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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9179-0.txt b/9179-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da80b9b --- /dev/null +++ b/9179-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4034 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bride of the Mistletoe + +Author: James Lane Allen + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9179] +This file was first posted on September 11, 2003 +Last Updated: October 30, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE + +By James Lane Allen + + + +Author Of “Flute And Violin,” “A Kentucky Cardinal,” “Aftermath,” Etc. + + + +TO ONE WHO KNOWS + + +Je crois que pour produire il ne faut pas trop raissoner. Mais il +faut regarder beaucoup et songer à ce qu’on a vu. Voir: tout est là, +et voir juste. J’entends, par voir juste, voir avec ses propres yeux +et non avec ceux des maîtres. L’originalité d’un artiste s’indique +d’abord dans les petites choses et non dans les grandes. + +Il faut trouver aux choses une signification qui n’a pas encore +découverte et tâcher de l’exprimer d’une façon personelle. + +--GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + + + + +PREFACE + + +Any one about to read this work of fiction might properly be apprised +beforehand that it is not a novel: it has neither the structure nor +the purpose of The Novel. + +It is a story. There are two characters--a middle-aged married couple +living in a plain farmhouse; one point on the field of human nature is +located; at that point one subject is treated; in the treatment one +movement is directed toward one climax; no external event whatsoever +is introduced; and the time is about forty hours. + +A second story of equal length, laid in the same house, is expected to +appear within a twelvemonth. The same father and mother are +characters, and the family friend the country doctor; but +subordinately all. The main story concerns itself with the four +children of the two households. + +It is an American children’s story: + +“A Brood of The Eagle.” + +During the year a third work, not fiction, will be published, +entitled: + +“The Christmas Tree: An Interpretation.” + +The three works will serve to complete each other, and they complete a +cycle of the theme. + + + +CONTENTS + + EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + + + +EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + +A mighty table-land lies southward in a hardy region of our country. +It has the form of a colossal Shield, lacking and broken in some of +its outlines and rough and rude of make. Nature forged it for some +crisis in her long warfare of time and change, made use of it, and so +left it lying as one of her ancient battle-pieces--Kentucky. + +The great Shield is raised high out of the earth at one end and sunk +deep into it at the other. It is tilted away from the dawn toward the +sunset. Where the western dip of it reposes on the planet, Nature, +cunning artificer, set the stream of ocean flowing past with restless +foam--the Father of Waters. Along the edge for a space she bound a +bright river to the rim of silver. And where the eastern part rises +loftiest on the horizon, turned away from the reddening daybreak, she +piled shaggy mountains wooded with trees that loose their leaves ere +snowflakes fly and with steadfast evergreens which hold to theirs +through the gladdening and the saddening year. Then crosswise over the +middle of the Shield, northward and southward upon the breadth of it, +covering the life-born rock of many thicknesses, she drew a tough skin +of verdure--a broad strip of hide of the ever growing grass. She +embossed noble forests on this greensward and under the forests drew +clear waters. + +This she did in a time of which we know nothing--uncharted ages before +man had emerged from the deeps of ocean with eyes to wonder, thoughts +to wander, heart to love, and spirit to pray. Many a scene the same +power has wrought out upon the surface of the Shield since she brought +him forth and set him there: many an old one, many a new. She has made +it sometimes a Shield of war, sometimes a Shield of peace. Nor has +she yet finished with its destinies as she has not yet finished with +anything in the universe. While therefore she continues her will and +pleasure elsewhere throughout creation, she does not forget the +Shield. + +She likes sometimes to set upon it scenes which admonish man how +little his lot has changed since Hephaistos wrought like scenes upon +the shield of Achilles, and Thetis of the silver feet sprang like a +falcon from snowy Olympus bearing the glittering piece of armor to her +angered son. + +These are some of the scenes that were wrought on the shield of +Achilles and that to-day are spread over the Earth Shield Kentucky: + +Espousals and marriage feasts and the blaze of lights as they lead the +bride from her chamber, flutes and violins sounding merrily. An +assembly-place where the people are gathered, a strife having arisen +about the blood-price of a man slain; the old lawyers stand up one +after another and make their tangled arguments in turn. Soft, freshly +ploughed fields where ploughmen drive their teams to and fro, the +earth growing dark behind the share. The estate of a landowner where +laborers are reaping; some armfuls the binders are binding with +twisted bands of straw: among them the farmer is standing in silence, +leaning on his staff, rejoicing in his heart. Vineyards with purpling +clusters and happy folk gathering these in plaited baskets on sunny +afternoons. A herd of cattle with incurved horns hurrying from the +stable to the woods where there is running water and where +purple-topped weeds bend above the sleek grass. A fair glen with white +sheep. A dancing-place under the trees; girls and young men dancing, +their fingers on one another’s wrists: a great company stands watching +the lovely dance of joy. + +Such pageants appeared on the shield of Achilles as art; as pageants +of life they appear on the Earth Shield Kentucky. The metal-worker of +old wrought them upon the armor of the Greek warrior in tin and +silver, bronze and gold. The world-designer sets them to-day on the +throbbing land in nerve and blood, toil and delight and passion. But +there with the old things she mingles new things, with the never +changing the ever changing; for the old that remains always the new +and the new that perpetually becomes old--these Nature allots to man +as his two portions wherewith he must abide steadfast in what he is +and go upward or go downward through all that he is to become. + +But of the many scenes which she in our time sets forth upon the +stately grassy Shield there is a single spectacle that she spreads +over the length and breadth of it once every year now as best liked by +the entire people; and this is both old and new. + +It is old because it contains man’s faith in his immortality, which +was venerable with age before the shield of Achilles ever grew +effulgent before the sightless orbs of Homer. It is new because it +contains those latest hopes and reasons for this faith, which briefly +blossom out upon the primitive stock with the altering years and soon +are blown away upon the winds of change. Since this spectacle, this +festival, is thus old and is thus new and thus enwraps the deepest +thing in the human spirit, it is never forgotten. + +When in vernal days any one turns a furrow or sows in the teeth of the +wind and glances at the fickle sky; when under the summer shade of a +flowering tree any one looks out upon his fatted herds and fattening +grain; whether there is autumnal plenty in his barn or autumnal +emptiness, autumnal peace in his breast or autumnal strife,--all days +of the year, in the assembly-place, in the dancing-place, whatsoever +of good or ill befall in mind or hand, never does one forget. + +When nights are darkest and days most dark; when the sun seems +farthest from the planet and cheers it with lowest heat; when the +fields lie shorn between harvest-time and seed-time and man turns +wistful eyes back and forth between the mystery of his origin and the +mystery of his end,--then comes the great pageant of the winter +solstice, then comes Christmas. + +So what is Christmas? And what for centuries has it been to differing +but always identical mortals? + +It was once the old pagan festival of dead Nature. It was once the old +pagan festival of the reappearing sun. It was the pagan festival when +the hands of labor took their rest and hunger took its fill. It was +the pagan festival to honor the descent of the fabled inhabitants of +an upper world upon the earth, their commerce with common flesh, and +the production of a race of divine-and-human half-breeds. It is now +the festival of the Immortal Child appearing in the midst of mortal +children. It is now the new festival of man’s remembrance of his +errors and his charity toward erring neighbors. It has latterly become +the widening festival of universal brotherhood with succor for all +need and nighness to all suffering; of good will warring against ill +will and of peace warring upon war. + +And thus for all who have anywhere come to know it, Christmas is the +festival of the better worldly self. But better than worldliness, it +is on the Shield to-day what it essentially has been through many an +age to many people--the symbolic Earth Festival of the Evergreen; +setting forth man’s pathetic love of youth--of his own youth that will +not stay with him; and renewing his faith in a destiny that winds its +ancient way upward out of dark and damp toward Eternal Light. + +This is a story of the Earth Festival on the Earth Shield. + + + + +I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + +A man sat writing near a window of an old house out in the country a +few years ago; it was afternoon of the twenty-third of December. + +One of the volumes of a work on American Forestry lay open on the desk +near his right hand; and as he sometimes stopped in his writing and +turned the leaves, the illustrations showed that the long road of his +mental travels--for such he followed--was now passing through the +evergreens. + +Many notes were printed at the bottoms of the pages. They burned there +like short tapers in dim places, often lighting up obscure faiths and +customs of our puzzled human race. His eyes roved from taper to taper, +as gathering knowledge ray by ray. A small book lay near the large +one. It dealt with primitive nature-worship; and it belonged in the +class of those that are kept under lock and key by the libraries which +possess them as unsafe reading for unsafe minds. + +Sheets of paper covered with the man’s clear, deliberate handwriting +lay thickly on the desk. A table in the centre of the room was strewn +with volumes, some of a secret character, opened for reference. On the +tops of two bookcases and on the mantelpiece were prints representing +scenes from the oldest known art of the East. These and other prints +hanging about the walls, however remote from each other in the times +and places where they had been gathered, brought together in this room +of a quiet Kentucky farmhouse evidence bearing upon the same object: +the subject related in general to trees and in especial evergreens. + +While the man was immersed in his work, he appeared not to be +submerged. His left hand was always going out to one or the other of +three picture-frames on the desk and his fingers bent caressingly. + +Two of these frames held photographs of four young children--a boy and +a girl comprising each group. The children had the air of being well +enough bred to be well behaved before the camera, but of being unruly +and disorderly out of sheer health and a wild naturalness. All of them +looked straight at you; all had eyes wide open with American frankness +and good humor; all had mouths shut tight with American energy and +determination. Apparently they already believed that the New World was +behind them, that the nation backed them up. In a way you believed +it. You accepted them on the spot as embodying that marvellous +precocity in American children, through which they early in life +become conscious of the country and claim it their country and believe +that it claims them. Thus they took on the distinction of being a +squad detached only photographically from the rank and file of the +white armies of the young in the New World, millions and millions +strong, as they march, clear-eyed, clear-headed, joyous, magnificent, +toward new times and new destinies for the nation and for humanity--a +kinder knowledge of man and a kinder ignorance of God. + +The third frame held the picture of a woman probably thirty years of +age. Her features were without noticeable American characteristics. +What human traits you saw depended upon what human traits you saw +with. + +The hair was dark and abundant, the brows dark and strong. And the +lashes were dark and strong; and the eyes themselves, so thornily +hedged about, somehow brought up before you a picture of autumn +thistles--thistles that look out from the shadow of a rock. They had a +veritable thistle quality and suggestiveness: gray and of the fields, +sure of their experience in nature, freighted with silence. + +Despite grayness and thorniness, however, you saw that they were in +the summer of their life-bloom; and singularly above even their beauty +of blooming they held what is rare in the eyes of either men or +women--they held a look of being just. + +The whole face was an oval, long, regular, high-bred. If the lower +part had been hidden behind a white veil of the Orient (by that little +bank of snow which is guardedly built in front of the overflowing +desires of the mouth), the upper part would have given the impression +of reserve, coldness, possibly of severity; yet ruled by that one +look--the garnered wisdom, the tempering justice, of the eyes. The +whole face being seen, the lower features altered the impression made +by the upper ones; reserve became bettered into strength, coldness +bettered into dignity, severity of intellect transfused into glowing +nobleness of character. The look of virgin justice in her was perhaps +what had survived from that white light of life which falls upon young +children as from a receding sun and touches lingeringly their smiles +and glances; but her mouth had gathered its shadowy tenderness as she +walked the furrows of the years, watching their changeful harvests, +eating their passing bread. + +A handful of some of the green things of winter lay before her +picture: holly boughs with their bold, upright red berries; a spray of +the cedar of the Kentucky yards with its rosary of piteous blue. When +he had come in from out of doors to go on with his work, he had put +them there--perhaps as some tribute. After all his years with her, +many and strong, he must have acquired various tributes and +interpretations; but to-day, during his walk in the woods, it had +befallen him to think of her as holly which ripens amid snows and +retains its brave freshness on a landscape of departed things. As +cedar also which everywhere on the Shield is the best loved of +forest-growths to be the companion of household walls; so that even +the poorest of the people, if it does not grow near the spot they +build in, hunt for it and bring it home: everywhere wife and cedar, +wife and cedar, wife and cedar. + +The photographs of the children grouped on each side of hers with +heads a little lower down called up memories of Old World pictures in +which cherubs smile about the cloud-borne feet of the heavenly Hebrew +maid. Glowing young American mother with four healthy children as her +gifts to the nation--this was the practical thought of her that +riveted and held. + +As has been said, they were in two groups, the children; a boy and +girl in each. The four were of nearly the same age; but the faces of +two were on a dimmer card in an older frame. You glanced at her again +and persuaded yourself that the expression of motherhood which +characterized her separated into two expressions (as behind a thin +white cloud it is possible to watch another cloud of darker +hue). Nearer in time was the countenance of a mother happy with happy +offspring; further away the same countenance withdrawn a little into +shadow--the face of the mother bereaved--mute and changeless. + +The man, the worker, whom this little flock of wife and two surviving +children now followed through the world as their leader, sat with his +face toward his desk In a corner of the room; solidly squared before +his undertaking, liking it, mastering it; seldom changing his position +as the minutes passed, never nervously; with a quietude in him that +was oftener in Southern gentlemen in quieter, more gentlemanly +times. A low powerful figure with a pair of thick shoulders and +tremendous limbs; filling the room with his vitality as a heavy +passionate animal lying in a corner of a cage fills the space of the +cage, so that you wait for it to roll over or get up on its feet and +walk about that you may study its markings and get an inkling of its +conquering nature. + +Meantime there were hints of him. When he had come in, he had thrown +his overcoat on a chair that stood near the table in the centre of the +room and had dropped his hat upon his coat. It had slipped to the +floor and now lay there--a low, soft black hat of a kind formerly much +worn by young Southerners of the countryside,--especially on occasions +when there was a spur of heat in their mood and going,--much the same +kind that one sees on the heads of students in Rome in winter; light, +warm, shaping itself readily to breezes from any quarter, to be doffed +or donned as comfortable and negligible. It suggested that he had been +a country boy in the land, still belonged to the land, and as a man +kept to its out-of-door habits and fashions. His shoes, one of which +you saw at each side of his chair, were especially well made for +rough-going feet to tramp in during all weathers. + +A sack suit of dark blue serge somehow helped to withdraw your +interpretation of him from farm life to the arts or the +professions. The scrupulous air of his shirt collar, showing against +the clear-hued flesh at the back of his neck, and the Van Dyck-like +edge of the shirt cuff, defining his powerful wrist and hand, +strengthened the notion that he belonged to the arts or to the +professions. He might have been sitting before a canvas instead of a +desk and holding a brush instead of a pen: the picture would have been +true to life. Or truer yet, he might have taken his place with the +grave group of students in the Lesson in Anatomy left by Rembrandt. + +Once he put down his pen, wheeled his chair about, and began to read +the page he had just finished: then you saw him. He had a big, +masculine, solid-cut, self-respecting, normal-looking, executive +head--covered with thick yellowish hair clipped short; so that while +everything else in his appearance indicated that he was in the prime +of manhood, the clipped hair caused him to appear still more youthful; +and it invested him with a rustic atmosphere which went along very +naturally with the sentimental country hat and the all-weather +shoes. He seemed at first impression a magnificent animal frankly +loved of the sun--perhaps too warmly. The sun itself seemed to have +colored for him his beard and mustache--a characteristic hue of men’s +hair and beard in this land peopled from Old English stock. The beard, +like the hair, was cut short, as though his idea might have been to +get both hair and beard out of life’s daily way; but his mustache +curled thickly down over his mouth, hiding it. In the whole effect +there was a suggestion of the Continent, perhaps of a former student +career in Germany, memories of which may still have lasted with him +and the marks of which may have purposely been kept up in his +appearance. + +But such a fashion of beard, while covering a man’s face, does much to +uncover the man. As he sat amid his papers and books, your thought +surely led again to old pictures where earnest heads bend together +over some point on the human road, at which knowledge widens and +suffering begins to be made more bearable and death more +kind. Perforce now you interpreted him and fixed his general working +category: that he was absorbed in work meant to be serviceable to +humanity. His house, the members of his family, the people of his +neighborhood, were meantime forgotten: he was not a mere dweller on +his farm; he was a discoverer on the wide commons where the race +forever camps at large with its problems, joys, and sorrows. + +He read his page, his hand dropped to his knee, his mind dropped its +responsibility; one of those intervals followed when the brain rests. +The look of the student left his face; over it began to play the soft +lights of the domestic affections. He had forgotten the world for his +own place in the world; the student had become the husband and +house-father. A few moments only; then he wheeled gravely to his work +again, his right hand took up the pen, his left hand went back to the +pictures. + +The silence of the room seemed a guarded silence, as though he were +being watched over by a love which would not let him be disturbed. +(He had the reposeful self-assurance of a man who is conscious that he +is idolized.) + +Matching the silence within was the stillness out of doors. An immense +oak tree stood just outside the windows. It was a perpetual reminder +of vanished woods; and when a windstorm tossed and twisted it, the +straining and grinding of the fibres were like struggles and outcries +for the wild life of old. This afternoon it brooded motionless, an +image of forest reflection. Once a small black-and-white sapsucker, +circling the trunk and peering into the crevices of the bark on a +level with the windows, uttered minute notes which penetrated into the +room like steel darts of sound. A snowbird alighted on the +window-sill, glanced familiarly in at the man, and shot up its crest; +but disappointed perhaps that it was not noticed, quoted its resigned +gray phrase--a phrase it had made for itself to accompany the score of +gray whiter--and flitted on billowy wings to a juniper at the corner +of the house, its turret against the long javelins of the North. + +Amid the stillness of Nature outside and the house-silence of a love +guarding him within, the man worked on. + +A little clock ticked independently on the old-fashioned Parian marble +mantelpiece. Prints were propped against its sides and face, +illustrating the use of trees about ancient tombs and temples. Out of +this photographic grove of dead things the uncaring clock threw out +upon the air a living three--the fateful three that had been measured +for each tomb and temple in its own land and time. + +A knock, regretful but positive, was heard, and the door opening into +the hall was quietly pushed open. A glow lit up the student’s face +though he did not stop writing; and his voice, while it gave a +welcome, unconsciously expressed regret at being disturbed: + +“Come in.” + +“I am in!” + +He lifted his heavy figure with instant courtesy--rather obsolete +now--and bowing to one side, sat down again. + +“So I see,” he said, dipping his pen into his ink. + +“Since you did not turn around, you would better have said ‘So I +hear.’ It is three o’clock.” + +“So I hear.” + +“You said you would be ready.” + +“I am ready.” + +“You said you would be done.” + +“I am done--nearly done.” + +“How nearly?” + +“By to-morrow--to-morrow afternoon before dark. I have reached the +end, but now it is hard to stop, hard to let go.” + +His tone gave first place, primary consideration, to his work. The +silence in the room suddenly became charged. When the voice was heard +again, there was constraint in it: + +“There is something to be done this afternoon before dark, something I +have a share in. Having a share, I am interested. Being interested, I +am prompt. Being prompt, I am here.” + +He waved his hand over the written sheets before him--those cold Alps +of learning; and asked reproachfully: + +“Are you not interested in all this, O you of little faith?” + +“How can I say, O me of little knowledge!” + +As the words impulsively escaped, he heard a quick movement behind +him. He widened out his heavy arms upon his manuscript and looked back +over his shoulder at her and laughed. And still smiling and holding +his pen between his fingers, he turned and faced her. She had advanced +into the middle of the room and had stopped at the chair on which he +had thrown his overcoat and hat. She had picked up the hat and stood +turning it and pushing its soft material back into shape for his +head--without looking at him. + +The northern light of the winter afternoon, entering through the +looped crimson-damask curtains, fell sidewise upon the woman of the +picture. + +Years had passed since the picture had been made. There were changes +in her; she looked younger. She had effaced the ravages of a sadder +period of her life as human voyagers upon reaching quiet port repair +the damages of wandering and storm. Even the look of motherhood, of +the two motherhoods, which so characterized her in the photograph, had +disappeared for the present. Seeing her now for the first time, one +would have said that her whole mood and bearing made a single +declaration: she was neither wife nor mother; she was a woman in love +with life’s youth--with youth--youth; in love with the things that +youth alone could ever secure to her. + +The carriage of her beautiful head, brave and buoyant, brought before +you a vision of growing things in nature as they move towards their +summer yet far away. There still was youth in the round white throat +above the collar of green velvet--woodland green--darker than the +green of the cloth she wore. You were glad she had chosen that color +because she was going for a walk with him; and green would enchain the +eye out on the sere ground and under the stripped trees. The +flecklessness of her long gloves drew your thoughts to winter +rather--to its one beauteous gift dropped from soiled clouds. A +slender toque brought out the keenness in the oval of her face. From +it rose one backward-sweeping feather of green shaded to coral at the +tip; and there your fancy may have cared to see lingering the last +radiance of whiter-sunset skies. + +He kept his seat with his back to the manuscript from which he had +repulsed her; and his eyes swept loyally over her as she +waited. Though she could scarcely trust herself to speak, still less +could she endure the silence. With her face turned toward the windows +opening on the lawn, she stretched out her arm toward him and softly +shook his hat at him. + +“The sun sets--you remember how many minutes after four,” she said, +with no other tone than that of quiet warning. “I marked the minutes +in the almanac for you the other night after the children had gone to +bed, so that you would not forget. You know how short the twilights +are even when the day is clear. It is cloudy to-day and there will not +be any twilight. The children said they would not be at home until +after dark, but they may come sooner; it may be a trick. They have +threatened to catch us this year in one way or another, and you know +they must not do that--not this year! There must be one more Christmas +with all its old ways--even if it must be without its old mysteries.” + +He did not reply at once and then not relevantly: + +“I heard you playing.” + +He had dropped his head forward and was scowling at her from under his +brows with a big Beethoven brooding scowl. She did not see, for she +held her face averted. + +The silence in the room again seemed charged, and there was greater +constraint in her voice when it was next heard: + +“I had to play; you need not have listened.” + +“I had to listen; you played loud--” + +“I did not know I was playing loud. I may have been trying to drown +other sounds,” she admitted. + +“What other sounds?” His voice unexpectedly became inquisitorial: it +was a frank thrust into the unknown. + +“Discords--possibly.” + +“What discords?” His thrust became deeper. + +She turned her head quickly and looked at him; a quiver passed across +her lips and in her eyes there was noble anguish. + +But nothing so arrests our speech when we are tempted to betray hidden +trouble as to find ourselves face to face with a kind of burnished, +radiant happiness. Sensitive eyes not more quickly close before a +blaze of sunlight than the shadowy soul shuts her gates upon the +advancing Figure of Joy. + +It was the whole familiar picture of him now--triumphantly painted in +the harmonies of life, masterfully toned to subdue its discords--that +drove her back into herself. When she spoke next, she had regained the +self-control which under his unexpected attack she had come near +losing; and her words issued from behind the closed gates--as through +a crevice of the closed gates: + +“I was reading one of the new books that came the other day, the deep +grave ones you sent for. It is written by a deep grave German, and it +is worked out in the deep grave German way. The whole purpose of it +is to show that any woman in the life of any man is merely--an +Incident. She may be this to him, she may be that to him; for a +briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, at +bottom, she is to him--an Incident.” + +He did not take his eyes from hers and his smile slowly broadened. + +“Were those the discords?” he asked gently. + +She did not reply. + +He turned in his chair and looking over his shoulder at her, he raised +his arm and drew the point of his pen across the backs of a stack of +magazines on top of his desk. + +“Here is a work,” he said, “not written by a German or by any other +man, but by a woman whose race I do not know: here is a work the sole +purpose of which is to prove that any man is merely an Incident in the +life of any woman. He may be this to her, he may be that to her; for +a briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, +beneath everything else, he is to her--an Incident.” + +He turned and confronted her, not without a gleam of humor in his +eyes. + +“That did not trouble me,” he said tenderly. “Those were not discords +to me.” + +Her eyes rested on his face with inscrutable searching. She made no +comment. + +His own face grew grave. After a moment of debate with himself as to +whether he should be forced to do a thing he would rather not do, he +turned in his chair and laid down his pen as though separating himself +from his work. Then he said, in a tone that ended playfulness: + +“Do I not understand? Have I not understood all the time? For a year +now I have been shutting myself up at spare hours in this room and at +this work--without any explanation to you. Such a thing never occurred +before in our lives. You have shared everything. I have relied upon +you and I have needed you, and you have never failed me. And this +apparently has been your reward--to be rudely shut out at last. Now +you come in and I tell you that the work is done--quite +finished--without a word to you about it. Do I not understand?” he +repeated. “Have I not understood all along? It is true; outwardly as +regards this work you have been--the Incident.” + +As he paused, she made a slight gesture with one hand as though she +did not care for what he was saying and brushed away the fragile web +of his words from before her eyes--eyes fixed on larger things lying +clear before her in life’s distance. + +He went quickly on with deepening emphasis: + +“But, comrade of all these years, battler with me for life’s +victories, did you think you were never to know? Did you believe I was +never to explain? You had only one more day to wait! If patience, if +faith, could only have lasted another twenty-four hours--until +Christmas Eve!” + +It was the first time for nearly a year that the sound of those words +had been heard in that house. He bent earnestly over toward her; he +leaned heavily forward with his hands on his knees and searched her +features with loyal chiding. + +“Has not Christmas Eve its mysteries?” he asked, “its secrets for you +and me? Think of Christmas Eve for you and me! Remember!” + +Slowly as in a windless woods on a winter day a smoke from a +woodchopper’s smouldering fire will wander off and wind itself about +the hidden life-buds of a young tree, muffling it while the atmosphere +near by is clear, there now floated into the room to her the tender +haze of old pledges and vows and of things unutterably sacred. + +He noted the effect of his words and did not wait. He turned to his +desk and, gathering up the sprigs of holly and cedar, began softly to +cover her picture with them. + +“Stay blinded and bewildered there,” he said, “until the hour comes +when holly and cedar will speak: on Christmas Eve you will understand; +you will then see whether in this work you have been--the Incident.” + +Even while they had been talking the light of the short winter +afternoon had perceptibly waned in the room. + +She glanced through the windows at the darkening lawn; her eyes were +tear-dimmed; to her it looked darker than it was. She held his hat up +between her arms, making an arch for him to come and stand under. + +“It is getting late,” she said in nearly the same tone of quiet +warning with which she had spoken before. “There is no time to lose.” + +He sprang up, without glancing behind him at his desk with its +interrupted work, and came over and placed himself under the arch of +her arms, looking at her reverently. + +But his hands did not take hold, his arms hung down at his sides--the +hands that were life, the arms that were love. + +She let her eyes wander over his clipped tawny hair and pass downward +over his features to the well-remembered mouth under its mustache. +Then, closing her quivering lips quickly, she dropped the hat softly +on his head and walked toward the door. When she reached it, she put +out one of her hands delicately against a panel and turned her profile +over her shoulder to him: + +“Do you know what is the trouble with both of those books?” she asked, +with a struggling sweetness in her voice. + +He had caught up his overcoat and as he put one arm through the sleeve +with a vigorous thrust, he laughed out with his mouth behind the +collar: + +“I think I know what is the trouble with the authors of the books.” + +“The trouble is,” she replied, “the trouble is that the authors are +right and the books are right: men and women _are_ only Incidents +to each other in life,” and she passed out into the hall. + +“Human life itself for that matter is only an incident in the +universe,” he replied, “if we cared to look at it in that way; but +we’d better not!” + +He was standing near the table in the middle of the room; he suddenly +stopped buttoning his overcoat. His eyes began to wander over the +books, the prints, the pictures, embracing in a final survey +everything that he had brought together from such distances of place +and time. His work was in effect done. A sense of regret, a rush of +loneliness, came over him as it comes upon all of us who reach the +happy ending of toil that we have put our heart and strength in. + +“Are you coming?” she called faintly from the hall. + +“I am coming,” he replied, and moved toward the door; but there he +stopped again and looked back. + +Once more there came into his face the devotion of the student; he was +on the commons where the race encamps; he was brother to all brothers +who join work to work for common good. He was feeling for the moment +that through his hands ran the long rope of the world at which +men--like a crew of sailors--tug at the Ship of Life, trying to tow +her into some divine haven. + +His task was ended. Would it be of service? Would it carry any +message? Would it kindle in American homes some new light of truth, +with the eyes of mothers and fathers fixed upon it, and innumerable +children of the future the better for its shining? + +“Are you coming?” she called more quiveringly. + +“I am coming,” he called back, breaking away from his revery, and +raising his voice so it would surely reach her. + + + + +II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + +She had quitted the house and, having taken a few steps across the +short frozen grass of the yard as one walks lingeringly when expecting +to be joined by a companion, she turned and stood with her eyes fixed +on the doorway for his emerging figure. + +“To-morrow night,” he had said, smiling at her with one meaning in his +words, “to-morrow night you will understand.” + +“Yes,” she now said to herself, with another meaning in hers, +“to-morrow night I must understand. Until to-morrow night, then, +blinded and bewildered with holly and cedar let me be! Kind +ignorance, enfold me and spare me! All happiness that I can control or +conjecture, come to me and console me!” + +And over herself she dropped a vesture of joy to greet him when he +should step forth. + +It was a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors and to go about what +they had planned; the ground was scarcely frozen, there was no wind, +and the whole sky was overcast with thin gray cloud that betrayed no +movement. Under this still dome of silvery-violet light stretched the +winter land; it seemed ready and waiting for its great festival. + +The lawn sloped away from the house to a brook at the bottom, and +beyond the brook the ground rose to a woodland hilltop. Across the +distance you distinguished there the familiar trees of blue-grass +pastures: white ash and black ash; white oak and red oak; white walnut +and black walnut; and the scaly-bark hickory in his roughness and the +sycamore with her soft leoparded limbs. The black walnut and the +hickory brought to mind autumn days when children were abroad, +ploughing the myriad leaves with booted feet and gathering their +harvest of nuts--primitive food-storing instinct of the human animal +still rampant in modern childhood: these nuts to be put away in garret +and cellar and but scantily eaten until Christmas came. + +Out of this woods on the afternoon air sounded the muffled strokes of +an axe cutting down a black walnut partly dead; and when this fell, it +would bring down with it bunches of mistletoe, those white pearls of +the forest mounted on branching jade. To-morrow eager fingers would be +gathering the mistletoe to decorate the house. Near by was a thicket +of bramble and cane where, out of reach of cattle, bushes of holly +thrived: the same fingers would be gathering that. + +Bordering this woods on one side lay a cornfield. The corn had just +been shucked, and beside each shock of fodder lay its heap of ears +ready for the gathering wagon. The sight of the corn brought freshly +to remembrance the red-ambered home-brew of the land which runs in a +genial torrent through all days and nights of the year--many a +full-throated rill--but never with so inundating a movement as at this +season. And the same grain suggested also the smokehouses of all +farms, in which larded porkers, fattened by it, had taken on +posthumous honors as home-cured hams; and in which up under the black +rafters home-made sausages were being smoked to their needed flavor +over well-chosen chips. + +Around one heap of ears a flock of home-grown turkeys, red-mottled, +rainbow-necked, were feeding for their fate. + +On the other side of the woods stretched a wheat-field, in the stubble +of which coveys of bob-whites were giving themselves final plumpness +for the table by picking up grains of wheat which had dropped into the +drills at harvest time or other seeds which had ripened in the autumn +aftermath. + +Farther away on the landscape there was a hemp-field where +hemp-breakers were making a rattling reedy music; during these weeks +wagons loaded with the gold-bearing fibre begin to move creaking to +the towns, helping to fill the farmer’s pockets with holiday largess. + +Thus everything needed for Christmas was there in sight: the +mistletoe--the holly--the liquor of the land for the cups of hearty +men--the hams and the sausages of fastidious housewives--the turkey +and the quail--and crops transmutable into coin. They were in sight +there--the fair maturings of the sun now ready to be turned into +offerings to the dark solstice, the low activities of the soil +uplifted to human joyance. + +One last thing completed the picture of the scene. + +The brook that wound across the lawn at its bottom was frozen to-day +and lay like a band of jewelled samite trailed through the olive +verdure. Along its margin evergreens grew. No pine nor spruce nor +larch nor fir is native to these portions of the Shield; only the wild +cedar, the shapeless and the shapely, belongs there. This assemblage +of evergreens was not, then, one of the bounties of Nature; they had +been planted. + +It was the slender tapering spires of these evergreens with their note +of deathless spring that mainly caught the eye on the whole landscape +this dead winter day. Under the silvery-violet light of the sky they +waited in beauty and in peace: the pale green of larch and spruce +which seems always to go with the freshness of dripping Aprils; the +dim blue-gray of pines which rather belongs to far-vaulted summer +skies; and the dark green of firs--true comfortable winter coat when +snows sift mournfully and icicles are spearing earthward. + +These evergreens likewise had their Christmas meaning and finished the +picture of the giving earth. Unlike the other things, they satisfied +no appetite, they were ministers to no passions; but with them the +Christmas of the intellect began: the human heart was to drape their +boughs with its gentle poetry; and from their ever living spires the +spiritual hope of humanity would take its flight toward the eternal. + +Thus then the winter land waited for the oncoming of that strange +travelling festival of the world which has roved into it and encamped +gypsy-like from old lost countries: the festival that takes toll of +field and wood, of hoof and wing, of cup and loaf; but that, best of +all, wrings from the nature of man its reluctant tenderness for his +fellows and builds out of his lonely doubts regarding this life his +faith in a better one. + +And central on this whole silent scene--the highest element in it--its +one winter-red passion flower--the motionless woman waiting outside +the house. + +At last he came out upon the step. + +He cast a quick glance toward the sky as though his first thought were +of what the weather was going to be. Then as he buttoned the top +button of his overcoat and pressed his bearded chin down over it to +make it more comfortable under his short neck, with his other hand he +gave a little pull at his hat--the romantic country hat; and he peeped +out from under the rustic brim at her, smiling with old gayeties and +old fondnesses. He bulked so rotund inside his overcoat and looked so +short under the flat headgear that her first thought was how slight a +disguise every year turned him into a good family Santa Claus; and she +smiled back at him with the same gayeties and fondnesses of days gone +by. But such a deeper pang pierced her that she turned away and walked +hurriedly down the hill toward the evergreens. + +He was quickly at her side. She could feel how animal youth in him +released itself the moment he had come into the open air. There was +brutal vitality in the way his shoes crushed the frozen ground; and as +his overcoat sleeve rubbed against her arm, there was the same leaping +out of life, like the rubbing of tinder against tinder. Halfway down +the lawn he halted and laid his hand heavily on her wrist. + +“Listen to that!” he said. His voice was eager, excited, like a boy’s. + +On the opposite side of the house, several hundred yards away, the +country turnpike ran; and from this there now reached them the +rumbling of many vehicles, hurrying in close procession out of the +nearest town and moving toward smaller villages scattered over the +country; to its hamlets and cross-roads and hundreds of homes richer +or poorer--every vehicle Christmas-laden: sign and foretoken of the +Southern Yule-tide. There were matters and usages in those American +carriages and buggies and wagons and carts the history of which went +back to the England of the Georges and the Stuarts and the Henrys; to +the England of Elizabeth, to the England of Chaucer; back through +robuster Saxon times to the gaunt England of Alfred, and on beyond +this till they were lost under the forest glooms of Druidical Britain. + +They stood looking into each other’s eyes and gathering into their +ears the festal uproar of the turnpike. How well they knew what it all +meant--this far-flowing tide of bounteousness! How perfectly they saw +the whole picture of the town out of which the vehicles had come: the +atmosphere of it already darkened by the smoke of soft coal pouring +from its chimneys, so that twilight in it had already begun to fall +ahead of twilight out in the country, and lamp-posts to glimmer along +the little streets, and shops to be illuminated to the delight of +window-gazing, mystery-loving children--wild with their holiday +excitements and secrecies. Somewhere in the throng their own two +children were busy unless they had already started home. + +For years he had held a professorship in the college in this town, +driving in and out from his home; but with the close of this academic +year he was to join the slender file of Southern men who have been +called to Northern universities: this change would mean the end of +life here. Both thought of this now--of the last Christmas in the +house; and with the same impulse they turned their gaze back to it. + +More than half a century ago the one starved genius of the Shield, a +writer of songs, looked out upon the summer picture of this land, its +meadows and ripening corn tops; and as one presses out the spirit of +an entire vineyard when he bursts a solitary grape upon his tongue, +he, the song writer, drained drop by drop the wine of that scene into +the notes of a single melody. The nation now knows his song, the world +knows it--the only music that has ever captured the joy and peace of +American home life--embodying the very soul of it in the clear amber +of sound. + +This house was one of such homesteads as the genius sang of: a low, +old-fashioned, brown-walled, gray-shingled house; with chimneys +generous, with green window-shutters less than green and white +window-sills less than white; with feudal vines giving to its walls +their summery allegiance; not young, not old, but standing in the +middle years of its strength and its honors; not needy, not wealthy, +but answering Agar’s prayer for neither poverty nor riches. + +The two stood on the darkening lawn, looking back at it. + +It had been the house of his fathers. He had brought her to it as his +own on the afternoon of their wedding several miles away across the +country. They had arrived at dark; and as she had sat beside him in +the carriage, one of his arms around her and his other hand enfolding +both of hers, she had first caught sight of it through the forest +trees--waiting for her with its lights just lit, its warmth, its +privacies: and that had been Christmas Eve! + +For her wedding day had been Christmas Eve. When she had announced her +choice of a day, they had chidden her. But with girlish wilfulness she +had clung to it the more positively. + +“It is the most beautiful night of the year!” she had replied, +brushing their objection aside with that reason alone. “And it is the +happiest! I will be married on that night, when I am happiest!” + +Alone and thinking it over, she had uttered other words to +herself--yet scarce uttered them, rather felt them: + +“Of old it was written how on Christmas Night the Love that cannot +fail us became human. My love for him, which is the divine thing in +my life and which is never to fail him, shall become human to him on +that night.” + +When the carriage had stopped at the front porch, he had led her into +the house between the proud smiling servants of his establishment +ranged at a respectful distance on each side; and without surrendering +her even to her maid--a new spirit of silence on him--he had led her +to her bedroom, to a place on the carpet under the chandelier. + +Leaving her there, he had stepped backward and surveyed her waiting in +her youth and loveliness--_for him;_ come into his house, into +his arms--_his_; no other’s--never while life lasted to be +another’s even in thought or in desire. + +Then as if the marriage ceremony of the afternoon in the presence of +many had meant nothing and this were the first moment when he could +gather her home to him, he had come forward and taken her in his arms +and set upon her the kiss of his house and his ardor and his duty. As +his warm breath broke close against her face, his lips under their +mustache, almost boyish then, had thoughtlessly formed one little +phrase--one little but most lasting and fateful phrase: + +“_Bride of the Mistletoe_!” + +Looking up with a smile, she saw that she stood under a bunch of +mistletoe swung from the chandelier. + +Straightway he had forgotten his own words, nor did he ever afterwards +know that he had used them. But she, out of their very sacredness as +the first words he had spoken to her in his home, had remembered them +most clingingly. More than remembered them: she had set them to grow +down into the fibres of her heart as the mistletoe roots itself upon +the life-sap of the tree. And in all the later years they had been the +green spot of verdure under life’s dark skies--the undying bough into +which the spirit of the whole tree retreats from the ice of the world: + +“_Bride of the Mistletoe!_” + +Through the first problem of learning to weld her nature to his +wisely; through the perils of bearing children and the agony of seeing +some of them pass away; through the ambition of having him rise in his +profession and through the ideal of making his home an earthly +paradise; through loneliness when he was away and joy whenever he came +back,--upon her whole life had rested the wintry benediction of that +mystical phrase: + +“_Bride of the Mistletoe!_” + + * * * * * + +She turned away now, starting once more downward toward the +evergreens. He was quickly at her side. + +“What do you suppose Harold and Elizabeth are up to about this time?” + he asked, with a good-humored jerk of his head toward the distant +town. + +“At least to something mischievous, whatever it is,” she +replied. “They begged to be allowed to stay until the shop windows +were lighted; they have seen the shop windows two or three times +already this week: there is no great marvel for them now in shop +windows. Permission to stay late may be a blind to come home +early. They are determined, from what I have overheard, to put an end +this year to the parental house mysteries of Christmas. They are +crossing the boundary between the first childhood and the second. But +if it be possible, I wish everything to be kept once more just as it +has always been; let it be so for my sake!” + +“And I wish it for your sake,” he replied heartily; “and for my +purposes.” + +After a moment of silence he asked: “How large a Tree must it be this +year?” + +“It will have to be large,” she replied; and she began to count those +for whom the Tree this year was meant. + +First she called the names of the two children they had lost. Gifts +for these were every year hung on the boughs. She mentioned their +names now, and then she continued counting: + +“Harold and Elizabeth are four. You and I make six. After the family +come Herbert and Elsie, your best friend the doctor’s children. Then +the servants--long strong bottom branches for the servants! Allow for +the other children who are to make up the Christmas party: ten +children have been invited, ten children have accepted, ten children +will arrive. The ten will bring with them some unimportant parents; +you can judge.” + +“That will do for size,” he said, laughing. “Now the kind: +spruce--larch--hemlock--pine--which shall it be?” + +“It shall be none of them!” she answered, after a little waiting. “It +shall be the Christmas Tree of the uttermost North where the reindeer +are harnessed and the Great White Sleigh starts--fir. The old +Christmas stories like fir best. Old faiths seem to lodge in it +longest. And deepest mystery darkens the heart of it,” she added. + +“Fir it shall be!” he said. “Choose the tree.” + +“I have chosen.” + +She stopped and delicately touched his wrist with the finger tips of +one white-gloved hand, bidding him stand beside her. + +“That one,” she said, pointing down. + +The brook, watering the roots of the evergreens in summer gratefully, +but now lying like a band of samite, jewel-crusted, made a loop near +the middle point of the lawn, creating a tiny island; and on this +island, aloof from its fellows and with space for the growth of its +boughs, stood a perfect fir tree: strong-based, thick-set, tapering +faultlessly, star-pointed, gathering more youth as it gathered more +years--a tame dweller on the lawn but descended from forests blurred +with wildness and lapped by low washings of the planet’s primeval +ocean. + +At each Christmas for several years they had been tempted to cut this +tree, but had spared it for its conspicuous beauty at the edge of the +thicket. + +“That one,” she now said, pointing down. “This is the last time. Let +us have the best of things while we may! Is it not always the perfect +that is demanded for sacrifice?” + +His glance had already gone forward eagerly to the tree, and he +started toward it. + +Descending, they stepped across the brook to the island and went up +close to the fir. With a movement not unobserved by her he held out +his hand and clasped three green fingers of a low bough which the fir +seemed to stretch out to him recognizingly. (She had always realized +the existence of some intimate bond between him and the forest.) His +face now filled with meanings she did not share; the spell of the +secret work had followed him out of the house down to the trees; +incommunicable silence shut him in. A moment later his fingers parted +with the green fingers of the fir and he moved away from her side, +starting around the tree and studying it as though in delight of fresh +knowledge. So she watched him pass around to the other side. + +When he came back where he had started, she was not there. He looked +around searchingly; her figure was nowhere in sight. + +He stood--waiting. + +The valley had memories, what memories! The years came close together +here; they clustered as thickly as the trees themselves. Vacant spots +among them marked where the Christmas Trees of former years had been +cut down. Some of the Trees had been for the two children they had +lost. This wandering trail led hither and thither back to the first +Tree for the first child: he had stooped down and cut that close to +the ground with his mere penknife. When it had been lighted, it had +held only two or three candles; and the candle on the top of it had +flared level into the infant’s hand-shaded eyes. + +He knew that she was making through the evergreens a Pilgrimage of the +Years, walking there softly and alone with the feet of life’s Pities +and a mother’s Constancies. + +He waited for her--motionless. + +The stillness of the twilight rested on the valley now. Only from the +trees came the plaintive twittering of birds which had come in from +frozen weeds and fence-rows and at the thresholds of the boughs were +calling to one another. It was not their song, but their speech; there +was no love in it, but there was what for them perhaps corresponds to +our sense of ties. It most resembled in human life the brief things +that two people, having long lived together, utter to each other when +together in a room they prepare for the night: there is no +anticipation; it is a confession of the unconfessed. About him now +sounded this low winter music from the far boundary of other lives. + +He did not hear it. + +The light on the landscape had changed. The sun was setting and a +splendor began to spread along the sky and across the land. It laid a +glory on the roof of the house on the hill; it smote the edge of the +woodland pasture, burnishing with copper the gray domes; it shone +faintly on distant corn shocks, on the weather-dark tents of the hemp +at bivouac soldierly and grim. At his feet it sparkled in rose gleams +on the samite of the brook and threw burning shafts into the gloom of +the fir beside him. + +He did not see it. + +He did not hear the calling of the birds about his ears, he did not +see the sunset before his eyes, he did not feel the fir tree the +boughs of which stuck against his side. + +He stood there as still as a rock--with his secret. Not the secret of +the year’s work, which was to be divulged to his wife and through her +to the world; but the secret which for some years had been growing in +his life and which would, he hoped, never grow into the open--to be +seen of her and of all men. + +The sentimental country hat now looked as though it might have been +worn purposely to help out a disguise, as the more troubled man behind +the scenes makes up to be the happier clown. It became an absurdity, a +mockery, above his face grave, stern, set of jaw and eye. He was no +longer the student buried among his books nor human brother to toiling +brothers. He had not the slightest thought of service to mankind left +in him, he was but a man himself with enough to think of in the battle +between his own will and blood. + +And behind him among the dark evergreens went on that Pilgrimage of +the Years--with the feet of the Pities and the Constancies. + +Moments passed; he did not stir. Then there was a slight noise on the +other side of the tree, and his nature instantly stepped back into his +outward place. He looked through the boughs. She had returned and was +standing with her face also turned toward the sunset; it was very +pale, very still. + +Such darkness had settled on the valley now that the green she wore +blent with the green of the fir. He saw only her white face and her +white hands so close to the branches that they appeared to rest upon +them, to grow out of them: he sadly thought of one of his prints of +Egypt of old and of the Lady of the Sacred Tree. Her long +backward-sweeping plume of green also blent with the green of the +fir--shade to shade--and only the coral tip of it remained strongly +visible. This matched the last coral in the sunset; and it seemed to +rest ominously above her head as a finger-point of the fading light of +Nature. + +He went quickly around to her. He locked his arms around her and drew +her close and held her close; and thus for a while the two stood, +watching the flame on the altar of the world as it sank lower, leaving +emptiness and ashes. + +Once she put out a hand and with a gesture full of majesty and +nobleness waved farewell to the dying fire. + +Still without a word he took his arms from around her and turned +energetically to the tree. + +He pressed the lowest boughs aside and made his way in close to the +trunk and struck it with a keen stroke. + +The fir as he drew the axe out made at its gashed throat a sound like +that of a butchered, blood-strangled creature trying to cry out too +late against a treachery. A horror ran through the boughs; the +thousands of leaves were jarred by the death-strokes; and the top of +it rocked like a splendid plume too rudely treated in a storm. Then it +fell over on its side, bridging blackly the white ice of the brook. + +Stooping, he lifted it triumphantly. He set the butt-end on one of his +shoulders and, stretching his arms up, grasped the trunk and held the +tree straight in the air, so that it seemed to be growing out of his +big shoulder as out of a ledge of rock. Then he turned to her and +laughed out in his strength and youth. She laughed joyously back at +him, glorying as he did. + +With a robust re-shouldering of the tree to make it more comfortable +to carry, he turned and started up the hill toward the house. As she +followed behind, the old mystery of the woods seemed at last to have +taken bodily possession of him. The fir was riding on his shoulder, +its arms met fondly around his neck, its fingers were caressing his +hair. And it whispered back jeeringly to her through the twilight: + +“Say farewell to him! He was once yours; he is yours no longer. He +dandles the child of the forest on his shoulder instead of his +children by you in the house. He belongs to Nature; and as Nature +calls, he will always follow--though it should lead over the precipice +or into the flood. Once Nature called him to you: remember how he +broke down barriers until he won you. Now he is yours no longer--say +good-by to him!” + +With an imbued terror and desolation, she caught up with him. By a +movement so soft that he should not be aware, she plucked him by the +coat sleeve on the other side from the fir and held on to him as he +strode on in careless joy. + +Halfway up the hill lights began to flash from the windows of the +house: a servant was bringing in the lamps. It was at this hour, in +just this way, that she had first caught sight of them on that +Christmas Eve when he had brought her home after the wedding. + +She hurried around in front of him, wishing to read the expression of +his eyes by the distant gleams from the windows. Would they have +nothing to say to her about those winter twilight lamps? Did he, too, +not remember? + +His head and face were hidden; a thousand small spears of Nature +bristled between him and her; but he laughed out to her from behind +the rampart of the green spears. + +At that moment a low sound in the distance drew her attention, and +instantly alert she paused to listen. Then, forgetting everything +else, she called to him with a rush of laughter like that of her +mischief-loving girlhood: + +“Quick! There they are! I heard the gate shut at the turnpike! They +must not catch us! Quick! Quick!” + +“Hurry, then!” he cried, as he ran forward, joining his laughter to +hers. “Open the door for me!” + +After this the night fell fast. The only sounds to be heard in the +valley were the minute readjustments of the ice of the brook as it +froze tighter and the distressed cries of the birds that had roosted +in the fir. + +So the Tree entered the house. + + + + +III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + +During the night it turned bitter cold. When morning came the sky was +a turquoise and the wind a gale. The sun seemed to give out light but +not heat--to lavish its splendor but withhold its charity. Moist flesh +if it chanced to touch iron froze to it momentarily. So in whiter land +the tongue of the ermine freezes to the piece of greased metal used as +a trap and is caught and held there until the trapper returns or until +it starves--starves with food on its tongue. + +The ground, wherever the stiff boots of a farmhand struck it, resisted +as rock. In the fetlocks of farm horses, as they moved shivering, +balls of ice rattled like shaken tacks. The little roughnesses of +woodland paths snapped off beneath the slow-searching hoofs of +fodder-seeking cattle like points of glass. + +Within their wool the sheep were comforted. + +On higher fields which had given back their moisture to the atmosphere +and now were dry, the swooping wind lifted the dust at intervals and +dragged it away in flaunting yellow veils. The picture it made, being +so ill-seasoned, led you to think of August drought when the +grasshopper stills itself in the weeds and the smell of grass is hot +in the nostrils and every bird holds its beak open and its wings +lifted like cooling lattices alongside its breast. In these veils of +dust swarms of frost crystals sported--dead midgets of the dead +North. Except crystal and dust and wind, naught moved out there; no +field mouse, no hare nor lark nor little shielded dove. In the naked +trees of the pasture the crow kept his beak as unseen as the owl’s; +about the cedars of the yard no scarlet feather warmed the day. + +The house on the hill--one of the houses whose spirit had been blown +into the amber of the poet’s song--sent festal smoke out of its +chimneys all day long. At intervals the radiant faces of children +appeared at the windows, hanging wreaths of evergreens; or their +figures flitted to and fro within as they wove garlands on the walls +for the Christmas party. At intervals some servant with head and +shoulders muffled in a bright-colored shawl darted trippingly from the +house to the cabins in the yard and from the cabins back to the +house--the tropical African’s polar dance between fire and fire. By +every sign it gave the house showed that it was marshalling its whole +happiness. + +One thing only seemed to make a signal of distress from afar. The oak +tree beside the house, whose roots coiled warmly under the +hearth-stones and whose boughs were outstretched across the roof, +seemed to writhe and rock in its winter sleep with murmurings and +tossings like a human dreamer trying to get rid of an unhappy dream. +Imagination might have said that some darkest tragedy of forests long +since gone still lived in this lone survivor--that it struggled to +give up the grief and guilt of an ancient forest shame. + +The weather moderated in the afternoon. A warm current swept across +the upper atmosphere, developing everywhere behind it a cloud; and +toward sundown out of this cloud down upon the Shield snow began to +fall. Not the large wet flakes which sometimes descend too late in +spring upon the buds of apple orchards; nor those mournfuller ones +which drop too soon on dim wild violets in November woods, but winter +snow, stern sculptor of Arctic solitudes. + + * * * * * + +It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing all over the Shield. + +Softly the snow fell upon the year’s footprints and pathways of +children and upon schoolhouses now closed and riotously deserted. More +softly upon too crowded asylums for them: houses of noonday darkness +where eyes eagerly look out at the windows but do not see; houses of +soundlessness where ears listen and do not hear any noise; houses of +silence where lips try to speak but utter no word. + +The snow of Christmas Eve was falling softly on the old: whose eyes +are always seeing vanished faces, whose ears hear voices gentler than +any the earth now knows, whose hands forever try to reach other hands +vainly held out to them. Sad, sad to those who remember loved ones +gone with their kindnesses the snow of Christmas Eve! + +But sadder yet for those who live on together after kindnesses have +ceased, or whose love went like a summer wind. Sad is Christmas Eve to +them! Dark its snow and blinding! + + * * * * * + +It was late that night. + +She came into the parlor, clasping the bowl of a shaded lamp--the only +light in the room. Her face, always calm in life’s wisdom, but +agitated now by the tide of deep things coming swiftly in toward her, +rested clear-cut upon the darkness. + +She placed the lamp on a table near the door and seated herself beside +it. But she pushed the lamp away unconsciously as though the light of +the house were no longer her light; and she sat in the chair as though +it were no longer her chair; and she looked about the room as though +it were no longer hers nor the house itself nor anything else that she +cared for most. + +Earlier in the evening they had finished hanging the presents on the +Tree; but then an interruption had followed: the children had broken +profanely in upon them, rending the veil of the house mysteries; and +for more than an hour the night had been given up to them. Now the +children were asleep upstairs, already dreaming of Christmas Morn and +the rush for the stockings. The servants had finished their work and +were gone to their quarters out in the yard. The doors of the house +were locked. There would be no more intrusion now, no possible +interruption; all the years were to meet him and her--alone. For Life +is the master dramatist: when its hidden tragedies are ready to utter +themselves, everything superfluous quits the stage; it is the +essential two who fill it! And how little the rest of the world ever +hears of what takes place between the two! + +A little while before he had left the room with the step-ladder; when +he came back, he was to bring with him the manuscript--the silent +snowfall of knowledge which had been deepening about him for a +year. The time had already passed for him to return, but he did not +come. Was there anything in the forecast of the night that made him +falter? Was he shrinking--_him_ shrink? She put away the thought +as a strange outbreak of injustice. + +How still it was outside the house with the snow falling! How still +within! She began to hear the ticking of the tranquil old clock under +the stairway out in the hall--always tranquil, always tranquil. And +then she began to listen to the disordered strokes of her own +heart--that red Clock in the body’s Tower whose beats are sent outward +along the streets and alleys of the blood; whose law it is to be +alternately wound too fast by the fingers of Joy, too slow by the +fingers of Sorrow; and whose fate, if it once run down, never +afterwards either by Joy or Sorrow to be made to run again. + +At last she could hear the distant door of his study open and close +and his steps advance along the hall. With what a splendid swing and +tramp he brought himself toward her!--with what self-unconsciousness +and virile strength in his feet! His steps entered and crossed his +bedroom, entered and crossed her bedroom; and then he stood there +before her in the parlor doorway, a few yards off--stopped and +regarded her intently, smiling. + +In a moment she realized what had delayed him. When he had gone away +with the step-ladder, he had on a well-worn suit in which, behind +locked doors, he had been working all the afternoon at the decorations +of the Tree. Now he came back ceremoniously dressed; the rest of the +night was to be in her honor. + +It had always been so on this anniversary of their bridal night. They +had always dressed for it; the children now in their graves had been +dressed for it; the children in bed upstairs were regularly dressed +for it; the house was dressed for it; the servants were dressed for +it; the whole life of that establishment had always been made to feel +by honors and tendernesses and gayeties that this was the night on +which he had married her and brought her home. + +As her eyes swept over him she noted quite as never before how these +anniversaries had not taken his youth away, but had added youth to +him; he had grown like the evergreen in the middle of the room--with +increase of trunk and limbs and with larger tides of strength surging +through him toward the master sun. There were no ravages of married +life in him. Time had merely made the tree more of a tree and made his +youth more youth. + +She took in momentary details of his appearance: a moisture like +summer heat along the edge of his yellow hair, started by the bath +into which he had plunged; the freshness of the enormous hands holding +the manuscript; the muscle of the forearm bulging within the +dress-coat sleeve. Many a time she had wondered how so perfect an +animal as he had ever climbed to such an elevation of work; and then +had wondered again whether any but such an animal ever in life does so +climb--shouldering along with him the poise and breadth of health and +causing the hot sun of the valley to shine on the mountain tops. + +Finally she looked to see whether he, thus dressed in her honor, thus +but the larger youth after all their years together, would return her +greeting with a light in his eyes that had always made them so +beautiful to her--a light burning as at a portal opening inward for +her only. + +His eyes rested on his manuscript. + +He brought it wrapped and tied in the true holiday spirit--sprigs of +cedar and holly caught in the ribands; and he now lifted and held it +out to her as a jeweller might elevate a casket of gems. Then he +stepped forward and put it on the table at her elbow. + +“For you!” he said reverently, stepping back. + +There had been years when, returning from a tramp across the country, +he would bring her perhaps nothing but a marvellous thistle, or a +brilliant autumn leaf for her throat. + +“For you!” he would say; and then, before he could give it to her, he +would throw it away and take her in his arms. Afterwards she would +pick up the trifle and treasure it. + +“For you!” he now said, offering her the treasure of his year’s toil +and stepping back. + +So the weight of the gift fell on her heart like a stone. She did not +look at it or touch it but glanced up at him. He raised his finger, +signalling for silence; and going to the chimney corner, brought back +a long taper and held it over the lamp until it ignited. Then with a +look which invited her to follow, he walked to the Tree and began to +light the candles. + +He began at the lowest boughs and, passing around, touched them one by +one. Around and around he went, and higher and higher twinkled the +lights as they mounted the tapering sides of the fir. At the top he +kindled one highest red star, shining down on everything below. Then +he blew out the taper, turned out the lamp; and returning to the tree, +set the heavy end of the taper on the floor and grasped it midway, as +one might lightly hold a stout staff. + +The room, lighted now by the common glow of the candles, revealed +itself to be the parlor of the house elaborately decorated for the +winter festival. Holly wreaths hung in the windows; the walls were +garlanded; evergreen boughs were massed above the window cornices; on +the white lace of window curtains many-colored autumn leaves, pressed +and kept for this night, looked as though they had been blown there +scatteringly by October winds. The air of the room was heavy with +odors; there was summer warmth in it. + +In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top +close to the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of +the room impartially--as symbolically to the four corners of the +earth. It would be the only witness of all that was to take place +between them: what better could there be than this messenger of +silence and wild secrecy? From the mountains and valleys of the planet +its race had looked out upon a million generations of men and women; +and the calmness of its lot stretched across the turbulence of human +passion as an ancient bridge spans a modern river. + +At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first +forking of the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross +gleamed. Under the cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions +outstretched as though descending out of the infinite upon some +earthly object below. From many of the branches tiny bells swung. +There were little horns and little trumpets. Other boughs sagged +under the weight of silvery cornucopias. Native and tropical fruits +were tied on here and there; and dolls were tied on also with cords +around their necks, their feet dangling. There were smiling masks, +like men beheaded and smiling in their death. Near the base of the +Tree there was a drum. And all over the Tree from pinnacle to base +glittered a tinsel like golden fleece--looking as the moss of old +Southern trees seen at yellow sunset. + +He stood for a while absorbed in contemplation of it. This year at his +own request the decorations had been left wholly to him; now he seemed +satisfied. + +He turned to her eagerly. + +“Do you remember what took place on Christmas Eve last year?” he +asked, with a reminiscent smile. “You sat where you are sitting and I +stood where I am standing. After I had finished lighting the Tree, do +you remember what you said?” + +After a moment she stirred and passed her fingers across her brows. + +“Recall it to me,” she answered. “I must have said many things. I did +not know that I had said anything that would be remembered a year. +Recall it to me.” + +“You looked at the Tree and said what a mystery it is. When and where +did it begin, how and why?--this Tree that is now nourished in the +affections of the human family round the world.” + +“Yes; I remember that.” + +“I resolved to find out for you. I determined to prepare during what +hours I could spare from my regular college work the gratification of +your wish for you as a gift from me. If I could myself find the way +back through the labyrinth of ages, then I would return for you and +lead you back through the story of the Christmas Tree as that story +has never been seen by any one else. All this year’s work, then, has +been the threading of the labyrinth. Now Christmas Eve has come again, +my work is finished, my gift to you is ready.” + +He made this announcement and stopped, leaving it to clear the air of +mystery--the mystery of the secret work. + +Then he resumed: “Have you, then, been the Incident in this toil as +yesterday you intimated that you were? Do you now see that you have +been the whole reason of it? You were excluded from any share in the +work only because you could not help to prepare your own gift! That is +all. What has looked like a secret in this house has been no +secret. You are blinded and bewildered no longer; the hour has come +when holly and cedar can speak for themselves.” + +Sunlight broke out all over his face. + +She made no reply but said within herself: + +“Ah, no! That is not the trouble. That has nothing to do with the +trouble. The secret of the house is not a misunderstanding; it is +life. It is not the doing of a year; it is the undoing of the +years. It is not a gift to enrich me with new happiness; it is a +lesson that leaves me poorer.” + +He went on without pausing: + +“It is already late. The children interrupted us and took up part of +your evening. But it is not too late for me to present to you some +little part of your gift. I am going to arrange for you a short story +out of the long one. The whole long story is there,” he added, +directing his eyes toward the manuscript at her elbow; and his voice +showed how he felt a scholar’s pride in it. “From you it can pass out +to the world that celebrates Christmas and that often perhaps asks the +same question: What is the history of the Christmas Tree? But now my +story for you!” + +“Wait a moment,” she said, rising. She left the package where it was; +and with feet that trembled against the soft carpet crossed the room +and seated herself at one end of a deep sofa. + +Gathering her dignity about her, she took there the posture of a +listener--listening at her ease. + +The sofa was of richly carved mahogany. Each end curved into a scroll +like a landward wave of the sea. One of her foam-white arms rested on +one of the scrolls. Her elbow, reaching beyond, touched a small table +on which stood a vase of white frosted glass; over the rim of it +profuse crimson carnations hung their heads. They were one of her +favorite winter flowers, and he had had these sent out to her this +afternoon from a hothouse of the distant town by a half-frozen +messenger. Near her head curtains of crimson brocade swept down the +wall to the floor from the golden-lustred window cornices. At her back +were cushions of crimson silk. At the other end of the sofa her piano +stood and on it lay the music she played of evenings to him, or played +with thoughts of him when she was alone. And other music also which +she many a time read; as Beethoven’s Great Nine. + +Now, along this wall of the parlor from window curtain to window +curtain there stretched a festoon of evergreens and ribands put there +by the children for their Christmas-Night party; and into this festoon +they had fastened bunches of mistletoe, plucked from the walnut tree +felled the day before--they knowing nothing, happy children! + +There she reclined. + +The lower outlines of her figure were lost in a rich blackness over +which points of jet flashed like swarms of silvery fireflies in some +too warm a night of the warm South. The blackness of her hair and the +blackness of her brows contrasted with the whiteness of her bare arms +and shoulders and faultless neck and faultless throat bared also. Not +far away was hid the warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus’s of old +out of the sea’s inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old +family corals were clasped--the ocean’s roses; and on her breast, +between the night of her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds +flowered in beauty that could never be opened, never be rifled. + +When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged +house-dogs--setters with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle +breeding--had followed her and lain down at her feet; and one with a +thrust of his nose pushed her skirts back from the toe of her slipper +and rested his chin on it. + +“I will listen,” she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. “I wish +simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have +to say.” + +“Then I shall go straight through,” he replied. “One minute now while +I put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short +story out of so vast a one.” + +During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under +stress of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours +often arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that +causes it to yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new +things: sometimes creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is +taken away. + +As he stood there--the man beside the Tree--into the picture entered +three other men, looking down upon him from their portraits on the +walls. + +One portrait represented the first man of his family to scale the +mountains of the Shield where its eastern rim is turned away from the +reddening daybreak. Thence he had forced his way to its central +portions where the skin of ever living verdure is drawn over the +rocks: Anglo-Saxon, backwoodsman, borderer, great forest chief, hewing +and fighting a path toward the sunset for Anglo-Saxon women and +children. With his passion for the wilderness--its game, enemies, +campfire and cabin, deep-lunged freedom. This ancestor had a lonely, +stern, gaunt face, no modern expression in it whatsoever--the timeless +face of the woods. + +Near his portrait hung that of a second representative of the +family. This man had looked out upon his vast parklike estates hi the +central counties; and wherever his power had reached, he had used it +on a great scale for the destruction of his forests. Woods-slayer, +field-maker; working to bring in the period on the Shield when the +hand of a man began to grasp the plough instead of the rifle, when the +stallion had replaced the stag, and bellowing cattle wound fatly down +into the pastures of the bison. This man had the face of his +caste--the countenance of the Southern slave-holding feudal lord. Not +the American face, but the Southern face of a definite era--less than +national, less than modern; a face not looking far in any direction +but at things close around. + +From a third portrait the latest ancestor looked down. He with his +contemporaries had finished the thinning of the central forest of the +Shield, leaving the land as it is to-day, a rolling prairie with +remnants of woodland like that crowning the hilltop near this +house. This immediate forefather bore the countenance that began to +develop in the Northerner and in the Southerner after the Civil War: +not the Northern look nor the Southern look, but the American look--a +new thing in the American face, indefinable but unmistakable. + +These three men now focussed their attention upon him, the fourth of +the line, standing beside the tree brought into the house. Each of +them in his own way had wrought out a work for civilization, using the +woods as an implement. In his own case, the woods around him having +disappeared, the ancestral passion had made him a student of forestry. + +The thesis upon which he took his degree was the relation of modern +forestry to modern life. A few years later in an adjunct professorship +his original researches in this field began to attract attention. +These had to do with the South Appalachian forest in its relation to +South Appalachian civilization and thus to that of the continent. + +This work had brought its reward; he was now to be drawn away from his +own college and country to a Northern university. + +Curiously in him there had gone on a corresponding development of an +ancestral face. As the look of the wilderness hunter had changed into +that of the Southern slave-holding baron, as this had changed into the +modern American face unlike any other; now finally in him the national +American look had broadened into something more modern still--the look +of mere humanity: he did not look like an American--he looked like a +man in the service of mankind. + +This, which it takes thus long to recapitulate, presented itself to +her as one wide vision of the truth. It left a realization of how the +past had swept him along with its current; and of how the future now +caught him up and bore him on, part in its problems. The old passion +living on in him--forest life; a new passion born in him--human +life. And by inexorable logic these two now blending themselves +to-night in a story of the Christmas Tree. + +But womanlike she sought to pluck out of these forces something +intensely personal to which she could cling; and she did it in this +wise. + +In the Spring following their marriage, often after supper they would +go out on the lawn in the twilight, strolling among her flowers; she +leading him this way and that way and laying upon him beautiful +exactions and tyrannies: how he must do this and do that; and not do +this and not do that; he receiving his orders like a grateful slave. + +Then sometimes he would silently imprison her hand and lead her down +the lawn and up the opposite hill to the edge of the early summer +evening woods; and there on the roots of some old tree--the shadows of +the forest behind them and the light of the western sky in their +faces--they would stay until darkness fell, hiding their eyes from +each other. + +The burning horizon became a cathedral interior--the meeting of love’s +holiness and the Most High; the crescent dropped a silver veil upon +the low green hills; wild violets were at their feet; the mosses and +turf of the Shield under them. The warmth of his body was as the day’s +sunlight stored in the trunk of the tree; his hair was to her like its +tawny bloom, native to the sun. + +Life with him was enchanted madness. + +He had begun. He stretched out his arm and slowly began to write on +the air of the room. Sometimes in earlier years she had sat in his +classroom when he was beginning a lecture; and it was thus, standing +at the blackboard, that he sometimes put down the subject of his +lecture for the students. Slowly now he shaped each letter and as he +finished each word, he read it aloud to her: + +“A STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR JOSEPHINE, WIFE OF FREDERICK” + + + + +IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + +“Josephine!” + +He uttered her name with beautiful reverence, letting the sound of it +float over the Christmas Tree and die away on the garlanded walls of +the room: it was his last tribute to her, a dedication. + +Then he began: + +“Josephine, sometimes while looking out of the study window a spring +morning, I have watched you strolling among the flowers of the lawn. I +have seen you linger near a honeysuckle in full bloom and question the +blossoms in your questioning way--you who are always wishing to probe +the heart of things, to drain out of them the red drop of their +significance. But, gray-eyed querist of actuality, those fragrant +trumpets could blow to your ear no message about their origin. It was +where the filaments of the roots drank deepest from the mould of a +dead past that you would have had to seek the true mouthpieces of +their philosophy. + +“So the instincts which blossom out thickly over the nature of modern +man to themselves are mute. The flower exhibits itself at the tip of +the vine; the instinct develops itself at the farthest outreach of +life; and the point where it clamors for satisfaction is at the +greatest possible distance from its birthplace. For all these +instincts send their roots down through the mould of the uncivilized, +down through the mould of the primitive, down into the mould of the +underhuman--that ancient playhouse dedicated to low tragedies. + +“While this may seem to you to be going far for a commencement of the +story, it is coming near to us. The kind of man and woman we are to +ourselves; the kind of husband and wife we are to each other; the kind +of father and mother we are to our children; the kind of human beings +we are to our fellow beings--the passions which swell as with sap the +buds of those relations until they burst into their final shapes of +conduct are fed from the bottom of the world’s mould. You and I +to-night are building the structures of our moral characters upon +life-piles that sink into fathomless ooze. All we human beings dip our +drinking cups into a vast delta sweeping majestically towards the sea +and catch drops trickling from the springs of creation. + +“It is in a vast ancestral country, a Fatherland of Old Desire, that +my story lies for you and for me: drawn from the forest and from human +nature as the two have worked in the destiny of the earth. I have +wrested it from this Tree come out of the ancient woods into the house +on this Night of the Nativity.” + +He made the scholar’s pause and resumed, falling into the tone of easy +narrative. It had already become evident that this method of telling +the story would be to find what Alpine flowers he could for her amid +Alpine snows. + +He told her then that the oldest traceable influence in the life of +the human race is the sea. It is true that man in some ancestral form +was rocked in the cradle of the deep; he rose from the waves as the +islanded Greeks said of near Venus. Traces of this origin he still +bears both in his body and his emotions; and together they make up his +first set of memories--Sea Memories. + +He deliberated a moment and then put the truth before her in a single +picturesque phrase: + +“Man himself is a closed living sea-shell in the chambers of which the +hues of the first ocean are still fresh and its tempests still are +sounding.” + +Next he told her how man’s last marine ancestor quit one day the sea +never again to return to the deep, crossed the sands of the beach and +entered the forest; and how upon him, this living sea-shell, soft to +impressions, the Spirit of the Forest fell to work, beginning to shape +it over from sea uses to forest uses. + +A thousand thousand ages the Spirit of the Forest worked at the +sea-shell. + +It remodelled the shell as so much clay; stood it up and twisted and +branched it as young pliant oak; hammered it as forge-glowing iron; +tempered it as steel; cast it as bronze; chiselled it as marble; +painted it as a cloud; strung and tuned it as an instrument; lit it up +as a life tower--the world’s one beacon: steadily sending it onward +through one trial form after another until at last had been perfected +for it that angelic shape in which as man it was ever afterwards to +sob and to smile. + +And thus as one day a wandering sea-shell had quit the sea and entered +the forest, now on another day of that infinite time there reappeared +at the edge of the forest the creature it had made. On every wall of +its being internal and external forest-written; and completely +forest-minded: having nothing but forest knowledge, forest feeling, +forest dreams, forest fancies, forest faith; so that in all it could +do or know or feel or dream or imagine or believe it was +forest-tethered. + +At the edge of the forest then this creature uncontrollably impelled +to emerge from the waving green sea of leaves as of old it had been +driven to quit the rolling blue ocean of waters: Man at the dawn of +our history of him. + +And if the first set of race memories--Sea Memories--still endure +within him, how much more powerful are the second set--the Forest +Memories! + +So powerful that since the dawn of history millions have perished as +forest creatures only; so powerful that there are still remnant races +on the globe which have never yet snapped the primitive tether and +will become extinct as mere forest creatures to the last; so powerful +that those highest races which have been longest out in the open--as +our own Aryan race--have never ceased to be reached by the influence +of the woods behind them; by the shadows of those tall morning trees +falling across the mortal clearings toward the sunset. + +These Master Memories, he said, filtering through the sandlike +generations of our race, survive to-day as those pale attenuated +affections which we call in ourselves the Love of Nature; these +affections are inherited: new feelings for nature we have none. The +writers of our day who speak of civilized man’s love of nature as a +developing sense err wholly. They are like explorers who should +mistake a boundary for the interior of a continent. Man’s knowledge of +nature is modern, but it no more endows him with new feeling than +modern knowledge of anatomy supplies him with a new bone or his latest +knowledge about his blood furnishes him with an additional artery. + +Old are our instincts and passions about Nature: all are Forest +Memories. + +But among the many-twisted mass of them there is one, he said, that +contains the separate buried root of the story: Man’s Forest Faith. + +When the Spirit of the Forest had finished with the sea-shell, it had +planted in him--there to grow forever--the root of faith that he was a +forest child. His origin in the sea he had not yet discovered; the +science of ages far distant in the future was to give him that. To +himself forest-tethered he was also forest-born: he believed it to be +his immediate ancestor, the creative father of mankind. Thus the +Greeks in their oldest faith were tethered to the idea that they were +descended from the plane tree; in the Sagas and Eddas the human race +is tethered to the world-ash. Among every people of antiquity this +forest faith sprang up and flourished: every race was tethered to some +ancestral tree. In the Orient each succeeding Buddha of Indian +mythology was tethered to a different tree; each god of the later +classical Pantheon was similarly tethered: Jupiter to the oak, Apollo +to the laurel, Bacchus to the vine, Minerva to the olive, Juno to the +apple, on and on. Forest worship was universal--the most impressive +and bewildering to modern science that the human spirit has ever built +up. At the dawn of history began The Adoration of the Trees. + +Then as man, the wanderer, walked away from his dawn across the ages +toward the sunset bearing within him this root of faith, it grew with +his growth. The successive growths were cut down by the successive +scythes of time; but always new sprouts were put forth. + +Thus to man during the earliest ages the divine dwelt as a bodily +presence within the forest; but one final day the forest lost the +Immortal as its indwelling creator. + +Next the old forest worshipper peopled the trees with an intermediate +race of sylvan deities less than divine, more than human; and long he +beguiled himself with the exquisite reign and proximity of these; but +the lesser could not maintain themselves in temples from which the +greater had already been expelled, and they too passed out of sight +down the roadway of the world. + +Still the old forest faith would not let the wanderer rest; and during +yet later ages he sent into the trees his own nature so that the woods +became freshly endeared to him by many a story of how individuals of +his own race had succeeded as tenants to the erstwhile habitations of +the gods. Then this last panorama of illusion faded also, and +civilized man stood face to face with the modern woods--inhabitated +only by its sap and cells. The trees had drawn their bark close around +them, wearing an inviolate tapestry across those portals through which +so many a stranger to them had passed in and passed out; and +henceforth the dubious oracle of the forest--its one reply to all +man’s questionings--became the Voice of its own Mystery. + +After this the forest worshipper could worship the woods no more. But +we must not forget that civilization as compared with the duration of +human life on the planet began but yesterday: even our own +Indo-European race dwells as it were on the forest edge. And the +forest still reaches out and twines itself around our deepest +spiritual truths: home--birth--love--prayer--death: it tries to +overrun them all, to reclaim them. Thus when we build our houses, +instinctively we attempt by some clump of trees to hide them and to +shelter ourselves once more inside the forest; in some countries +whenever a child is born, a tree is planted as its guardian in nature; +in our marriage customs the forest still riots as master of ceremonies +with garlands and fruits; our prayers strike against the forest shaped +hi cathedral stone--memory of the grove, God’s first temple; and when +we die, it is the tree that is planted beside us as the sentinel of +our rest. Even to this day the sight of a treeless grave arouses some +obscure instinct in us that it is God-forsaken. + +Yes, he said, whatsoever modern temple man has anywhere reared for his +spirit, over the walls of it have been found growing the same leaf and +tendril: he has introduced the tree into the ritual of every later +world-worship; and thus he has introduced the evergreen into the +ritual of Christianity. + +This then is the meaning of the Christmas Tree and of its presence at +the Nativity. At the dawn of history we behold man worshipping the +tree as the Creator literally present on the earth; in our time we see +him using that tree in the worship of the creative Father’s Son come +to earth in the Father’s stead. + +“On this evergreen in the room falls the radiance of these brief +tapers of the night; but on it rests also the long light of that +spiritual dawn when man began his Adoration of the Trees. It is the +forest taking its place once more beside the long-lost Immortal.” + +Here he finished the first part of his story. That he should address +her thus and that she thus should listen had in it nothing unusual for +them. For years it had been his wont to traverse with her the ground +of his lectures, and she shared his thought before it reached +others. It was their high and equal comradeship. Wherever his mind +could go hers went--a brilliant torch, a warming sympathy. + +But to-night his words had fallen on her as withered leaves on a +motionless figure of stone. If he was sensible of this change in her, +he gave no sign. And after a moment he passed to the remaining part of +the story. + +“Thus far I have been speaking to you of the bare tree in wild nature: +here it is loaded with decorations; and now I want to show you that +they too are Forest Memories--that since the evergreen moved over into +the service of Christianity, one by one like a flock of birds these +Forest Memories have followed it and have alighted amid its +branches. Everything here has its story. I am going to tell you in +each case what that story is; I am going to interpret everything on +the Christmas Tree and the other Christmas decorations in the room.” + +It was at this point that her keen attention became fixed on him and +never afterwards wavered. If everything had its story, the mistletoe +would have its; he must interpret that: and thus he himself +unexpectedly had brought about the situation she wished. She would +meet him at that symbolic bough: there be rendered the Judgment of the +Years! And now as one sits down at some point of a road where a +traveller must arrive, she waited for him there. + +He turned to the Tree and explained briefly that as soon as the forest +worshipper began the worship of the tree, he began to bring to it his +offerings and to hang these on the boughs; for religion consists in +offering something: to worship is to give. In after ages when man had +learned to build shrines and temples, he still kept up his primitive +custom of bringing to the altar his gifts and sacrifices; but during +that immeasurable time before he had learned to carve wood or to set +one stone on another, he was bringing his offerings to the grove--the +only cathedral he had. And this to him was not decoration; it was +prayer. So that in our age of the world when we playfully decorate the +Christmas Tree it is a survival of grave rites in the worship of +primitive man and is as ancient as forest worship itself. + +And now he began. + +With the pointer in his hand he touched the star at the apex of the +fir. This, he said, was commonly understood to represent the Star of +Bethlehem which guided the wise men of the East to the manger on the +Night of the Nativity--the Star of the New Born. But modern +discoveries show that the records of ancient Chaldea go back four or +five thousand years before the Christian era; and as far back as they +have been traced, we find the wise men of the East worshipping this +same star and being guided by it in their spiritual wanderings as they +searched for the incarnation of the Divine. They worshipped it as the +star of peace and goodness and purity. Many a pious Wolfram in those +dim centuries no doubt sang his evening hymn to the same star, for +love of some Chaldean Elizabeth--both he and she blown about the +desert how many centuries now as dust. Moreover on these records the +star and the Tree are brought together as here side by side. And the +story of the star leads backward to one of the first things that man +ever worshipped as he looked beyond the forest: the light of the +heavens floating in the depth of space--light that he wanted but could +not grasp. + +He touched the next object on the Tree--the candle under the star--and +went on: + +Imagine, he said, the forest worshipper as at the end of ages having +caught this light--having brought it down in the language of his myth +from heaven to earth: that is, imagine the star in space as having +become a star in his hand--the candle: the star worshipper had now +become also the fire worshipper. Thus the candle leads us back to the +fire worshippers of ancient Persia--those highlands of the spirit +seeking light. We think of the Christmas candle on the Tree as merely +borrowed from the candle of the altar for the purpose of illumination; +but the use of it goes back to a time when the forest worshipper, now +also the fire worshipper, hung his lights on the trees, having no +other altar. Far down toward modern times the temples of the old +Prussians, for example, were oak groves, and among them a hierarchy of +priests was ordained to keep the sacred fire perpetually burning at +the root of the sacred oak. + +He touched the third object on the tree--the cross under the +candle--and went on: + +“To the Christian believer the cross signifies one supreme event: +Calvary and the tragedy of the Crucifixion. It was what the Marys saw +and the apostles that morning in Gethsemane. But no one in that age +thought of the cross as a Christian symbol. John and Peter and Paul +and the rest went down into their graves without so regarding it. The +Magdalene never clung to it with life-tired arms, nor poured out at +the foot of it the benizon of her tears. Not until the third century +after Christ did the Bishops assembled at Nice announce it a Christian +symbol. But it was a sacred emblem in the dateless antiquity of +Egypt. To primitive man it stood for that sacred light and fire of +life which was himself. For he himself is a cross--the first cross he +has ever known. The faithful may truly think of the Son of Man as +crucified as the image of humanity. And thus ages before Christ, +cross worship and forest worship were brought together: for instance, +among the Druids who hunted for an oak, two boughs of which made with +the trunk of the tree the figure of the cross; and on these three they +cut the names of three of their gods and this was holy-cross wood.” + +He moved the pointer down until he touched the fourth object on the +tree--the dove under the cross, and went on: + +“In the mind of the Christian believer this represents the white dove +of the New Testament which descended on the Son of Man when the +heavens were opened. So in Parsifal the white dove descends, +overshadowing the Grail. But ages before Christ the prolific white +dove of Syria was worshipped throughout the Orient as the symbol of +reproductive Nature: and to this day the Almighty is there believed to +manifest himself under this form. In ancient Mesopotamia the divine +mother of nature is often represented with this dove as having +actually alighted on her shoulder or in her open hand. And here again +forest worship early became associated with the worship of the dove; +for, sixteen hundred years before Christ, we find the dove nurtured in +the oak grove at Dodona where its presence was an augury and its wings +an omen.” + +On he went, touching one thing after another, tracing the story of +each backward till it was lost in antiquity and showing how each was +entwined with forest worship. + +He touched the musical instruments; the bell, the drum. The bell, he +said, was used in Greece by the Priests of Bacchus in the worship of +the vine. And vine worship was forest worship. Moreover, in the same +oak grove at Dodona bells were tied to the oak boughs and their +tinklings also were sacred auguries. The drum, which the modern boy +beats on Christmas Day, was beaten ages before Christ in the worship +of Confucius: the story of it dies away toward what was man’s first +written music in forgotten China. In the first century of the +Christian era, on one of the most splendid of the old Buddhist +sculptures, boys are represented as beating the drum in the worship of +the sacred tree--once more showing how music passed into the service +of forest faith. + +He touched the cornucopia; and he traced its story back to the ram’s +horn--the primitive cup of libation, used for a drinking cup and used +also to pour out the last product of the vine in honor of the vine +itself--the forest’s first goblet. + +He touched the fruits and the flowers on the Tree: these were oldest +of all, perhaps, he said; for before the forest worshipper had learned +to shape or fabricate any offerings of his own skill, he could at +least bring to the divine tree and hang on it the flower of spring, +the wild fruit of autumn. + +He kept on until only three things on the Tree were left +uninterpreted; the tinsel, the masks, and the dolls. He told her that +he had left these to the last for a reason: seemingly they were the +most trivial but really the most grave; for by means of them most +clearly could be traced the presence of great law running through the +progress of humanity. + +He drew her attention to the tinsel that covered the tree, draping it +like a yellow moss. It was of no value, he said, but in the course of +ages it had taken the place of the offering of actual gold in forest +worship: a once universal custom of adorning the tree with everything +most precious to the giver in token of his sacrifice and +self-sacrifice. Even in Jeremiah is an account of the lading of the +sacred tree with gold and ornaments. Herodotus relates that when +Xerxes was invading Lydia, on the march he saw a divine tree and had +it honored with golden robes and gifts. Livy narrates that when +Romulus slew his enemy on the site of the Eternal City, he hung rich +spoils on the oak of the Capitoline Hill. And this custom of +decorating the tree with actual gold goes back in history until we can +meet it coming down to us in the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece +and in that of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Now the custom +has dwindled to this tinsel flung over the Christmas Tree--the mock +sacrifice for the real. + +He touched the masks and unfolded the grim story that lay behind their +mockery. It led back to the common custom in antiquity of sacrificing +prisoners of war or condemned criminals or innocent victims in forest +worship and of hanging their heads on the branches: we know this to +have been the practice among Gallic and Teuton tribes. In the course +of time, when such barbarity could be tolerated no longer, the mock +countenance replaced the real. + +He touched the dolls and revealed their sad story. Like the others, +its long path led to antiquity and to the custom of sacrificing +children in forest worship. How common this custom was the early +literature of the human race too abundantly testifies. We encounter +the trace of it in Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac--arrested by the +command of Jehovah. But Abraham would never have thought of slaying +his son to propitiate his God, had not the custom been well +established. In the case of Jephthah’s daughter the sacrifice was +actually allowed. We come upon the same custom in the fate of +Iphigenia--at a critical turning point in the world’s mercy; in her +stead the life of a lesser animal, as in Isaac’s case, was +accepted. When the protective charity of mankind turned against the +inhumanity of the old faiths, then the substitution of the mock for +the real sacrifice became complete. And now on the boughs of the +Christmas Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites +only these playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the +innocent. + +He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the +little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and +ever converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest +worship and they met in some sacrifice by the human heart. + +And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night: + +“Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree +is all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could +not worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore +he brought his gifts to the forest--his first altar. These gifts, +remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his +sacrifices and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since, +the same law lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the +better to the worse; in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to +the best. If the race should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it +would still have to worship what is highest in human nature and so +worshipping, it would still be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice +become the law of self-sacrifice: it would still be necessary to offer +up what is low in us to what is higher. Only one portion of mankind +has ever believed in Jerusalem; but every religion has known its own +Calvary.” + +He turned away from the Tree toward her and awaited her +appreciation. She had sat watching him without a movement and without +a word. But when at last she asked him a question, she spoke as a +listener who wakens from a long revery. + +“Have you finished the story for me?” she inquired. + +“I have finished the story for you,” he replied without betraying +disappointment at her icy reception of it. + +Keeping her posture, she raised one of her white arms above her head, +turning her face up also until the swanlike curve of the white throat +showed; and with quivering finger tips she touched some sprays of +mistletoe pendent from the garland on the wall: + +“You have not interpreted this,” she said, her mind fixed on that sole +omission. + +“I have not explained that,” he admitted. + +She sat up, and for the first time looked with intense interest toward +the manuscript on the table across the room. + +“Have you explained it there?” + +“I have not explained it there.” + +“But why?” she said with disappointment. + +“I did not wish you to read that story, Josephine.” + +“But why, Frederick?” she inquired, startled into wonderment. + +He smiled: “If I told you why, I might as well tell you the story.” + +“But why do you not wish to tell me the story?” + +He answered with warning frankness: “If you once saw it as a picture, +the picture would be coming back to you at times the rest of your life +darkly.” + +She protested: “If it is dark to you, why should I not share the +darkness of it? Have we not always looked at life’s shadows together? +And thus seeing life, have not bright things been doubly bright to us +and dark things but half as dark?” + +He merely repeated his warning: “It is a story of a crueler age than +ours. It goes back to the forest worship of the Druids.” + +She answered: “So long as our own age is cruel, what room is left to +take seriously the mere stories of crueler ones? Am I to shrink from +the forest worship of the Druids? Is there any story of theirs not +printed in books? Are not the books in libraries? Are they not put in +libraries to be read? If others read them, may not I? And since when +must I begin to dread anything in books? Or anything in life? And +since when did we begin to look at life apart, we who have always +looked at it with four eyes?” + +“I have always told you there are things to see with four eyes, things +to see with two, and things to see with none.” + +With sudden intensity her white arm went up again and touched the +mistletoe. + +“Tell me the story of this!” she pleaded as though she demanded a +right. As she spoke, her thumb and forefinger meeting on a spray, they +closed and went through it like a pair of shears; and a bunch of the +white pearls of the forest dropped on the ridge of her shoulder and +were broken apart and rolled across her breast into her lap. + +He looked grave; silence or speech--which were better for her? Either, +he now saw, would give her pain. + +“Happily the story is far away from us,” he said, as though he were +half inclined to grant her request. + +“If it is far away, bring it near! Bring it into the room as you +brought the stories of the star and the candle and the cross and the +dove and the others! Make it live before my eyes! Enact it before me! +Steep me in it as you have steeped yourself!” + +He held back a long time: “You who are so safe in good, why know +evil?” + +“Frederick,” she cried, “I shall have to insist upon your telling me +this story. And if you should keep any part of it back, I would know. +Then tell it all: if it is dark, let each shadow have its shade; give +each heavy part its heaviness; let cruelty be cruelty--and truth be +truth!” + +He stood gazing across the centuries, and when he began, there was a +change in him; something personal was beginning to intrude itself into +the narrative of the historian: + +“Imagine the world of our human nature in the last centuries before +Palestine became Holy Land. Athens stood with her marbles glistening +by the blue Ægean, and Greek girls with fillets and sandals--the +living images of those pale sculptured shapes that are the mournful +eternity of Art--Greek girls were being chosen for the secret rites in +the temple at Ephesus. The sun of Italy had not yet browned the little +children who were to become the brown fathers and mothers of the brown +soldiers of Cæsar’s legions; and twenty miles south of Rome, in the +sacred grove of Dodona,--where the motions of oak boughs were +auguries, and the flappings of the wings of white doves were divine +messages, and the tinkling of bells in the foliage had divine +meanings,--in this grove the virgins of Latium, as the Greek girls of +Ephesus, were once a year appointed to undergo similar rites. To the +south Pompeii, with its night laughter and song sounding far out +toward the softly lapping Mediterranean and up the slopes of its dread +volcano, drained its goblet and did not care, emptied it as often as +filled and asked for nothing more. A little distance off Herculaneum, +with its tender dreams of Greece but with its arms around the +breathing image of Italy, slept--uncovered. + +“Beyond Italy to the north, on the other side of the eternal snowcaps, +lay unknown Gaul, not yet dreaming of the Cæsar who was to conquer +it; and across the wild sea opposite Gaul lay the wooded isle of +Britain. All over that island one forest; in that forest one worship; +in that worship one tree--the oak of England; and on that oak one +bough--the mistletoe.” + +He spoke to her awhile about the oak, describing the place it had in +the early civilizations of the human race. In the Old Testament it was +the tree of the Hebrew idols and of Jehovah. In Greece it was the +tree of Zeus, the most august and the most human of the gods. In Italy +it was the tree of Jove, great father of immortals and of +mankind. After the gods passed, it became the tree of the imperial +Cæsars. After the Cæsars had passed, it was the oak that Michael +Angelo in the Middle Ages scattered over the ceiling of the Sistine +Chapel near the creation of man and his expulsion from Paradise--there +as always the chosen tree of human desire. In Britain it was the +sacred tree of Druidism: there the Arch Druid and his fellow-priests +performed none of their rites without using its leaves and branches: +never anywhere in the world was the oak worshipped with such +ceremonies and sacrifices as there. + +Imagine then a scene--the chief Nature Festival of that forest +worship: the New Year’s day of the Druids. + +A vast concourse of people, men and women and children, are on their +way to the forest; they are moving toward an oak tree that has been +found with mistletoe growing on it--growing there so seldom. As the +excited throng come in sight of it, they hail it with loud cries of +reverence and delight. Under it they gather; there a banquet is +spread. In the midst of the assemblage one figure towers--the Arch +Druid. Every eye is fixed fearfully on him, for on whomsoever his own +eye may fall with wrath, he may be doomed to become one of the victims +annually sacrificed to the oak. + +A gold chain is around his neck; gold bands are around his arms. He is +clad in robes of spotless white. He ascends the tree to a low bough, +and making a hollow in the folds of his robes, he crops with a golden +pruning hook the mistletoe and so catches it as it falls. Then it is +blessed and scattered among the throng, and the priest prays that each +one so receiving it may receive also the divine favor and blessing of +which it is Nature’s emblem. Two white bulls, the horns of which have +never hitherto been touched, are now adorned with fillets and are +slaughtered in sacrifice. + +Then at last it is over, the people are gone, the forest is left to +itself, and the New Year’s ceremony of cutting the mistletoe from the +oak is at an end. + +Here he ended the story. + +She had sat leaning far forward, her fingers interlocked and her brows +knitted. When he stopped, she sat up and studied him a moment in +bewilderment: + +“But why did you call that a dark story?” she asked. “Where is the +cruelty? It is beautiful, and I shall never forget it and it will +never throw a dark image on my mind: New Year’s day--the winter +woods--the journeying throng--the oak--the bough--the banquet +beneath--the white bulls with fillets on their horns--the white-robed +priest--the golden sickle in his hand--the stroke that severs the +mistletoe--the prayer that each soul receiving any smallest piece will +be blessed in life’s sorrows! If I were a great painter, I should like +to paint that scene. In the centre should be some young girl, +pressing to her heart what she believed to be heaven’s covenant with +her under the guise of a blossom. How could you have wished to +withhold such a story from me?” + +He smiled at her a little sadly. + +“I have not yet told you all,” he said, “but I have told you enough.” + +Instantly she bent far over toward him with intuitive scrutiny. Under +her breath one word escaped: + +“Ah!” + +It was the breath of a discovery--a discovery of something unknown to +her. + +“I am sparing you, Josephine!” + +She stretched each arm along the back of the sofa and pinioned the +wood in her clutch. + +“Are you sparing me?” she asked in a tone of torture. “Or are you +sparing yourself?” + +The heavy staff on which he stood leaning dropped from his relaxed +grasp to the floor. He looked down at it a moment and then calmly +picked it up. + +“I am going to tell you the story,” he said with a new quietness. + +She was aroused by some change in him. + +“I will not listen! I do not wish to hear it!” + +“You will have to listen,” he said. “It is better for you to +know. Better for any human being to know any truth than suffer the +bane of wrong thinking. When you are free to judge, it will be +impossible for you to misjudge.” + +“I have not misjudged you! I have not judged you! In some way that I +do not understand you are judging yourself!” + +He stepped back a pace--farther away from her--and he drew himself +up. In the movement there was instinctive resentment. And the right +not to be pried into--not even by the nearest. + +The step which had removed him farther from her had brought him nearer +to the Christmas Tree at his back. A long, three-fingered bough being +thus pressed against was forced upward and reappeared on one of his +shoulders. The movement seemed human: it was like the conscious hand +of the tree. The fir, standing there decked out in the artificial +tawdriness of a double-dealing race, laid its wild sincere touch on +him--as sincere as the touch of dying human fingers--and let its +passing youth flow into him. It attracted his attention, and he turned +his head toward it as with recognition. Other boughs near the floor +likewise thrust themselves forward, hiding his feet so that he stood +ankle-deep in forestry. + +This reunion did not escape her. Her overwrought imagination made of +it a sinister omen: the bough on his shoulder rested there as the old +forest claim; the boughs about his feet were the ancestral forest +tether. As he had stepped backward from her, Nature had asserted the +earlier right to him. In strange sickness and desolation of heart she +waited. + +He stood facing her but looking past her at centuries long gone; the +first sound of his voice registered upon her ear some message of doom: + +“Listen, Josephine!” + +She buried her face in her hands. + +“I cannot! I will not!” + +“You will have to listen. You know that for some years, apart from my +other work, I have been gathering together the woodland customs of our +people and trying to trace them back to their origin and first +meaning. In our age of the world we come upon many playful forest +survivals of what were once grave things. Often in our play and +pastimes and lingering superstitions about the forest we cross faint +traces of what were once vital realities. + +“Among these there has always been one that until recently I have +never understood. Among country people oftenest, but heard of +everywhere, is the saying that if a girl is caught standing under the +mistletoe, she may be kissed by the man who thus finds her. I have +always thought that this ceremony and playful sacrifice led back to +some ancient rite--I could not discover what. Now I know.” + +In a voice full of a new delicacy and scarcely audible, he told her. + +It is another scene in the forest of Britain. This time it is not the +first day of the year--the New Year’s day of the Druids when they +celebrated the national festival of the oak. But it is early summer, +perhaps the middle of May--May in England--with the young beauty of +the woods. It is some hushed evening at twilight. The new moon is +just silvering the tender leaves and creating a faint shadow under the +trees. The hawthorn is in bloom--red and white--and not far from the +spot, hidden in some fragrant tuft of this, a nightingale is singing, +singing, singing. + +Lifting itself above the smaller growths stands the young manhood of +the woods--a splendid oak past its thirtieth year, representing its +youth and its prime conjoined. In its trunk is the summer heat of the +all-day sun. Around its roots is velvet turf, and there are wild +violet beds. Its huge arms are stretched toward the ground as though +reaching for some object they would clasp; and on one of these arms as +its badge of divine authority, worn there as a knight might wear the +colors of his Sovereign, grows the mistletoe. There he stands--the +Forest Lover. + +The woods wait, the shadows deepen, the hush is more intense, the +moon’s rays begin to be golden, the song of the nightingale grows more +passionate, the beds of moss and violets wait. + +Then the shrubbery is tremblingly parted at some place and upon the +scene a young girl enters--her hair hanging down--her limbs most +lightly clad--the flush of red hawthorn on the white hawthorn of her +skin--in her eyes love’s great need and mystery. Step by step she +comes forward, her fingers trailing against whatsoever budding wayside +thing may stay her strength. She draws nearer to the oak, searching +amid its boughs for that emblem which she so dreads to find and yet +more dreads not to find: the emblem of a woman’s fruitfulness which +the young oak--the Forest Lover--reaches down toward her. Finding it, +beneath it with one deep breath of surrender she takes her place--the +virgin’s tryst with the tree--there to be tested. + +Such is the command of the Arch Druid: it is obedience--submission to +that test--or death for her as a sacrifice to the oak which she has +rejected. + +Again the shrubbery is parted, rudely pushed aside, and a man +enters--a tried and seasoned man--a human oak--counterpart of the +Forest Lover--to officiate at the test. + + * * * * * + +He was standing there in the parlor of his house and in the presence +of his wife. But in fealty he was gone: he was in the summer woods of +ancestral wandering, the fatherland of Old Desire. + +_He_ was the man treading down the shrubbery; it was _his_ +feet that started toward the oak; _his_ eye that searched for the +figure half fainting under the bough; for _him_ the bed of moss +and violets--the hair falling over the eyes--the loosened girdle--the +breasts of hawthorn white and pink--the listening song of the +nightingale--the silence of the summer woods--the seclusion--the full +surrender of the two under that bough of the divine command, to escape +the penalty of their own death. + +The blaze of uncontrollable desire was all over him; the fire of his +own story had treacherously licked him like a wind-bent flame. The +light that she had not seen in his eyes for so long rose in them--the +old, unfathomable, infolding tenderness. A quiver ran around his tense +nostrils. + +And now one little phrase which he had uttered so sacredly years +before and had long since forgotten rose a second time to his +lips--tossed there by a second tide of feeling. On the silence of the +room fell his words: + +“_Bride of the Mistletoe!