In the county of Gruyères, among the high mountains, flowering meadows and dense forests, a small white church was lost, built in time immemorial by someone unknown. People call her Daada. Daada is an old Celtic word meaning a very steep climb. The church probably got its name because it stands on the slope of a mountain. At the foot of this mountain runs the fast river Sarina.
Having noticed the old bell tower of Daada over the centuries-old fir trees, many residents of Gruyères immediately remember stories about bygone times... The bell rings, its ringing spreads far throughout the surrounding area. He seems to be saying: “Your ancestors came here to worship. Their ashes rest here. Be, like them, a good Christian and pray for the repose of their souls, and when your hour of death comes, someone will pray for you too.” And every shepherd, passing by Daada, will definitely take off his hat and cross himself.
The old church stands empty and lonely. She protects the peace of those who, awaiting the Last Judgment, sleep in a small cemetery, in the shadow of her old walls overgrown with green moss. There was a time when a Benedictine came to Daada to celebrate Holy Mass and read the Gospel. Every Sunday, residents of the surrounding villages gathered there to together ask the Lord God to send them strength and courage, for those were difficult times: the war began, foreigners invaded Gruyères, and the rich, prosperous region fell into desolation. There were ruins and ashes everywhere. Hundreds of families left their homes and went to the mountains to hide from enemies.
But peace returned to Gruyères. The villages began to gradually come to life. People built new churches, new chapels, and it just so happened that Daada was abandoned and forgotten. But to the credit of the residents of the village of Granvillar, it must be said that many of them came from time to time to Daada and tried to maintain the ancient shrine in proper order. They still take care of the church. For four centuries now, the old bell on the white bell tower of Daada has been ringing on holidays.
A rocky, difficult road led from Granvillars to Daada through a dense forest and from there ran down a steep slope to Sarina, just to the place where it was possible to cross the river either by ford or in a tree trunk hollowed out like a boat.
Bridges were rare in those ancient times. The inhabitants of the Gruyere region decided to overcome the fast current of the Sarina only on the condition that it would not be too difficult for them. And if it rained and the water rose too high, they sat at home and waited for the weather to improve. In the old days, people lived calmly, slowly, and were quite happy.
So, the believers went to the churches of their own villages, completely forgetting about Daada. Even Granvillar had its own parish. And then strange rumors spread around the edge. They said that in the abandoned church the light comes on every night and Daada stands brightly lit until the morning, but no one could explain this strange phenomenon.
One day, during Lent, the sacristan from Granvillars, a boy named Pierre, went to Daada to ring the bell for evening prayer. Pierre climbed up the old creaky stairs to the bell tower, looked around and began to daydream. The sky was clear. The tired sun slowly sank into the golden cloudy feather bed, and the snowy mountain peaks turned pink in its last rays.
- Miracle, how good! - Pierre said and began to ring the bell. Having finished his work, the young man went downstairs, locked the church door with the key and then, without hesitation, was it either the devil pushing him or a guardian angel admonishing him? - he went down the rocky road to the river, forded the Sarina and went to the village of Villars-sous-Mont to visit his aunt Goton, his beloved cousins and his charming cousin.
It was a dark night. A whitish fog rose from the river and slowly enveloped the forest and meadows. The stars twinkled in the sky. The pale moon, through a creeping cloud, illuminated the earth with dim, cold rays.
In the hot kitchen, Pierre dined in the company of his many relatives. He was completely happy because his cousin was sitting next to him, smiling tenderly at him.
It was already late when Pierre began to get ready to go home. Glancing out the window, he suddenly saw that a bright light was burning inside Daada. So people were telling the truth! His heart went cold with horror. Aunt Goton was also seriously frightened. She said:
- Darling, I'm afraid to let you go! You shouldn't walk past this church at night. Stay with us and feel at home, and tomorrow at dawn you will go to Daada and ring the bell for matins.
And Pierre decided to spend the rest of the evening and night with his aunt.
It was not yet dawn and the roosters were not crowing when Pierre left the house, not thinking about anything other than his cousin’s sweet smile. But then he approaches the old chapel, touches the door and realizes that it is not locked... The young man stopped in amazement on the threshold. Was it not he himself, with his own hands, who locked it the day before? Who came here at night? Pierre felt drops of cold sweat appear on his forehead, he trembled all over and did not know what to think, however, pushed by an irresistible mysterious force, he entered the chapel.
