The Christmas story I read a few days ago is titled The First Christmas Tree written by Henry Van Dyke. I think this is my first reading of Henry Van Dyke although I'm pretty sure there is a book or two of his here somewhere, probably as a hill in a Christmas village right now. Again, this was a short story, I seem to be having trouble find Christmas stories that aren't short stories, therefore I find myself reading a lot of things right now I am never going to remember by next Christmas. If a story is short it won't stay in my memory long. In this story in the beginning we are at a cloister with the nuns, it is the day before Christmas in the year 722AD. At least it's starting with the mention of Christmas right at the beginning, that's promising. It's also at the beginning though where I am first puzzled, we have this:
The little bandy-legged dogs that kept the spits turning before the fires had been trotting steadily for many an hour, until their tongues hung out for want of breath.
Does that mean there were really dogs running in the kitchen turning the spits? What an awful way to spend your day if you're a dog. I'm trying to imagine Willow turning before the fires for many hours and I'm sure she'd sit there looking at me as if I was crazy if I tried to get her to do such a thing. She's under the covers in bed between me and my husband right now. Anyway, all the sisters are exited because they are having a famous visitor:
Winfried of England, whose name in the Roman tongue was Boniface, and whom men called the Apostle of Germany. A great preacher; a wonderful scholar; he had written a Latin grammar himself, think of it, and he could hardly sleep without a book under his pillow
I always have a book with me but I can't say I ever had one under my pillow. So Winfried comes to the cloister and when he leaves he takes the abbess's grandson with him. Now that's my next problem, how did the abbess have a grandson? Nuns don't get married, so how did she manage to have a child who then had a child who is her grandson? I may never know. The boy leaves with Winfried whoever he may be for no particular reason that I can see than that he wanted to. So off they go. They are going to:
"Come, Gregor," he said, laying his brown hand on the youth's shoulder, "come, wear the forester's boots with me. This is the life to which we are called. Be strong in the Lord, a hunter of the demons, a subduer of the wilderness, a woodsman of the faith. Come!"
The next chapter finds us with two years gone past and it is another Christmas eve. Winfried is leading a little band of pilgrims, less than a score of men through the forest of central Germany. Where they were for two years I don't know. It tells us that beside him was the young Prince Gregor. Now not only do I not know how he got a nun for a grandmother, I don't know how he got to be a prince either. And now they come upon the thunder oak or some such thing. It's a tree, a big tree. The leaves are gone since it is winter, but it's still big. There is a fire in front of the tree and a whole bunch of people gathered around it in a half circle. According to one of the pilgrims it is a sacrifice to the old gods, they will make a sacrifice to the god of war, drink blood, and eat horse flesh to make them strong. According to the old priest:
"Stand still, then, thou common man," said Hunrad, scornfully, "and behold what the gods have called us hither to do. This night is the death-night of the sun-god, Baldur the Beautiful, beloved of gods and men. This night is the hour of darkness and the power of winter, of sacrifice and mighty fear. This night the great Thor, the god of thunder and war, to whom this oak is sacred, is grieved for the death of Baldur, and angry with this people because they have forsaken his worship. Long is it since an offering has been laid upon his altar, long since the roots of his holy tree have been fed with blood. Therefore its leaves have withered before the time, and its boughs are heavy with death. Therefore the Slavs and the Wends have beaten us in battle. Therefore the harvests have failed, and the wolf-hordes have ravaged the folds, and the strength has departed from the bow, and the wood of the spear has broken, and the wild boar has slain the huntsman. Therefore the plague has fallen on our dwellings, and the dead are more than the living in all our villages. Answer me, ye people, are not these things true?"
A hoarse sound of approval ran through the circle.
But tonight it's not enough to sacrifice an animal, the old priest is going to sacrifice a young child. And that's where Winfried steps in and puts an end to it all. And tells the Christmas story. And convinces the people. And sets up the first Christmas tree. I always thought that was Martin Luther. Perhaps it was neither of them, I'll have to look it up. In the meantime, happy reading.