_” + +The storm that had broken over him died away. He shut his eyes on the +vanishing scene: he opened them upon her. + +He had told her the truth about the story; he may have been aware or +he may not have been aware that he had revealed to her the truth about +himself. + +“This is what I would have kept from you, Josephine,” he said quietly. + +She was sitting there before him--the mother of his children, of the +sleeping ones, of the buried ones--the butterfly broken on the wheel +of years: lustreless and useless now in its summer. + +She sat there with the whiteness of death. + + + + +V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + +The Christmas candles looked at her flickeringly; the little white +candles of purity, the little red candles of love. The holly in the +room concealed its bold gay berries behind its thorns, and the cedar +from the faithful tree beside the house wall had need now of its +bitter rosary. + +Her first act was to pay what is the first debt of a fine spirit--the +debt of courtesy and gratitude. + +“It is a wonderful story, Frederick,” she said in a manner which +showed him that she referred to the beginning of his story and not to +the end. + +“As usual you have gone your own way about it, opening your own path +into the unknown, seeing what no one else has seen, and bringing back +what no one else ever brought. It is a great revelation of things that +I never dreamed of and could never have imagined. I appreciate your +having done this for me; it has taken time and work, but it is too +much for me to-night. It is too new and too vast. I must hereafter try +to understand it. And there will be leisure enough. Nor can it lose by +waiting. But now there is something that cannot wait, and I wish to +speak to you about that; Frederick, I am going to ask you some +questions about the last part of the story. I have been wanting to ask +you a long time: the story gives me the chance and--the right.” + +He advanced a step toward her, disengaging himself from the evergreen. + +“I will answer them,” he said. “If they can be answered.” + +And thus she sat and thus he stood as the questions and answers passed +to and fro. They were solemn questions and solemn replies, drawn out +of the deeps of life and sinking back into them. + +“Frederick,” she said, “for many years we have been happy together, so +happy! Every tragedy of nature has stood at a distance from us except +the loss of our children. We have lived on a sunny pinnacle of our +years, lifted above life’s storms. But of course I have realized that +sooner or later our lot must become the common one: if we did not go +down to Sorrow, Sorrow would climb to us; and I knew that on the +heights it dwells best. That is why I wish to say to you to-night what +I shall: I think fate’s hour has struck for me; I am ready to hear +it. Its arrow has already left the bow and is on its way; I open my +heart to receive it. This is as I have always wished; I have said that +if life had any greatest tragedy, for me, I hoped it would come when I +was happiest; thus I should confront it all. I have never drunk half +of my cup of happiness, as you know, and let the other half waste; I +must go equally to the depth of any suffering. Worse than the +suffering, I think, would be the feeling that I had shirked some of +it, had stepped aside, or shut my eyes, or in any manner shown myself +a cowardly soul.” + +After a pause she went over this subject as though she were not +satisfied that she had made it clear. + +“I have always said that the real pathos of things is the grief that +comes to us in life when life is at its best--when no one is to +blame--when no one has committed a fault--when suffering is meted out +to us as the reward of our perfect obedience to the laws of nature. In +earlier years when we used to read Keats together, who most of all of +the world’s poets felt the things that pass, even then I was wondering +at the way in which he brings this out: that to understand Sorrow it +must be separated from sorrows: they would be like shadows darkening +the bright disk of life’s clear tragedy, thus rendering it less +bravely seen. + +“And so he is always telling us not to summon sad pictures nor play +with mournful emblems; not to feign ourselves as standing on the banks +of Lethe, gloomiest of rivers; nor to gather wolf’s bane and twist the +poison out of its tight roots; nor set before us the cup of hemlock; +nor bind about our temples the ruby grape of nightshade; nor count +over the berries of the yew tree which guards sad places; nor think of +the beetle ticking in the bed post, nor watch the wings of the death +moth, nor listen to the elegy of the owl--the voice of ruins. Not +these! they are the emblems of our sorrows. But the emblems of Sorrow +are beautiful things at their perfect moment; a red peony just +opening, a rainbow seen for an instant on the white foam, youth not +yet faded but already fading, joy with its finger on his lips, bidding +adieu. + +“And so with all my happiness about me, I wish to know life’s +tragedy. And to know it, Frederick, not to infer it: _I want to be +told_.” + +“If you can be told, you shall be told,” he said. + +She changed her position as though seeking physical relief and +composure. Then she began: + +“Years ago when you were a student in Germany, you had a college +friend. You went home with him two or three years at Christmas and +celebrated the German Christmas. It was in this way that we came to +have the Christmas Tree in our house--through memory of him and of +those years. You have often described to me how you and he in summer +went Alpine climbing, and far up in some green valley girdled with +glaciers lay of afternoons under some fir tree, reading and drowsing +in the crystalline air. You told me of your nights of wandering down +the Rhine together when the heart turns so intimately to the heart +beside it. He was German youth and song and dream and happiness to +you. Tell me this: before you lost him that last summer over the +crevasse, had you begun to tire of him? Was there anything in you that +began to draw back from anything in him? As you now look back at the +friendship of your youth, have the years lessened your regret for +him?” + +He answered out of the ideals of his youth: + +“The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. I never tired of being +with him. Nothing in me ever drew back from anything in him. When he +was lost, the whole world lost some of its strength and +nobility. After all the years, if he could come back, he would find me +unchanged--that friend of my youth!” + +With a peculiar change of voice she asked next: + +“The doctor, Herbert and Elsie’s father, our nearest neighbor, your +closest friend now in middle life. You see a great deal of the doctor; +he is often here, and you and he often sit up late at night, talking +with one another about many things: do you ever tire of the doctor and +wish him away? Have you any feeling toward him that you try to keep +secret from me? Can you be a perfectly frank man with this friend of +your middle life?” + +“The longer I know him the more I like him, honor him, trust him. I +never tire of his companionship or his conversation; I have no +disguises with him and need none.” + +“The children! As the children grow older do you care less for them? +Do they begin to wear on you? Are they a clog, an interference? Have +Harold and Elizabeth ceased forming new growths of affection in you? +Do you ever unconsciously seek pretexts for avoiding them?” + +“The older they grow, the more I love them. The more they interest me +and tempt away from work and duties. I am more drawn to be with them +and I live more and more in the thought of what they are becoming.” + +“Your work! Does your work attract you less than formerly? Does it +develop in you the purpose to be something more or stifle in you the +regret to be something less? Is it a snare to idleness or a goad to +toil?” + +“As the mariner steers for the lighthouse, as the hound runs down the +stag, as the soldier wakes to the bugle, as the miner digs for +fortune, as the drunkard drains the cup, as the saint watches the +cross, I follow my work, I follow my work.” + +“Life, life itself, does it increase in value or lessen? Is the world +still morning to you with your work ahead or afternoon when you begin +to tire and to think of rest?” + +“The world to me is as early morning to a man going forth to his +work. Where the human race is from and whither it is hurrying and why +it exists at all; why a human being loves what it loves and hates what +it hates; why it is faithful when it could be unfaithful and faithless +when it should be true; how civilized man can fight single handed +against the ages that were his lower past--how he can develop +self-renunciation out of selfishness and his own wisdom out of +surrounding folly,--all these are questions that mean more and +more. My work is but beginning and the world is morning.” + +“This house! Are you tired of it now that it is older? Would you +rather move into a new one?” + +“I love this house more and more. No other dwelling could take its +place. Any other could be but a shelter; this is home. And I care more +for it now that the signs of age begin to settle on it. If it were a +ruin, I should love it best!” + +She leaned over and looked down at the two setters lying at her feet. + +“Do you care less for the dogs of the house as they grow older?” + +“I think more of them and take better care of them now that their +hunting days are over.” + +“The friend of your youth--the friend of your middle age--the +children--your profession--the world of human life--this house--the +dogs of the house--you care more for them all as time passes?” + +“I care more for them all as time passes.” + +Then there came a great stillness in the room--the stillness of all +listening years. + +“Am I the only thing that you care less for as time passes?” + +There was no reply. + +“Am I in the way?” + +There was no reply. + +“Would you like to go over it all again with another?” + +There was no reply. + +She had hidden her face in her hands and pressed her head against the +end of the sofa. Her whole figure shrank lower, as though to escape +being touched by him--to escape the blow of his words. No words +came. There was no touch. + +A moment later she felt that he must be standing over her, looking +down at her. She would respond to his hand on the back of her neck. +He must be kneeling beside her; his arms would infold her. Then with a +kind of incredible terror she realized that he was not there. At first +she could so little believe it, that with her face still buried in one +hand she searched the air for him with the other, expecting to touch +him. + +Then she cried out to him: + +“Isn’t there anything you can say to me?” + +Silence lasted. + +“_Oh, Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred_!” + +In the stillness she began to hear something--the sound of his +footsteps moving on the carpet. She sat up. + +The room was getting darker; he was putting out the candles. It was +too dark already to see his face. With fascination she began to watch +his hand. How steady it was as it moved among the boughs, +extinguishing the lights. Out they went one by one and back into their +darkness returned the emblems of darker ages--the Forest Memories. + +A solitary taper was left burning at the pinnacle of the Tree under +the cross: that highest torch of love shining on everything that had +disappeared. + +He quietly put it out. + +Yet the light seemed not put out, but instantly to have travelled +through the open parlor door into the adjoining room, her bedroom; for +out of that there now streamed a suffused red light; it came from the +lamp near the great bed in the shadowy corner. + +This lamp poured its light through a lampshade having the semblance of +a bursting crimson peony as some morning in June the flower with the +weight of its own splendor falls face downward on the grass. And in +that room this soft lamp-light fell here and there on crimson winter +draperies. He had been living alone as a bachelor before he married +her. After they became engaged he, having watched for some favorite +color of hers, had had this room redecorated in that shade. Every +winter since she had renewed in this way or that way these hangings, +and now the bridal draperies remained unchanged--after the changing +years. + +He replaced the taper against the wall and came over and stood before +her, holding out his hands to help her rise. + +She arose without his aid and passed around him, moving toward her +bedroom. With arms outstretched guarding her but not touching her, he +followed close, for she was unsteady. She entered her bedroom and +crossed to the door of his bedroom; she pushed this open, and keeping +her face bent aside waited for him to go in. He went in and she closed +the door on him and turned the key. Then with a low note, with which +the soul tears out of itself something that has been its life, she +made a circlet of her white arms against the door and laid her profile +within this circlet and stood--the figure of Memory. + +Thus sometimes a stranger sees a marble figure standing outside a tomb +where some story of love and youth ended: some stranger in a far +land,--walking some afternoon in those quieter grounds where all human +stories end; an autumn bird in the bare branches fluting of its +mortality and his heart singing with the bird of one lost to him--lost +to him in his own country. + +On the other side of the door the silence was that of a tomb. She had +felt confident--so far as she had expected anything--that he would +speak to her through the door, try to open it, plead with her to open +it. Nothing of the kind occurred. + +Why did he not come back? What bolt could have separated her from him? + +The silence began to weigh upon her. + +Then in the tense stillness she heard him moving quietly about, +getting ready for bed. There were the same movements, familiar to her +for years. She would not open the door, she could not leave it, she +could not stand, no support was near, and she sank to the floor and +sat there, leaning her brow against the lintel. + +On the other side the quiet preparations went on. + +She heard him take off his coat and vest and hang them on the back of +a chair. The buttons made a little scraping sound against the wood. +Then he went to his dresser and took off his collar and tie, and he +opened a drawer and laid out a night-shirt. She heard the creaking of +a chair under him as he threw one foot and then the other up across +his knee and took off his shoes and socks. Then there reached her the +soft movements of his bare feet on the carpet (despite her agony the +old impulse started in her to caution him about his slippers). Then +followed the brushing of his teeth and the deliberate bathing of his +hands. Then was audible the puff of breath with which he blew out his +lamp after he had turned it low; and then,--on the other side of the +door,--just above her ear his knock sounded. + +The same knock waited for and responded to throughout the years; so +often with his little variations of playfulness. Many a time in early +summer when out-of-doors she would be reminded of it by hearing some +bird sounding its love signal on a piece of dry wood--that tap of +heart-beat. Now it crashed close to her ear. + +Such strength came back to her that she rose as lightly as though her +flesh were but will and spirit. When he knocked again, she was across +the room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her palms pressed +together and thrust between her knees: the instinctive act of a human +animal suddenly chilled to the bone. + +The knocking sounded again. + +“Was there anything you needed?” she asked fearfully. + +There was no response but another knock. + +She hurriedly raised her voice to make sure that it would reach him. + +“Was there anything you wanted?” + +As no response came, the protective maternal instinct took greater +alarm, and she crossed to the door of his room and she repeated her +one question: + +“Did you forget anything?” + +Her mind refused to release itself from the iteration of that idea: it +was some _thing_--not herself--that he wanted. + +He knocked. + +Her imagination, long oppressed by his silence, now made of his knock +some signal of distress. It took on the authority of an appeal not to +be denied. She unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and once +more she asked her one poor question. + +His answer to it came in the form of a gentle pressure against the +door, breaking down her resistance. As she applied more strength, this +was as gently overcome; and when the opening was sufficient, he walked +past her into the room. + +How hushed the house! How still the world outside as the cloud wove in +darkness its mantle of light! + + + + +VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + +Day was breaking. + +The crimson curtains of the bedroom were drawn close, but from behind +their outer edges faint flanges of light began to advance along the +wall. It was a clear light reflected from snow which had sifted in +against the window-panes, was banked on the sills outside, ridged the +yard fence, peaked the little gate-posts, and buried the shrubbery. +There was no need to look out in order to know that it had stopped +snowing, that the air was windless, and that the stars were flashing +silver-pale except one--great golden-croziered shepherd of the thick, +soft-footed, moving host. + +It was Christmas morning on the effulgent Shield. + +Already there was sufficient light in the room to reveal--less as +actual things than as brown shadows of the memory--a gay company of +socks and stockings hanging from the mantelpiece; sufficient to give +outline to the bulk of a man asleep on the edge of the bed; and it +exposed to view in a corner of the room farthest from the rays a woman +sitting in a straight-backed chair, a shawl thrown about her shoulders +over her night-dress. + +He always slept till he was awakened; the children, having stayed up +past their usual bedtime, would sleep late also; she had the white +dawn to herself in quietness. + +She needed it. + +Sleep could not have come to her had she wished. She had not slept and +she had not lain down, and the sole endeavor during those shattered +hours had been to prepare herself for his awakening. She was not yet +ready--she felt that during the rest of her life she should never be +quite ready to meet him again. Scant time remained now. + +Soon all over the Shield indoor merriment and outdoor noises would +begin. Wherever in the lowlands any many-chimneyed city, proud of its +size, rose by the sweep of watercourses, or any little inland town was +proud of its smallness and of streets that terminated in the fields; +whereever any hamlet marked the point at which two country roads this +morning made the sign of the white cross, or homesteads stood proudly +castled on woody hilltops, or warmed the heart of the beholder from +amid their olive-dark winter pastures; or far away on the shaggy +uplift of the Shield wherever any cabin clung like a swallow’s nest +against the gray Appalachian wall--everywhere soon would begin the +healthy outbreak of joy among men and women and children--glad about +themselves, glad in one another, glad of human life in a happy +world. The many-voiced roar and din of this warm carnival lay not far +away from her across the cold bar of silence. + +Soon within the house likewise the rush of the children’s feet would +startle her ear; they would be tugging at the door, tugging at her +heart. And as she thought of this, the recollection of old simple +things came pealing back to her from behind life’s hills. The years +parted like naked frozen reeds, and she, sorely stricken in her +womanhood, fled backward till she herself was a child again--safe in +her father’s and mother’s protection. It was Christmas morning, and +she in bare feet was tipping over the cold floors toward their +bedroom--toward her stockings. + +Her father and mother! How she needed them at this moment: they had +been sweethearts all their lives. One picture of them rose with +distinctness before her--for the wounding picture always comes to the +wounded moment. She saw them sitting in their pew far down toward the +chancel. Through a stained glass window (where there was a ladder of +angels) the light fell softly on them--both silver-haired; and as with +the voices of children they were singing out of one book. She +remembered how as she sat between them she had observed her father +slip his hand into her mother’s lap and clasp hers with a +steadfastness that wedded her for eternity; and thus over their linked +hands, with the love of their youth within them and the snows of the +years upon them, they sang together: + + “Gently, Lord, O gently lead us + * * * * * * + “Through the changes Thou’st decreed us.” + +Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more +than common share of life’s shocks and violence, its wrongs and +meannesses and ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that +they were being led gently; so long as they were led together, to them +it was gentle leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby +nature or man could leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the +sweeter for the sour; the finer with one another because of life’s +rudenesses. In after years she often thought of them as faithful in +their dust; and the flowers she planted over them and watered many a +bright day with happy tears brought up to her in another form the +freshness of their unwearied union. + +That was what she had not doubted her own life would be--with +him--when she had married him. + +From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open +and entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance. +He had lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered +that to her as for the moment at least his solution of the +matter--that he should leave her to herself and absent himself in +slumber. + +The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations. + +Before he awoke she must be gone--out of the house--anywhere--to save +herself from living any longer with him. His indifference in the +presence of her suffering; his pitiless withdrawal from her of touch +and glance and speech as she had gone down into that darkest of life’s +valleys; his will of iron that since she had insisted upon knowing the +whole truth, know it she should: all this left her wounded and stunned +as by an incredible blow, and she was acting first from the instinct +of removing herself beyond the reach of further humiliation and +brutality. + +Instinctively she took off her wedding ring and laid it on his dresser +beside his watch: he would find it there in the morning and he could +dispose of it. Then she changed her dress for the plainest heavy one +and put on heavy walking shoes. She packed into a handbag a few +necessary things with some heirlooms of her own. Among the latter was +a case of family jewels; and as she opened it, her eyes fell upon her +mother’s thin wedding ring and with quick reverence she slipped that +on and kissed it bitterly. She lifted out also her mother’s locket +containing a miniature daguerreotype of her father and dutifully fed +her eyes on that. Her father was not silver-haired then, but +raven-locked; with eyes that men feared at times but no woman ever. + +His eyes were on her now as so often in girlhood when he had curbed +her exuberance and guided her waywardness. He was watching as she, +coarsely wrapped and carrying some bundle of things of her own, opened +her front door, left her footprints in the snow on the porch, and +passed out--wading away. Those eyes of his saw what took place the +next day: the happiness of Christmas morning turned into horror; the +children wild with distress and crying--the servants dumb--the inquiry +at neighbors’ houses--the news spreading to the town--the papers--the +black ruin. And from him two restraining words issued for her ear: + +“My daughter!” + +Passionately she bore the picture to her lips and her pride answered +him. And so answering, it applied a torch to her blood and her blood +took fire and a flame of rage spread through and swept her. She +stopped her preparations: she had begun to think as well as to feel. + +She unpacked her travelling bag, putting each article back into its +place with exaggerated pains. Having done this, she stood in the +middle of the floor, looking about her irresolute: then responding to +that power of low suggestion which is one of anger’s weapons, she +began to devise malice. She went to a wardrobe and stooping down took +from a bottom drawer--where long ago it had been stored away under +everything else--a shawl that had been her grandmother’s; a brindled +crewel shawl,--sometimes worn by superannuated women of a former +generation; a garment of hideousness. Once, when a little girl, she +had loyally jerked it off her grandmother because it added to her +ugliness and decrepitude. + +She shook this out with mocking eyes and threw it decoratively around +her shoulders. She strode to the gorgeous peony lampshade and lifting +it off, gibbeted it and scattered the fragments on the floor. She +turned the lamp up as high as it would safely burn so that the huge +lidless eye of it would throw its full glare on him and her. She drew +a rocking chair to the foot of the bed and seating herself put her +forefinger up to each temple and drew out from their hiding places +under the mass of her black hair two long gray locks and let these +hang down haglike across her bosom. She banished the carefully +nourished look of youth from her face--dropped the will to look +young--and allowed the forced-back years to rush into it--into the +wastage, the wreckage, which he and Nature, assisting each other so +ably, had wrought in her. + +She sat there half-crazed, rocking noisily; waiting for the glare of +the lamp to cause him to open his eyes; and she smiled upon him in +exultation of vengeance that she was to live on there in his +house--_his_ house. + +After a while a darker mood came over her. + +With noiseless steps lest she awake him, she began to move about the +room. She put out the lamp and lighted her candle and set it where it +would be screened from his face; and where the shadow of the chamber +was heaviest, into that shadow she retired and in it she sat--with +furtive look to see whether he observed her. + +A pall-like stillness deepened about the bed where he lay. + +Running in her veins a wellnigh pure stream across the generations was +Anglo-Saxon blood of the world’s fiercest; floating in the tide of it +passions of old family life which had dyed history for all time in +tragedies of false friendship, false love, and false battle; but +fiercest ever about the marriage bed and the betrayal of its vow. A +thousand years from this night some wronged mother of hers, sitting +beside some sleeping father of hers in their forest-beleaguered +castle--the moonlight streaming in upon him through the javelined +casement and putting before her the manly beauty of him--the blond +hair matted thick on his forehead as his helmet had left it, his mouth +reddening in his slumber under its curling gold--some mother of hers +whom he had carried off from other men by might of his sword, thus +sitting beside him and knowing him to be colder to her now than the +moon’s dead rays, might have watched those rays as they travelled away +from his figure and put a gleam on his sword hanging near: a thousand +years ago: some mother of hers. + +It is when the best fails our human nature that the worst volunteers +so often to take its place. The best and the worst--these are the +sole alternatives which many a soul seems to be capable of making: +hence life’s spectacle of swift overthrow, of amazing collapse, ever +present about us. Only the heroic among both men and women, losing the +best as their first choice, fight their way through defeat to the +standard of the second best and fight on there. And whatever one may +think of the legend otherwise, abundant experience justifies the story +that it was the Archangel who fell to the pit. The low never fall far: +how can they? They already dwell on the bottom of things, and many a +time they are to be seen there with vanity that they should inhabit +such a privileged highland. + +During the first of these hours which stretched for her into the +tragic duration of a lifetime, it was a successive falling from a +height of moral splendor; her nature went down through swift stages to +the lowest she harbored either in the long channel of inheritance or +as the stirred sediment of her own imperfections. And as is +unfortunately true, this descent into moral darkness possessed the +grateful illusion that it was an ascent into new light. All evil +prompting became good suggestion; every injustice made its claim to be +justification. She enjoyed the elation of feeling that she was +dragging herself out of life’s quicksands upward to some rock, where +there might be loneliness for her, but where there would be cleanness. +The love which consumed her for him raged in her as hatred; and hatred +is born into perfect mastery of its weapons. However young, it needs +not to wait for training in order to know how to destroy. + +He presented himself to her as a character at last revealed in its +faithlessness and low carnal propensities. What rankled most +poignantly in this spectacle of his final self-exposure was the fact +that the cloven hoof should have been found on noble mountain +tops--that he should have attempted to better his disguise by dwelling +near regions of sublimity. Of all hypocrisy the kind most detestable +to her was that which dares live within spiritual fortresses; and now +his whole story of the Christmas Tree, the solemn marshalling of words +about the growth of the world’s spirit--about the sacrifice of the +lower in ourselves to the higher--this cant now became to her the +invocation and homage of the practised impostor: he had indeed carried +the Christmas Tree on his shoulder into the manger. Not the Manger of +Immortal Purity for mankind but the manger of his own bestiality. + +Thus scorn and satire became her speech; she soared above him with +spurning; a frenzy of poisoned joy racked her that at the moment when +he had let her know that he wanted to be free--at that moment she +might tell him he had won his freedom at the cheap price of his +unworthiness. + +And thus as she descended, she enjoyed the triumph of rising; so the +devil in us never lacks argument that he is the celestial guide. + +Moreover, hatred never dwells solitary; it readily finds boon +companions. And at one period of the night she began to look back upon +her experience with a curious sense of prior familiarity--to see it as +a story already known to her at second hand. She viewed it as the +first stage of one of those tragedies that later find their way into +the care of family physicians, into the briefs of lawyers, into the +confidence of clergymen, into the papers and divorce courts, and that +receive their final flaying or canonization on the stage and in novels +of the time. Sitting at a distance, she had within recent years +studied in a kind of altruistic absorption how the nation’s press, the +nation’s science of medicine, the nation’s science of law, the +nation’s practice of religion, and the nation’s imaginative literature +were all at work with the same national omen--the decay of the +American family and the downfall of the home. + +Now this new pestilence raging in other regions of the country had +incredibly reached her, she thought, on the sheltered lowlands where +the older traditions of American home life still lay like foundation +rock. The corruption of it had attacked him; the ruin of it awaited +her; and thus to-night she took her place among those women whom the +world first hears of as in hospitals and sanitariums and places of +refuge and in their graves--and more sadly elsewhere; whose +misfortunes interested the press and whose types attracted the +novelists. + +She was one of them. + +They swarmed about her; one by one she recognized them: the woman who +unable to bear up under her tragedy soon sinks into eternity--or walks +into it; the woman who disappears from the scene and somewhere under +another name or with another lot lives on--devoting herself to memory +or to forgetfulness; the woman who stays on in the house, giving to +the world no sign for the sake of everything else that still remains +to her but living apart--on the other side of the locked door; the +woman who stays on without locking the door, half-hating, +half-loving--the accepted and rejected compromise; the woman who +welcomes the end of the love-drama as the beginning of peace and the +cessation of annoyances; the woman who begins to act her tragedy to +servants and children and acquaintances--reaping sympathy for herself +and sowing ruin and torture--for him; the woman who drops the care of +house, ends his comforts, thus forcing the sharp reminder of her value +as at least an investment toward his general well-being; the woman who +endeavors to rekindle dying coals by fanning them with fresh +fascinations; the woman who plays upon jealousy and touches the male +instinct to keep one’s own though little prized lest another acquire +it and prize it more; the woman who sets a watch to discover the other +woman: they swarmed about her, she identified each. + +And she dismissed them. They brought her no aid; she shrank from their +companionship; a strange dread moved her lest _they_ should +discover _her_. One only she detached from the throng and for a +while withdrew with her into a kind of dual solitude: the woman who +when so rejected turns to another man--the man who is waiting +somewhere near. + +The man _she_ turned to, who for years had hovered near, was the +country doctor, her husband’s tried and closest friend, whose children +were asleep upstairs with her children. During all these years +_her_ secret had been--the doctor. When she had come as a bride +into that neighborhood, he, her husband’s senior by several years, was +already well established in his practice. He had attended her at the +birth of her first child; never afterwards. As time passed, she had +discovered that he loved her; she could never have him again. This had +dealt his professional reputation a wound, but he understood, and he +welcomed the wound. + +Many a night, lying awake near her window, through which noises from +the turnpike plainly reached her, all earthly happiness asleep +alongside her, she could hear the doctor’s buggy passing on its way to +some patient, or on its return from the town where he had patients +also. Many a time she had heard it stop at the front gate: the road of +his life there turned in to her. There were nights of pitch darkness +and beating rain; and sometimes on these she had to know that he was +out there. + +Long she sat in the shadow of her room, looking towards the bed where +her husband slept, but sending the dallying vision toward the +doctor. He would be at the Christmas party; she would be dancing with +him. + +Clouds and darkness descended upon the plain of life and enveloped +it. She groped her way, torn and wounded, downward along the old lost +human paths. + +The endless night scarcely moved on. + + * * * * * + +She was wearied out, she was exhausted. There is anger of such +intensity that it scorches and shrivels away the very temptations that +are its fuel; nothing can long survive the blast of that white flame, +and being unfed, it dies out. Moreover, it is the destiny of a +portion of mankind that they are enjoined by their very nobility from +winning low battles; these always go against them: the only victories +for them are won when they are leading the higher forces of human +nature in life’s upward conflicts. + +She was weary, she was exhausted; there was in her for a while neither +moral light nor moral darkness. Her consciousness lay like a boundless +plain on which nothing is visible. She had passed into a great calm; +and slowly there was borne across her spirit a clearness that is like +the radiance of the storm-winged sky. + +And now in this calm, in this clearness, two small white figures +appeared--her children. Hitherto the energies of her mind had +grappled with the problem of her future; now memories began--memories +that decide more perhaps than anything else for us. And memories began +with her children. + +She arose without making any noise, took her candle, and screening it +with the palm of her hand, started upstairs. + +There were two ways by either of which she could go; a narrow rear +stairway leading from the parlor straight to their bedrooms, and the +broad stairway in the front hall. From the old maternal night-habit +she started to take the shorter way but thought of the parlor and drew +back. This room had become too truly the Judgment Seat of the +Years. She shrank from it as one who has been arraigned may shrink +from a tribunal where sentence has been pronounced which changes the +rest of life. Its flowers, its fruits, its toys, its ribbons, but +deepened the derision and the bitterness. And the evergreen there in +the middle of the room--it became to her as that tree of the knowledge +of good and evil which at Creation’s morning had driven Woman from +Paradise. + +She chose the other way and started toward the main hall of the house, +but paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed; what if he +should awake in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of where she was? +Would he call out to her--with what voice? Would he come to seek +her--with what emotions? (The tide of memories was setting in now--the +drift back to the old mooring.) + +Hunt for her! How those words fell like iron strokes on the ear of +remembrance. They registered the beginning of the whole trouble. Up to +the last two years his first act upon reaching home had been to seek +her. It had even been her playfulness at times to slip from room to +room for the delight of proving how persistently he would prolong his +search. But one day some two years before this, when she had entered +his study about the usual hour of his return, bringing flowers for his +writing desk, she saw him sitting there, hat on, driving gloves on, +making some notes. The sight had struck the flowers from her hands; +she swiftly gathered them up, and going to her room, shut herself in; +she knew it was the beginning of the end. + +The Shadow which lurks in every bridal lamp had become the Spectre of +the bedchamber. + +When they met later that day, he was not even aware of what he had +done or failed to do, the change in him was so natural to himself. +Everything else had followed: the old look dying out of the eyes; the +old touch abandoning the hands; less time for her in the house, more +for work; constraint beginning between them, the awkwardness of +reserve; she seeing Nature’s movement yet refusing to believe it; then +at last resolving to know to the uttermost and choosing her bridal +night as the hour of the ordeal. + +If he awoke, would he come to seek her--with what feelings? + +She went on upstairs, holding the candle to one side with her right +hand and supporting herself by the banisters with her left. There was +a turn in the stairway at the second floor, and here the candle rays +fell on the face of the tall clock in the hallway. She sat down on a +step, putting the candle beside her; and there she remained, her +elbows on her knees, her face resting on her palms; and into the abyss +of the night dropped the tranquil strokes. More memories! + +She was by nature not only alive to all life but alive to surrounding +lifeless things. Much alone in the house, she had sent her happiness +overflowing its dumb environs--humanizing these--drawing them toward +her by a gracious responsive symbolism--extending speech over realms +which nature has not yet awakened to it or which she may have struck +into speechlessness long æons past. + +She had symbolized the clock; it was the wooden God of Hours; she had +often feigned that it might be propitiated; and opening the door of it +she would pin inside the walls little clusters of blossoms as votive +offerings: if it would only move faster and bring him home! The usual +hour of his return from college was three in the afternoon. She had +symbolized that hour; one stroke for him, one for her, one for the +children--the three in one--the trinity of the household. + +She sat there on the step with the candle burning beside her. + +The clock struck three! The sound went through the house: down to him, +up to the children, into her. It was like a cry of a night watch: all +is well! + +It was the first sound that had reached her from any source during +this agony, and now it did not come from humanity, but from outside +humanity; from Time itself which brings us together and holds us +together as long as possible and then separates us and goes on its +way--indifferent whether we are together or apart; Time which welds +the sands into the rock and then wears the rock away to its separate +sands and sends the level tide softly over them. + +Once for him, once for her, once for the children! She took up the +candle and went upstairs to them. + +For a while she stood beside the bed in one room where the two little +girls were asleep clasping each other, cheek against cheek; and in +another room at the bedside of the two little boys, their backs turned +on one another and each with a hand doubled into a promising fist +outside the cover. In a few years how differently the four would be +divided and paired; each boy a young husband, each girl a young wife; +and out of the lives of the two of them who were hers she would then +drop into some second place. If to-night she were realizing what +befalls a wife when she becomes the Incident to her husband, she would +then realize what befalls a woman when the mother becomes the Incident +to her children: Woman, twice the Incident in Nature’s impartial +economy! Her son would playfully confide it to his bride that she must +bear with his mother’s whims and ways. Her daughter would caution her +husband that he must overlook peculiarities and weaknesses. The very +study of perfection which she herself had kindled and fanned in them +as the illumination of their lives they would now turn upon her as a +searchlight of her failings. + +He downstairs would never do that! She could not conceive of his +discussing her with any human being. Even though he should some day +desert her, he would never discuss her. + +She had lived so secure in the sense of him thus standing with her +against the world, that it was the sheer withdrawal of his strength +from her to-night that had dealt her the cruelest blow. But now she +began to ask herself whether his protection _had_ failed her. +Could he have recognized the situation without rendering it +worse? Had he put his arms around her, might she not have--struck at +him? Had he laid a finger-weight of sympathy on her, would it not have +left a scar for life? Any words of his, would they not have rung in +her ears unceasingly? To pass it over was as though it had never +been--was not _that_ his protection? + +She suddenly felt a desire to go down into the parlor. She kissed her +child in each room and she returned and kissed the doctor’s +children--with memory of their mother; and then she descended by the +rear stairway. + +She set her candle on the table, where earlier in the night she had +placed the lamp--near the manuscript--and she sat down and looked at +that remorsefully: she had ignored it when he placed it there. + +He had made her the gift of his work--dedicated to her the triumphs of +his toil. It was his deep cry to her to share with him his widening +career and enter with him into the world’s service. She crossed her +hands over it awhile, and then she left it. + +The low-burnt candle did not penetrate far into the darkness of the +immense parlor. There was an easy chair near her piano and her music. +After playing when alone, she would often sit there and listen to the +echoes of those influences that come into the soul from music +only,--the rhythmic hauntings of some heaven of diviner beauty. She +sat there now quite in darkness and closed her eyes; and upon her ear +began faintly to beat the sad sublime tones of his story. + +One of her delights in growing things on the farm had been to watch +the youth of the hemp--a field of it, tall and wandlike and tufted. If +the north wind blew upon it, the myriad stalks as by a common impulse +swayed southward; if a zephyr from the south crossed it, all heads +were instantly bowed before the north. West wind sent it east and east +wind sent it west. + +And so, it had seemed to her, is that ever living world which we +sometimes call the field of human life in its perpetual summer. It is +run through by many different laws; governed by many distinct forces, +each of which strives to control it wholly--but never does. +Selfishness blows on it like a parching sirocco, and all things +seem to bow to the might of selfishness. Generosity moves across the +expanse, and all things are seen responsive to what is generous. Place +yourself where life is lowest and everything like an avalanche is +rushing to the bottom. Place yourself where character is highest, and +lo! the whole world is but one struggle upward to what is high. You +see what you care to see, and find what you wish to find. + +In his story of the Forest and the Heart he had wanted to trace but +one law, and he had traced it; he had drawn all things together and +bent them before its majesty: the ancient law of Sacrifice. Of old the +high sacrificed to the low; afterwards the low to the high: once the +sacrifice of others; now the sacrifice of ourselves; but always in +ourselves of the lower to the higher in order that, dying, we may +live. + +With this law he had made his story a story of the world. + +The star on the Tree bore it back to Chaldæa; the candle bore it to +ancient Persia; the cross bore it to the Nile and Isis and Osiris; the +dove bore it to Syria; the bell bore it to Confucius; the drum bore it +to Buddha; the drinking horn to Greece; the tinsel to Romulus and +Rome; the doll to Abraham and Isaac; the masks to Gaul; the mistletoe +to Britain,--and all brought it to Christ,--Christ the latest +world-ideal of sacrifice that is self-sacrifice and of the giving of +all for all. + +The story was for herself, he had said, and for himself. + +Himself! Here at last all her pain and wandering of this night ended: +at the bottom of her wound where rankled _his problem_. + +From this problem she had most shrunk and into this she now entered: +She sacrificed herself in him! She laid upon herself his temptation +and his struggle. + + * * * * * + +Taking her candle, she passed back into her bedroom and screened it +where she had screened it before; then went into his bedroom. + +She put her wedding ring on again with blanched lips. She went to his +bedside, and drawing to the pillow the chair on which his clothes were +piled, sat down and laid her face over on it; and there in that shrine +of feeling where speech is formed, but whence it never issues, she +made her last communion with him: + +_“You, to whom I gave my youth and all that youth could mean to me; +whose children I have borne and nurtured at my breast--all of whose +eyes I have seen open and the eyes of some of whom I have closed; +husband of my girlhood, loved as no woman ever loved the man who took +her home; strength and laughter of his house; helper of what is best +in me; my defender against things in myself that I cannot govern; +pathfinder of my future; rock of the ebbing years! Though my hair turn +white as driven snow and flesh wither to the bone, I shall never cease +to be the flame that you yourself have kindled. + +“But never again to you! Let the stillness of nature fall where there +must be stillness! Peace come with its peace! And the room which heard +our whisperings of the night, let it be the Room of the Silences--the +Long Silences! Adieu, cross of living fire that I have so clung +to!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!”_ + +She remained as motionless as though she had fallen asleep or would +not lift her head until there had ebbed out of her life upon his +pillow the last drop of things that must go. + +She there--her whitening head buried on his pillow: it was Life’s +Calvary of the Snows. + +The dawn found her sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and +there it brightened about her desolately. The moment drew near when +she must awaken him; the ordeal of their meeting must be over before +the children rushed downstairs or the servants knocked. + +She had plaited her hair in two heavy braids, and down each braid the +gray told its story through the black. And she had brushed it frankly +away from brow and temples so that the contour of her head--one of +nature’s noblest--was seen in its simplicity. It is thus that the +women of her land sometimes prepare themselves at the ceremony of +their baptism into a new life. + +She had put on a plain night-dress, and her face and shoulders rising +out of this had the austerity of marble--exempt not from ruin, but +exempt from lesser mutation. She looked down at her wrists once and +made a little instinctive movement with her fingers as if to hide them +under the sleeves. + +Then she approached the bed. As she did so, she turned back midway and +quickly stretched her arms toward the wall as though to flee to it. +Then she drew nearer, a new pitiful fear of him in her eyes--the look +of the rejected. + +So she stood an instant and then she reclined on the edge of the bed, +resting on one elbow and looking down at him. + +For years her first words to him on this day had been the world’s best +greeting: + +“A Merry Christmas!” + +She tried to summon the words to her lips and have them ready. + +At the pressure of her body on the bed he opened his eyes and +instantly looked to see what the whole truth was: how she had come out +of it all, what their life was to be henceforth, what their future +would be worth. But at the sight of her so changed--something so gone +out of her forever--with a quick cry he reached his arms for her. She +struggled to get away from him; but he, winding his arms shelteringly +about the youth-shorn head, drew her face close down against his +face. She caught at one of the braids of her hair and threw it across +her eyes, and then silent convulsive sobs rent and tore her, tore her. +The torrent of her tears raining down into his tears. + +Tears not for Life’s faults but for Life when there are no +faults. They locked in each other’s arms--trying to save each other on +Nature’s vast lonely, tossing, uncaring sea. + +The rush of children’s feet was heard in the hall and there was +smothered laughter at the door and the soft turning of the knob. + +It was Christmas Morning. + + * * * * * + +The sun rose golden and gathering up its gold threw it forward over +the gladness of the Shield. The farmhouse--such as the poet had sung +of when he could not help singing of American home life--looked out +from under its winter roof with the cheeriness of a human traveller +who laughs at the snow on his hat and shoulders. Smoke poured out of +its chimneys, bespeaking brisk fires for festive purposes. The oak +tree beside it stood quieted of its moaning and tossing. Soon after +sunrise a soul of passion on scarlet wings, rising out of the +snow-bowed shrubbery, flew up to a topmost twig of the oak; and +sitting there with its breast to the gorgeous sun scanned for a little +while that landscape of ice. It was beyond its intelligence to +understand how nature could create it for Summer and then take Summer +away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a sun so +true could shine on a world so false. + +Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling +paths. After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with +fireside warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat, +rushed out of the front door pursued by a little soldier sternly +booted and capped and gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going +at it furiously. Watching them through a window a little girl, dancing +a dreamy measure of her own, ever turned inward and beckoned to some +one to come and look--beckoned in vain. + +All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little +girl played with the doll--hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient +sacrifice, the emblem of the world’s new mercy. Along the turnpike +sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the +shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the +shining valleys. + +Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day! + +One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its +surroundings; just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low, +thick, covered with snow except where a bough had been broken off for +decorating the house; here owing to the steepness the snow slid +off. The spot looked like a wound in the side of the Divine purity, +and across this open wound the tree had hung its rosary-beads never to +be told by Sorrow’s fingers. + +The sunset golden and gathering up its last gold threw it backward +across the sadness of the Shield. One by one the stars came back to +their faithful places above the silence and the whiteness. A swinging +lamp was lighted on the front porch and its rays fell on little round +mats of snow stamped off by entering boot heels. On each gatepost a +low Christmas star was set to guide and welcome good neighbors; and +between those beacons soon they came hurrying, fathers and mothers and +children assembling for the party. + +Late into the night the party lasted. + +The logs blazed in deep fireplaces and their Forest Memories went to +ashes. Bodily comfort there was and good-will and good wishes and the +robust sensible making the best of what is best on the surface of our +life. And hale eating and drinking as old England itself once ate and +drank at Yuletide. And fast music and dancing that ever wanted to go +faster than the music. + +The chief feature of the revelry was the distribution of gifts on the +Christmas Tree--the handing over to this person and to that person of +those unread lessons of the ages--little mummied packages of the lord +of time. One thing no one noted. Fresh candles had replaced those +burnt out on the Tree the night before: all the candles were white +now. + +Revellers! Revellers! A crowded canvas! A brilliantly painted scene! +Controlling everything, controlling herself, the lady of the house: +hunting out her guests with some grace that befitted each; laughing +and talking with the doctor; secretly giving most attention to the +doctor’s wife--faded little sufferer; with strength in her to be the +American wife and mother in the home of the poet’s dream: the +spiritual majesty of her bridal veil still about her amid life’s snow +as it never lifts itself from the face of the _Jungfrau_ amid the +sad most lovely mountains: the American wife and mother!--herself the +_Jungfrau_ among the world’s women! + +The last thing before the company broke up took place what often takes +place there in happy gatherings: the singing of the song of the State +which is also a song of the Nation--its melody of the unfallen home: +with sadness enough in it, God knows, but with sanctity: she seated at +the piano--the others upholding her like a living bulwark. + +There was another company thronging the rooms that no one wot of: +those Bodiless Ones that often are much more real than the +embodied--the Guests of the Imagination. + +The Memories were there, strolling back and forth through the chambers +arm and arm with the Years: bestowing no cognizance upon that present +scene nor aware that they were not alone. About the Christmas Tree the +Wraiths of earlier children returned to gambol; and these knew naught +of those later ones who had strangely come out of the unknown to fill +their places. Around the walls stood other majestical Veiled Shapes +that bent undivided attention upon the actual pageant: these were +Life’s Pities. Ever and anon they would lift their noble veils and +look out upon that brief flicker of our mortal joy, and drop them and +relapse into their compassionate vigil. + +But of the Bodiless Ones there gathered a solitary young Shape filled +the entire house with her presence. As the Memories walked through the +rooms with the Years, they paused ever before her and mutely beckoned +her to a place in their Sisterhood. The children who had wandered back +peeped shyly at her but then with some sure instinct of recognition +ran to her and threw down their gifts, to put their arms around +her. And the Pities before they left the house that night walked past +her one by one and each lifted its veil and dropped it more softly. + +This was the Shape: + +In the great bedroom on a spot of the carpet under the +chandelier--which had no decoration whatsoever--stood an exquisite +Spirit of Youth, more insubstantial than Spring morning mist, yet most +alive; her lips scarce parted--her skin like white hawthorn shadowed +by pink--in her eyes the modesty of withdrawal from Love--in her heart +the surrender to it. During those distracting hours never did she move +nor did her look once change: she waiting there--waiting for some one +to come--waiting. + +Waiting. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + +***** This file should be named 9179-0.txt or 9179-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/7/9179/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bride of the Mistletoe + +Author: James Lane Allen + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9179] +This file was first posted on September 11, 2003 +Last updated: April 30, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE + +By James Lane Allen + + + +Author Of "Flute And Violin," "A Kentucky Cardinal," "Aftermath," Etc. + + + +TO ONE WHO KNOWS + + +Je crois que pour produire il ne faut pas trop raissoner. Mais il +faut regarder beaucoup et songer ce qu'on a vu. Voir: tout est l, +et voir juste. J'entends, par voir juste, voir avec ses propres yeux +et non avec ceux des matres. L'originalit d'un artiste s'indique +d'abord dans les petites choses et non dans les grandes. + +Il faut trouver aux choses une signification qui n'a pas encore +dcouverte et tcher de l'exprimer d'une faon personelle. + +--GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + + + + +PREFACE + + +Any one about to read this work of fiction might properly be apprised +beforehand that it is not a novel: it has neither the structure nor +the purpose of The Novel. + +It is a story. There are two characters--a middle-aged married couple +living in a plain farmhouse; one point on the field of human nature is +located; at that point one subject is treated; in the treatment one +movement is directed toward one climax; no external event whatsoever +is introduced; and the time is about forty hours. + +A second story of equal length, laid in the same house, is expected to +appear within a twelvemonth. The same father and mother are +characters, and the family friend the country doctor; but +subordinately all. The main story concerns itself with the four +children of the two households. + +It is an American children's story: + +"A Brood of The Eagle." + +During the year a third work, not fiction, will be published, +entitled: + +"The Christmas Tree: An Interpretation." + +The three works will serve to complete each other, and they complete a +cycle of the theme. + + + +CONTENTS + + EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + + + +EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + +A mighty table-land lies southward in a hardy region of our country. +It has the form of a colossal Shield, lacking and broken in some of +its outlines and rough and rude of make. Nature forged it for some +crisis in her long warfare of time and change, made use of it, and so +left it lying as one of her ancient battle-pieces--Kentucky. + +The great Shield is raised high out of the earth at one end and sunk +deep into it at the other. It is tilted away from the dawn toward the +sunset. Where the western dip of it reposes on the planet, Nature, +cunning artificer, set the stream of ocean flowing past with restless +foam--the Father of Waters. Along the edge for a space she bound a +bright river to the rim of silver. And where the eastern part rises +loftiest on the horizon, turned away from the reddening daybreak, she +piled shaggy mountains wooded with trees that loose their leaves ere +snowflakes fly and with steadfast evergreens which hold to theirs +through the gladdening and the saddening year. Then crosswise over the +middle of the Shield, northward and southward upon the breadth of it, +covering the life-born rock of many thicknesses, she drew a tough skin +of verdure--a broad strip of hide of the ever growing grass. She +embossed noble forests on this greensward and under the forests drew +clear waters. + +This she did in a time of which we know nothing--uncharted ages before +man had emerged from the deeps of ocean with eyes to wonder, thoughts +to wander, heart to love, and spirit to pray. Many a scene the same +power has wrought out upon the surface of the Shield since she brought +him forth and set him there: many an old one, many a new. She has made +it sometimes a Shield of war, sometimes a Shield of peace. Nor has +she yet finished with its destinies as she has not yet finished with +anything in the universe. While therefore she continues her will and +pleasure elsewhere throughout creation, she does not forget the +Shield. + +She likes sometimes to set upon it scenes which admonish man how +little his lot has changed since Hephaistos wrought like scenes upon +the shield of Achilles, and Thetis of the silver feet sprang like a +falcon from snowy Olympus bearing the glittering piece of armor to her +angered son. + +These are some of the scenes that were wrought on the shield of +Achilles and that to-day are spread over the Earth Shield Kentucky: + +Espousals and marriage feasts and the blaze of lights as they lead the +bride from her chamber, flutes and violins sounding merrily. An +assembly-place where the people are gathered, a strife having arisen +about the blood-price of a man slain; the old lawyers stand up one +after another and make their tangled arguments in turn. Soft, freshly +ploughed fields where ploughmen drive their teams to and fro, the +earth growing dark behind the share. The estate of a landowner where +laborers are reaping; some armfuls the binders are binding with +twisted bands of straw: among them the farmer is standing in silence, +leaning on his staff, rejoicing in his heart. Vineyards with purpling +clusters and happy folk gathering these in plaited baskets on sunny +afternoons. A herd of cattle with incurved horns hurrying from the +stable to the woods where there is running water and where +purple-topped weeds bend above the sleek grass. A fair glen with white +sheep. A dancing-place under the trees; girls and young men dancing, +their fingers on one another's wrists: a great company stands watching +the lovely dance of joy. + +Such pageants appeared on the shield of Achilles as art; as pageants +of life they appear on the Earth Shield Kentucky. The metal-worker of +old wrought them upon the armor of the Greek warrior in tin and +silver, bronze and gold. The world-designer sets them to-day on the +throbbing land in nerve and blood, toil and delight and passion. But +there with the old things she mingles new things, with the never +changing the ever changing; for the old that remains always the new +and the new that perpetually becomes old--these Nature allots to man +as his two portions wherewith he must abide steadfast in what he is +and go upward or go downward through all that he is to become. + +But of the many scenes which she in our time sets forth upon the +stately grassy Shield there is a single spectacle that she spreads +over the length and breadth of it once every year now as best liked by +the entire people; and this is both old and new. + +It is old because it contains man's faith in his immortality, which +was venerable with age before the shield of Achilles ever grew +effulgent before the sightless orbs of Homer. It is new because it +contains those latest hopes and reasons for this faith, which briefly +blossom out upon the primitive stock with the altering years and soon +are blown away upon the winds of change. Since this spectacle, this +festival, is thus old and is thus new and thus enwraps the deepest +thing in the human spirit, it is never forgotten. + +When in vernal days any one turns a furrow or sows in the teeth of the +wind and glances at the fickle sky; when under the summer shade of a +flowering tree any one looks out upon his fatted herds and fattening +grain; whether there is autumnal plenty in his barn or autumnal +emptiness, autumnal peace in his breast or autumnal strife,--all days +of the year, in the assembly-place, in the dancing-place, whatsoever +of good or ill befall in mind or hand, never does one forget. + +When nights are darkest and days most dark; when the sun seems +farthest from the planet and cheers it with lowest heat; when the +fields lie shorn between harvest-time and seed-time and man turns +wistful eyes back and forth between the mystery of his origin and the +mystery of his end,--then comes the great pageant of the winter +solstice, then comes Christmas. + +So what is Christmas? And what for centuries has it been to differing +but always identical mortals? + +It was once the old pagan festival of dead Nature. It was once the old +pagan festival of the reappearing sun. It was the pagan festival when +the hands of labor took their rest and hunger took its fill. It was +the pagan festival to honor the descent of the fabled inhabitants of +an upper world upon the earth, their commerce with common flesh, and +the production of a race of divine-and-human half-breeds. It is now +the festival of the Immortal Child appearing in the midst of mortal +children. It is now the new festival of man's remembrance of his +errors and his charity toward erring neighbors. It has latterly become +the widening festival of universal brotherhood with succor for all +need and nighness to all suffering; of good will warring against ill +will and of peace warring upon war. + +And thus for all who have anywhere come to know it, Christmas is the +festival of the better worldly self. But better than worldliness, it +is on the Shield to-day what it essentially has been through many an +age to many people--the symbolic Earth Festival of the Evergreen; +setting forth man's pathetic love of youth--of his own youth that will +not stay with him; and renewing his faith in a destiny that winds its +ancient way upward out of dark and damp toward Eternal Light. + +This is a story of the Earth Festival on the Earth Shield. + + + + +I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + +A man sat writing near a window of an old house out in the country a +few years ago; it was afternoon of the twenty-third of December. + +One of the volumes of a work on American Forestry lay open on the desk +near his right hand; and as he sometimes stopped in his writing and +turned the leaves, the illustrations showed that the long road of his +mental travels--for such he followed--was now passing through the +evergreens. + +Many notes were printed at the bottoms of the pages. They burned there +like short tapers in dim places, often lighting up obscure faiths and +customs of our puzzled human race. His eyes roved from taper to taper, +as gathering knowledge ray by ray. A small book lay near the large +one. It dealt with primitive nature-worship; and it belonged in the +class of those that are kept under lock and key by the libraries which +possess them as unsafe reading for unsafe minds. + +Sheets of paper covered with the man's clear, deliberate handwriting +lay thickly on the desk. A table in the centre of the room was strewn +with volumes, some of a secret character, opened for reference. On the +tops of two bookcases and on the mantelpiece were prints representing +scenes from the oldest known art of the East. These and other prints +hanging about the walls, however remote from each other in the times +and places where they had been gathered, brought together in this room +of a quiet Kentucky farmhouse evidence bearing upon the same object: +the subject related in general to trees and in especial evergreens. + +While the man was immersed in his work, he appeared not to be +submerged. His left hand was always going out to one or the other of +three picture-frames on the desk and his fingers bent caressingly. + +Two of these frames held photographs of four young children--a boy and +a girl comprising each group. The children had the air of being well +enough bred to be well behaved before the camera, but of being unruly +and disorderly out of sheer health and a wild naturalness. All of them +looked straight at you; all had eyes wide open with American frankness +and good humor; all had mouths shut tight with American energy and +determination. Apparently they already believed that the New World was +behind them, that the nation backed them up. In a way you believed +it. You accepted them on the spot as embodying that marvellous +precocity in American children, through which they early in life +become conscious of the country and claim it their country and believe +that it claims them. Thus they took on the distinction of being a +squad detached only photographically from the rank and file of the +white armies of the young in the New World, millions and millions +strong, as they march, clear-eyed, clear-headed, joyous, magnificent, +toward new times and new destinies for the nation and for humanity--a +kinder knowledge of man and a kinder ignorance of God. + +The third frame held the picture of a woman probably thirty years of +age. Her features were without noticeable American characteristics. +What human traits you saw depended upon what human traits you saw +with. + +The hair was dark and abundant, the brows dark and strong. And the +lashes were dark and strong; and the eyes themselves, so thornily +hedged about, somehow brought up before you a picture of autumn +thistles--thistles that look out from the shadow of a rock. They had a +veritable thistle quality and suggestiveness: gray and of the fields, +sure of their experience in nature, freighted with silence. + +Despite grayness and thorniness, however, you saw that they were in +the summer of their life-bloom; and singularly above even their beauty +of blooming they held what is rare in the eyes of either men or +women--they held a look of being just. + +The whole face was an oval, long, regular, high-bred. If the lower +part had been hidden behind a white veil of the Orient (by that little +bank of snow which is guardedly built in front of the overflowing +desires of the mouth), the upper part would have given the impression +of reserve, coldness, possibly of severity; yet ruled by that one +look--the garnered wisdom, the tempering justice, of the eyes. The +whole face being seen, the lower features altered the impression made +by the upper ones; reserve became bettered into strength, coldness +bettered into dignity, severity of intellect transfused into glowing +nobleness of character. The look of virgin justice in her was perhaps +what had survived from that white light of life which falls upon young +children as from a receding sun and touches lingeringly their smiles +and glances; but her mouth had gathered its shadowy tenderness as she +walked the furrows of the years, watching their changeful harvests, +eating their passing bread. + +A handful of some of the green things of winter lay before her +picture: holly boughs with their bold, upright red berries; a spray of +the cedar of the Kentucky yards with its rosary of piteous blue. When +he had come in from out of doors to go on with his work, he had put +them there--perhaps as some tribute. After all his years with her, +many and strong, he must have acquired various tributes and +interpretations; but to-day, during his walk in the woods, it had +befallen him to think of her as holly which ripens amid snows and +retains its brave freshness on a landscape of departed things. As +cedar also which everywhere on the Shield is the best loved of +forest-growths to be the companion of household walls; so that even +the poorest of the people, if it does not grow near the spot they +build in, hunt for it and bring it home: everywhere wife and cedar, +wife and cedar, wife and cedar. + +The photographs of the children grouped on each side of hers with +heads a little lower down called up memories of Old World pictures in +which cherubs smile about the cloud-borne feet of the heavenly Hebrew +maid. Glowing young American mother with four healthy children as her +gifts to the nation--this was the practical thought of her that +riveted and held. + +As has been said, they were in two groups, the children; a boy and +girl in each. The four were of nearly the same age; but the faces of +two were on a dimmer card in an older frame. You glanced at her again +and persuaded yourself that the expression of motherhood which +characterized her separated into two expressions (as behind a thin +white cloud it is possible to watch another cloud of darker +hue). Nearer in time was the countenance of a mother happy with happy +offspring; further away the same countenance withdrawn a little into +shadow--the face of the mother bereaved--mute and changeless. + +The man, the worker, whom this little flock of wife and two surviving +children now followed through the world as their leader, sat with his +face toward his desk In a corner of the room; solidly squared before +his undertaking, liking it, mastering it; seldom changing his position +as the minutes passed, never nervously; with a quietude in him that +was oftener in Southern gentlemen in quieter, more gentlemanly +times. A low powerful figure with a pair of thick shoulders and +tremendous limbs; filling the room with his vitality as a heavy +passionate animal lying in a corner of a cage fills the space of the +cage, so that you wait for it to roll over or get up on its feet and +walk about that you may study its markings and get an inkling of its +conquering nature. + +Meantime there were hints of him. When he had come in, he had thrown +his overcoat on a chair that stood near the table in the centre of the +room and had dropped his hat upon his coat. It had slipped to the +floor and now lay there--a low, soft black hat of a kind formerly much +worn by young Southerners of the countryside,--especially on occasions +when there was a spur of heat in their mood and going,--much the same +kind that one sees on the heads of students in Rome in winter; light, +warm, shaping itself readily to breezes from any quarter, to be doffed +or donned as comfortable and negligible. It suggested that he had been +a country boy in the land, still belonged to the land, and as a man +kept to its out-of-door habits and fashions. His shoes, one of which +you saw at each side of his chair, were especially well made for +rough-going feet to tramp in during all weathers. + +A sack suit of dark blue serge somehow helped to withdraw your +interpretation of him from farm life to the arts or the +professions. The scrupulous air of his shirt collar, showing against +the clear-hued flesh at the back of his neck, and the Van Dyck-like +edge of the shirt cuff, defining his powerful wrist and hand, +strengthened the notion that he belonged to the arts or to the +professions. He might have been sitting before a canvas instead of a +desk and holding a brush instead of a pen: the picture would have been +true to life. Or truer yet, he might have taken his place with the +grave group of students in the Lesson in Anatomy left by Rembrandt. + +Once he put down his pen, wheeled his chair about, and began to read +the page he had just finished: then you saw him. He had a big, +masculine, solid-cut, self-respecting, normal-looking, executive +head--covered with thick yellowish hair clipped short; so that while +everything else in his appearance indicated that he was in the prime +of manhood, the clipped hair caused him to appear still more youthful; +and it invested him with a rustic atmosphere which went along very +naturally with the sentimental country hat and the all-weather +shoes. He seemed at first impression a magnificent animal frankly +loved of the sun--perhaps too warmly. The sun itself seemed to have +colored for him his beard and mustache--a characteristic hue of men's +hair and beard in this land peopled from Old English stock. The beard, +like the hair, was cut short, as though his idea might have been to +get both hair and beard out of life's daily way; but his mustache +curled thickly down over his mouth, hiding it. In the whole effect +there was a suggestion of the Continent, perhaps of a former student +career in Germany, memories of which may still have lasted with him +and the marks of which may have purposely been kept up in his +appearance. + +But such a fashion of beard, while covering a man's face, does much to +uncover the man. As he sat amid his papers and books, your thought +surely led again to old pictures where earnest heads bend together +over some point on the human road, at which knowledge widens and +suffering begins to be made more bearable and death more +kind. Perforce now you interpreted him and fixed his general working +category: that he was absorbed in work meant to be serviceable to +humanity. His house, the members of his family, the people of his +neighborhood, were meantime forgotten: he was not a mere dweller on +his farm; he was a discoverer on the wide commons where the race +forever camps at large with its problems, joys, and sorrows. + +He read his page, his hand dropped to his knee, his mind dropped its +responsibility; one of those intervals followed when the brain rests. +The look of the student left his face; over it began to play the soft +lights of the domestic affections. He had forgotten the world for his +own place in the world; the student had become the husband and +house-father. A few moments only; then he wheeled gravely to his work +again, his right hand took up the pen, his left hand went back to the +pictures. + +The silence of the room seemed a guarded silence, as though he were +being watched over by a love which would not let him be disturbed. +(He had the reposeful self-assurance of a man who is conscious that he +is idolized.) + +Matching the silence within was the stillness out of doors. An immense +oak tree stood just outside the windows. It was a perpetual reminder +of vanished woods; and when a windstorm tossed and twisted it, the +straining and grinding of the fibres were like struggles and outcries +for the wild life of old. This afternoon it brooded motionless, an +image of forest reflection. Once a small black-and-white sapsucker, +circling the trunk and peering into the crevices of the bark on a +level with the windows, uttered minute notes which penetrated into the +room like steel darts of sound. A snowbird alighted on the +window-sill, glanced familiarly in at the man, and shot up its crest; +but disappointed perhaps that it was not noticed, quoted its resigned +gray phrase--a phrase it had made for itself to accompany the score of +gray whiter--and flitted on billowy wings to a juniper at the corner +of the house, its turret against the long javelins of the North. + +Amid the stillness of Nature outside and the house-silence of a love +guarding him within, the man worked on. + +A little clock ticked independently on the old-fashioned Parian marble +mantelpiece. Prints were propped against its sides and face, +illustrating the use of trees about ancient tombs and temples. Out of +this photographic grove of dead things the uncaring clock threw out +upon the air a living three--the fateful three that had been measured +for each tomb and temple in its own land and time. + +A knock, regretful but positive, was heard, and the door opening into +the hall was quietly pushed open. A glow lit up the student's face +though he did not stop writing; and his voice, while it gave a +welcome, unconsciously expressed regret at being disturbed: + +"Come in." + +"I am in!" + +He lifted his heavy figure with instant courtesy--rather obsolete +now--and bowing to one side, sat down again. + +"So I see," he said, dipping his pen into his ink. + +"Since you did not turn around, you would better have said 'So I +hear.' It is three o'clock." + +"So I hear." + +"You said you would be ready." + +"I am ready." + +"You said you would be done." + +"I am done--nearly done." + +"How nearly?" + +"By to-morrow--to-morrow afternoon before dark. I have reached the +end, but now it is hard to stop, hard to let go." + +His tone gave first place, primary consideration, to his work. The +silence in the room suddenly became charged. When the voice was heard +again, there was constraint in it: + +"There is something to be done this afternoon before dark, something I +have a share in. Having a share, I am interested. Being interested, I +am prompt. Being prompt, I am here." + +He waved his hand over the written sheets before him--those cold Alps +of learning; and asked reproachfully: + +"Are you not interested in all this, O you of little faith?" + +"How can I say, O me of little knowledge!" + +As the words impulsively escaped, he heard a quick movement behind +him. He widened out his heavy arms upon his manuscript and looked back +over his shoulder at her and laughed. And still smiling and holding +his pen between his fingers, he turned and faced her. She had advanced +into the middle of the room and had stopped at the chair on which he +had thrown his overcoat and hat. She had picked up the hat and stood +turning it and pushing its soft material back into shape for his +head--without looking at him. + +The northern light of the winter afternoon, entering through the +looped crimson-damask curtains, fell sidewise upon the woman of the +picture. + +Years had passed since the picture had been made. There were changes +in her; she looked younger. She had effaced the ravages of a sadder +period of her life as human voyagers upon reaching quiet port repair +the damages of wandering and storm. Even the look of motherhood, of +the two motherhoods, which so characterized her in the photograph, had +disappeared for the present. Seeing her now for the first time, one +would have said that her whole mood and bearing made a single +declaration: she was neither wife nor mother; she was a woman in love +with life's youth--with youth--youth; in love with the things that +youth alone could ever secure to her. + +The carriage of her beautiful head, brave and buoyant, brought before +you a vision of growing things in nature as they move towards their +summer yet far away. There still was youth in the round white throat +above the collar of green velvet--woodland green--darker than the +green of the cloth she wore. You were glad she had chosen that color +because she was going for a walk with him; and green would enchain the +eye out on the sere ground and under the stripped trees. The +flecklessness of her long gloves drew your thoughts to winter +rather--to its one beauteous gift dropped from soiled clouds. A +slender toque brought out the keenness in the oval of her face. From +it rose one backward-sweeping feather of green shaded to coral at the +tip; and there your fancy may have cared to see lingering the last +radiance of whiter-sunset skies. + +He kept his seat with his back to the manuscript from which he had +repulsed her; and his eyes swept loyally over her as she +waited. Though she could scarcely trust herself to speak, still less +could she endure the silence. With her face turned toward the windows +opening on the lawn, she stretched out her arm toward him and softly +shook his hat at him. + +"The sun sets--you remember how many minutes after four," she said, +with no other tone than that of quiet warning. "I marked the minutes +in the almanac for you the other night after the children had gone to +bed, so that you would not forget. You know how short the twilights +are even when the day is clear. It is cloudy to-day and there will not +be any twilight. The children said they would not be at home until +after dark, but they may come sooner; it may be a trick. They have +threatened to catch us this year in one way or another, and you know +they must not do that--not this year! There must be one more Christmas +with all its old ways--even if it must be without its old mysteries." + +He did not reply at once and then not relevantly: + +"I heard you playing." + +He had dropped his head forward and was scowling at her from under his +brows with a big Beethoven brooding scowl. She did not see, for she +held her face averted. + +The silence in the room again seemed charged, and there was greater +constraint in her voice when it was next heard: + +"I had to play; you need not have listened." + +"I had to listen; you played loud--" + +"I did not know I was playing loud. I may have been trying to drown +other sounds," she admitted. + +"What other sounds?" His voice unexpectedly became inquisitorial: it +was a frank thrust into the unknown. + +"Discords--possibly." + +"What discords?" His thrust became deeper. + +She turned her head quickly and looked at him; a quiver passed across +her lips and in her eyes there was noble anguish. + +But nothing so arrests our speech when we are tempted to betray hidden +trouble as to find ourselves face to face with a kind of burnished, +radiant happiness. Sensitive eyes not more quickly close before a +blaze of sunlight than the shadowy soul shuts her gates upon the +advancing Figure of Joy. + +It was the whole familiar picture of him now--triumphantly painted in +the harmonies of life, masterfully toned to subdue its discords--that +drove her back into herself. When she spoke next, she had regained the +self-control which under his unexpected attack she had come near +losing; and her words issued from behind the closed gates--as through +a crevice of the closed gates: + +"I was reading one of the new books that came the other day, the deep +grave ones you sent for. It is written by a deep grave German, and it +is worked out in the deep grave German way. The whole purpose of it +is to show that any woman in the life of any man is merely--an +Incident. She may be this to him, she may be that to him; for a +briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, at +bottom, she is to him--an Incident." + +He did not take his eyes from hers and his smile slowly broadened. + +"Were those the discords?" he asked gently. + +She did not reply. + +He turned in his chair and looking over his shoulder at her, he raised +his arm and drew the point of his pen across the backs of a stack of +magazines on top of his desk. + +"Here is a work," he said, "not written by a German or by any other +man, but by a woman whose race I do not know: here is a work the sole +purpose of which is to prove that any man is merely an Incident in the +life of any woman. He may be this to her, he may be that to her; for +a briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, +beneath everything else, he is to her--an Incident." + +He turned and confronted her, not without a gleam of humor in his +eyes. + +"That did not trouble me," he said tenderly. "Those were not discords +to me." + +Her eyes rested on his face with inscrutable searching. She made no +comment. + +His own face grew grave. After a moment of debate with himself as to +whether he should be forced to do a thing he would rather not do, he +turned in his chair and laid down his pen as though separating himself +from his work. Then he said, in a tone that ended playfulness: + +"Do I not understand? Have I not understood all the time? For a year +now I have been shutting myself up at spare hours in this room and at +this work--without any explanation to you. Such a thing never occurred +before in our lives. You have shared everything. I have relied upon +you and I have needed you, and you have never failed me. And this +apparently has been your reward--to be rudely shut out at last. Now +you come in and I tell you that the work is done--quite +finished--without a word to you about it. Do I not understand?" he +repeated. "Have I not understood all along? It is true; outwardly as +regards this work you have been--the Incident." + +As he paused, she made a slight gesture with one hand as though she +did not care for what he was saying and brushed away the fragile web +of his words from before her eyes--eyes fixed on larger things lying +clear before her in life's distance. + +He went quickly on with deepening emphasis: + +"But, comrade of all these years, battler with me for life's +victories, did you think you were never to know? Did you believe I was +never to explain? You had only one more day to wait! If patience, if +faith, could only have lasted another twenty-four hours--until +Christmas Eve!" + +It was the first time for nearly a year that the sound of those words +had been heard in that house. He bent earnestly over toward her; he +leaned heavily forward with his hands on his knees and searched her +features with loyal chiding. + +"Has not Christmas Eve its mysteries?" he asked, "its secrets for you +and me? Think of Christmas Eve for you and me! Remember!" + +Slowly as in a windless woods on a winter day a smoke from a +woodchopper's smouldering fire will wander off and wind itself about +the hidden life-buds of a young tree, muffling it while the atmosphere +near by is clear, there now floated into the room to her the tender +haze of old pledges and vows and of things unutterably sacred. + +He noted the effect of his words and did not wait. He turned to his +desk and, gathering up the sprigs of holly and cedar, began softly to +cover her picture with them. + +"Stay blinded and bewildered there," he said, "until the hour comes +when holly and cedar will speak: on Christmas Eve you will understand; +you will then see whether in this work you have been--the Incident." + +Even while they had been talking the light of the short winter +afternoon had perceptibly waned in the room. + +She glanced through the windows at the darkening lawn; her eyes were +tear-dimmed; to her it looked darker than it was. She held his hat up +between her arms, making an arch for him to come and stand under. + +"It is getting late," she said in nearly the same tone of quiet +warning with which she had spoken before. "There is no time to lose." + +He sprang up, without glancing behind him at his desk with its +interrupted work, and came over and placed himself under the arch of +her arms, looking at her reverently. + +But his hands did not take hold, his arms hung down at his sides--the +hands that were life, the arms that were love. + +She let her eyes wander over his clipped tawny hair and pass downward +over his features to the well-remembered mouth under its mustache. +Then, closing her quivering lips quickly, she dropped the hat softly +on his head and walked toward the door. When she reached it, she put +out one of her hands delicately against a panel and turned her profile +over her shoulder to him: + +"Do you know what is the trouble with both of those books?" she asked, +with a struggling sweetness in her voice. + +He had caught up his overcoat and as he put one arm through the sleeve +with a vigorous thrust, he laughed out with his mouth behind the +collar: + +"I think I know what is the trouble with the authors of the books." + +"The trouble is," she replied, "the trouble is that the authors are +right and the books are right: men and women _are_ only Incidents +to each other in life," and she passed out into the hall. + +"Human life itself for that matter is only an incident in the +universe," he replied, "if we cared to look at it in that way; but +we'd better not!" + +He was standing near the table in the middle of the room; he suddenly +stopped buttoning his overcoat. His eyes began to wander over the +books, the prints, the pictures, embracing in a final survey +everything that he had brought together from such distances of place +and time. His work was in effect done. A sense of regret, a rush of +loneliness, came over him as it comes upon all of us who reach the +happy ending of toil that we have put our heart and strength in. + +"Are you coming?" she called faintly from the hall. + +"I am coming," he replied, and moved toward the door; but there he +stopped again and looked back. + +Once more there came into his face the devotion of the student; he was +on the commons where the race encamps; he was brother to all brothers +who join work to work for common good. He was feeling for the moment +that through his hands ran the long rope of the world at which +men--like a crew of sailors--tug at the Ship of Life, trying to tow +her into some divine haven. + +His task was ended. Would it be of service? Would it carry any +message? Would it kindle in American homes some new light of truth, +with the eyes of mothers and fathers fixed upon it, and innumerable +children of the future the better for its shining? + +"Are you coming?" she called more quiveringly. + +"I am coming," he called back, breaking away from his revery, and +raising his voice so it would surely reach her. + + + + +II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + +She had quitted the house and, having taken a few steps across the +short frozen grass of the yard as one walks lingeringly when expecting +to be joined by a companion, she turned and stood with her eyes fixed +on the doorway for his emerging figure. + +"To-morrow night," he had said, smiling at her with one meaning in his +words, "to-morrow night you will understand." + +"Yes," she now said to herself, with another meaning in hers, +"to-morrow night I must understand. Until to-morrow night, then, +blinded and bewildered with holly and cedar let me be! Kind +ignorance, enfold me and spare me! All happiness