderful

enough, and yet not quite so wonderful as that he represents his patron saint in

the life. At the same time he glanced towards the door, and saw the Madonna of

yesterday speaking with her husband. At last they separated; the woman went to

the opposite dwelling.

“Mary!” he shouted after her, “just a word more.”

So  she  is  called  Mary,  too!  But  a  little  more,  and  I  shall  feel  myself

transported backwards eighteen hundred years. He mused on the solemn pent-up

valley  in  which  he  found  himself,  on  the  ruins  and  the  stillness,  and  a  strange

olden-time  sort  of  mood  fell  upon  him.  It  was  time  that  the  host  and  children

came  in.  The  latter  begged  Wilhelm  to  come  for  a  walk,  whilst  the  host  still

discharged a few duties. They went now through the ruins of the church, with its

wealth of columns: the lofty roof and walls seemed to strengthen themselves in

wind and storm; whilst strong trees had, ages ago, struck root in the broad tops

of  the  walls,  and  in  company  with  a  good  deal  of  grass,  flowers,  and  moss,

represented  gardens  hanging  boldly  in  the  air.  Grassy  meadow-paths  led  to  a

rapid  brook,  and  the  traveller  could  now,  from  a  certain  height,  look  over  the

building  and  its  situation  with  an  interest  which  grew  greater  as  its  inhabitants

became more and more remarkable to him, and, through their harmony with their

surroundings, aroused his liveliest curiosity.

They returned, and found a table laid in the consecrated hall. At the upper end

there stood an arm-chair, in which the housewife sat down. She had standing by

her side a high basket, in which the little child was lying; next, the father on her

left hand, and Wilhelm on her right. The three children occupied the lower part

of the table. An old female servant brought in a well-prepared repast. The eating

and  drinking-vessels  likewise  indicated  a  bygone  time.  The  children  gave

occasion for amusement, whilst Wilhelm could not look enough at the figure and

bearing of his holy hostess.

After dinner the company separated; the host took his guest to a shady spot in

the  ruins,  where  from  an  elevated  position  one  had  in  full  view  the  pleasant

prospect down the valley, and saw the hills of the lower land, with their fertile

declivities and woody summits ranged one behind the other.

“It is fair,” said the host, “that I should satisfy your curiosity, and the rather as

I feel, in your case, that you are capable of taking the marvellous seriously, if it

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rests upon a serious foundation. This religious institution, of which you still see

the remains, was dedicated to the holy family, and in olden times, on account of

many  miracles,  was  renowned  as  a  place  of  pilgrimage.  The  church  was

dedicated to the mother and the son. It was destroyed several centuries ago. The

chapel,  dedicated  to  the  holy  foster-father,  has  been  preserved,  as  also  the

habitable  part  of  the  convent.  The  income  for  a  great  many  years  back  has

belonged to a secular prince, who keeps an agent up here, and that am I, the son

of the former agent, who likewise succeeded his father in this office.

“St.  Joseph,  although  all  ecclesiastical  honors  had  long  ago  ceased  up  here,

had  been  so  beneficent  towards  our  family,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  if

they felt particularly well disposed towards him; and thence it came to pass, that

at  baptism  I  was  called  Joseph,  whereby  to  a  certain  extent  my  manner  of  life

was determined. I grew up, and if I became an associate of my father whilst he

looked after the rents, still I clung quite as much, nay, even more affectionately,

to  my  mother,  who  according  to  her  means  was  fond  of  distributing  relief,  and

through  her  kindly  disposition  and  her  good  deeds  was  known  and  beloved  on

the whole mountain-side. She would send me, now here, and now there; at one

time to fetch, at another to order, at another to look after; and I felt quite at home

in this kind of charitable business.

“In  general  a  mountain  life  has  something  more  humanizing  than  life  on  the

lowlands;  inhabitants  are  closer  together,  or  further  apart,  if  you  wish  it;  wants

are smaller, but more pressing. Man is more thrown upon his own resources, —

must learn to rely on his hands, on his feet. The laborer, postman, carrier, are all

united in one and the same person; everybody also stands nearer to his neighbor,

meets him oftener, and lives with him in a common sphere of activity.

