The Song from Oberndorf
By Mary Mikkelsen
It
was a beautiful October day, the leaves had turned. In all their glory
and everywhere you looked was a picture post card. Louis and I were
driving in a rented car from Vienna to Salzburg, Austria and as I
studied the map, I found that with lust a short detour we could leave
the Autobahn and drive to the German village of Oberndorf. This was
where, as I remembered, Franz Gruber and Josef Mohr had written the
words and music to Silent Night. As 1 think back, this short journey off the beaten path is one of our fondest memories.
Oberndorf
is a small village of no more that 2 to 300 population. The old stone
houses with red tile roofs and geranium cascading down from the second
story wooden balconies were built on narrow winding streets which led
to the town square. Tall trees showered colorful leaves on the park
benches, and a small sign showed the way to Stille Nacht Chapel. We had
arrived just after noon and the streets and square were empty. As is
the custom in Austria and Germany (except in the larger cities) the big
meal of the day is served at noon and we caught whiffs of food cooking
as we passed the open windows. The shops were closed and the streets
would be deserted until mid-afternoon.
Louis
and I were the only ones around as we walked the leafy path to the
chapel. The chapel la built on the site of St. Nicholas church which
was destroyed in the flooding of the Salzach River many years ago. It
was in the St. Nicholas Church of Oberndorf, Christmas Eve 1818 that
Silent Night was first sung.
As
we go back in our imagination to that winter evening so long ago we see
that a soft snow has fallen that day and now a bright moon casts a
Christmas spell on the scene of the village by the river. In the simple
cottages with the gabled roofs the light of oil lamps shines from
behind the curtained windows. Inside the clocks tick noisily as their
lead weights sink slowly to the floor. The men of Oberndorf have had a
hard year's work. They had shipped huge quantities of salt from Hallein
down the Salzach out into the world as far as Lenz and Vienna.
But
this is Christmas Eve. The lights of the lamps shine on slumbering
faces of the village children. They lie between fresh clean
bed-clothes, for it is a tradition for every mother to bring her
children to a freshly changed bed on Christmas Eve. To show them that
the Christ Child has been there already, she shows them a crumpled
place where he has lain. They are convinced of the truth of their
mother's words because everything smells so heavenly sweet.
The
adults talk of Christmases past and of friends and relatives separated
from them. There is no exchange of gifts. This custom has not yet been
started, but they enjoy apples, nuts and dried fruit, as they talk
about how peace has finally returned to their world. Napoleon is
confined at St. Helena. It was only a few years ago that his army had
crossed the Salzach one dull December day and was billeted in the homes
and huts of Oberndorf. They did not behave any better or any worse than
soldiers generally do. There was plenty of fear arid that had been a
sad Christmas. Those days had passed. It was a hard blow, however, when
in 1816 King Max Josef of Bavaria and Emperor Franz Josef of Austria
had agreed that a section of Germany be returned to Austria with the
exception of the area on their side of the Salzach. Many tears had been
shed as friends and relatives were separated by the border.
But
this is Christmas Eve 1818 and the villagers step out into the moon lit
snow when the bells of St. Nicholas call them to mid-night mass. They
have already heard that day that the organ is out of order. It had
become weak and tired of old age and some one said that mice had gnawed
on the bellows. They have also heard, as news travels fast in a small
And so on that night as the congregation knelt in the pews, Silent Night, Holy Night was
first heard. These two rather ordinary men, one in no sense a great
musician and the other surely no poet, were given the grace to compose
this song of comfort to mankind.
None
who heard it were aware that night that this simple tune was a jewel to
be cherished into the remotest future, that it would bring inspiration
and innermost happiness where ever it would be heard. In the spring
after that Christmas, Mauracher, the organ builder from Zillertal came
to Oberndorf to repair the organ. He found the song among the music
there and asked for a copy. He took it back with him to the Tyrol
Valley of Austria. The brothers Strasser who were glove makers heard it
and carried it with them to markets and fairs across Austria and
Germany.
Twenty-one years later the Rainer Sanger from the Tyrol sang Silent Night in
Trinity Church in New York City. It goes straight to the heart of all
who heard it and from then on it couldn't be stopped from encompassing
the world. It is heard to announce to mankind the birth of the Savior.
The disillusioned and somber world holds its breath for the duration of
a heart beat each Christmas Eve as it looks up to the star which once
guided the Wise Men.
The
song from Oberndorf brings delight and the heart ache of remembering
Christmases past and lost loved ones. To many it is the last souvenir
of a lost homeland as they sing it in their mother tongue. It has
brought warmth and homesickness to soldiers far from home. There is no
mother who is not delighted as her child sings this song in
anticipation of Christmas.
In
the Silent Night Chapel is a large book where on page after page people
from every nation have signed their names with a note of thanks to the
song from Oberndorf for the joy it had brought them. Louis and I added
our names to the book.
As
we left the sleepy town by a small wooden bridge over the Salzach and
into Austria, the townsfolk had not yet stirred from their noon day
rest. We felt we had been given a very special gift- for a brief
capsule of time Oberndorf had belonged to us alone.
We
were brought back sharply to reality, however as we approached the
border guard at the end of the bridge. He asked for our passports and
then exclaimed, "Oklahoma! I vas dere!" He had been a prisoner of
war in a camp near Louis' home town.
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