Various - Christmas Stories And Legends
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Various >> Christmas Stories And Legends
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[Sidenote: And Wanderings in Many Lands]
And Gaspard, looking now intently in the other's face, replied: "Yes,
Melchoir, I remember thee, and I remember the journey of which thou
hast spoken better than I remember aught else. Neither have I
forgotten the surprise and disappointment with which we came to the
place whither the star led us; nor how, after leaving our gifts, we
went away as in a dream; and, Melchoir, I have been dreaming ever
since. Even here hast thou found me in a dream of perplexity. I am
still Gaspard, the wandering magician; for how many years I know not,
I have wandered up and down these lands of Europe. I have crossed the
seas; in every place I have sought to find the kingdom over which we
were told this young prince was one day to reign. Dost thou not
remember that we were told His kingdom was to last forever, that He
would reign in it himself forever and would never die? Alas! I have
lost the old power of the magician's art. I can summon no star to
guide me to the place where I shall find this kingdom and its king."
[Sidenote: If Only Balthazar Were Here]
"Truly, Gaspard," answered Melchoir, "the story of your wanderings is
but the repetition of my own; and even now was I drawn to this
mountain summit on the self-same errand that brought you here,--to see
if I could not discover in the direction of yonder land, where
Bethlehem was, some star which might prove to be His star, and which
might guide me in the new quest. If only our old companion, Balthazar,
were with us now, he might give us the clew to our search, for not
only was he more skilful in the magician's art, but he was braver and
more courageous, and withal more serene in spirit."
[Sidenote: A Song in the Air]
Now, even while Melchoir was speaking, a voice was heard a little way
down the mountain. Gaspard and Melchoir stopped to listen. The voice
was singing, and the words of the song floated up to them distinctly:
If the sun has hid its light,
If the day has turned to night,
If the heavens are not benign,
If the stars refuse to shine--
Heart of man lose not thy hope;
Door, there's none that shall not ope;
Path, there's none that shall not clear;
Heart of man! why shouldst thou fear?
If for years should be thy quest,
If for years thou hast no rest,
If thou circlest earth and sea,
If thou worn and weary be--
Heart of man, lose not thy hope;
Door, there's none that shall not ope;
Path, there's none that shall not clear;
Heart of man! why shouldst thou fear?
[Sidenote: Balthazar Cometh]
"That," exclaimed Gaspard and Melchoir together, "is the voice of
Balthazar," and they hastened to meet him, for he was now almost at
the summit, and the refrain of his song was still upon his lips. At
that moment Balthazar sprang up from the sloping path into full view
of the two men, and, giving each a hand, exclaimed: "Gaspard,
Melchoir, beloved companions, I have found you at last. The peasants
below were not mistaken. From their description, I was certain I
should find you here. And you, too, have been searching these long
years for the kingdom of the Christ! and, like me, you have met with
disappointment; but, comrades, be not of faint heart:
Door, there's none that shall not ope;
Path, there's none that shall not clear.
Let us hasten down the mountain, for see! the sky is already growing
gold and crimson beyond the pillars of Hercules. Let us seek the
wayfarer's lodging with the hospitable peasants in the valley, and
tomorrow let us begin our search for the Christ anew. We have wandered
alone; let us invoke now the star to guide us together."
[Sidenote: Forget Not Hospitality]
That night, therefore, the three strangers lodged with the simple
peasant people in the valley, partaking with thankfulness of the
coarse bread, the dates and the red wine--the common fare of their
daily life. Nor did they fail to notice a motto inscribed above the
fireplace in rude Greek letters:
* * * * *
On the morrow they were ready to begin their search together for the
Christ, and they hoped not to wander far before they should find at
least the outskirts of His kingdom. But whither should they go? In
what direction should they first turn their steps?
[Sidenote: Once More a Star]
While they were thus wondering and debating, Balthazar suddenly
exclaimed: "I see the star!" And behold, a little way before them, and
at no great distance above their heads, they discerned in the gray of
the early morning a star of pale, opal light, which seemed to move
forward as the men moved toward it.
"We must follow the star!" Balthazar said in a whisper. Silently and
breathlessly his companions followed on.
Now, so intently did the three men keep their eyes fixed upon the
star, and so eagerly did they follow in the direction where it seemed
to lead, that it was only after a considerable time they discovered
that they had become separated from each other, and that their paths
were getting farther and farther apart. Yet, there before each of them
was the star, shining with its soft, opalescent light, and still
ringing in their ears were the words of Balthazar--"we must follow
the star."
[Sidenote: The Star Stands Still]
So each followed the star, each by himself alone. Gaspard's path
wound along near the shore of the gulfs and bays of the Mediterranean,
until at last the the star turned southward and drew him nearer and
nearer to a great city, and finally stood still over the dome of a
vast cathedral. "It must be," thought Gaspard, "that I have come to
the end of my search. This must be the capital and palace of the
eternal king."
[Sidenote: Marbled Aisle's Magnificence]
The square in front of the cathedral was thronged with people;
multitudes were pouring in through the great portals. Gaspard joined
the throngs, and at last found himself under the mighty dome, which
seemed to him as far away as the sky itself. Everything in this
wonderful place appealed to his imagination. There were great rows of
massive columns, symbol of a strength eternal, and they seemed like
wide-open arms holding out a welcome to the human race. There were
statues and paintings by great masters in art. The light of the sun
poured in through many-colored windows, on which were blazoned the
deeds of heroes and saints. Strains of music from the great organ in
the distance floated out upon the air. Touched and thrilled by all he
saw, Gaspard exclaimed to himself: "The place on which I stand is
holy ground."
[Sidenote: Kyrie Eleison]
Soon, however, he perceived that the throngs of people were not
lingering, like himself, in awe and wonder over the great columns and
the dome, and the statues, and the paintings, and the windows. Their
eyes were fixed intently upon something that was going on in the far
end of the cathedral. An altar was there, and priests in white robes
passing up and down before it, and tall tapers burning around it. Near
the altar was the image of a man hanging from a cross; his hands and
feet were pierced with nails, and a cruel wound was in his side. The
people were gazing at this altar, and at the image, and at what the
white-robed priests were doing. The strains of solemn music from the
organ blended with the voices of priests chanting the service. Clouds
of incense rose from censers, swung with solemn motion by the
altar-boys, and the fragrance of the incense was wafted down the long
aisles. At last, the tinkling of a bell. The organ became silent for
an instant, as though it felt within its heart the awful solemnity of
the moment; and then it burst forth into new rapture, and the people
began pouring out through the great doors.
[Sidenote: We Must Follow the Star]
Gaspard went forth with the throng into the cathedral square. "And
this," he said, "is the end of my search. I have found the Christ. His
kingdom is in the imagination of man. How beautiful, how wonderful,
how strange it was! 'Dominus vobiscum,' did not the priests say? Here,
then, at last I have found the city of the great King."
But as he lingered, behold! the star which had stood over the dome
of the cathedral was now before him, as at first, and seemed to waver
and tremble, as if beckoning him on. So, although his feet seemed
bound to the spot, and his heart was still throbbing with the deep
feelings the cathedral service had created in him, remembering the
words of Balthazar, "we must follow the star," he slowly and reluctantly
walked on.
[Sidenote: The Just Shall Live by Faith]
In the meantime Melchoir also had followed faithfully the path along
which the star seemed to lead. Through forests in which he almost lost
his way, across rivers difficult and dangerous to ford--still he
followed on. At length Melchoir's star seemed to tarry over the spire
of a gothic church, into which the people were going in throngs.
Waiting a moment, to be sure that the star was actually standing
still, Melchoir went in with the rest. In this place was no altar,
such as Gaspard saw; no image on the cross; no white-robed priests; no
swinging censers. But, as Melchoir entered he heard strains from the
organ, and a chorus of voices was singing an anthem beginning with
the words, "Te Deum Laudamus." And when the anthem came to a close, a
man clothed in a black robe, such as scholars were wont to wear, rose
in his place upon a platform elevated above the people, and began to
speak to them about the kingdom of Christ. Melchoir listened in eager
expectancy. [Sidenote: The Truth Shall Make You Free] "The kingdom of
the Christ," the preacher said, "is the kingdom of the truth, and the
truth is to be continued and kept alive by the strength of man's belief.
Those things which have been handed down by holy men and sacred oracles
since Christ was here upon the earth, are the truths by which we live.
How can Christ live except He live in our beliefs? Why did the Father
of all intrust us with our reasons, unless it were that we should
make them the instruments of our faith and our salvation? Let us
therefore stand in our places, while we recite together the articles
of our holy faith."
These and many such words did the scholar-preacher declare. And as he
sat there with the people, Melchoir felt the weight of the solemn and
earnest words, and he said: "So at last have I come to the end of my
search. The kingdom of Christ is in the mind of man. His kingdom is
the kingdom of the truth."
