Austria is full of forests and those forests are full of little wayside shrines called “Marterln” in Austrian dialect. There’s even an online database for these so-called “small monuments and field monuments” called Marterl.at. Almost all of them are religious in character: a wayside cross with a Pietà, a weathered saint in a niche, a Madonna watching over a forst path or a cross.
Normally, I barely notice them. They are so ubiquitous that I’ve never paid them much attention. But the other day, when hiking through the woods near Forchtenstein in the Austrian “Rosaliengebirge” and hunting for mushrooms, I came across the Tobiaskreuz. This one caught my attention.
An untypical Marterl
At first glance, it seemed special and atypical, because it isn’t obviously religious in theme, but rather mundane. Of course, a cross forms the central structure of the monument, but besides that there are none of the usual figures – no saints, no Mary, no Jesus. I have not researched this properly, but I’d guess that this absence of religious imagery makes it a rarity among Austrian roadside shrines.
But what really drew me in was the centrepiece of the monument: A humble, almost rustic and weathered painting on wooden planks. Before even reading the accompanying text, I began to decipher the image:
In its center, a little boy kneels in prayer, his head illuminated by a ray of light breaking through the trees from above. Next to him stand two men dressed in what looks like hunters’ or foresters’ uniforms, beside a boundary stone.
The painting is modest, unsophisticated, and mounted to the wooden structure with a few screws. It looks as if someone had made it casually – an act of gratitude for something that had occured.
The story behind Tobiaskreuz
The text beneath the painting reveals the story behind it:
“Little Tobias got lost in the forest. With God’s help and that of the good imperial and princely foresters, he was found safe and sound at the border. In gratitude, the Tobias Cross was erected.”
The text mounted at the Tobiaskreuz
No date is documented on the monument, but the uniforms of the depicted men suggest a date the 18th century, back when the border between Austria and Hungary ran right through the woods, next to the path. It separated the Austrian from Hungarian lands, each with its own administration.
The monument and painting, of course, don’t actually date back that far. As it seems, the original has been destroyed and rebuilt several times over the centuries. Today’s Tobiaskreuz is only the latest iteration of a much older marker.
I found the story itself worth pondering, assuming it really happened. Someone, a long time ago, was so relieved that the little boy was found again that they erected a cross in this exact spot.
The analogue geocache
Today, this could have been a posting on social media: a relieved parent, a photo, a location tag. Discoverable in digital media for – almost – eternity.
One could think of monuments like these Marterln as pre-digital form of geolocation content. A placed object with a story attached, waiting to be found. Analogue, physical, and surprisingly permanent. Tobiaskreuz might well outlive today’s servers, social media platforms and geocaching apps. And some future hiker may still stumble across it and wonder about little Tobias, just as I did.
