A Catholic Utopia

Richard J. McHugh, "A Catholic Utopia," Irish Ecclesiastical Record, Third Series, Volume VII. (1886) pp. 742-748.

Perhaps in no country - not even Ireland - are the beauty and sanctity of the Church seen to better advantage than in "The holy land Tyrol," as her children, with affectionate pride, designate her; for in no other land to-day are Church and State wedded in such happy union as in the Austro-Hungarian Empire; and in the Empire itself, it may be safely said, no other State has won such renown for its sterling fealty to "Kaiser, Gott und Vaterland," as the mountain-girdled home of the patriotic Hofer.

The loyalty of the Tyrolese peasant to the Church has become proverbial; his name, like that of his unfortunate Irish brother, is but a synonym of Catholic; his lively faith, untainted with the faintest suspicion of any modern heresy or fashionable "philosophy;" the almost primitive simplicity of his manners; the unquestionable honesty of all his dealings; and the stainless purity of his morals, are the admiration and delight of all who behold them; while they serve not a little to prove to the Protestant world that cleanliness of heart and uprightness of character are not altogether incompatible with the teaching of the "Priests of Rome."

To the readers of the Record, and to those of them especially who live in parts, like America or Australia, where the Church but yet in her lusty infancy is striving to beat down the barriers of bigotry, prejudice and intolerance, a short description of some of the religious customs of a land where the Church has flourished for fifteen centuries and is still loved, respected, and obeyed by her children, may not be devoid of interest; while the example of those privileged ones, who enjoy in full the blessings of our Holy Mother, may not be wanting, let us hope, in its salutary lesson to their less fortunate brethren in distant lands.

At the outset of my paper it may be appropriate to remark, that the people of the Tyrol always begin the day in that most excellent Christian manner - by assisting at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. If they failed in this it would show them to be but very lax and careless Catholics indeed; for there is no village, howsoever small, in all the land, that cannot boast of at least one beautiful little chapel where the Saving Host is daily offered up to His Eternal Father. In the towns and cities the opportunities of hearing Mass, naturally, are ampler still, and as early as half-past four in the morning the bells can be heard pealing through the misty air from dome and spire of church and convent, calling upon mankind to lift his waking thoughts to his Creator. From this hour, when even the birds are still sleeping in their nests, until 9 or 10 o'clock, on week-days and Sundays alike, it is easy to find some church in which a Mass is being celebrated; and the throngs of faithful worshippers that fill the sacred temples at any time between these hours is a sight truly edifying.

Thrice a day, at the proper hours, the Angelus is rung, and as the first stroke of the bell is heard chiming on the air, recalling to the Christian soul the wonderful mystery of the Word made Flesh, the people, whether at home or in the streets, in the shop or market-place, bow their heads and with reverent lips softly recite,

This time-honoured devotion, so simple and yet so sublime, did not fail to make a deep impression on the gentle heart of the American poet Longfellow as he witnessed it in Spain, and in his own beautiful way he thus describes it:

Just as the evening twilight commences, the bell tolls to prayer. In a moment throughout the crowded city the hum of business is hushed, the thronged streets are still; the gay multitudes that crowd the public walks stand motionless; the angry dispute ceases; the laugh of merriment dies away; life seems for a moment to be arrested in its career, and to stand still. The multitude uncover their heads, and, with the sign of the cross, whisper their evening prayer to the Virgin. Then the bells ring a merrier peal, the crowds move again in the streets, and the rush and turmoil of business re-commence. I have always listened with feelings of solemn pleasure to the bell that sounded forth the Ave Maria. As it announced the close of day it seemed also to call the soul from its worldly occupations to repose and devotion. There is something beautiful in thus measuring the march of time. The hour, too, brings the heart into unison with the feelings and sentiments of devotion... It seems to me a beautiful and appropriate solemnity, that at the close of each daily epoch of life... the voice of the whole people and of the whole world should go up to heaven in praise and supplication and thankfulness.

Every heart that is at all susceptible to the benign influence of religion must be thus impressed at the ringing of the Angelus bell, and gladly ro-echo the Protestant poet's words, for its mysterious effect is still the same, whether its chimes be heard along the vine-clad slopes of Andalusia or amid the snow-capped peaks of the Tyrolean Alps.

All through the Tyrol the tourist from Protestant lands is surprised to find the quiet country lanes, the rugged mountain passes, the very streets of the cities, adorned here and there with shrines of Our Lady, Crucifixes, and statues of saints to whom some special devotion is paid. Every bridge has its modest effigy of St. John Nepomuk, the heroic priest who braved the anger of the tyrant, Wenceslaus IV, of Bohemia, rather than violate the secrecy of the confessional, and received in consequence the crown of martyrdom by being thrown into the Moldau at the baffled king's command; and every house, almost, has a rude picture of St. Florian, the guardian of dwellings against fire, painted on its walls. "O God, through the intercession of thy servant Florian, protect us Thy children from the dangers of fire!" is an inscription often seen over the main entrances of private houses.