[Sidenote: More Light Shall Break Forth]
Then he followed the throngs as they went forth from the church; but
the star which had tarried over the lofty spire was now before him,
and the opal light wavered and trembled, as if beckoning him on; and
the words of the preacher, "we must believe," seemed to blend with the
words of Balthazar, "we must follow the star." So, reluctantly and
slowly he followed on.
[Sidenote: Thy Sacramental Liturgies]
But Balthazar--whither went he, following the star? Over many a rugged
way, through many a tangled thicket, through valleys and over hills.
His star tarried over no cathedrals; it lingered over no Gothic
spires. It seemed capricious and restless and tireless. At times it
seemed intent on coming to a pause over the head of some human being,
but perhaps it was because these human beings themselves were so
restless and so busy that the star could not accomplish its intent.
For Balthazar saw these men and women hurrying hither and thither on
errands of mercy, or deeds of justice; he saw them ferreting out great
wrongs, laying heavy blows on the backs of men who oppressed and
defrauded their fellow men.
At length Balthazar seemed to understand the movements of the star,
and, drawing nearer, he would seem to hear these men repeating
cheering and encouraging words to one another. "Pure religion and
undefiled," he heard one exclaiming, "is to visit the fatherless and
widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the
world." And another echoed, "Inasmuch as we do it to the least of
these, we do it unto Christ."
[Sidenote: The Joy of Doing Good]
"Ah! thought Balthazar as he listened, I see the meaning of it now; I
am coming to the end of my search. The kingdom of Christ--I have found
it. It is in the deeds of men; it is in the conscience and the serving
will. Devotion to right, this is the law of the kingdom of Christ."
Then Balthazar turned to go in search of his comrades again; but
behold! the opal star was trembling, as if beckoning him on. So, still
doubting if he had reached the end of his search, he followed the
star.
[Sidenote: The Paths Converge]
Thus Gaspard, Melchoir and Balthazar, each following the star, at last
approached each other. The star of each seemed to melt and blend into
the star of the others, and the opal light stood at last in the center
of the group. Gaspard exclaimed: "I have found that which we all were
seeking. The kingdom of Christ is in the imagination; Christ lives in
what man feels."
"Nay," said Melchoir, "I have followed the star, and I have found what
we sought. The kingdom of Christ is in the reason of man. Christ lives
in what man believes."
"But," cried Balthazar, "my star has led me to a different end. The
kingdom of Christ is in the will of man. Christ lives in what man
does."
"The truth," once more exclaimed Melchoir, "is the law of the
kingdom."
"Not truth," declared Balthazar, "but justice, righteousness, goodness
and purity--these are its laws and its marks."
"Nay, comrades beloved, hearken to me," answered Gaspard, "it is the
miracle of the divine presence. It is God among men, realized in the
holy mass. I beheld it all in yonder cathedral."
But lo! once more the star began to tremble and to change its place.
"Let us follow the star!" Balthazar whispered. "We will follow it,"
echoed the other two.
[Sidenote: Once More the Quest]
Then the star led them on, and they followed together until they came
at length to the doorway of a little cottage; and within the cottage
they saw a woman bending over a cradle, and in the cradle a little
child lay sleeping. She was a peasant woman; her clothing was not
rich; the furnishing of the cottage was humble and scanty. The cradle
itself was rude, as if put together by hands unskilful in tasks like
that. But when the mother looked at her babe a sweet smile played
about her lips, and a light was in her eyes. Then all suddenly the
three men remembered another scene long before, when they were bearers
of gold and frankincense and myrrh to another babe.
[Sidenote: He That Loveth Knoweth God]
And while they stood and wondered by the door, there came a strong and
sturdy peasant, broad-shouldered, roughly clad, his face browned in
the sun, his hands hardened with toil. He came and stood beside the
woman, and they bent together over the cradle of the sleeping child,
and the man drew the woman tenderly toward him and kissed her brow.
And still the three men lingered; for behold! the star stood still
above the child, and they dared not speak. But the heart of Gaspard
was saying in silence, "There is something greater than the repeated
miracle of the mass."
And Melchoir was thinking, "There is something mightier even than the
mind; something superior to naked truth."
[Sidenote: For God Is Love]
And Balthazar was confessing to himself that he had found something
more potent even than the righteous deed. For here they all beheld
how life was made sweet and blessed and holy by the power of love; and
by love for a little child, in whom was all weakness and helplessness,
whose only voice was a cry, but who was all strong and mighty with the
power of God, because he could transform roughness into tenderness,
and selfishness into loving care, and poverty itself into gifts of
gold and fragrant myrrh.
"Truly, my comrades," Balthazar said, "love is the greatest of all."
"And now I understand," said Gaspard, "how the weak things of the
world can confound the mighty."
"And I," added Melchoir, "see what it means for God to come to earth
in the form of a little child."
And so they turned away, and the radiance of the star was round about
them, and they were saying to each other: "Our search at last is
ended."
[*] Reprinted with the permission of "The Sketching Club,"
Indianapolis, Ind.
LITTLE GRETCHEN AND THE WOODEN SHOE[*]
By Elizabeth Harrison
Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in
a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the
edge of a great forest, whose fir trees extended for miles and miles
to the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one
room in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small
square window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built
an old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter curled a thin,
blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.
Small as the house was, it was large enough for two people who lived
in it. I want to tell you a story today about these two people. One
was an old gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of the
village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had come
into the world with the huge mountains and the giant fir trees, which
stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled all
over with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read
aright, would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy,
self-sacrifice; of loving, anxious, watching beside sick-beds; of
quiet endurance of pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a
thousand deeds of unselfish love for other people; but, of course,
they could not read this strange handwriting. They only knew that she
was old and wrinkled, and that she stooped as she walked. None of
them seemed to fear her, for her smile was always cheerful, and she
had a kindly word for each of them if they chanced to meet her on her
way to and from the village. With this old, old woman lived a very
little girl. So bright and happy was she that the travellers who
passed by the lonesome little house on the edge of the forest often
thought of a sunbeam as they saw her. These two people were known in
the village as Granny Goodyear and Little Gretchen.
The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller
branches of the pine trees in the forest. Gretchen and her granny were
up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of oatmeal,
Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old woolen
shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen always
claimed the right to put the shawl over Granny's head, even though she
had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully pinning
it under Granny's chin, she gave her a good-bye kiss, and Granny
started out for her morning's work in the forest. This work was
nothing more nor less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches
which the autumn winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground.
These were carefully gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied
together with a strong linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle
to her shoulder and trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold
the fagots for kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes
she would get only a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or
more, but on this money little Gretchen and she managed to live; they
had their home, and the forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire
which kept them warm in winter.
In the summer time Granny had a little garden at the back of the
house, where she raised, with little Gretchen's help, a few potatoes
and turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter
use. To this meagre supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs
from the forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black
coffee for Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It
cost too much money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy,
because they loved each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left
alone all day long in the hut, because Granny would have some work to
do in the village after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was
during these long days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing
the song which the wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer time
she learned the chirp and twitter of the birds, until her voice might
almost be mistaken for a bird's voice, she learned to dance as the
swaying shadows did, and even to talk to the stars which shone through
the little square window when Granny came home late or too tired to
talk.
Sometimes, when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra
bundle of knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let
little Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips
to the town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen's eyes
were delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas trees which stood
in the window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would
never tire of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little
wooden shops with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all
the other fine things. She had never owned a plaything in her whole
life; therefore, toys which you and I would not think much of seemed
to her very beautiful.
That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little
Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because
Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own little wooden stool and
placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her
hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant that she wanted to be
told about something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which
she had been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as
to say: "Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen."
"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "It's almost Christmas time, isn't
it?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five days more now," and then she
sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice
Granny's sigh.
"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she,
looking up eagerly into Granny's face.
"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no
Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."
"Oh, but Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the
beautiful toys we saw in the village today. Surely Santa Claus has
sent enough for every little child."
"Ah, dearie, those toys are for people who can pay for them, and we
have no money to spend for Christmas toys."
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children
who live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the
village, will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They
will be glad to give some to a little girl who has none."
"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking
the soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love.
You would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads
are so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about
anybody else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head.
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing
a little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of
the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and
some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And,
Granny, dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I
gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who
lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of
our forest in his room all Christmas day?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the
Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present
yourself."
"Oh, but, Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you
forgot all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth
and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was
born! They are so loving and good that _they_ will not forget any
little child. I shall ask my dear stars tonight to tell them of us.
You know," she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very
high that they must know the angels quite well as they come and go
with their messages from the loving God."
Granny sighed as she half whispered. "Poor child, poor child!" but
Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty
kiss, saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the
stars often enough, else you would not be sad at Christmas time." Then
she danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her
to show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She
looked so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and
laughed with little Gretchen over her new snow dance. The days passed
on and the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied
up the little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful little
housewife--was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as
happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day
preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most
beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next
morning to the old sick man who lived by the mill.
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