The candles were lit, the breviary was open, and an unknown gray-haired old man, dressed in a priest's robe, stood at the foot of the altar, seemingly waiting only for a sign to begin the service.
Hearing footsteps behind him, the old man turned around and said loudly:
“Hurry up, Pierre, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” Come closer!
-Who is this priest? How did he enter here and where did he come from? Where did he get such an old vestment embroidered with gold? - Pierre asked himself, not daring to take a single step away from the door.
The unknown priest noticed the young man’s embarrassment and then spoke in a quiet, soft, almost plaintive voice. He said:
“Come here and help me celebrate Mass.” Let's hurry before the sun rises.
Plucking up courage, Pierre went up to the altar, knelt down and celebrated Holy Mass with the old man. He had never seen a person pray so reverently, with such zeal. Tears streamed down the priest's cheeks, and the further the service progressed, the more joy his face lit up. His wrinkles smoothed out, and he seemed to glow all over with happiness.
When the mass ended, the old man turned to the young man and asked:
- Pierre, do you know who I am?
- No, I don’t know you at all...
- Listen to my story then!
And this is what the priest told Pierre:
“Would you believe it, your great-great-grandfather and his parents were very friends with me.” Two hundred years ago I was curate of this church. Since then, every year, during Lent, I spent long nights in prayer, waiting for someone to come to celebrate Mass with me - in the morning, before sunrise. Yes, for many years I cried, prayed and waited, but still no one came. Listen further. So, I was a priest, but I was possessed by one passion - I adored hunting. From morning to evening, sometimes even at night, I chased chamois, roe deer, deer, hunted bears, wild boars and hares. The arrow was obedient to me, and I hit for sure. Every day my spear was red with the blood of the animals I had killed. To tell the truth, I helped feed many poor people with booty, but still my duty was to bring the word of God to the parishioners and serve as a good example for them.
One day a poor woman came to me and asked me to pray for the repose of her husband, who died in the waves of Sarina. I promised her that I would celebrate Mass the next day. But the next morning the weather was fine and, unable to contain my hunting ardor, I, together with one of your ancestors, went to the high cliffs to shoot a deer. I left, forgetting the promise I had made to pray for the soul of the drowned poor man. An avalanche suddenly fell on the mountainside. She drew me into the abyss, and my eyes opened to eternity...
The angry Apostle Peter did not want to let my sinful soul into heaven. He said that the door there would be closed to me until I atone for my grave sin by serving in Daad, at the dawn of some fast day, the mass that was promised to the poor widow... the mass that I so frivolously forgot.
Since then, restless, I returned from time to time to the doors of heaven and knocked on them in vain - no one opened for me.
Every year on fast days I came to Daada and waited at the altar for someone who would help me celebrate Mass and deliver my sinful soul from suffering. Thanks to you, Pierre, the painful atonement for my sin is completed. God bless you! I prayed for you... In a year we will meet in heaven.
Pierre was alone at the foot of the altar. The candles had long gone out, the missal lay in its place, everything was as if nothing strange had happened here.
Pierre prayed for a long time. Then he quickly left the church, cast a sad glance at the peaks of the mountains that towered above his native village of Granvillars, and, without returning to his father’s house, went to say his last “Sorry” to his dear cousin, who in the morning agreed to become his wife.
After some time, he, sad, but humble and resigned, descended into the valley. And on the threshold of the house, a young girl, wiping away tears, hopelessly looked after the one who was leaving her life forever...
The gentle rays of the sun and a gentle breeze heralded the return of spring. The winter cold was replaced by colorful flowers, the noise of trees dressed in leaves and the singing of birds. Life was in full swing, and some travelers were already heading towards the mountain passes. One evening, after a clear day, a terrible storm swept over the earth. The monks of one monastery, following an ancient custom, immediately went to the mountains in search of those who might have gone astray. None of them returned! Only the dogs that accompanied the brothers in the mountains ran to the monastery at dawn and began to howl mournfully.
One of the missing was a young novice, known to everyone for his dedication, kindness and prayerful zeal. He was from Granvillar.
And on the day when the sad news came to Villars-sous-Mont, the inconsolable family was already praying and crying at the grave of the girl who had suddenly been taken from life by an unknown illness.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru