Késsinnimek - Roots - RacinesMon Petit Coin by Norm Léveillée
The Great Stone Face - Old Man of the Mountain
During the night of May 2-3, 2003, a rumble was heard in Franconia Notch, New Hampshire. The next morning, hikers noticed that the Old Man of the Mountain had crumpled down the mountainside. There was no longer a reflection of the Great Stone Face in Profile Lake. The symbol and spirit of the White Mountains, honored by the Native Americans from time immemorial, first seen by a white man in 1805, viewed by millions of people since then, had disappeared forever in 2003.
When I was a youngster, my family spent many summers, especially in August, in the White Mountains, always including many visits to the Old Man of the Mountains. As an adult, I took my family there - my children and now my grandchildren to view this marvel. I have heard and read many stories about the Great Stone Face. I would like to relate several of them for you: one will be my summary of Edward Roth's "Christus Judex, A Traveller's Tale", the others will be as the authors penned them.
The first story was written by William Oakes in 1848 entitled
The Profile Rock
"The Profile Rock is perhaps the greatest object of
popular curiosity and admiration in the vicinity of the White Mountains. It has most of the
features of the human face, forehead, eyebrows, nose, mouth, and chin;and though rough hewn by the hand of Time, they are all well proportioned to each other. It is hung up for exhibition in a most conspicous and convenient situation, in bold relief against the sky, and in excellent contrast and harmony with the surrounding scenery.
The expression is severe and somewhat melancholy, and although there is a little feebleness about the mouth, on the whole, the face of the "Old Man of the Mountain" is set, and his countenance fixed and firm. He neither blinks at the near flashes of the lightning beneath his nose, nor flinches from the driving snow and sleet of the Franconia winter, which makes the very mercury of the thermometer shrink into the bulb and congeal.
The Profile is composed of three separate masses of rock, one of which forms the forehead, the second the nose and upper lip, and the third the chin. They are only brought into their proper position at a certain distance and place, which is on the well-travelled road through the Franconia Notch. It is about a quarter of mile south of the (Profile) Hotel, and is pointed out by a guide-board at the road side." 1
This story was sent to me by a friend. It is an
Abenaki Legend
Long ago, a Chief of the Abenaki who lived here in the White Mountains was in council with the Iroquois Confederacy in New York. While there he fell in love with the daugther of a Mohawk Chief. Now remember, the Iroquois tradition was for the Man to move to the Woman's homeland but the Chief had so much responsibility here that this was not possible. So after many councils the two were granted permission to marry and the Mohawk woman was allowed to move to the White Mountains with her husband. Over the years they were very happy. The Abenaki Chief had a accident and become crippled in one leg but still he was a great provider for his family and the two had a good life.
After years of marriage, a group of Iroquois Messengers came to the village and told the Mohawk woman that her father was about to pass over and he would like to see her one more time. So her husband climbed to the highest mountain in the area to watch her travel signs as far as he could see. When he could see her no more he went back to the village to await her arrival home after the summer.
In the early fall he once again climbed to the top of the mountain to wait for her to return. But the snow started to come and still she was not there. His men asked him to please come back to the village until spring but he refused. So his men gathered firewood and built him a shelter before they left him and went back.
In the spring the men climbed to the top of the mountain and found their great Chief only as a pile of bones. They held a ceremony then started down the mountain. One of the men looked back with great sadness only to see his beloved Chief had turned his face to stone to watch for his wife's return!
Many cultures all over the world believe that when great ones turn themselves to stone and when the stone gives way, it is a release of the spirit. So the Chief has come home to his people now.
He has had many years to rest, watch and listen. His spirit with all its wisdom and strength will now come to us and guide us back to unity and his strength will help us with all the important work we have to do for our Nation and People.
The Old Man of the Mountain
A correspondent of the Boston Transcript, writing from the Profile House in the mid-1960's, gives the following pleasing legend of one of the most remarkable wonders of the mountain world:
Whoever visits the White Mountains of New Hampshire, does not soon forget that profile of the human face, carved in the solid stone, and known as the "Old Man of the Mountain."
Abruptly projecting from the receding side of the precipice, the profile stands out against the sky, fifteen hundred feet above the little lake below. There is no mistaking the features -- the massive fore-head, the heavy brow; the sharply-defined nose; the slightly-parted lips; the senile chin -- all are there, chiselled by nature, complete, symmetrical, and with an expression of more than mortal sadness.
How came the profile there? By what cunning hand have been traced those lines of enduring sadness? Is the Old Man now what he ever has been, or was he once a living, sentient being? we asked, and in reply, as we gazed at his sad face from the shores of the little lake, received the following
LEGEND
Among these mountains there lived for ages undistrubed the Indian god Ulala. On the little plain near by stood his wigwam, facing the sun, which only at midday shone into his mountain fortress. A little beyond the plain, surrounded by towering walls of granite, its waters cool as an Alpine spring, there nestles a quiet lake. On its fair bosom he paddled his light canoe; from its sparkling depths, with a line of sinews he drew the frisky trout; along its pebbled shores he chased the timid deer, or sped his jasper-headed arrow swift to the very heart of the imprudent stag, which, in native vanity, sported with its mirrored self along the brink of its quiet waters; and ever when the shades of evening fell, he loved to commune with his departed braves, whose spiritis as if conscious of the surrounding grandeur, still lingered on the misty mountain-tops, there to repeat again and again his every call.
For his people he exercised a paternal care. He told them where was found the evergreen hemlock from which their bows were made; he pointed out to them the hidden paths among the mountains; he taught them the medicinal properties of plants, how to bind up wounds, and by what magic to drive away evil spiritis; he explained to them the mystery of their origin, the rites of religion, and the rewards which awaited ony the brave in the land of the Hereafter.
Long and prosperous had been the reign of Ulala. Gaunt Famine had not entered the wigwams of his people. Consuming Fever was ever checked by his simple medicines, and his braves, strengthened by the life-giving air of the mountains, never failed in battle. Often did Ulala rejoice at his children's prosperity. -- But an evil day brought from the south the pale man, scattering diseases in his path, and dealing death among Ulala's people. As he advanced, the red man retreated. Victory ever stayed with his terrible weapons. Ulala watched the unequal contest, and mourned over his vanquished and fleeing children. No longer was the song of the Indian maiden or the echoing whoop of the dusky warrior heard among these hills. Toward the setting sun the red men, torn and bleeding, turned their tottering foot-steps. Ulala climbed the mountain-side and watched with heavy heart and tearful eye their retreating forms. In the distance the athletic Indian became a speck -- the speck, nothing -- all was gone! A tear fell down the mountain-side and formed the little lake beneath. Suddenly his breath ceased -- his forehead grew cold -- his lips rigid, and the features of unhappy Ulala were transformed to this profile of enduring granite! And thus shall it ever remain, facing the eastern sky in grand but gloomy majesty; and as long as time shall endure, the traveller among these mountains will be reminded of the white man's cruelties, the red man's wrongs, as he gazes into the sad, stony features of Ulala, "The Old Man of the Mountain."2
This legend was published in 1946.
The Great White Hills of New Hampshire
Ernest Poole
When in the Glacial Age the ice had gouged that vast rift through our range, the sun through untold centuries shone down and clothed in green the bleak naked mountain pass. Pine forests grew and through them wandered deer and wildcat, bear and mouse. Hunting them, the red men came and up at the head of the Notch they saw a great stone face frowning down from its cliff in the clouds. They worshiped him as a god and prayed to him to protect their homes from the Mohawks who raided from the west, and they left this legend of how he responded to their appeals.
When a band of Mohawk warriors had burned and massacred down below and been driven back by the Pennacooks, they returned up the long winding Notch trail and exhausted slept through the night. At sunrise they spied that great face frowning on them from the clouds. "It is the Manitou!" they cried. As they fell on their faces, darkness came, and out of thunder and lightning they heard the dreaded Manitou say:
"You have made war on your brothers and your hands are stained with blood! You have dared to enter this place of the Great Spirit unsummoned, and the penalty is death!"
As they lay trembling on the ground, lulled by a strange spellbinding song, they fell asleep and turned to stone and became the boulders found there still.3
This story was written by Edward Roth who was born born in Ireland in 1826. He was a principal in Philadelphia for most of his life. He died in 1911. In 1864, he wrote a beatiful story about the Stone Face, entitled
"Christus Judex, A Traveller's Tale"
This story dealt with a Traveller and his visit to the small village of Acqua Chiara, in the plains of Lombardy, in Italy. When the Traveller visited the village's Catholic Church, he discovered a most beautiful, large painting of a single figure: a head with a stern brow, a mild eye and a gentle and loving mouth. The chin depicted strict justice. It was the face of Christ as if He were sitting and looking to the left. It was the painting of the Judging Christ. The face was so familiar to this Traveller but he could not remember where he had seen it. He went back to his hotel with that haunting face still before him. He asked his host about it.
The landlord told him that tomorrow was the 150th annivesary of the creation of that painting by Pietro Casola, who was born in 1655 and died in 1725 in Acqua Chiara. The festivities were to include a procession to his tomb in the local cemetery, continuing to the village church for a Mass of celebration. The Traveller asked him about the painting. He quickly told the eager Traveller that the best source for that information was the local priest. Excited about the next day's festivities, our Traveller went to bed with the haunting figure of the Judging Christ.
The next morning, the Traveller was awaken by the singing of chants. He looked out of his window and saw the entire village in a procession that was heading up toward the cemetery. He quickly dressed and left his room to participate in this procession. The entire village marched up to the tomb of Pietro Casola where they laid flowers and sang hymns honoring the village's most famous person - the painter of the Judging Christ, which has hung for 150 years over the altar of their church. The Traveller followed the procession into the village Church where the Padre and his congregation, along with the choir singing beautiful religious chants, celebrated the Mass in honor of the 150th anniversary of their most famous painting by Casola. After Mass, the Traveller asked the Padre about Pietro Casola. The pastor invited the Traveller to dinner for that evening, during which he promised that he would tell him the tale of the Christus Judex.
That evening, during dinner, our Traveller inquired about the model for this painting. The Padre told him that no man who ever lived bore that countenance. Our Traveller remarked to the Padre that even though he had never set foot in the village, he had seen this countenance before, but he could not recall where. After dinner, the Padre began the story of Pietro Casola, who was born in 1655 in Acqua Chiara, died and was buried there in 1725. From early on, Pietro had shown a remarkable talent for painting. His mother wished that he paint only religious subjects; she asked him to paint Christ coming as a judge of the world. He promised this to his mother.
Pietro visited all the art centers of his world during the latter part of the sixteenth and early seventeeth centuries. He studied all the great artists, but could not find his subject for Christ the Judge. He felt that he had failed. He came back to Acqua Chiara for his father's funeral and burial. There, his mother told him about an old Jesuit priest, Father De Seranne, who fell very ill here in the inn. She went to minister to him. She explained that her son was searching for the right model for his Judging Christ painting. The old priest told her that there was such a countenance, in the far away land of America. Pietro felt rejuvenated. He decided to travel to America to seek this countenace.
In 1680, he embarked on an ocean journey to New France, landing in Québec. There he met a fur trader named Jacques Clérêt who travelled with all the great explorers of the time. Jacques had met this Jesuit Father De Seranne who had travelled throughout the Iroquois and Abenaki lands as a missionary. He mentioned many curiosities that he had seen, but never remarked to Jacques about a countenance. Casola told Jacques that he was embarking upon a journey to find this countenance which would serve as his model for the Judging Christ. Jacques would go along as his guide. They arranged for two birch bark canoes and four Abenaki Indians to accompany them.
Their journey took them down the St. Lawrence river, portage through pristince forests, and finally reached the Indian Villlage on the Kennebek River. Father Simon, another Jesuit missionary, had christianized all the Indians in this village. But Father Simon was not present upon their arrival. Jacques conversed with the Elders of the village and learned the wherebouts of the countenance. He told Casola that their expedition was nearing its end. They set upon their journey before Father Simon returned. They followed the river south, crossed over to various other streams, passed through enormous forests, and finally landed in a valley whose mountains in the background were called "White Foreheads. They followed this valley until they came to a lake. Across the lake, there was a vast mountain side reaching some 500 feet in height. And there, hung against the white clouds and blue sky, Pietro Casola saw the features of a vast face, calm and stern whose forehead, nose, lips and chin were carved out of immense blocks of stone. He found the model which he had held in his imagination for so long, the features of the Divine Judge. Both he and Jacques stared in awe at this wonderful Face, the "Onon-manitou" or "Mountain Sprit", to which the natives brought presents to satisfy their gratitude. As the Indians were relating stories about the Face getting sterner as time went by, Casola sketched the countenance; his sketching was not necessary, because this Great Stone Face had engraved itself forever on his memory.
The old Padre concluded his story to his listener by telling that Casola travelled through other parts of America before returning to Acqua Chiara to paint his "Christus Judex". Jacques Cléret accompanied him throughout his travels and his return to his village to live out the rest of his life. Our Traveller then remembered where he had seen this Great Stone Face, which became Casola's model of which the reader now knows. And thus ends the story of the Judging Christ painting that hangs in the village church of Acqua Chiara in Lombardy, Italy.
For the complete story, refer to The Old Man's Reader.4
This poem was written by Robert F. Doane in 1939.
The Old Man
On the Crest of a mighty mountain
Looking over the lake below,
A face with a human expression
Watches many a century go.It was made from a mountain of granite
With the skill of a sculptor's hand,
And guards the green valley below it
As time passes over the land.At dusk when the birds cease their carols
And the wind murmurs through the trees,
There's a sense of sadness about you,
As you stand in the evening breeze.You feel that a great respect's due him-
So mighty beneath the blue sky.
There are few who have not been inspired
By that face as they've passed it by.And to me, as to Daniel Webster,
The thought comes now and again
That in the great State of New Hampshire
The Master of Sculptors makes men. 5
I would like to end this article with a short essay by Daniel Webster:
Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades. Shoemakers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers, a monster watch; even the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the Franconia Mountains God Almighty has hung out a sign to show that in New England He makes men. (6)Homme pend son panneau indiquant son commerce. Le cordonnier pend une chaussure énorme; le bijoutier une montre monstre; même le dentiste pend une dent en or; mais dans les Montagnes Franconia, Dieu Tout-puissant pend un panneau pour nous montrer qu'en la Nouvelle Angleterre, Il crée l'homme. (Translation by NL)
I wonder why our Creator, the Great Spirit, God Almighty has taken away His sign at this time! (NL)
Je me demande pourquoi notre Créateaur, le Grand Esprit, Dieu Tout-puissant a enlevé son panneau ces jours-ci!(NL)
Reference
(1) The Old Man's Reader, History & Legends of Franconia Notch, compiled by John T. Mudge, The Durand Press, Etna, NH 03750-4310, pp. 83-85.
(2) Ibid., pp. 13-15.
(3) Ibid., p. 25.
(4) Ibid., pp. 29-76.
(5) Ibid., pp. 166-167.
(6) Ibid., pp. p. 210.
The above references and the graphics in this article are reprinted with permission from The Durand Press.
Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines
Copyright © 2003 Norm Léveillée
Created 1 Feb 2003