This pious custom of giving honour to the Most High, and seeking the patronage of His saints in a public manner, not long ago, as the readers of the Record are aware, obtained throughout the greater part of Europe; but in many countries still claiming to be Christian the portraits of the saints have disappeared during the past years, and the Crucifix has gone down before the impious arm of the modern Iconoclast. In the Catholic Tyrol, however, the image of the Crucified Redeemer has not yet yielded its place to the effigy of Apollo, nor the statue of the Virginal Mother to the figure of Diana or the Cyprean Queen. Maria-Theresien Strasse, in Innsbruck, has a beautiful specimen of Christian art, consisting of a magnificent shaft of highly-polished granite, crowned with a marble statue of the "Immaculate Conception," and relieved at the base with life-sized figures of SS. Joachim, Ann, Joseph and John. In passing these pious representations, the peasant respectfully bares his head and offers up a brief and silent prayer. Votive lamps burn continually before many shrines, and in harvest-time the first two ears of corn plucked in the field are suspended from the arms of the nearest crucifix, in thanksgiving to the Son of God for having removed, by His sacred Passion and Death, the curse of old pronounced upon the earth and all its fruits, and for having restored the world to its primal grace and favour in the eyes of its Creator.

A mark of respect shown towards the Blessed Sacrament by the Tyrolean farmers is worthy of the imitation of all Catholic men. Not unmindful of the Prisoner of Love concealed within our tabernacles, they never fail to lift their hats in passing a church, and, indeed, not unfrequently turn towards it and genuflect. When the priest carries the Viaticum through the streets the people on either side kneel, with uncovered heads, until he has passed; and in garrisoned towns whenever the Sacred Host is borne past the barracks, the guard is turned out to present arms to the King of Kings. Little acts of piety like these, after all, are what serve to keep the faith alive in our breasts in all its Apostolic fervour and secure to our souls many special graces from the Most High.

Early on summer mornings, when only the highest peaks are flushing with the rosy light of dawn, the village girls, pushing before them little carts, laden with vegetables and fresh-laid eggs, come down from their mountain-height to the market in the city. Having disposed of their tempting stock, and made whatever purchases are necessary for their humble life, they form into little companies and set out again for their aerial homes. And how, think you, do they while away the two or three weary hours of their difficult ascent up the rugged Alpine slopes? Not with idle gossiping or feminine small-talk; not in discussing the gorgeous feathers or shimmering silks exposed in the shop windows of the city. Ah! no; foreign to the heart of the Tyrolese maiden are the thoughts of such frivolity. Strange as it may seem to the worldly-minded, it is nevertheless an interesting fact, that the hours of their return are devoted to reciting in unison the Rosary of our Blessed Lady; and only that bright Angel who guards the heavenly exchequer may say how many fragrant garlands of never-fading flowers have thus been woven by those pure and simple village-girls, and laid, a grateful offering, at the feet of the immaculate Queen of Virgins.

In the salutations that greet the pedestrian in his holiday rambles through a Tyrolese village there is something suggestive of the first days of Christianity. "Grüss' dich Gott!" (God salute you) and "Gelobt sei Jesus Christus!" (Praised be Jesus Christ) are among those most frequently heard. "Praised be Jesus Christ!" is certainly a beautiful and appropriate salutation for Christians, and when one hears it for the first time one seems to be suddenly transported by some magic agency back to the very days of the Apostles.

I was in the hospital not long ago in a neighbouring city, and I remember what a sweet awakening it was, morning after morning, as the modest little sister entered with my breakfast, and called me back "from dream-land unto day," with her softly murmured ejaculation, "Gelobt sei Jesus Christus!" These were the first words that fell upon my ears at the opening of each new day, and the last I heard when day was over; for as the gentle sister smoothed my pillow for the night and sprinkled me with holy-water, her parting words were ever, "Schlafen Sie wohl; Gelobt sei Jesus Christus!" Truly, a people in whose hearts and upon whose lips the blessed name of our divine Saviour is thus with reverence ever found, may turn from this poor world when that Saviour calls them, with souls strengthened with all the hope and love and confidence such faith as theirs must necessarily inspire.

An American friend of mine lately received an invitation to a Tyrolese wedding. As it is unique in its way and will serve as a further specimen of the deep piety that pervades these people, it may not be altogether inappropriate to give it insertion. It was printed on common paper and read as follows:

PRAISED BE JESUS CHRIST!
ESTEEMED AND BELOVED FRIEND, Having entered, through God's will, into holy and honourable espousals with Maria G----, I hereby humbly invite you to be present at our marriage, which will take place on the eighth day of the Spring month (i.e., March 8), in the most worthy House of God at V----. A breakfast will be served at the house of our honoured pastor, and a dinner at the inn of our excellent townsman, Joseph H----. May everything tend to the greater honour of God and the holy Sacrament of Matrimony. Trusting you will honour us with your presence on this joyful occasion, and recommending you to the protection of God and the Blessed Virgin, I am, etc., etc., C. J.

Like unto this, methinks, might the invitation have been that was issued for the marriage-feast given of old in the little village of Cana in Galilee, and which of all marriage feasts was blessed by Heaven; for, as we read, "The Mother of Jesus was there and Jesus was also invited and his disciples."

Briefly and at random I have touched upon a few pious customs that attract the attention of the stranger in this happy land; to describe in full the deep religious current that sends its purifying waters through the daily life of the Tyrolese; to speak of the thousand and one little acts of devotion that distinguish them in the field, at the fire-side, or in the shop; to dwell upon the exterior pomp and interior fervour with which they hail the oft-recurring festivals of the Church, would require more space than I may ask of the Record in a single number. But I may say in conclusion that I never mingle with these simple-hearted peasants or see them at their labours, their devotions, or their rustic merry-makings, without thinking that in them is realized the fervent aspiration of the prayer-

Actiones nostras, quaesumus, Domine, aspirando praeveni et adjuvando prosequere; ut cuncta nostra oratio et operatio a te semper incipiat et per te coepta finiatur.

And with this sincere conviction I would give the Tyrol, before all other lands, the title of honour which I have taken as the subject of my paper - "A Catholic Utopia."

Richard J. McHugh