that I can control or +conjecture, come to me and console me!" + +And over herself she dropped a vesture of joy to greet him when he +should step forth. + +It was a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors and to go about what +they had planned; the ground was scarcely frozen, there was no wind, +and the whole sky was overcast with thin gray cloud that betrayed no +movement. Under this still dome of silvery-violet light stretched the +winter land; it seemed ready and waiting for its great festival. + +The lawn sloped away from the house to a brook at the bottom, and +beyond the brook the ground rose to a woodland hilltop. Across the +distance you distinguished there the familiar trees of blue-grass +pastures: white ash and black ash; white oak and red oak; white walnut +and black walnut; and the scaly-bark hickory in his roughness and the +sycamore with her soft leoparded limbs. The black walnut and the +hickory brought to mind autumn days when children were abroad, +ploughing the myriad leaves with booted feet and gathering their +harvest of nuts--primitive food-storing instinct of the human animal +still rampant in modern childhood: these nuts to be put away in garret +and cellar and but scantily eaten until Christmas came. + +Out of this woods on the afternoon air sounded the muffled strokes of +an axe cutting down a black walnut partly dead; and when this fell, it +would bring down with it bunches of mistletoe, those white pearls of +the forest mounted on branching jade. To-morrow eager fingers would be +gathering the mistletoe to decorate the house. Near by was a thicket +of bramble and cane where, out of reach of cattle, bushes of holly +thrived: the same fingers would be gathering that. + +Bordering this woods on one side lay a cornfield. The corn had just +been shucked, and beside each shock of fodder lay its heap of ears +ready for the gathering wagon. The sight of the corn brought freshly +to remembrance the red-ambered home-brew of the land which runs in a +genial torrent through all days and nights of the year--many a +full-throated rill--but never with so inundating a movement as at this +season. And the same grain suggested also the smokehouses of all +farms, in which larded porkers, fattened by it, had taken on +posthumous honors as home-cured hams; and in which up under the black +rafters home-made sausages were being smoked to their needed flavor +over well-chosen chips. + +Around one heap of ears a flock of home-grown turkeys, red-mottled, +rainbow-necked, were feeding for their fate. + +On the other side of the woods stretched a wheat-field, in the stubble +of which coveys of bob-whites were giving themselves final plumpness +for the table by picking up grains of wheat which had dropped into the +drills at harvest time or other seeds which had ripened in the autumn +aftermath. + +Farther away on the landscape there was a hemp-field where +hemp-breakers were making a rattling reedy music; during these weeks +wagons loaded with the gold-bearing fibre begin to move creaking to +the towns, helping to fill the farmer's pockets with holiday largess. + +Thus everything needed for Christmas was there in sight: the +mistletoe--the holly--the liquor of the land for the cups of hearty +men--the hams and the sausages of fastidious housewives--the turkey +and the quail--and crops transmutable into coin. They were in sight +there--the fair maturings of the sun now ready to be turned into +offerings to the dark solstice, the low activities of the soil +uplifted to human joyance. + +One last thing completed the picture of the scene. + +The brook that wound across the lawn at its bottom was frozen to-day +and lay like a band of jewelled samite trailed through the olive +verdure. Along its margin evergreens grew. No pine nor spruce nor +larch nor fir is native to these portions of the Shield; only the wild +cedar, the shapeless and the shapely, belongs there. This assemblage +of evergreens was not, then, one of the bounties of Nature; they had +been planted. + +It was the slender tapering spires of these evergreens with their note +of deathless spring that mainly caught the eye on the whole landscape +this dead winter day. Under the silvery-violet light of the sky they +waited in beauty and in peace: the pale green of larch and spruce +which seems always to go with the freshness of dripping Aprils; the +dim blue-gray of pines which rather belongs to far-vaulted summer +skies; and the dark green of firs--true comfortable winter coat when +snows sift mournfully and icicles are spearing earthward. + +These evergreens likewise had their Christmas meaning and finished the +picture of the giving earth. Unlike the other things, they satisfied +no appetite, they were ministers to no passions; but with them the +Christmas of the intellect began: the human heart was to drape their +boughs with its gentle poetry; and from their ever living spires the +spiritual hope of humanity would take its flight toward the eternal. + +Thus then the winter land waited for the oncoming of that strange +travelling festival of the world which has roved into it and encamped +gypsy-like from old lost countries: the festival that takes toll of +field and wood, of hoof and wing, of cup and loaf; but that, best of +all, wrings from the nature of man its reluctant tenderness for his +fellows and builds out of his lonely doubts regarding this life his +faith in a better one. + +And central on this whole silent scene--the highest element in it--its +one winter-red passion flower--the motionless woman waiting outside +the house. + +At last he came out upon the step. + +He cast a quick glance toward the sky as though his first thought were +of what the weather was going to be. Then as he buttoned the top +button of his overcoat and pressed his bearded chin down over it to +make it more comfortable under his short neck, with his other hand he +gave a little pull at his hat--the romantic country hat; and he peeped +out from under the rustic brim at her, smiling with old gayeties and +old fondnesses. He bulked so rotund inside his overcoat and looked so +short under the flat headgear that her first thought was how slight a +disguise every year turned him into a good family Santa Claus; and she +smiled back at him with the same gayeties and fondnesses of days gone +by. But such a deeper pang pierced her that she turned away and walked +hurriedly down the hill toward the evergreens. + +He was quickly at her side. She could feel how animal youth in him +released itself the moment he had come into the open air. There was +brutal vitality in the way his shoes crushed the frozen ground; and as +his overcoat sleeve rubbed against her arm, there was the same leaping +out of life, like the rubbing of tinder against tinder. Halfway down +the lawn he halted and laid his hand heavily on her wrist. + +"Listen to that!" he said. His voice was eager, excited, like a boy's. + +On the opposite side of the house, several hundred yards away, the +country turnpike ran; and from this there now reached them the +rumbling of many vehicles, hurrying in close procession out of the +nearest town and moving toward smaller villages scattered over the +country; to its hamlets and cross-roads and hundreds of homes richer +or poorer--every vehicle Christmas-laden: sign and foretoken of the +Southern Yule-tide. There were matters and usages in those American +carriages and buggies and wagons and carts the history of which went +back to the England of the Georges and the Stuarts and the Henrys; to +the England of Elizabeth, to the England of Chaucer; back through +robuster Saxon times to the gaunt England of Alfred, and on beyond +this till they were lost under the forest glooms of Druidical Britain. + +They stood looking into each other's eyes and gathering into their +ears the festal uproar of the turnpike. How well they knew what it all +meant--this far-flowing tide of bounteousness! How perfectly they saw +the whole picture of the town out of which the vehicles had come: the +atmosphere of it already darkened by the smoke of soft coal pouring +from its chimneys, so that twilight in it had already begun to fall +ahead of twilight out in the country, and lamp-posts to glimmer along +the little streets, and shops to be illuminated to the delight of +window-gazing, mystery-loving children--wild with their holiday +excitements and secrecies. Somewhere in the throng their own two +children were busy unless they had already started home. + +For years he had held a professorship in the college in this town, +driving in and out from his home; but with the close of this academic +year he was to join the slender file of Southern men who have been +called to Northern universities: this change would mean the end of +life here. Both thought of this now--of the last Christmas in the +house; and with the same impulse they turned their gaze back to it. + +More than half a century ago the one starved genius of the Shield, a +writer of songs, looked out upon the summer picture of this land, its +meadows and ripening corn tops; and as one presses out the spirit of +an entire vineyard when he bursts a solitary grape upon his tongue, +he, the song writer, drained drop by drop the wine of that scene into +the notes of a single melody. The nation now knows his song, the world +knows it--the only music that has ever captured the joy and peace of +American home life--embodying the very soul of it in the clear amber +of sound. + +This house was one of such homesteads as the genius sang of: a low, +old-fashioned, brown-walled, gray-shingled house; with chimneys +generous, with green window-shutters less than green and white +window-sills less than white; with feudal vines giving to its walls +their summery allegiance; not young, not old, but standing in the +middle years of its strength and its honors; not needy, not wealthy, +but answering Agar's prayer for neither poverty nor riches. + +The two stood on the darkening lawn, looking back at it. + +It had been the house of his fathers. He had brought her to it as his +own on the afternoon of their wedding several miles away across the +country. They had arrived at dark; and as she had sat beside him in +the carriage, one of his arms around her and his other hand enfolding +both of hers, she had first caught sight of it through the forest +trees--waiting for her with its lights just lit, its warmth, its +privacies: and that had been Christmas Eve! + +For her wedding day had been Christmas Eve. When she had announced her +choice of a day, they had chidden her. But with girlish wilfulness she +had clung to it the more positively. + +"It is the most beautiful night of the year!" she had replied, +brushing their objection aside with that reason alone. "And it is the +happiest! I will be married on that night, when I am happiest!" + +Alone and thinking it over, she had uttered other words to +herself--yet scarce uttered them, rather felt them: + +"Of old it was written how on Christmas Night the Love that cannot +fail us became human. My love for him, which is the divine thing in +my life and which is never to fail him, shall become human to him on +that night." + +When the carriage had stopped at the front porch, he had led her into +the house between the proud smiling servants of his establishment +ranged at a respectful distance on each side; and without surrendering +her even to her maid--a new spirit of silence on him--he had led her +to her bedroom, to a place on the carpet under the chandelier. + +Leaving her there, he had stepped backward and surveyed her waiting in +her youth and loveliness--_for him;_ come into his house, into +his arms--_his_; no other's--never while life lasted to be +another's even in thought or in desire. + +Then as if the marriage ceremony of the afternoon in the presence of +many had meant nothing and this were the first moment when he could +gather her home to him, he had come forward and taken her in his arms +and set upon her the kiss of his house and his ardor and his duty. As +his warm breath broke close against her face, his lips under their +mustache, almost boyish then, had thoughtlessly formed one little +phrase--one little but most lasting and fateful phrase: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe_!" + +Looking up with a smile, she saw that she stood under a bunch of +mistletoe swung from the chandelier. + +Straightway he had forgotten his own words, nor did he ever afterwards +know that he had used them. But she, out of their very sacredness as +the first words he had spoken to her in his home, had remembered them +most clingingly. More than remembered them: she had set them to grow +down into the fibres of her heart as the mistletoe roots itself upon +the life-sap of the tree. And in all the later years they had been the +green spot of verdure under life's dark skies--the undying bough into +which the spirit of the whole tree retreats from the ice of the world: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + +Through the first problem of learning to weld her nature to his +wisely; through the perils of bearing children and the agony of seeing +some of them pass away; through the ambition of having him rise in his +profession and through the ideal of making his home an earthly +paradise; through loneliness when he was away and joy whenever he came +back,--upon her whole life had rested the wintry benediction of that +mystical phrase: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + + * * * * * + +She turned away now, starting once more downward toward the +evergreens. He was quickly at her side. + +"What do you suppose Harold and Elizabeth are up to about this time?" +he asked, with a good-humored jerk of his head toward the distant +town. + +"At least to something mischievous, whatever it is," she +replied. "They begged to be allowed to stay until the shop windows +were lighted; they have seen the shop windows two or three times +already this week: there is no great marvel for them now in shop +windows. Permission to stay late may be a blind to come home +early. They are determined, from what I have overheard, to put an end +this year to the parental house mysteries of Christmas. They are +crossing the boundary between the first childhood and the second. But +if it be possible, I wish everything to be kept once more just as it +has always been; let it be so for my sake!" + +"And I wish it for your sake," he replied heartily; "and for my +purposes." + +After a moment of silence he asked: "How large a Tree must it be this +year?" + +"It will have to be large," she replied; and she began to count those +for whom the Tree this year was meant. + +First she called the names of the two children they had lost. Gifts +for these were every year hung on the boughs. She mentioned their +names now, and then she continued counting: + +"Harold and Elizabeth are four. You and I make six. After the family +come Herbert and Elsie, your best friend the doctor's children. Then +the servants--long strong bottom branches for the servants! Allow for +the other children who are to make up the Christmas party: ten +children have been invited, ten children have accepted, ten children +will arrive. The ten will bring with them some unimportant parents; +you can judge." + +"That will do for size," he said, laughing. "Now the kind: +spruce--larch--hemlock--pine--which shall it be?" + +"It shall be none of them!" she answered, after a little waiting. "It +shall be the Christmas Tree of the uttermost North where the reindeer +are harnessed and the Great White Sleigh starts--fir. The old +Christmas stories like fir best. Old faiths seem to lodge in it +longest. And deepest mystery darkens the heart of it," she added. + +"Fir it shall be!" he said. "Choose the tree." + +"I have chosen." + +She stopped and delicately touched his wrist with the finger tips of +one white-gloved hand, bidding him stand beside her. + +"That one," she said, pointing down. + +The brook, watering the roots of the evergreens in summer gratefully, +but now lying like a band of samite, jewel-crusted, made a loop near +the middle point of the lawn, creating a tiny island; and on this +island, aloof from its fellows and with space for the growth of its +boughs, stood a perfect fir tree: strong-based, thick-set, tapering +faultlessly, star-pointed, gathering more youth as it gathered more +years--a tame dweller on the lawn but descended from forests blurred +with wildness and lapped by low washings of the planet's primeval +ocean. + +At each Christmas for several years they had been tempted to cut this +tree, but had spared it for its conspicuous beauty at the edge of the +thicket. + +"That one," she now said, pointing down. "This is the last time. Let +us have the best of things while we may! Is it not always the perfect +that is demanded for sacrifice?" + +His glance had already gone forward eagerly to the tree, and he +started toward it. + +Descending, they stepped across the brook to the island and went up +close to the fir. With a movement not unobserved by her he held out +his hand and clasped three green fingers of a low bough which the fir +seemed to stretch out to him recognizingly. (She had always realized +the existence of some intimate bond between him and the forest.) His +face now filled with meanings she did not share; the spell of the +secret work had followed him out of the house down to the trees; +incommunicable silence shut him in. A moment later his fingers parted +with the green fingers of the fir and he moved away from her side, +starting around the tree and studying it as though in delight of fresh +knowledge. So she watched him pass around to the other side. + +When he came back where he had started, she was not there. He looked +around searchingly; her figure was nowhere in sight. + +He stood--waiting. + +The valley had memories, what memories! The years came close together +here; they clustered as thickly as the trees themselves. Vacant spots +among them marked where the Christmas Trees of former years had been +cut down. Some of the Trees had been for the two children they had +lost. This wandering trail led hither and thither back to the first +Tree for the first child: he had stooped down and cut that close to +the ground with his mere penknife. When it had been lighted, it had +held only two or three candles; and the candle on the top of it had +flared level into the infant's hand-shaded eyes. + +He knew that she was making through the evergreens a Pilgrimage of the +Years, walking there softly and alone with the feet of life's Pities +and a mother's Constancies. + +He waited for her--motionless. + +The stillness of the twilight rested on the valley now. Only from the +trees came the plaintive twittering of birds which had come in from +frozen weeds and fence-rows and at the thresholds of the boughs were +calling to one another. It was not their song, but their speech; there +was no love in it, but there was what for them perhaps corresponds to +our sense of ties. It most resembled in human life the brief things +that two people, having long lived together, utter to each other when +together in a room they prepare for the night: there is no +anticipation; it is a confession of the unconfessed. About him now +sounded this low winter music from the far boundary of other lives. + +He did not hear it. + +The light on the landscape had changed. The sun was setting and a +splendor began to spread along the sky and across the land. It laid a +glory on the roof of the house on the hill; it smote the edge of the +woodland pasture, burnishing with copper the gray domes; it shone +faintly on distant corn shocks, on the weather-dark tents of the hemp +at bivouac soldierly and grim. At his feet it sparkled in rose gleams +on the samite of the brook and threw burning shafts into the gloom of +the fir beside him. + +He did not see it. + +He did not hear the calling of the birds about his ears, he did not +see the sunset before his eyes, he did not feel the fir tree the +boughs of which stuck against his side. + +He stood there as still as a rock--with his secret. Not the secret of +the year's work, which was to be divulged to his wife and through her +to the world; but the secret which for some years had been growing in +his life and which would, he hoped, never grow into the open--to be +seen of her and of all men. + +The sentimental country hat now looked as though it might have been +worn purposely to help out a disguise, as the more troubled man behind +the scenes makes up to be the happier clown. It became an absurdity, a +mockery, above his face grave, stern, set of jaw and eye. He was no +longer the student buried among his books nor human brother to toiling +brothers. He had not the slightest thought of service to mankind left +in him, he was but a man himself with enough to think of in the battle +between his own will and blood. + +And behind him among the dark evergreens went on that Pilgrimage of +the Years--with the feet of the Pities and the Constancies. + +Moments passed; he did not stir. Then there was a slight noise on the +other side of the tree, and his nature instantly stepped back into his +outward place. He looked through the boughs. She had returned and was +standing with her face also turned toward the sunset; it was very +pale, very still. + +Such darkness had settled on the valley now that the green she wore +blent with the green of the fir. He saw only her white face and her +white hands so close to the branches that they appeared to rest upon +them, to grow out of them: he sadly thought of one of his prints of +Egypt of old and of the Lady of the Sacred Tree. Her long +backward-sweeping plume of green also blent with the green of the +fir--shade to shade--and only the coral tip of it remained strongly +visible. This matched the last coral in the sunset; and it seemed to +rest ominously above her head as a finger-point of the fading light of +Nature. + +He went quickly around to her. He locked his arms around her and drew +her close and held her close; and thus for a while the two stood, +watching the flame on the altar of the world as it sank lower, leaving +emptiness and ashes. + +Once she put out a hand and with a gesture full of majesty and +nobleness waved farewell to the dying fire. + +Still without a word he took his arms from around her and turned +energetically to the tree. + +He pressed the lowest boughs aside and made his way in close to the +trunk and struck it with a keen stroke. + +The fir as he drew the axe out made at its gashed throat a sound like +that of a butchered, blood-strangled creature trying to cry out too +late against a treachery. A horror ran through the boughs; the +thousands of leaves were jarred by the death-strokes; and the top of +it rocked like a splendid plume too rudely treated in a storm. Then it +fell over on its side, bridging blackly the white ice of the brook. + +Stooping, he lifted it triumphantly. He set the butt-end on one of his +shoulders and, stretching his arms up, grasped the trunk and held the +tree straight in the air, so that it seemed to be growing out of his +big shoulder as out of a ledge of rock. Then he turned to her and +laughed out in his strength and youth. She laughed joyously back at +him, glorying as he did. + +With a robust re-shouldering of the tree to make it more comfortable +to carry, he turned and started up the hill toward the house. As she +followed behind, the old mystery of the woods seemed at last to have +taken bodily possession of him. The fir was riding on his shoulder, +its arms met fondly around his neck, its fingers were caressing his +hair. And it whispered back jeeringly to her through the twilight: + +"Say farewell to him! He was once yours; he is yours no longer. He +dandles the child of the forest on his shoulder instead of his +children by you in the house. He belongs to Nature; and as Nature +calls, he will always follow--though it should lead over the precipice +or into the flood. Once Nature called him to you: remember how he +broke down barriers until he won you. Now he is yours no longer--say +good-by to him!" + +With an imbued terror and desolation, she caught up with him. By a +movement so soft that he should not be aware, she plucked him by the +coat sleeve on the other side from the fir and held on to him as he +strode on in careless joy. + +Halfway up the hill lights began to flash from the windows of the +house: a servant was bringing in the lamps. It was at this hour, in +just this way, that she had first caught sight of them on that +Christmas Eve when he had brought her home after the wedding. + +She hurried around in front of him, wishing to read the expression of +his eyes by the distant gleams from the windows. Would they have +nothing to say to her about those winter twilight lamps? Did he, too, +not remember? + +His head and face were hidden; a thousand small spears of Nature +bristled between him and her; but he laughed out to her from behind +the rampart of the green spears. + +At that moment a low sound in the distance drew her attention, and +instantly alert she paused to listen. Then, forgetting everything +else, she called to him with a rush of laughter like that of her +mischief-loving girlhood: + +"Quick! There they are! I heard the gate shut at the turnpike! They +must not catch us! Quick! Quick!" + +"Hurry, then!" he cried, as he ran forward, joining his laughter to +hers. "Open the door for me!" + +After this the night fell fast. The only sounds to be heard in the +valley were the minute readjustments of the ice of the brook as it +froze tighter and the distressed cries of the birds that had roosted +in the fir. + +So the Tree entered the house. + + + + +III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + +During the night it turned bitter cold. When morning came the sky was +a turquoise and the wind a gale. The sun seemed to give out light but +not heat--to lavish its splendor but withhold its charity. Moist flesh +if it chanced to touch iron froze to it momentarily. So in whiter land +the tongue of the ermine freezes to the piece of greased metal used as +a trap and is caught and held there until the trapper returns or until +it starves--starves with food on its tongue. + +The ground, wherever the stiff boots of a farmhand struck it, resisted +as rock. In the fetlocks of farm horses, as they moved shivering, +balls of ice rattled like shaken tacks. The little roughnesses of +woodland paths snapped off beneath the slow-searching hoofs of +fodder-seeking cattle like points of glass. + +Within their wool the sheep were comforted. + +On higher fields which had given back their moisture to the atmosphere +and now were dry, the swooping wind lifted the dust at intervals and +dragged it away in flaunting yellow veils. The picture it made, being +so ill-seasoned, led you to think of August drought when the +grasshopper stills itself in the weeds and the smell of grass is hot +in the nostrils and every bird holds its beak open and its wings +lifted like cooling lattices alongside its breast. In these veils of +dust swarms of frost crystals sported--dead midgets of the dead +North. Except crystal and dust and wind, naught moved out there; no +field mouse, no hare nor lark nor little shielded dove. In the naked +trees of the pasture the crow kept his beak as unseen as the owl's; +about the cedars of the yard no scarlet feather warmed the day. + +The house on the hill--one of the houses whose spirit had been blown +into the amber of the poet's song--sent festal smoke out of its +chimneys all day long. At intervals the radiant faces of children +appeared at the windows, hanging wreaths of evergreens; or their +figures flitted to and fro within as they wove garlands on the walls +for the Christmas party. At intervals some servant with head and +shoulders muffled in a bright-colored shawl darted trippingly from the +house to the cabins in the yard and from the cabins back to the +house--the tropical African's polar dance between fire and fire. By +every sign it gave the house showed that it was marshalling its whole +happiness. + +One thing only seemed to make a signal of distress from afar. The oak +tree beside the house, whose roots coiled warmly under the +hearth-stones and whose boughs were outstretched across the roof, +seemed to writhe and rock in its winter sleep with murmurings and +tossings like a human dreamer trying to get rid of an unhappy dream. +Imagination might have said that some darkest tragedy of forests long +since gone still lived in this lone survivor--that it struggled to +give up the grief and guilt of an ancient forest shame. + +The weather moderated in the afternoon. A warm current swept across +the upper atmosphere, developing everywhere behind it a cloud; and +toward sundown out of this cloud down upon the Shield snow began to +fall. Not the large wet flakes which sometimes descend too late in +spring upon the buds of apple orchards; nor those mournfuller ones +which drop too soon on dim wild violets in November woods, but winter +snow, stern sculptor of Arctic solitudes. + + * * * * * + +It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing all over the Shield. + +Softly the snow fell upon the year's footprints and pathways of +children and upon schoolhouses now closed and riotously deserted. More +softly upon too crowded asylums for them: houses of noonday darkness +where eyes eagerly look out at the windows but do not see; houses of +soundlessness where ears listen and do not hear any noise; houses of +silence where lips try to speak but utter no word. + +The snow of Christmas Eve was falling softly on the old: whose eyes +are always seeing vanished faces, whose ears hear voices gentler than +any the earth now knows, whose hands forever try to reach other hands +vainly held out to them. Sad, sad to those who remember loved ones +gone with their kindnesses the snow of Christmas Eve! + +But sadder yet for those who live on together after kindnesses have +ceased, or whose love went like a summer wind. Sad is Christmas Eve to +them! Dark its snow and blinding! + + * * * * * + +It was late that night. + +She came into the parlor, clasping the bowl of a shaded lamp--the only +light in the room. Her face, always calm in life's wisdom, but +agitated now by the tide of deep things coming swiftly in toward her, +rested clear-cut upon the darkness. + +She placed the lamp on a table near the door and seated herself beside +it. But she pushed the lamp away unconsciously as though the light of +the house were no longer her light; and she sat in the chair as though +it were no longer her chair; and she looked about the room as though +it were no longer hers nor the house itself nor anything else that she +cared for most. + +Earlier in the evening they had finished hanging the presents on the +Tree; but then an interruption had followed: the children had broken +profanely in upon them, rending the veil of the house mysteries; and +for more than an hour the night had been given up to them. Now the +children were asleep upstairs, already dreaming of Christmas Morn and +the rush for the stockings. The servants had finished their work and +were gone to their quarters out in the yard. The doors of the house +were locked. There would be no more intrusion now, no possible +interruption; all the years were to meet him and her--alone. For Life +is the master dramatist: when its hidden tragedies are ready to utter +themselves, everything superfluous quits the stage; it is the +essential two who fill it! And how little the rest of the world ever +hears of what takes place between the two! + +A little while before he had left the room with the step-ladder; when +he came back, he was to bring with him the manuscript--the silent +snowfall of knowledge which had been deepening about him for a +year. The time had already passed for him to return, but he did not +come. Was there anything in the forecast of the night that made him +falter? Was he shrinking--_him_ shrink? She put away the thought +as a strange outbreak of injustice. + +How still it was outside the house with the snow falling! How still +within! She began to hear the ticking of the tranquil old clock under +the stairway out in the hall--always tranquil, always tranquil. And +then she began to listen to the disordered strokes of her own +heart--that red Clock in the body's Tower whose beats are sent outward +along the streets and alleys of the blood; whose law it is to be +alternately wound too fast by the fingers of Joy, too slow by the +fingers of Sorrow; and whose fate, if it once run down, never +afterwards either by Joy or Sorrow to be made to run again. + +At last she could hear the distant door of his study open and close +and his steps advance along the hall. With what a splendid swing and +tramp he brought himself toward her!--with what self-unconsciousness +and virile strength in his feet! His steps entered and crossed his +bedroom, entered and crossed her bedroom; and then he stood there +before her in the parlor doorway, a few yards off--stopped and +regarded her intently, smiling. + +In a moment she realized what had delayed him. When he had gone away +with the step-ladder, he had on a well-worn suit in which, behind +locked doors, he had been working all the afternoon at the decorations +of the Tree. Now he came back ceremoniously dressed; the rest of the +night was to be in her honor. + +It had always been so on this anniversary of their bridal night. They +had always dressed for it; the children now in their graves had been +dressed for it; the children in bed upstairs were regularly dressed +for it; the house was dressed for it; the servants were dressed for +it; the whole life of that establishment had always been made to feel +by honors and tendernesses and gayeties that this was the night on +which he had married her and brought her home. + +As her eyes swept over him she noted quite as never before how these +anniversaries had not taken his youth away, but had added youth to +him; he had grown like the evergreen in the middle of the room--with +increase of trunk and limbs and with larger tides of strength surging +through him toward the master sun. There were no ravages of married +life in him. Time had merely made the tree more of a tree and made his +youth more youth. + +She took in momentary details of his appearance: a moisture like +summer heat along the edge of his yellow hair, started by the bath +into which he had plunged; the freshness of the enormous hands holding +the manuscript; the muscle of the forearm bulging within the +dress-coat sleeve. Many a time she had wondered how so perfect an +animal as he had ever climbed to such an elevation of work; and then +had wondered again whether any but such an animal ever in life does so +climb--shouldering along with him the poise and breadth of health and +causing the hot sun of the valley to shine on the mountain tops. + +Finally she looked to see whether he, thus dressed in her honor, thus +but the larger youth after all their years together, would return her +greeting with a light in his eyes that had always made them so +beautiful to her--a light burning as at a portal opening inward for +her only. + +His eyes rested on his manuscript. + +He brought it wrapped and tied in the true holiday spirit--sprigs of +cedar and holly caught in the ribands; and he now lifted and held it +out to her as a jeweller might elevate a casket of gems. Then he +stepped forward and put it on the table at her elbow. + +"For you!" he said reverently, stepping back. + +There had been years when, returning from a tramp across the country, +he would bring her perhaps nothing but a marvellous thistle, or a +brilliant autumn leaf for her throat. + +"For you!" he would say; and then, before he could give it to her, he +would throw it away and take her in his arms. Afterwards she would +pick up the trifle and treasure it. + +"For you!" he now said, offering her the treasure of his year's toil +and stepping back. + +So the weight of the gift fell on her heart like a stone. She did not +look at it or touch it but glanced up at him. He raised his finger, +signalling for silence; and going to the chimney corner, brought back +a long taper and held it over the lamp until it ignited. Then with a +look which invited her to follow, he walked to the Tree and began to +light the candles. + +He began at the lowest boughs and, passing around, touched them one by +one. Around and around he went, and higher and higher twinkled the +lights as they mounted the tapering sides of the fir. At the top he +kindled one highest red star, shining down on everything below. Then +he blew out the taper, turned out the lamp; and returning to the tree, +set the heavy end of the taper on the floor and grasped it midway, as +one might lightly hold a stout staff. + +The room, lighted now by the common glow of the candles, revealed +itself to be the parlor of the house elaborately decorated for the +winter festival. Holly wreaths hung in the windows; the walls were +garlanded; evergreen boughs were massed above the window cornices; on +the white lace of window curtains many-colored autumn leaves, pressed +and kept for this night, looked as though they had been blown there +scatteringly by October winds. The air of the room was heavy with +odors; there was summer warmth in it. + +In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top +close to the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of +the room impartially--as symbolically to the four corners of the +earth. It would be the only witness of all that was to take place +between them: what better could there be than this messenger of +silence and wild secrecy? From the mountains and valleys of the planet +its race had looked out upon a million generations of men and women; +and the calmness of its lot stretched across the turbulence of human +passion as an ancient bridge spans a modern river. + +At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first +forking of the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross +gleamed. Under the cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions +outstretched as though descending out of the infinite upon some +earthly object below. From many of the branches tiny bells swung. +There were little horns and little trumpets. Other boughs sagged +under the weight of silvery cornucopias. Native and tropical fruits +were tied on here and there; and dolls were tied on also with cords +around their necks, their feet dangling. There were smiling masks, +like men beheaded and smiling in their death. Near the base of the +Tree there was a drum. And all over the Tree from pinnacle to base +glittered a tinsel like golden fleece--looking as the moss of old +Southern trees seen at yellow sunset. + +He stood for a while absorbed in contemplation of it. This year at his +own request the decorations had been left wholly to him; now he seemed +satisfied. + +He turned to her eagerly. + +"Do you remember what took place on Christmas Eve last year?" he +asked, with a reminiscent smile. "You sat where you are sitting and I +stood where I am standing. After I had finished lighting the Tree, do +you remember what you said?" + +After a moment she stirred and passed her fingers across her brows. + +"Recall it to me," she answered. "I must have said many things. I did +not know that I had said anything that would be remembered a year. +Recall it to me." + +"You looked at the Tree and said what a mystery it is. When and where +did it begin, how and why?--this Tree that is now nourished in the +affections of the human family round the world." + +"Yes; I remember that." + +"I resolved to find out for you. I determined to prepare during what +hours I could spare from my regular college work the gratification of +your wish for you as a gift from me. If I could myself find the way +back through the labyrinth of ages, then I would return for you and +lead you back through the story of the Christmas Tree as that story +has never been seen by any one else. All this year's work, then, has +been the threading of the labyrinth. Now Christmas Eve has come again, +my work is finished, my gift to you is ready." + +He made this announcement and stopped, leaving it to clear the air of +mystery--the mystery of the secret work. + +Then he resumed: "Have you, then, been the Incident in this toil as +yesterday you intimated that you were? Do you now see that you have +been the whole reason of it? You were excluded from any share in the +work only because you could not help to prepare your own gift! That is +all. What has looked like a secret in this house has been no +secret. You are blinded and bewildered no longer; the hour has come +when holly and cedar can speak for themselves." + +Sunlight broke out all over his face. + +She made no reply but said within herself: + +"Ah, no! That is not the trouble. That has nothing to do with the +trouble. The secret of the house is not a misunderstanding; it is +life. It is not the doing of a year; it is the undoing of the +years. It is not a gift to enrich me with new happiness; it is a +lesson that leaves me poorer." + +He went on without pausing: + +"It is already late. The children interrupted us and took up part of +your evening. But it is not too late for me to present to you some +little part of your gift. I am going to arrange for you a short story +out of the long one. The whole long story is there," he added, +directing his eyes toward the manuscript at her elbow; and his voice +showed how he felt a scholar's pride in it. "From you it can pass out +to the world that celebrates Christmas and that often perhaps asks the +same question: What is the history of the Christmas Tree? But now my +story for you!" + +"Wait a moment," she said, rising. She left the package where it was; +and with feet that trembled against the soft carpet crossed the room +and seated herself at one end of a deep sofa. + +Gathering her dignity about her, she took there the posture of a +listener--listening at her ease. + +The sofa was of richly carved mahogany. Each end curved into a scroll +like a landward wave of the sea. One of her foam-white arms rested on +one of the scrolls. Her elbow, reaching beyond, touched a small table +on which stood a vase of white frosted glass; over the rim of it +profuse crimson carnations hung their heads. They were one of her +favorite winter flowers, and he had had these sent out to her this +afternoon from a hothouse of the distant town by a half-frozen +messenger. Near her head curtains of crimson brocade swept down the +wall to the floor from the golden-lustred window cornices. At her back +were cushions of crimson silk. At the other end of the sofa her piano +stood and on it lay the music she played of evenings to him, or played +with thoughts of him when she was alone. And other music also which +she many a time read; as Beethoven's Great Nine. + +Now, along this wall of the parlor from window curtain to window +curtain there stretched a festoon of evergreens and ribands put there +by the children for their Christmas-Night party; and into this festoon +they had fastened bunches of mistletoe, plucked from the walnut tree +felled the day before--they knowing nothing, happy children! + +There she reclined. + +The lower outlines of her figure were lost in a rich blackness over +which points of jet flashed like swarms of silvery fireflies in some +too warm a night of the warm South. The blackness of her hair and the +blackness of her brows contrasted with the whiteness of her bare arms +and shoulders and faultless neck and faultless throat bared also. Not +far away was hid the warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus's of old +out of the sea's inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old +family corals were clasped--the ocean's roses; and on her breast, +between the night of her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds +flowered in beauty that could never be opened, never be rifled. + +When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged +house-dogs--setters with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle +breeding--had followed her and lain down at her feet; and one with a +thrust of his nose pushed her skirts back from the toe of her slipper +and rested his chin on it. + +"I will listen," she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. "I wish +simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have +to say." + +"Then I shall go straight through," he replied. "One minute now while +I put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short +story out of so vast a one." + +During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under +stress of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours +often arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that +causes it to yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new +things: sometimes creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is +taken away. + +As he stood there--the man beside the Tree--into the picture entered +three other men, looking down upon him from their portraits on the +walls. + +One portrait represented the first man of his family to scale the +mountains of the Shield where its eastern rim is turned away from the +reddening daybreak. Thence he had forced his way to its central +portions where the skin of ever living verdure is drawn over the +rocks: Anglo-Saxon, backwoodsman, borderer, great forest chief, hewing +and fighting a path toward the sunset for Anglo-Saxon women and +children. With his passion for the wilderness--its game, enemies, +campfire and cabin, deep-lunged freedom. This ancestor had a lonely, +stern, gaunt face, no modern expression in it whatsoever--the timeless +face of the woods. + +Near his portrait hung that of a second representative of the +family. This man had looked out upon his vast parklike estates hi the +central counties; and wherever his power had reached, he had used it +on a great scale for the destruction of his forests. Woods-slayer, +field-maker; working to bring in the period on the Shield when the +hand of a man began to grasp the plough instead of the rifle, when the +stallion had replaced the stag, and bellowing cattle wound fatly down +into the pastures of the bison. This man had the face of his +caste--the countenance of the Southern slave-holding feudal lord. Not +the American face, but the Southern face of a definite era--less than +national, less than modern; a face not looking far in any direction +but at things close around. + +From a third portrait the latest ancestor looked down. He with his +contemporaries had finished the thinning of the central forest of the +Shield, leaving the land as it is to-day, a rolling prairie with +remnants of woodland like that crowning the hilltop near this +house. This immediate forefather bore the countenance that began to +develop in the Northerner and in the Southerner after the Civil War: +not the Northern look nor the Southern look, but the American look--a +new thing in the American face, indefinable but unmistakable. + +These three men now focussed their attention upon him, the fourth of +the line, standing beside the tree brought into the house. Each of +them in his own way had wrought out a work for civilization, using the +woods as an implement. In his own case, the woods around him having +disappeared, the ancestral passion had made him a student of forestry. + +The thesis upon which he took his degree was the relation of modern +forestry to modern life. A few years later in an adjunct professorship +his original researches in this field began to attract attention. +These had to do with the South Appalachian forest in its relation to +South Appalachian civilization and thus to that of the continent. + +This work had brought its reward; he was now to be drawn away from his +own college and country to a Northern university. + +Curiously in him there had gone on a corresponding development of an +ancestral face. As the look of the wilderness hunter had changed into +that of the Southern slave-holding baron, as this had changed into the +modern American face unlike any other; now finally in him the national +American look had broadened into something more modern still--the look +of mere humanity: he did not look like an American--he looked like a +man in the service of mankind. + +This, which it takes thus long to recapitulate, presented itself to +her as one wide vision of the truth. It left a realization of how the +past had swept him along with its current; and of how the future now +caught him up and bore him on, part in its problems. The old passion +living on in him--forest life; a new passion born in him--human +life. And by inexorable logic these two now blending themselves +to-night in a story of the Christmas Tree. + +But womanlike she sought to pluck out of these forces something +intensely personal to which she could cling; and she did it in this +wise. + +In the Spring following their marriage, often after supper they would +go out on the lawn in the twilight, strolling among her flowers; she +leading him this way and that way and laying upon him beautiful +exactions and tyrannies: how he must do this and do that; and not do +this and not do that; he receiving his orders like a grateful slave. + +Then sometimes he would silently imprison her hand and lead her down +the lawn and up the opposite hill to the edge of the early summer +evening woods; and there on the roots of some old tree--the shadows of +the forest behind them and the light of the western sky in their +faces--they would stay until darkness fell, hiding their eyes from +each other. + +The burning horizon became a cathedral interior--the meeting of love's +holiness and the Most High; the crescent dropped a silver veil upon +the low green hills; wild violets were at their feet; the mosses and +turf of the Shield under them. The warmth of his body was as the day's +sunlight stored in the trunk of the tree; his hair was to her like its +tawny bloom, native to the sun. + +Life with him was enchanted madness. + +He had begun. He stretched out his arm and slowly began to write on +the air of the room. Sometimes in earlier years she had sat in his +classroom when he was beginning a lecture; and it was thus, standing +at the blackboard, that he sometimes put down the subject of his +lecture for the students. Slowly now he shaped each letter and as he +finished each word, he read it aloud to her: + +"A STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR JOSEPHINE, WIFE OF FREDERICK" + + + + +IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + +"Josephine!" + +He uttered her name with beautiful reverence, letting the sound of it +float over the Christmas Tree and die away on the garlanded walls of +the room: it was his last tribute to her, a dedication. + +Then he began: + +"Josephine, sometimes while looking out of the study window a spring +morning, I have watched you strolling among the flowers of the lawn. I +have seen you linger near a honeysuckle in full bloom and question the +blossoms in your questioning way--you who are always wishing to probe +the heart of things, to drain out of them the red drop of their +significance. But, gray-eyed querist of actuality, those fragrant +trumpets could blow to your ear no message about their origin. It was +where the filaments of the roots drank deepest from the mould of a +dead past that you would have had to seek the true mouthpieces of +their philosophy. + +"So the instincts which blossom out thickly over the nature of modern +man to themselves are mute. The flower exhibits itself at the tip of +the vine; the instinct develops itself at the farthest outreach of +life; and the point where it clamors for satisfaction is at the +greatest possible distance from its birthplace. For all these +instincts send their roots down through the mould of the uncivilized, +down through the mould of the primitive, down into the mould of the +underhuman--that ancient playhouse dedicated to low tragedies. + +"While this may seem to you to be going far for a commencement of the +story, it is coming near to us. The kind of man and woman we are to +ourselves; the kind of husband and wife we are to each other; the kind +of father and mother we are to our children; the kind of human beings +we are to our fellow beings--the passions which swell as with sap the +buds of those relations until they burst into their final shapes of +conduct are fed from the bottom of the world's mould. You and I +to-night are building the structures of our moral characters upon +life-piles that sink into fathomless ooze. All we human beings dip our +drinking cups into a vast delta sweeping majestically towards the sea +and catch drops trickling from the springs of creation. + +"It is in a vast ancestral country, a Fatherland of Old Desire, that +my story lies for you and for me: drawn from the forest and from human +nature as the two have worked in the destiny of the earth. I have +wrested it from this Tree come out of the ancient woods into the house +on this Night of the Nativity." + +He made the scholar's pause and resumed, falling into the tone of easy +narrative. It had already become evident that this method of telling +the story would be to find what Alpine flowers he could for her amid +Alpine snows. + +He told her then that the oldest traceable influence in the life of +the human race is the sea. It is true that man in some ancestral form +was rocked in the cradle of the deep; he rose from the waves as the +islanded Greeks said of near Venus. Traces of this origin he still +bears both in his body and his emotions; and together they make up his +first set of memories--Sea Memories. + +He deliberated a moment and then put the truth before her in a single +picturesque phrase: + +"Man himself is a closed living sea-shell in the chambers of which the +hues of the first ocean are still fresh and its tempests still are +sounding." + +Next he told her how man's last marine ancestor quit one day the sea +never again to return to the deep, crossed the sands of the beach and +entered the forest; and how upon him, this living sea-shell, soft to +impressions, the Spirit of the Forest fell to work, beginning to shape +it over from sea uses to forest uses. + +A thousand thousand ages the Spirit of the Forest worked at the +sea-shell. + +It remodelled the shell as so much clay; stood it up and twisted and +branched it as young pliant oak; hammered it as forge-glowing iron; +tempered it as steel; cast it as bronze; chiselled it as marble; +painted it as a cloud; strung and tuned it as an instrument; lit it up +as a life tower--the world's one beacon: steadily sending it onward +through one trial form after another until at last had been perfected +for it that angelic shape in which as man it was ever afterwards to +sob and to smile. + +And thus as one day a wandering sea-shell had quit the sea and entered +the forest, now on another day of that infinite time there reappeared +at the edge of the forest the creature it had made. On every wall of +its being internal and external forest-written; and completely +forest-minded: having nothing but forest knowledge, forest feeling, +forest dreams, forest fancies, forest faith; so that in all it could +do or know or feel or dream or imagine or believe it was +forest-tethered. + +At the edge of the forest then this creature uncontrollably impelled +to emerge from the waving green sea of leaves as of old it had been +driven to quit the rolling blue ocean of waters: Man at the dawn of +our history of him. + +And if the first set of race memories--Sea Memories--still endure +within him, how much more powerful are the second set--the Forest +Memories! + +So powerful that since the dawn of history millions have perished as +forest creatures only; so powerful that there are still remnant races +on the globe which have never yet snapped the primitive tether and +will become extinct as mere forest creatures to the last; so powerful +that those highest races which have been longest out in the open--as +our own Aryan race--have never ceased to be reached by the influence +of the woods behind them; by the shadows of those tall morning trees +falling across the mortal clearings toward the sunset. + +These Master Memories, he said, filtering through the sandlike +generations of our race, survive to-day as those pale attenuated +affections which we call in ourselves the Love of Nature; these +affections are inherited: new feelings for nature we have none. The +writers of our day who speak of civilized man's love of nature as a +developing sense err wholly. They are like explorers who should +mistake a boundary for the interior of a continent. Man's knowledge of +nature is modern, but it no more endows him with new feeling than +modern knowledge of anatomy supplies him with a new bone or his latest +knowledge about his blood furnishes him with an additional artery. + +Old are our instincts and passions about Nature: all are Forest +Memories. + +But among the many-twisted mass of them there is one, he said, that +contains the separate buried root of the story: Man's Forest Faith. + +When the Spirit of the Forest had finished with the sea-shell, it had +planted in him--there to grow forever--the root of faith that he was a +forest child. His origin in the sea he had not yet discovered; the +science of ages far distant in the future was to give him that. To +himself forest-tethered he was also forest-born: he believed it to be +his immediate ancestor, the creative father of mankind. Thus the +Greeks in their oldest faith were tethered to the idea that they were +descended from the plane tree; in the Sagas and Eddas the human race +is tethered to the world-ash. Among every people of antiquity this +forest faith sprang up and flourished: every race was tethered to some +ancestral tree. In the Orient each succeeding Buddha of Indian +mythology was tethered to a different tree; each god of the later +classical Pantheon was similarly tethered: Jupiter to the oak, Apollo +to the laurel, Bacchus to the vine, Minerva to the olive, Juno to the +apple, on and on. Forest worship was universal--the most impressive +and bewildering to modern science that the human spirit has ever built +up. At the dawn of history began The Adoration of the Trees. + +Then as man, the wanderer, walked away from his dawn across the ages +toward the sunset bearing within him this root of faith, it grew with +his growth. The successive growths were cut down by the successive +scythes of time; but always new sprouts were put forth. + +Thus to man during the earliest ages the divine dwelt as a bodily +presence within the forest; but one final day the forest lost the +Immortal as its indwelling creator. + +Next the old forest worshipper peopled the trees with an intermediate +race of sylvan deities less than divine, more than human; and long he +beguiled himself with the exquisite reign and proximity of these; but +the lesser could not maintain themselves in temples from which the +greater had already been expelled, and they too passed out of sight +down the roadway of the world. + +Still the old forest faith would not let the wanderer rest; and during +yet later ages he sent into the trees his own nature so that the woods +became freshly endeared to him by many a story of how individuals of +his own race had succeeded as tenants to the erstwhile habitations of +the gods. Then this last panorama of illusion faded also, and +civilized man stood face to face with the modern woods--inhabitated +only by its sap and cells. The trees had drawn their bark close around +them, wearing an inviolate tapestry across those portals through which +so many a stranger to them had passed in and passed out; and +henceforth the dubious oracle of the forest--its one reply to all +man's questionings--became the Voice of its own Mystery. + +After this the forest worshipper could worship the woods no more. But +we must not forget that civilization as compared with the duration of +human life on the planet began but yesterday: even our own +Indo-European race dwells as it were on the forest edge. And the +forest still reaches out and twines itself around our deepest +spiritual truths: home--birth--love--prayer--death: it tries to +overrun them all, to reclaim them. Thus when we build our houses, +instinctively we attempt by some clump of trees to hide them and to +shelter ourselves once more inside the forest; in some countries +whenever a child is born, a tree is planted as its guardian in nature; +in our marriage customs the forest still riots as master of ceremonies +with garlands and fruits; our prayers strike against the forest shaped +hi cathedral stone--memory of the grove, God's first temple; and when +we die, it is the tree that is planted beside us as the sentinel of +our rest. Even to this day the sight of a treeless grave arouses some +obscure instinct in us that it is God-forsaken. + +Yes, he said, whatsoever modern temple man has anywhere reared for his +spirit, over the walls of it have been found growing the same leaf and +tendril: he has introduced the tree into the ritual of every later +world-worship; and thus he has introduced the evergreen into the +ritual of Christianity. + +This then is the meaning of the Christmas Tree and of its presence at +the Nativity. At the dawn of history we behold man worshipping the +tree as the Creator literally present on the earth; in our time we see +him using that tree in the worship of the creative Father's Son come +to earth in the Father's stead. + +"On this evergreen in the room falls the radiance of these brief +tapers of the night; but on it rests also the long light of that +spiritual dawn when man began his Adoration of the Trees. It is the +forest taking its place once more beside the long-lost Immortal." + +Here he finished the first part of his story. That he should address +her thus and that she thus should listen had in it nothing unusual for +them. For years it had been his wont to traverse with her the ground +of his lectures, and she shared his thought before it reached +others. It was their high and equal comradeship. Wherever his mind +could go hers went--a brilliant torch, a warming sympathy. + +But to-night his words had fallen on her as withered leaves on a +motionless figure of stone. If he was sensible of this change in her, +he gave no sign. And after a moment he passed to the remaining part of +the story. + +"Thus far I have been speaking to you of the bare tree in wild nature: +here it is loaded with decorations; and now I want to show you that +they too are Forest Memories--that since the evergreen moved over into +the service of Christianity, one by one like a flock of birds these +Forest Memories have followed it and have alighted amid its +branches. Everything here has its story. I am going to tell you in +each case what that story is; I am going to interpret everything on +the Christmas Tree and the other Christmas decorations in the room." + +It was at this point that her keen attention became fixed on him and +never afterwards wavered. If everything had its story, the mistletoe +would have its; he must interpret that: and thus he himself +unexpectedly had brought about the situation she wished. She would +meet him at that symbolic bough: there be rendered the Judgment of the +Years! And now as one sits down at some point of a road where a +traveller must arrive, she waited for him there. + +He turned to the Tree and explained briefly that as soon as the forest +worshipper began the worship of the tree, he began to bring to it his +offerings and to hang these on the boughs; for religion consists in +offering something: to worship is to give. In after ages when man had +learned to build shrines and temples, he still kept up his primitive +custom of bringing to the altar his gifts and sacrifices; but during +that immeasurable time before he had learned to carve wood or to set +one stone on another, he was bringing his offerings to the grove--the +only cathedral he had. And this to him was not decoration; it was +prayer. So that in our age of the world when we playfully decorate the +Christmas Tree it is a survival of grave rites in the worship of +primitive man and is as ancient as forest worship itself. + +And now he began. + +With the pointer in his hand he touched the star at the apex of the +fir. This, he said, was commonly understood to represent the Star of +Bethlehem which guided the wise men of the East to the manger on the +Night of the Nativity--the Star of the New Born. But modern +discoveries show that the records of ancient Chaldea go back four or +five thousand years before the Christian era; and as far back as they +have been traced, we find the wise men of the East worshipping this +same star and being guided by it in their spiritual wanderings as they +searched for the incarnation of the Divine. They worshipped it as the +star of peace and goodness and purity. Many a pious Wolfram in those +dim centuries no doubt sang his evening hymn to the same star, for +love of some Chaldean Elizabeth--both he and she blown about the +desert how many centuries now as dust. Moreover on these records the +star and the Tree are brought together as here side by side. And the +story of the star leads backward to one of the first things that man +ever worshipped as he looked beyond the forest: the light of the +heavens floating in the depth of space--light that he wanted but could +not grasp. + +He touched the next object on the Tree--the candle under the star--and +went on: + +Imagine, he said, the forest worshipper as at the end of ages having +caught this light--having brought it down in the language of his myth +from heaven to earth: that is, imagine the star in space as having +become a star in his hand--the candle: the star worshipper had now +become also the fire worshipper. Thus the candle leads us back to the +fire worshippers of ancient Persia--those highlands of the spirit +seeking light. We think of the Christmas candle on the Tree as merely +borrowed from the candle of the altar for the purpose of illumination; +but the use of it goes back to a time when the forest worshipper, now +also the fire worshipper, hung his lights on the trees, having no +other altar. Far down toward modern times the temples of the old +Prussians, for example, were oak groves, and among them a hierarchy of +priests was ordained to keep the sacred fire perpetually burning at +the root of the sacred oak. + +He touched the third object on the tree--the cross under the +candle--and went on: + +"To the Christian believer the cross signifies one supreme event: +Calvary and the tragedy of the Crucifixion. It was what the Marys saw +and the apostles that morning in Gethsemane. But no one in that age +thought of the cross as a Christian symbol. John and Peter and Paul +and the rest went down into their graves without so regarding it. The +Magdalene never clung to it with life-tired arms, nor poured out at +the foot of it the benizon of her tears. Not until the third century +after Christ did the Bishops assembled at Nice announce it a Christian +symbol. But it was a sacred emblem in the dateless antiquity of +Egypt. To primitive man it stood for that sacred light and fire of +life which was himself. For he himself is a cross--the first cross he +has ever known. The faithful may truly think of the Son of Man as +crucified as the image of humanity. And thus ages before Christ, +cross worship and forest worship were brought together: for instance, +among the Druids who hunted for an oak, two boughs of which made with +the trunk of the tree the figure of the cross; and on these three they +cut the names of three of their gods and this was holy-cross wood." + +He moved the pointer down until he touched the fourth object on the +tree--the dove under the cross, and went on: + +"In the mind of the Christian believer this represents the white dove +of the New Testament which descended on the Son of Man when the +heavens were opened. So in Parsifal the white dove descends, +overshadowing the Grail. But ages before Christ the prolific white +dove of Syria was worshipped throughout the Orient as the symbol of +reproductive Nature: and to this day the Almighty is there believed to +manifest himself under this form. In ancient Mesopotamia the divine +mother of nature is often represented with this dove as having +actually alighted on her shoulder or in her open hand. And here again +forest worship early became associated with the worship of the dove; +for, sixteen hundred years before Christ, we find the dove nurtured in +the oak grove at Dodona where its presence was an augury and its wings +an omen." + +On he went, touching one thing after another, tracing the story of +each backward till it was lost in antiquity and showing how each was +entwined with forest worship. + +He touched the musical instruments; the bell, the drum. The bell, he +said, was used in Greece by the Priests of Bacchus in the worship of +the vine. And vine worship was forest worship. Moreover, in the same +oak grove at Dodona bells were tied to the oak boughs and their +tinklings also were sacred auguries. The drum, which the modern boy +beats on Christmas Day, was beaten ages before Christ in the worship +of Confucius: the story of it dies away toward what was man's first +written music in forgotten China. In the first century of the +Christian era, on one of the most splendid of the old Buddhist +sculptures, boys are represented as beating the drum in the worship of +the sacred tree--once more showing how music passed into the service +of forest faith. + +He touched the cornucopia; and he traced its story back to the ram's +horn--the primitive cup of libation, used for a drinking cup and used +also to pour out the last product of the vine in honor of the vine +itself--the forest's first goblet. + +He touched the fruits and the flowers on the Tree: these were oldest +of all, perhaps, he said; for before the forest worshipper had learned +to shape or fabricate any offerings of his own skill, he could at +least bring to the divine tree and hang on it the flower of spring, +the wild fruit of autumn. + +He kept on until only three things on the Tree were left +uninterpreted; the tinsel, the masks, and the dolls. He told her that +he had left these to the last for a reason: seemingly they were the +most trivial but really the most grave; for by means of them most +clearly could be traced the presence of great law running through the +progress of humanity. + +He drew her attention to the tinsel that covered the tree, draping it +like a yellow moss. It was of no value, he said, but in the course of +ages it had taken the place of the offering of actual gold in forest +worship: a once universal custom of adorning the tree with everything +most precious to the giver in token of his sacrifice and +self-sacrifice. Even in Jeremiah is an account of the lading of the +sacred tree with gold and ornaments. Herodotus relates that when +Xerxes was invading Lydia, on the march he saw a divine tree and had +it honored with golden robes and gifts. Livy narrates that when +Romulus slew his enemy on the site of the Eternal City, he hung rich +spoils on the oak of the Capitoline Hill. And this custom of +decorating the tree with actual gold goes back in history until we can +meet it coming down to us in the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece +and in that of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Now the custom +has dwindled to this tinsel flung over the Christmas Tree--the mock +sacrifice for the real. + +He touched the masks and unfolded the grim story that lay behind their +mockery. It led back to the common custom in antiquity of sacrificing +prisoners of war or condemned criminals or innocent victims in forest +worship and of hanging their heads on the branches: we know this to +have been the practice among Gallic and Teuton tribes. In the course +of time, when such barbarity could be tolerated no longer, the mock +countenance replaced the real. + +He touched the dolls and revealed their sad story. Like the others, +its long path led to antiquity and to the custom of sacrificing +children in forest worship. How common this custom was the early +literature of the human race too abundantly testifies. We encounter +the trace of it in Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac--arrested by the +command of Jehovah. But Abraham would never have thought of slaying +his son to propitiate his God, had not the custom been well +established. In the case of Jephthah's daughter the sacrifice was +actually allowed. We come upon the same custom in the fate of +Iphigenia--at a critical turning point in the world's mercy; in her +stead the life of a lesser animal, as in Isaac's case, was +accepted. When the protective charity of mankind turned against the +inhumanity of the old faiths, then the substitution of the mock for +the real sacrifice became complete. And now on the boughs of the +Christmas Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites +only these playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the +innocent. + +He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the +little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and +ever converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest +worship and they met in some sacrifice by the human heart. + +And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night: + +"Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree +is all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could +not worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore +he brought his gifts to the forest--his first altar. These gifts, +remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his +sacrifices and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since, +the same law lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the +better to the worse; in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to +the best. If the race should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it +would still have to worship what is highest in human nature and so +worshipping, it would still be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice +become the law of self-sacrifice: it would still be necessary to offer +up what is low in us to what is higher. Only one portion of mankind +has ever believed in Jerusalem; but every religion has known its own +Calvary." + +He turned away from the Tree toward her and awaited her +appreciation. She had sat watching him without a movement and without +a word. But when at last she asked him a question, she spoke as a +listener who wakens from a long revery. + +"Have you finished the story for me?" she inquired. + +"I have finished the story for you," he replied without betraying +disappointment at her icy reception of it. + +Keeping her posture, she raised one of her white arms above her head, +turning her face up also until the swanlike curve of the white throat +showed; and with quivering finger tips she touched some sprays of +mistletoe pendent from the garland on the wall: + +"You have not interpreted this," she said, her mind fixed on that sole +omission. + +"I have not explained that," he admitted. + +She sat up, and for the first time looked with intense interest toward +the manuscript on the table across the room. + +"Have you explained it there?" + +"I have not explained it there." + +"But why?" she said with disappointment. + +"I did not wish you to read that story, Josephine." + +"But why, Frederick?" she inquired, startled into wonderment. + +He smiled: "If I told you why, I might as well tell you the story." + +"But why do you not wish to tell me the story?" + +He answered with warning frankness: "If you once saw it as a picture, +the picture would be coming back to you at times the rest of your life +darkly." + +She protested: "If it is dark to you, why should I not share the +darkness of it? Have we not always looked at life's shadows together? +And thus seeing life, have not bright things been doubly bright to us +and dark things but half as dark?" + +He merely repeated his warning: "It is a story of a crueler age than +ours. It goes back to the forest worship of the Druids." + +She answered: "So long as our own age is cruel, what room is left to +take seriously the mere stories of crueler ones? Am I to shrink from +the forest worship of the Druids? Is there any story of theirs not +printed in books? Are not the books in libraries? Are they not put in +libraries to be read? If others read them, may not I? And since when +must I begin to dread anything in books? Or anything in life? And +since when did we begin to look at life apart, we who have always +looked at it with four eyes?" + +"I have always told you there are things to see with four eyes, things +to see with two, and things to see with none." + +With sudden intensity her white arm went up again and touched the +mistletoe. + +"Tell me the story of this!" she pleaded as though she demanded a +right. As she spoke, her thumb and forefinger meeting on a spray, they +closed and went through it like a pair of shears; and a bunch of the +white pearls of the forest dropped on the ridge of her shoulder and +were broken apart and rolled across her breast into her lap. + +He looked grave; silence or speech--which were better for her? Either, +he now saw, would give her pain. + +"Happily the story is far away from us," he said, as though he were +half inclined to grant her request. + +"If it is far away, bring it near! Bring it into the room as you +brought the stories of the star and the candle and the cross and the +dove and the others! Make it live before my eyes! Enact it before me! +Steep me in it as you have steeped yourself!" + +He held back a long time: "You who are so safe in good, why know +evil?" + +"Frederick," she cried, "I shall have to insist upon your telling me +this story. And if you should keep any part of it back, I would know. +Then tell it all: if it is dark, let each shadow have its shade; give +each heavy part its heaviness; let cruelty be cruelty--and truth be +truth!" + +He stood gazing across the centuries, and when he began, there was a +change in him; something personal was beginning to intrude itself into +the narrative of the historian: + +"Imagine the world of our human nature in the last centuries before +Palestine became Holy Land. Athens stood with her marbles glistening +by the blue gean, and Greek girls with fillets and sandals--the +living images of those pale sculptured shapes that are the mournful +eternity of Art--Greek girls were being chosen for the secret rites in +the temple at Ephesus. The sun of Italy had not yet browned the little +children who were to become the brown fathers and mothers of the brown +soldiers of Csar's legions; and twenty miles south of Rome, in the +sacred grove of Dodona,--where the motions of oak boughs were +auguries, and the flappings of the wings of white doves were divine +messages, and the tinkling of bells in the foliage had divine +meanings,--in this grove the virgins of Latium, as the Greek girls of +Ephesus, were once a year appointed to undergo similar rites. To the +south Pompeii, with its night laughter and song sounding far out +toward the softly lapping Mediterranean and up the slopes of its dread +volcano, drained its goblet and did not care, emptied it as often as +filled and asked for nothing more. A little distance off Herculaneum, +with its tender dreams of Greece but with its arms around the +breathing image of Italy, slept--uncovered. + +"Beyond Italy to the north, on the other side of the eternal snowcaps, +lay unknown Gaul, not yet dreaming of the Csar who was to conquer +it; and across the wild sea opposite Gaul lay the wooded isle of +Britain. All over that island one forest; in that forest one worship; +in that worship one tree--the oak of England; and on that oak one +bough--the mistletoe." + +He spoke to her awhile about the oak, describing the place it had in +the early civilizations of the human race. In the Old Testament it was +the tree of the Hebrew idols and of Jehovah. In Greece it was the +tree of Zeus, the most august and the most human of the gods. In Italy +it was the tree of Jove, great father of immortals and of +mankind. After the gods passed, it became the tree of the imperial +Csars. After the Csars had passed, it was the oak that Michael +Angelo in the Middle Ages scattered over the ceiling of the Sistine +Chapel near the creation of man and his expulsion from Paradise--there +as always the chosen tree of human desire. In Britain it was the +sacred tree of Druidism: there the Arch Druid and his fellow-priests +performed none of their rites without using its leaves and branches: +never anywhere in the world was the oak worshipped with such +ceremonies and sacrifices as there. + +Imagine then a scene--the chief Nature Festival of that forest +worship: the New Year's day of the Druids. + +A vast concourse of people, men and women and children, are on their +way to the forest; they are moving toward an oak tree that has been +found with mistletoe growing on it--growing there so seldom. As the +excited throng come in sight of it, they hail it with loud cries of +reverence and delight. Under it they gather; there a banquet is +spread. In the midst of the assemblage one figure towers--the Arch +Druid. Every eye is fixed fearfully on him, for on whomsoever his own +eye may fall with wrath, he may be doomed to become one of the victims +annually sacrificed to the oak. + +A gold chain is around his neck; gold bands are around his arms. He is +clad in robes of spotless white. He ascends the tree to a low bough, +and making a hollow in the folds of his robes, he crops with a golden +pruning hook the mistletoe and so catches it as it falls. Then it is +blessed and scattered among the throng, and the priest prays that each +one so receiving it may receive also the divine favor and blessing of +which it is Nature's emblem. Two white bulls, the horns of which have +never hitherto been touched, are now adorned with fillets and are +slaughtered in sacrifice. + +Then at last it is over, the people are gone, the forest is left to +itself, and the New Year's ceremony of cutting the mistletoe from the +oak is at an end. + +Here he ended the story. + +She had sat leaning far forward, her fingers interlocked and her brows +knitted. When he stopped, she sat up and studied him a moment in +bewilderment: + +"But why did you call that a dark story?" she asked. "Where is the +cruelty? It is beautiful, and I shall never forget it and it will +never throw a dark image on my mind: New Year's day--the winter +woods--the journeying throng--the oak--the bough--the banquet +beneath--the white bulls with fillets on their horns--the white-robed +priest--the golden sickle in his hand--the stroke that severs the +mistletoe--the prayer that each soul receiving any smallest piece will +be blessed in life's sorrows! If I were a great painter, I should like +to paint that scene. In the centre should be some young girl, +pressing to her heart what she believed to be heaven's covenant with +her under the guise of a blossom. How could you have wished to +withhold such a story from me?" + +He smiled at her a little sadly. + +"I have not yet told you all," he said, "but I have told you enough." + +Instantly she bent far over toward him with intuitive scrutiny. Under +her breath one word escaped: + +"Ah!" + +It was the breath of a discovery--a discovery of something unknown to +her. + +"I am sparing you, Josephine!" + +She stretched each arm along the back of the sofa and pinioned the +wood in her clutch. + +"Are you sparing me?" she asked in a tone of torture. "Or are you +sparing yourself?" + +The heavy staff on which he stood leaning dropped from his relaxed +grasp to the floor. He looked down at it a moment and then calmly +picked it up. + +"I am going to tell you the story," he said with a new quietness. + +She was aroused by some change in him. + +"I will not listen! I do not wish to hear it!" + +"You will have to listen," he said. "It is better for you to +know. Better for any human being to know any truth than suffer the +bane of wrong thinking. When you are free to judge, it will be +impossible for you to misjudge." + +"I have not misjudged you! I have not judged you! In some way that I +do not understand you are judging yourself!" + +He stepped back a pace--farther away from her--and he drew himself +up. In the movement there was instinctive resentment. And the right +not to be pried into--not even by the nearest. + +The step which had removed him farther from her had brought him nearer +to the Christmas Tree at his back. A long, three-fingered bough being +thus pressed against was forced upward and reappeared on one of his +shoulders. The movement seemed human: it was like the conscious hand +of the tree. The fir, standing there decked out in the artificial +tawdriness of a double-dealing race, laid its wild sincere touch on +him--as sincere as the touch of dying human fingers--and let its +passing youth flow into him. It attracted his attention, and he turned +his head toward it as with recognition. Other boughs near the floor +likewise thrust themselves forward, hiding his feet so that he stood +ankle-deep in forestry. + +This reunion did not escape her. Her overwrought imagination made of +it a sinister omen: the bough on his shoulder rested there as the old +forest claim; the boughs about his feet were the ancestral forest +tether. As he had stepped backward from her, Nature had asserted the +earlier right to him. In strange sickness and desolation of heart she +waited. + +He stood facing her but looking past her at centuries long gone; the +first sound of his voice registered upon her ear some message of doom: + +"Listen, Josephine!" + +She buried her face in her hands. + +"I cannot! I will not!" + +"You will have to listen. You know that for some years, apart from my +other work, I have been gathering together the woodland customs of our +people and trying to trace them back to their origin and first +meaning. In our age of the world we come upon many playful forest +survivals of what were once grave things. Often in our play and +pastimes and lingering superstitions about the forest we cross faint +traces of what were once vital realities. + +"Among these there has always been one that until recently I have +never understood. Among country people oftenest, but heard of +everywhere, is the saying that if a girl is caught standing under the +mistletoe, she may be kissed by the man who thus finds her. I have +always thought that this ceremony and playful sacrifice led back to +some ancient rite--I could not discover what. Now I know." + +In a voice full of a new delicacy and scarcely audible, he told her. + +It is another scene in the forest of Britain. This time it is not the +first day of the year--the New Year's day of the Druids when they +celebrated the national festival of the oak. But it is early summer, +perhaps the middle of May--May in England--with the young beauty of +the woods. It is some hushed evening at twilight. The new moon is +just silvering the tender leaves and creating a faint shadow under the +trees. The hawthorn is in bloom--red and white--and not far from the +spot, hidden in some fragrant tuft of this, a nightingale is singing, +singing, singing. + +Lifting itself above the smaller growths stands the young manhood of +the woods--a splendid oak past its thirtieth year, representing its +youth and its prime conjoined. In its trunk is the summer heat of the +all-day sun. Around its roots is velvet turf, and there are wild +violet beds. Its huge arms are stretched toward the ground as though +reaching for some object they would clasp; and on one of these arms as +its badge of divine authority, worn there as a knight might wear the +colors of his Sovereign, grows the mistletoe. There he stands--the +Forest Lover. + +The woods wait, the shadows deepen, the hush is more intense, the +moon's rays begin to be golden, the song of the nightingale grows more +passionate, the beds of moss and violets wait. + +Then the shrubbery is tremblingly parted at some place and upon the +scene a young girl enters--her hair hanging down--her limbs most +lightly clad--the flush of red hawthorn on the white hawthorn of her +skin--in her eyes love's great need and mystery. Step by step she +comes forward, her fingers trailing against whatsoever budding wayside +thing may stay her strength. She draws nearer to the oak, searching +amid its boughs for that emblem which she so dreads to find and yet +more dreads not to find: the emblem of a woman's fruitfulness which +the young oak--the Forest Lover--reaches down toward her. Finding it, +beneath it with one deep breath of surrender she takes her place--the +virgin's tryst with the tree--there to be tested. + +Such is the command of the Arch Druid: it is obedience--submission to +that test--or death for her as a sacrifice to the oak which she has +rejected. + +Again the shrubbery is parted, rudely pushed aside, and a man +enters--a tried and seasoned man--a human oak--counterpart of the +Forest Lover--to officiate at the test. + + * * * * * + +He was standing there in the parlor of his house and in the presence +of his wife. But in fealty he was gone: he was in the summer woods of +ancestral wandering, the fatherland of Old Desire. + +_He_ was the man treading down the shrubbery; it was _his_ +feet that started toward the oak; _his_ eye that searched for the +figure half fainting under the bough; for _him_ the bed of moss +and violets--the hair falling over the eyes--the loosened girdle--the +breasts of hawthorn white and pink--the listening song of the +nightingale--the silence of the summer woods--the seclusion--the full +surrender of the two under that bough of the divine command, to escape +the penalty of their own death. + +The blaze of uncontrollable desire was all over him; the fire of his +own story had treacherously licked him like a wind-bent flame. The +light that she had not seen in his eyes for so long rose in them--the +old, unfathomable, infolding tenderness. A quiver ran around his tense +nostrils. + +And now one little phrase which he had uttered so sacredly years +before and had long since forgotten rose a second time to his +lips--tossed there by a second tide of feeling. On the silence of the +room fell his words: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + +The storm that had broken over him died away. He shut his eyes on the +vanishing scene: he opened them upon her. + +He had told her the truth about the story; he may have been aware or +he may not have been aware that he had revealed to her the truth about +himself. + +"This is what I would have kept from you, Josephine," he said quietly. + +She was sitting there before him--the mother of his children, of the +sleeping ones, of the buried ones--the butterfly broken on the wheel +of years: lustreless and useless now in its summer. + +She sat there with the whiteness of death. + + + + +V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + +The Christmas candles looked at her flickeringly; the little white +candles of purity, the little red candles of love. The holly in the +room concealed its bold gay berries behind its thorns, and the cedar +from the faithful tree beside the house wall had need now of its +bitter rosary. + +Her first act was to pay what is the first debt of a fine spirit--the +debt of courtesy and gratitude. + +"It is a wonderful story, Frederick," she said in a manner which +showed him that she referred to the beginning of his story and not to +the end. + +"As usual you have gone your own way about it, opening your own path +into the unknown, seeing what no one else has seen, and bringing back +what no one else ever brought. It is a great revelation of things that +I never dreamed of and could never have imagined. I appreciate your +having done this for me; it has taken time and work, but it is too +much for me to-night. It is too new and too vast. I must hereafter try +to understand it. And there will be leisure enough. Nor can it lose by +waiting. But now there is something that cannot wait, and I wish to +speak to you about that; Frederick, I am going to ask you some +questions about the last part of the story. I have been wanting to ask +you a long time: the story gives me the chance and--the right." + +He advanced a step toward her, disengaging himself from the evergreen. + +"I will answer them," he said. "If they can be answered." + +And thus she sat and thus he stood as the questions and answers passed +to and fro. They were solemn questions and solemn replies, drawn out +of the deeps of life and sinking back into them. + +"Frederick," she said, "for many years we have been happy together, so +happy! Every tragedy of nature has stood at a distance from us except +the loss of our children. We have lived on a sunny pinnacle of our +years, lifted above life's storms. But of course I have realized that +sooner or later our lot must become the common one: if we did not go +down to Sorrow, Sorrow would climb to us; and I knew that on the +heights it dwells best. That is why I wish to say to you to-night what +I shall: I think fate's hour has struck for me; I am ready to hear +it. Its arrow has already left the bow and is on its way; I open my +heart to receive it. This is as I have always wished; I have said that +if life had any greatest tragedy, for me, I hoped it would come when I +was happiest; thus I should confront it all. I have never drunk half +of my cup of happiness, as you know, and let the other half waste; I +must go equally to the depth of any suffering. Worse than the +suffering, I think, would be the feeling that I had shirked some of +it, had stepped aside, or shut my eyes, or in any manner shown myself +a cowardly soul." + +After a pause she went over this subject as though she were not +satisfied that she had made it clear. + +"I have always said that the real pathos of things is the grief that +comes to us in life when life is at its best--when no one is to +blame--when no one has committed a fault--when suffering is meted out +to us as the reward of our perfect obedience to the laws of nature. In +earlier years when we used to read Keats together, who most of all of +the world's poets felt the things that pass, even then I was wondering +at the way in which he brings this out: that to understand Sorrow it +must be separated from sorrows: they would be like shadows darkening +the bright disk of life's clear tragedy, thus rendering it less +bravely seen. + +"And so he is always telling us not to summon sad pictures nor play +with mournful emblems; not to feign ourselves as standing on the banks +of Lethe, gloomiest of rivers; nor to gather wolf's bane and twist the +poison out of its tight roots; nor set before us the cup of hemlock; +nor bind about our temples the ruby grape of nightshade; nor count +over the berries of the yew tree which guards sad places; nor think of +the beetle ticking in the bed post, nor watch the wings of the death +moth, nor listen to the elegy of the owl--the voice of ruins. Not +these! they are the emblems of our sorrows. But the emblems of Sorrow +are beautiful things at their perfect moment; a red peony just +opening, a rainbow seen for an instant on the white foam, youth not +yet faded but already fading, joy with its finger on his lips, bidding +adieu. + +"And so with all my happiness about me, I wish to know life's +tragedy. And to know it, Frederick, not to infer it: _I want to be +told_." + +"If you can be told, you shall be told," he said. + +She changed her position as though seeking physical relief and +composure. Then she began: + +"Years ago when you were a student in Germany, you had a college +friend. You went home with him two or three years at Christmas and +celebrated the German Christmas. It was in this way that we came to +have the Christmas Tree in our house--through memory of him and of +those years. You have often described to me how you and he in summer +went Alpine climbing, and far up in some green valley girdled with +glaciers lay of afternoons under some fir tree, reading and drowsing +in the crystalline air. You told me of your nights of wandering down +the Rhine together when the heart turns so intimately to the heart +beside it. He was German youth and song and dream and happiness to +you. Tell me this: before you lost him that last summer over the +crevasse, had you begun to tire of him? Was there anything in you that +began to draw back from anything in him? As you now look back at the +friendship of your youth, have the years lessened your regret for +him?" + +He answered out of the ideals of his youth: + +"The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. I never tired of being +with him. Nothing in me ever drew back from anything in him. When he +was lost, the whole world lost some of its strength and +nobility. After all the years, if he could come back, he would find me +unchanged--that friend of my youth!" + +With a peculiar change of voice she asked next: + +"The doctor, Herbert and Elsie's father, our nearest neighbor, your +closest friend now in middle life. You see a great deal of the doctor; +he is often here, and you and he often sit up late at night, talking +with one another about many things: do you ever tire of the doctor and +wish him away? Have you any feeling toward him that you try to keep +secret from me? Can you be a perfectly frank man with this friend of +your middle life?" + +"The longer I know him the more I like him, honor him, trust him. I +never tire of his companionship or his conversation; I have no +disguises with him and need none." + +"The children! As the children grow older do you care less for them? +Do they begin to wear on you? Are they a clog, an interference? Have +Harold and Elizabeth ceased forming new growths of affection in you? +Do you ever unconsciously seek pretexts for avoiding them?" + +"The older they grow, the more I love them. The more they interest me +and tempt away from work and duties. I am more drawn to be with them +and I live more and more in the thought of what they are becoming." + +"Your work! Does your work attract you less than formerly? Does it +develop in you the purpose to be something more or stifle in you the +regret to be something less? Is it a snare to idleness or a goad to +toil?" + +"As the mariner steers for the lighthouse, as the hound runs down the +stag, as the soldier wakes to the bugle, as the miner digs for +fortune, as the drunkard drains the cup, as the saint watches the +cross, I follow my work, I follow my work." + +"Life, life itself, does it increase in value or lessen? Is the world +still morning to you with your work ahead or afternoon when you begin +to tire and to think of rest?" + +"The world to me is as early morning to a man going forth to his +work. Where the human race is from and whither it is hurrying and why +it exists at all; why a human being loves what it loves and hates what +it hates; why it is faithful when it could be unfaithful and faithless +when it should be true; how civilized man can fight single handed +against the ages that were his lower past--how he can develop +self-renunciation out of selfishness and his own wisdom out of +surrounding folly,--all these are questions that mean more and +more. My work is but beginning and the world is morning." + +"This house! Are you tired of it now that it is older? Would you +rather move into a new one?" + +"I love this house more and more. No other dwelling could take its +place. Any other could be but a shelter; this is home. And I care more +for it now that the signs of age begin to settle on it. If it were a +ruin, I should love it best!" + +She leaned over and looked down at the two setters lying at her feet. + +"Do you care less for the dogs of the house as they grow older?" + +"I think more of them and take better care of them now that their +hunting days are over." + +"The friend of your youth--the friend of your middle age--the +children--your profession--the world of human life--this house--the +dogs of the house--you care more for them all as time passes?" + +"I care more for them all as time passes." + +Then there came a great stillness in the room--the stillness of all +listening years. + +"Am I the only thing that you care less for as time passes?" + +There was no reply. + +"Am I in the way?" + +There was no reply. + +"Would you like to go over it all again with another?" + +There was no reply. + +She had hidden her face in her hands and pressed her head against the +end of the sofa. Her whole figure shrank lower, as though to escape +being touched by him--to escape the blow of his words. No words +came. There was no touch. + +A moment later she felt that he must be standing over her, looking +down at her. She would respond to his hand on the back of her neck. +He must be kneeling beside her; his arms would infold her. Then with a +kind of incredible terror she realized that he was not there. At first +she could so little believe it, that with her face still buried in one +hand she searched the air for him with the other, expecting to touch +him. + +Then she cried out to him: + +"Isn't there anything you can say to me?" + +Silence lasted. + +"_Oh, Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred_!" + +In the stillness she began to hear something--the sound of his +footsteps moving on the carpet. She sat up. + +The room was getting darker; he was putting out the candles. It was +too dark already to see his face. With fascination she began to watch +his hand. How steady it was as it moved among the boughs, +extinguishing the lights. Out they went one by one and back into their +darkness returned the emblems of darker ages--the Forest Memories. + +A solitary taper was left burning at the pinnacle of the Tree under +the cross: that highest torch of love shining on everything that had +disappeared. + +He quietly put it out. + +Yet the light seemed not put out, but instantly to have travelled +through the open parlor door into the adjoining room, her bedroom; for +out of that there now streamed a suffused red light; it came from the +lamp near the great bed in the shadowy corner. + +This lamp poured its light through a lampshade having the semblance of +a bursting crimson peony as some morning in June the flower with the +weight of its own splendor falls face downward on the grass. And in +that room this soft lamp-light fell here and there on crimson winter +draperies. He had been living alone as a bachelor before he married +her. After they became engaged he, having watched for some favorite +color of hers, had had this room redecorated in that shade. Every +winter since she had renewed in this way or that way these hangings, +and now the bridal draperies remained unchanged--after the changing +years. + +He replaced the taper against the wall and came over and stood before +her, holding out his hands to help her rise. + +She arose without his aid and passed around him, moving toward her +bedroom. With arms outstretched guarding her but not touching her, he +followed close, for she was unsteady. She entered her bedroom and +crossed to the door of his bedroom; she pushed this open, and keeping +her face bent aside waited for him to go in. He went in and she closed +the door on him and turned the key. Then with a low note, with which +the soul tears out of itself something that has been its life, she +made a circlet of her white arms against the door and laid her profile +within this circlet and stood--the figure of Memory. + +Thus sometimes a stranger sees a marble figure standing outside a tomb +where some story of love and youth ended: some stranger in a far +land,--walking some afternoon in those quieter grounds where all human +stories end; an autumn bird in the bare branches fluting of its +mortality and his heart singing with the bird of one lost to him--lost +to him in his own country. + +On the other side of the door the silence was that of a tomb. She had +felt confident--so far as she had expected anything--that he would +speak to her through the door, try to open it, plead with her to open +it. Nothing of the kind occurred. + +Why did he not come back? What bolt could have separated her from him? + +The silence began to weigh upon her. + +Then in the tense stillness she heard him moving quietly about, +getting ready for bed. There were the same movements, familiar to her +for years. She would not open the door, she could not leave it, she +could not stand, no support was near, and she sank to the floor and +sat there, leaning her brow against the lintel. + +On the other side the quiet preparations went on. + +She heard him take off his coat and vest and hang them on the back of +a chair. The buttons made a little scraping sound against the wood. +Then he went to his dresser and took off his collar and tie, and he +opened a drawer and laid out a night-shirt. She heard the creaking of +a chair under him as he threw one foot and then the other up across +his knee and took off his shoes and socks. Then there reached her the +soft movements of his bare feet on the carpet (despite her agony the +old impulse started in her to caution him about his slippers). Then +followed the brushing of his teeth and the deliberate bathing of his +hands. Then was audible the puff of breath with which he blew out his +lamp after he had turned it low; and then,--on the other side of the +door,--just above her ear his knock sounded. + +The same knock waited for and responded to throughout the years; so +often with his little variations of playfulness. Many a time in early +summer when out-of-doors she would be reminded of it by hearing some +bird sounding its love signal on a piece of dry wood--that tap of +heart-beat. Now it crashed close to her ear. + +Such strength came back to her that she rose as lightly as though her +flesh were but will and spirit. When he knocked again, she was across +the room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her palms pressed +together and thrust between her knees: the instinctive act of a human +animal suddenly chilled to the bone. + +The knocking sounded again. + +"Was there anything you needed?" she asked fearfully. + +There was no response but another knock. + +She hurriedly raised her voice to make sure that it would reach him. + +"Was there anything you wanted?" + +As no response came, the protective maternal instinct took greater +alarm, and she crossed to the door of his room and she repeated her +one question: + +"Did you forget anything?" + +Her mind refused to release itself from the iteration of that idea: it +was some _thing_--not herself--that he wanted. + +He knocked. + +Her imagination, long oppressed by his silence, now made of his knock +some signal of distress. It took on the authority of an appeal not to +be denied. She unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and once +more she asked her one poor question. + +His answer to it came in the form of a gentle pressure against the +door, breaking down her resistance. As she applied more strength, this +was as gently overcome; and when the opening was sufficient, he walked +past her into the room. + +How hushed the house! How still the world outside as the cloud wove in +darkness its mantle of light! + + + + +VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + +Day was breaking. + +The crimson curtains of the bedroom were drawn close, but from behind +their outer edges faint flanges of light began to advance along the +wall. It was a clear light reflected from snow which had sifted in +against the window-panes, was banked on the sills outside, ridged the +yard fence, peaked the little gate-posts, and buried the shrubbery. +There was no need to look out in order to know that it had stopped +snowing, that the air was windless, and that the stars were flashing +silver-pale except one--great golden-croziered shepherd of the thick, +soft-footed, moving host. + +It was Christmas morning on the effulgent Shield. + +Already there was sufficient light in the room to reveal--less as +actual things than as brown shadows of the memory--a gay company of +socks and stockings hanging from the mantelpiece; sufficient to give +outline to the bulk of a man asleep on the edge of the bed; and it +exposed to view in a corner of the room farthest from the rays a woman +sitting in a straight-backed chair, a shawl thrown about her shoulders +over her night-dress. + +He always slept till he was awakened; the children, having stayed up +past their usual bedtime, would sleep late also; she had the white +dawn to herself in quietness. + +She needed it. + +Sleep could not have come to her had she wished. She had not slept and +she had not lain down, and the sole endeavor during those shattered +hours had been to prepare herself for his awakening. She was not yet +ready--she felt that during the rest of her life she should never be +quite ready to meet him again. Scant time remained now. + +Soon all over the Shield indoor merriment and outdoor noises would +begin. Wherever in the lowlands any many-chimneyed city, proud of its +size, rose by the sweep of watercourses, or any little inland town was +proud of its smallness and of streets that terminated in the fields; +whereever any hamlet marked the point at which two country roads this +morning made the sign of the white cross, or homesteads stood proudly +castled on woody hilltops, or warmed the heart of the beholder from +amid their olive-dark winter pastures; or far away on the shaggy +uplift of the Shield wherever any cabin clung like a swallow's nest +against the gray Appalachian wall--everywhere soon would begin the +healthy outbreak of joy among men and women and children--glad about +themselves, glad in one another, glad of human life in a happy +world. The many-voiced roar and din of this warm carnival lay not far +away from her across the cold bar of silence. + +Soon within the house likewise the rush of the children's feet would +startle her ear; they would be tugging at the door, tugging at her +heart. And as she thought of this, the recollection of old simple +things came pealing back to her from behind life's hills. The years +parted like naked frozen reeds, and she, sorely stricken in her +womanhood, fled backward till she herself was a child again--safe in +her father's and mother's protection. It was Christmas morning, and +she in bare feet was tipping over the cold floors toward their +bedroom--toward her stockings. + +Her father and mother! How she needed them at this moment: they had +been sweethearts all their lives. One picture of them rose with +distinctness before her--for the wounding picture always comes to the +wounded moment. She saw them sitting in their pew far down toward the +chancel. Through a stained glass window (where there was a ladder of +angels) the light fell softly on them--both silver-haired; and as with +the voices of children they were singing out of one book. She +remembered how as she sat between them she had observed her father +slip his hand into her mother's lap and clasp hers with a +steadfastness that wedded her for eternity; and thus over their linked +hands, with the love of their youth within them and the snows of the +years upon them, they sang together: + + "Gently, Lord, O gently lead us + * * * * * * + "Through the changes Thou'st decreed us." + +Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more +than common share of life's shocks and violence, its wrongs and +meannesses and ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that +they were being led gently; so long as they were led together, to them +it was gentle leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby +nature or man could leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the +sweeter for the sour; the finer with one another because of life's +rudenesses. In after years she often thought of them as faithful in +their dust; and the flowers she planted over them and watered many a +bright day with happy tears brought up to her in another form the +freshness of their unwearied union. + +That was what she had not doubted her own life would be--with +him--when she had married him. + +From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open +and entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance. +He had lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered +that to her as for the moment at least his solution of the +matter--that he should leave her to herself and absent himself in +slumber. + +The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations. + +Before he awoke she must be gone--out of the house--anywhere--to save +herself from living any longer with him. His indifference in the +presence of her suffering; his pitiless withdrawal from her of touch +and glance and speech as she had gone down into that darkest of life's +valleys; his will of iron that since she had insisted upon knowing the +whole truth, know it she should: all this left her wounded and stunned +as by an incredible blow, and she was acting first from the instinct +of removing herself beyond the reach of further humiliation and +brutality. + +Instinctively she took off her wedding ring and laid it on his dresser +beside his watch: he would find it there in the morning and he could +dispose of it. Then she changed her dress for the plainest heavy one +and put on heavy walking shoes. She packed into a handbag a few +necessary things with some heirlooms of her own. Among the latter was +a case of family jewels; and as she opened it, her eyes fell upon her +mother's thin wedding ring and with quick reverence she slipped that +on and kissed it bitterly. She lifted out also her mother's locket +containing a miniature daguerreotype of her father and dutifully fed +her eyes on that. Her father was not silver-haired then, but +raven-locked; with eyes that men feared at times but no woman ever. + +His eyes were on her now as so often in girlhood when he had curbed +her exuberance and guided her waywardness. He was watching as she, +coarsely wrapped and carrying some bundle of things of her own, opened +her front door, left her footprints in the snow on the porch, and +passed out--wading away. Those eyes of his saw what took place the +next day: the happiness of Christmas morning turned into horror; the +children wild with distress and crying--the servants dumb--the inquiry +at neighbors' houses--the news spreading to the town--the papers--the +black ruin. And from him two restraining words issued for her ear: + +"My daughter!" + +Passionately she bore the picture to her lips and her pride answered +him. And so answering, it applied a torch to her blood and her blood +took fire and a flame of rage spread through and swept her. She +stopped her preparations: she had begun to think as well as to feel. + +She unpacked her travelling bag, putting each article back into its +place with exaggerated pains. Having done this, she stood in the +middle of the floor, looking about her irresolute: then responding to +that power of low suggestion which is one of anger's weapons, she +began to devise malice. She went to a wardrobe and stooping down took +from a bottom drawer--where long ago it had been stored away under +everything else--a shawl that had been her grandmother's; a brindled +crewel shawl,--sometimes worn by superannuated women of a former +generation; a garment of hideousness. Once, when a little girl, she +had loyally jerked it off her grandmother because it added to her +ugliness and decrepitude. + +She shook this out with mocking eyes and threw it decoratively around +her shoulders. She strode to the gorgeous peony lampshade and lifting +it off, gibbeted it and scattered the fragments on the floor. She +turned the lamp up as high as it would safely burn so that the huge +lidless eye of it would throw its full glare on him and her. She drew +a rocking chair to the foot of the bed and seating herself put her +forefinger up to each temple and drew out from their hiding places +under the mass of her black hair two long gray locks and let these +hang down haglike across her bosom. She banished the carefully +nourished look of youth from her face--dropped the will to look +young--and allowed the forced-back years to rush into it--into the +wastage, the wreckage, which he and Nature, assisting each other so +ably, had wrought in her. + +She sat there half-crazed, rocking noisily; waiting for the glare of +the lamp to cause him to open his eyes; and she smiled upon him in +exultation of vengeance that she was to live on there in his +house--_his_ house. + +After a while a darker mood came over her. + +With noiseless steps lest she awake him, she began to move about the +room. She put out the lamp and lighted her candle and set it where it +would be screened from his face; and where the shadow of the chamber +was heaviest, into that shadow she retired and in it she sat--with +furtive look to see whether he observed her. + +A pall-like stillness deepened about the bed where he lay. + +Running in her veins a wellnigh pure stream across the generations was +Anglo-Saxon blood of the world's fiercest; floating in the tide of it +passions of old family life which had dyed history for all time in +tragedies of false friendship, false love, and false battle; but +fiercest ever about the marriage bed and the betrayal of its vow. A +thousand years from this night some wronged mother of hers, sitting +beside some sleeping father of hers in their forest-beleaguered +castle--the moonlight streaming in upon him through the javelined +casement and putting before her the manly beauty of him--the blond +hair matted thick on his forehead as his helmet had left it, his mouth +reddening in his slumber under its curling gold--some mother of hers +whom he had carried off from other men by might of his sword, thus +sitting beside him and knowing him to be colder to her now than the +moon's dead rays, might have watched those rays as they travelled away +from his figure and put a gleam on his sword hanging near: a thousand +years ago: some mother of hers. + +It is when the best fails our human nature that the worst volunteers +so often to take its place. The best and the worst--these are the +sole alternatives which many a soul seems to be capable of making: +hence life's spectacle of swift overthrow, of amazing collapse, ever +present about us. Only the heroic among both men and women, losing the +best as their first choice, fight their way through defeat to the +standard of the second best and fight on there. And whatever one may +think of the legend otherwise, abundant experience justifies the story +that it was the Archangel who fell to the pit. The low never fall far: +how can they? They already dwell on the bottom of things, and many a +time they are to be seen there with vanity that they should inhabit +such a privileged highland. + +During the first of these hours which stretched for her into the +tragic duration of a lifetime, it was a successive falling from a +height of moral splendor; her nature went down through swift stages to +the lowest she harbored either in the long channel of inheritance or +as the stirred sediment of her own imperfections. And as is +unfortunately true, this descent into moral darkness possessed the +grateful illusion that it was an ascent into new light. All evil +prompting became good suggestion; every injustice made its claim to be +justification. She enjoyed the elation of feeling that she was +dragging herself out of life's quicksands upward to some rock, where +there might be loneliness for her, but where there would be cleanness. +The love which consumed her for him raged in her as hatred; and hatred +is born into perfect mastery of its weapons. However young, it needs +not to wait for training in order to know how to destroy. + +He presented himself to her as a character at last revealed in its +faithlessness and low carnal propensities. What rankled most +poignantly in this spectacle of his final self-exposure was the fact +that the cloven hoof should have been found on noble mountain +tops--that he should have attempted to better his disguise by dwelling +near regions of sublimity. Of all hypocrisy the kind most detestable +to her was that which dares live within spiritual fortresses; and now +his whole story of the Christmas Tree, the solemn marshalling of words +about the growth of the world's spirit--about the sacrifice of the +lower in ourselves to the higher--this cant now became to her the +invocation and homage of the practised impostor: he had indeed carried +the Christmas Tree on his shoulder into the manger. Not the Manger of +Immortal Purity for mankind but the manger of his own bestiality. + +Thus scorn and satire became her speech; she soared above him with +spurning; a frenzy of poisoned joy racked her that at the moment when +he had let her know that he wanted to be free--at that moment she +might tell him he had won his freedom at the cheap price of his +unworthiness. + +And thus as she descended, she enjoyed the triumph of rising; so the +devil in us never lacks argument that he is the celestial guide. + +Moreover, hatred never dwells solitary; it readily finds boon +companions. And at one period of the night she began to look back upon +her experience with a curious sense of prior familiarity--to see it as +a story already known to her at second hand. She viewed it as the +first stage of one of those tragedies that later find their way into +the care of family physicians, into the briefs of lawyers, into the +confidence of clergymen, into the papers and divorce courts, and that +receive their final flaying or canonization on the stage and in novels +of the time. Sitting at a distance, she had within recent years +studied in a kind of altruistic absorption how the nation's press, the +nation's science of medicine, the nation's science of law, the +nation's practice of religion, and the nation's imaginative literature +were all at work with the same national omen--the decay of the +American family and the downfall of the home. + +Now this new pestilence raging in other regions of the country had +incredibly reached her, she thought, on the sheltered lowlands where +the older traditions of American home life still lay like foundation +rock. The corruption of it had attacked him; the ruin of it awaited +her; and thus to-night she took her place among those women whom the +world first hears of as in hospitals and sanitariums and places of +refuge and in their graves--and more sadly elsewhere; whose +misfortunes interested the press and whose types attracted the +novelists. + +She was one of them. + +They swarmed about her; one by one she recognized them: the woman who +unable to bear up under her tragedy soon sinks into eternity--or walks +into it; the woman who disappears from the scene and somewhere under +another name or with another lot lives on--devoting herself to memory +or to forgetfulness; the woman who stays on in the house, giving to +the world no sign for the sake of everything else that still remains +to her but living apart--on the other side of the locked door; the +woman who stays on without locking the door, half-hating, +half-loving--the accepted and rejected compromise; the woman who +welcomes the end of the love-drama as the beginning of peace and the +cessation of annoyances; the woman who begins to act her tragedy to +servants and children and acquaintances--reaping sympathy for herself +and sowing ruin and torture--for him; the woman who drops the care of +house, ends his comforts, thus forcing the sharp reminder of her value +as at least an investment toward his general well-being; the woman who +endeavors to rekindle dying coals by fanning them with fresh +fascinations; the woman who plays upon jealousy and touches the male +instinct to keep one's own though little prized lest another acquire +it and prize it more; the woman who sets a watch to discover the other +woman: they swarmed about her, she identified each. + +And she dismissed them. They brought her no aid; she shrank from their +companionship; a strange dread moved her lest _they_ should +discover _her_. One only she detached from the throng and for a +while withdrew with her into a kind of dual solitude: the woman who +when so rejected turns to another man--the man who is waiting +somewhere near. + +The man _she_ turned to, who for years had hovered near, was the +country doctor, her husband's tried and closest friend, whose children +were asleep upstairs with her children. During all these years +_her_ secret had been--the doctor. When she had come as a bride +into that neighborhood, he, her husband's senior by several years, was +already well established in his practice. He had attended her at the +birth of her first child; never afterwards. As time passed, she had +discovered that he loved her; she could never have him again. This had +dealt his professional reputation a wound, but he understood, and he +welcomed the wound. + +Many a night, lying awake near her window, through which noises from +the turnpike plainly reached her, all earthly happiness asleep +alongside her, she could hear the doctor's buggy passing on its way to +some patient, or on its return from the town where he had patients +also. Many a time she had heard it stop at the front gate: the road of +his life there turned in to her. There were nights of pitch darkness +and beating rain; and sometimes on these she had to know that he was +out there. + +Long she sat in the shadow of her room, looking towards the bed where +her husband slept, but sending the dallying vision toward the +doctor. He would be at the Christmas party; she would be dancing with +him. + +Clouds and darkness descended upon the plain of life and enveloped +it. She groped her way, torn and wounded, downward along the old lost +human paths. + +The endless night scarcely moved on. + + * * * * * + +She was wearied out, she was exhausted. There is anger of such +intensity that it scorches and shrivels away the very temptations that +are its fuel; nothing can long survive the blast of that white flame, +and being unfed, it dies out. Moreover, it is the destiny of a +portion of mankind that they are enjoined by their very nobility from +winning low battles; these always go against them: the only victories +for them are won when they are leading the higher forces of human +nature in life's upward conflicts. + +She was weary, she was exhausted; there was in her for a while neither +moral light nor moral darkness. Her consciousness lay like a boundless +plain on which nothing is visible. She had passed into a great calm; +and slowly there was borne across her spirit a clearness that is like +the radiance of the storm-winged sky. + +And now in this calm, in this clearness, two small white figures +appeared--her children. Hitherto the energies of her mind had +grappled with the problem of her future; now memories began--memories +that decide more perhaps than anything else for us. And memories began +with her children. + +She arose without making any noise, took her candle, and screening it +with the palm of her hand, started upstairs. + +There were two ways by either of which she could go; a narrow rear +stairway leading from the parlor straight to their bedrooms, and the +broad stairway in the front hall. From the old maternal night-habit +she started to take the shorter way but thought of the parlor and drew +back. This room had become too truly the Judgment Seat of the +Years. She shrank from it as one who has been arraigned may shrink +from a tribunal where sentence has been pronounced which changes the +rest of life. Its flowers, its fruits, its toys, its ribbons, but +deepened the derision and the bitterness. And the evergreen there in +the middle of the room--it became to her as that tree of the knowledge +of good and evil which at Creation's morning had driven Woman from +Paradise. + +She chose the other way and started toward the main hall of the house, +but paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed; what if he +should awake in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of where she was? +Would he call out to her--with what voice? Would he come to seek +her--with what emotions? (The tide of memories was setting in now--the +drift back to the old mooring.) + +Hunt for her! How those words fell like iron strokes on the ear of +remembrance. They registered the beginning of the whole trouble. Up to +the last two years his first act upon reaching home had been to seek +her. It had even been her playfulness at times to slip from room to +room for the delight of proving how persistently he would prolong his +search. But one day some two years before this, when she had entered +his study about the usual hour of his return, bringing flowers for his +writing desk, she saw him sitting there, hat on, driving gloves on, +making some notes. The sight had struck the flowers from her hands; +she swiftly gathered them up, and going to her room, shut herself in; +she knew it was the beginning of the end. + +The Shadow which lurks in every bridal lamp had become the Spectre of +the bedchamber. + +When they met later that day, he was not even aware of what he had +done or failed to do, the change in him was so natural to himself. +Everything else had followed: the old look dying out of the eyes; the +old touch abandoning the hands; less time for her in the house, more +for work; constraint beginning between them, the awkwardness of +reserve; she seeing Nature's movement yet refusing to believe it; then +at last resolving to know to the uttermost and choosing her bridal +night as the hour of the ordeal. + +If he awoke, would he come to seek her--with what feelings? + +She went on upstairs, holding the candle to one side with her right +hand and supporting herself by the banisters with her left. There was +a turn in the stairway at the second floor, and here the candle rays +fell on the face of the tall clock in the hallway. She sat down on a +step, putting the candle beside her; and there she remained, her +elbows on her knees, her face resting on her palms; and into the abyss +of the night dropped the tranquil strokes. More memories! + +She was by nature not only alive to all life but alive to surrounding +lifeless things. Much alone in the house, she had sent her happiness +overflowing its dumb environs--humanizing these--drawing them toward +her by a gracious responsive symbolism--extending speech over realms +which nature has not yet awakened to it or which she may have struck +into speechlessness long ons past. + +She had symbolized the clock; it was the wooden God of Hours; she had +often feigned that it might be propitiated; and opening the door of it +she would pin inside the walls little clusters of blossoms as votive +offerings: if it would only move faster and bring him home! The usual +hour of his return from college was three in the afternoon. She had +symbolized that hour; one stroke for him, one for her, one for the +children--the three in one--the trinity of the household. + +She sat there on the step with the candle burning beside her. + +The clock struck three! The sound went through the house: down to him, +up to the children, into her. It was like a cry of a night watch: all +is well! + +It was the first sound that had reached her from any source during +this agony, and now it did not come from humanity, but from outside +humanity; from Time itself which brings us together and holds us +together as long as possible and then separates us and goes on its +way--indifferent whether we are together or apart; Time which welds +the sands into the rock and then wears the rock away to its separate +sands and sends the level tide softly over them. + +Once for him, once for her, once for the children! She took up the +candle and went upstairs to them. + +For a while she stood beside the bed in one room where the two little +girls were asleep clasping each other, cheek against cheek; and in +another room at the bedside of the two little boys, their backs turned +on one another and each with a hand doubled into a promising fist +outside the cover. In a few years how differently the four would be +divided and paired; each boy a young husband, each girl a young wife; +and out of the lives of the two of them who were hers she would then +drop into some second place. If to-night she were realizing what +befalls a wife when she becomes the Incident to her husband, she would +then realize what befalls a woman when the mother becomes the Incident +to her children: Woman, twice the Incident in Nature's impartial +economy! Her son would playfully confide it to his bride that she must +bear with his mother's whims and ways. Her daughter would caution her +husband that he must overlook peculiarities and weaknesses. The very +study of perfection which she herself had kindled and fanned in them +as the illumination of their lives they would now turn upon her as a +searchlight of her failings. + +He downstairs would never do that! She could not conceive of his +discussing her with any human being. Even though he should some day +desert her, he would never discuss her. + +She had lived so secure in the sense of him thus standing with her +against the world, that it was the sheer withdrawal of his strength +from her to-night that had dealt her the cruelest blow. But now she +began to ask herself whether his protection _had_ failed her. +Could he have recognized the situation without rendering it +worse? Had he put his arms around her, might she not have--struck at +him? Had he laid a finger-weight of sympathy on her, would it not have +left a scar for life? Any words of his, would they not have rung in +her ears unceasingly? To pass it over was as though it had never +been--was not _that_ his protection? + +She suddenly felt a desire to go down into the parlor. She kissed her +child in each room and she returned and kissed the doctor's +children--with memory of their mother; and then she descended by the +rear stairway. + +She set her candle on the table, where earlier in the night she had +placed the lamp--near the manuscript--and she sat down and looked at +that remorsefully: she had ignored it when he placed it there. + +He had made her the gift of his work--dedicated to her the triumphs of +his toil. It was his deep cry to her to share with him his widening +career and enter with him into the world's service. She crossed her +hands over it awhile, and then she left it. + +The low-burnt candle did not penetrate far into the darkness of the +immense parlor. There was an easy chair near her piano and her music. +After playing when alone, she would often sit there and listen to the +echoes of those influences that come into the soul from music +only,--the rhythmic hauntings of some heaven of diviner beauty. She +sat there now quite in darkness and closed her eyes; and upon her ear +began faintly to beat the sad sublime tones of his story. + +One of her delights in growing things on the farm had been to watch +the youth of the hemp--a field of it, tall and wandlike and tufted. If +the north wind blew upon it, the myriad stalks as by a common impulse +swayed southward; if a zephyr from the south crossed it, all heads +were instantly bowed before the north. West wind sent it east and east +wind sent it west. + +And so, it had seemed to her, is that ever living world which we +sometimes call the field of human life in its perpetual summer. It is +run through by many different laws; governed by many distinct forces, +each of which strives to control it wholly--but never does. +Selfishness blows on it like a parching sirocco, and all things +seem to bow to the might of selfishness. Generosity moves across the +expanse, and all things are seen responsive to what is generous. Place +yourself where life is lowest and everything like an avalanche is +rushing to the bottom. Place yourself where character is highest, and +lo! the whole world is but one struggle upward to what is high. You +see what you care to see, and find what you wish to find. + +In his story of the Forest and the Heart he had wanted to trace but +one law, and he had traced it; he had drawn all things together and +bent them before its majesty: the ancient law of Sacrifice. Of old the +high sacrificed to the low; afterwards the low to the high: once the +sacrifice of others; now the sacrifice of ourselves; but always in +ourselves of the lower to the higher in order that, dying, we may +live. + +With this law he had made his story a story of the world. + +The star on the Tree bore it back to Chalda; the candle bore it to +ancient Persia; the cross bore it to the Nile and Isis and Osiris; the +dove bore it to Syria; the bell bore it to Confucius; the drum bore it +to Buddha; the drinking horn to Greece; the tinsel to Romulus and +Rome; the doll to Abraham and Isaac; the masks to Gaul; the mistletoe +to Britain,--and all brought it to Christ,--Christ the latest +world-ideal of sacrifice that is self-sacrifice and of the giving of +all for all. + +The story was for herself, he had said, and for himself. + +Himself! Here at last all her pain and wandering of this night ended: +at the bottom of her wound where rankled _his problem_. + +From this problem she had most shrunk and into this she now entered: +She sacrificed herself in him! She laid upon herself his temptation +and his struggle. + + * * * * * + +Taking her candle, she passed back into her bedroom and screened it +where she had screened it before; then went into his bedroom. + +She put her wedding ring on again with blanched lips. She went to his +bedside, and drawing to the pillow the chair on which his clothes were +piled, sat down and laid her face over on it; and there in that shrine +of feeling where speech is formed, but whence it never issues, she +made her last communion with him: + +_"You, to whom I gave my youth and all that youth could mean to me; +whose children I have borne and nurtured at my breast--all of whose +eyes I have seen open and the eyes of some of whom I have closed; +husband of my girlhood, loved as no woman ever loved the man who took +her home; strength and laughter of his house; helper of what is best +in me; my defender against things in myself that I cannot govern; +pathfinder of my future; rock of the ebbing years! Though my hair turn +white as driven snow and flesh wither to the bone, I shall never cease +to be the flame that you yourself have kindled. + +"But never again to you! Let the stillness of nature fall where there +must be stillness! Peace come with its peace! And the room which heard +our whisperings of the night, let it be the Room of the Silences--the +Long Silences! Adieu, cross of living fire that I have so clung +to!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!"_ + +She remained as motionless as though she had fallen asleep or would +not lift her head until there had ebbed out of her life upon his +pillow the last drop of things that must go. + +She there--her whitening head buried on his pillow: it was Life's +Calvary of the Snows. + +The dawn found her sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and +there it brightened about her desolately. The moment drew near when +she must awaken him; the ordeal of their meeting must be over before +the children rushed downstairs or the servants knocked. + +She had plaited her hair in two heavy braids, and down each braid the +gray told its story through the black. And she had brushed it frankly +away from brow and temples so that the contour of her head--one of +nature's noblest--was seen in its simplicity. It is thus that the +women of her land sometimes prepare themselves at the ceremony of +their baptism into a new life. + +She had put on a plain night-dress, and her face and shoulders rising +out of this had the austerity of marble--exempt not from ruin, but +exempt from lesser mutation. She looked down at her wrists once and +made a little instinctive movement with her fingers as if to hide them +under the sleeves. + +Then she approached the bed. As she did so, she turned back midway and +quickly stretched her arms toward the wall as though to flee to it. +Then she drew nearer, a new pitiful fear of him in her eyes--the look +of the rejected. + +So she stood an instant and then she reclined on the edge of the bed, +resting on one elbow and looking down at him. + +For years her first words to him on this day had been the world's best +greeting: + +"A Merry Christmas!" + +She tried to summon the words to her lips and have them ready. + +At the pressure of her body on the bed he opened his eyes and +instantly looked to see what the whole truth was: how she had come out +of it all, what their life was to be henceforth, what their future +would be worth. But at the sight of her so changed--something so gone +out of her forever--with a quick cry he reached his arms for her. She +struggled to get away from him; but he, winding his arms shelteringly +about the youth-shorn head, drew her face close down against his +face. She caught at one of the braids of her hair and threw it across +her eyes, and then silent convulsive sobs rent and tore her, tore her. +The torrent of her tears raining down into his tears. + +Tears not for Life's faults but for Life when there are no +faults. They locked in each other's arms--trying to save each other on +Nature's vast lonely, tossing, uncaring sea. + +The rush of children's feet was heard in the hall and there was +smothered laughter at the door and the soft turning of the knob. + +It was Christmas Morning. + + * * * * * + +The sun rose golden and gathering up its gold threw it forward over +the gladness of the Shield. The farmhouse--such as the poet had sung +of when he could not help singing of American home life--looked out +from under its winter roof with the cheeriness of a human traveller +who laughs at the snow on his hat and shoulders. Smoke poured out of +its chimneys, bespeaking brisk fires for festive purposes. The oak +tree beside it stood quieted of its moaning and tossing. Soon after +sunrise a soul of passion on scarlet wings, rising out of the +snow-bowed shrubbery, flew up to a topmost twig of the oak; and +sitting there with its breast to the gorgeous sun scanned for a little +while that landscape of ice. It was beyond its intelligence to +understand how nature could create it for Summer and then take Summer +away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a sun so +true could shine on a world so false. + +Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling +paths. After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with +fireside warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat, +rushed out of the front door pursued by a little soldier sternly +booted and capped and gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going +at it furiously. Watching them through a window a little girl, dancing +a dreamy measure of her own, ever turned inward and beckoned to some +one to come and look--beckoned in vain. + +All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little +girl played with the doll--hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient +sacrifice, the emblem of the world's new mercy. Along the turnpike +sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the +shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the +shining valleys. + +Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day! + +One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its +surroundings; just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low, +thick, covered with snow except where a bough had been broken off for +decorating the house; here owing to the steepness the snow slid +off. The spot looked like a wound in the side of the Divine purity, +and across this open wound the tree had hung its rosary-beads never to +be told by Sorrow's fingers. + +The sunset golden and gathering up its last gold threw it backward +across the sadness of the Shield. One by one the stars came back to +their faithful places above the silence and the whiteness. A swinging +lamp was lighted on the front porch and its rays fell on little round +mats of snow stamped off by entering boot heels. On each gatepost a +low Christmas star was set to guide and welcome good neighbors; and +between those beacons soon they came hurrying, fathers and mothers and +children assembling for the party. + +Late into the night the party lasted. + +The logs blazed in deep fireplaces and their Forest Memories went to +ashes. Bodily comfort there was and good-will and good wishes and the +robust sensible making the best of what is best on the surface of our +life. And hale eating and drinking as old England itself once ate and +drank at Yuletide. And fast music and dancing that ever wanted to go +faster than the music. + +The chief feature of the revelry was the distribution of gifts on the +Christmas Tree--the handing over to this person and to that person of +those unread lessons of the ages--little mummied packages of the lord +of time. One thing no one noted. Fresh candles had replaced those +burnt out on the Tree the night before: all the candles were white +now. + +Revellers! Revellers! A crowded canvas! A brilliantly painted scene! +Controlling everything, controlling herself, the lady of the house: +hunting out her guests with some grace that befitted each; laughing +and talking with the doctor; secretly giving most attention to the +doctor's wife--faded little sufferer; with strength in her to be the +American wife and mother in the home of the poet's dream: the +spiritual majesty of her bridal veil still about her amid life's snow +as it never lifts itself from the face of the _Jungfrau_ amid the +sad most lovely mountains: the American wife and mother!--herself the +_Jungfrau_ among the world's women! + +The last thing before the company broke up took place what often takes +place there in happy gatherings: the singing of the song of the State +which is also a song of the Nation--its melody of the unfallen home: +with sadness enough in it, God knows, but with sanctity: she seated at +the piano--the others upholding her like a living bulwark. + +There was another company thronging the rooms that no one wot of: +those Bodiless Ones that often are much more real than the +embodied--the Guests of the Imagination. + +The Memories were there, strolling back and forth through the chambers +arm and arm with the Years: bestowing no cognizance upon that present +scene nor aware that they were not alone. About the Christmas Tree the +Wraiths of earlier children returned to gambol; and these knew naught +of those later ones who had strangely come out of the unknown to fill +their places. Around the walls stood other majestical Veiled Shapes +that bent undivided attention upon the actual pageant: these were +Life's Pities. Ever and anon they would lift their noble veils and +look out upon that brief flicker of our mortal joy, and drop them and +relapse into their compassionate vigil. + +But of the Bodiless Ones there gathered a solitary young Shape filled +the entire house with her presence. As the Memories walked through the +rooms with the Years, they paused ever before her and mutely beckoned +her to a place in their Sisterhood. The children who had wandered back +peeped shyly at her but then with some sure instinct of recognition +ran to her and threw down their gifts, to put their arms around +her. And the Pities before they left the house that night walked past +her one by one and each lifted its veil and dropped it more softly. + +This was the Shape: + +In the great bedroom on a spot of the carpet under the +chandelier--which had no decoration whatsoever--stood an exquisite +Spirit of Youth, more insubstantial than Spring morning mist, yet most +alive; her lips scarce parted--her skin like white hawthorn shadowed +by pink--in her eyes the modesty of withdrawal from Love--in her heart +the surrender to it. During those distracting hours never did she move +nor did her look once change: she waiting there--waiting for some one +to come--waiting. + +Waiting. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + +***** This file should be named 9179-8.txt or 9179-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/7/9179/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bride of the Mistletoe + +Author: James Lane Allen + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9179] +This file was first posted on September 11, 2003 +Last Updated: October 30, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + + + + +Text file produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE + </h1> + <h2> + By James Lane Allen + </h2> + <h5> + Author Of “Flute And Violin,” “A Kentucky Cardinal,” “Aftermath,” Etc. + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>TO ONE WHO KNOWS</b> + </p> + <p> + Je crois que pour produire il ne faut pas trop raissoner. Mais il faut + regarder beaucoup et songer à ce qu’on a vu. Voir: tout est là, et voir + juste. J’entends, par voir juste, voir avec ses propres yeux et non avec + ceux des maîtres. L’originalité d’un artiste s’indique d’abord dans les + petites choses et non dans les grandes. + </p> + <p> + Il faut trouver aux choses une signification qui n’a pas encore découverte + et tâcher de l’exprimer d’une façon personelle. + </p> + <p> + —GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + Any one about to read this work of fiction might properly be apprised + beforehand that it is not a novel: it has neither the structure nor the + purpose of The Novel. + </p> + <p> + It is a story. There are two characters—a middle-aged married couple + living in a plain farmhouse; one point on the field of human nature is + located; at that point one subject is treated; in the treatment one + movement is directed toward one climax; no external event whatsoever is + introduced; and the time is about forty hours. + </p> + <p> + A second story of equal length, laid in the same house, is expected to + appear within a twelvemonth. The same father and mother are characters, + and the family friend the country doctor; but subordinately all. The main + story concerns itself with the four children of the two households. + </p> + <p> + It is an American children’s story: + </p> + <p> + “A Brood of The Eagle.” + </p> + <p> + During the year a third work, not fiction, will be published, entitled: + </p> + <p> + “The Christmas Tree: An Interpretation.” + </p> + <p> + The three works will serve to complete each other, and they complete a + cycle of the theme. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. THE WANDERING TALE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. THE WHITE DAWN </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + </h2> + <p> + A mighty table-land lies southward in a hardy region of our country. It + has the form of a colossal Shield, lacking and broken in some of its + outlines and rough and rude of make. Nature forged it for some crisis in + her long warfare of time and change, made use of it, and so left it lying + as one of her ancient battle-pieces—Kentucky. + </p> + <p> + The great Shield is raised high out of the earth at one end and sunk deep + into it at the other. It is tilted away from the dawn toward the sunset. + Where the western dip of it reposes on the planet, Nature, cunning + artificer, set the stream of ocean flowing past with restless foam—the + Father of Waters. Along the edge for a space she bound a bright river to + the rim of silver. And where the eastern part rises loftiest on the + horizon, turned away from the reddening daybreak, she piled shaggy + mountains wooded with trees that loose their leaves ere snowflakes fly and + with steadfast evergreens which hold to theirs through the gladdening and + the saddening year. Then crosswise over the middle of the Shield, + northward and southward upon the breadth of it, covering the life-born + rock of many thicknesses, she drew a tough skin of verdure—a broad + strip of hide of the ever growing grass. She embossed noble forests on + this greensward and under the forests drew clear waters. + </p> + <p> + This she did in a time of which we know nothing—uncharted ages + before man had emerged from the deeps of ocean with eyes to wonder, + thoughts to wander, heart to love, and spirit to pray. Many a scene the + same power has wrought out upon the surface of the Shield since she + brought him forth and set him there: many an old one, many a new. She has + made it sometimes a Shield of war, sometimes a Shield of peace. Nor has + she yet finished with its destinies as she has not yet finished with + anything in the universe. While therefore she continues her will and + pleasure elsewhere throughout creation, she does not forget the Shield. + </p> + <p> + She likes sometimes to set upon it scenes which admonish man how little + his lot has changed since Hephaistos wrought like scenes upon the shield + of Achilles, and Thetis of the silver feet sprang like a falcon from snowy + Olympus bearing the glittering piece of armor to her angered son. + </p> + <p> + These are some of the scenes that were wrought on the shield of Achilles + and that to-day are spread over the Earth Shield Kentucky: + </p> + <p> + Espousals and marriage feasts and the blaze of lights as they lead the + bride from her chamber, flutes and violins sounding merrily. An + assembly-place where the people are gathered, a strife having arisen about + the blood-price of a man slain; the old lawyers stand up one after another + and make their tangled arguments in turn. Soft, freshly ploughed fields + where ploughmen drive their teams to and fro, the earth growing dark + behind the share. The estate of a landowner where laborers are reaping; + some armfuls the binders are binding with twisted bands of straw: among + them the farmer is standing in silence, leaning on his staff, rejoicing in + his heart. Vineyards with purpling clusters and happy folk gathering these + in plaited baskets on sunny afternoons. A herd of cattle with incurved + horns hurrying from the stable to the woods where there is running water + and where purple-topped weeds bend above the sleek grass. A fair glen with + white sheep. A dancing-place under the trees; girls and young men dancing, + their fingers on one another’s wrists: a great company stands watching the + lovely dance of joy. + </p> + <p> + Such pageants appeared on the shield of Achilles as art; as pageants of + life they appear on the Earth Shield Kentucky. The metal-worker of old + wrought them upon the armor of the Greek warrior in tin and silver, bronze + and gold. The world-designer sets them to-day on the throbbing land in + nerve and blood, toil and delight and passion. But there with the old + things she mingles new things, with the never changing the ever changing; + for the old that remains always the new and the new that perpetually + becomes old—these Nature allots to man as his two portions wherewith + he must abide steadfast in what he is and go upward or go downward through + all that he is to become. + </p> + <p> + But of the many scenes which she in our time sets forth upon the stately + grassy Shield there is a single spectacle that she spreads over the length + and breadth of it once every year now as best liked by the entire people; + and this is both old and new. + </p> + <p> + It is old because it contains man’s faith in his immortality, which was + venerable with age before the shield of Achilles ever grew effulgent + before the sightless orbs of Homer. It is new because it contains those + latest hopes and reasons for this faith, which briefly blossom out upon + the primitive stock with the altering years and soon are blown away upon + the winds of change. Since this spectacle, this festival, is thus old and + is thus new and thus enwraps the deepest thing in the human spirit, it is + never forgotten. + </p> + <p> + When in vernal days any one turns a furrow or sows in the teeth of the + wind and glances at the fickle sky; when under the summer shade of a + flowering tree any one looks out upon his fatted herds and fattening + grain; whether there is autumnal plenty in his barn or autumnal emptiness, + autumnal peace in his breast or autumnal strife,—all days of the + year, in the assembly-place, in the dancing-place, whatsoever of good or + ill befall in mind or hand, never does one forget. + </p> + <p> + When nights are darkest and days most dark; when the sun seems farthest + from the planet and cheers it with lowest heat; when the fields lie shorn + between harvest-time and seed-time and man turns wistful eyes back and + forth between the mystery of his origin and the mystery of his end,—then + comes the great pageant of the winter solstice, then comes Christmas. + </p> + <p> + So what is Christmas? And what for centuries has it been to differing but + always identical mortals? + </p> + <p> + It was once the old pagan festival of dead Nature. It was once the old + pagan festival of the reappearing sun. It was the pagan festival when the + hands of labor took their rest and hunger took its fill. It was the pagan + festival to honor the descent of the fabled inhabitants of an upper world + upon the earth, their commerce with common flesh, and the production of a + race of divine-and-human half-breeds. It is now the festival of the + Immortal Child appearing in the midst of mortal children. It is now the + new festival of man’s remembrance of his errors and his charity toward + erring neighbors. It has latterly become the widening festival of + universal brotherhood with succor for all need and nighness to all + suffering; of good will warring against ill will and of peace warring upon + war. + </p> + <p> + And thus for all who have anywhere come to know it, Christmas is the + festival of the better worldly self. But better than worldliness, it is on + the Shield to-day what it essentially has been through many an age to many + people—the symbolic Earth Festival of the Evergreen; setting forth + man’s pathetic love of youth—of his own youth that will not stay + with him; and renewing his faith in a destiny that winds its ancient way + upward out of dark and damp toward Eternal Light. + </p> + <p> + This is a story of the Earth Festival on the Earth Shield. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + </h2> + <p> + A man sat writing near a window of an old house out in the country a few + years ago; it was afternoon of the twenty-third of December. + </p> + <p> + One of the volumes of a work on American Forestry lay open on the desk + near his right hand; and as he sometimes stopped in his writing and turned + the leaves, the illustrations showed that the long road of his mental + travels—for such he followed—was now passing through the + evergreens. + </p> + <p> + Many notes were printed at the bottoms of the pages. They burned there + like short tapers in dim places, often lighting up obscure faiths and + customs of our puzzled human race. His eyes roved from taper to taper, as + gathering knowledge ray by ray. A small book lay near the large one. It + dealt with primitive nature-worship; and it belonged in the class of those + that are kept under lock and key by the libraries which possess them as + unsafe reading for unsafe minds. + </p> + <p> + Sheets of paper covered with the man’s clear, deliberate handwriting lay + thickly on the desk. A table in the centre of the room was strewn with + volumes, some of a secret character, opened for reference. On the tops of + two bookcases and on the mantelpiece were prints representing scenes from + the oldest known art of the East. These and other prints hanging about the + walls, however remote from each other in the times and places where they + had been gathered, brought together in this room of a quiet Kentucky + farmhouse evidence bearing upon the same object: the subject related in + general to trees and in especial evergreens. + </p> + <p> + While the man was immersed in his work, he appeared not to be submerged. + His left hand was always going out to one or the other of three + picture-frames on the desk and his fingers bent caressingly. + </p> + <p> + Two of these frames held photographs of four young children—a boy + and a girl comprising each group. The children had the air of being well + enough bred to be well behaved before the camera, but of being unruly and + disorderly out of sheer health and a wild naturalness. All of them looked + straight at you; all had eyes wide open with American frankness and good + humor; all had mouths shut tight with American energy and determination. + Apparently they already believed that the New World was behind them, that + the nation backed them up. In a way you believed it. You accepted them on + the spot as embodying that marvellous precocity in American children, + through which they early in life become conscious of the country and claim + it their country and believe that it claims them. Thus they took on the + distinction of being a squad detached only photographically from the rank + and file of the white armies of the young in the New World, millions and + millions strong, as they march, clear-eyed, clear-headed, joyous, + magnificent, toward new times and new destinies for the nation and for + humanity—a kinder knowledge of man and a kinder ignorance of God. + </p> + <p> + The third frame held the picture of a woman probably thirty years of age. + Her features were without noticeable American characteristics. What human + traits you saw depended upon what human traits you saw with. + </p> + <p> + The hair was dark and abundant, the brows dark and strong. And the lashes + were dark and strong; and the eyes themselves, so thornily hedged about, + somehow brought up before you a picture of autumn thistles—thistles + that look out from the shadow of a rock. They had a veritable thistle + quality and suggestiveness: gray and of the fields, sure of their + experience in nature, freighted with silence. + </p> + <p> + Despite grayness and thorniness, however, you saw that they were in the + summer of their life-bloom; and singularly above even their beauty of + blooming they held what is rare in the eyes of either men or women—they + held a look of being just. + </p> + <p> + The whole face was an oval, long, regular, high-bred. If the lower part + had been hidden behind a white veil of the Orient (by that little bank of + snow which is guardedly built in front of the overflowing desires of the + mouth), the upper part would have given the impression of reserve, + coldness, possibly of severity; yet ruled by that one look—the + garnered wisdom, the tempering justice, of the eyes. The whole face being + seen, the lower features altered the impression made by the upper ones; + reserve became bettered into strength, coldness bettered into dignity, + severity of intellect transfused into glowing nobleness of character. The + look of virgin justice in her was perhaps what had survived from that + white light of life which falls upon young children as from a receding sun + and touches lingeringly their smiles and glances; but her mouth had + gathered its shadowy tenderness as she walked the furrows of the years, + watching their changeful harvests, eating their passing bread. + </p> + <p> + A handful of some of the green things of winter lay before her picture: + holly boughs with their bold, upright red berries; a spray of the cedar of + the Kentucky yards with its rosary of piteous blue. When he had come in + from out of doors to go on with his work, he had put them there—perhaps + as some tribute. After all his years with her, many and strong, he must + have acquired various tributes and interpretations; but to-day, during his + walk in the woods, it had befallen him to think of her as holly which + ripens amid snows and retains its brave freshness on a landscape of + departed things. As cedar also which everywhere on the Shield is the best + loved of forest-growths to be the companion of household walls; so that + even the poorest of the people, if it does not grow near the spot they + build in, hunt for it and bring it home: everywhere wife and cedar, wife + and cedar, wife and cedar. + </p> + <p> + The photographs of the children grouped on each side of hers with heads a + little lower down called up memories of Old World pictures in which + cherubs smile about the cloud-borne feet of the heavenly Hebrew maid. + Glowing young American mother with four healthy children as her gifts to + the nation—this was the practical thought of her that riveted and + held. + </p> + <p> + As has been said, they were in two groups, the children; a boy and girl in + each. The four were of nearly the same age; but the faces of two were on a + dimmer card in an older frame. You glanced at her again and persuaded + yourself that the expression of motherhood which characterized her + separated into two expressions (as behind a thin white cloud it is + possible to watch another cloud of darker hue). Nearer in time was the + countenance of a mother happy with happy offspring; further away the same + countenance withdrawn a little into shadow—the face of the mother + bereaved—mute and changeless. + </p> + <p> + The man, the worker, whom this little flock of wife and two surviving + children now followed through the world as their leader, sat with his face + toward his desk In a corner of the room; solidly squared before his + undertaking, liking it, mastering it; seldom changing his position as the + minutes passed, never nervously; with a quietude in him that was oftener + in Southern gentlemen in quieter, more gentlemanly times. A low powerful + figure with a pair of thick shoulders and tremendous limbs; filling the + room with his vitality as a heavy passionate animal lying in a corner of a + cage fills the space of the cage, so that you wait for it to roll over or + get up on its feet and walk about that you may study its markings and get + an inkling of its conquering nature. + </p> + <p> + Meantime there were hints of him. When he had come in, he had thrown his + overcoat on a chair that stood near the table in the centre of the room + and had dropped his hat upon his coat. It had slipped to the floor and now + lay there—a low, soft black hat of a kind formerly much worn by + young Southerners of the countryside,—especially on occasions when + there was a spur of heat in their mood and going,—much the same kind + that one sees on the heads of students in Rome in winter; light, warm, + shaping itself readily to breezes from any quarter, to be doffed or donned + as comfortable and negligible. It suggested that he had been a country boy + in the land, still belonged to the land, and as a man kept to its + out-of-door habits and fashions. His shoes, one of which you saw at each + side of his chair, were especially well made for rough-going feet to tramp + in during all weathers. + </p> + <p> + A sack suit of dark blue serge somehow helped to withdraw your + interpretation of him from farm life to the arts or the professions. The + scrupulous air of his shirt collar, showing against the clear-hued flesh + at the back of his neck, and the Van Dyck-like edge of the shirt cuff, + defining his powerful wrist and hand, strengthened the notion that he + belonged to the arts or to the professions. He might have been sitting + before a canvas instead of a desk and holding a brush instead of a pen: + the picture would have been true to life. Or truer yet, he might have + taken his place with the grave group of students in the Lesson in Anatomy + left by Rembrandt. + </p> + <p> + Once he put down his pen, wheeled his chair about, and began to read the + page he had just finished: then you saw him. He had a big, masculine, + solid-cut, self-respecting, normal-looking, executive head—covered + with thick yellowish hair clipped short; so that while everything else in + his appearance indicated that he was in the prime of manhood, the clipped + hair caused him to appear still more youthful; and it invested him with a + rustic atmosphere which went along very naturally with the sentimental + country hat and the all-weather shoes. He seemed at first impression a + magnificent animal frankly loved of the sun—perhaps too warmly. The + sun itself seemed to have colored for him his beard and mustache—a + characteristic hue of men’s hair and beard in this land peopled from Old + English stock. The beard, like the hair, was cut short, as though his idea + might have been to get both hair and beard out of life’s daily way; but + his mustache curled thickly down over his mouth, hiding it. In the whole + effect there was a suggestion of the Continent, perhaps of a former + student career in Germany, memories of which may still have lasted with + him and the marks of which may have purposely been kept up in his + appearance. + </p> + <p> + But such a fashion of beard, while covering a man’s face, does much to + uncover the man. As he sat amid his papers and books, your thought surely + led again to old pictures where earnest heads bend together over some + point on the human road, at which knowledge widens and suffering begins to + be made more bearable and death more kind. Perforce now you interpreted + him and fixed his general working category: that he was absorbed in work + meant to be serviceable to humanity. His house, the members of his family, + the people of his neighborhood, were meantime forgotten: he was not a mere + dweller on his farm; he was a discoverer on the wide commons where the + race forever camps at large with its problems, joys, and sorrows. + </p> + <p> + He read his page, his hand dropped to his knee, his mind dropped its + responsibility; one of those intervals followed when the brain rests. The + look of the student left his face; over it began to play the soft lights + of the domestic affections. He had forgotten the world for his own place + in the world; the student had become the husband and house-father. A few + moments only; then he wheeled gravely to his work again, his right hand + took up the pen, his left hand went back to the pictures. + </p> + <p> + The silence of the room seemed a guarded silence, as though he were being + watched over by a love which would not let him be disturbed. (He had the + reposeful self-assurance of a man who is conscious that he is idolized.) + </p> + <p> + Matching the silence within was the stillness out of doors. An immense oak + tree stood just outside the windows. It was a perpetual reminder of + vanished woods; and when a windstorm tossed and twisted it, the straining + and grinding of the fibres were like struggles and outcries for the wild + life of old. This afternoon it brooded motionless, an image of forest + reflection. Once a small black-and-white sapsucker, circling the trunk and + peering into the crevices of the bark on a level with the windows, uttered + minute notes which penetrated into the room like steel darts of sound. A + snowbird alighted on the window-sill, glanced familiarly in at the man, + and shot up its crest; but disappointed perhaps that it was not noticed, + quoted its resigned gray phrase—a phrase it had made for itself to + accompany the score of gray whiter—and flitted on billowy wings to a + juniper at the corner of the house, its turret against the long javelins + of the North. + </p> + <p> + Amid the stillness of Nature outside and the house-silence of a love + guarding him within, the man worked on. + </p> + <p> + A little clock ticked independently on the old-fashioned Parian marble + mantelpiece. Prints were propped against its sides and face, illustrating + the use of trees about ancient tombs and temples. Out of this photographic + grove of dead things the uncaring clock threw out upon the air a living + three—the fateful three that had been measured for each tomb and + temple in its own land and time. + </p> + <p> + A knock, regretful but positive, was heard, and the door opening into the + hall was quietly pushed open. A glow lit up the student’s face though he + did not stop writing; and his voice, while it gave a welcome, + unconsciously expressed regret at being disturbed: + </p> + <p> + “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his heavy figure with instant courtesy—rather obsolete now—and + bowing to one side, sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “So I see,” he said, dipping his pen into his ink. + </p> + <p> + “Since you did not turn around, you would better have said ‘So I hear.’ It + is three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “So I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I am done—nearly done.” + </p> + <p> + “How nearly?” + </p> + <p> + “By to-morrow—to-morrow afternoon before dark. I have reached the + end, but now it is hard to stop, hard to let go.” + </p> + <p> + His tone gave first place, primary consideration, to his work. The silence + in the room suddenly became charged. When the voice was heard again, there + was constraint in it: + </p> + <p> + “There is something to be done this afternoon before dark, something I + have a share in. Having a share, I am interested. Being interested, I am + prompt. Being prompt, I am here.” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand over the written sheets before him—those cold Alps + of learning; and asked reproachfully: + </p> + <p> + “Are you not interested in all this, O you of little faith?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I say, O me of little knowledge!” + </p> + <p> + As the words impulsively escaped, he heard a quick movement behind him. He + widened out his heavy arms upon his manuscript and looked back over his + shoulder at her and laughed. And still smiling and holding his pen between + his fingers, he turned and faced her. She had advanced into the middle of + the room and had stopped at the chair on which he had thrown his overcoat + and hat. She had picked up the hat and stood turning it and pushing its + soft material back into shape for his head—without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + The northern light of the winter afternoon, entering through the looped + crimson-damask curtains, fell sidewise upon the woman of the picture. + </p> + <p> + Years had passed since the picture had been made. There were changes in + her; she looked younger. She had effaced the ravages of a sadder period of + her life as human voyagers upon reaching quiet port repair the damages of + wandering and storm. Even the look of motherhood, of the two motherhoods, + which so characterized her in the photograph, had disappeared for the + present. Seeing her now for the first time, one would have said that her + whole mood and bearing made a single declaration: she was neither wife nor + mother; she was a woman in love with life’s youth—with youth—youth; + in love with the things that youth alone could ever secure to her. + </p> + <p> + The carriage of her beautiful head, brave and buoyant, brought before you + a vision of growing things in nature as they move towards their summer yet + far away. There still was youth in the round white throat above the collar + of green velvet—woodland green—darker than the green of the + cloth she wore. You were glad she had chosen that color because she was + going for a walk with him; and green would enchain the eye out on the sere + ground and under the stripped trees. The flecklessness of her long gloves + drew your thoughts to winter rather—to its one beauteous gift + dropped from soiled clouds. A slender toque brought out the keenness in + the oval of her face. From it rose one backward-sweeping feather of green + shaded to coral at the tip; and there your fancy may have cared to see + lingering the last radiance of whiter-sunset skies. + </p> + <p> + He kept his seat with his back to the manuscript from which he had + repulsed her; and his eyes swept loyally over her as she waited. Though + she could scarcely trust herself to speak, still less could she endure the + silence. With her face turned toward the windows opening on the lawn, she + stretched out her arm toward him and softly shook his hat at him. + </p> + <p> + “The sun sets—you remember how many minutes after four,” she said, + with no other tone than that of quiet warning. “I marked the minutes in + the almanac for you the other night after the children had gone to bed, so + that you would not forget. You know how short the twilights are even when + the day is clear. It is cloudy to-day and there will not be any twilight. + The children said they would not be at home until after dark, but they may + come sooner; it may be a trick. They have threatened to catch us this year + in one way or another, and you know they must not do that—not this + year! There must be one more Christmas with all its old ways—even if + it must be without its old mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply at once and then not relevantly: + </p> + <p> + “I heard you playing.” + </p> + <p> + He had dropped his head forward and was scowling at her from under his + brows with a big Beethoven brooding scowl. She did not see, for she held + her face averted. + </p> + <p> + The silence in the room again seemed charged, and there was greater + constraint in her voice when it was next heard: + </p> + <p> + “I had to play; you need not have listened.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to listen; you played loud—” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know I was playing loud. I may have been trying to drown other + sounds,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “What other sounds?” His voice unexpectedly became inquisitorial: it was a + frank thrust into the unknown. + </p> + <p> + “Discords—possibly.” + </p> + <p> + “What discords?” His thrust became deeper. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head quickly and looked at him; a quiver passed across her + lips and in her eyes there was noble anguish. + </p> + <p> + But nothing so arrests our speech when we are tempted to betray hidden + trouble as to find ourselves face to face with a kind of burnished, + radiant happiness. Sensitive eyes not more quickly close before a blaze of + sunlight than the shadowy soul shuts her gates upon the advancing Figure + of Joy. + </p> + <p> + It was the whole familiar picture of him now—triumphantly painted in + the harmonies of life, masterfully toned to subdue its discords—that + drove her back into herself. When she spoke next, she had regained the + self-control which under his unexpected attack she had come near losing; + and her words issued from behind the closed gates—as through a + crevice of the closed gates: + </p> + <p> + “I was reading one of the new books that came the other day, the deep + grave ones you sent for. It is written by a deep grave German, and it is + worked out in the deep grave German way. The whole purpose of it is to + show that any woman in the life of any man is merely—an Incident. + She may be this to him, she may be that to him; for a briefer time, for a + greater time; but all along and in the end, at bottom, she is to him—an + Incident.” + </p> + <p> + He did not take his eyes from hers and his smile slowly broadened. + </p> + <p> + “Were those the discords?” he asked gently. + </p> + <p> + She did not reply. + </p> + <p> + He turned in his chair and looking over his shoulder at her, he raised his + arm and drew the point of his pen across the backs of a stack of magazines + on top of his desk. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a work,” he said, “not written by a German or by any other man, + but by a woman whose race I do not know: here is a work the sole purpose + of which is to prove that any man is merely an Incident in the life of any + woman. He may be this to her, he may be that to her; for a briefer time, + for a greater time; but all along and in the end, beneath everything else, + he is to her—an Incident.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and confronted her, not without a gleam of humor in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That did not trouble me,” he said tenderly. “Those were not discords to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes rested on his face with inscrutable searching. She made no + comment. + </p> + <p> + His own face grew grave. After a moment of debate with himself as to + whether he should be forced to do a thing he would rather not do, he + turned in his chair and laid down his pen as though separating himself + from his work. Then he said, in a tone that ended playfulness: + </p> + <p> + “Do I not understand? Have I not understood all the time? For a year now I + have been shutting myself up at spare hours in this room and at this work—without + any explanation to you. Such a thing never occurred before in our lives. + You have shared everything. I have relied upon you and I have needed you, + and you have never failed me. And this apparently has been your reward—to + be rudely shut out at last. Now you come in and I tell you that the work + is done—quite finished—without a word to you about it. Do I + not understand?” he repeated. “Have I not understood all along? It is + true; outwardly as regards this work you have been—the Incident.” + </p> + <p> + As he paused, she made a slight gesture with one hand as though she did + not care for what he was saying and brushed away the fragile web of his + words from before her eyes—eyes fixed on larger things lying clear + before her in life’s distance. + </p> + <p> + He went quickly on with deepening emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “But, comrade of all these years, battler with me for life’s victories, + did you think you were never to know? Did you believe I was never to + explain? You had only one more day to wait! If patience, if faith, could + only have lasted another twenty-four hours—until Christmas Eve!” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time for nearly a year that the sound of those words had + been heard in that house. He bent earnestly over toward her; he leaned + heavily forward with his hands on his knees and searched her features with + loyal chiding. + </p> + <p> + “Has not Christmas Eve its mysteries?” he asked, “its secrets for you and + me? Think of Christmas Eve for you and me! Remember!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly as in a windless woods on a winter day a smoke from a woodchopper’s + smouldering fire will wander off and wind itself about the hidden + life-buds of a young tree, muffling it while the atmosphere near by is + clear, there now floated into the room to her the tender haze of old + pledges and vows and of things unutterably sacred. + </p> + <p> + He noted the effect of his words and did not wait. He turned to his desk + and, gathering up the sprigs of holly and cedar, began softly to cover her + picture with them. + </p> + <p> + “Stay blinded and bewildered there,” he said, “until the hour comes when + holly and cedar will speak: on Christmas Eve you will understand; you will + then see whether in this work you have been—the Incident.” + </p> + <p> + Even while they had been talking the light of the short winter afternoon + had perceptibly waned in the room. + </p> + <p> + She glanced through the windows at the darkening lawn; her eyes were + tear-dimmed; to her it looked darker than it was. She held his hat up + between her arms, making an arch for him to come and stand under. + </p> + <p> + “It is getting late,” she said in nearly the same tone of quiet warning + with which she had spoken before. “There is no time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + He sprang up, without glancing behind him at his desk with its interrupted + work, and came over and placed himself under the arch of her arms, looking + at her reverently. + </p> + <p> + But his hands did not take hold, his arms hung down at his sides—the + hands that were life, the arms that were love. + </p> + <p> + She let her eyes wander over his clipped tawny hair and pass downward over + his features to the well-remembered mouth under its mustache. Then, + closing her quivering lips quickly, she dropped the hat softly on his head + and walked toward the door. When she reached it, she put out one of her + hands delicately against a panel and turned her profile over her shoulder + to him: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what is the trouble with both of those books?” she asked, + with a struggling sweetness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + He had caught up his overcoat and as he put one arm through the sleeve + with a vigorous thrust, he laughed out with his mouth behind the collar: + </p> + <p> + “I think I know what is the trouble with the authors of the books.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble is,” she replied, “the trouble is that the authors are right + and the books are right: men and women <i>are</i> only Incidents to each + other in life,” and she passed out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Human life itself for that matter is only an incident in the universe,” + he replied, “if we cared to look at it in that way; but we’d better not!” + </p> + <p> + He was standing near the table in the middle of the room; he suddenly + stopped buttoning his overcoat. His eyes began to wander over the books, + the prints, the pictures, embracing in a final survey everything that he + had brought together from such distances of place and time. His work was + in effect done. A sense of regret, a rush of loneliness, came over him as + it comes upon all of us who reach the happy ending of toil that we have + put our heart and strength in. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming?” she called faintly from the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” he replied, and moved toward the door; but there he stopped + again and looked back. + </p> + <p> + Once more there came into his face the devotion of the student; he was on + the commons where the race encamps; he was brother to all brothers who + join work to work for common good. He was feeling for the moment that + through his hands ran the long rope of the world at which men—like a + crew of sailors—tug at the Ship of Life, trying to tow her into some + divine haven. + </p> + <p> + His task was ended. Would it be of service? Would it carry any message? + Would it kindle in American homes some new light of truth, with the eyes + of mothers and fathers fixed upon it, and innumerable children of the + future the better for its shining? + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming?” she called more quiveringly. + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” he called back, breaking away from his revery, and raising + his voice so it would surely reach her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + </h2> + <p> + She had quitted the house and, having taken a few steps across the short + frozen grass of the yard as one walks lingeringly when expecting to be + joined by a companion, she turned and stood with her eyes fixed on the + doorway for his emerging figure. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night,” he had said, smiling at her with one meaning in his + words, “to-morrow night you will understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she now said to herself, with another meaning in hers, “to-morrow + night I must understand. Until to-morrow night, then, blinded and + bewildered with holly and cedar let me be! Kind ignorance, enfold me and + spare me! All happiness that I can control or conjecture, come to me and + console me!” + </p> + <p> + And over herself she dropped a vesture of joy to greet him when he should + step forth. + </p> + <p> + It was a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors and to go about what they + had planned; the ground was scarcely frozen, there was no wind, and the + whole sky was overcast with thin gray cloud that betrayed no movement. + Under this still dome of silvery-violet light stretched the winter land; + it seemed ready and waiting for its great festival. + </p> + <p> + The lawn sloped away from the house to a brook at the bottom, and beyond + the brook the ground rose to a woodland hilltop. Across the distance you + distinguished there the familiar trees of blue-grass pastures: white ash + and black ash; white oak and red oak; white walnut and black walnut; and + the scaly-bark hickory in his roughness and the sycamore with her soft + leoparded limbs. The black walnut and the hickory brought to mind autumn + days when children were abroad, ploughing the myriad leaves with booted + feet and gathering their harvest of nuts—primitive food-storing + instinct of the human animal still rampant in modern childhood: these nuts + to be put away in garret and cellar and but scantily eaten until Christmas + came. + </p> + <p> + Out of this woods on the afternoon air sounded the muffled strokes of an + axe cutting down a black walnut partly dead; and when this fell, it would + bring down with it bunches of mistletoe, those white pearls of the forest + mounted on branching jade. To-morrow eager fingers would be gathering the + mistletoe to decorate the house. Near by was a thicket of bramble and cane + where, out of reach of cattle, bushes of holly thrived: the same fingers + would be gathering that. + </p> + <p> + Bordering this woods on one side lay a cornfield. The corn had just been + shucked, and beside each shock of fodder lay its heap of ears ready for + the gathering wagon. The sight of the corn brought freshly to remembrance + the red-ambered home-brew of the land which runs in a genial torrent + through all days and nights of the year—many a full-throated rill—but + never with so inundating a movement as at this season. And the same grain + suggested also the smokehouses of all farms, in which larded porkers, + fattened by it, had taken on posthumous honors as home-cured hams; and in + which up under the black rafters home-made sausages were being smoked to + their needed flavor over well-chosen chips. + </p> + <p> + Around one heap of ears a flock of home-grown turkeys, red-mottled, + rainbow-necked, were feeding for their fate. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the woods stretched a wheat-field, in the stubble of + which coveys of bob-whites were giving themselves final plumpness for the + table by picking up grains of wheat which had dropped into the drills at + harvest time or other seeds which had ripened in the autumn aftermath. + </p> + <p> + Farther away on the landscape there was a hemp-field where hemp-breakers + were making a rattling reedy music; during these weeks wagons loaded with + the gold-bearing fibre begin to move creaking to the towns, helping to + fill the farmer’s pockets with holiday largess. + </p> + <p> + Thus everything needed for Christmas was there in sight: the mistletoe—the + holly—the liquor of the land for the cups of hearty men—the + hams and the sausages of fastidious housewives—the turkey and the + quail—and crops transmutable into coin. They were in sight there—the + fair maturings of the sun now ready to be turned into offerings to the + dark solstice, the low activities of the soil uplifted to human joyance. + </p> + <p> + One last thing completed the picture of the scene. + </p> + <p> + The brook that wound across the lawn at its bottom was frozen to-day and + lay like a band of jewelled samite trailed through the olive verdure. + Along its margin evergreens grew. No pine nor spruce nor larch nor fir is + native to these portions of the Shield; only the wild cedar, the shapeless + and the shapely, belongs there. This assemblage of evergreens was not, + then, one of the bounties of Nature; they had been planted. + </p> + <p> + It was the slender tapering spires of these evergreens with their note of + deathless spring that mainly caught the eye on the whole landscape this + dead winter day. Under the silvery-violet light of the sky they waited in + beauty and in peace: the pale green of larch and spruce which seems always + to go with the freshness of dripping Aprils; the dim blue-gray of pines + which rather belongs to far-vaulted summer skies; and the dark green of + firs—true comfortable winter coat when snows sift mournfully and + icicles are spearing earthward. + </p> + <p> + These evergreens likewise had their Christmas meaning and finished the + picture of the giving earth. Unlike the other things, they satisfied no + appetite, they were ministers to no passions; but with them the Christmas + of the intellect began: the human heart was to drape their boughs with its + gentle poetry; and from their ever living spires the spiritual hope of + humanity would take its flight toward the eternal. + </p> + <p> + Thus then the winter land waited for the oncoming of that strange + travelling festival of the world which has roved into it and encamped + gypsy-like from old lost countries: the festival that takes toll of field + and wood, of hoof and wing, of cup and loaf; but that, best of all, wrings + from the nature of man its reluctant tenderness for his fellows and builds + out of his lonely doubts regarding this life his faith in a better one. + </p> + <p> + And central on this whole silent scene—the highest element in it—its + one winter-red passion flower—the motionless woman waiting outside + the house. + </p> + <p> + At last he came out upon the step. + </p> + <p> + He cast a quick glance toward the sky as though his first thought were of + what the weather was going to be. Then as he buttoned the top button of + his overcoat and pressed his bearded chin down over it to make it more + comfortable under his short neck, with his other hand he gave a little + pull at his hat—the romantic country hat; and he peeped out from + under the rustic brim at her, smiling with old gayeties and old + fondnesses. He bulked so rotund inside his overcoat and looked so short + under the flat headgear that her first thought was how slight a disguise + every year turned him into a good family Santa Claus; and she smiled back + at him with the same gayeties and fondnesses of days gone by. But such a + deeper pang pierced her that she turned away and walked hurriedly down the + hill toward the evergreens. + </p> + <p> + He was quickly at her side. She could feel how animal youth in him + released itself the moment he had come into the open air. There was brutal + vitality in the way his shoes crushed the frozen ground; and as his + overcoat sleeve rubbed against her arm, there was the same leaping out of + life, like the rubbing of tinder against tinder. Halfway down the lawn he + halted and laid his hand heavily on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that!” he said. His voice was eager, excited, like a boy’s. + </p> + <p> + On the opposite side of the house, several hundred yards away, the country + turnpike ran; and from this there now reached them the rumbling of many + vehicles, hurrying in close procession out of the nearest town and moving + toward smaller villages scattered over the country; to its hamlets and + cross-roads and hundreds of homes richer or poorer—every vehicle + Christmas-laden: sign and foretoken of the Southern Yule-tide. There were + matters and usages in those American carriages and buggies and wagons and + carts the history of which went back to the England of the Georges and the + Stuarts and the Henrys; to the England of Elizabeth, to the England of + Chaucer; back through robuster Saxon times to the gaunt England of Alfred, + and on beyond this till they were lost under the forest glooms of + Druidical Britain. + </p> + <p> + They stood looking into each other’s eyes and gathering into their ears + the festal uproar of the turnpike. How well they knew what it all meant—this + far-flowing tide of bounteousness! How perfectly they saw the whole + picture of the town out of which the vehicles had come: the atmosphere of + it already darkened by the smoke of soft coal pouring from its chimneys, + so that twilight in it had already begun to fall ahead of twilight out in + the country, and lamp-posts to glimmer along the little streets, and shops + to be illuminated to the delight of window-gazing, mystery-loving children—wild + with their holiday excitements and secrecies. Somewhere in the throng + their own two children were busy unless they had already started home. + </p> + <p> + For years he had held a professorship in the college in this town, driving + in and out from his home; but with the close of this academic year he was + to join the slender file of Southern men who have been called to Northern + universities: this change would mean the end of life here. Both thought of + this now—of the last Christmas in the house; and with the same + impulse they turned their gaze back to it. + </p> + <p> + More than half a century ago the one starved genius of the Shield, a + writer of songs, looked out upon the summer picture of this land, its + meadows and ripening corn tops; and as one presses out the spirit of an + entire vineyard when he bursts a solitary grape upon his tongue, he, the + song writer, drained drop by drop the wine of that scene into the notes of + a single melody. The nation now knows his song, the world knows it—the + only music that has ever captured the joy and peace of American home life—embodying + the very soul of it in the clear amber of sound. + </p> + <p> + This house was one of such homesteads as the genius sang of: a low, + old-fashioned, brown-walled, gray-shingled house; with chimneys generous, + with green window-shutters less than green and white window-sills less + than white; with feudal vines giving to its walls their summery + allegiance; not young, not old, but standing in the middle years of its + strength and its honors; not needy, not wealthy, but answering Agar’s + prayer for neither poverty nor riches. + </p> + <p> + The two stood on the darkening lawn, looking back at it. + </p> + <p> + It had been the house of his fathers. He had brought her to it as his own + on the afternoon of their wedding several miles away across the country. + They had arrived at dark; and as she had sat beside him in the carriage, + one of his arms around her and his other hand enfolding both of hers, she + had first caught sight of it through the forest trees—waiting for + her with its lights just lit, its warmth, its privacies: and that had been + Christmas Eve! + </p> + <p> + For her wedding day had been Christmas Eve. When she had announced her + choice of a day, they had chidden her. But with girlish wilfulness she had + clung to it the more positively. + </p> + <p> + “It is the most beautiful night of the year!” she had replied, brushing + their objection aside with that reason alone. “And it is the happiest! I + will be married on that night, when I am happiest!” + </p> + <p> + Alone and thinking it over, she had uttered other words to herself—yet + scarce uttered them, rather felt them: + </p> + <p> + “Of old it was written how on Christmas Night the Love that cannot fail us + became human. My love for him, which is the divine thing in my life and + which is never to fail him, shall become human to him on that night.” + </p> + <p> + When the carriage had stopped at the front porch, he had led her into the + house between the proud smiling servants of his establishment ranged at a + respectful distance on each side; and without surrendering her even to her + maid—a new spirit of silence on him—he had led her to her + bedroom, to a place on the carpet under the chandelier. + </p> + <p> + Leaving her there, he had stepped backward and surveyed her waiting in her + youth and loveliness—<i>for him;</i> come into his house, into his + arms—<i>his</i>; no other’s—never while life lasted to be + another’s even in thought or in desire. + </p> + <p> + Then as if the marriage ceremony of the afternoon in the presence of many + had meant nothing and this were the first moment when he could gather her + home to him, he had come forward and taken her in his arms and set upon + her the kiss of his house and his ardor and his duty. As his warm breath + broke close against her face, his lips under their mustache, almost boyish + then, had thoughtlessly formed one little phrase—one little but most + lasting and fateful phrase: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Looking up with a smile, she saw that she stood under a bunch of mistletoe + swung from the chandelier. + </p> + <p> + Straightway he had forgotten his own words, nor did he ever afterwards + know that he had used them. But she, out of their very sacredness as the + first words he had spoken to her in his home, had remembered them most + clingingly. More than remembered them: she had set them to grow down into + the fibres of her heart as the mistletoe roots itself upon the life-sap of + the tree. And in all the later years they had been the green spot of + verdure under life’s dark skies—the undying bough into which the + spirit of the whole tree retreats from the ice of the world: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Through the first problem of learning to weld her nature to his wisely; + through the perils of bearing children and the agony of seeing some of + them pass away; through the ambition of having him rise in his profession + and through the ideal of making his home an earthly paradise; through + loneliness when he was away and joy whenever he came back,—upon her + whole life had rested the wintry benediction of that mystical phrase: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She turned away now, starting once more downward toward the evergreens. He + was quickly at her side. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose Harold and Elizabeth are up to about this time?” he + asked, with a good-humored jerk of his head toward the distant town. + </p> + <p> + “At least to something mischievous, whatever it is,” she replied. “They + begged to be allowed to stay until the shop windows were lighted; they + have seen the shop windows two or three times already this week: there is + no great marvel for them now in shop windows. Permission to stay late may + be a blind to come home early. They are determined, from what I have + overheard, to put an end this year to the parental house mysteries of + Christmas. They are crossing the boundary between the first childhood and + the second. But if it be possible, I wish everything to be kept once more + just as it has always been; let it be so for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + “And I wish it for your sake,” he replied heartily; “and for my purposes.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence he asked: “How large a Tree must it be this + year?” + </p> + <p> + “It will have to be large,” she replied; and she began to count those for + whom the Tree this year was meant. + </p> + <p> + First she called the names of the two children they had lost. Gifts for + these were every year hung on the boughs. She mentioned their names now, + and then she continued counting: + </p> + <p> + “Harold and Elizabeth are four. You and I make six. After the family come + Herbert and Elsie, your best friend the doctor’s children. Then the + servants—long strong bottom branches for the servants! Allow for the + other children who are to make up the Christmas party: ten children have + been invited, ten children have accepted, ten children will arrive. The + ten will bring with them some unimportant parents; you can judge.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do for size,” he said, laughing. “Now the kind: spruce—larch—hemlock—pine—which + shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be none of them!” she answered, after a little waiting. “It + shall be the Christmas Tree of the uttermost North where the reindeer are + harnessed and the Great White Sleigh starts—fir. The old Christmas + stories like fir best. Old faiths seem to lodge in it longest. And deepest + mystery darkens the heart of it,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Fir it shall be!” he said. “Choose the tree.” + </p> + <p> + “I have chosen.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and delicately touched his wrist with the finger tips of one + white-gloved hand, bidding him stand beside her. + </p> + <p> + “That one,” she said, pointing down. + </p> + <p> + The brook, watering the roots of the evergreens in summer gratefully, but + now lying like a band of samite, jewel-crusted, made a loop near the + middle point of the lawn, creating a tiny island; and on this island, + aloof from its fellows and with space for the growth of its boughs, stood + a perfect fir tree: strong-based, thick-set, tapering faultlessly, + star-pointed, gathering more youth as it gathered more years—a tame + dweller on the lawn but descended from forests blurred with wildness and + lapped by low washings of the planet’s primeval ocean. + </p> + <p> + At each Christmas for several years they had been tempted to cut this + tree, but had spared it for its conspicuous beauty at the edge of the + thicket. + </p> + <p> + “That one,” she now said, pointing down. “This is the last time. Let us + have the best of things while we may! Is it not always the perfect that is + demanded for sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + His glance had already gone forward eagerly to the tree, and he started + toward it. + </p> + <p> + Descending, they stepped across the brook to the island and went up close + to the fir. With a movement not unobserved by her he held out his hand and + clasped three green fingers of a low bough which the fir seemed to stretch + out to him recognizingly. (She had always realized the existence of some + intimate bond between him and the forest.) His face now filled with + meanings she did not share; the spell of the secret work had followed him + out of the house down to the trees; incommunicable silence shut him in. A + moment later his fingers parted with the green fingers of the fir and he + moved away from her side, starting around the tree and studying it as + though in delight of fresh knowledge. So she watched him pass around to + the other side. + </p> + <p> + When he came back where he had started, she was not there. He looked + around searchingly; her figure was nowhere in sight. + </p> + <p> + He stood—waiting. + </p> + <p> + The valley had memories, what memories! The years came close together + here; they clustered as thickly as the trees themselves. Vacant spots + among them marked where the Christmas Trees of former years had been cut + down. Some of the Trees had been for the two children they had lost. This + wandering trail led hither and thither back to the first Tree for the + first child: he had stooped down and cut that close to the ground with his + mere penknife. When it had been lighted, it had held only two or three + candles; and the candle on the top of it had flared level into the + infant’s hand-shaded eyes. + </p> + <p> + He knew that she was making through the evergreens a Pilgrimage of the + Years, walking there softly and alone with the feet of life’s Pities and a + mother’s Constancies. + </p> + <p> + He waited for her—motionless. + </p> + <p> + The stillness of the twilight rested on the valley now. Only from the + trees came the plaintive twittering of birds which had come in from frozen + weeds and fence-rows and at the thresholds of the boughs were calling to + one another. It was not their song, but their speech; there was no love in + it, but there was what for them perhaps corresponds to our sense of ties. + It most resembled in human life the brief things that two people, having + long lived together, utter to each other when together in a room they + prepare for the night: there is no anticipation; it is a confession of the + unconfessed. About him now sounded this low winter music from the far + boundary of other lives. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear it. + </p> + <p> + The light on the landscape had changed. The sun was setting and a splendor + began to spread along the sky and across the land. It laid a glory on the + roof of the house on the hill; it smote the edge of the woodland pasture, + burnishing with copper the gray domes; it shone faintly on distant corn + shocks, on the weather-dark tents of the hemp at bivouac soldierly and + grim. At his feet it sparkled in rose gleams on the samite of the brook + and threw burning shafts into the gloom of the fir beside him. + </p> + <p> + He did not see it. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear the calling of the birds about his ears, he did not see + the sunset before his eyes, he did not feel the fir tree the boughs of + which stuck against his side. + </p> + <p> + He stood there as still as a rock—with his secret. Not the secret of + the year’s work, which was to be divulged to his wife and through her to + the world; but the secret which for some years had been growing in his + life and which would, he hoped, never grow into the open—to be seen + of her and of all men. + </p> + <p> + The sentimental country hat now looked as though it might have been worn + purposely to help out a disguise, as the more troubled man behind the + scenes makes up to be the happier clown. It became an absurdity, a + mockery, above his face grave, stern, set of jaw and eye. He was no longer + the student buried among his books nor human brother to toiling brothers. + He had not the slightest thought of service to mankind left in him, he was + but a man himself with enough to think of in the battle between his own + will and blood. + </p> + <p> + And behind him among the dark evergreens went on that Pilgrimage of the + Years—with the feet of the Pities and the Constancies. + </p> + <p> + Moments passed; he did not stir. Then there was a slight noise on the + other side of the tree, and his nature instantly stepped back into his + outward place. He looked through the boughs. She had returned and was + standing with her face also turned toward the sunset; it was very pale, + very still. + </p> + <p> + Such darkness had settled on the valley now that the green she wore blent + with the green of the fir. He saw only her white face and her white hands + so close to the branches that they appeared to rest upon them, to grow out + of them: he sadly thought of one of his prints of Egypt of old and of the + Lady of the Sacred Tree. Her long backward-sweeping plume of green also + blent with the green of the fir—shade to shade—and only the + coral tip of it remained strongly visible. This matched the last coral in + the sunset; and it seemed to rest ominously above her head as a + finger-point of the fading light of Nature. + </p> + <p> + He went quickly around to her. He locked his arms around her and drew her + close and held her close; and thus for a while the two stood, watching the + flame on the altar of the world as it sank lower, leaving emptiness and + ashes. + </p> + <p> + Once she put out a hand and with a gesture full of majesty and nobleness + waved farewell to the dying fire. + </p> + <p> + Still without a word he took his arms from around her and turned + energetically to the tree. + </p> + <p> + He pressed the lowest boughs aside and made his way in close to the trunk + and struck it with a keen stroke. + </p> + <p> + The fir as he drew the axe out made at its gashed throat a sound like that + of a butchered, blood-strangled creature trying to cry out too late + against a treachery. A horror ran through the boughs; the thousands of + leaves were jarred by the death-strokes; and the top of it rocked like a + splendid plume too rudely treated in a storm. Then it fell over on its + side, bridging blackly the white ice of the brook. + </p> + <p> + Stooping, he lifted it triumphantly. He set the butt-end on one of his + shoulders and, stretching his arms up, grasped the trunk and held the tree + straight in the air, so that it seemed to be growing out of his big + shoulder as out of a ledge of rock. Then he turned to her and laughed out + in his strength and youth. She laughed joyously back at him, glorying as + he did. + </p> + <p> + With a robust re-shouldering of the tree to make it more comfortable to + carry, he turned and started up the hill toward the house. As she followed + behind, the old mystery of the woods seemed at last to have taken bodily + possession of him. The fir was riding on his shoulder, its arms met fondly + around his neck, its fingers were caressing his hair. And it whispered + back jeeringly to her through the twilight: + </p> + <p> + “Say farewell to him! He was once yours; he is yours no longer. He dandles + the child of the forest on his shoulder instead of his children by you in + the house. He belongs to Nature; and as Nature calls, he will always + follow—though it should lead over the precipice or into the flood. + Once Nature called him to you: remember how he broke down barriers until + he won you. Now he is yours no longer—say good-by to him!” + </p> + <p> + With an imbued terror and desolation, she caught up with him. By a + movement so soft that he should not be aware, she plucked him by the coat + sleeve on the other side from the fir and held on to him as he strode on + in careless joy. + </p> + <p> + Halfway up the hill lights began to flash from the windows of the house: a + servant was bringing in the lamps. It was at this hour, in just this way, + that she had first caught sight of them on that Christmas Eve when he had + brought her home after the wedding. + </p> + <p> + She hurried around in front of him, wishing to read the expression of his + eyes by the distant gleams from the windows. Would they have nothing to + say to her about those winter twilight lamps? Did he, too, not remember? + </p> + <p> + His head and face were hidden; a thousand small spears of Nature bristled + between him and her; but he laughed out to her from behind the rampart of + the green spears. + </p> + <p> + At that moment a low sound in the distance drew her attention, and + instantly alert she paused to listen. Then, forgetting everything else, + she called to him with a rush of laughter like that of her mischief-loving + girlhood: + </p> + <p> + “Quick! There they are! I heard the gate shut at the turnpike! They must + not catch us! Quick! Quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry, then!” he cried, as he ran forward, joining his laughter to hers. + “Open the door for me!” + </p> + <p> + After this the night fell fast. The only sounds to be heard in the valley + were the minute readjustments of the ice of the brook as it froze tighter + and the distressed cries of the birds that had roosted in the fir. + </p> + <p> + So the Tree entered the house. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + </h2> + <p> + During the night it turned bitter cold. When morning came the sky was a + turquoise and the wind a gale. The sun seemed to give out light but not + heat—to lavish its splendor but withhold its charity. Moist flesh if + it chanced to touch iron froze to it momentarily. So in whiter land the + tongue of the ermine freezes to the piece of greased metal used as a trap + and is caught and held there until the trapper returns or until it starves—starves + with food on its tongue. + </p> + <p> + The ground, wherever the stiff boots of a farmhand struck it, resisted as + rock. In the fetlocks of farm horses, as they moved shivering, balls of + ice rattled like shaken tacks. The little roughnesses of woodland paths + snapped off beneath the slow-searching hoofs of fodder-seeking cattle like + points of glass. + </p> + <p> + Within their wool the sheep were comforted. + </p> + <p> + On higher fields which had given back their moisture to the atmosphere and + now were dry, the swooping wind lifted the dust at intervals and dragged + it away in flaunting yellow veils. The picture it made, being so + ill-seasoned, led you to think of August drought when the grasshopper + stills itself in the weeds and the smell of grass is hot in the nostrils + and every bird holds its beak open and its wings lifted like cooling + lattices alongside its breast. In these veils of dust swarms of frost + crystals sported—dead midgets of the dead North. Except crystal and + dust and wind, naught moved out there; no field mouse, no hare nor lark + nor little shielded dove. In the naked trees of the pasture the crow kept + his beak as unseen as the owl’s; about the cedars of the yard no scarlet + feather warmed the day. + </p> + <p> + The house on the hill—one of the houses whose spirit had been blown + into the amber of the poet’s song—sent festal smoke out of its + chimneys all day long. At intervals the radiant faces of children appeared + at the windows, hanging wreaths of evergreens; or their figures flitted to + and fro within as they wove garlands on the walls for the Christmas party. + At intervals some servant with head and shoulders muffled in a + bright-colored shawl darted trippingly from the house to the cabins in the + yard and from the cabins back to the house—the tropical African’s + polar dance between fire and fire. By every sign it gave the house showed + that it was marshalling its whole happiness. + </p> + <p> + One thing only seemed to make a signal of distress from afar. The oak tree + beside the house, whose roots coiled warmly under the hearth-stones and + whose boughs were outstretched across the roof, seemed to writhe and rock + in its winter sleep with murmurings and tossings like a human dreamer + trying to get rid of an unhappy dream. Imagination might have said that + some darkest tragedy of forests long since gone still lived in this lone + survivor—that it struggled to give up the grief and guilt of an + ancient forest shame. + </p> + <p> + The weather moderated in the afternoon. A warm current swept across the + upper atmosphere, developing everywhere behind it a cloud; and toward + sundown out of this cloud down upon the Shield snow began to fall. Not the + large wet flakes which sometimes descend too late in spring upon the buds + of apple orchards; nor those mournfuller ones which drop too soon on dim + wild violets in November woods, but winter snow, stern sculptor of Arctic + solitudes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing all over the Shield. + </p> + <p> + Softly the snow fell upon the year’s footprints and pathways of children + and upon schoolhouses now closed and riotously deserted. More softly upon + too crowded asylums for them: houses of noonday darkness where eyes + eagerly look out at the windows but do not see; houses of soundlessness + where ears listen and do not hear any noise; houses of silence where lips + try to speak but utter no word. + </p> + <p> + The snow of Christmas Eve was falling softly on the old: whose eyes are + always seeing vanished faces, whose ears hear voices gentler than any the + earth now knows, whose hands forever try to reach other hands vainly held + out to them. Sad, sad to those who remember loved ones gone with their + kindnesses the snow of Christmas Eve! + </p> + <p> + But sadder yet for those who live on together after kindnesses have + ceased, or whose love went like a summer wind. Sad is Christmas Eve to + them! Dark its snow and blinding! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was late that night. + </p> + <p> + She came into the parlor, clasping the bowl of a shaded lamp—the + only light in the room. Her face, always calm in life’s wisdom, but + agitated now by the tide of deep things coming swiftly in toward her, + rested clear-cut upon the darkness. + </p> + <p> + She placed the lamp on a table near the door and seated herself beside it. + But she pushed the lamp away unconsciously as though the light of the + house were no longer her light; and she sat in the chair as though it were + no longer her chair; and she looked about the room as though it were no + longer hers nor the house itself nor anything else that she cared for + most. + </p> + <p> + Earlier in the evening they had finished hanging the presents on the Tree; + but then an interruption had followed: the children had broken profanely + in upon them, rending the veil of the house mysteries; and for more than + an hour the night had been given up to them. Now the children were asleep + upstairs, already dreaming of Christmas Morn and the rush for the + stockings. The servants had finished their work and were gone to their + quarters out in the yard. The doors of the house were locked. There would + be no more intrusion now, no possible interruption; all the years were to + meet him and her—alone. For Life is the master dramatist: when its + hidden tragedies are ready to utter themselves, everything superfluous + quits the stage; it is the essential two who fill it! And how little the + rest of the world ever hears of what takes place between the two! + </p> + <p> + A little while before he had left the room with the step-ladder; when he + came back, he was to bring with him the manuscript—the silent + snowfall of knowledge which had been deepening about him for a year. The + time had already passed for him to return, but he did not come. Was there + anything in the forecast of the night that made him falter? Was he + shrinking—<i>him</i> shrink? She put away the thought as a strange + outbreak of injustice. + </p> + <p> + How still it was outside the house with the snow falling! How still + within! She began to hear the ticking of the tranquil old clock under the + stairway out in the hall—always tranquil, always tranquil. And then + she began to listen to the disordered strokes of her own heart—that + red Clock in the body’s Tower whose beats are sent outward along the + streets and alleys of the blood; whose law it is to be alternately wound + too fast by the fingers of Joy, too slow by the fingers of Sorrow; and + whose fate, if it once run down, never afterwards either by Joy or Sorrow + to be made to run again. + </p> + <p> + At last she could hear the distant door of his study open and close and + his steps advance along the hall. With what a splendid swing and tramp he + brought himself toward her!—with what self-unconsciousness and + virile strength in his feet! His steps entered and crossed his bedroom, + entered and crossed her bedroom; and then he stood there before her in the + parlor doorway, a few yards off—stopped and regarded her intently, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + In a moment she realized what had delayed him. When he had gone away with + the step-ladder, he had on a well-worn suit in which, behind locked doors, + he had been working all the afternoon at the decorations of the Tree. Now + he came back ceremoniously dressed; the rest of the night was to be in her + honor. + </p> + <p> + It had always been so on this anniversary of their bridal night. They had + always dressed for it; the children now in their graves had been dressed + for it; the children in bed upstairs were regularly dressed for it; the + house was dressed for it; the servants were dressed for it; the whole life + of that establishment had always been made to feel by honors and + tendernesses and gayeties that this was the night on which he had married + her and brought her home. + </p> + <p> + As her eyes swept over him she noted quite as never before how these + anniversaries had not taken his youth away, but had added youth to him; he + had grown like the evergreen in the middle of the room—with increase + of trunk and limbs and with larger tides of strength surging through him + toward the master sun. There were no ravages of married life in him. Time + had merely made the tree more of a tree and made his youth more youth. + </p> + <p> + She took in momentary details of his appearance: a moisture like summer + heat along the edge of his yellow hair, started by the bath into which he + had plunged; the freshness of the enormous hands holding the manuscript; + the muscle of the forearm bulging within the dress-coat sleeve. Many a + time she had wondered how so perfect an animal as he had ever climbed to + such an elevation of work; and then had wondered again whether any but + such an animal ever in life does so climb—shouldering along with him + the poise and breadth of health and causing the hot sun of the valley to + shine on the mountain tops. + </p> + <p> + Finally she looked to see whether he, thus dressed in her honor, thus but + the larger youth after all their years together, would return her greeting + with a light in his eyes that had always made them so beautiful to her—a + light burning as at a portal opening inward for her only. + </p> + <p> + His eyes rested on his manuscript. + </p> + <p> + He brought it wrapped and tied in the true holiday spirit—sprigs of + cedar and holly caught in the ribands; and he now lifted and held it out + to her as a jeweller might elevate a casket of gems. Then he stepped + forward and put it on the table at her elbow. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he said reverently, stepping back. + </p> + <p> + There had been years when, returning from a tramp across the country, he + would bring her perhaps nothing but a marvellous thistle, or a brilliant + autumn leaf for her throat. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he would say; and then, before he could give it to her, he + would throw it away and take her in his arms. Afterwards she would pick up + the trifle and treasure it. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he now said, offering her the treasure of his year’s toil and + stepping back. + </p> + <p> + So the weight of the gift fell on her heart like a stone. She did not look + at it or touch it but glanced up at him. He raised his finger, signalling + for silence; and going to the chimney corner, brought back a long taper + and held it over the lamp until it ignited. Then with a look which invited + her to follow, he walked to the Tree and began to light the candles. + </p> + <p> + He began at the lowest boughs and, passing around, touched them one by + one. Around and around he went, and higher and higher twinkled the lights + as they mounted the tapering sides of the fir. At the top he kindled one + highest red star, shining down on everything below. Then he blew out the + taper, turned out the lamp; and returning to the tree, set the heavy end + of the taper on the floor and grasped it midway, as one might lightly hold + a stout staff. + </p> + <p> + The room, lighted now by the common glow of the candles, revealed itself + to be the parlor of the house elaborately decorated for the winter + festival. Holly wreaths hung in the windows; the walls were garlanded; + evergreen boughs were massed above the window cornices; on the white lace + of window curtains many-colored autumn leaves, pressed and kept for this + night, looked as though they had been blown there scatteringly by October + winds. The air of the room was heavy with odors; there was summer warmth + in it. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top close to + the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of the room + impartially—as symbolically to the four corners of the earth. It + would be the only witness of all that was to take place between them: what + better could there be than this messenger of silence and wild secrecy? + From the mountains and valleys of the planet its race had looked out upon + a million generations of men and women; and the calmness of its lot + stretched across the turbulence of human passion as an ancient bridge + spans a modern river. + </p> + <p> + At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first forking of + the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross gleamed. Under the + cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions outstretched as though + descending out of the infinite upon some earthly object below. From many + of the branches tiny bells swung. There were little horns and little + trumpets. Other boughs sagged under the weight of silvery cornucopias. + Native and tropical fruits were tied on here and there; and dolls were + tied on also with cords around their necks, their feet dangling. There + were smiling masks, like men beheaded and smiling in their death. Near the + base of the Tree there was a drum. And all over the Tree from pinnacle to + base glittered a tinsel like golden fleece—looking as the moss of + old Southern trees seen at yellow sunset. + </p> + <p> + He stood for a while absorbed in contemplation of it. This year at his own + request the decorations had been left wholly to him; now he seemed + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + He turned to her eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what took place on Christmas Eve last year?” he asked, + with a reminiscent smile. “You sat where you are sitting and I stood where + I am standing. After I had finished lighting the Tree, do you remember + what you said?” + </p> + <p> + After a moment she stirred and passed her fingers across her brows. + </p> + <p> + “Recall it to me,” she answered. “I must have said many things. I did not + know that I had said anything that would be remembered a year. Recall it + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked at the Tree and said what a mystery it is. When and where did + it begin, how and why?—this Tree that is now nourished in the + affections of the human family round the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “I resolved to find out for you. I determined to prepare during what hours + I could spare from my regular college work the gratification of your wish + for you as a gift from me. If I could myself find the way back through the + labyrinth of ages, then I would return for you and lead you back through + the story of the Christmas Tree as that story has never been seen by any + one else. All this year’s work, then, has been the threading of the + labyrinth. Now Christmas Eve has come again, my work is finished, my gift + to you is ready.” + </p> + <p> + He made this announcement and stopped, leaving it to clear the air of + mystery—the mystery of the secret work. + </p> + <p> + Then he resumed: “Have you, then, been the Incident in this toil as + yesterday you intimated that you were? Do you now see that you have been + the whole reason of it? You were excluded from any share in the work only + because you could not help to prepare your own gift! That is all. What has + looked like a secret in this house has been no secret. You are blinded and + bewildered no longer; the hour has come when holly and cedar can speak for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Sunlight broke out all over his face. + </p> + <p> + She made no reply but said within herself: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no! That is not the trouble. That has nothing to do with the trouble. + The secret of the house is not a misunderstanding; it is life. It is not + the doing of a year; it is the undoing of the years. It is not a gift to + enrich me with new happiness; it is a lesson that leaves me poorer.” + </p> + <p> + He went on without pausing: + </p> + <p> + “It is already late. The children interrupted us and took up part of your + evening. But it is not too late for me to present to you some little part + of your gift. I am going to arrange for you a short story out of the long + one. The whole long story is there,” he added, directing his eyes toward + the manuscript at her elbow; and his voice showed how he felt a scholar’s + pride in it. “From you it can pass out to the world that celebrates + Christmas and that often perhaps asks the same question: What is the + history of the Christmas Tree? But now my story for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” she said, rising. She left the package where it was; and + with feet that trembled against the soft carpet crossed the room and + seated herself at one end of a deep sofa. + </p> + <p> + Gathering her dignity about her, she took there the posture of a listener—listening + at her ease. + </p> + <p> + The sofa was of richly carved mahogany. Each end curved into a scroll like + a landward wave of the sea. One of her foam-white arms rested on one of + the scrolls. Her elbow, reaching beyond, touched a small table on which + stood a vase of white frosted glass; over the rim of it profuse crimson + carnations hung their heads. They were one of her favorite winter flowers, + and he had had these sent out to her this afternoon from a hothouse of the + distant town by a half-frozen messenger. Near her head curtains of crimson + brocade swept down the wall to the floor from the golden-lustred window + cornices. At her back were cushions of crimson silk. At the other end of + the sofa her piano stood and on it lay the music she played of evenings to + him, or played with thoughts of him when she was alone. And other music + also which she many a time read; as Beethoven’s Great Nine. + </p> + <p> + Now, along this wall of the parlor from window curtain to window curtain + there stretched a festoon of evergreens and ribands put there by the + children for their Christmas-Night party; and into this festoon they had + fastened bunches of mistletoe, plucked from the walnut tree felled the day + before—they knowing nothing, happy children! + </p> + <p> + There she reclined. + </p> + <p> + The lower outlines of her figure were lost in a rich blackness over which + points of jet flashed like swarms of silvery fireflies in some too warm a + night of the warm South. The blackness of her hair and the blackness of + her brows contrasted with the whiteness of her bare arms and shoulders and + faultless neck and faultless throat bared also. Not far away was hid the + warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus’s of old out of the sea’s + inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old family corals were + clasped—the ocean’s roses; and on her breast, between the night of + her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds flowered in beauty that + could never be opened, never be rifled. + </p> + <p> + When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged house-dogs—setters + with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle breeding—had followed + her and lain down at her feet; and one with a thrust of his nose pushed + her skirts back from the toe of her slipper and rested his chin on it. + </p> + <p> + “I will listen,” she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. “I wish + simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have to + say.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall go straight through,” he replied. “One minute now while I + put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short story out + of so vast a one.” + </p> + <p> + During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under stress + of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours often + arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that causes it to + yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new things: sometimes + creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is taken away. + </p> + <p> + As he stood there—the man beside the Tree—into the picture + entered three other men, looking down upon him from their portraits on the + walls. + </p> + <p> + One portrait represented the first man of his family to scale the + mountains of the Shield where its eastern rim is turned away from the + reddening daybreak. Thence he had forced his way to its central portions + where the skin of ever living verdure is drawn over the rocks: + Anglo-Saxon, backwoodsman, borderer, great forest chief, hewing and + fighting a path toward the sunset for Anglo-Saxon women and children. With + his passion for the wilderness—its game, enemies, campfire and + cabin, deep-lunged freedom. This ancestor had a lonely, stern, gaunt face, + no modern expression in it whatsoever—the timeless face of the + woods. + </p> + <p> + Near his portrait hung that of a second representative of the family. This + man had looked out upon his vast parklike estates hi the central counties; + and wherever his power had reached, he had used it on a great scale for + the destruction of his forests. Woods-slayer, field-maker; working to + bring in the period on the Shield when the hand of a man began to grasp + the plough instead of the rifle, when the stallion had replaced the stag, + and bellowing cattle wound fatly down into the pastures of the bison. This + man had the face of his caste—the countenance of the Southern + slave-holding feudal lord. Not the American face, but the Southern face of + a definite era—less than national, less than modern; a face not + looking far in any direction but at things close around. + </p> + <p> + From a third portrait the latest ancestor looked down. He with his + contemporaries had finished the thinning of the central forest of the + Shield, leaving the land as it is to-day, a rolling prairie with remnants + of woodland like that crowning the hilltop near this house. This immediate + forefather bore the countenance that began to develop in the Northerner + and in the Southerner after the Civil War: not the Northern look nor the + Southern look, but the American look—a new thing in the American + face, indefinable but unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + These three men now focussed their attention upon him, the fourth of the + line, standing beside the tree brought into the house. Each of them in his + own way had wrought out a work for civilization, using the woods as an + implement. In his own case, the woods around him having disappeared, the + ancestral passion had made him a student of forestry. + </p> + <p> + The thesis upon which he took his degree was the relation of modern + forestry to modern life. A few years later in an adjunct professorship his + original researches in this field began to attract attention. These had to + do with the South Appalachian forest in its relation to South Appalachian + civilization and thus to that of the continent. + </p> + <p> + This work had brought its reward; he was now to be drawn away from his own + college and country to a Northern university. + </p> + <p> + Curiously in him there had gone on a corresponding development of an + ancestral face. As the look of the wilderness hunter had changed into that + of the Southern slave-holding baron, as this had changed into the modern + American face unlike any other; now finally in him the national American + look had broadened into something more modern still—the look of mere + humanity: he did not look like an American—he looked like a man in + the service of mankind. + </p> + <p> + This, which it takes thus long to recapitulate, presented itself to her as + one wide vision of the truth. It left a realization of how the past had + swept him along with its current; and of how the future now caught him up + and bore him on, part in its problems. The old passion living on in him—forest + life; a new passion born in him—human life. And by inexorable logic + these two now blending themselves to-night in a story of the Christmas + Tree. + </p> + <p> + But womanlike she sought to pluck out of these forces something intensely + personal to which she could cling; and she did it in this wise. + </p> + <p> + In the Spring following their marriage, often after supper they would go + out on the lawn in the twilight, strolling among her flowers; she leading + him this way and that way and laying upon him beautiful exactions and + tyrannies: how he must do this and do that; and not do this and not do + that; he receiving his orders like a grateful slave. + </p> + <p> + Then sometimes he would silently imprison her hand and lead her down the + lawn and up the opposite hill to the edge of the early summer evening + woods; and there on the roots of some old tree—the shadows of the + forest behind them and the light of the western sky in their faces—they + would stay until darkness fell, hiding their eyes from each other. + </p> + <p> + The burning horizon became a cathedral interior—the meeting of + love’s holiness and the Most High; the crescent dropped a silver veil upon + the low green hills; wild violets were at their feet; the mosses and turf + of the Shield under them. The warmth of his body was as the day’s sunlight + stored in the trunk of the tree; his hair was to her like its tawny bloom, + native to the sun. + </p> + <p> + Life with him was enchanted madness. + </p> + <p> + He had begun. He stretched out his arm and slowly began to write on the + air of the room. Sometimes in earlier years she had sat in his classroom + when he was beginning a lecture; and it was thus, standing at the + blackboard, that he sometimes put down the subject of his lecture for the + students. Slowly now he shaped each letter and as he finished each word, + he read it aloud to her: + </p> + <h3> + “A STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR JOSEPHINE, WIFE OF FREDERICK” + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. THE WANDERING TALE + </h2> + <p> + “Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + He uttered her name with beautiful reverence, letting the sound of it + float over the Christmas Tree and die away on the garlanded walls of the + room: it was his last tribute to her, a dedication. + </p> + <p> + Then he began: + </p> + <p> + “Josephine, sometimes while looking out of the study window a spring + morning, I have watched you strolling among the flowers of the lawn. I + have seen you linger near a honeysuckle in full bloom and question the + blossoms in your questioning way—you who are always wishing to probe + the heart of things, to drain out of them the red drop of their + significance. But, gray-eyed querist of actuality, those fragrant trumpets + could blow to your ear no message about their origin. It was where the + filaments of the roots drank deepest from the mould of a dead past that + you would have had to seek the true mouthpieces of their philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “So the instincts which blossom out thickly over the nature of modern man + to themselves are mute. The flower exhibits itself at the tip of the vine; + the instinct develops itself at the farthest outreach of life; and the + point where it clamors for satisfaction is at the greatest possible + distance from its birthplace. For all these instincts send their roots + down through the mould of the uncivilized, down through the mould of the + primitive, down into the mould of the underhuman—that ancient + playhouse dedicated to low tragedies. + </p> + <p> + “While this may seem to you to be going far for a commencement of the + story, it is coming near to us. The kind of man and woman we are to + ourselves; the kind of husband and wife we are to each other; the kind of + father and mother we are to our children; the kind of human beings we are + to our fellow beings—the passions which swell as with sap the buds + of those relations until they burst into their final shapes of conduct are + fed from the bottom of the world’s mould. You and I to-night are building + the structures of our moral characters upon life-piles that sink into + fathomless ooze. All we human beings dip our drinking cups into a vast + delta sweeping majestically towards the sea and catch drops trickling from + the springs of creation. + </p> + <p> + “It is in a vast ancestral country, a Fatherland of Old Desire, that my + story lies for you and for me: drawn from the forest and from human nature + as the two have worked in the destiny of the earth. I have wrested it from + this Tree come out of the ancient woods into the house on this Night of + the Nativity.” + </p> + <p> + He made the scholar’s pause and resumed, falling into the tone of easy + narrative. It had already become evident that this method of telling the + story would be to find what Alpine flowers he could for her amid Alpine + snows. + </p> + <p> + He told her then that the oldest traceable influence in the life of the + human race is the sea. It is true that man in some ancestral form was + rocked in the cradle of the deep; he rose from the waves as the islanded + Greeks said of near Venus. Traces of this origin he still bears both in + his body and his emotions; and together they make up his first set of + memories—Sea Memories. + </p> + <p> + He deliberated a moment and then put the truth before her in a single + picturesque phrase: + </p> + <p> + “Man himself is a closed living sea-shell in the chambers of which the + hues of the first ocean are still fresh and its tempests still are + sounding.” + </p> + <p> + Next he told her how man’s last marine ancestor quit one day the sea never + again to return to the deep, crossed the sands of the beach and entered + the forest; and how upon him, this living sea-shell, soft to impressions, + the Spirit of the Forest fell to work, beginning to shape it over from sea + uses to forest uses. + </p> + <p> + A thousand thousand ages the Spirit of the Forest worked at the sea-shell. + </p> + <p> + It remodelled the shell as so much clay; stood it up and twisted and + branched it as young pliant oak; hammered it as forge-glowing iron; + tempered it as steel; cast it as bronze; chiselled it as marble; painted + it as a cloud; strung and tuned it as an instrument; lit it up as a life + tower—the world’s one beacon: steadily sending it onward through one + trial form after another until at last had been perfected for it that + angelic shape in which as man it was ever afterwards to sob and to smile. + </p> + <p> + And thus as one day a wandering sea-shell had quit the sea and entered the + forest, now on another day of that infinite time there reappeared at the + edge of the forest the creature it had made. On every wall of its being + internal and external forest-written; and completely forest-minded: having + nothing but forest knowledge, forest feeling, forest dreams, forest + fancies, forest faith; so that in all it could do or know or feel or dream + or imagine or believe it was forest-tethered. + </p> + <p> + At the edge of the forest then this creature uncontrollably impelled to + emerge from the waving green sea of leaves as of old it had been driven to + quit the rolling blue ocean of waters: Man at the dawn of our history of + him. + </p> + <p> + And if the first set of race memories—Sea Memories—still + endure within him, how much more powerful are the second set—the + Forest Memories! + </p> + <p> + So powerful that since the dawn of history millions have perished as + forest creatures only; so powerful that there are still remnant races on + the globe which have never yet snapped the primitive tether and will + become extinct as mere forest creatures to the last; so powerful that + those highest races which have been longest out in the open—as our + own Aryan race—have never ceased to be reached by the influence of + the woods behind them; by the shadows of those tall morning trees falling + across the mortal clearings toward the sunset. + </p> + <p> + These Master Memories, he said, filtering through the sandlike generations + of our race, survive to-day as those pale attenuated affections which we + call in ourselves the Love of Nature; these affections are inherited: new + feelings for nature we have none. The writers of our day who speak of + civilized man’s love of nature as a developing sense err wholly. They are + like explorers who should mistake a boundary for the interior of a + continent. Man’s knowledge of nature is modern, but it no more endows him + with new feeling than modern knowledge of anatomy supplies him with a new + bone or his latest knowledge about his blood furnishes him with an + additional artery. + </p> + <p> + Old are our instincts and passions about Nature: all are Forest Memories. + </p> + <p> + But among the many-twisted mass of them there is one, he said, that + contains the separate buried root of the story: Man’s Forest Faith. + </p> + <p> + When the Spirit of the Forest had finished with the sea-shell, it had + planted in him—there to grow forever—the root of faith that he + was a forest child. His origin in the sea he had not yet discovered; the + science of ages far distant in the future was to give him that. To himself + forest-tethered he was also forest-born: he believed it to be his + immediate ancestor, the creative father of mankind. Thus the Greeks in + their oldest faith were tethered to the idea that they were descended from + the plane tree; in the Sagas and Eddas the human race is tethered to the + world-ash. Among every people of antiquity this forest faith sprang up and + flourished: every race was tethered to some ancestral tree. In the Orient + each succeeding Buddha of Indian mythology was tethered to a different + tree; each god of the later classical Pantheon was similarly tethered: + Jupiter to the oak, Apollo to the laurel, Bacchus to the vine, Minerva to + the olive, Juno to the apple, on and on. Forest worship was universal—the + most impressive and bewildering to modern science that the human spirit + has ever built up. At the dawn of history began The Adoration of the + Trees. + </p> + <p> + Then as man, the wanderer, walked away from his dawn across the ages + toward the sunset bearing within him this root of faith, it grew with his + growth. The successive growths were cut down by the successive scythes of + time; but always new sprouts were put forth. + </p> + <p> + Thus to man during the earliest ages the divine dwelt as a bodily presence + within the forest; but one final day the forest lost the Immortal as its + indwelling creator. + </p> + <p> + Next the old forest worshipper peopled the trees with an intermediate race + of sylvan deities less than divine, more than human; and long he beguiled + himself with the exquisite reign and proximity of these; but the lesser + could not maintain themselves in temples from which the greater had + already been expelled, and they too passed out of sight down the roadway + of the world. + </p> + <p> + Still the old forest faith would not let the wanderer rest; and during yet + later ages he sent into the trees his own nature so that the woods became + freshly endeared to him by many a story of how individuals of his own race + had succeeded as tenants to the erstwhile habitations of the gods. Then + this last panorama of illusion faded also, and civilized man stood face to + face with the modern woods—inhabitated only by its sap and cells. + The trees had drawn their bark close around them, wearing an inviolate + tapestry across those portals through which so many a stranger to them had + passed in and passed out; and henceforth the dubious oracle of the forest—its + one reply to all man’s questionings—became the Voice of its own + Mystery. + </p> + <p> + After this the forest worshipper could worship the woods no more. But we + must not forget that civilization as compared with the duration of human + life on the planet began but yesterday: even our own Indo-European race + dwells as it were on the forest edge. And the forest still reaches out and + twines itself around our deepest spiritual truths: home—birth—love—prayer—death: + it tries to overrun them all, to reclaim them. Thus when we build our + houses, instinctively we attempt by some clump of trees to hide them and + to shelter ourselves once more inside the forest; in some countries + whenever a child is born, a tree is planted as its guardian in nature; in + our marriage customs the forest still riots as master of ceremonies with + garlands and fruits; our prayers strike against the forest shaped hi + cathedral stone—memory of the grove, God’s first temple; and when we + die, it is the tree that is planted beside us as the sentinel of our rest. + Even to this day the sight of a treeless grave arouses some obscure + instinct in us that it is God-forsaken. + </p> + <p> + Yes, he said, whatsoever modern temple man has anywhere reared for his + spirit, over the walls of it have been found growing the same leaf and + tendril: he has introduced the tree into the ritual of every later + world-worship; and thus he has introduced the evergreen into the ritual of + Christianity. + </p> + <p> + This then is the meaning of the Christmas Tree and of its presence at the + Nativity. At the dawn of history we behold man worshipping the tree as the + Creator literally present on the earth; in our time we see him using that + tree in the worship of the creative Father’s Son come to earth in the + Father’s stead. + </p> + <p> + “On this evergreen in the room falls the radiance of these brief tapers of + the night; but on it rests also the long light of that spiritual dawn when + man began his Adoration of the Trees. It is the forest taking its place + once more beside the long-lost Immortal.” + </p> + <p> + Here he finished the first part of his story. That he should address her + thus and that she thus should listen had in it nothing unusual for them. + For years it had been his wont to traverse with her the ground of his + lectures, and she shared his thought before it reached others. It was + their high and equal comradeship. Wherever his mind could go hers went—a + brilliant torch, a warming sympathy. + </p> + <p> + But to-night his words had fallen on her as withered leaves on a + motionless figure of stone. If he was sensible of this change in her, he + gave no sign. And after a moment he passed to the remaining part of the + story. + </p> + <p> + “Thus far I have been speaking to you of the bare tree in wild nature: + here it is loaded with decorations; and now I want to show you that they + too are Forest Memories—that since the evergreen moved over into the + service of Christianity, one by one like a flock of birds these Forest + Memories have followed it and have alighted amid its branches. Everything + here has its story. I am going to tell you in each case what that story + is; I am going to interpret everything on the Christmas Tree and the other + Christmas decorations in the room.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this point that her keen attention became fixed on him and never + afterwards wavered. If everything had its story, the mistletoe would have + its; he must interpret that: and thus he himself unexpectedly had brought + about the situation she wished. She would meet him at that symbolic bough: + there be rendered the Judgment of the Years! And now as one sits down at + some point of a road where a traveller must arrive, she waited for him + there. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Tree and explained briefly that as soon as the forest + worshipper began the worship of the tree, he began to bring to it his + offerings and to hang these on the boughs; for religion consists in + offering something: to worship is to give. In after ages when man had + learned to build shrines and temples, he still kept up his primitive + custom of bringing to the altar his gifts and sacrifices; but during that + immeasurable time before he had learned to carve wood or to set one stone + on another, he was bringing his offerings to the grove—the only + cathedral he had. And this to him was not decoration; it was prayer. So + that in our age of the world when we playfully decorate the Christmas Tree + it is a survival of grave rites in the worship of primitive man and is as + ancient as forest worship itself. + </p> + <p> + And now he began. + </p> + <p> + With the pointer in his hand he touched the star at the apex of the fir. + This, he said, was commonly understood to represent the Star of Bethlehem + which guided the wise men of the East to the manger on the Night of the + Nativity—the Star of the New Born. But modern discoveries show that + the records of ancient Chaldea go back four or five thousand years before + the Christian era; and as far back as they have been traced, we find the + wise men of the East worshipping this same star and being guided by it in + their spiritual wanderings as they searched for the incarnation of the + Divine. They worshipped it as the star of peace and goodness and purity. + Many a pious Wolfram in those dim centuries no doubt sang his evening hymn + to the same star, for love of some Chaldean Elizabeth—both he and + she blown about the desert how many centuries now as dust. Moreover on + these records the star and the Tree are brought together as here side by + side. And the story of the star leads backward to one of the first things + that man ever worshipped as he looked beyond the forest: the light of the + heavens floating in the depth of space—light that he wanted but + could not grasp. + </p> + <p> + He touched the next object on the Tree—the candle under the star—and + went on: + </p> + <p> + Imagine, he said, the forest worshipper as at the end of ages having + caught this light—having brought it down in the language of his myth + from heaven to earth: that is, imagine the star in space as having become + a star in his hand—the candle: the star worshipper had now become + also the fire worshipper. Thus the candle leads us back to the fire + worshippers of ancient Persia—those highlands of the spirit seeking + light. We think of the Christmas candle on the Tree as merely borrowed + from the candle of the altar for the purpose of illumination; but the use + of it goes back to a time when the forest worshipper, now also the fire + worshipper, hung his lights on the trees, having no other altar. Far down + toward modern times the temples of the old Prussians, for example, were + oak groves, and among them a hierarchy of priests was ordained to keep the + sacred fire perpetually burning at the root of the sacred oak. + </p> + <p> + He touched the third object on the tree—the cross under the candle—and + went on: + </p> + <p> + “To the Christian believer the cross signifies one supreme event: Calvary + and the tragedy of the Crucifixion. It was what the Marys saw and the + apostles that morning in Gethsemane. But no one in that age thought of the + cross as a Christian symbol. John and Peter and Paul and the rest went + down into their graves without so regarding it. The Magdalene never clung + to it with life-tired arms, nor poured out at the foot of it the benizon + of her tears. Not until the third century after Christ did the Bishops + assembled at Nice announce it a Christian symbol. But it was a sacred + emblem in the dateless antiquity of Egypt. To primitive man it stood for + that sacred light and fire of life which was himself. For he himself is a + cross—the first cross he has ever known. The faithful may truly + think of the Son of Man as crucified as the image of humanity. And thus + ages before Christ, cross worship and forest worship were brought + together: for instance, among the Druids who hunted for an oak, two boughs + of which made with the trunk of the tree the figure of the cross; and on + these three they cut the names of three of their gods and this was + holy-cross wood.” + </p> + <p> + He moved the pointer down until he touched the fourth object on the tree—the + dove under the cross, and went on: + </p> + <p> + “In the mind of the Christian believer this represents the white dove of + the New Testament which descended on the Son of Man when the heavens were + opened. So in Parsifal the white dove descends, overshadowing the Grail. + But ages before Christ the prolific white dove of Syria was worshipped + throughout the Orient as the symbol of reproductive Nature: and to this + day the Almighty is there believed to manifest himself under this form. In + ancient Mesopotamia the divine mother of nature is often represented with + this dove as having actually alighted on her shoulder or in her open hand. + And here again forest worship early became associated with the worship of + the dove; for, sixteen hundred years before Christ, we find the dove + nurtured in the oak grove at Dodona where its presence was an augury and + its wings an omen.” + </p> + <p> + On he went, touching one thing after another, tracing the story of each + backward till it was lost in antiquity and showing how each was entwined + with forest worship. + </p> + <p> + He touched the musical instruments; the bell, the drum. The bell, he said, + was used in Greece by the Priests of Bacchus in the worship of the vine. + And vine worship was forest worship. Moreover, in the same oak grove at + Dodona bells were tied to the oak boughs and their tinklings also were + sacred auguries. The drum, which the modern boy beats on Christmas Day, + was beaten ages before Christ in the worship of Confucius: the story of it + dies away toward what was man’s first written music in forgotten China. In + the first century of the Christian era, on one of the most splendid of the + old Buddhist sculptures, boys are represented as beating the drum in the + worship of the sacred tree—once more showing how music passed into + the service of forest faith. + </p> + <p> + He touched the cornucopia; and he traced its story back to the ram’s horn—the + primitive cup of libation, used for a drinking cup and used also to pour + out the last product of the vine in honor of the vine itself—the + forest’s first goblet. + </p> + <p> + He touched the fruits and the flowers on the Tree: these were oldest of + all, perhaps, he said; for before the forest worshipper had learned to + shape or fabricate any offerings of his own skill, he could at least bring + to the divine tree and hang on it the flower of spring, the wild fruit of + autumn. + </p> + <p> + He kept on until only three things on the Tree were left uninterpreted; + the tinsel, the masks, and the dolls. He told her that he had left these + to the last for a reason: seemingly they were the most trivial but really + the most grave; for by means of them most clearly could be traced the + presence of great law running through the progress of humanity. + </p> + <p> + He drew her attention to the tinsel that covered the tree, draping it like + a yellow moss. It was of no value, he said, but in the course of ages it + had taken the place of the offering of actual gold in forest worship: a + once universal custom of adorning the tree with everything most precious + to the giver in token of his sacrifice and self-sacrifice. Even in + Jeremiah is an account of the lading of the sacred tree with gold and + ornaments. Herodotus relates that when Xerxes was invading Lydia, on the + march he saw a divine tree and had it honored with golden robes and gifts. + Livy narrates that when Romulus slew his enemy on the site of the Eternal + City, he hung rich spoils on the oak of the Capitoline Hill. And this + custom of decorating the tree with actual gold goes back in history until + we can meet it coming down to us in the story of Jason and the Golden + Fleece and in that of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Now the custom + has dwindled to this tinsel flung over the Christmas Tree—the mock + sacrifice for the real. + </p> + <p> + He touched the masks and unfolded the grim story that lay behind their + mockery. It led back to the common custom in antiquity of sacrificing + prisoners of war or condemned criminals or innocent victims in forest + worship and of hanging their heads on the branches: we know this to have + been the practice among Gallic and Teuton tribes. In the course of time, + when such barbarity could be tolerated no longer, the mock countenance + replaced the real. + </p> + <p> + He touched the dolls and revealed their sad story. Like the others, its + long path led to antiquity and to the custom of sacrificing children in + forest worship. How common this custom was the early literature of the + human race too abundantly testifies. We encounter the trace of it in + Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac—arrested by the command of Jehovah. But + Abraham would never have thought of slaying his son to propitiate his God, + had not the custom been well established. In the case of Jephthah’s + daughter the sacrifice was actually allowed. We come upon the same custom + in the fate of Iphigenia—at a critical turning point in the world’s + mercy; in her stead the life of a lesser animal, as in Isaac’s case, was + accepted. When the protective charity of mankind turned against the + inhumanity of the old faiths, then the substitution of the mock for the + real sacrifice became complete. And now on the boughs of the Christmas + Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites only these + playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the innocent. + </p> + <p> + He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the + little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and ever + converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest worship and + they met in some sacrifice by the human heart. + </p> + <p> + And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night: + </p> + <p> + “Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree is + all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could not + worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore he + brought his gifts to the forest—his first altar. These gifts, + remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his sacrifices + and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since, the same law + lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the better to the worse; + in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to the best. If the race + should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it would still have to + worship what is highest in human nature and so worshipping, it would still + be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice become the law of self-sacrifice: + it would still be necessary to offer up what is low in us to what is + higher. Only one portion of mankind has ever believed in Jerusalem; but + every religion has known its own Calvary.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away from the Tree toward her and awaited her appreciation. She + had sat watching him without a movement and without a word. But when at + last she asked him a question, she spoke as a listener who wakens from a + long revery. + </p> + <p> + “Have you finished the story for me?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I have finished the story for you,” he replied without betraying + disappointment at her icy reception of it. + </p> + <p> + Keeping her posture, she raised one of her white arms above her head, + turning her face up also until the swanlike curve of the white throat + showed; and with quivering finger tips she touched some sprays of + mistletoe pendent from the garland on the wall: + </p> + <p> + “You have not interpreted this,” she said, her mind fixed on that sole + omission. + </p> + <p> + “I have not explained that,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + She sat up, and for the first time looked with intense interest toward the + manuscript on the table across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Have you explained it there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not explained it there.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” she said with disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “I did not wish you to read that story, Josephine.” + </p> + <p> + “But why, Frederick?” she inquired, startled into wonderment. + </p> + <p> + He smiled: “If I told you why, I might as well tell you the story.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you not wish to tell me the story?” + </p> + <p> + He answered with warning frankness: “If you once saw it as a picture, the + picture would be coming back to you at times the rest of your life + darkly.” + </p> + <p> + She protested: “If it is dark to you, why should I not share the darkness + of it? Have we not always looked at life’s shadows together? And thus + seeing life, have not bright things been doubly bright to us and dark + things but half as dark?” + </p> + <p> + He merely repeated his warning: “It is a story of a crueler age than ours. + It goes back to the forest worship of the Druids.” + </p> + <p> + She answered: “So long as our own age is cruel, what room is left to take + seriously the mere stories of crueler ones? Am I to shrink from the forest + worship of the Druids? Is there any story of theirs not printed in books? + Are not the books in libraries? Are they not put in libraries to be read? + If others read them, may not I? And since when must I begin to dread + anything in books? Or anything in life? And since when did we begin to + look at life apart, we who have always looked at it with four eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “I have always told you there are things to see with four eyes, things to + see with two, and things to see with none.” + </p> + <p> + With sudden intensity her white arm went up again and touched the + mistletoe. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the story of this!” she pleaded as though she demanded a right. + As she spoke, her thumb and forefinger meeting on a spray, they closed and + went through it like a pair of shears; and a bunch of the white pearls of + the forest dropped on the ridge of her shoulder and were broken apart and + rolled across her breast into her lap. + </p> + <p> + He looked grave; silence or speech—which were better for her? + Either, he now saw, would give her pain. + </p> + <p> + “Happily the story is far away from us,” he said, as though he were half + inclined to grant her request. + </p> + <p> + “If it is far away, bring it near! Bring it into the room as you brought + the stories of the star and the candle and the cross and the dove and the + others! Make it live before my eyes! Enact it before me! Steep me in it as + you have steeped yourself!” + </p> + <p> + He held back a long time: “You who are so safe in good, why know evil?” + </p> + <p> + “Frederick,” she cried, “I shall have to insist upon your telling me this + story. And if you should keep any part of it back, I would know. Then tell + it all: if it is dark, let each shadow have its shade; give each heavy + part its heaviness; let cruelty be cruelty—and truth be truth!” + </p> + <p> + He stood gazing across the centuries, and when he began, there was a + change in him; something personal was beginning to intrude itself into the + narrative of the historian: + </p> + <p> + “Imagine the world of our human nature in the last centuries before + Palestine became Holy Land. Athens stood with her marbles glistening by + the blue Ægean, and Greek girls with fillets and sandals—the living + images of those pale sculptured shapes that are the mournful eternity of + Art—Greek girls were being chosen for the secret rites in the temple + at Ephesus. The sun of Italy had not yet browned the little children who + were to become the brown fathers and mothers of the brown soldiers of + Cæsar’s legions; and twenty miles south of Rome, in the sacred grove of + Dodona,—where the motions of oak boughs were auguries, and the + flappings of the wings of white doves were divine messages, and the + tinkling of bells in the foliage had divine meanings,—in this grove + the virgins of Latium, as the Greek girls of Ephesus, were once a year + appointed to undergo similar rites. To the south Pompeii, with its night + laughter and song sounding far out toward the softly lapping Mediterranean + and up the slopes of its dread volcano, drained its goblet and did not + care, emptied it as often as filled and asked for nothing more. A little + distance off Herculaneum, with its tender dreams of Greece but with its + arms around the breathing image of Italy, slept—uncovered. + </p> + <p> + “Beyond Italy to the north, on the other side of the eternal snowcaps, lay + unknown Gaul, not yet dreaming of the Cæsar who was to conquer it; and + across the wild sea opposite Gaul lay the wooded isle of Britain. All over + that island one forest; in that forest one worship; in that worship one + tree—the oak of England; and on that oak one bough—the + mistletoe.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke to her awhile about the oak, describing the place it had in the + early civilizations of the human race. In the Old Testament it was the + tree of the Hebrew idols and of Jehovah. In Greece it was the tree of + Zeus, the most august and the most human of the gods. In Italy it was the + tree of Jove, great father of immortals and of mankind. After the gods + passed, it became the tree of the imperial Cæsars. After the Cæsars had + passed, it was the oak that Michael Angelo in the Middle Ages scattered + over the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel near the creation of man and his + expulsion from Paradise—there as always the chosen tree of human + desire. In Britain it was the sacred tree of Druidism: there the Arch + Druid and his fellow-priests performed none of their rites without using + its leaves and branches: never anywhere in the world was the oak + worshipped with such ceremonies and sacrifices as there. + </p> + <p> + Imagine then a scene—the chief Nature Festival of that forest + worship: the New Year’s day of the Druids. + </p> + <p> + A vast concourse of people, men and women and children, are on their way + to the forest; they are moving toward an oak tree that has been found with + mistletoe growing on it—growing there so seldom. As the excited + throng come in sight of it, they hail it with loud cries of reverence and + delight. Under it they gather; there a banquet is spread. In the midst of + the assemblage one figure towers—the Arch Druid. Every eye is fixed + fearfully on him, for on whomsoever his own eye may fall with wrath, he + may be doomed to become one of the victims annually sacrificed to the oak. + </p> + <p> + A gold chain is around his neck; gold bands are around his arms. He is + clad in robes of spotless white. He ascends the tree to a low bough, and + making a hollow in the folds of his robes, he crops with a golden pruning + hook the mistletoe and so catches it as it falls. Then it is blessed and + scattered among the throng, and the priest prays that each one so + receiving it may receive also the divine favor and blessing of which it is + Nature’s emblem. Two white bulls, the horns of which have never hitherto + been touched, are now adorned with fillets and are slaughtered in + sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Then at last it is over, the people are gone, the forest is left to + itself, and the New Year’s ceremony of cutting the mistletoe from the oak + is at an end. + </p> + <p> + Here he ended the story. + </p> + <p> + She had sat leaning far forward, her fingers interlocked and her brows + knitted. When he stopped, she sat up and studied him a moment in + bewilderment: + </p> + <p> + “But why did you call that a dark story?” she asked. “Where is the + cruelty? It is beautiful, and I shall never forget it and it will never + throw a dark image on my mind: New Year’s day—the winter woods—the + journeying throng—the oak—the bough—the banquet beneath—the + white bulls with fillets on their horns—the white-robed priest—the + golden sickle in his hand—the stroke that severs the mistletoe—the + prayer that each soul receiving any smallest piece will be blessed in + life’s sorrows! If I were a great painter, I should like to paint that + scene. In the centre should be some young girl, pressing to her heart what + she believed to be heaven’s covenant with her under the guise of a + blossom. How could you have wished to withhold such a story from me?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her a little sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I have not yet told you all,” he said, “but I have told you enough.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly she bent far over toward him with intuitive scrutiny. Under her + breath one word escaped: + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + It was the breath of a discovery—a discovery of something unknown to + her. + </p> + <p> + “I am sparing you, Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + She stretched each arm along the back of the sofa and pinioned the wood in + her clutch. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sparing me?” she asked in a tone of torture. “Or are you sparing + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The heavy staff on which he stood leaning dropped from his relaxed grasp + to the floor. He looked down at it a moment and then calmly picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you the story,” he said with a new quietness. + </p> + <p> + She was aroused by some change in him. + </p> + <p> + “I will not listen! I do not wish to hear it!” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to listen,” he said. “It is better for you to know. Better + for any human being to know any truth than suffer the bane of wrong + thinking. When you are free to judge, it will be impossible for you to + misjudge.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not misjudged you! I have not judged you! In some way that I do + not understand you are judging yourself!” + </p> + <p> + He stepped back a pace—farther away from her—and he drew + himself up. In the movement there was instinctive resentment. And the + right not to be pried into—not even by the nearest. + </p> + <p> + The step which had removed him farther from her had brought him nearer to + the Christmas Tree at his back. A long, three-fingered bough being thus + pressed against was forced upward and reappeared on one of his shoulders. + The movement seemed human: it was like the conscious hand of the tree. The + fir, standing there decked out in the artificial tawdriness of a + double-dealing race, laid its wild sincere touch on him—as sincere + as the touch of dying human fingers—and let its passing youth flow + into him. It attracted his attention, and he turned his head toward it as + with recognition. Other boughs near the floor likewise thrust themselves + forward, hiding his feet so that he stood ankle-deep in forestry. + </p> + <p> + This reunion did not escape her. Her overwrought imagination made of it a + sinister omen: the bough on his shoulder rested there as the old forest + claim; the boughs about his feet were the ancestral forest tether. As he + had stepped backward from her, Nature had asserted the earlier right to + him. In strange sickness and desolation of heart she waited. + </p> + <p> + He stood facing her but looking past her at centuries long gone; the first + sound of his voice registered upon her ear some message of doom: + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + She buried her face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot! I will not!” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to listen. You know that for some years, apart from my + other work, I have been gathering together the woodland customs of our + people and trying to trace them back to their origin and first meaning. In + our age of the world we come upon many playful forest survivals of what + were once grave things. Often in our play and pastimes and lingering + superstitions about the forest we cross faint traces of what were once + vital realities. + </p> + <p> + “Among these there has always been one that until recently I have never + understood. Among country people oftenest, but heard of everywhere, is the + saying that if a girl is caught standing under the mistletoe, she may be + kissed by the man who thus finds her. I have always thought that this + ceremony and playful sacrifice led back to some ancient rite—I could + not discover what. Now I know.” + </p> + <p> + In a voice full of a new delicacy and scarcely audible, he told her. + </p> + <p> + It is another scene in the forest of Britain. This time it is not the + first day of the year—the New Year’s day of the Druids when they + celebrated the national festival of the oak. But it is early summer, + perhaps the middle of May—May in England—with the young beauty + of the woods. It is some hushed evening at twilight. The new moon is just + silvering the tender leaves and creating a faint shadow under the trees. + The hawthorn is in bloom—red and white—and not far from the + spot, hidden in some fragrant tuft of this, a nightingale is singing, + singing, singing. + </p> + <p> + Lifting itself above the smaller growths stands the young manhood of the + woods—a splendid oak past its thirtieth year, representing its youth + and its prime conjoined. In its trunk is the summer heat of the all-day + sun. Around its roots is velvet turf, and there are wild violet beds. Its + huge arms are stretched toward the ground as though reaching for some + object they would clasp; and on one of these arms as its badge of divine + authority, worn there as a knight might wear the colors of his Sovereign, + grows the mistletoe. There he stands—the Forest Lover. + </p> + <p> + The woods wait, the shadows deepen, the hush is more intense, the moon’s + rays begin to be golden, the song of the nightingale grows more + passionate, the beds of moss and violets wait. + </p> + <p> + Then the shrubbery is tremblingly parted at some place and upon the scene + a young girl enters—her hair hanging down—her limbs most + lightly clad—the flush of red hawthorn on the white hawthorn of her + skin—in her eyes love’s great need and mystery. Step by step she + comes forward, her fingers trailing against whatsoever budding wayside + thing may stay her strength. She draws nearer to the oak, searching amid + its boughs for that emblem which she so dreads to find and yet more dreads + not to find: the emblem of a woman’s fruitfulness which the young oak—the + Forest Lover—reaches down toward her. Finding it, beneath it with + one deep breath of surrender she takes her place—the virgin’s tryst + with the tree—there to be tested. + </p> + <p> + Such is the command of the Arch Druid: it is obedience—submission to + that test—or death for her as a sacrifice to the oak which she has + rejected. + </p> + <p> + Again the shrubbery is parted, rudely pushed aside, and a man enters—a + tried and seasoned man—a human oak—counterpart of the Forest + Lover—to officiate at the test. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + He was standing there in the parlor of his house and in the presence of + his wife. But in fealty he was gone: he was in the summer woods of + ancestral wandering, the fatherland of Old Desire. + </p> + <p> + <i>He</i> was the man treading down the shrubbery; it was <i>his</i> feet + that started toward the oak; <i>his</i> eye that searched for the figure + half fainting under the bough; for <i>him</i> the bed of moss and violets—the + hair falling over the eyes—the loosened girdle—the breasts of + hawthorn white and pink—the listening song of the nightingale—the + silence of the summer woods—the seclusion—the full surrender + of the two under that bough of the divine command, to escape the penalty + of their own death. + </p> + <p> + The blaze of uncontrollable desire was all over him; the fire of his own + story had treacherously licked him like a wind-bent flame. The light that + she had not seen in his eyes for so long rose in them—the old, + unfathomable, infolding tenderness. A quiver ran around his tense + nostrils. + </p> + <p> + And now one little phrase which he had uttered so sacredly years before + and had long since forgotten rose a second time to his lips—tossed + there by a second tide of feeling. On the silence of the room fell his + words: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The storm that had broken over him died away. He shut his eyes on the + vanishing scene: he opened them upon her. + </p> + <p> + He had told her the truth about the story; he may have been aware or he + may not have been aware that he had revealed to her the truth about + himself. + </p> + <p> + “This is what I would have kept from you, Josephine,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting there before him—the mother of his children, of the + sleeping ones, of the buried ones—the butterfly broken on the wheel + of years: lustreless and useless now in its summer. + </p> + <p> + She sat there with the whiteness of death. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + </h2> + <p> + The Christmas candles looked at her flickeringly; the little white candles + of purity, the little red candles of love. The holly in the room concealed + its bold gay berries behind its thorns, and the cedar from the faithful + tree beside the house wall had need now of its bitter rosary. + </p> + <p> + Her first act was to pay what is the first debt of a fine spirit—the + debt of courtesy and gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “It is a wonderful story, Frederick,” she said in a manner which showed + him that she referred to the beginning of his story and not to the end. + </p> + <p> + “As usual you have gone your own way about it, opening your own path into + the unknown, seeing what no one else has seen, and bringing back what no + one else ever brought. It is a great revelation of things that I never + dreamed of and could never have imagined. I appreciate your having done + this for me; it has taken time and work, but it is too much for me + to-night. It is too new and too vast. I must hereafter try to understand + it. And there will be leisure enough. Nor can it lose by waiting. But now + there is something that cannot wait, and I wish to speak to you about + that; Frederick, I am going to ask you some questions about the last part + of the story. I have been wanting to ask you a long time: the story gives + me the chance and—the right.” + </p> + <p> + He advanced a step toward her, disengaging himself from the evergreen. + </p> + <p> + “I will answer them,” he said. “If they can be answered.” + </p> + <p> + And thus she sat and thus he stood as the questions and answers passed to + and fro. They were solemn questions and solemn replies, drawn out of the + deeps of life and sinking back into them. + </p> + <p> + “Frederick,” she said, “for many years we have been happy together, so + happy! Every tragedy of nature has stood at a distance from us except the + loss of our children. We have lived on a sunny pinnacle of our years, + lifted above life’s storms. But of course I have realized that sooner or + later our lot must become the common one: if we did not go down to Sorrow, + Sorrow would climb to us; and I knew that on the heights it dwells best. + That is why I wish to say to you to-night what I shall: I think fate’s + hour has struck for me; I am ready to hear it. Its arrow has already left + the bow and is on its way; I open my heart to receive it. This is as I + have always wished; I have said that if life had any greatest tragedy, for + me, I hoped it would come when I was happiest; thus I should confront it + all. I have never drunk half of my cup of happiness, as you know, and let + the other half waste; I must go equally to the depth of any suffering. + Worse than the suffering, I think, would be the feeling that I had shirked + some of it, had stepped aside, or shut my eyes, or in any manner shown + myself a cowardly soul.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause she went over this subject as though she were not satisfied + that she had made it clear. + </p> + <p> + “I have always said that the real pathos of things is the grief that comes + to us in life when life is at its best—when no one is to blame—when + no one has committed a fault—when suffering is meted out to us as + the reward of our perfect obedience to the laws of nature. In earlier + years when we used to read Keats together, who most of all of the world’s + poets felt the things that pass, even then I was wondering at the way in + which he brings this out: that to understand Sorrow it must be separated + from sorrows: they would be like shadows darkening the bright disk of + life’s clear tragedy, thus rendering it less bravely seen. + </p> + <p> + “And so he is always telling us not to summon sad pictures nor play with + mournful emblems; not to feign ourselves as standing on the banks of + Lethe, gloomiest of rivers; nor to gather wolf’s bane and twist the poison + out of its tight roots; nor set before us the cup of hemlock; nor bind + about our temples the ruby grape of nightshade; nor count over the berries + of the yew tree which guards sad places; nor think of the beetle ticking + in the bed post, nor watch the wings of the death moth, nor listen to the + elegy of the owl—the voice of ruins. Not these! they are the emblems + of our sorrows. But the emblems of Sorrow are beautiful things at their + perfect moment; a red peony just opening, a rainbow seen for an instant on + the white foam, youth not yet faded but already fading, joy with its + finger on his lips, bidding adieu. + </p> + <p> + “And so with all my happiness about me, I wish to know life’s tragedy. And + to know it, Frederick, not to infer it: <i>I want to be told</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “If you can be told, you shall be told,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She changed her position as though seeking physical relief and composure. + Then she began: + </p> + <p> + “Years ago when you were a student in Germany, you had a college friend. + You went home with him two or three years at Christmas and celebrated the + German Christmas. It was in this way that we came to have the Christmas + Tree in our house—through memory of him and of those years. You have + often described to me how you and he in summer went Alpine climbing, and + far up in some green valley girdled with glaciers lay of afternoons under + some fir tree, reading and drowsing in the crystalline air. You told me of + your nights of wandering down the Rhine together when the heart turns so + intimately to the heart beside it. He was German youth and song and dream + and happiness to you. Tell me this: before you lost him that last summer + over the crevasse, had you begun to tire of him? Was there anything in you + that began to draw back from anything in him? As you now look back at the + friendship of your youth, have the years lessened your regret for him?” + </p> + <p> + He answered out of the ideals of his youth: + </p> + <p> + “The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. I never tired of being with + him. Nothing in me ever drew back from anything in him. When he was lost, + the whole world lost some of its strength and nobility. After all the + years, if he could come back, he would find me unchanged—that friend + of my youth!” + </p> + <p> + With a peculiar change of voice she asked next: + </p> + <p> + “The doctor, Herbert and Elsie’s father, our nearest neighbor, your + closest friend now in middle life. You see a great deal of the doctor; he + is often here, and you and he often sit up late at night, talking with one + another about many things: do you ever tire of the doctor and wish him + away? Have you any feeling toward him that you try to keep secret from me? + Can you be a perfectly frank man with this friend of your middle life?” + </p> + <p> + “The longer I know him the more I like him, honor him, trust him. I never + tire of his companionship or his conversation; I have no disguises with + him and need none.” + </p> + <p> + “The children! As the children grow older do you care less for them? Do + they begin to wear on you? Are they a clog, an interference? Have Harold + and Elizabeth ceased forming new growths of affection in you? Do you ever + unconsciously seek pretexts for avoiding them?” + </p> + <p> + “The older they grow, the more I love them. The more they interest me and + tempt away from work and duties. I am more drawn to be with them and I + live more and more in the thought of what they are becoming.” + </p> + <p> + “Your work! Does your work attract you less than formerly? Does it develop + in you the purpose to be something more or stifle in you the regret to be + something less? Is it a snare to idleness or a goad to toil?” + </p> + <p> + “As the mariner steers for the lighthouse, as the hound runs down the + stag, as the soldier wakes to the bugle, as the miner digs for fortune, as + the drunkard drains the cup, as the saint watches the cross, I follow my + work, I follow my work.” + </p> + <p> + “Life, life itself, does it increase in value or lessen? Is the world + still morning to you with your work ahead or afternoon when you begin to + tire and to think of rest?” + </p> + <p> + “The world to me is as early morning to a man going forth to his work. + Where the human race is from and whither it is hurrying and why it exists + at all; why a human being loves what it loves and hates what it hates; why + it is faithful when it could be unfaithful and faithless when it should be + true; how civilized man can fight single handed against the ages that were + his lower past—how he can develop self-renunciation out of + selfishness and his own wisdom out of surrounding folly,—all these + are questions that mean more and more. My work is but beginning and the + world is morning.” + </p> + <p> + “This house! Are you tired of it now that it is older? Would you rather + move into a new one?” + </p> + <p> + “I love this house more and more. No other dwelling could take its place. + Any other could be but a shelter; this is home. And I care more for it now + that the signs of age begin to settle on it. If it were a ruin, I should + love it best!” + </p> + <p> + She leaned over and looked down at the two setters lying at her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you care less for the dogs of the house as they grow older?” + </p> + <p> + “I think more of them and take better care of them now that their hunting + days are over.” + </p> + <p> + “The friend of your youth—the friend of your middle age—the + children—your profession—the world of human life—this + house—the dogs of the house—you care more for them all as time + passes?” + </p> + <p> + “I care more for them all as time passes.” + </p> + <p> + Then there came a great stillness in the room—the stillness of all + listening years. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the only thing that you care less for as time passes?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Am I in the way?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to go over it all again with another?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + She had hidden her face in her hands and pressed her head against the end + of the sofa. Her whole figure shrank lower, as though to escape being + touched by him—to escape the blow of his words. No words came. There + was no touch. + </p> + <p> + A moment later she felt that he must be standing over her, looking down at + her. She would respond to his hand on the back of her neck. He must be + kneeling beside her; his arms would infold her. Then with a kind of + incredible terror she realized that he was not there. At first she could + so little believe it, that with her face still buried in one hand she + searched the air for him with the other, expecting to touch him. + </p> + <p> + Then she cried out to him: + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t there anything you can say to me?” + </p> + <p> + Silence lasted. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh, Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the stillness she began to hear something—the sound of his + footsteps moving on the carpet. She sat up. + </p> + <p> + The room was getting darker; he was putting out the candles. It was too + dark already to see his face. With fascination she began to watch his + hand. How steady it was as it moved among the boughs, extinguishing the + lights. Out they went one by one and back into their darkness returned the + emblems of darker ages—the Forest Memories. + </p> + <p> + A solitary taper was left burning at the pinnacle of the Tree under the + cross: that highest torch of love shining on everything that had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + He quietly put it out. + </p> + <p> + Yet the light seemed not put out, but instantly to have travelled through + the open parlor door into the adjoining room, her bedroom; for out of that + there now streamed a suffused red light; it came from the lamp near the + great bed in the shadowy corner. + </p> + <p> + This lamp poured its light through a lampshade having the semblance of a + bursting crimson peony as some morning in June the flower with the weight + of its own splendor falls face downward on the grass. And in that room + this soft lamp-light fell here and there on crimson winter draperies. He + had been living alone as a bachelor before he married her. After they + became engaged he, having watched for some favorite color of hers, had had + this room redecorated in that shade. Every winter since she had renewed in + this way or that way these hangings, and now the bridal draperies remained + unchanged—after the changing years. + </p> + <p> + He replaced the taper against the wall and came over and stood before her, + holding out his hands to help her rise. + </p> + <p> + She arose without his aid and passed around him, moving toward her + bedroom. With arms outstretched guarding her but not touching her, he + followed close, for she was unsteady. She entered her bedroom and crossed + to the door of his bedroom; she pushed this open, and keeping her face + bent aside waited for him to go in. He went in and she closed the door on + him and turned the key. Then with a low note, with which the soul tears + out of itself something that has been its life, she made a circlet of her + white arms against the door and laid her profile within this circlet and + stood—the figure of Memory. + </p> + <p> + Thus sometimes a stranger sees a marble figure standing outside a tomb + where some story of love and youth ended: some stranger in a far land,—walking + some afternoon in those quieter grounds where all human stories end; an + autumn bird in the bare branches fluting of its mortality and his heart + singing with the bird of one lost to him—lost to him in his own + country. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the door the silence was that of a tomb. She had felt + confident—so far as she had expected anything—that he would + speak to her through the door, try to open it, plead with her to open it. + Nothing of the kind occurred. + </p> + <p> + Why did he not come back? What bolt could have separated her from him? + </p> + <p> + The silence began to weigh upon her. + </p> + <p> + Then in the tense stillness she heard him moving quietly about, getting + ready for bed. There were the same movements, familiar to her for years. + She would not open the door, she could not leave it, she could not stand, + no support was near, and she sank to the floor and sat there, leaning her + brow against the lintel. + </p> + <p> + On the other side the quiet preparations went on. + </p> + <p> + She heard him take off his coat and vest and hang them on the back of a + chair. The buttons made a little scraping sound against the wood. Then he + went to his dresser and took off his collar and tie, and he opened a + drawer and laid out a night-shirt. She heard the creaking of a chair under + him as he threw one foot and then the other up across his knee and took + off his shoes and socks. Then there reached her the soft movements of his + bare feet on the carpet (despite her agony the old impulse started in her + to caution him about his slippers). Then followed the brushing of his + teeth and the deliberate bathing of his hands. Then was audible the puff + of breath with which he blew out his lamp after he had turned it low; and + then,—on the other side of the door,—just above her ear his + knock sounded. + </p> + <p> + The same knock waited for and responded to throughout the years; so often + with his little variations of playfulness. Many a time in early summer + when out-of-doors she would be reminded of it by hearing some bird + sounding its love signal on a piece of dry wood—that tap of + heart-beat. Now it crashed close to her ear. + </p> + <p> + Such strength came back to her that she rose as lightly as though her + flesh were but will and spirit. When he knocked again, she was across the + room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her palms pressed together and + thrust between her knees: the instinctive act of a human animal suddenly + chilled to the bone. + </p> + <p> + The knocking sounded again. + </p> + <p> + “Was there anything you needed?” she asked fearfully. + </p> + <p> + There was no response but another knock. + </p> + <p> + She hurriedly raised her voice to make sure that it would reach him. + </p> + <p> + “Was there anything you wanted?” + </p> + <p> + As no response came, the protective maternal instinct took greater alarm, + and she crossed to the door of his room and she repeated her one question: + </p> + <p> + “Did you forget anything?” + </p> + <p> + Her mind refused to release itself from the iteration of that idea: it was + some <i>thing</i>—not herself—that he wanted. + </p> + <p> + He knocked. + </p> + <p> + Her imagination, long oppressed by his silence, now made of his knock some + signal of distress. It took on the authority of an appeal not to be + denied. She unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and once more + she asked her one poor question. + </p> + <p> + His answer to it came in the form of a gentle pressure against the door, + breaking down her resistance. As she applied more strength, this was as + gently overcome; and when the opening was sufficient, he walked past her + into the room. + </p> + <p> + How hushed the house! How still the world outside as the cloud wove in + darkness its mantle of light! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. THE WHITE DAWN + </h2> + <p> + Day was breaking. + </p> + <p> + The crimson curtains of the bedroom were drawn close, but from behind + their outer edges faint flanges of light began to advance along the wall. + It was a clear light reflected from snow which had sifted in against the + window-panes, was banked on the sills outside, ridged the yard fence, + peaked the little gate-posts, and buried the shrubbery. There was no need + to look out in order to know that it had stopped snowing, that the air was + windless, and that the stars were flashing silver-pale except one—great + golden-croziered shepherd of the thick, soft-footed, moving host. + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas morning on the effulgent Shield. + </p> + <p> + Already there was sufficient light in the room to reveal—less as + actual things than as brown shadows of the memory—a gay company of + socks and stockings hanging from the mantelpiece; sufficient to give + outline to the bulk of a man asleep on the edge of the bed; and it exposed + to view in a corner of the room farthest from the rays a woman sitting in + a straight-backed chair, a shawl thrown about her shoulders over her + night-dress. + </p> + <p> + He always slept till he was awakened; the children, having stayed up past + their usual bedtime, would sleep late also; she had the white dawn to + herself in quietness. + </p> + <p> + She needed it. + </p> + <p> + Sleep could not have come to her had she wished. She had not slept and she + had not lain down, and the sole endeavor during those shattered hours had + been to prepare herself for his awakening. She was not yet ready—she + felt that during the rest of her life she should never be quite ready to + meet him again. Scant time remained now. + </p> + <p> + Soon all over the Shield indoor merriment and outdoor noises would begin. + Wherever in the lowlands any many-chimneyed city, proud of its size, rose + by the sweep of watercourses, or any little inland town was proud of its + smallness and of streets that terminated in the fields; whereever any + hamlet marked the point at which two country roads this morning made the + sign of the white cross, or homesteads stood proudly castled on woody + hilltops, or warmed the heart of the beholder from amid their olive-dark + winter pastures; or far away on the shaggy uplift of the Shield wherever + any cabin clung like a swallow’s nest against the gray Appalachian wall—everywhere + soon would begin the healthy outbreak of joy among men and women and + children—glad about themselves, glad in one another, glad of human + life in a happy world. The many-voiced roar and din of this warm carnival + lay not far away from her across the cold bar of silence. + </p> + <p> + Soon within the house likewise the rush of the children’s feet would + startle her ear; they would be tugging at the door, tugging at her heart. + And as she thought of this, the recollection of old simple things came + pealing back to her from behind life’s hills. The years parted like naked + frozen reeds, and she, sorely stricken in her womanhood, fled backward + till she herself was a child again—safe in her father’s and mother’s + protection. It was Christmas morning, and she in bare feet was tipping + over the cold floors toward their bedroom—toward her stockings. + </p> + <p> + Her father and mother! How she needed them at this moment: they had been + sweethearts all their lives. One picture of them rose with distinctness + before her—for the wounding picture always comes to the wounded + moment. She saw them sitting in their pew far down toward the chancel. + Through a stained glass window (where there was a ladder of angels) the + light fell softly on them—both silver-haired; and as with the voices + of children they were singing out of one book. She remembered how as she + sat between them she had observed her father slip his hand into her + mother’s lap and clasp hers with a steadfastness that wedded her for + eternity; and thus over their linked hands, with the love of their youth + within them and the snows of the years upon them, they sang together: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Gently, Lord, O gently lead us + * * * * * * + “Through the changes Thou’st decreed us.” + </pre> + <p> + Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more than + common share of life’s shocks and violence, its wrongs and meannesses and + ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that they were being + led gently; so long as they were led together, to them it was gentle + leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby nature or man could + leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the sweeter for the sour; + the finer with one another because of life’s rudenesses. In after years + she often thought of them as faithful in their dust; and the flowers she + planted over them and watered many a bright day with happy tears brought + up to her in another form the freshness of their unwearied union. + </p> + <p> + That was what she had not doubted her own life would be—with him—when + she had married him. + </p> + <p> + From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open and + entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance. He had + lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered that to her as + for the moment at least his solution of the matter—that he should + leave her to herself and absent himself in slumber. + </p> + <p> + The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations. + </p> + <p> + Before he awoke she must be gone—out of the house—anywhere—to + save herself from living any longer with him. His indifference in the + presence of her suffering; his pitiless withdrawal from her of touch and + glance and speech as she had gone down into that darkest of life’s + valleys; his will of iron that since she had insisted upon knowing the + whole truth, know it she should: all this left her wounded and stunned as + by an incredible blow, and she was acting first from the instinct of + removing herself beyond the reach of further humiliation and brutality. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively she took off her wedding ring and laid it on his dresser + beside his watch: he would find it there in the morning and he could + dispose of it. Then she changed her dress for the plainest heavy one and + put on heavy walking shoes. She packed into a handbag a few necessary + things with some heirlooms of her own. Among the latter was a case of + family jewels; and as she opened it, her eyes fell upon her mother’s thin + wedding ring and with quick reverence she slipped that on and kissed it + bitterly. She lifted out also her mother’s locket containing a miniature + daguerreotype of her father and dutifully fed her eyes on that. Her father + was not silver-haired then, but raven-locked; with eyes that men feared at + times but no woman ever. + </p> + <p> + His eyes were on her now as so often in girlhood when he had curbed her + exuberance and guided her waywardness. He was watching as she, coarsely + wrapped and carrying some bundle of things of her own, opened her front + door, left her footprints in the snow on the porch, and passed out—wading + away. Those eyes of his saw what took place the next day: the happiness of + Christmas morning turned into horror; the children wild with distress and + crying—the servants dumb—the inquiry at neighbors’ houses—the + news spreading to the town—the papers—the black ruin. And from + him two restraining words issued for her ear: + </p> + <p> + “My daughter!” + </p> + <p> + Passionately she bore the picture to her lips and her pride answered him. + And so answering, it applied a torch to her blood and her blood took fire + and a flame of rage spread through and swept her. She stopped her + preparations: she had begun to think as well as to feel. + </p> + <p> + She unpacked her travelling bag, putting each article back into its place + with exaggerated pains. Having done this, she stood in the middle of the + floor, looking about her irresolute: then responding to that power of low + suggestion which is one of anger’s weapons, she began to devise malice. + She went to a wardrobe and stooping down took from a bottom drawer—where + long ago it had been stored away under everything else—a shawl that + had been her grandmother’s; a brindled crewel shawl,—sometimes worn + by superannuated women of a former generation; a garment of hideousness. + Once, when a little girl, she had loyally jerked it off her grandmother + because it added to her ugliness and decrepitude. + </p> + <p> + She shook this out with mocking eyes and threw it decoratively around her + shoulders. She strode to the gorgeous peony lampshade and lifting it off, + gibbeted it and scattered the fragments on the floor. She turned the lamp + up as high as it would safely burn so that the huge lidless eye of it + would throw its full glare on him and her. She drew a rocking chair to the + foot of the bed and seating herself put her forefinger up to each temple + and drew out from their hiding places under the mass of her black hair two + long gray locks and let these hang down haglike across her bosom. She + banished the carefully nourished look of youth from her face—dropped + the will to look young—and allowed the forced-back years to rush + into it—into the wastage, the wreckage, which he and Nature, + assisting each other so ably, had wrought in her. + </p> + <p> + She sat there half-crazed, rocking noisily; waiting for the glare of the + lamp to cause him to open his eyes; and she smiled upon him in exultation + of vengeance that she was to live on there in his house—<i>his</i> + house. + </p> + <p> + After a while a darker mood came over her. + </p> + <p> + With noiseless steps lest she awake him, she began to move about the room. + She put out the lamp and lighted her candle and set it where it would be + screened from his face; and where the shadow of the chamber was heaviest, + into that shadow she retired and in it she sat—with furtive look to + see whether he observed her. + </p> + <p> + A pall-like stillness deepened about the bed where he lay. + </p> + <p> + Running in her veins a wellnigh pure stream across the generations was + Anglo-Saxon blood of the world’s fiercest; floating in the tide of it + passions of old family life which had dyed history for all time in + tragedies of false friendship, false love, and false battle; but fiercest + ever about the marriage bed and the betrayal of its vow. A thousand years + from this night some wronged mother of hers, sitting beside some sleeping + father of hers in their forest-beleaguered castle—the moonlight + streaming in upon him through the javelined casement and putting before + her the manly beauty of him—the blond hair matted thick on his + forehead as his helmet had left it, his mouth reddening in his slumber + under its curling gold—some mother of hers whom he had carried off + from other men by might of his sword, thus sitting beside him and knowing + him to be colder to her now than the moon’s dead rays, might have watched + those rays as they travelled away from his figure and put a gleam on his + sword hanging near: a thousand years ago: some mother of hers. + </p> + <p> + It is when the best fails our human nature that the worst volunteers so + often to take its place. The best and the worst—these are the sole + alternatives which many a soul seems to be capable of making: hence life’s + spectacle of swift overthrow, of amazing collapse, ever present about us. + Only the heroic among both men and women, losing the best as their first + choice, fight their way through defeat to the standard of the second best + and fight on there. And whatever one may think of the legend otherwise, + abundant experience justifies the story that it was the Archangel who fell + to the pit. The low never fall far: how can they? They already dwell on + the bottom of things, and many a time they are to be seen there with + vanity that they should inhabit such a privileged highland. + </p> + <p> + During the first of these hours which stretched for her into the tragic + duration of a lifetime, it was a successive falling from a height of moral + splendor; her nature went down through swift stages to the lowest she + harbored either in the long channel of inheritance or as the stirred + sediment of her own imperfections. And as is unfortunately true, this + descent into moral darkness possessed the grateful illusion that it was an + ascent into new light. All evil prompting became good suggestion; every + injustice made its claim to be justification. She enjoyed the elation of + feeling that she was dragging herself out of life’s quicksands upward to + some rock, where there might be loneliness for her, but where there would + be cleanness. The love which consumed her for him raged in her as hatred; + and hatred is born into perfect mastery of its weapons. However young, it + needs not to wait for training in order to know how to destroy. + </p> + <p> + He presented himself to her as a character at last revealed in its + faithlessness and low carnal propensities. What rankled most poignantly in + this spectacle of his final self-exposure was the fact that the cloven + hoof should have been found on noble mountain tops—that he should + have attempted to better his disguise by dwelling near regions of + sublimity. Of all hypocrisy the kind most detestable to her was that which + dares live within spiritual fortresses; and now his whole story of the + Christmas Tree, the solemn marshalling of words about the growth of the + world’s spirit—about the sacrifice of the lower in ourselves to the + higher—this cant now became to her the invocation and homage of the + practised impostor: he had indeed carried the Christmas Tree on his + shoulder into the manger. Not the Manger of Immortal Purity for mankind + but the manger of his own bestiality. + </p> + <p> + Thus scorn and satire became her speech; she soared above him with + spurning; a frenzy of poisoned joy racked her that at the moment when he + had let her know that he wanted to be free—at that moment she might + tell him he had won his freedom at the cheap price of his unworthiness. + </p> + <p> + And thus as she descended, she enjoyed the triumph of rising; so the devil + in us never lacks argument that he is the celestial guide. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, hatred never dwells solitary; it readily finds boon companions. + And at one period of the night she began to look back upon her experience + with a curious sense of prior familiarity—to see it as a story + already known to her at second hand. She viewed it as the first stage of + one of those tragedies that later find their way into the care of family + physicians, into the briefs of lawyers, into the confidence of clergymen, + into the papers and divorce courts, and that receive their final flaying + or canonization on the stage and in novels of the time. Sitting at a + distance, she had within recent years studied in a kind of altruistic + absorption how the nation’s press, the nation’s science of medicine, the + nation’s science of law, the nation’s practice of religion, and the + nation’s imaginative literature were all at work with the same national + omen—the decay of the American family and the downfall of the home. + </p> + <p> + Now this new pestilence raging in other regions of the country had + incredibly reached her, she thought, on the sheltered lowlands where the + older traditions of American home life still lay like foundation rock. The + corruption of it had attacked him; the ruin of it awaited her; and thus + to-night she took her place among those women whom the world first hears + of as in hospitals and sanitariums and places of refuge and in their + graves—and more sadly elsewhere; whose misfortunes interested the + press and whose types attracted the novelists. + </p> + <p> + She was one of them. + </p> + <p> + They swarmed about her; one by one she recognized them: the woman who + unable to bear up under her tragedy soon sinks into eternity—or + walks into it; the woman who disappears from the scene and somewhere under + another name or with another lot lives on—devoting herself to memory + or to forgetfulness; the woman who stays on in the house, giving to the + world no sign for the sake of everything else that still remains to her + but living apart—on the other side of the locked door; the woman who + stays on without locking the door, half-hating, half-loving—the + accepted and rejected compromise; the woman who welcomes the end of the + love-drama as the beginning of peace and the cessation of annoyances; the + woman who begins to act her tragedy to servants and children and + acquaintances—reaping sympathy for herself and sowing ruin and + torture—for him; the woman who drops the care of house, ends his + comforts, thus forcing the sharp reminder of her value as at least an + investment toward his general well-being; the woman who endeavors to + rekindle dying coals by fanning them with fresh fascinations; the woman + who plays upon jealousy and touches the male instinct to keep one’s own + though little prized lest another acquire it and prize it more; the woman + who sets a watch to discover the other woman: they swarmed about her, she + identified each. + </p> + <p> + And she dismissed them. They brought her no aid; she shrank from their + companionship; a strange dread moved her lest <i>they</i> should discover + <i>her</i>. One only she detached from the throng and for a while withdrew + with her into a kind of dual solitude: the woman who when so rejected + turns to another man—the man who is waiting somewhere near. + </p> + <p> + The man <i>she</i> turned to, who for years had hovered near, was the + country doctor, her husband’s tried and closest friend, whose children + were asleep upstairs with her children. During all these years <i>her</i> + secret had been—the doctor. When she had come as a bride into that + neighborhood, he, her husband’s senior by several years, was already well + established in his practice. He had attended her at the birth of her first + child; never afterwards. As time passed, she had discovered that he loved + her; she could never have him again. This had dealt his professional + reputation a wound, but he understood, and he welcomed the wound. + </p> + <p> + Many a night, lying awake near her window, through which noises from the + turnpike plainly reached her, all earthly happiness asleep alongside her, + she could hear the doctor’s buggy passing on its way to some patient, or + on its return from the town where he had patients also. Many a time she + had heard it stop at the front gate: the road of his life there turned in + to her. There were nights of pitch darkness and beating rain; and + sometimes on these she had to know that he was out there. + </p> + <p> + Long she sat in the shadow of her room, looking towards the bed where her + husband slept, but sending the dallying vision toward the doctor. He would + be at the Christmas party; she would be dancing with him. + </p> + <p> + Clouds and darkness descended upon the plain of life and enveloped it. She + groped her way, torn and wounded, downward along the old lost human paths. + </p> + <p> + The endless night scarcely moved on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She was wearied out, she was exhausted. There is anger of such intensity + that it scorches and shrivels away the very temptations that are its fuel; + nothing can long survive the blast of that white flame, and being unfed, + it dies out. Moreover, it is the destiny of a portion of mankind that they + are enjoined by their very nobility from winning low battles; these always + go against them: the only victories for them are won when they are leading + the higher forces of human nature in life’s upward conflicts. + </p> + <p> + She was weary, she was exhausted; there was in her for a while neither + moral light nor moral darkness. Her consciousness lay like a boundless + plain on which nothing is visible. She had passed into a great calm; and + slowly there was borne across her spirit a clearness that is like the + radiance of the storm-winged sky. + </p> + <p> + And now in this calm, in this clearness, two small white figures appeared—her + children. Hitherto the energies of her mind had grappled with the problem + of her future; now memories began—memories that decide more perhaps + than anything else for us. And memories began with her children. + </p> + <p> + She arose without making any noise, took her candle, and screening it with + the palm of her hand, started upstairs. + </p> + <p> + There were two ways by either of which she could go; a narrow rear + stairway leading from the parlor straight to their bedrooms, and the broad + stairway in the front hall. From the old maternal night-habit she started + to take the shorter way but thought of the parlor and drew back. This room + had become too truly the Judgment Seat of the Years. She shrank from it as + one who has been arraigned may shrink from a tribunal where sentence has + been pronounced which changes the rest of life. Its flowers, its fruits, + its toys, its ribbons, but deepened the derision and the bitterness. And + the evergreen there in the middle of the room—it became to her as + that tree of the knowledge of good and evil which at Creation’s morning + had driven Woman from Paradise. + </p> + <p> + She chose the other way and started toward the main hall of the house, but + paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed; what if he should awake + in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of where she was? Would he call out + to her—with what voice? Would he come to seek her—with what + emotions? (The tide of memories was setting in now—the drift back to + the old mooring.) + </p> + <p> + Hunt for her! How those words fell like iron strokes on the ear of + remembrance. They registered the beginning of the whole trouble. Up to the + last two years his first act upon reaching home had been to seek her. It + had even been her playfulness at times to slip from room to room for the + delight of proving how persistently he would prolong his search. But one + day some two years before this, when she had entered his study about the + usual hour of his return, bringing flowers for his writing desk, she saw + him sitting there, hat on, driving gloves on, making some notes. The sight + had struck the flowers from her hands; she swiftly gathered them up, and + going to her room, shut herself in; she knew it was the beginning of the + end. + </p> + <p> + The Shadow which lurks in every bridal lamp had become the Spectre of the + bedchamber. + </p> + <p> + When they met later that day, he was not even aware of what he had done or + failed to do, the change in him was so natural to himself. Everything else + had followed: the old look dying out of the eyes; the old touch abandoning + the hands; less time for her in the house, more for work; constraint + beginning between them, the awkwardness of reserve; she seeing Nature’s + movement yet refusing to believe it; then at last resolving to know to the + uttermost and choosing her bridal night as the hour of the ordeal. + </p> + <p> + If he awoke, would he come to seek her—with what feelings? + </p> + <p> + She went on upstairs, holding the candle to one side with her right hand + and supporting herself by the banisters with her left. There was a turn in + the stairway at the second floor, and here the candle rays fell on the + face of the tall clock in the hallway. She sat down on a step, putting the + candle beside her; and there she remained, her elbows on her knees, her + face resting on her palms; and into the abyss of the night dropped the + tranquil strokes. More memories! + </p> + <p> + She was by nature not only alive to all life but alive to surrounding + lifeless things. Much alone in the house, she had sent her happiness + overflowing its dumb environs—humanizing these—drawing them + toward her by a gracious responsive symbolism—extending speech over + realms which nature has not yet awakened to it or which she may have + struck into speechlessness long æons past. + </p> + <p> + She had symbolized the clock; it was the wooden God of Hours; she had + often feigned that it might be propitiated; and opening the door of it she + would pin inside the walls little clusters of blossoms as votive + offerings: if it would only move faster and bring him home! The usual hour + of his return from college was three in the afternoon. She had symbolized + that hour; one stroke for him, one for her, one for the children—the + three in one—the trinity of the household. + </p> + <p> + She sat there on the step with the candle burning beside her. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck three! The sound went through the house: down to him, up + to the children, into her. It was like a cry of a night watch: all is + well! + </p> + <p> + It was the first sound that had reached her from any source during this + agony, and now it did not come from humanity, but from outside humanity; + from Time itself which brings us together and holds us together as long as + possible and then separates us and goes on its way—indifferent + whether we are together or apart; Time which welds the sands into the rock + and then wears the rock away to its separate sands and sends the level + tide softly over them. + </p> + <p> + Once for him, once for her, once for the children! She took up the candle + and went upstairs to them. + </p> + <p> + For a while she stood beside the bed in one room where the two little + girls were asleep clasping each other, cheek against cheek; and in another + room at the bedside of the two little boys, their backs turned on one + another and each with a hand doubled into a promising fist outside the + cover. In a few years how differently the four would be divided and + paired; each boy a young husband, each girl a young wife; and out of the + lives of the two of them who were hers she would then drop into some + second place. If to-night she were realizing what befalls a wife when she + becomes the Incident to her husband, she would then realize what befalls a + woman when the mother becomes the Incident to her children: Woman, twice + the Incident in Nature’s impartial economy! Her son would playfully + confide it to his bride that she must bear with his mother’s whims and + ways. Her daughter would caution her husband that he must overlook + peculiarities and weaknesses. The very study of perfection which she + herself had kindled and fanned in them as the illumination of their lives + they would now turn upon her as a searchlight of her failings. + </p> + <p> + He downstairs would never do that! She could not conceive of his + discussing her with any human being. Even though he should some day desert + her, he would never discuss her. + </p> + <p> + She had lived so secure in the sense of him thus standing with her against + the world, that it was the sheer withdrawal of his strength from her + to-night that had dealt her the cruelest blow. But now she began to ask + herself whether his protection <i>had</i> failed her. Could he have + recognized the situation without rendering it worse? Had he put his arms + around her, might she not have—struck at him? Had he laid a + finger-weight of sympathy on her, would it not have left a scar for life? + Any words of his, would they not have rung in her ears unceasingly? To + pass it over was as though it had never been—was not <i>that</i> his + protection? + </p> + <p> + She suddenly felt a desire to go down into the parlor. She kissed her + child in each room and she returned and kissed the doctor’s children—with + memory of their mother; and then she descended by the rear stairway. + </p> + <p> + She set her candle on the table, where earlier in the night she had placed + the lamp—near the manuscript—and she sat down and looked at + that remorsefully: she had ignored it when he placed it there. + </p> + <p> + He had made her the gift of his work—dedicated to her the triumphs + of his toil. It was his deep cry to her to share with him his widening + career and enter with him into the world’s service. She crossed her hands + over it awhile, and then she left it. + </p> + <p> + The low-burnt candle did not penetrate far into the darkness of the + immense parlor. There was an easy chair near her piano and her music. + After playing when alone, she would often sit there and listen to the + echoes of those influences that come into the soul from music only,—the + rhythmic hauntings of some heaven of diviner beauty. She sat there now + quite in darkness and closed her eyes; and upon her ear began faintly to + beat the sad sublime tones of his story. + </p> + <p> + One of her delights in growing things on the farm had been to watch the + youth of the hemp—a field of it, tall and wandlike and tufted. If + the north wind blew upon it, the myriad stalks as by a common impulse + swayed southward; if a zephyr from the south crossed it, all heads were + instantly bowed before the north. West wind sent it east and east wind + sent it west. + </p> + <p> + And so, it had seemed to her, is that ever living world which we sometimes + call the field of human life in its perpetual summer. It is run through by + many different laws; governed by many distinct forces, each of which + strives to control it wholly—but never does. Selfishness blows on it + like a parching sirocco, and all things seem to bow to the might of + selfishness. Generosity moves across the expanse, and all things are seen + responsive to what is generous. Place yourself where life is lowest and + everything like an avalanche is rushing to the bottom. Place yourself + where character is highest, and lo! the whole world is but one struggle + upward to what is high. You see what you care to see, and find what you + wish to find. + </p> + <p> + In his story of the Forest and the Heart he had wanted to trace but one + law, and he had traced it; he had drawn all things together and bent them + before its majesty: the ancient law of Sacrifice. Of old the high + sacrificed to the low; afterwards the low to the high: once the sacrifice + of others; now the sacrifice of ourselves; but always in ourselves of the + lower to the higher in order that, dying, we may live. + </p> + <p> + With this law he had made his story a story of the world. + </p> + <p> + The star on the Tree bore it back to Chaldæa; the candle bore it to + ancient Persia; the cross bore it to the Nile and Isis and Osiris; the + dove bore it to Syria; the bell bore it to Confucius; the drum bore it to + Buddha; the drinking horn to Greece; the tinsel to Romulus and Rome; the + doll to Abraham and Isaac; the masks to Gaul; the mistletoe to Britain,—and + all brought it to Christ,—Christ the latest world-ideal of sacrifice + that is self-sacrifice and of the giving of all for all. + </p> + <p> + The story was for herself, he had said, and for himself. + </p> + <p> + Himself! Here at last all her pain and wandering of this night ended: at + the bottom of her wound where rankled <i>his problem</i>. + </p> + <p> + From this problem she had most shrunk and into this she now entered: She + sacrificed herself in him! She laid upon herself his temptation and his + struggle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Taking her candle, she passed back into her bedroom and screened it where + she had screened it before; then went into his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + She put her wedding ring on again with blanched lips. She went to his + bedside, and drawing to the pillow the chair on which his clothes were + piled, sat down and laid her face over on it; and there in that shrine of + feeling where speech is formed, but whence it never issues, she made her + last communion with him: + </p> + <p> + <i>“You, to whom I gave my youth and all that youth could mean to me; + whose children I have borne and nurtured at my breast—all of whose + eyes I have seen open and the eyes of some of whom I have closed; husband + of my girlhood, loved as no woman ever loved the man who took her home; + strength and laughter of his house; helper of what is best in me; my + defender against things in myself that I cannot govern; pathfinder of my + future; rock of the ebbing years! Though my hair turn white as driven snow + and flesh wither to the bone, I shall never cease to be the flame that you + yourself have kindled. </i> + </p> + <p> + “But never again to you! Let the stillness of nature fall where there must + be stillness! Peace come with its peace! And the room which heard our + whisperings of the night, let it be the Room of the Silences—the + Long Silences! Adieu, cross of living fire that I have so clung to!