| STORIES FOR YOU |
| Stories for the Telling: Mabel Kaplan |
Father Mohr was the Parish Priest of the village Church in the small town of Arnsdorf in Austria. He was very worried. It was the day before Christmas - Christmas Eve [1818] - and Father Mohr was preparing the special Christmas Procession. The procession was held every year as part of the Midnight Mass. But this year there was a problem. The organ would not go! All the shops were closed and the only organ mender lived a long way away in another town. What ever could he do? "Don't worry, Father. Surely, we can manage without music this once," said the Church organist. "No! No! No!" said Father Mohr. "Who ever heard of Christmas without Christmas music." Father Mohr hurried around the village asking everyone that he met if they could find out what was wrong with the organ. But it seemed no one could help him. At last, he found the blacksmith. "Herr Schmitt [Mr Smith], do you know anything about fixing organs. The organ in the church won't play and I need it tonight for the Christmas Midnight Procession." "Well," said Herr Schmitt, "I can come and look at it for you. I might be able to find the trouble. My grandmother used to have an organ like the one in the Church." Father Mohr and the Herr Smitt hurried up the hill to the Church. The blacksmith looked under the heavy cloth that hung down over the back of the organ. He took a candle and peered into the dark recesses where all the parts that made the organ go were housed. "Haha!" he said. "Look at this! There's a hole in the bellows that blows the air into the reeds to make it go." Father Mohr looked. Sure enough there was a large hole in the bellows. "Can you fix it?" he asked. "Sorry," Herr Schmitt replied. "It needs some special material. I really can't help you." Father Mohr walked slowly and sadly back toward his home. As he neared his house, he could hear the house-keeper singing to herself as she went about her work. Father Mohr smiled and hurried to his study. He had an idea! He sat down and began to write. After a few lines, he frowned, crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it in the wastepaper basket. Then he began to write again. [Write ... crumple ... throw. And again: Write ... crumple ... throw. The wastepaper basket was filling fast.] At last! It was done. Father Mohr read over what he had written: (In German/Deutsch): (In English) Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht Silent Night, Holy Night Alles schlaft, einsam wacht, All is calm, all is bright Nur das Traute hoch heilige Paar Round yon virgin, mother and child Holder Knabe in lockigen Haar. Holy infant so tender and mild Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh Sleep in heavenly peace. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh. Sleep in heavenly peace. "That's it", he cried. "It's perfect!" He stood up and began to put on his coat and hat. "I do hope Franz is home," he said to himself. Franz, that is, Franz Gruber was the schoolmaster. Father Mohr hurried out into the cold night to visit his friend Franz Gruber. All the way he talked to himself. "There's not much time. I do hope Franz is home. I wonder if he can set my poem to music in time for the Midnight Procession." As he neared Franz Gruber's house, he could see a candle burning in the window. "Ah, good! He is home." Father Mohr knocked. The door opened and there stood Franz. "Why Joseph," said Franz to Father Mohr, " what brings you out? Come in, come in." Father Mohr told Franz about the organ, of how the mice had eaten a hole in the bellows and it wouldn't play. Then he told Franz his idea: "If you could just make a tune for this poem, the children could sing it as they come up the hill to the church. It would make fine music for the Midnight Procession." Franz took the poem from Father Mohr's hand and as he read it carefully, he seemed to be humming a secret tune. He reached for his guitar and began to strum the notes. "Joseph," he said to Father Mohr, "I have another guitar. Why don't we both play the tune." So Franz and Father Mohr practised the tune over and over. "Yes, yes!" said Franz, "that will do nicely." Just then, he looked out the window. There he saw a group of children already on their way up the hill to the church to watch the Midnight Procession. Franz, the schoolmaster called them in and showed them Father Mohr's poem. Then he played for them the melody he had just written. "Will you please sing it for us so we can hear how it sounds?" The children sang and the two men were delighted. "Oh thankyou, thankyou. That is beautiful," they said. So with Father Mohr and Franz Gruber playing on guitars and the children singing, they all made their way up the hill to the church. And as they walked on singing, all along the way more people joined them. It was indeed the loveliest Christmas Midnight Procession that any one could remember. Let us too join the procession now and sing: Silent Night, Holy Night All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin, mother and child Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace. [FOOTNOTE: This story is based around the origin of one of the best known and most loved Christmas Carols in the world today. Twenty years after its inaugural performance in the little Austrian village of Arnsdorf, it was translated into English and sung in New York City on Christmas Eve 1839] |
| THE STORY OF SILENT NIGHT by Mabel Kaplan, 1990 (C) |
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