Christmas in Legend and Story Part 15

Drain with me this cup of welcome: thou shalt share our Yule-tide cheer.

Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat e'en though lowly be thy birth, For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a stranger to his earth."

Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her eyes with fear grew bright; Down the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow drifts by night.

"If my lord would hold me worthy," low she spake, "then grant me leave To abide between the stranger and my lord, this Christmas eve."

"Strange, O guest, is women's counsel, still their folly is the staff Upon which our wisdom leaneth," and he laughed a burly laugh; Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender pride, Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the high-seat at his side.

But the guest stood pale and quivered, where the red flames roofward rose, And he clenched the br.i.m.m.i.n.g goblet in his fingers, fierce and close,

Then he spake: "All hail, Earl Sigurd, mightiest of the Nors.e.m.e.n, hail!

Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy flesh and ale."

Quoth the merry Earl with fervor: "Courteous is thy speech and free: While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will sing a song to thee; For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst hide a hero's heart, And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet unlearned the singer's art."

Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck the Earl unclasped, And his heart was stirred within him as the silvern strings he grasped, But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his side she clung, While his mighty soul rose upward on the billows of the song.

For he sang, in tones impa.s.sioned, of the death of Aesir bright, Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was born a babe to-night,

How the hosts of heaven victorious joined the anthem of his birth, Of the kings the starlight guided from the far lands of the earth.

And anon, with bodeful glamour fraught, the hurrying strain sped on, As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath forever gone, Sang of G.o.ds with murder sated, who had laid the fair earth waste, Who had whetted swords of Nors.e.m.e.n, plunged them into Nors.e.m.e.n's breast.

But he shook a shower of music, rippling from the silver strings, And bright visions rose of angels and of fair and s.h.i.+ning things As he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the mild and bloodless reign Of the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and good-will unto men!

But the guest sat dumb and hearkened, staring at the br.i.m.m.i.n.g bowl, While the lay with mighty wing-beats swept the darkness of his soul.

For the Christ who worketh wonders as of old, so e'en to-day Sent his angel downward gliding on the ladder of the lay.

As the host his song had ended with a last resounding tw.a.n.g, And within the harp's dumb chambers murmurous echoes faintly rang, Up then sprang the guest, and straightway downward rolled his garment dun-- There stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's undaunted son.

High he loomed above the feasters in the torchlight dim and weird, From his eyes hot tears were streaming, sparkling in his tawny beard; s.h.i.+ning in his sea-blue mantle stood he, 'mid that wondering throng, And each maiden thought him fairest, and each warrior vowed him strong.

Swift he bared his blade of battle, flung it quivering on the board: "Lo!" he cried, "I came to bid thee baleful greeting with my sword; Thou hast dulled the edge that never shrank from battle's fiercest test-- Now I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto brother's breast.

"With three hundred men I landed in the gloaming at thy sh.o.r.e-- Dost thou hear their axes clanking on their s.h.i.+elds without thy door?

But a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's voice to hear, To behold her face and whisper words of warning in her ear.

"But I knew not of the new-born king, who holds the earth in sway, And whose voice like fragrance blended in the soarings of thy lay.

This my vengeance now, O brother: foes as friends shall hands unite; Teach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the law of Christ the white."

Touched as by an angel's glory, strangely shone Earl Sigurd's face, As he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly embrace;

And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn with gold bedight: "Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times hail to Christ the white!"

A CHRISTMAS LEGEND

FLORENCE SCANNELL

It was Christmas Eve. The night was very dark and the snow falling fast, as Hermann, the charcoal-burner, drew his cloak tighter around him, and the wind whistled fiercely through the trees of the Black Forest. He had been to carry a load to a castle near, and was now hastening home to his little hut. Although he worked very hard, he was poor, gaining barely enough for the wants of his wife and his four little children. He was thinking of them, when he heard a faint wailing. Guided by the sound, he groped about and found a little child, scantily clothed, s.h.i.+vering and sobbing by itself in the snow.

"Why, little one, have they left thee here all alone to face this cruel blast?"

The child answered nothing, but looked piteously up in the charcoal-burner's face.

"Well, I cannot leave thee here. Thou would'st be dead before the morning."

So saying, Hermann raised it in his arms, wrapping it in his cloak and warming its little cold hands in his bosom. When he arrived at his hut, he put down the child and tapped at the door, which was immediately thrown open, and the children rushed to meet him.

"Here, wife, is a guest to our Christmas Eve supper," said he, leading in the little one, who held timidly to his finger with its tiny hand.

"And welcome he is," said the wife. "Now let him come and warm himself by the fire."

The children all pressed round to welcome and gaze at the little new-comer. They showed him their pretty fir-tree, decorated with bright, colored lamps in honor of Christmas Eve, which the good mother had endeavored to make a _fete_ for the children.

Then they sat down to supper, each child contributing of its portion for the guest, looking with admiration at its clear, blue eyes and golden hair, which shone so as to shed a brighter light in the little room; and as they gazed, it grew into a sort of halo round his head, and his eyes beamed with a heavenly l.u.s.ter. Soon two white wings appeared at his shoulders, and he seemed to grow larger and larger, and then the beautiful vision vanished, spreading out his hands as in benediction over them.

Hermann and his wife fell on their knees, exclaiming, in awe-struck voices: "The holy Christ-child!" and then embraced their wondering children in joy and thankfulness that they had entertained the Heavenly Guest.

The next morning, as Hermann pa.s.sed by the place where he had found the fair child, he saw a cl.u.s.ter of lovely white flowers, with dark green leaves, looking as though the snow itself had blossomed. Hermann plucked some, and carried them reverently home to his wife and children, who treasured the fair blossoms and tended them carefully in remembrance of that wonderful Christmas Eve, calling them Chrysanthemums; and every year, as the time came round, they put aside a portion of their feast and gave it to some poor little child, according to the words of the Christ: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS ROSE

SELMA LAGERLoF

Robber Mother, who lived in Robbers' Cave up in Goinge forest, went down to the village one day on a begging tour. Robber Father, who was an outlawed man, did not dare to leave the forest, but had to content himself with lying in wait for the wayfarers who ventured within its borders. But at that time travellers were not very plentiful in Southern Skne. If it so happened that the man had had a few weeks of ill luck with his hunt, his wife would take to the road. She took with her five youngsters, and each youngster wore a ragged leathern suit and birch-bark shoes and bore a sack on his back as long as himself. When Robber Mother stepped inside the door of a cabin, no one dared refuse to give her whatever she demanded; for she was not above coming back the following night and setting fire to the house if she had not been well received. Robber Mother and her brood were worse than a pack of wolves, and many a man felt like running a spear through them; but it was never done, because they all knew that the man stayed up in the forest, and he would have known how to wreak vengeance if anything had happened to the children or the old woman.

Now that Robber Mother went from house to house and begged, she came one day to ovid, which at that time was a cloister. She rang the bell of the cloister gate and asked for food. The watchman let down a small wicket in the gate and handed her six round bread cakes--one for herself and one for each of the five children.

While the mother was standing quietly at the gate, her youngsters were running about. And now one of them came and pulled at her skirt, as a signal that he had discovered something which she ought to come and see, and Robber Mother followed him promptly.

The entire cloister was surrounded by a high and strong wall, but the youngster had managed to find a little back gate which stood ajar. When Robber Mother got there, she pushed the gate open and walked inside without asking leave, as it was her custom to do.

ovid Cloister was managed at that time by Abbot Hans, who knew all about herbs. Just within the cloister wall he had planted a little herb garden, and it was into this that the old woman had forced her way.

At first glance Robber Mother was so astonished that she paused at the gate. It was high summertide, and Abbot Hans' garden was so full of flowers that the eyes were fairly dazzled by the blues, reds, and yellows, as one looked into it. But presently an indulgent smile spread over her features, and she started to walk up a narrow path that lay between many flower-beds.

In the garden a lay brother walked about, pulling up weeds. It was he who had left the door in the wall open, that he might throw the weeds and tares on the rubbish heap outside.

When he saw Robber Mother coming in, with all five youngsters in tow, he ran toward her at once and ordered them away. But the beggar woman walked right on as before. She cast her eyes up and down, looking now at the stiff white lilies which spread near the ground, then on the ivy climbing high upon the cloister wall, and took no notice whatever of the lay brother.

He thought she had not understood him, and wanted to take her by the arm and turn her toward the gate. But when the robber woman saw his purpose, she gave him a look that sent him reeling backward. She had been walking with back bent under her beggar's pack, but now she straightened herself to her full height. "I am Robber Mother from Goinge forest; so touch me if you dare!" And it was obvious that she was as certain she would be left in peace as if she had announced that she was the Queen of Denmark.

And yet the lay brother dared to oppose her, although now, when he knew who she was, he spoke reasonably to her. "You must know, Robber Mother, that this is a monks' cloister, and no woman in the land is allowed within these walls. If you do not go away, the monks will be angry with me because I forgot to close the gate, and perhaps they will drive me away from the cloister and the herb garden."