“When I was still young, and my shoulders unable to carry much, it occurred

to  me  to  furnish  a  small  donkey  with  baskets,  and  drive  it  before  me  up  and

down  the  steep  footpaths.  In  the  mountains,  the  ass  is  no  such  contemptible

animal  as  in  the  lowlands,  where  the  laborer  who  ploughs  with  horses  thinks

himself better than another who tears up the sod with oxen. And I trudged along

behind  my  beast  with  all  the  less  misgiving,  that  I  had  before  noticed,  in  the

chapel,  that  it  had  attained  to  the  honor  of  carrying  God  and  his  mother.  Still,

this chapel was not then in the condition in which it is now. It was treated like an

outbuilding, almost like a stable. Firewood, hurdles, tools, tubs and ladders, and

all  sorts  of  things,  were  heaped  pell-mell  together.  It  was  fortunate  that  the

paintings  were  situated  so  high,  and  that  wainscot  lasts  a  little  while.  But  as  a

child I was especially fond of clambering here and there all about the wood, and

looking  at  the  pictures,  which  nobody  could  properly  explain  to  me.  Enough,  I

knew  that  the  saint  whose  life  was  painted  above  was  my  namesake,  and  I

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congratulated myself on him, as much as if he had been my uncle. I grew up, and

as it was a special condition that he who would lay claim to the profitable office

of  steward  must  exercise  a  trade,  therefore,  in  accordance  with  the  wish  of  my

parents, who were anxious that I should one day inherit this excellent post, I was

to  learn  a  trade  —  and,  moreover,  such  a  one  as  would  prove  useful  to  the

household up here.

“My  father  was  a  cooper  by  trade,  and  made  everything  of  this  sort  of  work

that was necessary himself, whence accrued great advantage to himself and the

whole family. But I could not make up my mind to follow him in this line. My

inclination drew me irresistibly towards the carpenter’s trade, the implements of

which I had from my youth seen so circumstantially and correctly painted by the

side of my saint. I declared my wish; they did not oppose it, and the less so as

the carpenter was often required by us for so many different constructions, and

even because, if he has some ability and love for his work, the cabinet-maker’s

and wood-carver’s arts, especially in forest districts, are closely allied to it. And

what  still  more  strengthened  me  in  my  higher  designs  was  that  picture,  which,

alas! now is almost entirely obliterated. As soon as you know what it is meant to

represent,  you  will  be  able  to  make  it  out,  when  I  take  you  to  it  presently.  St.

Joseph had been entrusted with nothing less than the making of a throne for King

Herod. The gorgeous seat was to be placed between two specified pillars. Joseph

carefully  takes  the  measure  of  the  breadth  and  height,  and  constructs  a  costly

royal throne. But how astonished is he, how distracted, when he brings the chair

of state: it is found to be too high and not wide enough. Now, as is well known,

King Herod was not to be trifled with: the pious master-joiner is in the greatest

embarrassment. The Christ-child, accustomed to accompany him everywhere, to

carry  his  tools  in  childishly  humble  sport,  sees  his  distress,  and  is  immediately

ready with advice and help. The wondrous Child desires his foster-father to take

hold of the throne by one side. He seizes the other side of the carved work, and

both begin to pull. With the greatest ease and as conveniently as if it had been of

leather,  the  throne  expands  in  breadth,  loses  proportionately  in  height,  and  fits

most  excellently  to  the  place  and  position,  to  the  greatest  consolation  of  the

reassured carpenter and to the perfect satisfaction of the king.

“In my youth that throne was still quite easy to see, and from the remains of

one  side  you  will  be  able  to  observe  that  there  was  no  lack  of  carved  work,

which indeed must have proved easier to the painter than it would have been to

the carpenter, if it had been demanded of him.

“However, I had no misgivings in consequence, but looked upon the craft to

which I had devoted myself in such a favorable light, that I could scarcely wait

until they had put me into apprenticeship; which was all the more easy to effect,

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inasmuch as there lived in the neighborhood a master-carpenter who worked for

the  whole  district,  and  who  could  employ  several  assistants  and  apprentices.

Thus  I  remained  near  my  parents,  and  continued  to  a  certain  extent  my  former

life,  whilst  employing  hours  of  leisure  and  holy-days  for  the  charitable

commissions with which my mother continued to charge me.