—Adieu!—Adieu!—Adieu!—Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + She remained as motionless as though she had fallen asleep or would not + lift her head until there had ebbed out of her life upon his pillow the + last drop of things that must go. + </p> + <p> + She there—her whitening head buried on his pillow: it was Life’s + Calvary of the Snows. + </p> + <p> + The dawn found her sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and there it + brightened about her desolately. The moment drew near when she must awaken + him; the ordeal of their meeting must be over before the children rushed + downstairs or the servants knocked. + </p> + <p> + She had plaited her hair in two heavy braids, and down each braid the gray + told its story through the black. And she had brushed it frankly away from + brow and temples so that the contour of her head—one of nature’s + noblest—was seen in its simplicity. It is thus that the women of her + land sometimes prepare themselves at the ceremony of their baptism into a + new life. + </p> + <p> + She had put on a plain night-dress, and her face and shoulders rising out + of this had the austerity of marble—exempt not from ruin, but exempt + from lesser mutation. She looked down at her wrists once and made a little + instinctive movement with her fingers as if to hide them under the + sleeves. + </p> + <p> + Then she approached the bed. As she did so, she turned back midway and + quickly stretched her arms toward the wall as though to flee to it. Then + she drew nearer, a new pitiful fear of him in her eyes—the look of + the rejected. + </p> + <p> + So she stood an instant and then she reclined on the edge of the bed, + resting on one elbow and looking down at him. + </p> + <p> + For years her first words to him on this day had been the world’s best + greeting: + </p> + <p> + “A Merry Christmas!” + </p> + <p> + She tried to summon the words to her lips and have them ready. + </p> + <p> + At the pressure of her body on the bed he opened his eyes and instantly + looked to see what the whole truth was: how she had come out of it all, + what their life was to be henceforth, what their future would be worth. + But at the sight of her so changed—something so gone out of her + forever—with a quick cry he reached his arms for her. She struggled + to get away from him; but he, winding his arms shelteringly about the + youth-shorn head, drew her face close down against his face. She caught at + one of the braids of her hair and threw it across her eyes, and then + silent convulsive sobs rent and tore her, tore her. The torrent of her + tears raining down into his tears. + </p> + <p> + Tears not for Life’s faults but for Life when there are no faults. They + locked in each other’s arms—trying to save each other on Nature’s + vast lonely, tossing, uncaring sea. + </p> + <p> + The rush of children’s feet was heard in the hall and there was smothered + laughter at the door and the soft turning of the knob. + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas Morning. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The sun rose golden and gathering up its gold threw it forward over the + gladness of the Shield. The farmhouse—such as the poet had sung of + when he could not help singing of American home life—looked out from + under its winter roof with the cheeriness of a human traveller who laughs + at the snow on his hat and shoulders. Smoke poured out of its chimneys, + bespeaking brisk fires for festive purposes. The oak tree beside it stood + quieted of its moaning and tossing. Soon after sunrise a soul of passion + on scarlet wings, rising out of the snow-bowed shrubbery, flew up to a + topmost twig of the oak; and sitting there with its breast to the gorgeous + sun scanned for a little while that landscape of ice. It was beyond its + intelligence to understand how nature could create it for Summer and then + take Summer away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a + sun so true could shine on a world so false. + </p> + <p> + Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling paths. + After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with fireside + warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat, rushed out of the + front door pursued by a little soldier sternly booted and capped and + gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going at it furiously. Watching + them through a window a little girl, dancing a dreamy measure of her own, + ever turned inward and beckoned to some one to come and look—beckoned + in vain. + </p> + <p> + All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little girl + played with the doll—hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient + sacrifice, the emblem of the world’s new mercy. Along the turnpike + sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the + shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the + shining valleys. + </p> + <p> + Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day! + </p> + <p> + One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its surroundings; + just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low, thick, covered with + snow except where a bough had been broken off for decorating the house; + here owing to the steepness the snow slid off. The spot looked like a + wound in the side of the Divine purity, and across this open wound the + tree had hung its rosary-beads never to be told by Sorrow’s fingers. + </p> + <p> + The sunset golden and gathering up its last gold threw it backward across + the sadness of the Shield. One by one the stars came back to their + faithful places above the silence and the whiteness. A swinging lamp was + lighted on the front porch and its rays fell on little round mats of snow + stamped off by entering boot heels. On each gatepost a low Christmas star + was set to guide and welcome good neighbors; and between those beacons + soon they came hurrying, fathers and mothers and children assembling for + the party. + </p> + <p> + Late into the night the party lasted. + </p> + <p> + The logs blazed in deep fireplaces and their Forest Memories went to + ashes. Bodily comfort there was and good-will and good wishes and the + robust sensible making the best of what is best on the surface of our + life. And hale eating and drinking as old England itself once ate and + drank at Yuletide. And fast music and dancing that ever wanted to go + faster than the music. + </p> + <p> + The chief feature of the revelry was the distribution of gifts on the + Christmas Tree—the handing over to this person and to that person of + those unread lessons of the ages—little mummied packages of the lord + of time. One thing no one noted. Fresh candles had replaced those burnt + out on the Tree the night before: all the candles were white now. + </p> + <p> + Revellers! Revellers! A crowded canvas! A brilliantly painted scene! + Controlling everything, controlling herself, the lady of the house: + hunting out her guests with some grace that befitted each; laughing and + talking with the doctor; secretly giving most attention to the doctor’s + wife—faded little sufferer; with strength in her to be the American + wife and mother in the home of the poet’s dream: the spiritual majesty of + her bridal veil still about her amid life’s snow as it never lifts itself + from the face of the <i>Jungfrau</i> amid the sad most lovely mountains: + the American wife and mother!—herself the <i>Jungfrau</i> among the + world’s women! + </p> + <p> + The last thing before the company broke up took place what often takes + place there in happy gatherings: the singing of the song of the State + which is also a song of the Nation—its melody of the unfallen home: + with sadness enough in it, God knows, but with sanctity: she seated at the + piano—the others upholding her like a living bulwark. + </p> + <p> + There was another company thronging the rooms that no one wot of: those + Bodiless Ones that often are much more real than the embodied—the + Guests of the Imagination. + </p> + <p> + The Memories were there, strolling back and forth through the chambers arm + and arm with the Years: bestowing no cognizance upon that present scene + nor aware that they were not alone. About the Christmas Tree the Wraiths + of earlier children returned to gambol; and these knew naught of those + later ones who had strangely come out of the unknown to fill their places. + Around the walls stood other majestical Veiled Shapes that bent undivided + attention upon the actual pageant: these were Life’s Pities. Ever and anon + they would lift their noble veils and look out upon that brief flicker of + our mortal joy, and drop them and relapse into their compassionate vigil. + </p> + <p> + But of the Bodiless Ones there gathered a solitary young Shape filled the + entire house with her presence. As the Memories walked through the rooms + with the Years, they paused ever before her and mutely beckoned her to a + place in their Sisterhood. The children who had wandered back peeped shyly + at her but then with some sure instinct of recognition ran to her and + threw down their gifts, to put their arms around her. And the Pities + before they left the house that night walked past her one by one and each + lifted its veil and dropped it more softly. + </p> + <p> + This was the Shape: + </p> + <p> + In the great bedroom on a spot of the carpet under the chandelier—which + had no decoration whatsoever—stood an exquisite Spirit of Youth, + more insubstantial than Spring morning mist, yet most alive; her lips + scarce parted—her skin like white hawthorn shadowed by pink—in + her eyes the modesty of withdrawal from Love—in her heart the + surrender to it. During those distracting hours never did she move nor did + her look once change: she waiting there—waiting for some one to come—waiting. + </p> + <p> + Waiting. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + +***** This file should be named 9179-h.htm or 9179-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/7/9179/ + + +Text file produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bride of the Mistletoe + +Author: James Lane Allen + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9179] +This file was first posted on September 11, 2003 +Last updated: April 30, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE + +By James Lane Allen + + + +Author Of "Flute And Violin," "A Kentucky Cardinal," "Aftermath," Etc. + + + +TO ONE WHO KNOWS + + +Je crois que pour produire il ne faut pas trop raissoner. Mais il +faut regarder beaucoup et songer a ce qu'on a vu. Voir: tout est la, +et voir juste. J'entends, par voir juste, voir avec ses propres yeux +et non avec ceux des maitres. L'originalite d'un artiste s'indique +d'abord dans les petites choses et non dans les grandes. + +Il faut trouver aux choses une signification qui n'a pas encore +decouverte et tacher de l'exprimer d'une facon personelle. + +--GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + + + + +PREFACE + + +Any one about to read this work of fiction might properly be apprised +beforehand that it is not a novel: it has neither the structure nor +the purpose of The Novel. + +It is a story. There are two characters--a middle-aged married couple +living in a plain farmhouse; one point on the field of human nature is +located; at that point one subject is treated; in the treatment one +movement is directed toward one climax; no external event whatsoever +is introduced; and the time is about forty hours. + +A second story of equal length, laid in the same house, is expected to +appear within a twelvemonth. The same father and mother are +characters, and the family friend the country doctor; but +subordinately all. The main story concerns itself with the four +children of the two households. + +It is an American children's story: + +"A Brood of The Eagle." + +During the year a third work, not fiction, will be published, +entitled: + +"The Christmas Tree: An Interpretation." + +The three works will serve to complete each other, and they complete a +cycle of the theme. + + + +CONTENTS + + EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + + + +EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + + +A mighty table-land lies southward in a hardy region of our country. +It has the form of a colossal Shield, lacking and broken in some of +its outlines and rough and rude of make. Nature forged it for some +crisis in her long warfare of time and change, made use of it, and so +left it lying as one of her ancient battle-pieces--Kentucky. + +The great Shield is raised high out of the earth at one end and sunk +deep into it at the other. It is tilted away from the dawn toward the +sunset. Where the western dip of it reposes on the planet, Nature, +cunning artificer, set the stream of ocean flowing past with restless +foam--the Father of Waters. Along the edge for a space she bound a +bright river to the rim of silver. And where the eastern part rises +loftiest on the horizon, turned away from the reddening daybreak, she +piled shaggy mountains wooded with trees that loose their leaves ere +snowflakes fly and with steadfast evergreens which hold to theirs +through the gladdening and the saddening year. Then crosswise over the +middle of the Shield, northward and southward upon the breadth of it, +covering the life-born rock of many thicknesses, she drew a tough skin +of verdure--a broad strip of hide of the ever growing grass. She +embossed noble forests on this greensward and under the forests drew +clear waters. + +This she did in a time of which we know nothing--uncharted ages before +man had emerged from the deeps of ocean with eyes to wonder, thoughts +to wander, heart to love, and spirit to pray. Many a scene the same +power has wrought out upon the surface of the Shield since she brought +him forth and set him there: many an old one, many a new. She has made +it sometimes a Shield of war, sometimes a Shield of peace. Nor has +she yet finished with its destinies as she has not yet finished with +anything in the universe. While therefore she continues her will and +pleasure elsewhere throughout creation, she does not forget the +Shield. + +She likes sometimes to set upon it scenes which admonish man how +little his lot has changed since Hephaistos wrought like scenes upon +the shield of Achilles, and Thetis of the silver feet sprang like a +falcon from snowy Olympus bearing the glittering piece of armor to her +angered son. + +These are some of the scenes that were wrought on the shield of +Achilles and that to-day are spread over the Earth Shield Kentucky: + +Espousals and marriage feasts and the blaze of lights as they lead the +bride from her chamber, flutes and violins sounding merrily. An +assembly-place where the people are gathered, a strife having arisen +about the blood-price of a man slain; the old lawyers stand up one +after another and make their tangled arguments in turn. Soft, freshly +ploughed fields where ploughmen drive their teams to and fro, the +earth growing dark behind the share. The estate of a landowner where +laborers are reaping; some armfuls the binders are binding with +twisted bands of straw: among them the farmer is standing in silence, +leaning on his staff, rejoicing in his heart. Vineyards with purpling +clusters and happy folk gathering these in plaited baskets on sunny +afternoons. A herd of cattle with incurved horns hurrying from the +stable to the woods where there is running water and where +purple-topped weeds bend above the sleek grass. A fair glen with white +sheep. A dancing-place under the trees; girls and young men dancing, +their fingers on one another's wrists: a great company stands watching +the lovely dance of joy. + +Such pageants appeared on the shield of Achilles as art; as pageants +of life they appear on the Earth Shield Kentucky. The metal-worker of +old wrought them upon the armor of the Greek warrior in tin and +silver, bronze and gold. The world-designer sets them to-day on the +throbbing land in nerve and blood, toil and delight and passion. But +there with the old things she mingles new things, with the never +changing the ever changing; for the old that remains always the new +and the new that perpetually becomes old--these Nature allots to man +as his two portions wherewith he must abide steadfast in what he is +and go upward or go downward through all that he is to become. + +But of the many scenes which she in our time sets forth upon the +stately grassy Shield there is a single spectacle that she spreads +over the length and breadth of it once every year now as best liked by +the entire people; and this is both old and new. + +It is old because it contains man's faith in his immortality, which +was venerable with age before the shield of Achilles ever grew +effulgent before the sightless orbs of Homer. It is new because it +contains those latest hopes and reasons for this faith, which briefly +blossom out upon the primitive stock with the altering years and soon +are blown away upon the winds of change. Since this spectacle, this +festival, is thus old and is thus new and thus enwraps the deepest +thing in the human spirit, it is never forgotten. + +When in vernal days any one turns a furrow or sows in the teeth of the +wind and glances at the fickle sky; when under the summer shade of a +flowering tree any one looks out upon his fatted herds and fattening +grain; whether there is autumnal plenty in his barn or autumnal +emptiness, autumnal peace in his breast or autumnal strife,--all days +of the year, in the assembly-place, in the dancing-place, whatsoever +of good or ill befall in mind or hand, never does one forget. + +When nights are darkest and days most dark; when the sun seems +farthest from the planet and cheers it with lowest heat; when the +fields lie shorn between harvest-time and seed-time and man turns +wistful eyes back and forth between the mystery of his origin and the +mystery of his end,--then comes the great pageant of the winter +solstice, then comes Christmas. + +So what is Christmas? And what for centuries has it been to differing +but always identical mortals? + +It was once the old pagan festival of dead Nature. It was once the old +pagan festival of the reappearing sun. It was the pagan festival when +the hands of labor took their rest and hunger took its fill. It was +the pagan festival to honor the descent of the fabled inhabitants of +an upper world upon the earth, their commerce with common flesh, and +the production of a race of divine-and-human half-breeds. It is now +the festival of the Immortal Child appearing in the midst of mortal +children. It is now the new festival of man's remembrance of his +errors and his charity toward erring neighbors. It has latterly become +the widening festival of universal brotherhood with succor for all +need and nighness to all suffering; of good will warring against ill +will and of peace warring upon war. + +And thus for all who have anywhere come to know it, Christmas is the +festival of the better worldly self. But better than worldliness, it +is on the Shield to-day what it essentially has been through many an +age to many people--the symbolic Earth Festival of the Evergreen; +setting forth man's pathetic love of youth--of his own youth that will +not stay with him; and renewing his faith in a destiny that winds its +ancient way upward out of dark and damp toward Eternal Light. + +This is a story of the Earth Festival on the Earth Shield. + + + + +I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + + +A man sat writing near a window of an old house out in the country a +few years ago; it was afternoon of the twenty-third of December. + +One of the volumes of a work on American Forestry lay open on the desk +near his right hand; and as he sometimes stopped in his writing and +turned the leaves, the illustrations showed that the long road of his +mental travels--for such he followed--was now passing through the +evergreens. + +Many notes were printed at the bottoms of the pages. They burned there +like short tapers in dim places, often lighting up obscure faiths and +customs of our puzzled human race. His eyes roved from taper to taper, +as gathering knowledge ray by ray. A small book lay near the large +one. It dealt with primitive nature-worship; and it belonged in the +class of those that are kept under lock and key by the libraries which +possess them as unsafe reading for unsafe minds. + +Sheets of paper covered with the man's clear, deliberate handwriting +lay thickly on the desk. A table in the centre of the room was strewn +with volumes, some of a secret character, opened for reference. On the +tops of two bookcases and on the mantelpiece were prints representing +scenes from the oldest known art of the East. These and other prints +hanging about the walls, however remote from each other in the times +and places where they had been gathered, brought together in this room +of a quiet Kentucky farmhouse evidence bearing upon the same object: +the subject related in general to trees and in especial evergreens. + +While the man was immersed in his work, he appeared not to be +submerged. His left hand was always going out to one or the other of +three picture-frames on the desk and his fingers bent caressingly. + +Two of these frames held photographs of four young children--a boy and +a girl comprising each group. The children had the air of being well +enough bred to be well behaved before the camera, but of being unruly +and disorderly out of sheer health and a wild naturalness. All of them +looked straight at you; all had eyes wide open with American frankness +and good humor; all had mouths shut tight with American energy and +determination. Apparently they already believed that the New World was +behind them, that the nation backed them up. In a way you believed +it. You accepted them on the spot as embodying that marvellous +precocity in American children, through which they early in life +become conscious of the country and claim it their country and believe +that it claims them. Thus they took on the distinction of being a +squad detached only photographically from the rank and file of the +white armies of the young in the New World, millions and millions +strong, as they march, clear-eyed, clear-headed, joyous, magnificent, +toward new times and new destinies for the nation and for humanity--a +kinder knowledge of man and a kinder ignorance of God. + +The third frame held the picture of a woman probably thirty years of +age. Her features were without noticeable American characteristics. +What human traits you saw depended upon what human traits you saw +with. + +The hair was dark and abundant, the brows dark and strong. And the +lashes were dark and strong; and the eyes themselves, so thornily +hedged about, somehow brought up before you a picture of autumn +thistles--thistles that look out from the shadow of a rock. They had a +veritable thistle quality and suggestiveness: gray and of the fields, +sure of their experience in nature, freighted with silence. + +Despite grayness and thorniness, however, you saw that they were in +the summer of their life-bloom; and singularly above even their beauty +of blooming they held what is rare in the eyes of either men or +women--they held a look of being just. + +The whole face was an oval, long, regular, high-bred. If the lower +part had been hidden behind a white veil of the Orient (by that little +bank of snow which is guardedly built in front of the overflowing +desires of the mouth), the upper part would have given the impression +of reserve, coldness, possibly of severity; yet ruled by that one +look--the garnered wisdom, the tempering justice, of the eyes. The +whole face being seen, the lower features altered the impression made +by the upper ones; reserve became bettered into strength, coldness +bettered into dignity, severity of intellect transfused into glowing +nobleness of character. The look of virgin justice in her was perhaps +what had survived from that white light of life which falls upon young +children as from a receding sun and touches lingeringly their smiles +and glances; but her mouth had gathered its shadowy tenderness as she +walked the furrows of the years, watching their changeful harvests, +eating their passing bread. + +A handful of some of the green things of winter lay before her +picture: holly boughs with their bold, upright red berries; a spray of +the cedar of the Kentucky yards with its rosary of piteous blue. When +he had come in from out of doors to go on with his work, he had put +them there--perhaps as some tribute. After all his years with her, +many and strong, he must have acquired various tributes and +interpretations; but to-day, during his walk in the woods, it had +befallen him to think of her as holly which ripens amid snows and +retains its brave freshness on a landscape of departed things. As +cedar also which everywhere on the Shield is the best loved of +forest-growths to be the companion of household walls; so that even +the poorest of the people, if it does not grow near the spot they +build in, hunt for it and bring it home: everywhere wife and cedar, +wife and cedar, wife and cedar. + +The photographs of the children grouped on each side of hers with +heads a little lower down called up memories of Old World pictures in +which cherubs smile about the cloud-borne feet of the heavenly Hebrew +maid. Glowing young American mother with four healthy children as her +gifts to the nation--this was the practical thought of her that +riveted and held. + +As has been said, they were in two groups, the children; a boy and +girl in each. The four were of nearly the same age; but the faces of +two were on a dimmer card in an older frame. You glanced at her again +and persuaded yourself that the expression of motherhood which +characterized her separated into two expressions (as behind a thin +white cloud it is possible to watch another cloud of darker +hue). Nearer in time was the countenance of a mother happy with happy +offspring; further away the same countenance withdrawn a little into +shadow--the face of the mother bereaved--mute and changeless. + +The man, the worker, whom this little flock of wife and two surviving +children now followed through the world as their leader, sat with his +face toward his desk In a corner of the room; solidly squared before +his undertaking, liking it, mastering it; seldom changing his position +as the minutes passed, never nervously; with a quietude in him that +was oftener in Southern gentlemen in quieter, more gentlemanly +times. A low powerful figure with a pair of thick shoulders and +tremendous limbs; filling the room with his vitality as a heavy +passionate animal lying in a corner of a cage fills the space of the +cage, so that you wait for it to roll over or get up on its feet and +walk about that you may study its markings and get an inkling of its +conquering nature. + +Meantime there were hints of him. When he had come in, he had thrown +his overcoat on a chair that stood near the table in the centre of the +room and had dropped his hat upon his coat. It had slipped to the +floor and now lay there--a low, soft black hat of a kind formerly much +worn by young Southerners of the countryside,--especially on occasions +when there was a spur of heat in their mood and going,--much the same +kind that one sees on the heads of students in Rome in winter; light, +warm, shaping itself readily to breezes from any quarter, to be doffed +or donned as comfortable and negligible. It suggested that he had been +a country boy in the land, still belonged to the land, and as a man +kept to its out-of-door habits and fashions. His shoes, one of which +you saw at each side of his chair, were especially well made for +rough-going feet to tramp in during all weathers. + +A sack suit of dark blue serge somehow helped to withdraw your +interpretation of him from farm life to the arts or the +professions. The scrupulous air of his shirt collar, showing against +the clear-hued flesh at the back of his neck, and the Van Dyck-like +edge of the shirt cuff, defining his powerful wrist and hand, +strengthened the notion that he belonged to the arts or to the +professions. He might have been sitting before a canvas instead of a +desk and holding a brush instead of a pen: the picture would have been +true to life. Or truer yet, he might have taken his place with the +grave group of students in the Lesson in Anatomy left by Rembrandt. + +Once he put down his pen, wheeled his chair about, and began to read +the page he had just finished: then you saw him. He had a big, +masculine, solid-cut, self-respecting, normal-looking, executive +head--covered with thick yellowish hair clipped short; so that while +everything else in his appearance indicated that he was in the prime +of manhood, the clipped hair caused him to appear still more youthful; +and it invested him with a rustic atmosphere which went along very +naturally with the sentimental country hat and the all-weather +shoes. He seemed at first impression a magnificent animal frankly +loved of the sun--perhaps too warmly. The sun itself seemed to have +colored for him his beard and mustache--a characteristic hue of men's +hair and beard in this land peopled from Old English stock. The beard, +like the hair, was cut short, as though his idea might have been to +get both hair and beard out of life's daily way; but his mustache +curled thickly down over his mouth, hiding it. In the whole effect +there was a suggestion of the Continent, perhaps of a former student +career in Germany, memories of which may still have lasted with him +and the marks of which may have purposely been kept up in his +appearance. + +But such a fashion of beard, while covering a man's face, does much to +uncover the man. As he sat amid his papers and books, your thought +surely led again to old pictures where earnest heads bend together +over some point on the human road, at which knowledge widens and +suffering begins to be made more bearable and death more +kind. Perforce now you interpreted him and fixed his general working +category: that he was absorbed in work meant to be serviceable to +humanity. His house, the members of his family, the people of his +neighborhood, were meantime forgotten: he was not a mere dweller on +his farm; he was a discoverer on the wide commons where the race +forever camps at large with its problems, joys, and sorrows. + +He read his page, his hand dropped to his knee, his mind dropped its +responsibility; one of those intervals followed when the brain rests. +The look of the student left his face; over it began to play the soft +lights of the domestic affections. He had forgotten the world for his +own place in the world; the student had become the husband and +house-father. A few moments only; then he wheeled gravely to his work +again, his right hand took up the pen, his left hand went back to the +pictures. + +The silence of the room seemed a guarded silence, as though he were +being watched over by a love which would not let him be disturbed. +(He had the reposeful self-assurance of a man who is conscious that he +is idolized.) + +Matching the silence within was the stillness out of doors. An immense +oak tree stood just outside the windows. It was a perpetual reminder +of vanished woods; and when a windstorm tossed and twisted it, the +straining and grinding of the fibres were like struggles and outcries +for the wild life of old. This afternoon it brooded motionless, an +image of forest reflection. Once a small black-and-white sapsucker, +circling the trunk and peering into the crevices of the bark on a +level with the windows, uttered minute notes which penetrated into the +room like steel darts of sound. A snowbird alighted on the +window-sill, glanced familiarly in at the man, and shot up its crest; +but disappointed perhaps that it was not noticed, quoted its resigned +gray phrase--a phrase it had made for itself to accompany the score of +gray whiter--and flitted on billowy wings to a juniper at the corner +of the house, its turret against the long javelins of the North. + +Amid the stillness of Nature outside and the house-silence of a love +guarding him within, the man worked on. + +A little clock ticked independently on the old-fashioned Parian marble +mantelpiece. Prints were propped against its sides and face, +illustrating the use of trees about ancient tombs and temples. Out of +this photographic grove of dead things the uncaring clock threw out +upon the air a living three--the fateful three that had been measured +for each tomb and temple in its own land and time. + +A knock, regretful but positive, was heard, and the door opening into +the hall was quietly pushed open. A glow lit up the student's face +though he did not stop writing; and his voice, while it gave a +welcome, unconsciously expressed regret at being disturbed: + +"Come in." + +"I am in!" + +He lifted his heavy figure with instant courtesy--rather obsolete +now--and bowing to one side, sat down again. + +"So I see," he said, dipping his pen into his ink. + +"Since you did not turn around, you would better have said 'So I +hear.' It is three o'clock." + +"So I hear." + +"You said you would be ready." + +"I am ready." + +"You said you would be done." + +"I am done--nearly done." + +"How nearly?" + +"By to-morrow--to-morrow afternoon before dark. I have reached the +end, but now it is hard to stop, hard to let go." + +His tone gave first place, primary consideration, to his work. The +silence in the room suddenly became charged. When the voice was heard +again, there was constraint in it: + +"There is something to be done this afternoon before dark, something I +have a share in. Having a share, I am interested. Being interested, I +am prompt. Being prompt, I am here." + +He waved his hand over the written sheets before him--those cold Alps +of learning; and asked reproachfully: + +"Are you not interested in all this, O you of little faith?" + +"How can I say, O me of little knowledge!" + +As the words impulsively escaped, he heard a quick movement behind +him. He widened out his heavy arms upon his manuscript and looked back +over his shoulder at her and laughed. And still smiling and holding +his pen between his fingers, he turned and faced her. She had advanced +into the middle of the room and had stopped at the chair on which he +had thrown his overcoat and hat. She had picked up the hat and stood +turning it and pushing its soft material back into shape for his +head--without looking at him. + +The northern light of the winter afternoon, entering through the +looped crimson-damask curtains, fell sidewise upon the woman of the +picture. + +Years had passed since the picture had been made. There were changes +in her; she looked younger. She had effaced the ravages of a sadder +period of her life as human voyagers upon reaching quiet port repair +the damages of wandering and storm. Even the look of motherhood, of +the two motherhoods, which so characterized her in the photograph, had +disappeared for the present. Seeing her now for the first time, one +would have said that her whole mood and bearing made a single +declaration: she was neither wife nor mother; she was a woman in love +with life's youth--with youth--youth; in love with the things that +youth alone could ever secure to her. + +The carriage of her beautiful head, brave and buoyant, brought before +you a vision of growing things in nature as they move towards their +summer yet far away. There still was youth in the round white throat +above the collar of green velvet--woodland green--darker than the +green of the cloth she wore. You were glad she had chosen that color +because she was going for a walk with him; and green would enchain the +eye out on the sere ground and under the stripped trees. The +flecklessness of her long gloves drew your thoughts to winter +rather--to its one beauteous gift dropped from soiled clouds. A +slender toque brought out the keenness in the oval of her face. From +it rose one backward-sweeping feather of green shaded to coral at the +tip; and there your fancy may have cared to see lingering the last +radiance of whiter-sunset skies. + +He kept his seat with his back to the manuscript from which he had +repulsed her; and his eyes swept loyally over her as she +waited. Though she could scarcely trust herself to speak, still less +could she endure the silence. With her face turned toward the windows +opening on the lawn, she stretched out her arm toward him and softly +shook his hat at him. + +"The sun sets--you remember how many minutes after four," she said, +with no other tone than that of quiet warning. "I marked the minutes +in the almanac for you the other night after the children had gone to +bed, so that you would not forget. You know how short the twilights +are even when the day is clear. It is cloudy to-day and there will not +be any twilight. The children said they would not be at home until +after dark, but they may come sooner; it may be a trick. They have +threatened to catch us this year in one way or another, and you know +they must not do that--not this year! There must be one more Christmas +with all its old ways--even if it must be without its old mysteries." + +He did not reply at once and then not relevantly: + +"I heard you playing." + +He had dropped his head forward and was scowling at her from under his +brows with a big Beethoven brooding scowl. She did not see, for she +held her face averted. + +The silence in the room again seemed charged, and there was greater +constraint in her voice when it was next heard: + +"I had to play; you need not have listened." + +"I had to listen; you played loud--" + +"I did not know I was playing loud. I may have been trying to drown +other sounds," she admitted. + +"What other sounds?" His voice unexpectedly became inquisitorial: it +was a frank thrust into the unknown. + +"Discords--possibly." + +"What discords?" His thrust became deeper. + +She turned her head quickly and looked at him; a quiver passed across +her lips and in her eyes there was noble anguish. + +But nothing so arrests our speech when we are tempted to betray hidden +trouble as to find ourselves face to face with a kind of burnished, +radiant happiness. Sensitive eyes not more quickly close before a +blaze of sunlight than the shadowy soul shuts her gates upon the +advancing Figure of Joy. + +It was the whole familiar picture of him now--triumphantly painted in +the harmonies of life, masterfully toned to subdue its discords--that +drove her back into herself. When she spoke next, she had regained the +self-control which under his unexpected attack she had come near +losing; and her words issued from behind the closed gates--as through +a crevice of the closed gates: + +"I was reading one of the new books that came the other day, the deep +grave ones you sent for. It is written by a deep grave German, and it +is worked out in the deep grave German way. The whole purpose of it +is to show that any woman in the life of any man is merely--an +Incident. She may be this to him, she may be that to him; for a +briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, at +bottom, she is to him--an Incident." + +He did not take his eyes from hers and his smile slowly broadened. + +"Were those the discords?" he asked gently. + +She did not reply. + +He turned in his chair and looking over his shoulder at her, he raised +his arm and drew the point of his pen across the backs of a stack of +magazines on top of his desk. + +"Here is a work," he said, "not written by a German or by any other +man, but by a woman whose race I do not know: here is a work the sole +purpose of which is to prove that any man is merely an Incident in the +life of any woman. He may be this to her, he may be that to her; for +a briefer time, for a greater time; but all along and in the end, +beneath everything else, he is to her--an Incident." + +He turned and confronted her, not without a gleam of humor in his +eyes. + +"That did not trouble me," he said tenderly. "Those were not discords +to me." + +Her eyes rested on his face with inscrutable searching. She made no +comment. + +His own face grew grave. After a moment of debate with himself as to +whether he should be forced to do a thing he would rather not do, he +turned in his chair and laid down his pen as though separating himself +from his work. Then he said, in a tone that ended playfulness: + +"Do I not understand? Have I not understood all the time? For a year +now I have been shutting myself up at spare hours in this room and at +this work--without any explanation to you. Such a thing never occurred +before in our lives. You have shared everything. I have relied upon +you and I have needed you, and you have never failed me. And this +apparently has been your reward--to be rudely shut out at last. Now +you come in and I tell you that the work is done--quite +finished--without a word to you about it. Do I not understand?" he +repeated. "Have I not understood all along? It is true; outwardly as +regards this work you have been--the Incident." + +As he paused, she made a slight gesture with one hand as though she +did not care for what he was saying and brushed away the fragile web +of his words from before her eyes--eyes fixed on larger things lying +clear before her in life's distance. + +He went quickly on with deepening emphasis: + +"But, comrade of all these years, battler with me for life's +victories, did you think you were never to know? Did you believe I was +never to explain? You had only one more day to wait! If patience, if +faith, could only have lasted another twenty-four hours--until +Christmas Eve!" + +It was the first time for nearly a year that the sound of those words +had been heard in that house. He bent earnestly over toward her; he +leaned heavily forward with his hands on his knees and searched her +features with loyal chiding. + +"Has not Christmas Eve its mysteries?" he asked, "its secrets for you +and me? Think of Christmas Eve for you and me! Remember!" + +Slowly as in a windless woods on a winter day a smoke from a +woodchopper's smouldering fire will wander off and wind itself about +the hidden life-buds of a young tree, muffling it while the atmosphere +near by is clear, there now floated into the room to her the tender +haze of old pledges and vows and of things unutterably sacred. + +He noted the effect of his words and did not wait. He turned to his +desk and, gathering up the sprigs of holly and cedar, began softly to +cover her picture with them. + +"Stay blinded and bewildered there," he said, "until the hour comes +when holly and cedar will speak: on Christmas Eve you will understand; +you will then see whether in this work you have been--the Incident." + +Even while they had been talking the light of the short winter +afternoon had perceptibly waned in the room. + +She glanced through the windows at the darkening lawn; her eyes were +tear-dimmed; to her it looked darker than it was. She held his hat up +between her arms, making an arch for him to come and stand under. + +"It is getting late," she said in nearly the same tone of quiet +warning with which she had spoken before. "There is no time to lose." + +He sprang up, without glancing behind him at his desk with its +interrupted work, and came over and placed himself under the arch of +her arms, looking at her reverently. + +But his hands did not take hold, his arms hung down at his sides--the +hands that were life, the arms that were love. + +She let her eyes wander over his clipped tawny hair and pass downward +over his features to the well-remembered mouth under its mustache. +Then, closing her quivering lips quickly, she dropped the hat softly +on his head and walked toward the door. When she reached it, she put +out one of her hands delicately against a panel and turned her profile +over her shoulder to him: + +"Do you know what is the trouble with both of those books?" she asked, +with a struggling sweetness in her voice. + +He had caught up his overcoat and as he put one arm through the sleeve +with a vigorous thrust, he laughed out with his mouth behind the +collar: + +"I think I know what is the trouble with the authors of the books." + +"The trouble is," she replied, "the trouble is that the authors are +right and the books are right: men and women _are_ only Incidents +to each other in life," and she passed out into the hall. + +"Human life itself for that matter is only an incident in the +universe," he replied, "if we cared to look at it in that way; but +we'd better not!" + +He was standing near the table in the middle of the room; he suddenly +stopped buttoning his overcoat. His eyes began to wander over the +books, the prints, the pictures, embracing in a final survey +everything that he had brought together from such distances of place +and time. His work was in effect done. A sense of regret, a rush of +loneliness, came over him as it comes upon all of us who reach the +happy ending of toil that we have put our heart and strength in. + +"Are you coming?" she called faintly from the hall. + +"I am coming," he replied, and moved toward the door; but there he +stopped again and looked back. + +Once more there came into his face the devotion of the student; he was +on the commons where the race encamps; he was brother to all brothers +who join work to work for common good. He was feeling for the moment +that through his hands ran the long rope of the world at which +men--like a crew of sailors--tug at the Ship of Life, trying to tow +her into some divine haven. + +His task was ended. Would it be of service? Would it carry any +message? Would it kindle in American homes some new light of truth, +with the eyes of mothers and fathers fixed upon it, and innumerable +children of the future the better for its shining? + +"Are you coming?" she called more quiveringly. + +"I am coming," he called back, breaking away from his revery, and +raising his voice so it would surely reach her. + + + + +II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + + +She had quitted the house and, having taken a few steps across the +short frozen grass of the yard as one walks lingeringly when expecting +to be joined by a companion, she turned and stood with her eyes fixed +on the doorway for his emerging figure. + +"To-morrow night," he had said, smiling at her with one meaning in his +words, "to-morrow night you will understand." + +"Yes," she now said to herself, with another meaning in hers, +"to-morrow night I must understand. Until to-morrow night, then, +blinded and bewildered with holly and cedar let me be! Kind +ignorance, enfold me and spare me! All happiness that I can control or +conjecture, come to me and console me!" + +And over herself she dropped a vesture of joy to greet him when he +should step forth. + +It was a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors and to go about what +they had planned; the ground was scarcely frozen, there was no wind, +and the whole sky was overcast with thin gray cloud that betrayed no +movement. Under this still dome of silvery-violet light stretched the +winter land; it seemed ready and waiting for its great festival. + +The lawn sloped away from the house to a brook at the bottom, and +beyond the brook the ground rose to a woodland hilltop. Across the +distance you distinguished there the familiar trees of blue-grass +pastures: white ash and black ash; white oak and red oak; white walnut +and black walnut; and the scaly-bark hickory in his roughness and the +sycamore with her soft leoparded limbs. The black walnut and the +hickory brought to mind autumn days when children were abroad, +ploughing the myriad leaves with booted feet and gathering their +harvest of nuts--primitive food-storing instinct of the human animal +still rampant in modern childhood: these nuts to be put away in garret +and cellar and but scantily eaten until Christmas came. + +Out of this woods on the afternoon air sounded the muffled strokes of +an axe cutting down a black walnut partly dead; and when this fell, it +would bring down with it bunches of mistletoe, those white pearls of +the forest mounted on branching jade. To-morrow eager fingers would be +gathering the mistletoe to decorate the house. Near by was a thicket +of bramble and cane where, out of reach of cattle, bushes of holly +thrived: the same fingers would be gathering that. + +Bordering this woods on one side lay a cornfield. The corn had just +been shucked, and beside each shock of fodder lay its heap of ears +ready for the gathering wagon. The sight of the corn brought freshly +to remembrance the red-ambered home-brew of the land which runs in a +genial torrent through all days and nights of the year--many a +full-throated rill--but never with so inundating a movement as at this +season. And the same grain suggested also the smokehouses of all +farms, in which larded porkers, fattened by it, had taken on +posthumous honors as home-cured hams; and in which up under the black +rafters home-made sausages were being smoked to their needed flavor +over well-chosen chips. + +Around one heap of ears a flock of home-grown turkeys, red-mottled, +rainbow-necked, were feeding for their fate. + +On the other side of the woods stretched a wheat-field, in the stubble +of which coveys of bob-whites were giving themselves final plumpness +for the table by picking up grains of wheat which had dropped into the +drills at harvest time or other seeds which had ripened in the autumn +aftermath. + +Farther away on the landscape there was a hemp-field where +hemp-breakers were making a rattling reedy music; during these weeks +wagons loaded with the gold-bearing fibre begin to move creaking to +the towns, helping to fill the farmer's pockets with holiday largess. + +Thus everything needed for Christmas was there in sight: the +mistletoe--the holly--the liquor of the land for the cups of hearty +men--the hams and the sausages of fastidious housewives--the turkey +and the quail--and crops transmutable into coin. They were in sight +there--the fair maturings of the sun now ready to be turned into +offerings to the dark solstice, the low activities of the soil +uplifted to human joyance. + +One last thing completed the picture of the scene. + +The brook that wound across the lawn at its bottom was frozen to-day +and lay like a band of jewelled samite trailed through the olive +verdure. Along its margin evergreens grew. No pine nor spruce nor +larch nor fir is native to these portions of the Shield; only the wild +cedar, the shapeless and the shapely, belongs there. This assemblage +of evergreens was not, then, one of the bounties of Nature; they had +been planted. + +It was the slender tapering spires of these evergreens with their note +of deathless spring that mainly caught the eye on the whole landscape +this dead winter day. Under the silvery-violet light of the sky they +waited in beauty and in peace: the pale green of larch and spruce +which seems always to go with the freshness of dripping Aprils; the +dim blue-gray of pines which rather belongs to far-vaulted summer +skies; and the dark green of firs--true comfortable winter coat when +snows sift mournfully and icicles are spearing earthward. + +These evergreens likewise had their Christmas meaning and finished the +picture of the giving earth. Unlike the other things, they satisfied +no appetite, they were ministers to no passions; but with them the +Christmas of the intellect began: the human heart was to drape their +boughs with its gentle poetry; and from their ever living spires the +spiritual hope of humanity would take its flight toward the eternal. + +Thus then the winter land waited for the oncoming of that strange +travelling festival of the world which has roved into it and encamped +gypsy-like from old lost countries: the festival that takes toll of +field and wood, of hoof and wing, of cup and loaf; but that, best of +all, wrings from the nature of man its reluctant tenderness for his +fellows and builds out of his lonely doubts regarding this life his +faith in a better one. + +And central on this whole silent scene--the highest element in it--its +one winter-red passion flower--the motionless woman waiting outside +the house. + +At last he came out upon the step. + +He cast a quick glance toward the sky as though his first thought were +of what the weather was going to be. Then as he buttoned the top +button of his overcoat and pressed his bearded chin down over it to +make it more comfortable under his short neck, with his other hand he +gave a little pull at his hat--the romantic country hat; and he peeped +out from under the rustic brim at her, smiling with old gayeties and +old fondnesses. He bulked so rotund inside his overcoat and looked so +short under the flat headgear that her first thought was how slight a +disguise every year turned him into a good family Santa Claus; and she +smiled back at him with the same gayeties and fondnesses of days gone +by. But such a deeper pang pierced her that she turned away and walked +hurriedly down the hill toward the evergreens. + +He was quickly at her side. She could feel how animal youth in him +released itself the moment he had come into the open air. There was +brutal vitality in the way his shoes crushed the frozen ground; and as +his overcoat sleeve rubbed against her arm, there was the same leaping +out of life, like the rubbing of tinder against tinder. Halfway down +the lawn he halted and laid his hand heavily on her wrist. + +"Listen to that!" he said. His voice was eager, excited, like a boy's. + +On the opposite side of the house, several hundred yards away, the +country turnpike ran; and from this there now reached them the +rumbling of many vehicles, hurrying in close procession out of the +nearest town and moving toward smaller villages scattered over the +country; to its hamlets and cross-roads and hundreds of homes richer +or poorer--every vehicle Christmas-laden: sign and foretoken of the +Southern Yule-tide. There were matters and usages in those American +carriages and buggies and wagons and carts the history of which went +back to the England of the Georges and the Stuarts and the Henrys; to +the England of Elizabeth, to the England of Chaucer; back through +robuster Saxon times to the gaunt England of Alfred, and on beyond +this till they were lost under the forest glooms of Druidical Britain. + +They stood looking into each other's eyes and gathering into their +ears the festal uproar of the turnpike. How well they knew what it all +meant--this far-flowing tide of bounteousness! How perfectly they saw +the whole picture of the town out of which the vehicles had come: the +atmosphere of it already darkened by the smoke of soft coal pouring +from its chimneys, so that twilight in it had already begun to fall +ahead of twilight out in the country, and lamp-posts to glimmer along +the little streets, and shops to be illuminated to the delight of +window-gazing, mystery-loving children--wild with their holiday +excitements and secrecies. Somewhere in the throng their own two +children were busy unless they had already started home. + +For years he had held a professorship in the college in this town, +driving in and out from his home; but with the close of this academic +year he was to join the slender file of Southern men who have been +called to Northern universities: this change would mean the end of +life here. Both thought of this now--of the last Christmas in the +house; and with the same impulse they turned their gaze back to it. + +More than half a century ago the one starved genius of the Shield, a +writer of songs, looked out upon the summer picture of this land, its +meadows and ripening corn tops; and as one presses out the spirit of +an entire vineyard when he bursts a solitary grape upon his tongue, +he, the song writer, drained drop by drop the wine of that scene into +the notes of a single melody. The nation now knows his song, the world +knows it--the only music that has ever captured the joy and peace of +American home life--embodying the very soul of it in the clear amber +of sound. + +This house was one of such homesteads as the genius sang of: a low, +old-fashioned, brown-walled, gray-shingled house; with chimneys +generous, with green window-shutters less than green and white +window-sills less than white; with feudal vines giving to its walls +their summery allegiance; not young, not old, but standing in the +middle years of its strength and its honors; not needy, not wealthy, +but answering Agar's prayer for neither poverty nor riches. + +The two stood on the darkening lawn, looking back at it. + +It had been the house of his fathers. He had brought her to it as his +own on the afternoon of their wedding several miles away across the +country. They had arrived at dark; and as she had sat beside him in +the carriage, one of his arms around her and his other hand enfolding +both of hers, she had first caught sight of it through the forest +trees--waiting for her with its lights just lit, its warmth, its +privacies: and that had been Christmas Eve! + +For her wedding day had been Christmas Eve. When she had announced her +choice of a day, they had chidden her. But with girlish wilfulness she +had clung to it the more positively. + +"It is the most beautiful night of the year!" she had replied, +brushing their objection aside with that reason alone. "And it is the +happiest! I will be married on that night, when I am happiest!" + +Alone and thinking it over, she had uttered other words to +herself--yet scarce uttered them, rather felt them: + +"Of old it was written how on Christmas Night the Love that cannot +fail us became human. My love for him, which is the divine thing in +my life and which is never to fail him, shall become human to him on +that night." + +When the carriage had stopped at the front porch, he had led her into +the house between the proud smiling servants of his establishment +ranged at a respectful distance on each side; and without surrendering +her even to her maid--a new spirit of silence on him--he had led her +to her bedroom, to a place on the carpet under the chandelier. + +Leaving her there, he had stepped backward and surveyed her waiting in +her youth and loveliness--_for him;_ come into his house, into +his arms--_his_; no other's--never while life lasted to be +another's even in thought or in desire. + +Then as if the marriage ceremony of the afternoon in the presence of +many had meant nothing and this were the first moment when he could +gather her home to him, he had come forward and taken her in his arms +and set upon her the kiss of his house and his ardor and his duty. As +his warm breath broke close against her face, his lips under their +mustache, almost boyish then, had thoughtlessly formed one little +phrase--one little but most lasting and fateful phrase: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe_!" + +Looking up with a smile, she saw that she stood under a bunch of +mistletoe swung from the chandelier. + +Straightway he had forgotten his own words, nor did he ever afterwards +know that he had used them. But she, out of their very sacredness as +the first words he had spoken to her in his home, had remembered them +most clingingly. More than remembered them: she had set them to grow +down into the fibres of her heart as the mistletoe roots itself upon +the life-sap of the tree. And in all the later years they had been the +green spot of verdure under life's dark skies--the undying bough into +which the spirit of the whole tree retreats from the ice of the world: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + +Through the first problem of learning to weld her nature to his +wisely; through the perils of bearing children and the agony of seeing +some of them pass away; through the ambition of having him rise in his +profession and through the ideal of making his home an earthly +paradise; through loneliness when he was away and joy whenever he came +back,--upon her whole life had rested the wintry benediction of that +mystical phrase: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + + * * * * * + +She turned away now, starting once more downward toward the +evergreens. He was quickly at her side. + +"What do you suppose Harold and Elizabeth are up to about this time?" +he asked, with a good-humored jerk of his head toward the distant +town. + +"At least to something mischievous, whatever it is," she +replied. "They begged to be allowed to stay until the shop windows +were lighted; they have seen the shop windows two or three times +already this week: there is no great marvel for them now in shop +windows. Permission to stay late may be a blind to come home +early. They are determined, from what I have overheard, to put an end +this year to the parental house mysteries of Christmas. They are +crossing the boundary between the first childhood and the second. But +if it be possible, I wish everything to be kept once more just as it +has always been; let it be so for my sake!" + +"And I wish it for your sake," he replied heartily; "and for my +purposes." + +After a moment of silence he asked: "How large a Tree must it be this +year?" + +"It will have to be large," she replied; and she began to count those +for whom the Tree this year was meant. + +First she called the names of the two children they had lost. Gifts +for these were every year hung on the boughs. She mentioned their +names now, and then she continued counting: + +"Harold and Elizabeth are four. You and I make six. After the family +come Herbert and Elsie, your best friend the doctor's children. Then +the servants--long strong bottom branches for the servants! Allow for +the other children who are to make up the Christmas party: ten +children have been invited, ten children have accepted, ten children +will arrive. The ten will bring with them some unimportant parents; +you can judge." + +"That will do for size," he said, laughing. "Now the kind: +spruce--larch--hemlock--pine--which shall it be?" + +"It shall be none of them!" she answered, after a little waiting. "It +shall be the Christmas Tree of the uttermost North where the reindeer +are harnessed and the Great White Sleigh starts--fir. The old +Christmas stories like fir best. Old faiths seem to lodge in it +longest. And deepest mystery darkens the heart of it," she added. + +"Fir it shall be!" he said. "Choose the tree." + +"I have chosen." + +She stopped and delicately touched his wrist with the finger tips of +one white-gloved hand, bidding him stand beside her. + +"That one," she said, pointing down. + +The brook, watering the roots of the evergreens in summer gratefully, +but now lying like a band of samite, jewel-crusted, made a loop near +the middle point of the lawn, creating a tiny island; and on this +island, aloof from its fellows and with space for the growth of its +boughs, stood a perfect fir tree: strong-based, thick-set, tapering +faultlessly, star-pointed, gathering more youth as it gathered more +years--a tame dweller on the lawn but descended from forests blurred +with wildness and lapped by low washings of the planet's primeval +ocean. + +At each Christmas for several years they had been tempted to cut this +tree, but had spared it for its conspicuous beauty at the edge of the +thicket. + +"That one," she now said, pointing down. "This is the last time. Let +us have the best of things while we may! Is it not always the perfect +that is demanded for sacrifice?" + +His glance had already gone forward eagerly to the tree, and he +started toward it. + +Descending, they stepped across the brook to the island and went up +close to the fir. With a movement not unobserved by her he held out +his hand and clasped three green fingers of a low bough which the fir +seemed to stretch out to him recognizingly. (She had always realized +the existence of some intimate bond between him and the forest.) His +face now filled with meanings she did not share; the spell of the +secret work had followed him out of the house down to the trees; +incommunicable silence shut him in. A moment later his fingers parted +with the green fingers of the fir and he moved away from her side, +starting around the tree and studying it as though in delight of fresh +knowledge. So she watched him pass around to the other side. + +When he came back where he had started, she was not there. He looked +around searchingly; her figure was nowhere in sight. + +He stood--waiting. + +The valley had memories, what memories! The years came close together +here; they clustered as thickly as the trees themselves. Vacant spots +among them marked where the Christmas Trees of former years had been +cut down. Some of the Trees had been for the two children they had +lost. This wandering trail led hither and thither back to the first +Tree for the first child: he had stooped down and cut that close to +the ground with his mere penknife. When it had been lighted, it had +held only two or three candles; and the candle on the top of it had +flared level into the infant's hand-shaded eyes. + +He knew that she was making through the evergreens a Pilgrimage of the +Years, walking there softly and alone with the feet of life's Pities +and a mother's Constancies. + +He waited for her--motionless. + +The stillness of the twilight rested on the valley now. Only from the +trees came the plaintive twittering of birds which had come in from +frozen weeds and fence-rows and at the thresholds of the boughs were +calling to one another. It was not their song, but their speech; there +was no love in it, but there was what for them perhaps corresponds to +our sense of ties. It most resembled in human life the brief things +that two people, having long lived together, utter to each other when +together in a room they prepare for the night: there is no +anticipation; it is a confession of the unconfessed. About him now +sounded this low winter music from the far boundary of other lives. + +He did not hear it. + +The light on the landscape had changed. The sun was setting and a +splendor began to spread along the sky and across the land. It laid a +glory on the roof of the house on the hill; it smote the edge of the +woodland pasture, burnishing with copper the gray domes; it shone +faintly on distant corn shocks, on the weather-dark tents of the hemp +at bivouac soldierly and grim. At his feet it sparkled in rose gleams +on the samite of the brook and threw burning shafts into the gloom of +the fir beside him. + +He did not see it. + +He did not hear the calling of the birds about his ears, he did not +see the sunset before his eyes, he did not feel the fir tree the +boughs of which stuck against his side. + +He stood there as still as a rock--with his secret. Not the secret of +the year's work, which was to be divulged to his wife and through her +to the world; but the secret which for some years had been growing in +his life and which would, he hoped, never grow into the open--to be +seen of her and of all men. + +The sentimental country hat now looked as though it might have been +worn purposely to help out a disguise, as the more troubled man behind +the scenes makes up to be the happier clown. It became an absurdity, a +mockery, above his face grave, stern, set of jaw and eye. He was no +longer the student buried among his books nor human brother to toiling +brothers. He had not the slightest thought of service to mankind left +in him, he was but a man himself with enough to think of in the battle +between his own will and blood. + +And behind him among the dark evergreens went on that Pilgrimage of +the Years--with the feet of the Pities and the Constancies. + +Moments passed; he did not stir. Then there was a slight noise on the +other side of the tree, and his nature instantly stepped back into his +outward place. He looked through the boughs. She had returned and was +standing with her face also turned toward the sunset; it was very +pale, very still. + +Such darkness had settled on the valley now that the green she wore +blent with the green of the fir. He saw only her white face and her +white hands so close to the branches that they appeared to rest upon +them, to grow out of them: he sadly thought of one of his prints of +Egypt of old and of the Lady of the Sacred Tree. Her long +backward-sweeping plume of green also blent with the green of the +fir--shade to shade--and only the coral tip of it remained strongly +visible. This matched the last coral in the sunset; and it seemed to +rest ominously above her head as a finger-point of the fading light of +Nature. + +He went quickly around to her. He locked his arms around her and drew +her close and held her close; and thus for a while the two stood, +watching the flame on the altar of the world as it sank lower, leaving +emptiness and ashes. + +Once she put out a hand and with a gesture full of majesty and +nobleness waved farewell to the dying fire. + +Still without a word he took his arms from around her and turned +energetically to the tree. + +He pressed the lowest boughs aside and made his way in close to the +trunk and struck it with a keen stroke. + +The fir as he drew the axe out made at its gashed throat a sound like +that of a butchered, blood-strangled creature trying to cry out too +late against a treachery. A horror ran through the boughs; the +thousands of leaves were jarred by the death-strokes; and the top of +it rocked like a splendid plume too rudely treated in a storm. Then it +fell over on its side, bridging blackly the white ice of the brook. + +Stooping, he lifted it triumphantly. He set the butt-end on one of his +shoulders and, stretching his arms up, grasped the trunk and held the +tree straight in the air, so that it seemed to be growing out of his +big shoulder as out of a ledge of rock. Then he turned to her and +laughed out in his strength and youth. She laughed joyously back at +him, glorying as he did. + +With a robust re-shouldering of the tree to make it more comfortable +to carry, he turned and started up the hill toward the house. As she +followed behind, the old mystery of the woods seemed at last to have +taken bodily possession of him. The fir was riding on his shoulder, +its arms met fondly around his neck, its fingers were caressing his +hair. And it whispered back jeeringly to her through the twilight: + +"Say farewell to him! He was once yours; he is yours no longer. He +dandles the child of the forest on his shoulder instead of his +children by you in the house. He belongs to Nature; and as Nature +calls, he will always follow--though it should lead over the precipice +or into the flood. Once Nature called him to you: remember how he +broke down barriers until he won you. Now he is yours no longer--say +good-by to him!" + +With an imbued terror and desolation, she caught up with him. By a +movement so soft that he should not be aware, she plucked him by the +coat sleeve on the other side from the fir and held on to him as he +strode on in careless joy. + +Halfway up the hill lights began to flash from the windows of the +house: a servant was bringing in the lamps. It was at this hour, in +just this way, that she had first caught sight of them on that +Christmas Eve when he had brought her home after the wedding. + +She hurried around in front of him, wishing to read the expression of +his eyes by the distant gleams from the windows. Would they have +nothing to say to her about those winter twilight lamps? Did he, too, +not remember? + +His head and face were hidden; a thousand small spears of Nature +bristled between him and her; but he laughed out to her from behind +the rampart of the green spears. + +At that moment a low sound in the distance drew her attention, and +instantly alert she paused to listen. Then, forgetting everything +else, she called to him with a rush of laughter like that of her +mischief-loving girlhood: + +"Quick! There they are! I heard the gate shut at the turnpike! They +must not catch us! Quick! Quick!" + +"Hurry, then!" he cried, as he ran forward, joining his laughter to +hers. "Open the door for me!" + +After this the night fell fast. The only sounds to be heard in the +valley were the minute readjustments of the ice of the brook as it +froze tighter and the distressed cries of the birds that had roosted +in the fir. + +So the Tree entered the house. + + + + +III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + + +During the night it turned bitter cold. When morning came the sky was +a turquoise and the wind a gale. The sun seemed to give out light but +not heat--to lavish its splendor but withhold its charity. Moist flesh +if it chanced to touch iron froze to it momentarily. So in whiter land +the tongue of the ermine freezes to the piece of greased metal used as +a trap and is caught and held there until the trapper returns or until +it starves--starves with food on its tongue. + +The ground, wherever the stiff boots of a farmhand struck it, resisted +as rock. In the fetlocks of farm horses, as they moved shivering, +balls of ice rattled like shaken tacks. The little roughnesses of +woodland paths snapped off beneath the slow-searching hoofs of +fodder-seeking cattle like points of glass. + +Within their wool the sheep were comforted. + +On higher fields which had given back their moisture to the atmosphere +and now were dry, the swooping wind lifted the dust at intervals and +dragged it away in flaunting yellow veils. The picture it made, being +so ill-seasoned, led you to think of August drought when the +grasshopper stills itself in the weeds and the smell of grass is hot +in the nostrils and every bird holds its beak open and its wings +lifted like cooling lattices alongside its breast. In these veils of +dust swarms of frost crystals sported--dead midgets of the dead +North. Except crystal and dust and wind, naught moved out there; no +field mouse, no hare nor lark nor little shielded dove. In the naked +trees of the pasture the crow kept his beak as unseen as the owl's; +about the cedars of the yard no scarlet feather warmed the day. + +The house on the hill--one of the houses whose spirit had been blown +into the amber of the poet's song--sent festal smoke out of its +chimneys all day long. At intervals the radiant faces of children +appeared at the windows, hanging wreaths of evergreens; or their +figures flitted to and fro within as they wove garlands on the walls +for the Christmas party. At intervals some servant with head and +shoulders muffled in a bright-colored shawl darted trippingly from the +house to the cabins in the yard and from the cabins back to the +house--the tropical African's polar dance between fire and fire. By +every sign it gave the house showed that it was marshalling its whole +happiness. + +One thing only seemed to make a signal of distress from afar. The oak +tree beside the house, whose roots coiled warmly under the +hearth-stones and whose boughs were outstretched across the roof, +seemed to writhe and rock in its winter sleep with murmurings and +tossings like a human dreamer trying to get rid of an unhappy dream. +Imagination might have said that some darkest tragedy of forests long +since gone still lived in this lone survivor--that it struggled to +give up the grief and guilt of an ancient forest shame. + +The weather moderated in the afternoon. A warm current swept across +the upper atmosphere, developing everywhere behind it a cloud; and +toward sundown out of this cloud down upon the Shield snow began to +fall. Not the large wet flakes which sometimes descend too late in +spring upon the buds of apple orchards; nor those mournfuller ones +which drop too soon on dim wild violets in November woods, but winter +snow, stern sculptor of Arctic solitudes. + + * * * * * + +It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing all over the Shield. + +Softly the snow fell upon the year's footprints and pathways of +children and upon schoolhouses now closed and riotously deserted. More +softly upon too crowded asylums for them: houses of noonday darkness +where eyes eagerly look out at the windows but do not see; houses of +soundlessness where ears listen and do not hear any noise; houses of +silence where lips try to speak but utter no word. + +The snow of Christmas Eve was falling softly on the old: whose eyes +are always seeing vanished faces, whose ears hear voices gentler than +any the earth now knows, whose hands forever try to reach other hands +vainly held out to them. Sad, sad to those who remember loved ones +gone with their kindnesses the snow of Christmas Eve! + +But sadder yet for those who live on together after kindnesses have +ceased, or whose love went like a summer wind. Sad is Christmas Eve to +them! Dark its snow and blinding! + + * * * * * + +It was late that night. + +She came into the parlor, clasping the bowl of a shaded lamp--the only +light in the room. Her face, always calm in life's wisdom, but +agitated now by the tide of deep things coming swiftly in toward her, +rested clear-cut upon the darkness. + +She placed the lamp on a table near the door and seated herself beside +it. But she pushed the lamp away unconsciously as though the light of +the house were no longer her light; and she sat in the chair as though +it were no longer her chair; and she looked about the room as though +it were no longer hers nor the house itself nor anything else that she +cared for most. + +Earlier in the evening they had finished hanging the presents on the +Tree; but then an interruption had followed: the children had broken +profanely in upon them, rending the veil of the house mysteries; and +for more than an hour the night had been given up to them. Now the +children were asleep upstairs, already dreaming of Christmas Morn and +the rush for the stockings. The servants had finished their work and +were gone to their quarters out in the yard. The doors of the house +were locked. There would be no more intrusion now, no possible +interruption; all the years were to meet him and her--alone. For Life +is the master dramatist: when its hidden tragedies are ready to utter +themselves, everything superfluous quits the stage; it is the +essential two who fill it! And how little the rest of the world ever +hears of what takes place between the two! + +A little while before he had left the room with the step-ladder; when +he came back, he was to bring with him the manuscript--the silent +snowfall of knowledge which had been deepening about him for a +year. The time had already passed for him to return, but he did not +come. Was there anything in the forecast of the night that made him +falter? Was he shrinking--_him_ shrink? She put away the thought +as a strange outbreak of injustice. + +How still it was outside the house with the snow falling! How still +within! She began to hear the ticking of the tranquil old clock under +the stairway out in the hall--always tranquil, always tranquil. And +then she began to listen to the disordered strokes of her own +heart--that red Clock in the body's Tower whose beats are sent outward +along the streets and alleys of the blood; whose law it is to be +alternately wound too fast by the fingers of Joy, too slow by the +fingers of Sorrow; and whose fate, if it once run down, never +afterwards either by Joy or Sorrow to be made to run again. + +At last she could hear the distant door of his study open and close +and his steps advance along the hall. With what a splendid swing and +tramp he brought himself toward her!--with what self-unconsciousness +and virile strength in his feet! His steps entered and crossed his +bedroom, entered and crossed her bedroom; and then he stood there +before her in the parlor doorway, a few yards off--stopped and +regarded her intently, smiling. + +In a moment she realized what had delayed him. When he had gone away +with the step-ladder, he had on a well-worn suit in which, behind +locked doors, he had been working all the afternoon at the decorations +of the Tree. Now he came back ceremoniously dressed; the rest of the +night was to be in her honor. + +It had always been so on this anniversary of their bridal night. They +had always dressed for it; the children now in their graves had been +dressed for it; the children in bed upstairs were regularly dressed +for it; the house was dressed for it; the servants were dressed for +it; the whole life of that establishment had always been made to feel +by honors and tendernesses and gayeties that this was the night on +which he had married her and brought her home. + +As her eyes swept over him she noted quite as never before how these +anniversaries had not taken his youth away, but had added youth to +him; he had grown like the evergreen in the middle of the room--with +increase of trunk and limbs and with larger tides of strength surging +through him toward the master sun. There were no ravages of married +life in him. Time had merely made the tree more of a tree and made his +youth more youth. + +She took in momentary details of his appearance: a moisture like +summer heat along the edge of his yellow hair, started by the bath +into which he had plunged; the freshness of the enormous hands holding +the manuscript; the muscle of the forearm bulging within the +dress-coat sleeve. Many a time she had wondered how so perfect an +animal as he had ever climbed to such an elevation of work; and then +had wondered again whether any but such an animal ever in life does so +climb--shouldering along with him the poise and breadth of health and +causing the hot sun of the valley to shine on the mountain tops. + +Finally she looked to see whether he, thus dressed in her honor, thus +but the larger youth after all their years together, would return her +greeting with a light in his eyes that had always made them so +beautiful to her--a light burning as at a portal opening inward for +her only. + +His eyes rested on his manuscript. + +He brought it wrapped and tied in the true holiday spirit--sprigs of +cedar and holly caught in the ribands; and he now lifted and held it +out to her as a jeweller might elevate a casket of gems. Then he +stepped forward and put it on the table at her elbow. + +"For you!" he said reverently, stepping back. + +There had been years when, returning from a tramp across the country, +he would bring her perhaps nothing but a marvellous thistle, or a +brilliant autumn leaf for her throat. + +"For you!" he would say; and then, before he could give it to her, he +would throw it away and take her in his arms. Afterwards she would +pick up the trifle and treasure it. + +"For you!" he now said, offering her the treasure of his year's toil +and stepping back. + +So the weight of the gift fell on her heart like a stone. She did not +look at it or touch it but glanced up at him. He raised his finger, +signalling for silence; and going to the chimney corner, brought back +a long taper and held it over the lamp until it ignited. Then with a +look which invited her to follow, he walked to the Tree and began to +light the candles. + +He began at the lowest boughs and, passing around, touched them one by +one. Around and around he went, and higher and higher twinkled the +lights as they mounted the tapering sides of the fir. At the top he +kindled one highest red star, shining down on everything below. Then +he blew out the taper, turned out the lamp; and returning to the tree, +set the heavy end of the taper on the floor and grasped it midway, as +one might lightly hold a stout staff. + +The room, lighted now by the common glow of the candles, revealed +itself to be the parlor of the house elaborately decorated for the +winter festival. Holly wreaths hung in the windows; the walls were +garlanded; evergreen boughs were massed above the window cornices; on +the white lace of window curtains many-colored autumn leaves, pressed +and kept for this night, looked as though they had been blown there +scatteringly by October winds. The air of the room was heavy with +odors; there was summer warmth in it. + +In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top +close to the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of +the room impartially--as symbolically to the four corners of the +earth. It would be the only witness of all that was to take place +between them: what better could there be than this messenger of +silence and wild secrecy? From the mountains and valleys of the planet +its race had looked out upon a million generations of men and women; +and the calmness of its lot stretched across the turbulence of human +passion as an ancient bridge spans a modern river. + +At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first +forking of the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross +gleamed. Under the cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions +outstretched as though descending out of the infinite upon some +earthly object below. From many of the branches tiny bells swung. +There were little horns and little trumpets. Other boughs sagged +under the weight of silvery cornucopias. Native and tropical fruits +were tied on here and there; and dolls were tied on also with cords +around their necks, their feet dangling. There were smiling masks, +like men beheaded and smiling in their death. Near the base of the +Tree there was a drum. And all over the Tree from pinnacle to base +glittered a tinsel like golden fleece--looking as the moss of old +Southern trees seen at yellow sunset. + +He stood for a while absorbed in contemplation of it. This year at his +own request the decorations had been left wholly to him; now he seemed +satisfied. + +He turned to her eagerly. + +"Do you remember what took place on Christmas Eve last year?" he +asked, with a reminiscent smile. "You sat where you are sitting and I +stood where I am standing. After I had finished lighting the Tree, do +you remember what you said?" + +After a moment she stirred and passed her fingers across her brows. + +"Recall it to me," she answered. "I must have said many things. I did +not know that I had said anything that would be remembered a year. +Recall it to me." + +"You looked at the Tree and said what a mystery it is. When and where +did it begin, how and why?--this Tree that is now nourished in the +affections of the human family round the world." + +"Yes; I remember that." + +"I resolved to find out for you. I determined to prepare during what +hours I could spare from my regular college work the gratification of +your wish for you as a gift from me. If I could myself find the way +back through the labyrinth of ages, then I would return for you and +lead you back through the story of the Christmas Tree as that story +has never been seen by any one else. All this year's work, then, has +been the threading of the labyrinth. Now Christmas Eve has come again, +my work is finished, my gift to you is ready." + +He made this announcement and stopped, leaving it to clear the air of +mystery--the mystery of the secret work. + +Then he resumed: "Have you, then, been the Incident in this toil as +yesterday you intimated that you were? Do you now see that you have +been the whole reason of it? You were excluded from any share in the +work only because you could not help to prepare your own gift! That is +all. What has looked like a secret in this house has been no +secret. You are blinded and bewildered no longer; the hour has come +when holly and cedar can speak for themselves." + +Sunlight broke out all over his face. + +She made no reply but said within herself: + +"Ah, no! That is not the trouble. That has nothing to do with the +trouble. The secret of the house is not a misunderstanding; it is +life. It is not the doing of a year; it is the undoing of the +years. It is not a gift to enrich me with new happiness; it is a +lesson that leaves me poorer." + +He went on without pausing: + +"It is already late. The children interrupted us and took up part of +your evening. But it is not too late for me to present to you some +little part of your gift. I am going to arrange for you a short story +out of the long one. The whole long story is there," he added, +directing his eyes toward the manuscript at her elbow; and his voice +showed how he felt a scholar's pride in it. "From you it can pass out +to the world that celebrates Christmas and that often perhaps asks the +same question: What is the history of the Christmas Tree? But now my +story for you!" + +"Wait a moment," she said, rising. She left the package where it was; +and with feet that trembled against the soft carpet crossed the room +and seated herself at one end of a deep sofa. + +Gathering her dignity about her, she took there the posture of a +listener--listening at her ease. + +The sofa was of richly carved mahogany. Each end curved into a scroll +like a landward wave of the sea. One of her foam-white arms rested on +one of the scrolls. Her elbow, reaching beyond, touched a small table +on which stood a vase of white frosted glass; over the rim of it +profuse crimson carnations hung their heads. They were one of her +favorite winter flowers, and he had had these sent out to her this +afternoon from a hothouse of the distant town by a half-frozen +messenger. Near her head curtains of crimson brocade swept down the +wall to the floor from the golden-lustred window cornices. At her back +were cushions of crimson silk. At the other end of the sofa her piano +stood and on it lay the music she played of evenings to him, or played +with thoughts of him when she was alone. And other music also which +she many a time read; as Beethoven's Great Nine. + +Now, along this wall of the parlor from window curtain to window +curtain there stretched a festoon of evergreens and ribands put there +by the children for their Christmas-Night party; and into this festoon +they had fastened bunches of mistletoe, plucked from the walnut tree +felled the day before--they knowing nothing, happy children! + +There she reclined. + +The lower outlines of her figure were lost in a rich blackness over +which points of jet flashed like swarms of silvery fireflies in some +too warm a night of the warm South. The blackness of her hair and the +blackness of her brows contrasted with the whiteness of her bare arms +and shoulders and faultless neck and faultless throat bared also. Not +far away was hid the warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus's of old +out of the sea's inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old +family corals were clasped--the ocean's roses; and on her breast, +between the night of her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds +flowered in beauty that could never be opened, never be rifled. + +When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged +house-dogs--setters with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle +breeding--had followed her and lain down at her feet; and one with a +thrust of his nose pushed her skirts back from the toe of her slipper +and rested his chin on it. + +"I will listen," she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. "I wish +simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have +to say." + +"Then I shall go straight through," he replied. "One minute now while +I put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short +story out of so vast a one." + +During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under +stress of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours +often arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that +causes it to yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new +things: sometimes creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is +taken away. + +As he stood there--the man beside the Tree--into the picture entered +three other men, looking down upon him from their portraits on the +walls. + +One portrait represented the first man of his family to scale the +mountains of the Shield where its eastern rim is turned away from the +reddening daybreak. Thence he had forced his way to its central +portions where the skin of ever living verdure is drawn over the +rocks: Anglo-Saxon, backwoodsman, borderer, great forest chief, hewing +and fighting a path toward the sunset for Anglo-Saxon women and +children. With his passion for the wilderness--its game, enemies, +campfire and cabin, deep-lunged freedom. This ancestor had a lonely, +stern, gaunt face, no modern expression in it whatsoever--the timeless +face of the woods. + +Near his portrait hung that of a second representative of the +family. This man had looked out upon his vast parklike estates hi the +central counties; and wherever his power had reached, he had used it +on a great scale for the destruction of his forests. Woods-slayer, +field-maker; working to bring in the period on the Shield when the +hand of a man began to grasp the plough instead of the rifle, when the +stallion had replaced the stag, and bellowing cattle wound fatly down +into the pastures of the bison. This man had the face of his +caste--the countenance of the Southern slave-holding feudal lord. Not +the American face, but the Southern face of a definite era--less than +national, less than modern; a face not looking far in any direction +but at things close around. + +From a third portrait the latest ancestor looked down. He with his +contemporaries had finished the thinning of the central forest of the +Shield, leaving the land as it is to-day, a rolling prairie with +remnants of woodland like that crowning the hilltop near this +house. This immediate forefather bore the countenance that began to +develop in the Northerner and in the Southerner after the Civil War: +not the Northern look nor the Southern look, but the American look--a +new thing in the American face, indefinable but unmistakable. + +These three men now focussed their attention upon him, the fourth of +the line, standing beside the tree brought into the house. Each of +them in his own way had wrought out a work for civilization, using the +woods as an implement. In his own case, the woods around him having +disappeared, the ancestral passion had made him a student of forestry. + +The thesis upon which he took his degree was the relation of modern +forestry to modern life. A few years later in an adjunct professorship +his original researches in this field began to attract attention. +These had to do with the South Appalachian forest in its relation to +South Appalachian civilization and thus to that of the continent. + +This work had brought its reward; he was now to be drawn away from his +own college and country to a Northern university. + +Curiously in him there had gone on a corresponding development of an +ancestral face. As the look of the wilderness hunter had changed into +that of the Southern slave-holding baron, as this had changed into the +modern American face unlike any other; now finally in him the national +American look had broadened into something more modern still--the look +of mere humanity: he did not look like an American--he looked like a +man in the service of mankind. + +This, which it takes thus long to recapitulate, presented itself to +her as one wide vision of the truth. It left a realization of how the +past had swept him along with its current; and of how the future now +caught him up and bore him on, part in its problems. The old passion +living on in him--forest life; a new passion born in him--human +life. And by inexorable logic these two now blending themselves +to-night in a story of the Christmas Tree. + +But womanlike she sought to pluck out of these forces something +intensely personal to which she could cling; and she did it in this +wise. + +In the Spring following their marriage, often after supper they would +go out on the lawn in the twilight, strolling among her flowers; she +leading him this way and that way and laying upon him beautiful +exactions and tyrannies: how he must do this and do that; and not do +this and not do that; he receiving his orders like a grateful slave. + +Then sometimes he would silently imprison her hand and lead her down +the lawn and up the opposite hill to the edge of the early summer +evening woods; and there on the roots of some old tree--the shadows of +the forest behind them and the light of the western sky in their +faces--they would stay until darkness fell, hiding their eyes from +each other. + +The burning horizon became a cathedral interior--the meeting of love's +holiness and the Most High; the crescent dropped a silver veil upon +the low green hills; wild violets were at their feet; the mosses and +turf of the Shield under them. The warmth of his body was as the day's +sunlight stored in the trunk of the tree; his hair was to her like its +tawny bloom, native to the sun. + +Life with him was enchanted madness. + +He had begun. He stretched out his arm and slowly began to write on +the air of the room. Sometimes in earlier years she had sat in his +classroom when he was beginning a lecture; and it was thus, standing +at the blackboard, that he sometimes put down the subject of his +lecture for the students. Slowly now he shaped each letter and as he +finished each word, he read it aloud to her: + +"A STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR JOSEPHINE, WIFE OF FREDERICK" + + + + +IV. THE WANDERING TALE + + +"Josephine!" + +He uttered her name with beautiful reverence, letting the sound of it +float over the Christmas Tree and die away on the garlanded walls of +the room: it was his last tribute to her, a dedication. + +Then he began: + +"Josephine, sometimes while looking out of the study window a spring +morning, I have watched you strolling among the flowers of the lawn. I +have seen you linger near a honeysuckle in full bloom and question the +blossoms in your questioning way--you who are always wishing to probe +the heart of things, to drain out of them the red drop of their +significance. But, gray-eyed querist of actuality, those fragrant +trumpets could blow to your ear no message about their origin. It was +where the filaments of the roots drank deepest from the mould of a +dead past that you would have had to seek the true mouthpieces of +their philosophy. + +"So the instincts which blossom out thickly over the nature of modern +man to themselves are mute. The flower exhibits itself at the tip of +the vine; the instinct develops itself at the farthest outreach of +life; and the point where it clamors for satisfaction is at the +greatest possible distance from its birthplace. For all these +instincts send their roots down through the mould of the uncivilized, +down through the mould of the primitive, down into the mould of the +underhuman--that ancient playhouse dedicated to low tragedies. + +"While this may seem to you to be going far for a commencement of the +story, it is coming near to us. The kind of man and woman we are to +ourselves; the kind of husband and wife we are to each other; the kind +of father and mother we are to our children; the kind of human beings +we are to our fellow beings--the passions which swell as with sap the +buds of those relations until they burst into their final shapes of +conduct are fed from the bottom of the world's mould. You and I +to-night are building the structures of our moral characters upon +life-piles that sink into fathomless ooze. All we human beings dip our +drinking cups into a vast delta sweeping majestically towards the sea +and catch drops trickling from the springs of creation. + +"It is in a vast ancestral country, a Fatherland of Old Desire, that +my story lies for you and for me: drawn from the forest and from human +nature as the two have worked in the destiny of the earth. I have +wrested it from this Tree come out of the ancient woods into the house +on this Night of the Nativity." + +He made the scholar's pause and resumed, falling into the tone of easy +narrative. It had already become evident that this method of telling +the story would be to find what Alpine flowers he could for her amid +Alpine snows. + +He told her then that the oldest traceable influence in the life of +the human race is the sea. It is true that man in some ancestral form +was rocked in the cradle of the deep; he rose from the waves as the +islanded Greeks said of near Venus. Traces of this origin he still +bears both in his body and his emotions; and together they make up his +first set of memories--Sea Memories. + +He deliberated a moment and then put the truth before her in a single +picturesque phrase: + +"Man himself is a closed living sea-shell in the chambers of which the +hues of the first ocean are still fresh and its tempests still are +sounding." + +Next he told her how man's last marine ancestor quit one day the sea +never again to return to the deep, crossed the sands of the beach and +entered the forest; and how upon him, this living sea-shell, soft to +impressions, the Spirit of the Forest fell to work, beginning to shape +it over from sea uses to forest uses. + +A thousand thousand ages the Spirit of the Forest worked at the +sea-shell. + +It remodelled the shell as so much clay; stood it up and twisted and +branched it as young pliant oak; hammered it as forge-glowing iron; +tempered it as steel; cast it as bronze; chiselled it as marble; +painted it as a cloud; strung and tuned it as an instrument; lit it up +as a life tower--the world's one beacon: steadily sending it onward +through one trial form after another until at last had been perfected +for it that angelic shape in which as man it was ever afterwards to +sob and to smile. + +And thus as one day a wandering sea-shell had quit the sea and entered +the forest, now on another day of that infinite time there reappeared +at the edge of the forest the creature it had made. On every wall of +its being internal and external forest-written; and completely +forest-minded: having nothing but forest knowledge, forest feeling, +forest dreams, forest fancies, forest faith; so that in all it could +do or know or feel or dream or imagine or believe it was +forest-tethered. + +At the edge of the forest then this creature uncontrollably impelled +to emerge from the waving green sea of leaves as of old it had been +driven to quit the rolling blue ocean of waters: Man at the dawn of +our history of him. + +And if the first set of race memories--Sea Memories--still endure +within him, how much more powerful are the second set--the Forest +Memories! + +So powerful that since the dawn of history millions have perished as +forest creatures only; so powerful that there are still remnant races +on the globe which have never yet snapped the primitive tether and +will become extinct as mere forest creatures to the last; so powerful +that those highest races which have been longest out in the open--as +our own Aryan race--have never ceased to be reached by the influence +of the woods behind them; by the shadows of those tall morning trees +falling across the mortal clearings toward the sunset. + +These Master Memories, he said, filtering through the sandlike +generations of our race, survive to-day as those pale attenuated +affections which we call in ourselves the Love of Nature; these +affections are inherited: new feelings for nature we have none. The +writers of our day who speak of civilized man's love of nature as a +developing sense err wholly. They are like explorers who should +mistake a boundary for the interior of a continent. Man's knowledge of +nature is modern, but it no more endows him with new feeling than +modern knowledge of anatomy supplies him with a new bone or his latest +knowledge about his blood furnishes him with an additional artery. + +Old are our instincts and passions about Nature: all are Forest +Memories. + +But among the many-twisted mass of them there is one, he said, that +contains the separate buried root of the story: Man's Forest Faith. + +When the Spirit of the Forest had finished with the sea-shell, it had +planted in him--there to grow forever--the root of faith that he was a +forest child. His origin in the sea he had not yet discovered; the +science of ages far distant in the future was to give him that. To +himself forest-tethered he was also forest-born: he believed it to be +his immediate ancestor, the creative father of mankind. Thus the +Greeks in their oldest faith were tethered to the idea that they were +descended from the plane tree; in the Sagas and Eddas the human race +is tethered to the world-ash. Among every people of antiquity this +forest faith sprang up and flourished: every race was tethered to some +ancestral tree. In the Orient each succeeding Buddha of Indian +mythology was tethered to a different tree; each god of the later +classical Pantheon was similarly tethered: Jupiter to the oak, Apollo +to the laurel, Bacchus to the vine, Minerva to the olive, Juno to the +apple, on and on. Forest worship was universal--the most impressive +and bewildering to modern science that the human spirit has ever built +up. At the dawn of history began The Adoration of the Trees. + +Then as man, the wanderer, walked away from his dawn across the ages +toward the sunset bearing within him this root of faith, it grew with +his growth. The successive growths were cut down by the successive +scythes of time; but always new sprouts were put forth. + +Thus to man during the earliest ages the divine dwelt as a bodily +presence within the forest; but one final day the forest lost the +Immortal as its indwelling creator. + +Next the old forest worshipper peopled the trees with an intermediate +race of sylvan deities less than divine, more than human; and long he +beguiled himself with the exquisite reign and proximity of these; but +the lesser could not maintain themselves in temples from which the +greater had already been expelled, and they too passed out of sight +down the roadway of the world. + +Still the old forest faith would not let the wanderer rest; and during +yet later ages he sent into the trees his own nature so that the woods +became freshly endeared to him by many a story of how individuals of +his own race had succeeded as tenants to the erstwhile habitations of +the gods. Then this last panorama of illusion faded also, and +civilized man stood face to face with the modern woods--inhabitated +only by its sap and cells. The trees had drawn their bark close around +them, wearing an inviolate tapestry across those portals through which +so many a stranger to them had passed in and passed out; and +henceforth the dubious oracle of the forest--its one reply to all +man's questionings--became the Voice of its own Mystery. + +After this the forest worshipper could worship the woods no more. But +we must not forget that civilization as compared with the duration of +human life on the planet began but yesterday: even our own +Indo-European race dwells as it were on the forest edge. And the +forest still reaches out and twines itself around our deepest +spiritual truths: home--birth--love--prayer--death: it tries to +overrun them all, to reclaim them. Thus when we build our houses, +instinctively we attempt by some clump of trees to hide them and to +shelter ourselves once more inside the forest; in some countries +whenever a child is born, a tree is planted as its guardian in nature; +in our marriage customs the forest still riots as master of ceremonies +with garlands and fruits; our prayers strike against the forest shaped +hi cathedral stone--memory of the grove, God's first temple; and when +we die, it is the tree that is planted beside us as the sentinel of +our rest. Even to this day the sight of a treeless grave arouses some +obscure instinct in us that it is God-forsaken. + +Yes, he said, whatsoever modern temple man has anywhere reared for his +spirit, over the walls of it have been found growing the same leaf and +tendril: he has introduced the tree into the ritual of every later +world-worship; and thus he has introduced the evergreen into the +ritual of Christianity. + +This then is the meaning of the Christmas Tree and of its presence at +the Nativity. At the dawn of history we behold man worshipping the +tree as the Creator literally present on the earth; in our time we see +him using that tree in the worship of the creative Father's Son come +to earth in the Father's stead. + +"On this evergreen in the room falls the radiance of these brief +tapers of the night; but on it rests also the long light of that +spiritual dawn when man began his Adoration of the Trees. It is the +forest taking its place once more beside the long-lost Immortal." + +Here he finished the first part of his story. That he should address +her thus and that she thus should listen had in it nothing unusual for +them. For years it had been his wont to traverse with her the ground +of his lectures, and she shared his thought before it reached +others. It was their high and equal comradeship. Wherever his mind +could go hers went--a brilliant torch, a warming sympathy. + +But to-night his words had fallen on her as withered leaves on a +motionless figure of stone. If he was sensible of this change in her, +he gave no sign. And after a moment he passed to the remaining part of +the story. + +"Thus far I have been speaking to you of the bare tree in wild nature: +here it is loaded with decorations; and now I want to show you that +they too are Forest Memories--that since the evergreen moved over into +the service of Christianity, one by one like a flock of birds these +Forest Memories have followed it and have alighted amid its +branches. Everything here has its story. I am going to tell you in +each case what that story is; I am going to interpret everything on +the Christmas Tree and the other Christmas decorations in the room." + +It was at this point that her keen attention became fixed on him and +never afterwards wavered. If everything had its story, the mistletoe +would have its; he must interpret that: and thus he himself +unexpectedly had brought about the situation she wished. She would +meet him at that symbolic bough: there be rendered the Judgment of the +Years! And now as one sits down at some point of a road where a +traveller must arrive, she waited for him there. + +He turned to the Tree and explained briefly that as soon as the forest +worshipper began the worship of the tree, he began to bring to it his +offerings and to hang these on the boughs; for religion consists in +offering something: to worship is to give. In after ages when man had +learned to build shrines and temples, he still kept up his primitive +custom of bringing to the altar his gifts and sacrifices; but during +that immeasurable time before he had learned to carve wood or to set +one stone on another, he was bringing his offerings to the grove--the +only cathedral he had. And this to him was not decoration; it was +prayer. So that in our age of the world when we playfully decorate the +Christmas Tree it is a survival of grave rites in the worship of +primitive man and is as ancient as forest worship itself. + +And now he began. + +With the pointer in his hand he touched the star at the apex of the +fir. This, he said, was commonly understood to represent the Star of +Bethlehem which guided the wise men of the East to the manger on the +Night of the Nativity--the Star of the New Born. But modern +discoveries show that the records of ancient Chaldea go back four or +five thousand years before the Christian era; and as far back as they +have been traced, we find the wise men of the East worshipping this +same star and being guided by it in their spiritual wanderings as they +searched for the incarnation of the Divine. They worshipped it as the +star of peace and goodness and purity. Many a pious Wolfram in those +dim centuries no doubt sang his evening hymn to the same star, for +love of some Chaldean Elizabeth--both he and she blown about the +desert how many centuries now as dust. Moreover on these records the +star and the Tree are brought together as here side by side. And the +story of the star leads backward to one of the first things that man +ever worshipped as he looked beyond the forest: the light of the +heavens floating in the depth of space--light that he wanted but could +not grasp. + +He touched the next object on the Tree--the candle under the star--and +went on: + +Imagine, he said, the forest worshipper as at the end of ages having +caught this light--having brought it down in the language of his myth +from heaven to earth: that is, imagine the star in space as having +become a star in his hand--the candle: the star worshipper had now +become also the fire worshipper. Thus the candle leads us back to the +fire worshippers of ancient Persia--those highlands of the spirit +seeking light. We think of the Christmas candle on the Tree as merely +borrowed from the candle of the altar for the purpose of illumination; +but the use of it goes back to a time when the forest worshipper, now +also the fire worshipper, hung his lights on the trees, having no +other altar. Far down toward modern times the temples of the old +Prussians, for example, were oak groves, and among them a hierarchy of +priests was ordained to keep the sacred fire perpetually burning at +the root of the sacred oak. + +He touched the third object on the tree--the cross under the +candle--and went on: + +"To the Christian believer the cross signifies one supreme event: +Calvary and the tragedy of the Crucifixion. It was what the Marys saw +and the apostles that morning in Gethsemane. But no one in that age +thought of the cross as a Christian symbol. John and Peter and Paul +and the rest went down into their graves without so regarding it. The +Magdalene never clung to it with life-tired arms, nor poured out at +the foot of it the benizon of her tears. Not until the third century +after Christ did the Bishops assembled at Nice announce it a Christian +symbol. But it was a sacred emblem in the dateless antiquity of +Egypt. To primitive man it stood for that sacred light and fire of +life which was himself. For he himself is a cross--the first cross he +has ever known. The faithful may truly think of the Son of Man as +crucified as the image of humanity. And thus ages before Christ, +cross worship and forest worship were brought together: for instance, +among the Druids who hunted for an oak, two boughs of which made with +the trunk of the tree the figure of the cross; and on these three they +cut the names of three of their gods and this was holy-cross wood." + +He moved the pointer down until he touched the fourth object on the +tree--the dove under the cross, and went on: + +"In the mind of the Christian believer this represents the white dove +of the New Testament which descended on the Son of Man when the +heavens were opened. So in Parsifal the white dove descends, +overshadowing the Grail. But ages before Christ the prolific white +dove of Syria was worshipped throughout the Orient as the symbol of +reproductive Nature: and to this day the Almighty is there believed to +manifest himself under this form. In ancient Mesopotamia the divine +mother of nature is often represented with this dove as having +actually alighted on her shoulder or in her open hand. And here again +forest worship early became associated with the worship of the dove; +for, sixteen hundred years before Christ, we find the dove nurtured in +the oak grove at Dodona where its presence was an augury and its wings +an omen." + +On he went, touching one thing after another, tracing the story of +each backward till it was lost in antiquity and showing how each was +entwined with forest worship. + +He touched the musical instruments; the bell, the drum. The bell, he +said, was used in Greece by the Priests of Bacchus in the worship of +the vine. And vine worship was forest worship. Moreover, in the same +oak grove at Dodona bells were tied to the oak boughs and their +tinklings also were sacred auguries. The drum, which the modern boy +beats on Christmas Day, was beaten ages before Christ in the worship +of Confucius: the story of it dies away toward what was man's first +written music in forgotten China. In the first century of the +Christian era, on one of the most splendid of the old Buddhist +sculptures, boys are represented as beating the drum in the worship of +the sacred tree--once more showing how music passed into the service +of forest faith. + +He touched the cornucopia; and he traced its story back to the ram's +horn--the primitive cup of libation, used for a drinking cup and used +also to pour out the last product of the vine in honor of the vine +itself--the forest's first goblet. + +He touched the fruits and the flowers on the Tree: these were oldest +of all, perhaps, he said; for before the forest worshipper had learned +to shape or fabricate any offerings of his own skill, he could at +least bring to the divine tree and hang on it the flower of spring, +the wild fruit of autumn. + +He kept on until only three things on the Tree were left +uninterpreted; the tinsel, the masks, and the dolls. He told her that +he had left these to the last for a reason: seemingly they were the +most trivial but really the most grave; for by means of them most +clearly could be traced the presence of great law running through the +progress of humanity. + +He drew her attention to the tinsel that covered the tree, draping it +like a yellow moss. It was of no value, he said, but in the course of +ages it had taken the place of the offering of actual gold in forest +worship: a once universal custom of adorning the tree with everything +most precious to the giver in token of his sacrifice and +self-sacrifice. Even in Jeremiah is an account of the lading of the +sacred tree with gold and ornaments. Herodotus relates that when +Xerxes was invading Lydia, on the march he saw a divine tree and had +it honored with golden robes and gifts. Livy narrates that when +Romulus slew his enemy on the site of the Eternal City, he hung rich +spoils on the oak of the Capitoline Hill. And this custom of +decorating the tree with actual gold goes back in history until we can +meet it coming down to us in the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece +and in that of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Now the custom +has dwindled to this tinsel flung over the Christmas Tree--the mock +sacrifice for the real. + +He touched the masks and unfolded the grim story that lay behind their +mockery. It led back to the common custom in antiquity of sacrificing +prisoners of war or condemned criminals or innocent victims in forest +worship and of hanging their heads on the branches: we know this to +have been the practice among Gallic and Teuton tribes. In the course +of time, when such barbarity could be tolerated no longer, the mock +countenance replaced the real. + +He touched the dolls and revealed their sad story. Like the others, +its long path led to antiquity and to the custom of sacrificing +children in forest worship. How common this custom was the early +literature of the human race too abundantly testifies. We encounter +the trace of it in Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac--arrested by the +command of Jehovah. But Abraham would never have thought of slaying +his son to propitiate his God, had not the custom been well +established. In the case of Jephthah's daughter the sacrifice was +actually allowed. We come upon the same custom in the fate of +Iphigenia--at a critical turning point in the world's mercy; in her +stead the life of a lesser animal, as in Isaac's case, was +accepted. When the protective charity of mankind turned against the +inhumanity of the old faiths, then the substitution of the mock for +the real sacrifice became complete. And now on the boughs of the +Christmas Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites +only these playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the +innocent. + +He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the +little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and +ever converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest +worship and they met in some sacrifice by the human heart. + +And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night: + +"Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree +is all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could +not worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore +he brought his gifts to the forest--his first altar. These gifts, +remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his +sacrifices and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since, +the same law lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the +better to the worse; in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to +the best. If the race should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it +would still have to worship what is highest in human nature and so +worshipping, it would still be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice +become the law of self-sacrifice: it would still be necessary to offer +up what is low in us to what is higher. Only one portion of mankind +has ever believed in Jerusalem; but every religion has known its own +Calvary." + +He turned away from the Tree toward her and awaited her +appreciation. She had sat watching him without a movement and without +a word. But when at last she asked him a question, she spoke as a +listener who wakens from a long revery. + +"Have you finished the story for me?" she inquired. + +"I have finished the story for you," he replied without betraying +disappointment at her icy reception of it. + +Keeping her posture, she raised one of her white arms above her head, +turning her face up also until the swanlike curve of the white throat +showed; and with quivering finger tips she touched some sprays of +mistletoe pendent from the garland on the wall: + +"You have not interpreted this," she said, her mind fixed on that sole +omission. + +"I have not explained that," he admitted. + +She sat up, and for the first time looked with intense interest toward +the manuscript on the table across the room. + +"Have you explained it there?" + +"I have not explained it there." + +"But why?" she said with disappointment. + +"I did not wish you to read that story, Josephine." + +"But why, Frederick?" she inquired, startled into wonderment. + +He smiled: "If I told you why, I might as well tell you the story." + +"But why do you not wish to tell me the story?" + +He answered with warning frankness: "If you once saw it as a picture, +the picture would be coming back to you at times the rest of your life +darkly." + +She protested: "If it is dark to you, why should I not share the +darkness of it? Have we not always looked at life's shadows together? +And thus seeing life, have not bright things been doubly bright to us +and dark things but half as dark?" + +He merely repeated his warning: "It is a story of a crueler age than +ours. It goes back to the forest worship of the Druids." + +She answered: "So long as our own age is cruel, what room is left to +take seriously the mere stories of crueler ones? Am I to shrink from +the forest worship of the Druids? Is there any story of theirs not +printed in books? Are not the books in libraries? Are they not put in +libraries to be read? If others read them, may not I? And since when +must I begin to dread anything in books? Or anything in life? And +since when did we begin to look at life apart, we who have always +looked at it with four eyes?" + +"I have always told you there are things to see with four eyes, things +to see with two, and things to see with none." + +With sudden intensity her white arm went up again and touched the +mistletoe. + +"Tell me the story of this!" she pleaded as though she demanded a +right. As she spoke, her thumb and forefinger meeting on a spray, they +closed and went through it like a pair of shears; and a bunch of the +white pearls of the forest dropped on the ridge of her shoulder and +were broken apart and rolled across her breast into her lap. + +He looked grave; silence or speech--which were better for her? Either, +he now saw, would give her pain. + +"Happily the story is far away from us," he said, as though he were +half inclined to grant her request. + +"If it is far away, bring it near! Bring it into the room as you +brought the stories of the star and the candle and the cross and the +dove and the others! Make it live before my eyes! Enact it before me! +Steep me in it as you have steeped yourself!" + +He held back a long time: "You who are so safe in good, why know +evil?" + +"Frederick," she cried, "I shall have to insist upon your telling me +this story. And if you should keep any part of it back, I would know. +Then tell it all: if it is dark, let each shadow have its shade; give +each heavy part its heaviness; let cruelty be cruelty--and truth be +truth!" + +He stood gazing across the centuries, and when he began, there was a +change in him; something personal was beginning to intrude itself into +the narrative of the historian: + +"Imagine the world of our human nature in the last centuries before +Palestine became Holy Land. Athens stood with her marbles glistening +by the blue AEgean, and Greek girls with fillets and sandals--the +living images of those pale sculptured shapes that are the mournful +eternity of Art--Greek girls were being chosen for the secret rites in +the temple at Ephesus. The sun of Italy had not yet browned the little +children who were to become the brown fathers and mothers of the brown +soldiers of Caesar's legions; and twenty miles south of Rome, in the +sacred grove of Dodona,--where the motions of oak boughs were +auguries, and the flappings of the wings of white doves were divine +messages, and the tinkling of bells in the foliage had divine +meanings,--in this grove the virgins of Latium, as the Greek girls of +Ephesus, were once a year appointed to undergo similar rites. To the +south Pompeii, with its night laughter and song sounding far out +toward the softly lapping Mediterranean and up the slopes of its dread +volcano, drained its goblet and did not care, emptied it as often as +filled and asked for nothing more. A little distance off Herculaneum, +with its tender dreams of Greece but with its arms around the +breathing image of Italy, slept--uncovered. + +"Beyond Italy to the north, on the other side of the eternal snowcaps, +lay unknown Gaul, not yet dreaming of the Caesar who was to conquer +it; and across the wild sea opposite Gaul lay the wooded isle of +Britain. All over that island one forest; in that forest one worship; +in that worship one tree--the oak of England; and on that oak one +bough--the mistletoe." + +He spoke to her awhile about the oak, describing the place it had in +the early civilizations of the human race. In the Old Testament it was +the tree of the Hebrew idols and of Jehovah. In Greece it was the +tree of Zeus, the most august and the most human of the gods. In Italy +it was the tree of Jove, great father of immortals and of +mankind. After the gods passed, it became the tree of the imperial +Caesars. After the Caesars had passed, it was the oak that Michael +Angelo in the Middle Ages scattered over the ceiling of the Sistine +Chapel near the creation of man and his expulsion from Paradise--there +as always the chosen tree of human desire. In Britain it was the +sacred tree of Druidism: there the Arch Druid and his fellow-priests +performed none of their rites without using its leaves and branches: +never anywhere in the world was the oak worshipped with such +ceremonies and sacrifices as there. + +Imagine then a scene--the chief Nature Festival of that forest +worship: the New Year's day of the Druids. + +A vast concourse of people, men and women and children, are on their +way to the forest; they are moving toward an oak tree that has been +found with mistletoe growing on it--growing there so seldom. As the +excited throng come in sight of it, they hail it with loud cries of +reverence and delight. Under it they gather; there a banquet is +spread. In the midst of the assemblage one figure towers--the Arch +Druid. Every eye is fixed fearfully on him, for on whomsoever his own +eye may fall with wrath, he may be doomed to become one of the victims +annually sacrificed to the oak. + +A gold chain is around his neck; gold bands are around his arms. He is +clad in robes of spotless white. He ascends the tree to a low bough, +and making a hollow in the folds of his robes, he crops with a golden +pruning hook the mistletoe and so catches it as it falls. Then it is +blessed and scattered among the throng, and the priest prays that each +one so receiving it may receive also the divine favor and blessing of +which it is Nature's emblem. Two white bulls, the horns of which have +never hitherto been touched, are now adorned with fillets and are +slaughtered in sacrifice. + +Then at last it is over, the people are gone, the forest is left to +itself, and the New Year's ceremony of cutting the mistletoe from the +oak is at an end. + +Here he ended the story. + +She had sat leaning far forward, her fingers interlocked and her brows +knitted. When he stopped, she sat up and studied him a moment in +bewilderment: + +"But why did you call that a dark story?" she asked. "Where is the +cruelty? It is beautiful, and I shall never forget it and it will +never throw a dark image on my mind: New Year's day--the winter +woods--the journeying throng--the oak--the bough--the banquet +beneath--the white bulls with fillets on their horns--the white-robed +priest--the golden sickle in his hand--the stroke that severs the +mistletoe--the prayer that each soul receiving any smallest piece will +be blessed in life's sorrows! If I were a great painter, I should like +to paint that scene. In the centre should be some young girl, +pressing to her heart what she believed to be heaven's covenant with +her under the guise of a blossom. How could you have wished to +withhold such a story from me?" + +He smiled at her a little sadly. + +"I have not yet told you all," he said, "but I have told you enough." + +Instantly she bent far over toward him with intuitive scrutiny. Under +her breath one word escaped: + +"Ah!" + +It was the breath of a discovery--a discovery of something unknown to +her. + +"I am sparing you, Josephine!" + +She stretched each arm along the back of the sofa and pinioned the +wood in her clutch. + +"Are you sparing me?" she asked in a tone of torture. "Or are you +sparing yourself?" + +The heavy staff on which he stood leaning dropped from his relaxed +grasp to the floor. He looked down at it a moment and then calmly +picked it up. + +"I am going to tell you the story," he said with a new quietness. + +She was aroused by some change in him. + +"I will not listen! I do not wish to hear it!" + +"You will have to listen," he said. "It is better for you to +know. Better for any human being to know any truth than suffer the +bane of wrong thinking. When you are free to judge, it will be +impossible for you to misjudge." + +"I have not misjudged you! I have not judged you! In some way that I +do not understand you are judging yourself!" + +He stepped back a pace--farther away from her--and he drew himself +up. In the movement there was instinctive resentment. And the right +not to be pried into--not even by the nearest. + +The step which had removed him farther from her had brought him nearer +to the Christmas Tree at his back. A long, three-fingered bough being +thus pressed against was forced upward and reappeared on one of his +shoulders. The movement seemed human: it was like the conscious hand +of the tree. The fir, standing there decked out in the artificial +tawdriness of a double-dealing race, laid its wild sincere touch on +him--as sincere as the touch of dying human fingers--and let its +passing youth flow into him. It attracted his attention, and he turned +his head toward it as with recognition. Other boughs near the floor +likewise thrust themselves forward, hiding his feet so that he stood +ankle-deep in forestry. + +This reunion did not escape her. Her overwrought imagination made of +it a sinister omen: the bough on his shoulder rested there as the old +forest claim; the boughs about his feet were the ancestral forest +tether. As he had stepped backward from her, Nature had asserted the +earlier right to him. In strange sickness and desolation of heart she +waited. + +He stood facing her but looking past her at centuries long gone; the +first sound of his voice registered upon her ear some message of doom: + +"Listen, Josephine!" + +She buried her face in her hands. + +"I cannot! I will not!" + +"You will have to listen. You know that for some years, apart from my +other work, I have been gathering together the woodland customs of our +people and trying to trace them back to their origin and first +meaning. In our age of the world we come upon many playful forest +survivals of what were once grave things. Often in our play and +pastimes and lingering superstitions about the forest we cross faint +traces of what were once vital realities. + +"Among these there has always been one that until recently I have +never understood. Among country people oftenest, but heard of +everywhere, is the saying that if a girl is caught standing under the +mistletoe, she may be kissed by the man who thus finds her. I have +always thought that this ceremony and playful sacrifice led back to +some ancient rite--I could not discover what. Now I know." + +In a voice full of a new delicacy and scarcely audible, he told her. + +It is another scene in the forest of Britain. This time it is not the +first day of the year--the New Year's day of the Druids when they +celebrated the national festival of the oak. But it is early summer, +perhaps the middle of May--May in England--with the young beauty of +the woods. It is some hushed evening at twilight. The new moon is +just silvering the tender leaves and creating a faint shadow under the +trees. The hawthorn is in bloom--red and white--and not far from the +spot, hidden in some fragrant tuft of this, a nightingale is singing, +singing, singing. + +Lifting itself above the smaller growths stands the young manhood of +the woods--a splendid oak past its thirtieth year, representing its +youth and its prime conjoined. In its trunk is the summer heat of the +all-day sun. Around its roots is velvet turf, and there are wild +violet beds. Its huge arms are stretched toward the ground as though +reaching for some object they would clasp; and on one of these arms as +its badge of divine authority, worn there as a knight might wear the +colors of his Sovereign, grows the mistletoe. There he stands--the +Forest Lover. + +The woods wait, the shadows deepen, the hush is more intense, the +moon's rays begin to be golden, the song of the nightingale grows more +passionate, the beds of moss and violets wait. + +Then the shrubbery is tremblingly parted at some place and upon the +scene a young girl enters--her hair hanging down--her limbs most +lightly clad--the flush of red hawthorn on the white hawthorn of her +skin--in her eyes love's great need and mystery. Step by step she +comes forward, her fingers trailing against whatsoever budding wayside +thing may stay her strength. She draws nearer to the oak, searching +amid its boughs for that emblem which she so dreads to find and yet +more dreads not to find: the emblem of a woman's fruitfulness which +the young oak--the Forest Lover--reaches down toward her. Finding it, +beneath it with one deep breath of surrender she takes her place--the +virgin's tryst with the tree--there to be tested. + +Such is the command of the Arch Druid: it is obedience--submission to +that test--or death for her as a sacrifice to the oak which she has +rejected. + +Again the shrubbery is parted, rudely pushed aside, and a man +enters--a tried and seasoned man--a human oak--counterpart of the +Forest Lover--to officiate at the test. + + * * * * * + +He was standing there in the parlor of his house and in the presence +of his wife. But in fealty he was gone: he was in the summer woods of +ancestral wandering, the fatherland of Old Desire. + +_He_ was the man treading down the shrubbery; it was _his_ +feet that started toward the oak; _his_ eye that searched for the +figure half fainting under the bough; for _him_ the bed of moss +and violets--the hair falling over the eyes--the loosened girdle--the +breasts of hawthorn white and pink--the listening song of the +nightingale--the silence of the summer woods--the seclusion--the full +surrender of the two under that bough of the divine command, to escape +the penalty of their own death. + +The blaze of uncontrollable desire was all over him; the fire of his +own story had treacherously licked him like a wind-bent flame. The +light that she had not seen in his eyes for so long rose in them--the +old, unfathomable, infolding tenderness. A quiver ran around his tense +nostrils. + +And now one little phrase which he had uttered so sacredly years +before and had long since forgotten rose a second time to his +lips--tossed there by a second tide of feeling. On the silence of the +room fell his words: + +"_Bride of the Mistletoe!_" + +The storm that had broken over him died away. He shut his eyes on the +vanishing scene: he opened them upon her. + +He had told her the truth about the story; he may have been aware or +he may not have been aware that he had revealed to her the truth about +himself. + +"This is what I would have kept from you, Josephine," he said quietly. + +She was sitting there before him--the mother of his children, of the +sleeping ones, of the buried ones--the butterfly broken on the wheel +of years: lustreless and useless now in its summer. + +She sat there with the whiteness of death. + + + + +V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + + +The Christmas candles looked at her flickeringly; the little white +candles of purity, the little red candles of love. The holly in the +room concealed its bold gay berries behind its thorns, and the cedar +from the faithful tree beside the house wall had need now of its +bitter rosary. + +Her first act was to pay what is the first debt of a fine spirit--the +debt of courtesy and gratitude. + +"It is a wonderful story, Frederick," she said in a manner which +showed him that she referred to the beginning of his story and not to +the end. + +"As usual you have gone your own way about it, opening your own path +into the unknown, seeing what no one else has seen, and bringing back +what no one else ever brought. It is a great revelation of things that +I never dreamed of and could never have imagined. I appreciate your +having done this for me; it has taken time and work, but it is too +much for me to-night. It is too new and too vast. I must hereafter try +to understand it. And there will be leisure enough. Nor can it lose by +waiting. But now there is something that cannot wait, and I wish to +speak to you about that; Frederick, I am going to ask you some +questions about the last part of the story. I have been wanting to ask +you a long time: the story gives me the chance and--the right." + +He advanced a step toward her, disengaging himself from the evergreen. + +"I will answer them," he said. "If they can be answered." + +And thus she sat and thus he stood as the questions and answers passed +to and fro. They were solemn questions and solemn replies, drawn out +of the deeps of life and sinking back into them. + +"Frederick," she said, "for many years we have been happy together, so +happy! Every tragedy of nature has stood at a distance from us except +the loss of our children. We have lived on a sunny pinnacle of our +years, lifted above life's storms. But of course I have realized that +sooner or later our lot must become the common one: if we did not go +down to Sorrow, Sorrow would climb to us; and I knew that on the +heights it dwells best. That is why I wish to say to you to-night what +I shall: I think fate's hour has struck for me; I am ready to hear +it. Its arrow has already left the bow and is on its way; I open my +heart to receive it. This is as I have always wished; I have said that +if life had any greatest tragedy, for me, I hoped it would come when I +was happiest; thus I should confront it all. I have never drunk half +of my cup of happiness, as you know, and let the other half waste; I +must go equally to the depth of any suffering. Worse than the +suffering, I think, would be the feeling that I had shirked some of +it, had stepped aside, or shut my eyes, or in any manner shown myself +a cowardly soul." + +After a pause she went over this subject as though she were not +satisfied that she had made it clear. + +"I have always said that the real pathos of things is the grief that +comes to us in life when life is at its best--when no one is to +blame--when no one has committed a fault--when suffering is meted out +to us as the reward of our perfect obedience to the laws of nature. In +earlier years when we used to read Keats together, who most of all of +the world's poets felt the things that pass, even then I was wondering +at the way in which he brings this out: that to understand Sorrow it +must be separated from sorrows: they would be like shadows darkening +the bright disk of life's clear tragedy, thus rendering it less +bravely seen. + +"And so he is always telling us not to summon sad pictures nor play +with mournful emblems; not to feign ourselves as standing on the banks +of Lethe, gloomiest of rivers; nor to gather wolf's bane and twist the +poison out of its tight roots; nor set before us the cup of hemlock; +nor bind about our temples the ruby grape of nightshade; nor count +over the berries of the yew tree which guards sad places; nor think of +the beetle ticking in the bed post, nor watch the wings of the death +moth, nor listen to the elegy of the owl--the voice of ruins. Not +these! they are the emblems of our sorrows. But the emblems of Sorrow +are beautiful things at their perfect moment; a red peony just +opening, a rainbow seen for an instant on the white foam, youth not +yet faded but already fading, joy with its finger on his lips, bidding +adieu. + +"And so with all my happiness about me, I wish to know life's +tragedy. And to know it, Frederick, not to infer it: _I want to be +told_." + +"If you can be told, you shall be told," he said. + +She changed her position as though seeking physical relief and +composure. Then she began: + +"Years ago when you were a student in Germany, you had a college +friend. You went home with him two or three years at Christmas and +celebrated the German Christmas. It was in this way that we came to +have the Christmas Tree in our house--through memory of him and of +those years. You have often described to me how you and he in summer +went Alpine climbing, and far up in some green valley girdled with +glaciers lay of afternoons under some fir tree, reading and drowsing +in the crystalline air. You told me of your nights of wandering down +the Rhine together when the heart turns so intimately to the heart +beside it. He was German youth and song and dream and happiness to +you. Tell me this: before you lost him that last summer over the +crevasse, had you begun to tire of him? Was there anything in you that +began to draw back from anything in him? As you now look back at the +friendship of your youth, have the years lessened your regret for +him?" + +He answered out of the ideals of his youth: + +"The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. I never tired of being +with him. Nothing in me ever drew back from anything in him. When he +was lost, the whole world lost some of its strength and +nobility. After all the years, if he could come back, he would find me +unchanged--that friend of my youth!" + +With a peculiar change of voice she asked next: + +"The doctor, Herbert and Elsie's father, our nearest neighbor, your +closest friend now in middle life. You see a great deal of the doctor; +he is often here, and you and he often sit up late at night, talking +with one another about many things: do you ever tire of the doctor and +wish him away? Have you any feeling toward him that you try to keep +secret from me? Can you be a perfectly frank man with this friend of +your middle life?" + +"The longer I know him the more I like him, honor him, trust him. I +never tire of his companionship or his conversation; I have no +disguises with him and need none." + +"The children! As the children grow older do you care less for them? +Do they begin to wear on you? Are they a clog, an interference? Have +Harold and Elizabeth ceased forming new growths of affection in you? +Do you ever unconsciously seek pretexts for avoiding them?" + +"The older they grow, the more I love them. The more they interest me +and tempt away from work and duties. I am more drawn to be with them +and I live more and more in the thought of what they are becoming." + +"Your work! Does your work attract you less than formerly? Does it +develop in you the purpose to be something more or stifle in you the +regret to be something less? Is it a snare to idleness or a goad to +toil?" + +"As the mariner steers for the lighthouse, as the hound runs down the +stag, as the soldier wakes to the bugle, as the miner digs for +fortune, as the drunkard drains the cup, as the saint watches the +cross, I follow my work, I follow my work." + +"Life, life itself, does it increase in value or lessen? Is the world +still morning to you with your work ahead or afternoon when you begin +to tire and to think of rest?" + +"The world to me is as early morning to a man going forth to his +work. Where the human race is from and whither it is hurrying and why +it exists at all; why a human being loves what it loves and hates what +it hates; why it is faithful when it could be unfaithful and faithless +when it should be true; how civilized man can fight single handed +against the ages that were his lower past--how he can develop +self-renunciation out of selfishness and his own wisdom out of +surrounding folly,--all these are questions that mean more and +more. My work is but beginning and the world is morning." + +"This house! Are you tired of it now that it is older? Would you +rather move into a new one?" + +"I love this house more and more. No other dwelling could take its +place. Any other could be but a shelter; this is home. And I care more +for it now that the signs of age begin to settle on it. If it were a +ruin, I should love it best!" + +She leaned over and looked down at the two setters lying at her feet. + +"Do you care less for the dogs of the house as they grow older?" + +"I think more of them and take better care of them now that their +hunting days are over." + +"The friend of your youth--the friend of your middle age--the +children--your profession--the world of human life--this house--the +dogs of the house--you care more for them all as time passes?" + +"I care more for them all as time passes." + +Then there came a great stillness in the room--the stillness of all +listening years. + +"Am I the only thing that you care less for as time passes?" + +There was no reply. + +"Am I in the way?" + +There was no reply. + +"Would you like to go over it all again with another?" + +There was no reply. + +She had hidden her face in her hands and pressed her head against the +end of the sofa. Her whole figure shrank lower, as though to escape +being touched by him--to escape the blow of his words. No words +came. There was no touch. + +A moment later she felt that he must be standing over her, looking +down at her. She would respond to his hand on the back of her neck. +He must be kneeling beside her; his arms would infold her. Then with a +kind of incredible terror she realized that he was not there. At first +she could so little believe it, that with her face still buried in one +hand she searched the air for him with the other, expecting to touch +him. + +Then she cried out to him: + +"Isn't there anything you can say to me?" + +Silence lasted. + +"_Oh, Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred_!" + +In the stillness she began to hear something--the sound of his +footsteps moving on the carpet. She sat up. + +The room was getting darker; he was putting out the candles. It was +too dark already to see his face. With fascination she began to watch +his hand. How steady it was as it moved among the boughs, +extinguishing the lights. Out they went one by one and back into their +darkness returned the emblems of darker ages--the Forest Memories. + +A solitary taper was left burning at the pinnacle of the Tree under +the cross: that highest torch of love shining on everything that had +disappeared. + +He quietly put it out. + +Yet the light seemed not put out, but instantly to have travelled +through the open parlor door into the adjoining room, her bedroom; for +out of that there now streamed a suffused red light; it came from the +lamp near the great bed in the shadowy corner. + +This lamp poured its light through a lampshade having the semblance of +a bursting crimson peony as some morning in June the flower with the +weight of its own splendor falls face downward on the grass. And in +that room this soft lamp-light fell here and there on crimson winter +draperies. He had been living alone as a bachelor before he married +her. After they became engaged he, having watched for some favorite +color of hers, had had this room redecorated in that shade. Every +winter since she had renewed in this way or that way these hangings, +and now the bridal draperies remained unchanged--after the changing +years. + +He replaced the taper against the wall and came over and stood before +her, holding out his hands to help her rise. + +She arose without his aid and passed around him, moving toward her +bedroom. With arms outstretched guarding her but not touching her, he +followed close, for she was unsteady. She entered her bedroom and +crossed to the door of his bedroom; she pushed this open, and keeping +her face bent aside waited for him to go in. He went in and she closed +the door on him and turned the key. Then with a low note, with which +the soul tears out of itself something that has been its life, she +made a circlet of her white arms against the door and laid her profile +within this circlet and stood--the figure of Memory. + +Thus sometimes a stranger sees a marble figure standing outside a tomb +where some story of love and youth ended: some stranger in a far +land,--walking some afternoon in those quieter grounds where all human +stories end; an autumn bird in the bare branches fluting of its +mortality and his heart singing with the bird of one lost to him--lost +to him in his own country. + +On the other side of the door the silence was that of a tomb. She had +felt confident--so far as she had expected anything--that he would +speak to her through the door, try to open it, plead with her to open +it. Nothing of the kind occurred. + +Why did he not come back? What bolt could have separated her from him? + +The silence began to weigh upon her. + +Then in the tense stillness she heard him moving quietly about, +getting ready for bed. There were the same movements, familiar to her +for years. She would not open the door, she could not leave it, she +could not stand, no support was near, and she sank to the floor and +sat there, leaning her brow against the lintel. + +On the other side the quiet preparations went on. + +She heard him take off his coat and vest and hang them on the back of +a chair. The buttons made a little scraping sound against the wood. +Then he went to his dresser and took off his collar and tie, and he +opened a drawer and laid out a night-shirt. She heard the creaking of +a chair under him as he threw one foot and then the other up across +his knee and took off his shoes and socks. Then there reached her the +soft movements of his bare feet on the carpet (despite her agony the +old impulse started in her to caution him about his slippers). Then +followed the brushing of his teeth and the deliberate bathing of his +hands. Then was audible the puff of breath with which he blew out his +lamp after he had turned it low; and then,--on the other side of the +door,--just above her ear his knock sounded. + +The same knock waited for and responded to throughout the years; so +often with his little variations of playfulness. Many a time in early +summer when out-of-doors she would be reminded of it by hearing some +bird sounding its love signal on a piece of dry wood--that tap of +heart-beat. Now it crashed close to her ear. + +Such strength came back to her that she rose as lightly as though her +flesh were but will and spirit. When he knocked again, she was across +the room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her palms pressed +together and thrust between her knees: the instinctive act of a human +animal suddenly chilled to the bone. + +The knocking sounded again. + +"Was there anything you needed?" she asked fearfully. + +There was no response but another knock. + +She hurriedly raised her voice to make sure that it would reach him. + +"Was there anything you wanted?" + +As no response came, the protective maternal instinct took greater +alarm, and she crossed to the door of his room and she repeated her +one question: + +"Did you forget anything?" + +Her mind refused to release itself from the iteration of that idea: it +was some _thing_--not herself--that he wanted. + +He knocked. + +Her imagination, long oppressed by his silence, now made of his knock +some signal of distress. It took on the authority of an appeal not to +be denied. She unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and once +more she asked her one poor question. + +His answer to it came in the form of a gentle pressure against the +door, breaking down her resistance. As she applied more strength, this +was as gently overcome; and when the opening was sufficient, he walked +past her into the room. + +How hushed the house! How still the world outside as the cloud wove in +darkness its mantle of light! + + + + +VI. THE WHITE DAWN + + +Day was breaking. + +The crimson curtains of the bedroom were drawn close, but from behind +their outer edges faint flanges of light began to advance along the +wall. It was a clear light reflected from snow which had sifted in +against the window-panes, was banked on the sills outside, ridged the +yard fence, peaked the little gate-posts, and buried the shrubbery. +There was no need to look out in order to know that it had stopped +snowing, that the air was windless, and that the stars were flashing +silver-pale except one--great golden-croziered shepherd of the thick, +soft-footed, moving host. + +It was Christmas morning on the effulgent Shield. + +Already there was sufficient light in the room to reveal--less as +actual things than as brown shadows of the memory--a gay company of +socks and stockings hanging from the mantelpiece; sufficient to give +outline to the bulk of a man asleep on the edge of the bed; and it +exposed to view in a corner of the room farthest from the rays a woman +sitting in a straight-backed chair, a shawl thrown about her shoulders +over her night-dress. + +He always slept till he was awakened; the children, having stayed up +past their usual bedtime, would sleep late also; she had the white +dawn to herself in quietness. + +She needed it. + +Sleep could not have come to her had she wished. She had not slept and +she had not lain down, and the sole endeavor during those shattered +hours had been to prepare herself for his awakening. She was not yet +ready--she felt that during the rest of her life she should never be +quite ready to meet him again. Scant time remained now. + +Soon all over the Shield indoor merriment and outdoor noises would +begin. Wherever in the lowlands any many-chimneyed city, proud of its +size, rose by the sweep of watercourses, or any little inland town was +proud of its smallness and of streets that terminated in the fields; +whereever any hamlet marked the point at which two country roads this +morning made the sign of the white cross, or homesteads stood proudly +castled on woody hilltops, or warmed the heart of the beholder from +amid their olive-dark winter pastures; or far away on the shaggy +uplift of the Shield wherever any cabin clung like a swallow's nest +against the gray Appalachian wall--everywhere soon would begin the +healthy outbreak of joy among men and women and children--glad about +themselves, glad in one another, glad of human life in a happy +world. The many-voiced roar and din of this warm carnival lay not far +away from her across the cold bar of silence. + +Soon within the house likewise the rush of the children's feet would +startle her ear; they would be tugging at the door, tugging at her +heart. And as she thought of this, the recollection of old simple +things came pealing back to her from behind life's hills. The years +parted like naked frozen reeds, and she, sorely stricken in her +womanhood, fled backward till she herself was a child again--safe in +her father's and mother's protection. It was Christmas morning, and +she in bare feet was tipping over the cold floors toward their +bedroom--toward her stockings. + +Her father and mother! How she needed them at this moment: they had +been sweethearts all their lives. One picture of them rose with +distinctness before her--for the wounding picture always comes to the +wounded moment. She saw them sitting in their pew far down toward the +chancel. Through a stained glass window (where there was a ladder of +angels) the light fell softly on them--both silver-haired; and as with +the voices of children they were singing out of one book. She +remembered how as she sat between them she had observed her father +slip his hand into her mother's lap and clasp hers with a +steadfastness that wedded her for eternity; and thus over their linked +hands, with the love of their youth within them and the snows of the +years upon them, they sang together: + + "Gently, Lord, O gently lead us + * * * * * * + "Through the changes Thou'st decreed us." + +Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more +than common share of life's shocks and violence, its wrongs and +meannesses and ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that +they were being led gently; so long as they were led together, to them +it was gentle leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby +nature or man could leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the +sweeter for the sour; the finer with one another because of life's +rudenesses. In after years she often thought of them as faithful in +their dust; and the flowers she planted over them and watered many a +bright day with happy tears brought up to her in another form the +freshness of their unwearied union. + +That was what she had not doubted her own life would be--with +him--when she had married him. + +From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open +and entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance. +He had lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered +that to her as for the moment at least his solution of the +matter--that he should leave her to herself and absent himself in +slumber. + +The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations. + +Before he awoke she must be gone--out of the house--anywhere--to save +herself from living any longer with him. His indifference in the +presence of her suffering; his pitiless withdrawal from her of touch +and glance and speech as she had gone down into that darkest of life's +valleys; his will of iron that since she had insisted upon knowing the +whole truth, know it she should: all this left her wounded and stunned +as by an incredible blow, and she was acting first from the instinct +of removing herself beyond the reach of further humiliation and +brutality. + +Instinctively she took off her wedding ring and laid it on his dresser +beside his watch: he would find it there in the morning and he could +dispose of it. Then she changed her dress for the plainest heavy one +and put on heavy walking shoes. She packed into a handbag a few +necessary things with some heirlooms of her own. Among the latter was +a case of family jewels; and as she opened it, her eyes fell upon her +mother's thin wedding ring and with quick reverence she slipped that +on and kissed it bitterly. She lifted out also her mother's locket +containing a miniature daguerreotype of her father and dutifully fed +her eyes on that. Her father was not silver-haired then, but +raven-locked; with eyes that men feared at times but no woman ever. + +His eyes were on her now as so often in girlhood when he had curbed +her exuberance and guided her waywardness. He was watching as she, +coarsely wrapped and carrying some bundle of things of her own, opened +her front door, left her footprints in the snow on the porch, and +passed out--wading away. Those eyes of his saw what took place the +next day: the happiness of Christmas morning turned into horror; the +children wild with distress and crying--the servants dumb--the inquiry +at neighbors' houses--the news spreading to the town--the papers--the +black ruin. And from him two restraining words issued for her ear: + +"My daughter!" + +Passionately she bore the picture to her lips and her pride answered +him. And so answering, it applied a torch to her blood and her blood +took fire and a flame of rage spread through and swept her. She +stopped her preparations: she had begun to think as well as to feel. + +She unpacked her travelling bag, putting each article back into its +place with exaggerated pains. Having done this, she stood in the +middle of the floor, looking about her irresolute: then responding to +that power of low suggestion which is one of anger's weapons, she +began to devise malice. She went to a wardrobe and stooping down took +from a bottom drawer--where long ago it had been stored away under +everything else--a shawl that had been her grandmother's; a brindled +crewel shawl,--sometimes worn by superannuated women of a former +generation; a garment of hideousness. Once, when a little girl, she +had loyally jerked it off her grandmother because it added to her +ugliness and decrepitude. + +She shook this out with mocking eyes and threw it decoratively around +her shoulders. She strode to the gorgeous peony lampshade and lifting +it off, gibbeted it and scattered the fragments on the floor. She +turned the lamp up as high as it would safely burn so that the huge +lidless eye of it would throw its full glare on him and her. She drew +a rocking chair to the foot of the bed and seating herself put her +forefinger up to each temple and drew out from their hiding places +under the mass of her black hair two long gray locks and let these +hang down haglike across her bosom. She banished the carefully +nourished look of youth from her face--dropped the will to look +young--and allowed the forced-back years to rush into it--into the +wastage, the wreckage, which he and Nature, assisting each other so +ably, had wrought in her. + +She sat there half-crazed, rocking noisily; waiting for the glare of +the lamp to cause him to open his eyes; and she smiled upon him in +exultation of vengeance that she was to live on there in his +house--_his_ house. + +After a while a darker mood came over her. + +With noiseless steps lest she awake him, she began to move about the +room. She put out the lamp and lighted her candle and set it where it +would be screened from his face; and where the shadow of the chamber +was heaviest, into that shadow she retired and in it she sat--with +furtive look to see whether he observed her. + +A pall-like stillness deepened about the bed where he lay. + +Running in her veins a wellnigh pure stream across the generations was +Anglo-Saxon blood of the world's fiercest; floating in the tide of it +passions of old family life which had dyed history for all time in +tragedies of false friendship, false love, and false battle; but +fiercest ever about the marriage bed and the betrayal of its vow. A +thousand years from this night some wronged mother of hers, sitting +beside some sleeping father of hers in their forest-beleaguered +castle--the moonlight streaming in upon him through the javelined +casement and putting before her the manly beauty of him--the blond +hair matted thick on his forehead as his helmet had left it, his mouth +reddening in his slumber under its curling gold--some mother of hers +whom he had carried off from other men by might of his sword, thus +sitting beside him and knowing him to be colder to her now than the +moon's dead rays, might have watched those rays as they travelled away +from his figure and put a gleam on his sword hanging near: a thousand +years ago: some mother of hers. + +It is when the best fails our human nature that the worst volunteers +so often to take its place. The best and the worst--these are the +sole alternatives which many a soul seems to be capable of making: +hence life's spectacle of swift overthrow, of amazing collapse, ever +present about us. Only the heroic among both men and women, losing the +best as their first choice, fight their way through defeat to the +standard of the second best and fight on there. And whatever one may +think of the legend otherwise, abundant experience justifies the story +that it was the Archangel who fell to the pit. The low never fall far: +how can they? They already dwell on the bottom of things, and many a +time they are to be seen there with vanity that they should inhabit +such a privileged highland. + +During the first of these hours which stretched for her into the +tragic duration of a lifetime, it was a successive falling from a +height of moral splendor; her nature went down through swift stages to +the lowest she harbored either in the long channel of inheritance or +as the stirred sediment of her own imperfections. And as is +unfortunately true, this descent into moral darkness possessed the +grateful illusion that it was an ascent into new light. All evil +prompting became good suggestion; every injustice made its claim to be +justification. She enjoyed the elation of feeling that she was +dragging herself out of life's quicksands upward to some rock, where +there might be loneliness for her, but where there would be cleanness. +The love which consumed her for him raged in her as hatred; and hatred +is born into perfect mastery of its weapons. However young, it needs +not to wait for training in order to know how to destroy. + +He presented himself to her as a character at last revealed in its +faithlessness and low carnal propensities. What rankled most +poignantly in this spectacle of his final self-exposure was the fact +that the cloven hoof should have been found on noble mountain +tops--that he should have attempted to better his disguise by dwelling +near regions of sublimity. Of all hypocrisy the kind most detestable +to her was that which dares live within spiritual fortresses; and now +his whole story of the Christmas Tree, the solemn marshalling of words +about the growth of the world's spirit--about the sacrifice of the +lower in ourselves to the higher--this cant now became to her the +invocation and homage of the practised impostor: he had indeed carried +the Christmas Tree on his shoulder into the manger. Not the Manger of +Immortal Purity for mankind but the manger of his own bestiality. + +Thus scorn and satire became her speech; she soared above him with +spurning; a frenzy of poisoned joy racked her that at the moment when +he had let her know that he wanted to be free--at that moment she +might tell him he had won his freedom at the cheap price of his +unworthiness. + +And thus as she descended, she enjoyed the triumph of rising; so the +devil in us never lacks argument that he is the celestial guide. + +Moreover, hatred never dwells solitary; it readily finds boon +companions. And at one period of the night she began to look back upon +her experience with a curious sense of prior familiarity--to see it as +a story already known to her at second hand. She viewed it as the +first stage of one of those tragedies that later find their way into +the care of family physicians, into the briefs of lawyers, into the +confidence of clergymen, into the papers and divorce courts, and that +receive their final flaying or canonization on the stage and in novels +of the time. Sitting at a distance, she had within recent years +studied in a kind of altruistic absorption how the nation's press, the +nation's science of medicine, the nation's science of law, the +nation's practice of religion, and the nation's imaginative literature +were all at work with the same national omen--the decay of the +American family and the downfall of the home. + +Now this new pestilence raging in other regions of the country had +incredibly reached her, she thought, on the sheltered lowlands where +the older traditions of American home life still lay like foundation +rock. The corruption of it had attacked him; the ruin of it awaited +her; and thus to-night she took her place among those women whom the +world first hears of as in hospitals and sanitariums and places of +refuge and in their graves--and more sadly elsewhere; whose +misfortunes interested the press and whose types attracted the +novelists. + +She was one of them. + +They swarmed about her; one by one she recognized them: the woman who +unable to bear up under her tragedy soon sinks into eternity--or walks +into it; the woman who disappears from the scene and somewhere under +another name or with another lot lives on--devoting herself to memory +or to forgetfulness; the woman who stays on in the house, giving to +the world no sign for the sake of everything else that still remains +to her but living apart--on the other side of the locked door; the +woman who stays on without locking the door, half-hating, +half-loving--the accepted and rejected compromise; the woman who +welcomes the end of the love-drama as the beginning of peace and the +cessation of annoyances; the woman who begins to act her tragedy to +servants and children and acquaintances--reaping sympathy for herself +and sowing ruin and torture--for him; the woman who drops the care of +house, ends his comforts, thus forcing the sharp reminder of her value +as at least an investment toward his general well-being; the woman who +endeavors to rekindle dying coals by fanning them with fresh +fascinations; the woman who plays upon jealousy and touches the male +instinct to keep one's own though little prized lest another acquire +it and prize it more; the woman who sets a watch to discover the other +woman: they swarmed about her, she identified each. + +And she dismissed them. They brought her no aid; she shrank from their +companionship; a strange dread moved her lest _they_ should +discover _her_. One only she detached from the throng and for a +while withdrew with her into a kind of dual solitude: the woman who +when so rejected turns to another man--the man who is waiting +somewhere near. + +The man _she_ turned to, who for years had hovered near, was the +country doctor, her husband's tried and closest friend, whose children +were asleep upstairs with her children. During all these years +_her_ secret had been--the doctor. When she had come as a bride +into that neighborhood, he, her husband's senior by several years, was +already well established in his practice. He had attended her at the +birth of her first child; never afterwards. As time passed, she had +discovered that he loved her; she could never have him again. This had +dealt his professional reputation a wound, but he understood, and he +welcomed the wound. + +Many a night, lying awake near her window, through which noises from +the turnpike plainly reached her, all earthly happiness asleep +alongside her, she could hear the doctor's buggy passing on its way to +some patient, or on its return from the town where he had patients +also. Many a time she had heard it stop at the front gate: the road of +his life there turned in to her. There were nights of pitch darkness +and beating rain; and sometimes on these she had to know that he was +out there. + +Long she sat in the shadow of her room, looking towards the bed where +her husband slept, but sending the dallying vision toward the +doctor. He would be at the Christmas party; she would be dancing with +him. + +Clouds and darkness descended upon the plain of life and enveloped +it. She groped her way, torn and wounded, downward along the old lost +human paths. + +The endless night scarcely moved on. + + * * * * * + +She was wearied out, she was exhausted. There is anger of such +intensity that it scorches and shrivels away the very temptations that +are its fuel; nothing can long survive the blast of that white flame, +and being unfed, it dies out. Moreover, it is the destiny of a +portion of mankind that they are enjoined by their very nobility from +winning low battles; these always go against them: the only victories +for them are won when they are leading the higher forces of human +nature in life's upward conflicts. + +She was weary, she was exhausted; there was in her for a while neither +moral light nor moral darkness. Her consciousness lay like a boundless +plain on which nothing is visible. She had passed into a great calm; +and slowly there was borne across her spirit a clearness that is like +the radiance of the storm-winged sky. + +And now in this calm, in this clearness, two small white figures +appeared--her children. Hitherto the energies of her mind had +grappled with the problem of her future; now memories began--memories +that decide more perhaps than anything else for us. And memories began +with her children. + +She arose without making any noise, took her candle, and screening it +with the palm of her hand, started upstairs. + +There were two ways by either of which she could go; a narrow rear +stairway leading from the parlor straight to their bedrooms, and the +broad stairway in the front hall. From the old maternal night-habit +she started to take the shorter way but thought of the parlor and drew +back. This room had become too truly the Judgment Seat of the +Years. She shrank from it as one who has been arraigned may shrink +from a tribunal where sentence has been pronounced which changes the +rest of life. Its flowers, its fruits, its toys, its ribbons, but +deepened the derision and the bitterness. And the evergreen there in +the middle of the room--it became to her as that tree of the knowledge +of good and evil which at Creation's morning had driven Woman from +Paradise. + +She chose the other way and started toward the main hall of the house, +but paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed; what if he +should awake in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of where she was? +Would he call out to her--with what voice? Would he come to seek +her--with what emotions? (The tide of memories was setting in now--the +drift back to the old mooring.) + +Hunt for her! How those words fell like iron strokes on the ear of +remembrance. They registered the beginning of the whole trouble. Up to +the last two years his first act upon reaching home had been to seek +her. It had even been her playfulness at times to slip from room to +room for the delight of proving how persistently he would prolong his +search. But one day some two years before this, when she had entered +his study about the usual hour of his return, bringing flowers for his +writing desk, she saw him sitting there, hat on, driving gloves on, +making some notes. The sight had struck the flowers from her hands; +she swiftly gathered them up, and going to her room, shut herself in; +she knew it was the beginning of the end. + +The Shadow which lurks in every bridal lamp had become the Spectre of +the bedchamber. + +When they met later that day, he was not even aware of what he had +done or failed to do, the change in him was so natural to himself. +Everything else had followed: the old look dying out of the eyes; the +old touch abandoning the hands; less time for her in the house, more +for work; constraint beginning between them, the awkwardness of +reserve; she seeing Nature's movement yet refusing to believe it; then +at last resolving to know to the uttermost and choosing her bridal +night as the hour of the ordeal. + +If he awoke, would he come to seek her--with what feelings? + +She went on upstairs, holding the candle to one side with her right +hand and supporting herself by the banisters with her left. There was +a turn in the stairway at the second floor, and here the candle rays +fell on the face of the tall clock in the hallway. She sat down on a +step, putting the candle beside her; and there she remained, her +elbows on her knees, her face resting on her palms; and into the abyss +of the night dropped the tranquil strokes. More memories! + +She was by nature not only alive to all life but alive to surrounding +lifeless things. Much alone in the house, she had sent her happiness +overflowing its dumb environs--humanizing these--drawing them toward +her by a gracious responsive symbolism--extending speech over realms +which nature has not yet awakened to it or which she may have struck +into speechlessness long aeons past. + +She had symbolized the clock; it was the wooden God of Hours; she had +often feigned that it might be propitiated; and opening the door of it +she would pin inside the walls little clusters of blossoms as votive +offerings: if it would only move faster and bring him home! The usual +hour of his return from college was three in the afternoon. She had +symbolized that hour; one stroke for him, one for her, one for the +children--the three in one--the trinity of the household. + +She sat there on the step with the candle burning beside her. + +The clock struck three! The sound went through the house: down to him, +up to the children, into her. It was like a cry of a night watch: all +is well! + +It was the first sound that had reached her from any source during +this agony, and now it did not come from humanity, but from outside +humanity; from Time itself which brings us together and holds us +together as long as possible and then separates us and goes on its +way--indifferent whether we are together or apart; Time which welds +the sands into the rock and then wears the rock away to its separate +sands and sends the level tide softly over them. + +Once for him, once for her, once for the children! She took up the +candle and went upstairs to them. + +For a while she stood beside the bed in one room where the two little +girls were asleep clasping each other, cheek against cheek; and in +another room at the bedside of the two little boys, their backs turned +on one another and each with a hand doubled into a promising fist +outside the cover. In a few years how differently the four would be +divided and paired; each boy a young husband, each girl a young wife; +and out of the lives of the two of them who were hers she would then +drop into some second place. If to-night she were realizing what +befalls a wife when she becomes the Incident to her husband, she would +then realize what befalls a woman when the mother becomes the Incident +to her children: Woman, twice the Incident in Nature's impartial +economy! Her son would playfully confide it to his bride that she must +bear with his mother's whims and ways. Her daughter would caution her +husband that he must overlook peculiarities and weaknesses. The very +study of perfection which she herself had kindled and fanned in them +as the illumination of their lives they would now turn upon her as a +searchlight of her failings. + +He downstairs would never do that! She could not conceive of his +discussing her with any human being. Even though he should some day +desert her, he would never discuss her. + +She had lived so secure in the sense of him thus standing with her +against the world, that it was the sheer withdrawal of his strength +from her to-night that had dealt her the cruelest blow. But now she +began to ask herself whether his protection _had_ failed her. +Could he have recognized the situation without rendering it +worse? Had he put his arms around her, might she not have--struck at +him? Had he laid a finger-weight of sympathy on her, would it not have +left a scar for life? Any words of his, would they not have rung in +her ears unceasingly? To pass it over was as though it had never +been--was not _that_ his protection? + +She suddenly felt a desire to go down into the parlor. She kissed her +child in each room and she returned and kissed the doctor's +children--with memory of their mother; and then she descended by the +rear stairway. + +She set her candle on the table, where earlier in the night she had +placed the lamp--near the manuscript--and she sat down and looked at +that remorsefully: she had ignored it when he placed it there. + +He had made her the gift of his work--dedicated to her the triumphs of +his toil. It was his deep cry to her to share with him his widening +career and enter with him into the world's service. She crossed her +hands over it awhile, and then she left it. + +The low-burnt candle did not penetrate far into the darkness of the +immense parlor. There was an easy chair near her piano and her music. +After playing when alone, she would often sit there and listen to the +echoes of those influences that come into the soul from music +only,--the rhythmic hauntings of some heaven of diviner beauty. She +sat there now quite in darkness and closed her eyes; and upon her ear +began faintly to beat the sad sublime tones of his story. + +One of her delights in growing things on the farm had been to watch +the youth of the hemp--a field of it, tall and wandlike and tufted. If +the north wind blew upon it, the myriad stalks as by a common impulse +swayed southward; if a zephyr from the south crossed it, all heads +were instantly bowed before the north. West wind sent it east and east +wind sent it west. + +And so, it had seemed to her, is that ever living world which we +sometimes call the field of human life in its perpetual summer. It is +run through by many different laws; governed by many distinct forces, +each of which strives to control it wholly--but never does. +Selfishness blows on it like a parching sirocco, and all things +seem to bow to the might of selfishness. Generosity moves across the +expanse, and all things are seen responsive to what is generous. Place +yourself where life is lowest and everything like an avalanche is +rushing to the bottom. Place yourself where character is highest, and +lo! the whole world is but one struggle upward to what is high. You +see what you care to see, and find what you wish to find. + +In his story of the Forest and the Heart he had wanted to trace but +one law, and he had traced it; he had drawn all things together and +bent them before its majesty: the ancient law of Sacrifice. Of old the +high sacrificed to the low; afterwards the low to the high: once the +sacrifice of others; now the sacrifice of ourselves; but always in +ourselves of the lower to the higher in order that, dying, we may +live. + +With this law he had made his story a story of the world. + +The star on the Tree bore it back to Chaldaea; the candle bore it to +ancient Persia; the cross bore it to the Nile and Isis and Osiris; the +dove bore it to Syria; the bell bore it to Confucius; the drum bore it +to Buddha; the drinking horn to Greece; the tinsel to Romulus and +Rome; the doll to Abraham and Isaac; the masks to Gaul; the mistletoe +to Britain,--and all brought it to Christ,--Christ the latest +world-ideal of sacrifice that is self-sacrifice and of the giving of +all for all. + +The story was for herself, he had said, and for himself. + +Himself! Here at last all her pain and wandering of this night ended: +at the bottom of her wound where rankled _his problem_. + +From this problem she had most shrunk and into this she now entered: +She sacrificed herself in him! She laid upon herself his temptation +and his struggle. + + * * * * * + +Taking her candle, she passed back into her bedroom and screened it +where she had screened it before; then went into his bedroom. + +She put her wedding ring on again with blanched lips. She went to his +bedside, and drawing to the pillow the chair on which his clothes were +piled, sat down and laid her face over on it; and there in that shrine +of feeling where speech is formed, but whence it never issues, she +made her last communion with him: + +_"You, to whom I gave my youth and all that youth could mean to me; +whose children I have borne and nurtured at my breast--all of whose +eyes I have seen open and the eyes of some of whom I have closed; +husband of my girlhood, loved as no woman ever loved the man who took +her home; strength and laughter of his house; helper of what is best +in me; my defender against things in myself that I cannot govern; +pathfinder of my future; rock of the ebbing years! Though my hair turn +white as driven snow and flesh wither to the bone, I shall never cease +to be the flame that you yourself have kindled. + +"But never again to you! Let the stillness of nature fall where there +must be stillness! Peace come with its peace! And the room which heard +our whisperings of the night, let it be the Room of the Silences--the +Long Silences! Adieu, cross of living fire that I have so clung +to!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!--Adieu!"_ + +She remained as motionless as though she had fallen asleep or would +not lift her head until there had ebbed out of her life upon his +pillow the last drop of things that must go. + +She there--her whitening head buried on his pillow: it was Life's +Calvary of the Snows. + +The dawn found her sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and +there it brightened about her desolately. The moment drew near when +she must awaken him; the ordeal of their meeting must be over before +the children rushed downstairs or the servants knocked. + +She had plaited her hair in two heavy braids, and down each braid the +gray told its story through the black. And she had brushed it frankly +away from brow and temples so that the contour of her head--one of +nature's noblest--was seen in its simplicity. It is thus that the +women of her land sometimes prepare themselves at the ceremony of +their baptism into a new life. + +She had put on a plain night-dress, and her face and shoulders rising +out of this had the austerity of marble--exempt not from ruin, but +exempt from lesser mutation. She looked down at her wrists once and +made a little instinctive movement with her fingers as if to hide them +under the sleeves. + +Then she approached the bed. As she did so, she turned back midway and +quickly stretched her arms toward the wall as though to flee to it. +Then she drew nearer, a new pitiful fear of him in her eyes--the look +of the rejected. + +So she stood an instant and then she reclined on the edge of the bed, +resting on one elbow and looking down at him. + +For years her first words to him on this day had been the world's best +greeting: + +"A Merry Christmas!" + +She tried to summon the words to her lips and have them ready. + +At the pressure of her body on the bed he opened his eyes and +instantly looked to see what the whole truth was: how she had come out +of it all, what their life was to be henceforth, what their future +would be worth. But at the sight of her so changed--something so gone +out of her forever--with a quick cry he reached his arms for her. She +struggled to get away from him; but he, winding his arms shelteringly +about the youth-shorn head, drew her face close down against his +face. She caught at one of the braids of her hair and threw it across +her eyes, and then silent convulsive sobs rent and tore her, tore her. +The torrent of her tears raining down into his tears. + +Tears not for Life's faults but for Life when there are no +faults. They locked in each other's arms--trying to save each other on +Nature's vast lonely, tossing, uncaring sea. + +The rush of children's feet was heard in the hall and there was +smothered laughter at the door and the soft turning of the knob. + +It was Christmas Morning. + + * * * * * + +The sun rose golden and gathering up its gold threw it forward over +the gladness of the Shield. The farmhouse--such as the poet had sung +of when he could not help singing of American home life--looked out +from under its winter roof with the cheeriness of a human traveller +who laughs at the snow on his hat and shoulders. Smoke poured out of +its chimneys, bespeaking brisk fires for festive purposes. The oak +tree beside it stood quieted of its moaning and tossing. Soon after +sunrise a soul of passion on scarlet wings, rising out of the +snow-bowed shrubbery, flew up to a topmost twig of the oak; and +sitting there with its breast to the gorgeous sun scanned for a little +while that landscape of ice. It was beyond its intelligence to +understand how nature could create it for Summer and then take Summer +away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a sun so +true could shine on a world so false. + +Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling +paths. After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with +fireside warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat, +rushed out of the front door pursued by a little soldier sternly +booted and capped and gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going +at it furiously. Watching them through a window a little girl, dancing +a dreamy measure of her own, ever turned inward and beckoned to some +one to come and look--beckoned in vain. + +All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little +girl played with the doll--hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient +sacrifice, the emblem of the world's new mercy. Along the turnpike +sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the +shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the +shining valleys. + +Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day! + +One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its +surroundings; just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low, +thick, covered with snow except where a bough had been broken off for +decorating the house; here owing to the steepness the snow slid +off. The spot looked like a wound in the side of the Divine purity, +and across this open wound the tree had hung its rosary-beads never to +be told by Sorrow's fingers. + +The sunset golden and gathering up its last gold threw it backward +across the sadness of the Shield. One by one the stars came back to +their faithful places above the silence and the whiteness. A swinging +lamp was lighted on the front porch and its rays fell on little round +mats of snow stamped off by entering boot heels. On each gatepost a +low Christmas star was set to guide and welcome good neighbors; and +between those beacons soon they came hurrying, fathers and mothers and +children assembling for the party. + +Late into the night the party lasted. + +The logs blazed in deep fireplaces and their Forest Memories went to +ashes. Bodily comfort there was and good-will and good wishes and the +robust sensible making the best of what is best on the surface of our +life. And hale eating and drinking as old England itself once ate and +drank at Yuletide. And fast music and dancing that ever wanted to go +faster than the music. + +The chief feature of the revelry was the distribution of gifts on the +Christmas Tree--the handing over to this person and to that person of +those unread lessons of the ages--little mummied packages of the lord +of time. One thing no one noted. Fresh candles had replaced those +burnt out on the Tree the night before: all the candles were white +now. + +Revellers! Revellers! A crowded canvas! A brilliantly painted scene! +Controlling everything, controlling herself, the lady of the house: +hunting out her guests with some grace that befitted each; laughing +and talking with the doctor; secretly giving most attention to the +doctor's wife--faded little sufferer; with strength in her to be the +American wife and mother in the home of the poet's dream: the +spiritual majesty of her bridal veil still about her amid life's snow +as it never lifts itself from the face of the _Jungfrau_ amid the +sad most lovely mountains: the American wife and mother!--herself the +_Jungfrau_ among the world's women! + +The last thing before the company broke up took place what often takes +place there in happy gatherings: the singing of the song of the State +which is also a song of the Nation--its melody of the unfallen home: +with sadness enough in it, God knows, but with sanctity: she seated at +the piano--the others upholding her like a living bulwark. + +There was another company thronging the rooms that no one wot of: +those Bodiless Ones that often are much more real than the +embodied--the Guests of the Imagination. + +The Memories were there, strolling back and forth through the chambers +arm and arm with the Years: bestowing no cognizance upon that present +scene nor aware that they were not alone. About the Christmas Tree the +Wraiths of earlier children returned to gambol; and these knew naught +of those later ones who had strangely come out of the unknown to fill +their places. Around the walls stood other majestical Veiled Shapes +that bent undivided attention upon the actual pageant: these were +Life's Pities. Ever and anon they would lift their noble veils and +look out upon that brief flicker of our mortal joy, and drop them and +relapse into their compassionate vigil. + +But of the Bodiless Ones there gathered a solitary young Shape filled +the entire house with her presence. As the Memories walked through the +rooms with the Years, they paused ever before her and mutely beckoned +her to a place in their Sisterhood. The children who had wandered back +peeped shyly at her but then with some sure instinct of recognition +ran to her and threw down their gifts, to put their arms around +her. And the Pities before they left the house that night walked past +her one by one and each lifted its veil and dropped it more softly. + +This was the Shape: + +In the great bedroom on a spot of the carpet under the +chandelier--which had no decoration whatsoever--stood an exquisite +Spirit of Youth, more insubstantial than Spring morning mist, yet most +alive; her lips scarce parted--her skin like white hawthorn shadowed +by pink--in her eyes the modesty of withdrawal from Love--in her heart +the surrender to it. During those distracting hours never did she move +nor did her look once change: she waiting there--waiting for some one +to come--waiting. + +Waiting. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + +***** This file should be named 9179.txt or 9179.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/7/9179/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bride of the Mistletoe + +Author: James Lane Allen + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9179] +This file was first posted on September 11, 2003 +Last Updated: October 30, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + + + + +Text file produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE + </h1> + <h2> + By James Lane Allen + </h2> + <h5> + Author Of “Flute And Violin,” “A Kentucky Cardinal,” “Aftermath,” Etc. + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>TO ONE WHO KNOWS</b> + </p> + <p> + Je crois que pour produire il ne faut pas trop raissoner. Mais il faut + regarder beaucoup et songer à ce qu’on a vu. Voir: tout est là, et voir + juste. J’entends, par voir juste, voir avec ses propres yeux et non avec + ceux des maîtres. L’originalité d’un artiste s’indique d’abord dans les + petites choses et non dans les grandes. + </p> + <p> + Il faut trouver aux choses une signification qui n’a pas encore découverte + et tâcher de l’exprimer d’une façon personelle. + </p> + <p> + —GUY DE MAUPASSANT. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + Any one about to read this work of fiction might properly be apprised + beforehand that it is not a novel: it has neither the structure nor the + purpose of The Novel. + </p> + <p> + It is a story. There are two characters—a middle-aged married couple + living in a plain farmhouse; one point on the field of human nature is + located; at that point one subject is treated; in the treatment one + movement is directed toward one climax; no external event whatsoever is + introduced; and the time is about forty hours. + </p> + <p> + A second story of equal length, laid in the same house, is expected to + appear within a twelvemonth. The same father and mother are characters, + and the family friend the country doctor; but subordinately all. The main + story concerns itself with the four children of the two households. + </p> + <p> + It is an American children’s story: + </p> + <p> + “A Brood of The Eagle.” + </p> + <p> + During the year a third work, not fiction, will be published, entitled: + </p> + <p> + “The Christmas Tree: An Interpretation.” + </p> + <p> + The three works will serve to complete each other, and they complete a + cycle of the theme. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. THE WANDERING TALE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. THE WHITE DAWN </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EARTH SHIELD AND EARTH FESTIVAL + </h2> + <p> + A mighty table-land lies southward in a hardy region of our country. It + has the form of a colossal Shield, lacking and broken in some of its + outlines and rough and rude of make. Nature forged it for some crisis in + her long warfare of time and change, made use of it, and so left it lying + as one of her ancient battle-pieces—Kentucky. + </p> + <p> + The great Shield is raised high out of the earth at one end and sunk deep + into it at the other. It is tilted away from the dawn toward the sunset. + Where the western dip of it reposes on the planet, Nature, cunning + artificer, set the stream of ocean flowing past with restless foam—the + Father of Waters. Along the edge for a space she bound a bright river to + the rim of silver. And where the eastern part rises loftiest on the + horizon, turned away from the reddening daybreak, she piled shaggy + mountains wooded with trees that loose their leaves ere snowflakes fly and + with steadfast evergreens which hold to theirs through the gladdening and + the saddening year. Then crosswise over the middle of the Shield, + northward and southward upon the breadth of it, covering the life-born + rock of many thicknesses, she drew a tough skin of verdure—a broad + strip of hide of the ever growing grass. She embossed noble forests on + this greensward and under the forests drew clear waters. + </p> + <p> + This she did in a time of which we know nothing—uncharted ages + before man had emerged from the deeps of ocean with eyes to wonder, + thoughts to wander, heart to love, and spirit to pray. Many a scene the + same power has wrought out upon the surface of the Shield since she + brought him forth and set him there: many an old one, many a new. She has + made it sometimes a Shield of war, sometimes a Shield of peace. Nor has + she yet finished with its destinies as she has not yet finished with + anything in the universe. While therefore she continues her will and + pleasure elsewhere throughout creation, she does not forget the Shield. + </p> + <p> + She likes sometimes to set upon it scenes which admonish man how little + his lot has changed since Hephaistos wrought like scenes upon the shield + of Achilles, and Thetis of the silver feet sprang like a falcon from snowy + Olympus bearing the glittering piece of armor to her angered son. + </p> + <p> + These are some of the scenes that were wrought on the shield of Achilles + and that to-day are spread over the Earth Shield Kentucky: + </p> + <p> + Espousals and marriage feasts and the blaze of lights as they lead the + bride from her chamber, flutes and violins sounding merrily. An + assembly-place where the people are gathered, a strife having arisen about + the blood-price of a man slain; the old lawyers stand up one after another + and make their tangled arguments in turn. Soft, freshly ploughed fields + where ploughmen drive their teams to and fro, the earth growing dark + behind the share. The estate of a landowner where laborers are reaping; + some armfuls the binders are binding with twisted bands of straw: among + them the farmer is standing in silence, leaning on his staff, rejoicing in + his heart. Vineyards with purpling clusters and happy folk gathering these + in plaited baskets on sunny afternoons. A herd of cattle with incurved + horns hurrying from the stable to the woods where there is running water + and where purple-topped weeds bend above the sleek grass. A fair glen with + white sheep. A dancing-place under the trees; girls and young men dancing, + their fingers on one another’s wrists: a great company stands watching the + lovely dance of joy. + </p> + <p> + Such pageants appeared on the shield of Achilles as art; as pageants of + life they appear on the Earth Shield Kentucky. The metal-worker of old + wrought them upon the armor of the Greek warrior in tin and silver, bronze + and gold. The world-designer sets them to-day on the throbbing land in + nerve and blood, toil and delight and passion. But there with the old + things she mingles new things, with the never changing the ever changing; + for the old that remains always the new and the new that perpetually + becomes old—these Nature allots to man as his two portions wherewith + he must abide steadfast in what he is and go upward or go downward through + all that he is to become. + </p> + <p> + But of the many scenes which she in our time sets forth upon the stately + grassy Shield there is a single spectacle that she spreads over the length + and breadth of it once every year now as best liked by the entire people; + and this is both old and new. + </p> + <p> + It is old because it contains man’s faith in his immortality, which was + venerable with age before the shield of Achilles ever grew effulgent + before the sightless orbs of Homer. It is new because it contains those + latest hopes and reasons for this faith, which briefly blossom out upon + the primitive stock with the altering years and soon are blown away upon + the winds of change. Since this spectacle, this festival, is thus old and + is thus new and thus enwraps the deepest thing in the human spirit, it is + never forgotten. + </p> + <p> + When in vernal days any one turns a furrow or sows in the teeth of the + wind and glances at the fickle sky; when under the summer shade of a + flowering tree any one looks out upon his fatted herds and fattening + grain; whether there is autumnal plenty in his barn or autumnal emptiness, + autumnal peace in his breast or autumnal strife,—all days of the + year, in the assembly-place, in the dancing-place, whatsoever of good or + ill befall in mind or hand, never does one forget. + </p> + <p> + When nights are darkest and days most dark; when the sun seems farthest + from the planet and cheers it with lowest heat; when the fields lie shorn + between harvest-time and seed-time and man turns wistful eyes back and + forth between the mystery of his origin and the mystery of his end,—then + comes the great pageant of the winter solstice, then comes Christmas. + </p> + <p> + So what is Christmas? And what for centuries has it been to differing but + always identical mortals? + </p> + <p> + It was once the old pagan festival of dead Nature. It was once the old + pagan festival of the reappearing sun. It was the pagan festival when the + hands of labor took their rest and hunger took its fill. It was the pagan + festival to honor the descent of the fabled inhabitants of an upper world + upon the earth, their commerce with common flesh, and the production of a + race of divine-and-human half-breeds. It is now the festival of the + Immortal Child appearing in the midst of mortal children. It is now the + new festival of man’s remembrance of his errors and his charity toward + erring neighbors. It has latterly become the widening festival of + universal brotherhood with succor for all need and nighness to all + suffering; of good will warring against ill will and of peace warring upon + war. + </p> + <p> + And thus for all who have anywhere come to know it, Christmas is the + festival of the better worldly self. But better than worldliness, it is on + the Shield to-day what it essentially has been through many an age to many + people—the symbolic Earth Festival of the Evergreen; setting forth + man’s pathetic love of youth—of his own youth that will not stay + with him; and renewing his faith in a destiny that winds its ancient way + upward out of dark and damp toward Eternal Light. + </p> + <p> + This is a story of the Earth Festival on the Earth Shield. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. THE MAN AND THE SECRET + </h2> + <p> + A man sat writing near a window of an old house out in the country a few + years ago; it was afternoon of the twenty-third of December. + </p> + <p> + One of the volumes of a work on American Forestry lay open on the desk + near his right hand; and as he sometimes stopped in his writing and turned + the leaves, the illustrations showed that the long road of his mental + travels—for such he followed—was now passing through the + evergreens. + </p> + <p> + Many notes were printed at the bottoms of the pages. They burned there + like short tapers in dim places, often lighting up obscure faiths and + customs of our puzzled human race. His eyes roved from taper to taper, as + gathering knowledge ray by ray. A small book lay near the large one. It + dealt with primitive nature-worship; and it belonged in the class of those + that are kept under lock and key by the libraries which possess them as + unsafe reading for unsafe minds. + </p> + <p> + Sheets of paper covered with the man’s clear, deliberate handwriting lay + thickly on the desk. A table in the centre of the room was strewn with + volumes, some of a secret character, opened for reference. On the tops of + two bookcases and on the mantelpiece were prints representing scenes from + the oldest known art of the East. These and other prints hanging about the + walls, however remote from each other in the times and places where they + had been gathered, brought together in this room of a quiet Kentucky + farmhouse evidence bearing upon the same object: the subject related in + general to trees and in especial evergreens. + </p> + <p> + While the man was immersed in his work, he appeared not to be submerged. + His left hand was always going out to one or the other of three + picture-frames on the desk and his fingers bent caressingly. + </p> + <p> + Two of these frames held photographs of four young children—a boy + and a girl comprising each group. The children had the air of being well + enough bred to be well behaved before the camera, but of being unruly and + disorderly out of sheer health and a wild naturalness. All of them looked + straight at you; all had eyes wide open with American frankness and good + humor; all had mouths shut tight with American energy and determination. + Apparently they already believed that the New World was behind them, that + the nation backed them up. In a way you believed it. You accepted them on + the spot as embodying that marvellous precocity in American children, + through which they early in life become conscious of the country and claim + it their country and believe that it claims them. Thus they took on the + distinction of being a squad detached only photographically from the rank + and file of the white armies of the young in the New World, millions and + millions strong, as they march, clear-eyed, clear-headed, joyous, + magnificent, toward new times and new destinies for the nation and for + humanity—a kinder knowledge of man and a kinder ignorance of God. + </p> + <p> + The third frame held the picture of a woman probably thirty years of age. + Her features were without noticeable American characteristics. What human + traits you saw depended upon what human traits you saw with. + </p> + <p> + The hair was dark and abundant, the brows dark and strong. And the lashes + were dark and strong; and the eyes themselves, so thornily hedged about, + somehow brought up before you a picture of autumn thistles—thistles + that look out from the shadow of a rock. They had a veritable thistle + quality and suggestiveness: gray and of the fields, sure of their + experience in nature, freighted with silence. + </p> + <p> + Despite grayness and thorniness, however, you saw that they were in the + summer of their life-bloom; and singularly above even their beauty of + blooming they held what is rare in the eyes of either men or women—they + held a look of being just. + </p> + <p> + The whole face was an oval, long, regular, high-bred. If the lower part + had been hidden behind a white veil of the Orient (by that little bank of + snow which is guardedly built in front of the overflowing desires of the + mouth), the upper part would have given the impression of reserve, + coldness, possibly of severity; yet ruled by that one look—the + garnered wisdom, the tempering justice, of the eyes. The whole face being + seen, the lower features altered the impression made by the upper ones; + reserve became bettered into strength, coldness bettered into dignity, + severity of intellect transfused into glowing nobleness of character. The + look of virgin justice in her was perhaps what had survived from that + white light of life which falls upon young children as from a receding sun + and touches lingeringly their smiles and glances; but her mouth had + gathered its shadowy tenderness as she walked the furrows of the years, + watching their changeful harvests, eating their passing bread. + </p> + <p> + A handful of some of the green things of winter lay before her picture: + holly boughs with their bold, upright red berries; a spray of the cedar of + the Kentucky yards with its rosary of piteous blue. When he had come in + from out of doors to go on with his work, he had put them there—perhaps + as some tribute. After all his years with her, many and strong, he must + have acquired various tributes and interpretations; but to-day, during his + walk in the woods, it had befallen him to think of her as holly which + ripens amid snows and retains its brave freshness on a landscape of + departed things. As cedar also which everywhere on the Shield is the best + loved of forest-growths to be the companion of household walls; so that + even the poorest of the people, if it does not grow near the spot they + build in, hunt for it and bring it home: everywhere wife and cedar, wife + and cedar, wife and cedar. + </p> + <p> + The photographs of the children grouped on each side of hers with heads a + little lower down called up memories of Old World pictures in which + cherubs smile about the cloud-borne feet of the heavenly Hebrew maid. + Glowing young American mother with four healthy children as her gifts to + the nation—this was the practical thought of her that riveted and + held. + </p> + <p> + As has been said, they were in two groups, the children; a boy and girl in + each. The four were of nearly the same age; but the faces of two were on a + dimmer card in an older frame. You glanced at her again and persuaded + yourself that the expression of motherhood which characterized her + separated into two expressions (as behind a thin white cloud it is + possible to watch another cloud of darker hue). Nearer in time was the + countenance of a mother happy with happy offspring; further away the same + countenance withdrawn a little into shadow—the face of the mother + bereaved—mute and changeless. + </p> + <p> + The man, the worker, whom this little flock of wife and two surviving + children now followed through the world as their leader, sat with his face + toward his desk In a corner of the room; solidly squared before his + undertaking, liking it, mastering it; seldom changing his position as the + minutes passed, never nervously; with a quietude in him that was oftener + in Southern gentlemen in quieter, more gentlemanly times. A low powerful + figure with a pair of thick shoulders and tremendous limbs; filling the + room with his vitality as a heavy passionate animal lying in a corner of a + cage fills the space of the cage, so that you wait for it to roll over or + get up on its feet and walk about that you may study its markings and get + an inkling of its conquering nature. + </p> + <p> + Meantime there were hints of him. When he had come in, he had thrown his + overcoat on a chair that stood near the table in the centre of the room + and had dropped his hat upon his coat. It had slipped to the floor and now + lay there—a low, soft black hat of a kind formerly much worn by + young Southerners of the countryside,—especially on occasions when + there was a spur of heat in their mood and going,—much the same kind + that one sees on the heads of students in Rome in winter; light, warm, + shaping itself readily to breezes from any quarter, to be doffed or donned + as comfortable and negligible. It suggested that he had been a country boy + in the land, still belonged to the land, and as a man kept to its + out-of-door habits and fashions. His shoes, one of which you saw at each + side of his chair, were especially well made for rough-going feet to tramp + in during all weathers. + </p> + <p> + A sack suit of dark blue serge somehow helped to withdraw your + interpretation of him from farm life to the arts or the professions. The + scrupulous air of his shirt collar, showing against the clear-hued flesh + at the back of his neck, and the Van Dyck-like edge of the shirt cuff, + defining his powerful wrist and hand, strengthened the notion that he + belonged to the arts or to the professions. He might have been sitting + before a canvas instead of a desk and holding a brush instead of a pen: + the picture would have been true to life. Or truer yet, he might have + taken his place with the grave group of students in the Lesson in Anatomy + left by Rembrandt. + </p> + <p> + Once he put down his pen, wheeled his chair about, and began to read the + page he had just finished: then you saw him. He had a big, masculine, + solid-cut, self-respecting, normal-looking, executive head—covered + with thick yellowish hair clipped short; so that while everything else in + his appearance indicated that he was in the prime of manhood, the clipped + hair caused him to appear still more youthful; and it invested him with a + rustic atmosphere which went along very naturally with the sentimental + country hat and the all-weather shoes. He seemed at first impression a + magnificent animal frankly loved of the sun—perhaps too warmly. The + sun itself seemed to have colored for him his beard and mustache—a + characteristic hue of men’s hair and beard in this land peopled from Old + English stock. The beard, like the hair, was cut short, as though his idea + might have been to get both hair and beard out of life’s daily way; but + his mustache curled thickly down over his mouth, hiding it. In the whole + effect there was a suggestion of the Continent, perhaps of a former + student career in Germany, memories of which may still have lasted with + him and the marks of which may have purposely been kept up in his + appearance. + </p> + <p> + But such a fashion of beard, while covering a man’s face, does much to + uncover the man. As he sat amid his papers and books, your thought surely + led again to old pictures where earnest heads bend together over some + point on the human road, at which knowledge widens and suffering begins to + be made more bearable and death more kind. Perforce now you interpreted + him and fixed his general working category: that he was absorbed in work + meant to be serviceable to humanity. His house, the members of his family, + the people of his neighborhood, were meantime forgotten: he was not a mere + dweller on his farm; he was a discoverer on the wide commons where the + race forever camps at large with its problems, joys, and sorrows. + </p> + <p> + He read his page, his hand dropped to his knee, his mind dropped its + responsibility; one of those intervals followed when the brain rests. The + look of the student left his face; over it began to play the soft lights + of the domestic affections. He had forgotten the world for his own place + in the world; the student had become the husband and house-father. A few + moments only; then he wheeled gravely to his work again, his right hand + took up the pen, his left hand went back to the pictures. + </p> + <p> + The silence of the room seemed a guarded silence, as though he were being + watched over by a love which would not let him be disturbed. (He had the + reposeful self-assurance of a man who is conscious that he is idolized.) + </p> + <p> + Matching the silence within was the stillness out of doors. An immense oak + tree stood just outside the windows. It was a perpetual reminder of + vanished woods; and when a windstorm tossed and twisted it, the straining + and grinding of the fibres were like struggles and outcries for the wild + life of old. This afternoon it brooded motionless, an image of forest + reflection. Once a small black-and-white sapsucker, circling the trunk and + peering into the crevices of the bark on a level with the windows, uttered + minute notes which penetrated into the room like steel darts of sound. A + snowbird alighted on the window-sill, glanced familiarly in at the man, + and shot up its crest; but disappointed perhaps that it was not noticed, + quoted its resigned gray phrase—a phrase it had made for itself to + accompany the score of gray whiter—and flitted on billowy wings to a + juniper at the corner of the house, its turret against the long javelins + of the North. + </p> + <p> + Amid the stillness of Nature outside and the house-silence of a love + guarding him within, the man worked on. + </p> + <p> + A little clock ticked independently on the old-fashioned Parian marble + mantelpiece. Prints were propped against its sides and face, illustrating + the use of trees about ancient tombs and temples. Out of this photographic + grove of dead things the uncaring clock threw out upon the air a living + three—the fateful three that had been measured for each tomb and + temple in its own land and time. + </p> + <p> + A knock, regretful but positive, was heard, and the door opening into the + hall was quietly pushed open. A glow lit up the student’s face though he + did not stop writing; and his voice, while it gave a welcome, + unconsciously expressed regret at being disturbed: + </p> + <p> + “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his heavy figure with instant courtesy—rather obsolete now—and + bowing to one side, sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “So I see,” he said, dipping his pen into his ink. + </p> + <p> + “Since you did not turn around, you would better have said ‘So I hear.’ It + is three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “So I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I am done—nearly done.” + </p> + <p> + “How nearly?” + </p> + <p> + “By to-morrow—to-morrow afternoon before dark. I have reached the + end, but now it is hard to stop, hard to let go.” + </p> + <p> + His tone gave first place, primary consideration, to his work. The silence + in the room suddenly became charged. When the voice was heard again, there + was constraint in it: + </p> + <p> + “There is something to be done this afternoon before dark, something I + have a share in. Having a share, I am interested. Being interested, I am + prompt. Being prompt, I am here.” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand over the written sheets before him—those cold Alps + of learning; and asked reproachfully: + </p> + <p> + “Are you not interested in all this, O you of little faith?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I say, O me of little knowledge!” + </p> + <p> + As the words impulsively escaped, he heard a quick movement behind him. He + widened out his heavy arms upon his manuscript and looked back over his + shoulder at her and laughed. And still smiling and holding his pen between + his fingers, he turned and faced her. She had advanced into the middle of + the room and had stopped at the chair on which he had thrown his overcoat + and hat. She had picked up the hat and stood turning it and pushing its + soft material back into shape for his head—without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + The northern light of the winter afternoon, entering through the looped + crimson-damask curtains, fell sidewise upon the woman of the picture. + </p> + <p> + Years had passed since the picture had been made. There were changes in + her; she looked younger. She had effaced the ravages of a sadder period of + her life as human voyagers upon reaching quiet port repair the damages of + wandering and storm. Even the look of motherhood, of the two motherhoods, + which so characterized her in the photograph, had disappeared for the + present. Seeing her now for the first time, one would have said that her + whole mood and bearing made a single declaration: she was neither wife nor + mother; she was a woman in love with life’s youth—with youth—youth; + in love with the things that youth alone could ever secure to her. + </p> + <p> + The carriage of her beautiful head, brave and buoyant, brought before you + a vision of growing things in nature as they move towards their summer yet + far away. There still was youth in the round white throat above the collar + of green velvet—woodland green—darker than the green of the + cloth she wore. You were glad she had chosen that color because she was + going for a walk with him; and green would enchain the eye out on the sere + ground and under the stripped trees. The flecklessness of her long gloves + drew your thoughts to winter rather—to its one beauteous gift + dropped from soiled clouds. A slender toque brought out the keenness in + the oval of her face. From it rose one backward-sweeping feather of green + shaded to coral at the tip; and there your fancy may have cared to see + lingering the last radiance of whiter-sunset skies. + </p> + <p> + He kept his seat with his back to the manuscript from which he had + repulsed her; and his eyes swept loyally over her as she waited. Though + she could scarcely trust herself to speak, still less could she endure the + silence. With her face turned toward the windows opening on the lawn, she + stretched out her arm toward him and softly shook his hat at him. + </p> + <p> + “The sun sets—you remember how many minutes after four,” she said, + with no other tone than that of quiet warning. “I marked the minutes in + the almanac for you the other night after the children had gone to bed, so + that you would not forget. You know how short the twilights are even when + the day is clear. It is cloudy to-day and there will not be any twilight. + The children said they would not be at home until after dark, but they may + come sooner; it may be a trick. They have threatened to catch us this year + in one way or another, and you know they must not do that—not this + year! There must be one more Christmas with all its old ways—even if + it must be without its old mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply at once and then not relevantly: + </p> + <p> + “I heard you playing.” + </p> + <p> + He had dropped his head forward and was scowling at her from under his + brows with a big Beethoven brooding scowl. She did not see, for she held + her face averted. + </p> + <p> + The silence in the room again seemed charged, and there was greater + constraint in her voice when it was next heard: + </p> + <p> + “I had to play; you need not have listened.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to listen; you played loud—” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know I was playing loud. I may have been trying to drown other + sounds,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “What other sounds?” His voice unexpectedly became inquisitorial: it was a + frank thrust into the unknown. + </p> + <p> + “Discords—possibly.” + </p> + <p> + “What discords?” His thrust became deeper. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head quickly and looked at him; a quiver passed across her + lips and in her eyes there was noble anguish. + </p> + <p> + But nothing so arrests our speech when we are tempted to betray hidden + trouble as to find ourselves face to face with a kind of burnished, + radiant happiness. Sensitive eyes not more quickly close before a blaze of + sunlight than the shadowy soul shuts her gates upon the advancing Figure + of Joy. + </p> + <p> + It was the whole familiar picture of him now—triumphantly painted in + the harmonies of life, masterfully toned to subdue its discords—that + drove her back into herself. When she spoke next, she had regained the + self-control which under his unexpected attack she had come near losing; + and her words issued from behind the closed gates—as through a + crevice of the closed gates: + </p> + <p> + “I was reading one of the new books that came the other day, the deep + grave ones you sent for. It is written by a deep grave German, and it is + worked out in the deep grave German way. The whole purpose of it is to + show that any woman in the life of any man is merely—an Incident. + She may be this to him, she may be that to him; for a briefer time, for a + greater time; but all along and in the end, at bottom, she is to him—an + Incident.” + </p> + <p> + He did not take his eyes from hers and his smile slowly broadened. + </p> + <p> + “Were those the discords?” he asked gently. + </p> + <p> + She did not reply. + </p> + <p> + He turned in his chair and looking over his shoulder at her, he raised his + arm and drew the point of his pen across the backs of a stack of magazines + on top of his desk. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a work,” he said, “not written by a German or by any other man, + but by a woman whose race I do not know: here is a work the sole purpose + of which is to prove that any man is merely an Incident in the life of any + woman. He may be this to her, he may be that to her; for a briefer time, + for a greater time; but all along and in the end, beneath everything else, + he is to her—an Incident.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and confronted her, not without a gleam of humor in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That did not trouble me,” he said tenderly. “Those were not discords to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes rested on his face with inscrutable searching. She made no + comment. + </p> + <p> + His own face grew grave. After a moment of debate with himself as to + whether he should be forced to do a thing he would rather not do, he + turned in his chair and laid down his pen as though separating himself + from his work. Then he said, in a tone that ended playfulness: + </p> + <p> + “Do I not understand? Have I not understood all the time? For a year now I + have been shutting myself up at spare hours in this room and at this work—without + any explanation to you. Such a thing never occurred before in our lives. + You have shared everything. I have relied upon you and I have needed you, + and you have never failed me. And this apparently has been your reward—to + be rudely shut out at last. Now you come in and I tell you that the work + is done—quite finished—without a word to you about it. Do I + not understand?” he repeated. “Have I not understood all along? It is + true; outwardly as regards this work you have been—the Incident.” + </p> + <p> + As he paused, she made a slight gesture with one hand as though she did + not care for what he was saying and brushed away the fragile web of his + words from before her eyes—eyes fixed on larger things lying clear + before her in life’s distance. + </p> + <p> + He went quickly on with deepening emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “But, comrade of all these years, battler with me for life’s victories, + did you think you were never to know? Did you believe I was never to + explain? You had only one more day to wait! If patience, if faith, could + only have lasted another twenty-four hours—until Christmas Eve!” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time for nearly a year that the sound of those words had + been heard in that house. He bent earnestly over toward her; he leaned + heavily forward with his hands on his knees and searched her features with + loyal chiding. + </p> + <p> + “Has not Christmas Eve its mysteries?” he asked, “its secrets for you and + me? Think of Christmas Eve for you and me! Remember!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly as in a windless woods on a winter day a smoke from a woodchopper’s + smouldering fire will wander off and wind itself about the hidden + life-buds of a young tree, muffling it while the atmosphere near by is + clear, there now floated into the room to her the tender haze of old + pledges and vows and of things unutterably sacred. + </p> + <p> + He noted the effect of his words and did not wait. He turned to his desk + and, gathering up the sprigs of holly and cedar, began softly to cover her + picture with them. + </p> + <p> + “Stay blinded and bewildered there,” he said, “until the hour comes when + holly and cedar will speak: on Christmas Eve you will understand; you will + then see whether in this work you have been—the Incident.” + </p> + <p> + Even while they had been talking the light of the short winter afternoon + had perceptibly waned in the room. + </p> + <p> + She glanced through the windows at the darkening lawn; her eyes were + tear-dimmed; to her it looked darker than it was. She held his hat up + between her arms, making an arch for him to come and stand under. + </p> + <p> + “It is getting late,” she said in nearly the same tone of quiet warning + with which she had spoken before. “There is no time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + He sprang up, without glancing behind him at his desk with its interrupted + work, and came over and placed himself under the arch of her arms, looking + at her reverently. + </p> + <p> + But his hands did not take hold, his arms hung down at his sides—the + hands that were life, the arms that were love. + </p> + <p> + She let her eyes wander over his clipped tawny hair and pass downward over + his features to the well-remembered mouth under its mustache. Then, + closing her quivering lips quickly, she dropped the hat softly on his head + and walked toward the door. When she reached it, she put out one of her + hands delicately against a panel and turned her profile over her shoulder + to him: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what is the trouble with both of those books?” she asked, + with a struggling sweetness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + He had caught up his overcoat and as he put one arm through the sleeve + with a vigorous thrust, he laughed out with his mouth behind the collar: + </p> + <p> + “I think I know what is the trouble with the authors of the books.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble is,” she replied, “the trouble is that the authors are right + and the books are right: men and women <i>are</i> only Incidents to each + other in life,” and she passed out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Human life itself for that matter is only an incident in the universe,” + he replied, “if we cared to look at it in that way; but we’d better not!” + </p> + <p> + He was standing near the table in the middle of the room; he suddenly + stopped buttoning his overcoat. His eyes began to wander over the books, + the prints, the pictures, embracing in a final survey everything that he + had brought together from such distances of place and time. His work was + in effect done. A sense of regret, a rush of loneliness, came over him as + it comes upon all of us who reach the happy ending of toil that we have + put our heart and strength in. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming?” she called faintly from the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” he replied, and moved toward the door; but there he stopped + again and looked back. + </p> + <p> + Once more there came into his face the devotion of the student; he was on + the commons where the race encamps; he was brother to all brothers who + join work to work for common good. He was feeling for the moment that + through his hands ran the long rope of the world at which men—like a + crew of sailors—tug at the Ship of Life, trying to tow her into some + divine haven. + </p> + <p> + His task was ended. Would it be of service? Would it carry any message? + Would it kindle in American homes some new light of truth, with the eyes + of mothers and fathers fixed upon it, and innumerable children of the + future the better for its shining? + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming?” she called more quiveringly. + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” he called back, breaking away from his revery, and raising + his voice so it would surely reach her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE TREE AND THE SUNSET + </h2> + <p> + She had quitted the house and, having taken a few steps across the short + frozen grass of the yard as one walks lingeringly when expecting to be + joined by a companion, she turned and stood with her eyes fixed on the + doorway for his emerging figure. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night,” he had said, smiling at her with one meaning in his + words, “to-morrow night you will understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she now said to herself, with another meaning in hers, “to-morrow + night I must understand. Until to-morrow night, then, blinded and + bewildered with holly and cedar let me be! Kind ignorance, enfold me and + spare me! All happiness that I can control or conjecture, come to me and + console me!” + </p> + <p> + And over herself she dropped a vesture of joy to greet him when he should + step forth. + </p> + <p> + It was a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors and to go about what they + had planned; the ground was scarcely frozen, there was no wind, and the + whole sky was overcast with thin gray cloud that betrayed no movement. + Under this still dome of silvery-violet light stretched the winter land; + it seemed ready and waiting for its great festival. + </p> + <p> + The lawn sloped away from the house to a brook at the bottom, and beyond + the brook the ground rose to a woodland hilltop. Across the distance you + distinguished there the familiar trees of blue-grass pastures: white ash + and black ash; white oak and red oak; white walnut and black walnut; and + the scaly-bark hickory in his roughness and the sycamore with her soft + leoparded limbs. The black walnut and the hickory brought to mind autumn + days when children were abroad, ploughing the myriad leaves with booted + feet and gathering their harvest of nuts—primitive food-storing + instinct of the human animal still rampant in modern childhood: these nuts + to be put away in garret and cellar and but scantily eaten until Christmas + came. + </p> + <p> + Out of this woods on the afternoon air sounded the muffled strokes of an + axe cutting down a black walnut partly dead; and when this fell, it would + bring down with it bunches of mistletoe, those white pearls of the forest + mounted on branching jade. To-morrow eager fingers would be gathering the + mistletoe to decorate the house. Near by was a thicket of bramble and cane + where, out of reach of cattle, bushes of holly thrived: the same fingers + would be gathering that. + </p> + <p> + Bordering this woods on one side lay a cornfield. The corn had just been + shucked, and beside each shock of fodder lay its heap of ears ready for + the gathering wagon. The sight of the corn brought freshly to remembrance + the red-ambered home-brew of the land which runs in a genial torrent + through all days and nights of the year—many a full-throated rill—but + never with so inundating a movement as at this season. And the same grain + suggested also the smokehouses of all farms, in which larded porkers, + fattened by it, had taken on posthumous honors as home-cured hams; and in + which up under the black rafters home-made sausages were being smoked to + their needed flavor over well-chosen chips. + </p> + <p> + Around one heap of ears a flock of home-grown turkeys, red-mottled, + rainbow-necked, were feeding for their fate. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the woods stretched a wheat-field, in the stubble of + which coveys of bob-whites were giving themselves final plumpness for the + table by picking up grains of wheat which had dropped into the drills at + harvest time or other seeds which had ripened in the autumn aftermath. + </p> + <p> + Farther away on the landscape there was a hemp-field where hemp-breakers + were making a rattling reedy music; during these weeks wagons loaded with + the gold-bearing fibre begin to move creaking to the towns, helping to + fill the farmer’s pockets with holiday largess. + </p> + <p> + Thus everything needed for Christmas was there in sight: the mistletoe—the + holly—the liquor of the land for the cups of hearty men—the + hams and the sausages of fastidious housewives—the turkey and the + quail—and crops transmutable into coin. They were in sight there—the + fair maturings of the sun now ready to be turned into offerings to the + dark solstice, the low activities of the soil uplifted to human joyance. + </p> + <p> + One last thing completed the picture of the scene. + </p> + <p> + The brook that wound across the lawn at its bottom was frozen to-day and + lay like a band of jewelled samite trailed through the olive verdure. + Along its margin evergreens grew. No pine nor spruce nor larch nor fir is + native to these portions of the Shield; only the wild cedar, the shapeless + and the shapely, belongs there. This assemblage of evergreens was not, + then, one of the bounties of Nature; they had been planted. + </p> + <p> + It was the slender tapering spires of these evergreens with their note of + deathless spring that mainly caught the eye on the whole landscape this + dead winter day. Under the silvery-violet light of the sky they waited in + beauty and in peace: the pale green of larch and spruce which seems always + to go with the freshness of dripping Aprils; the dim blue-gray of pines + which rather belongs to far-vaulted summer skies; and the dark green of + firs—true comfortable winter coat when snows sift mournfully and + icicles are spearing earthward. + </p> + <p> + These evergreens likewise had their Christmas meaning and finished the + picture of the giving earth. Unlike the other things, they satisfied no + appetite, they were ministers to no passions; but with them the Christmas + of the intellect began: the human heart was to drape their boughs with its + gentle poetry; and from their ever living spires the spiritual hope of + humanity would take its flight toward the eternal. + </p> + <p> + Thus then the winter land waited for the oncoming of that strange + travelling festival of the world which has roved into it and encamped + gypsy-like from old lost countries: the festival that takes toll of field + and wood, of hoof and wing, of cup and loaf; but that, best of all, wrings + from the nature of man its reluctant tenderness for his fellows and builds + out of his lonely doubts regarding this life his faith in a better one. + </p> + <p> + And central on this whole silent scene—the highest element in it—its + one winter-red passion flower—the motionless woman waiting outside + the house. + </p> + <p> + At last he came out upon the step. + </p> + <p> + He cast a quick glance toward the sky as though his first thought were of + what the weather was going to be. Then as he buttoned the top button of + his overcoat and pressed his bearded chin down over it to make it more + comfortable under his short neck, with his other hand he gave a little + pull at his hat—the romantic country hat; and he peeped out from + under the rustic brim at her, smiling with old gayeties and old + fondnesses. He bulked so rotund inside his overcoat and looked so short + under the flat headgear that her first thought was how slight a disguise + every year turned him into a good family Santa Claus; and she smiled back + at him with the same gayeties and fondnesses of days gone by. But such a + deeper pang pierced her that she turned away and walked hurriedly down the + hill toward the evergreens. + </p> + <p> + He was quickly at her side. She could feel how animal youth in him + released itself the moment he had come into the open air. There was brutal + vitality in the way his shoes crushed the frozen ground; and as his + overcoat sleeve rubbed against her arm, there was the same leaping out of + life, like the rubbing of tinder against tinder. Halfway down the lawn he + halted and laid his hand heavily on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to that!” he said. His voice was eager, excited, like a boy’s. + </p> + <p> + On the opposite side of the house, several hundred yards away, the country + turnpike ran; and from this there now reached them the rumbling of many + vehicles, hurrying in close procession out of the nearest town and moving + toward smaller villages scattered over the country; to its hamlets and + cross-roads and hundreds of homes richer or poorer—every vehicle + Christmas-laden: sign and foretoken of the Southern Yule-tide. There were + matters and usages in those American carriages and buggies and wagons and + carts the history of which went back to the England of the Georges and the + Stuarts and the Henrys; to the England of Elizabeth, to the England of + Chaucer; back through robuster Saxon times to the gaunt England of Alfred, + and on beyond this till they were lost under the forest glooms of + Druidical Britain. + </p> + <p> + They stood looking into each other’s eyes and gathering into their ears + the festal uproar of the turnpike. How well they knew what it all meant—this + far-flowing tide of bounteousness! How perfectly they saw the whole + picture of the town out of which the vehicles had come: the atmosphere of + it already darkened by the smoke of soft coal pouring from its chimneys, + so that twilight in it had already begun to fall ahead of twilight out in + the country, and lamp-posts to glimmer along the little streets, and shops + to be illuminated to the delight of window-gazing, mystery-loving children—wild + with their holiday excitements and secrecies. Somewhere in the throng + their own two children were busy unless they had already started home. + </p> + <p> + For years he had held a professorship in the college in this town, driving + in and out from his home; but with the close of this academic year he was + to join the slender file of Southern men who have been called to Northern + universities: this change would mean the end of life here. Both thought of + this now—of the last Christmas in the house; and with the same + impulse they turned their gaze back to it. + </p> + <p> + More than half a century ago the one starved genius of the Shield, a + writer of songs, looked out upon the summer picture of this land, its + meadows and ripening corn tops; and as one presses out the spirit of an + entire vineyard when he bursts a solitary grape upon his tongue, he, the + song writer, drained drop by drop the wine of that scene into the notes of + a single melody. The nation now knows his song, the world knows it—the + only music that has ever captured the joy and peace of American home life—embodying + the very soul of it in the clear amber of sound. + </p> + <p> + This house was one of such homesteads as the genius sang of: a low, + old-fashioned, brown-walled, gray-shingled house; with chimneys generous, + with green window-shutters less than green and white window-sills less + than white; with feudal vines giving to its walls their summery + allegiance; not young, not old, but standing in the middle years of its + strength and its honors; not needy, not wealthy, but answering Agar’s + prayer for neither poverty nor riches. + </p> + <p> + The two stood on the darkening lawn, looking back at it. + </p> + <p> + It had been the house of his fathers. He had brought her to it as his own + on the afternoon of their wedding several miles away across the country. + They had arrived at dark; and as she had sat beside him in the carriage, + one of his arms around her and his other hand enfolding both of hers, she + had first caught sight of it through the forest trees—waiting for + her with its lights just lit, its warmth, its privacies: and that had been + Christmas Eve! + </p> + <p> + For her wedding day had been Christmas Eve. When she had announced her + choice of a day, they had chidden her. But with girlish wilfulness she had + clung to it the more positively. + </p> + <p> + “It is the most beautiful night of the year!” she had replied, brushing + their objection aside with that reason alone. “And it is the happiest! I + will be married on that night, when I am happiest!” + </p> + <p> + Alone and thinking it over, she had uttered other words to herself—yet + scarce uttered them, rather felt them: + </p> + <p> + “Of old it was written how on Christmas Night the Love that cannot fail us + became human. My love for him, which is the divine thing in my life and + which is never to fail him, shall become human to him on that night.” + </p> + <p> + When the carriage had stopped at the front porch, he had led her into the + house between the proud smiling servants of his establishment ranged at a + respectful distance on each side; and without surrendering her even to her + maid—a new spirit of silence on him—he had led her to her + bedroom, to a place on the carpet under the chandelier. + </p> + <p> + Leaving her there, he had stepped backward and surveyed her waiting in her + youth and loveliness—<i>for him;</i> come into his house, into his + arms—<i>his</i>; no other’s—never while life lasted to be + another’s even in thought or in desire. + </p> + <p> + Then as if the marriage ceremony of the afternoon in the presence of many + had meant nothing and this were the first moment when he could gather her + home to him, he had come forward and taken her in his arms and set upon + her the kiss of his house and his ardor and his duty. As his warm breath + broke close against her face, his lips under their mustache, almost boyish + then, had thoughtlessly formed one little phrase—one little but most + lasting and fateful phrase: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Looking up with a smile, she saw that she stood under a bunch of mistletoe + swung from the chandelier. + </p> + <p> + Straightway he had forgotten his own words, nor did he ever afterwards + know that he had used them. But she, out of their very sacredness as the + first words he had spoken to her in his home, had remembered them most + clingingly. More than remembered them: she had set them to grow down into + the fibres of her heart as the mistletoe roots itself upon the life-sap of + the tree. And in all the later years they had been the green spot of + verdure under life’s dark skies—the undying bough into which the + spirit of the whole tree retreats from the ice of the world: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Through the first problem of learning to weld her nature to his wisely; + through the perils of bearing children and the agony of seeing some of + them pass away; through the ambition of having him rise in his profession + and through the ideal of making his home an earthly paradise; through + loneliness when he was away and joy whenever he came back,—upon her + whole life had rested the wintry benediction of that mystical phrase: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She turned away now, starting once more downward toward the evergreens. He + was quickly at her side. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose Harold and Elizabeth are up to about this time?” he + asked, with a good-humored jerk of his head toward the distant town. + </p> + <p> + “At least to something mischievous, whatever it is,” she replied. “They + begged to be allowed to stay until the shop windows were lighted; they + have seen the shop windows two or three times already this week: there is + no great marvel for them now in shop windows. Permission to stay late may + be a blind to come home early. They are determined, from what I have + overheard, to put an end this year to the parental house mysteries of + Christmas. They are crossing the boundary between the first childhood and + the second. But if it be possible, I wish everything to be kept once more + just as it has always been; let it be so for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + “And I wish it for your sake,” he replied heartily; “and for my purposes.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence he asked: “How large a Tree must it be this + year?” + </p> + <p> + “It will have to be large,” she replied; and she began to count those for + whom the Tree this year was meant. + </p> + <p> + First she called the names of the two children they had lost. Gifts for + these were every year hung on the boughs. She mentioned their names now, + and then she continued counting: + </p> + <p> + “Harold and Elizabeth are four. You and I make six. After the family come + Herbert and Elsie, your best friend the doctor’s children. Then the + servants—long strong bottom branches for the servants! Allow for the + other children who are to make up the Christmas party: ten children have + been invited, ten children have accepted, ten children will arrive. The + ten will bring with them some unimportant parents; you can judge.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do for size,” he said, laughing. “Now the kind: spruce—larch—hemlock—pine—which + shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be none of them!” she answered, after a little waiting. “It + shall be the Christmas Tree of the uttermost North where the reindeer are + harnessed and the Great White Sleigh starts—fir. The old Christmas + stories like fir best. Old faiths seem to lodge in it longest. And deepest + mystery darkens the heart of it,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Fir it shall be!” he said. “Choose the tree.” + </p> + <p> + “I have chosen.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and delicately touched his wrist with the finger tips of one + white-gloved hand, bidding him stand beside her. + </p> + <p> + “That one,” she said, pointing down. + </p> + <p> + The brook, watering the roots of the evergreens in summer gratefully, but + now lying like a band of samite, jewel-crusted, made a loop near the + middle point of the lawn, creating a tiny island; and on this island, + aloof from its fellows and with space for the growth of its boughs, stood + a perfect fir tree: strong-based, thick-set, tapering faultlessly, + star-pointed, gathering more youth as it gathered more years—a tame + dweller on the lawn but descended from forests blurred with wildness and + lapped by low washings of the planet’s primeval ocean. + </p> + <p> + At each Christmas for several years they had been tempted to cut this + tree, but had spared it for its conspicuous beauty at the edge of the + thicket. + </p> + <p> + “That one,” she now said, pointing down. “This is the last time. Let us + have the best of things while we may! Is it not always the perfect that is + demanded for sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + His glance had already gone forward eagerly to the tree, and he started + toward it. + </p> + <p> + Descending, they stepped across the brook to the island and went up close + to the fir. With a movement not unobserved by her he held out his hand and + clasped three green fingers of a low bough which the fir seemed to stretch + out to him recognizingly. (She had always realized the existence of some + intimate bond between him and the forest.) His face now filled with + meanings she did not share; the spell of the secret work had followed him + out of the house down to the trees; incommunicable silence shut him in. A + moment later his fingers parted with the green fingers of the fir and he + moved away from her side, starting around the tree and studying it as + though in delight of fresh knowledge. So she watched him pass around to + the other side. + </p> + <p> + When he came back where he had started, she was not there. He looked + around searchingly; her figure was nowhere in sight. + </p> + <p> + He stood—waiting. + </p> + <p> + The valley had memories, what memories! The years came close together + here; they clustered as thickly as the trees themselves. Vacant spots + among them marked where the Christmas Trees of former years had been cut + down. Some of the Trees had been for the two children they had lost. This + wandering trail led hither and thither back to the first Tree for the + first child: he had stooped down and cut that close to the ground with his + mere penknife. When it had been lighted, it had held only two or three + candles; and the candle on the top of it had flared level into the + infant’s hand-shaded eyes. + </p> + <p> + He knew that she was making through the evergreens a Pilgrimage of the + Years, walking there softly and alone with the feet of life’s Pities and a + mother’s Constancies. + </p> + <p> + He waited for her—motionless. + </p> + <p> + The stillness of the twilight rested on the valley now. Only from the + trees came the plaintive twittering of birds which had come in from frozen + weeds and fence-rows and at the thresholds of the boughs were calling to + one another. It was not their song, but their speech; there was no love in + it, but there was what for them perhaps corresponds to our sense of ties. + It most resembled in human life the brief things that two people, having + long lived together, utter to each other when together in a room they + prepare for the night: there is no anticipation; it is a confession of the + unconfessed. About him now sounded this low winter music from the far + boundary of other lives. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear it. + </p> + <p> + The light on the landscape had changed. The sun was setting and a splendor + began to spread along the sky and across the land. It laid a glory on the + roof of the house on the hill; it smote the edge of the woodland pasture, + burnishing with copper the gray domes; it shone faintly on distant corn + shocks, on the weather-dark tents of the hemp at bivouac soldierly and + grim. At his feet it sparkled in rose gleams on the samite of the brook + and threw burning shafts into the gloom of the fir beside him. + </p> + <p> + He did not see it. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear the calling of the birds about his ears, he did not see + the sunset before his eyes, he did not feel the fir tree the boughs of + which stuck against his side. + </p> + <p> + He stood there as still as a rock—with his secret. Not the secret of + the year’s work, which was to be divulged to his wife and through her to + the world; but the secret which for some years had been growing in his + life and which would, he hoped, never grow into the open—to be seen + of her and of all men. + </p> + <p> + The sentimental country hat now looked as though it might have been worn + purposely to help out a disguise, as the more troubled man behind the + scenes makes up to be the happier clown. It became an absurdity, a + mockery, above his face grave, stern, set of jaw and eye. He was no longer + the student buried among his books nor human brother to toiling brothers. + He had not the slightest thought of service to mankind left in him, he was + but a man himself with enough to think of in the battle between his own + will and blood. + </p> + <p> + And behind him among the dark evergreens went on that Pilgrimage of the + Years—with the feet of the Pities and the Constancies. + </p> + <p> + Moments passed; he did not stir. Then there was a slight noise on the + other side of the tree, and his nature instantly stepped back into his + outward place. He looked through the boughs. She had returned and was + standing with her face also turned toward the sunset; it was very pale, + very still. + </p> + <p> + Such darkness had settled on the valley now that the green she wore blent + with the green of the fir. He saw only her white face and her white hands + so close to the branches that they appeared to rest upon them, to grow out + of them: he sadly thought of one of his prints of Egypt of old and of the + Lady of the Sacred Tree. Her long backward-sweeping plume of green also + blent with the green of the fir—shade to shade—and only the + coral tip of it remained strongly visible. This matched the last coral in + the sunset; and it seemed to rest ominously above her head as a + finger-point of the fading light of Nature. + </p> + <p> + He went quickly around to her. He locked his arms around her and drew her + close and held her close; and thus for a while the two stood, watching the + flame on the altar of the world as it sank lower, leaving emptiness and + ashes. + </p> + <p> + Once she put out a hand and with a gesture full of majesty and nobleness + waved farewell to the dying fire. + </p> + <p> + Still without a word he took his arms from around her and turned + energetically to the tree. + </p> + <p> + He pressed the lowest boughs aside and made his way in close to the trunk + and struck it with a keen stroke. + </p> + <p> + The fir as he drew the axe out made at its gashed throat a sound like that + of a butchered, blood-strangled creature trying to cry out too late + against a treachery. A horror ran through the boughs; the thousands of + leaves were jarred by the death-strokes; and the top of it rocked like a + splendid plume too rudely treated in a storm. Then it fell over on its + side, bridging blackly the white ice of the brook. + </p> + <p> + Stooping, he lifted it triumphantly. He set the butt-end on one of his + shoulders and, stretching his arms up, grasped the trunk and held the tree + straight in the air, so that it seemed to be growing out of his big + shoulder as out of a ledge of rock. Then he turned to her and laughed out + in his strength and youth. She laughed joyously back at him, glorying as + he did. + </p> + <p> + With a robust re-shouldering of the tree to make it more comfortable to + carry, he turned and started up the hill toward the house. As she followed + behind, the old mystery of the woods seemed at last to have taken bodily + possession of him. The fir was riding on his shoulder, its arms met fondly + around his neck, its fingers were caressing his hair. And it whispered + back jeeringly to her through the twilight: + </p> + <p> + “Say farewell to him! He was once yours; he is yours no longer. He dandles + the child of the forest on his shoulder instead of his children by you in + the house. He belongs to Nature; and as Nature calls, he will always + follow—though it should lead over the precipice or into the flood. + Once Nature called him to you: remember how he broke down barriers until + he won you. Now he is yours no longer—say good-by to him!” + </p> + <p> + With an imbued terror and desolation, she caught up with him. By a + movement so soft that he should not be aware, she plucked him by the coat + sleeve on the other side from the fir and held on to him as he strode on + in careless joy. + </p> + <p> + Halfway up the hill lights began to flash from the windows of the house: a + servant was bringing in the lamps. It was at this hour, in just this way, + that she had first caught sight of them on that Christmas Eve when he had + brought her home after the wedding. + </p> + <p> + She hurried around in front of him, wishing to read the expression of his + eyes by the distant gleams from the windows. Would they have nothing to + say to her about those winter twilight lamps? Did he, too, not remember? + </p> + <p> + His head and face were hidden; a thousand small spears of Nature bristled + between him and her; but he laughed out to her from behind the rampart of + the green spears. + </p> + <p> + At that moment a low sound in the distance drew her attention, and + instantly alert she paused to listen. Then, forgetting everything else, + she called to him with a rush of laughter like that of her mischief-loving + girlhood: + </p> + <p> + “Quick! There they are! I heard the gate shut at the turnpike! They must + not catch us! Quick! Quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry, then!” he cried, as he ran forward, joining his laughter to hers. + “Open the door for me!” + </p> + <p> + After this the night fell fast. The only sounds to be heard in the valley + were the minute readjustments of the ice of the brook as it froze tighter + and the distressed cries of the birds that had roosted in the fir. + </p> + <p> + So the Tree entered the house. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES + </h2> + <p> + During the night it turned bitter cold. When morning came the sky was a + turquoise and the wind a gale. The sun seemed to give out light but not + heat—to lavish its splendor but withhold its charity. Moist flesh if + it chanced to touch iron froze to it momentarily. So in whiter land the + tongue of the ermine freezes to the piece of greased metal used as a trap + and is caught and held there until the trapper returns or until it starves—starves + with food on its tongue. + </p> + <p> + The ground, wherever the stiff boots of a farmhand struck it, resisted as + rock. In the fetlocks of farm horses, as they moved shivering, balls of + ice rattled like shaken tacks. The little roughnesses of woodland paths + snapped off beneath the slow-searching hoofs of fodder-seeking cattle like + points of glass. + </p> + <p> + Within their wool the sheep were comforted. + </p> + <p> + On higher fields which had given back their moisture to the atmosphere and + now were dry, the swooping wind lifted the dust at intervals and dragged + it away in flaunting yellow veils. The picture it made, being so + ill-seasoned, led you to think of August drought when the grasshopper + stills itself in the weeds and the smell of grass is hot in the nostrils + and every bird holds its beak open and its wings lifted like cooling + lattices alongside its breast. In these veils of dust swarms of frost + crystals sported—dead midgets of the dead North. Except crystal and + dust and wind, naught moved out there; no field mouse, no hare nor lark + nor little shielded dove. In the naked trees of the pasture the crow kept + his beak as unseen as the owl’s; about the cedars of the yard no scarlet + feather warmed the day. + </p> + <p> + The house on the hill—one of the houses whose spirit had been blown + into the amber of the poet’s song—sent festal smoke out of its + chimneys all day long. At intervals the radiant faces of children appeared + at the windows, hanging wreaths of evergreens; or their figures flitted to + and fro within as they wove garlands on the walls for the Christmas party. + At intervals some servant with head and shoulders muffled in a + bright-colored shawl darted trippingly from the house to the cabins in the + yard and from the cabins back to the house—the tropical African’s + polar dance between fire and fire. By every sign it gave the house showed + that it was marshalling its whole happiness. + </p> + <p> + One thing only seemed to make a signal of distress from afar. The oak tree + beside the house, whose roots coiled warmly under the hearth-stones and + whose boughs were outstretched across the roof, seemed to writhe and rock + in its winter sleep with murmurings and tossings like a human dreamer + trying to get rid of an unhappy dream. Imagination might have said that + some darkest tragedy of forests long since gone still lived in this lone + survivor—that it struggled to give up the grief and guilt of an + ancient forest shame. + </p> + <p> + The weather moderated in the afternoon. A warm current swept across the + upper atmosphere, developing everywhere behind it a cloud; and toward + sundown out of this cloud down upon the Shield snow began to fall. Not the + large wet flakes which sometimes descend too late in spring upon the buds + of apple orchards; nor those mournfuller ones which drop too soon on dim + wild violets in November woods, but winter snow, stern sculptor of Arctic + solitudes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing all over the Shield. + </p> + <p> + Softly the snow fell upon the year’s footprints and pathways of children + and upon schoolhouses now closed and riotously deserted. More softly upon + too crowded asylums for them: houses of noonday darkness where eyes + eagerly look out at the windows but do not see; houses of soundlessness + where ears listen and do not hear any noise; houses of silence where lips + try to speak but utter no word. + </p> + <p> + The snow of Christmas Eve was falling softly on the old: whose eyes are + always seeing vanished faces, whose ears hear voices gentler than any the + earth now knows, whose hands forever try to reach other hands vainly held + out to them. Sad, sad to those who remember loved ones gone with their + kindnesses the snow of Christmas Eve! + </p> + <p> + But sadder yet for those who live on together after kindnesses have + ceased, or whose love went like a summer wind. Sad is Christmas Eve to + them! Dark its snow and blinding! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was late that night. + </p> + <p> + She came into the parlor, clasping the bowl of a shaded lamp—the + only light in the room. Her face, always calm in life’s wisdom, but + agitated now by the tide of deep things coming swiftly in toward her, + rested clear-cut upon the darkness. + </p> + <p> + She placed the lamp on a table near the door and seated herself beside it. + But she pushed the lamp away unconsciously as though the light of the + house were no longer her light; and she sat in the chair as though it were + no longer her chair; and she looked about the room as though it were no + longer hers nor the house itself nor anything else that she cared for + most. + </p> + <p> + Earlier in the evening they had finished hanging the presents on the Tree; + but then an interruption had followed: the children had broken profanely + in upon them, rending the veil of the house mysteries; and for more than + an hour the night had been given up to them. Now the children were asleep + upstairs, already dreaming of Christmas Morn and the rush for the + stockings. The servants had finished their work and were gone to their + quarters out in the yard. The doors of the house were locked. There would + be no more intrusion now, no possible interruption; all the years were to + meet him and her—alone. For Life is the master dramatist: when its + hidden tragedies are ready to utter themselves, everything superfluous + quits the stage; it is the essential two who fill it! And how little the + rest of the world ever hears of what takes place between the two! + </p> + <p> + A little while before he had left the room with the step-ladder; when he + came back, he was to bring with him the manuscript—the silent + snowfall of knowledge which had been deepening about him for a year. The + time had already passed for him to return, but he did not come. Was there + anything in the forecast of the night that made him falter? Was he + shrinking—<i>him</i> shrink? She put away the thought as a strange + outbreak of injustice. + </p> + <p> + How still it was outside the house with the snow falling! How still + within! She began to hear the ticking of the tranquil old clock under the + stairway out in the hall—always tranquil, always tranquil. And then + she began to listen to the disordered strokes of her own heart—that + red Clock in the body’s Tower whose beats are sent outward along the + streets and alleys of the blood; whose law it is to be alternately wound + too fast by the fingers of Joy, too slow by the fingers of Sorrow; and + whose fate, if it once run down, never afterwards either by Joy or Sorrow + to be made to run again. + </p> + <p> + At last she could hear the distant door of his study open and close and + his steps advance along the hall. With what a splendid swing and tramp he + brought himself toward her!—with what self-unconsciousness and + virile strength in his feet! His steps entered and crossed his bedroom, + entered and crossed her bedroom; and then he stood there before her in the + parlor doorway, a few yards off—stopped and regarded her intently, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + In a moment she realized what had delayed him. When he had gone away with + the step-ladder, he had on a well-worn suit in which, behind locked doors, + he had been working all the afternoon at the decorations of the Tree. Now + he came back ceremoniously dressed; the rest of the night was to be in her + honor. + </p> + <p> + It had always been so on this anniversary of their bridal night. They had + always dressed for it; the children now in their graves had been dressed + for it; the children in bed upstairs were regularly dressed for it; the + house was dressed for it; the servants were dressed for it; the whole life + of that establishment had always been made to feel by honors and + tendernesses and gayeties that this was the night on which he had married + her and brought her home. + </p> + <p> + As her eyes swept over him she noted quite as never before how these + anniversaries had not taken his youth away, but had added youth to him; he + had grown like the evergreen in the middle of the room—with increase + of trunk and limbs and with larger tides of strength surging through him + toward the master sun. There were no ravages of married life in him. Time + had merely made the tree more of a tree and made his youth more youth. + </p> + <p> + She took in momentary details of his appearance: a moisture like summer + heat along the edge of his yellow hair, started by the bath into which he + had plunged; the freshness of the enormous hands holding the manuscript; + the muscle of the forearm bulging within the dress-coat sleeve. Many a + time she had wondered how so perfect an animal as he had ever climbed to + such an elevation of work; and then had wondered again whether any but + such an animal ever in life does so climb—shouldering along with him + the poise and breadth of health and causing the hot sun of the valley to + shine on the mountain tops. + </p> + <p> + Finally she looked to see whether he, thus dressed in her honor, thus but + the larger youth after all their years together, would return her greeting + with a light in his eyes that had always made them so beautiful to her—a + light burning as at a portal opening inward for her only. + </p> + <p> + His eyes rested on his manuscript. + </p> + <p> + He brought it wrapped and tied in the true holiday spirit—sprigs of + cedar and holly caught in the ribands; and he now lifted and held it out + to her as a jeweller might elevate a casket of gems. Then he stepped + forward and put it on the table at her elbow. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he said reverently, stepping back. + </p> + <p> + There had been years when, returning from a tramp across the country, he + would bring her perhaps nothing but a marvellous thistle, or a brilliant + autumn leaf for her throat. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he would say; and then, before he could give it to her, he + would throw it away and take her in his arms. Afterwards she would pick up + the trifle and treasure it. + </p> + <p> + “For you!” he now said, offering her the treasure of his year’s toil and + stepping back. + </p> + <p> + So the weight of the gift fell on her heart like a stone. She did not look + at it or touch it but glanced up at him. He raised his finger, signalling + for silence; and going to the chimney corner, brought back a long taper + and held it over the lamp until it ignited. Then with a look which invited + her to follow, he walked to the Tree and began to light the candles. + </p> + <p> + He began at the lowest boughs and, passing around, touched them one by + one. Around and around he went, and higher and higher twinkled the lights + as they mounted the tapering sides of the fir. At the top he kindled one + highest red star, shining down on everything below. Then he blew out the + taper, turned out the lamp; and returning to the tree, set the heavy end + of the taper on the floor and grasped it midway, as one might lightly hold + a stout staff. + </p> + <p> + The room, lighted now by the common glow of the candles, revealed itself + to be the parlor of the house elaborately decorated for the winter + festival. Holly wreaths hung in the windows; the walls were garlanded; + evergreen boughs were massed above the window cornices; on the white lace + of window curtains many-colored autumn leaves, pressed and kept for this + night, looked as though they had been blown there scatteringly by October + winds. The air of the room was heavy with odors; there was summer warmth + in it. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top close to + the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of the room + impartially—as symbolically to the four corners of the earth. It + would be the only witness of all that was to take place between them: what + better could there be than this messenger of silence and wild secrecy? + From the mountains and valleys of the planet its race had looked out upon + a million generations of men and women; and the calmness of its lot + stretched across the turbulence of human passion as an ancient bridge + spans a modern river. + </p> + <p> + At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first forking of + the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross gleamed. Under the + cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions outstretched as though + descending out of the infinite upon some earthly object below. From many + of the branches tiny bells swung. There were little horns and little + trumpets. Other boughs sagged under the weight of silvery cornucopias. + Native and tropical fruits were tied on here and there; and dolls were + tied on also with cords around their necks, their feet dangling. There + were smiling masks, like men beheaded and smiling in their death. Near the + base of the Tree there was a drum. And all over the Tree from pinnacle to + base glittered a tinsel like golden fleece—looking as the moss of + old Southern trees seen at yellow sunset. + </p> + <p> + He stood for a while absorbed in contemplation of it. This year at his own + request the decorations had been left wholly to him; now he seemed + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + He turned to her eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what took place on Christmas Eve last year?” he asked, + with a reminiscent smile. “You sat where you are sitting and I stood where + I am standing. After I had finished lighting the Tree, do you remember + what you said?” + </p> + <p> + After a moment she stirred and passed her fingers across her brows. + </p> + <p> + “Recall it to me,” she answered. “I must have said many things. I did not + know that I had said anything that would be remembered a year. Recall it + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked at the Tree and said what a mystery it is. When and where did + it begin, how and why?—this Tree that is now nourished in the + affections of the human family round the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “I resolved to find out for you. I determined to prepare during what hours + I could spare from my regular college work the gratification of your wish + for you as a gift from me. If I could myself find the way back through the + labyrinth of ages, then I would return for you and lead you back through + the story of the Christmas Tree as that story has never been seen by any + one else. All this year’s work, then, has been the threading of the + labyrinth. Now Christmas Eve has come again, my work is finished, my gift + to you is ready.” + </p> + <p> + He made this announcement and stopped, leaving it to clear the air of + mystery—the mystery of the secret work. + </p> + <p> + Then he resumed: “Have you, then, been the Incident in this toil as + yesterday you intimated that you were? Do you now see that you have been + the whole reason of it? You were excluded from any share in the work only + because you could not help to prepare your own gift! That is all. What has + looked like a secret in this house has been no secret. You are blinded and + bewildered no longer; the hour has come when holly and cedar can speak for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Sunlight broke out all over his face. + </p> + <p> + She made no reply but said within herself: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no! That is not the trouble. That has nothing to do with the trouble. + The secret of the house is not a misunderstanding; it is life. It is not + the doing of a year; it is the undoing of the years. It is not a gift to + enrich me with new happiness; it is a lesson that leaves me poorer.” + </p> + <p> + He went on without pausing: + </p> + <p> + “It is already late. The children interrupted us and took up part of your + evening. But it is not too late for me to present to you some little part + of your gift. I am going to arrange for you a short story out of the long + one. The whole long story is there,” he added, directing his eyes toward + the manuscript at her elbow; and his voice showed how he felt a scholar’s + pride in it. “From you it can pass out to the world that celebrates + Christmas and that often perhaps asks the same question: What is the + history of the Christmas Tree? But now my story for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” she said, rising. She left the package where it was; and + with feet that trembled against the soft carpet crossed the room and + seated herself at one end of a deep sofa. + </p> + <p> + Gathering her dignity about her, she took there the posture of a listener—listening + at her ease. + </p> + <p> + The sofa was of richly carved mahogany. Each end curved into a scroll like + a landward wave of the sea. One of her foam-white arms rested on one of + the scrolls. Her elbow, reaching beyond, touched a small table on which + stood a vase of white frosted glass; over the rim of it profuse crimson + carnations hung their heads. They were one of her favorite winter flowers, + and he had had these sent out to her this afternoon from a hothouse of the + distant town by a half-frozen messenger. Near her head curtains of crimson + brocade swept down the wall to the floor from the golden-lustred window + cornices. At her back were cushions of crimson silk. At the other end of + the sofa her piano stood and on it lay the music she played of evenings to + him, or played with thoughts of him when she was alone. And other music + also which she many a time read; as Beethoven’s Great Nine. + </p> + <p> + Now, along this wall of the parlor from window curtain to window curtain + there stretched a festoon of evergreens and ribands put there by the + children for their Christmas-Night party; and into this festoon they had + fastened bunches of mistletoe, plucked from the walnut tree felled the day + before—they knowing nothing, happy children! + </p> + <p> + There she reclined. + </p> + <p> + The lower outlines of her figure were lost in a rich blackness over which + points of jet flashed like swarms of silvery fireflies in some too warm a + night of the warm South. The blackness of her hair and the blackness of + her brows contrasted with the whiteness of her bare arms and shoulders and + faultless neck and faultless throat bared also. Not far away was hid the + warm foam-white thigh, curved like Venus’s of old out of the sea’s + inaccessible purity. About her wrists garlands of old family corals were + clasped—the ocean’s roses; and on her breast, between the night of + her gown and the dawn of the flesh, coral buds flowered in beauty that + could never be opened, never be rifled. + </p> + <p> + When she had crossed the room to the sofa, two aged house-dogs—setters + with gentle eyes and gentle ears and gentle breeding—had followed + her and lain down at her feet; and one with a thrust of his nose pushed + her skirts back from the toe of her slipper and rested his chin on it. + </p> + <p> + “I will listen,” she said, shrinking as yet from other speech. “I wish + simply to listen. There will be time enough afterwards for what I have to + say.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall go straight through,” he replied. “One minute now while I + put together the story for you: it is hard to make a good short story out + of so vast a one.” + </p> + <p> + During these moments of waiting she saw a new picture of him. Under stress + of suffering and excitement discoveries denied to calmer hours often + arrive. It is as though consciousness receives a shock that causes it to + yawn and open its abysses: at the bottom we see new things: sometimes + creating new happiness; sometimes old happiness is taken away. + </p> + <p> + As he stood there—the man beside the Tree—into the picture + entered three other men, looking down upon him from their portraits on the + walls. + </p> + <p> + One portrait represented the first man of his family to scale the + mountains of the Shield where its eastern rim is turned away from the + reddening daybreak. Thence he had forced his way to its central portions + where the skin of ever living verdure is drawn over the rocks: + Anglo-Saxon, backwoodsman, borderer, great forest chief, hewing and + fighting a path toward the sunset for Anglo-Saxon women and children. With + his passion for the wilderness—its game, enemies, campfire and + cabin, deep-lunged freedom. This ancestor had a lonely, stern, gaunt face, + no modern expression in it whatsoever—the timeless face of the + woods. + </p> + <p> + Near his portrait hung that of a second representative of the family. This + man had looked out upon his vast parklike estates hi the central counties; + and wherever his power had reached, he had used it on a great scale for + the destruction of his forests. Woods-slayer, field-maker; working to + bring in the period on the Shield when the hand of a man began to grasp + the plough instead of the rifle, when the stallion had replaced the stag, + and bellowing cattle wound fatly down into the pastures of the bison. This + man had the face of his caste—the countenance of the Southern + slave-holding feudal lord. Not the American face, but the Southern face of + a definite era—less than national, less than modern; a face not + looking far in any direction but at things close around. + </p> + <p> + From a third portrait the latest ancestor looked down. He with his + contemporaries had finished the thinning of the central forest of the + Shield, leaving the land as it is to-day, a rolling prairie with remnants + of woodland like that crowning the hilltop near this house. This immediate + forefather bore the countenance that began to develop in the Northerner + and in the Southerner after the Civil War: not the Northern look nor the + Southern look, but the American look—a new thing in the American + face, indefinable but unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + These three men now focussed their attention upon him, the fourth of the + line, standing beside the tree brought into the house. Each of them in his + own way had wrought out a work for civilization, using the woods as an + implement. In his own case, the woods around him having disappeared, the + ancestral passion had made him a student of forestry. + </p> + <p> + The thesis upon which he took his degree was the relation of modern + forestry to modern life. A few years later in an adjunct professorship his + original researches in this field began to attract attention. These had to + do with the South Appalachian forest in its relation to South Appalachian + civilization and thus to that of the continent. + </p> + <p> + This work had brought its reward; he was now to be drawn away from his own + college and country to a Northern university. + </p> + <p> + Curiously in him there had gone on a corresponding development of an + ancestral face. As the look of the wilderness hunter had changed into that + of the Southern slave-holding baron, as this had changed into the modern + American face unlike any other; now finally in him the national American + look had broadened into something more modern still—the look of mere + humanity: he did not look like an American—he looked like a man in + the service of mankind. + </p> + <p> + This, which it takes thus long to recapitulate, presented itself to her as + one wide vision of the truth. It left a realization of how the past had + swept him along with its current; and of how the future now caught him up + and bore him on, part in its problems. The old passion living on in him—forest + life; a new passion born in him—human life. And by inexorable logic + these two now blending themselves to-night in a story of the Christmas + Tree. + </p> + <p> + But womanlike she sought to pluck out of these forces something intensely + personal to which she could cling; and she did it in this wise. + </p> + <p> + In the Spring following their marriage, often after supper they would go + out on the lawn in the twilight, strolling among her flowers; she leading + him this way and that way and laying upon him beautiful exactions and + tyrannies: how he must do this and do that; and not do this and not do + that; he receiving his orders like a grateful slave. + </p> + <p> + Then sometimes he would silently imprison her hand and lead her down the + lawn and up the opposite hill to the edge of the early summer evening + woods; and there on the roots of some old tree—the shadows of the + forest behind them and the light of the western sky in their faces—they + would stay until darkness fell, hiding their eyes from each other. + </p> + <p> + The burning horizon became a cathedral interior—the meeting of + love’s holiness and the Most High; the crescent dropped a silver veil upon + the low green hills; wild violets were at their feet; the mosses and turf + of the Shield under them. The warmth of his body was as the day’s sunlight + stored in the trunk of the tree; his hair was to her like its tawny bloom, + native to the sun. + </p> + <p> + Life with him was enchanted madness. + </p> + <p> + He had begun. He stretched out his arm and slowly began to write on the + air of the room. Sometimes in earlier years she had sat in his classroom + when he was beginning a lecture; and it was thus, standing at the + blackboard, that he sometimes put down the subject of his lecture for the + students. Slowly now he shaped each letter and as he finished each word, + he read it aloud to her: + </p> + <h3> + “A STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR JOSEPHINE, WIFE OF FREDERICK” + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. THE WANDERING TALE + </h2> + <p> + “Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + He uttered her name with beautiful reverence, letting the sound of it + float over the Christmas Tree and die away on the garlanded walls of the + room: it was his last tribute to her, a dedication. + </p> + <p> + Then he began: + </p> + <p> + “Josephine, sometimes while looking out of the study window a spring + morning, I have watched you strolling among the flowers of the lawn. I + have seen you linger near a honeysuckle in full bloom and question the + blossoms in your questioning way—you who are always wishing to probe + the heart of things, to drain out of them the red drop of their + significance. But, gray-eyed querist of actuality, those fragrant trumpets + could blow to your ear no message about their origin. It was where the + filaments of the roots drank deepest from the mould of a dead past that + you would have had to seek the true mouthpieces of their philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “So the instincts which blossom out thickly over the nature of modern man + to themselves are mute. The flower exhibits itself at the tip of the vine; + the instinct develops itself at the farthest outreach of life; and the + point where it clamors for satisfaction is at the greatest possible + distance from its birthplace. For all these instincts send their roots + down through the mould of the uncivilized, down through the mould of the + primitive, down into the mould of the underhuman—that ancient + playhouse dedicated to low tragedies. + </p> + <p> + “While this may seem to you to be going far for a commencement of the + story, it is coming near to us. The kind of man and woman we are to + ourselves; the kind of husband and wife we are to each other; the kind of + father and mother we are to our children; the kind of human beings we are + to our fellow beings—the passions which swell as with sap the buds + of those relations until they burst into their final shapes of conduct are + fed from the bottom of the world’s mould. You and I to-night are building + the structures of our moral characters upon life-piles that sink into + fathomless ooze. All we human beings dip our drinking cups into a vast + delta sweeping majestically towards the sea and catch drops trickling from + the springs of creation. + </p> + <p> + “It is in a vast ancestral country, a Fatherland of Old Desire, that my + story lies for you and for me: drawn from the forest and from human nature + as the two have worked in the destiny of the earth. I have wrested it from + this Tree come out of the ancient woods into the house on this Night of + the Nativity.” + </p> + <p> + He made the scholar’s pause and resumed, falling into the tone of easy + narrative. It had already become evident that this method of telling the + story would be to find what Alpine flowers he could for her amid Alpine + snows. + </p> + <p> + He told her then that the oldest traceable influence in the life of the + human race is the sea. It is true that man in some ancestral form was + rocked in the cradle of the deep; he rose from the waves as the islanded + Greeks said of near Venus. Traces of this origin he still bears both in + his body and his emotions; and together they make up his first set of + memories—Sea Memories. + </p> + <p> + He deliberated a moment and then put the truth before her in a single + picturesque phrase: + </p> + <p> + “Man himself is a closed living sea-shell in the chambers of which the + hues of the first ocean are still fresh and its tempests still are + sounding.” + </p> + <p> + Next he told her how man’s last marine ancestor quit one day the sea never + again to return to the deep, crossed the sands of the beach and entered + the forest; and how upon him, this living sea-shell, soft to impressions, + the Spirit of the Forest fell to work, beginning to shape it over from sea + uses to forest uses. + </p> + <p> + A thousand thousand ages the Spirit of the Forest worked at the sea-shell. + </p> + <p> + It remodelled the shell as so much clay; stood it up and twisted and + branched it as young pliant oak; hammered it as forge-glowing iron; + tempered it as steel; cast it as bronze; chiselled it as marble; painted + it as a cloud; strung and tuned it as an instrument; lit it up as a life + tower—the world’s one beacon: steadily sending it onward through one + trial form after another until at last had been perfected for it that + angelic shape in which as man it was ever afterwards to sob and to smile. + </p> + <p> + And thus as one day a wandering sea-shell had quit the sea and entered the + forest, now on another day of that infinite time there reappeared at the + edge of the forest the creature it had made. On every wall of its being + internal and external forest-written; and completely forest-minded: having + nothing but forest knowledge, forest feeling, forest dreams, forest + fancies, forest faith; so that in all it could do or know or feel or dream + or imagine or believe it was forest-tethered. + </p> + <p> + At the edge of the forest then this creature uncontrollably impelled to + emerge from the waving green sea of leaves as of old it had been driven to + quit the rolling blue ocean of waters: Man at the dawn of our history of + him. + </p> + <p> + And if the first set of race memories—Sea Memories—still + endure within him, how much more powerful are the second set—the + Forest Memories! + </p> + <p> + So powerful that since the dawn of history millions have perished as + forest creatures only; so powerful that there are still remnant races on + the globe which have never yet snapped the primitive tether and will + become extinct as mere forest creatures to the last; so powerful that + those highest races which have been longest out in the open—as our + own Aryan race—have never ceased to be reached by the influence of + the woods behind them; by the shadows of those tall morning trees falling + across the mortal clearings toward the sunset. + </p> + <p> + These Master Memories, he said, filtering through the sandlike generations + of our race, survive to-day as those pale attenuated affections which we + call in ourselves the Love of Nature; these affections are inherited: new + feelings for nature we have none. The writers of our day who speak of + civilized man’s love of nature as a developing sense err wholly. They are + like explorers who should mistake a boundary for the interior of a + continent. Man’s knowledge of nature is modern, but it no more endows him + with new feeling than modern knowledge of anatomy supplies him with a new + bone or his latest knowledge about his blood furnishes him with an + additional artery. + </p> + <p> + Old are our instincts and passions about Nature: all are Forest Memories. + </p> + <p> + But among the many-twisted mass of them there is one, he said, that + contains the separate buried root of the story: Man’s Forest Faith. + </p> + <p> + When the Spirit of the Forest had finished with the sea-shell, it had + planted in him—there to grow forever—the root of faith that he + was a forest child. His origin in the sea he had not yet discovered; the + science of ages far distant in the future was to give him that. To himself + forest-tethered he was also forest-born: he believed it to be his + immediate ancestor, the creative father of mankind. Thus the Greeks in + their oldest faith were tethered to the idea that they were descended from + the plane tree; in the Sagas and Eddas the human race is tethered to the + world-ash. Among every people of antiquity this forest faith sprang up and + flourished: every race was tethered to some ancestral tree. In the Orient + each succeeding Buddha of Indian mythology was tethered to a different + tree; each god of the later classical Pantheon was similarly tethered: + Jupiter to the oak, Apollo to the laurel, Bacchus to the vine, Minerva to + the olive, Juno to the apple, on and on. Forest worship was universal—the + most impressive and bewildering to modern science that the human spirit + has ever built up. At the dawn of history began The Adoration of the + Trees. + </p> + <p> + Then as man, the wanderer, walked away from his dawn across the ages + toward the sunset bearing within him this root of faith, it grew with his + growth. The successive growths were cut down by the successive scythes of + time; but always new sprouts were put forth. + </p> + <p> + Thus to man during the earliest ages the divine dwelt as a bodily presence + within the forest; but one final day the forest lost the Immortal as its + indwelling creator. + </p> + <p> + Next the old forest worshipper peopled the trees with an intermediate race + of sylvan deities less than divine, more than human; and long he beguiled + himself with the exquisite reign and proximity of these; but the lesser + could not maintain themselves in temples from which the greater had + already been expelled, and they too passed out of sight down the roadway + of the world. + </p> + <p> + Still the old forest faith would not let the wanderer rest; and during yet + later ages he sent into the trees his own nature so that the woods became + freshly endeared to him by many a story of how individuals of his own race + had succeeded as tenants to the erstwhile habitations of the gods. Then + this last panorama of illusion faded also, and civilized man stood face to + face with the modern woods—inhabitated only by its sap and cells. + The trees had drawn their bark close around them, wearing an inviolate + tapestry across those portals through which so many a stranger to them had + passed in and passed out; and henceforth the dubious oracle of the forest—its + one reply to all man’s questionings—became the Voice of its own + Mystery. + </p> + <p> + After this the forest worshipper could worship the woods no more. But we + must not forget that civilization as compared with the duration of human + life on the planet began but yesterday: even our own Indo-European race + dwells as it were on the forest edge. And the forest still reaches out and + twines itself around our deepest spiritual truths: home—birth—love—prayer—death: + it tries to overrun them all, to reclaim them. Thus when we build our + houses, instinctively we attempt by some clump of trees to hide them and + to shelter ourselves once more inside the forest; in some countries + whenever a child is born, a tree is planted as its guardian in nature; in + our marriage customs the forest still riots as master of ceremonies with + garlands and fruits; our prayers strike against the forest shaped hi + cathedral stone—memory of the grove, God’s first temple; and when we + die, it is the tree that is planted beside us as the sentinel of our rest. + Even to this day the sight of a treeless grave arouses some obscure + instinct in us that it is God-forsaken. + </p> + <p> + Yes, he said, whatsoever modern temple man has anywhere reared for his + spirit, over the walls of it have been found growing the same leaf and + tendril: he has introduced the tree into the ritual of every later + world-worship; and thus he has introduced the evergreen into the ritual of + Christianity. + </p> + <p> + This then is the meaning of the Christmas Tree and of its presence at the + Nativity. At the dawn of history we behold man worshipping the tree as the + Creator literally present on the earth; in our time we see him using that + tree in the worship of the creative Father’s Son come to earth in the + Father’s stead. + </p> + <p> + “On this evergreen in the room falls the radiance of these brief tapers of + the night; but on it rests also the long light of that spiritual dawn when + man began his Adoration of the Trees. It is the forest taking its place + once more beside the long-lost Immortal.” + </p> + <p> + Here he finished the first part of his story. That he should address her + thus and that she thus should listen had in it nothing unusual for them. + For years it had been his wont to traverse with her the ground of his + lectures, and she shared his thought before it reached others. It was + their high and equal comradeship. Wherever his mind could go hers went—a + brilliant torch, a warming sympathy. + </p> + <p> + But to-night his words had fallen on her as withered leaves on a + motionless figure of stone. If he was sensible of this change in her, he + gave no sign. And after a moment he passed to the remaining part of the + story. + </p> + <p> + “Thus far I have been speaking to you of the bare tree in wild nature: + here it is loaded with decorations; and now I want to show you that they + too are Forest Memories—that since the evergreen moved over into the + service of Christianity, one by one like a flock of birds these Forest + Memories have followed it and have alighted amid its branches. Everything + here has its story. I am going to tell you in each case what that story + is; I am going to interpret everything on the Christmas Tree and the other + Christmas decorations in the room.” + </p> + <p> + It was at this point that her keen attention became fixed on him and never + afterwards wavered. If everything had its story, the mistletoe would have + its; he must interpret that: and thus he himself unexpectedly had brought + about the situation she wished. She would meet him at that symbolic bough: + there be rendered the Judgment of the Years! And now as one sits down at + some point of a road where a traveller must arrive, she waited for him + there. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Tree and explained briefly that as soon as the forest + worshipper began the worship of the tree, he began to bring to it his + offerings and to hang these on the boughs; for religion consists in + offering something: to worship is to give. In after ages when man had + learned to build shrines and temples, he still kept up his primitive + custom of bringing to the altar his gifts and sacrifices; but during that + immeasurable time before he had learned to carve wood or to set one stone + on another, he was bringing his offerings to the grove—the only + cathedral he had. And this to him was not decoration; it was prayer. So + that in our age of the world when we playfully decorate the Christmas Tree + it is a survival of grave rites in the worship of primitive man and is as + ancient as forest worship itself. + </p> + <p> + And now he began. + </p> + <p> + With the pointer in his hand he touched the star at the apex of the fir. + This, he said, was commonly understood to represent the Star of Bethlehem + which guided the wise men of the East to the manger on the Night of the + Nativity—the Star of the New Born. But modern discoveries show that + the records of ancient Chaldea go back four or five thousand years before + the Christian era; and as far back as they have been traced, we find the + wise men of the East worshipping this same star and being guided by it in + their spiritual wanderings as they searched for the incarnation of the + Divine. They worshipped it as the star of peace and goodness and purity. + Many a pious Wolfram in those dim centuries no doubt sang his evening hymn + to the same star, for love of some Chaldean Elizabeth—both he and + she blown about the desert how many centuries now as dust. Moreover on + these records the star and the Tree are brought together as here side by + side. And the story of the star leads backward to one of the first things + that man ever worshipped as he looked beyond the forest: the light of the + heavens floating in the depth of space—light that he wanted but + could not grasp. + </p> + <p> + He touched the next object on the Tree—the candle under the star—and + went on: + </p> + <p> + Imagine, he said, the forest worshipper as at the end of ages having + caught this light—having brought it down in the language of his myth + from heaven to earth: that is, imagine the star in space as having become + a star in his hand—the candle: the star worshipper had now become + also the fire worshipper. Thus the candle leads us back to the fire + worshippers of ancient Persia—those highlands of the spirit seeking + light. We think of the Christmas candle on the Tree as merely borrowed + from the candle of the altar for the purpose of illumination; but the use + of it goes back to a time when the forest worshipper, now also the fire + worshipper, hung his lights on the trees, having no other altar. Far down + toward modern times the temples of the old Prussians, for example, were + oak groves, and among them a hierarchy of priests was ordained to keep the + sacred fire perpetually burning at the root of the sacred oak. + </p> + <p> + He touched the third object on the tree—the cross under the candle—and + went on: + </p> + <p> + “To the Christian believer the cross signifies one supreme event: Calvary + and the tragedy of the Crucifixion. It was what the Marys saw and the + apostles that morning in Gethsemane. But no one in that age thought of the + cross as a Christian symbol. John and Peter and Paul and the rest went + down into their graves without so regarding it. The Magdalene never clung + to it with life-tired arms, nor poured out at the foot of it the benizon + of her tears. Not until the third century after Christ did the Bishops + assembled at Nice announce it a Christian symbol. But it was a sacred + emblem in the dateless antiquity of Egypt. To primitive man it stood for + that sacred light and fire of life which was himself. For he himself is a + cross—the first cross he has ever known. The faithful may truly + think of the Son of Man as crucified as the image of humanity. And thus + ages before Christ, cross worship and forest worship were brought + together: for instance, among the Druids who hunted for an oak, two boughs + of which made with the trunk of the tree the figure of the cross; and on + these three they cut the names of three of their gods and this was + holy-cross wood.” + </p> + <p> + He moved the pointer down until he touched the fourth object on the tree—the + dove under the cross, and went on: + </p> + <p> + “In the mind of the Christian believer this represents the white dove of + the New Testament which descended on the Son of Man when the heavens were + opened. So in Parsifal the white dove descends, overshadowing the Grail. + But ages before Christ the prolific white dove of Syria was worshipped + throughout the Orient as the symbol of reproductive Nature: and to this + day the Almighty is there believed to manifest himself under this form. In + ancient Mesopotamia the divine mother of nature is often represented with + this dove as having actually alighted on her shoulder or in her open hand. + And here again forest worship early became associated with the worship of + the dove; for, sixteen hundred years before Christ, we find the dove + nurtured in the oak grove at Dodona where its presence was an augury and + its wings an omen.” + </p> + <p> + On he went, touching one thing after another, tracing the story of each + backward till it was lost in antiquity and showing how each was entwined + with forest worship. + </p> + <p> + He touched the musical instruments; the bell, the drum. The bell, he said, + was used in Greece by the Priests of Bacchus in the worship of the vine. + And vine worship was forest worship. Moreover, in the same oak grove at + Dodona bells were tied to the oak boughs and their tinklings also were + sacred auguries. The drum, which the modern boy beats on Christmas Day, + was beaten ages before Christ in the worship of Confucius: the story of it + dies away toward what was man’s first written music in forgotten China. In + the first century of the Christian era, on one of the most splendid of the + old Buddhist sculptures, boys are represented as beating the drum in the + worship of the sacred tree—once more showing how music passed into + the service of forest faith. + </p> + <p> + He touched the cornucopia; and he traced its story back to the ram’s horn—the + primitive cup of libation, used for a drinking cup and used also to pour + out the last product of the vine in honor of the vine itself—the + forest’s first goblet. + </p> + <p> + He touched the fruits and the flowers on the Tree: these were oldest of + all, perhaps, he said; for before the forest worshipper had learned to + shape or fabricate any offerings of his own skill, he could at least bring + to the divine tree and hang on it the flower of spring, the wild fruit of + autumn. + </p> + <p> + He kept on until only three things on the Tree were left uninterpreted; + the tinsel, the masks, and the dolls. He told her that he had left these + to the last for a reason: seemingly they were the most trivial but really + the most grave; for by means of them most clearly could be traced the + presence of great law running through the progress of humanity. + </p> + <p> + He drew her attention to the tinsel that covered the tree, draping it like + a yellow moss. It was of no value, he said, but in the course of ages it + had taken the place of the offering of actual gold in forest worship: a + once universal custom of adorning the tree with everything most precious + to the giver in token of his sacrifice and self-sacrifice. Even in + Jeremiah is an account of the lading of the sacred tree with gold and + ornaments. Herodotus relates that when Xerxes was invading Lydia, on the + march he saw a divine tree and had it honored with golden robes and gifts. + Livy narrates that when Romulus slew his enemy on the site of the Eternal + City, he hung rich spoils on the oak of the Capitoline Hill. And this + custom of decorating the tree with actual gold goes back in history until + we can meet it coming down to us in the story of Jason and the Golden + Fleece and in that of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Now the custom + has dwindled to this tinsel flung over the Christmas Tree—the mock + sacrifice for the real. + </p> + <p> + He touched the masks and unfolded the grim story that lay behind their + mockery. It led back to the common custom in antiquity of sacrificing + prisoners of war or condemned criminals or innocent victims in forest + worship and of hanging their heads on the branches: we know this to have + been the practice among Gallic and Teuton tribes. In the course of time, + when such barbarity could be tolerated no longer, the mock countenance + replaced the real. + </p> + <p> + He touched the dolls and revealed their sad story. Like the others, its + long path led to antiquity and to the custom of sacrificing children in + forest worship. How common this custom was the early literature of the + human race too abundantly testifies. We encounter the trace of it in + Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac—arrested by the command of Jehovah. But + Abraham would never have thought of slaying his son to propitiate his God, + had not the custom been well established. In the case of Jephthah’s + daughter the sacrifice was actually allowed. We come upon the same custom + in the fate of Iphigenia—at a critical turning point in the world’s + mercy; in her stead the life of a lesser animal, as in Isaac’s case, was + accepted. When the protective charity of mankind turned against the + inhumanity of the old faiths, then the substitution of the mock for the + real sacrifice became complete. And now on the boughs of the Christmas + Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites only these + playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the innocent. + </p> + <p> + He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the + little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and ever + converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest worship and + they met in some sacrifice by the human heart. + </p> + <p> + And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night: + </p> + <p> + “Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree is + all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could not + worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore he + brought his gifts to the forest—his first altar. These gifts, + remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his sacrifices + and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since, the same law + lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the better to the worse; + in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to the best. If the race + should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it would still have to + worship what is highest in human nature and so worshipping, it would still + be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice become the law of self-sacrifice: + it would still be necessary to offer up what is low in us to what is + higher. Only one portion of mankind has ever believed in Jerusalem; but + every religion has known its own Calvary.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away from the Tree toward her and awaited her appreciation. She + had sat watching him without a movement and without a word. But when at + last she asked him a question, she spoke as a listener who wakens from a + long revery. + </p> + <p> + “Have you finished the story for me?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I have finished the story for you,” he replied without betraying + disappointment at her icy reception of it. + </p> + <p> + Keeping her posture, she raised one of her white arms above her head, + turning her face up also until the swanlike curve of the white throat + showed; and with quivering finger tips she touched some sprays of + mistletoe pendent from the garland on the wall: + </p> + <p> + “You have not interpreted this,” she said, her mind fixed on that sole + omission. + </p> + <p> + “I have not explained that,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + She sat up, and for the first time looked with intense interest toward the + manuscript on the table across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Have you explained it there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not explained it there.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” she said with disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “I did not wish you to read that story, Josephine.” + </p> + <p> + “But why, Frederick?” she inquired, startled into wonderment. + </p> + <p> + He smiled: “If I told you why, I might as well tell you the story.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you not wish to tell me the story?” + </p> + <p> + He answered with warning frankness: “If you once saw it as a picture, the + picture would be coming back to you at times the rest of your life + darkly.” + </p> + <p> + She protested: “If it is dark to you, why should I not share the darkness + of it? Have we not always looked at life’s shadows together? And thus + seeing life, have not bright things been doubly bright to us and dark + things but half as dark?” + </p> + <p> + He merely repeated his warning: “It is a story of a crueler age than ours. + It goes back to the forest worship of the Druids.” + </p> + <p> + She answered: “So long as our own age is cruel, what room is left to take + seriously the mere stories of crueler ones? Am I to shrink from the forest + worship of the Druids? Is there any story of theirs not printed in books? + Are not the books in libraries? Are they not put in libraries to be read? + If others read them, may not I? And since when must I begin to dread + anything in books? Or anything in life? And since when did we begin to + look at life apart, we who have always looked at it with four eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “I have always told you there are things to see with four eyes, things to + see with two, and things to see with none.” + </p> + <p> + With sudden intensity her white arm went up again and touched the + mistletoe. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the story of this!” she pleaded as though she demanded a right. + As she spoke, her thumb and forefinger meeting on a spray, they closed and + went through it like a pair of shears; and a bunch of the white pearls of + the forest dropped on the ridge of her shoulder and were broken apart and + rolled across her breast into her lap. + </p> + <p> + He looked grave; silence or speech—which were better for her? + Either, he now saw, would give her pain. + </p> + <p> + “Happily the story is far away from us,” he said, as though he were half + inclined to grant her request. + </p> + <p> + “If it is far away, bring it near! Bring it into the room as you brought + the stories of the star and the candle and the cross and the dove and the + others! Make it live before my eyes! Enact it before me! Steep me in it as + you have steeped yourself!” + </p> + <p> + He held back a long time: “You who are so safe in good, why know evil?” + </p> + <p> + “Frederick,” she cried, “I shall have to insist upon your telling me this + story. And if you should keep any part of it back, I would know. Then tell + it all: if it is dark, let each shadow have its shade; give each heavy + part its heaviness; let cruelty be cruelty—and truth be truth!” + </p> + <p> + He stood gazing across the centuries, and when he began, there was a + change in him; something personal was beginning to intrude itself into the + narrative of the historian: + </p> + <p> + “Imagine the world of our human nature in the last centuries before + Palestine became Holy Land. Athens stood with her marbles glistening by + the blue Ægean, and Greek girls with fillets and sandals—the living + images of those pale sculptured shapes that are the mournful eternity of + Art—Greek girls were being chosen for the secret rites in the temple + at Ephesus. The sun of Italy had not yet browned the little children who + were to become the brown fathers and mothers of the brown soldiers of + Cæsar’s legions; and twenty miles south of Rome, in the sacred grove of + Dodona,—where the motions of oak boughs were auguries, and the + flappings of the wings of white doves were divine messages, and the + tinkling of bells in the foliage had divine meanings,—in this grove + the virgins of Latium, as the Greek girls of Ephesus, were once a year + appointed to undergo similar rites. To the south Pompeii, with its night + laughter and song sounding far out toward the softly lapping Mediterranean + and up the slopes of its dread volcano, drained its goblet and did not + care, emptied it as often as filled and asked for nothing more. A little + distance off Herculaneum, with its tender dreams of Greece but with its + arms around the breathing image of Italy, slept—uncovered. + </p> + <p> + “Beyond Italy to the north, on the other side of the eternal snowcaps, lay + unknown Gaul, not yet dreaming of the Cæsar who was to conquer it; and + across the wild sea opposite Gaul lay the wooded isle of Britain. All over + that island one forest; in that forest one worship; in that worship one + tree—the oak of England; and on that oak one bough—the + mistletoe.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke to her awhile about the oak, describing the place it had in the + early civilizations of the human race. In the Old Testament it was the + tree of the Hebrew idols and of Jehovah. In Greece it was the tree of + Zeus, the most august and the most human of the gods. In Italy it was the + tree of Jove, great father of immortals and of mankind. After the gods + passed, it became the tree of the imperial Cæsars. After the Cæsars had + passed, it was the oak that Michael Angelo in the Middle Ages scattered + over the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel near the creation of man and his + expulsion from Paradise—there as always the chosen tree of human + desire. In Britain it was the sacred tree of Druidism: there the Arch + Druid and his fellow-priests performed none of their rites without using + its leaves and branches: never anywhere in the world was the oak + worshipped with such ceremonies and sacrifices as there. + </p> + <p> + Imagine then a scene—the chief Nature Festival of that forest + worship: the New Year’s day of the Druids. + </p> + <p> + A vast concourse of people, men and women and children, are on their way + to the forest; they are moving toward an oak tree that has been found with + mistletoe growing on it—growing there so seldom. As the excited + throng come in sight of it, they hail it with loud cries of reverence and + delight. Under it they gather; there a banquet is spread. In the midst of + the assemblage one figure towers—the Arch Druid. Every eye is fixed + fearfully on him, for on whomsoever his own eye may fall with wrath, he + may be doomed to become one of the victims annually sacrificed to the oak. + </p> + <p> + A gold chain is around his neck; gold bands are around his arms. He is + clad in robes of spotless white. He ascends the tree to a low bough, and + making a hollow in the folds of his robes, he crops with a golden pruning + hook the mistletoe and so catches it as it falls. Then it is blessed and + scattered among the throng, and the priest prays that each one so + receiving it may receive also the divine favor and blessing of which it is + Nature’s emblem. Two white bulls, the horns of which have never hitherto + been touched, are now adorned with fillets and are slaughtered in + sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + Then at last it is over, the people are gone, the forest is left to + itself, and the New Year’s ceremony of cutting the mistletoe from the oak + is at an end. + </p> + <p> + Here he ended the story. + </p> + <p> + She had sat leaning far forward, her fingers interlocked and her brows + knitted. When he stopped, she sat up and studied him a moment in + bewilderment: + </p> + <p> + “But why did you call that a dark story?” she asked. “Where is the + cruelty? It is beautiful, and I shall never forget it and it will never + throw a dark image on my mind: New Year’s day—the winter woods—the + journeying throng—the oak—the bough—the banquet beneath—the + white bulls with fillets on their horns—the white-robed priest—the + golden sickle in his hand—the stroke that severs the mistletoe—the + prayer that each soul receiving any smallest piece will be blessed in + life’s sorrows! If I were a great painter, I should like to paint that + scene. In the centre should be some young girl, pressing to her heart what + she believed to be heaven’s covenant with her under the guise of a + blossom. How could you have wished to withhold such a story from me?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her a little sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I have not yet told you all,” he said, “but I have told you enough.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly she bent far over toward him with intuitive scrutiny. Under her + breath one word escaped: + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + It was the breath of a discovery—a discovery of something unknown to + her. + </p> + <p> + “I am sparing you, Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + She stretched each arm along the back of the sofa and pinioned the wood in + her clutch. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sparing me?” she asked in a tone of torture. “Or are you sparing + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The heavy staff on which he stood leaning dropped from his relaxed grasp + to the floor. He looked down at it a moment and then calmly picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you the story,” he said with a new quietness. + </p> + <p> + She was aroused by some change in him. + </p> + <p> + “I will not listen! I do not wish to hear it!” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to listen,” he said. “It is better for you to know. Better + for any human being to know any truth than suffer the bane of wrong + thinking. When you are free to judge, it will be impossible for you to + misjudge.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not misjudged you! I have not judged you! In some way that I do + not understand you are judging yourself!” + </p> + <p> + He stepped back a pace—farther away from her—and he drew + himself up. In the movement there was instinctive resentment. And the + right not to be pried into—not even by the nearest. + </p> + <p> + The step which had removed him farther from her had brought him nearer to + the Christmas Tree at his back. A long, three-fingered bough being thus + pressed against was forced upward and reappeared on one of his shoulders. + The movement seemed human: it was like the conscious hand of the tree. The + fir, standing there decked out in the artificial tawdriness of a + double-dealing race, laid its wild sincere touch on him—as sincere + as the touch of dying human fingers—and let its passing youth flow + into him. It attracted his attention, and he turned his head toward it as + with recognition. Other boughs near the floor likewise thrust themselves + forward, hiding his feet so that he stood ankle-deep in forestry. + </p> + <p> + This reunion did not escape her. Her overwrought imagination made of it a + sinister omen: the bough on his shoulder rested there as the old forest + claim; the boughs about his feet were the ancestral forest tether. As he + had stepped backward from her, Nature had asserted the earlier right to + him. In strange sickness and desolation of heart she waited. + </p> + <p> + He stood facing her but looking past her at centuries long gone; the first + sound of his voice registered upon her ear some message of doom: + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Josephine!” + </p> + <p> + She buried her face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot! I will not!” + </p> + <p> + “You will have to listen. You know that for some years, apart from my + other work, I have been gathering together the woodland customs of our + people and trying to trace them back to their origin and first meaning. In + our age of the world we come upon many playful forest survivals of what + were once grave things. Often in our play and pastimes and lingering + superstitions about the forest we cross faint traces of what were once + vital realities. + </p> + <p> + “Among these there has always been one that until recently I have never + understood. Among country people oftenest, but heard of everywhere, is the + saying that if a girl is caught standing under the mistletoe, she may be + kissed by the man who thus finds her. I have always thought that this + ceremony and playful sacrifice led back to some ancient rite—I could + not discover what. Now I know.” + </p> + <p> + In a voice full of a new delicacy and scarcely audible, he told her. + </p> + <p> + It is another scene in the forest of Britain. This time it is not the + first day of the year—the New Year’s day of the Druids when they + celebrated the national festival of the oak. But it is early summer, + perhaps the middle of May—May in England—with the young beauty + of the woods. It is some hushed evening at twilight. The new moon is just + silvering the tender leaves and creating a faint shadow under the trees. + The hawthorn is in bloom—red and white—and not far from the + spot, hidden in some fragrant tuft of this, a nightingale is singing, + singing, singing. + </p> + <p> + Lifting itself above the smaller growths stands the young manhood of the + woods—a splendid oak past its thirtieth year, representing its youth + and its prime conjoined. In its trunk is the summer heat of the all-day + sun. Around its roots is velvet turf, and there are wild violet beds. Its + huge arms are stretched toward the ground as though reaching for some + object they would clasp; and on one of these arms as its badge of divine + authority, worn there as a knight might wear the colors of his Sovereign, + grows the mistletoe. There he stands—the Forest Lover. + </p> + <p> + The woods wait, the shadows deepen, the hush is more intense, the moon’s + rays begin to be golden, the song of the nightingale grows more + passionate, the beds of moss and violets wait. + </p> + <p> + Then the shrubbery is tremblingly parted at some place and upon the scene + a young girl enters—her hair hanging down—her limbs most + lightly clad—the flush of red hawthorn on the white hawthorn of her + skin—in her eyes love’s great need and mystery. Step by step she + comes forward, her fingers trailing against whatsoever budding wayside + thing may stay her strength. She draws nearer to the oak, searching amid + its boughs for that emblem which she so dreads to find and yet more dreads + not to find: the emblem of a woman’s fruitfulness which the young oak—the + Forest Lover—reaches down toward her. Finding it, beneath it with + one deep breath of surrender she takes her place—the virgin’s tryst + with the tree—there to be tested. + </p> + <p> + Such is the command of the Arch Druid: it is obedience—submission to + that test—or death for her as a sacrifice to the oak which she has + rejected. + </p> + <p> + Again the shrubbery is parted, rudely pushed aside, and a man enters—a + tried and seasoned man—a human oak—counterpart of the Forest + Lover—to officiate at the test. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + He was standing there in the parlor of his house and in the presence of + his wife. But in fealty he was gone: he was in the summer woods of + ancestral wandering, the fatherland of Old Desire. + </p> + <p> + <i>He</i> was the man treading down the shrubbery; it was <i>his</i> feet + that started toward the oak; <i>his</i> eye that searched for the figure + half fainting under the bough; for <i>him</i> the bed of moss and violets—the + hair falling over the eyes—the loosened girdle—the breasts of + hawthorn white and pink—the listening song of the nightingale—the + silence of the summer woods—the seclusion—the full surrender + of the two under that bough of the divine command, to escape the penalty + of their own death. + </p> + <p> + The blaze of uncontrollable desire was all over him; the fire of his own + story had treacherously licked him like a wind-bent flame. The light that + she had not seen in his eyes for so long rose in them—the old, + unfathomable, infolding tenderness. A quiver ran around his tense + nostrils. + </p> + <p> + And now one little phrase which he had uttered so sacredly years before + and had long since forgotten rose a second time to his lips—tossed + there by a second tide of feeling. On the silence of the room fell his + words: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bride of the Mistletoe!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The storm that had broken over him died away. He shut his eyes on the + vanishing scene: he opened them upon her. + </p> + <p> + He had told her the truth about the story; he may have been aware or he + may not have been aware that he had revealed to her the truth about + himself. + </p> + <p> + “This is what I would have kept from you, Josephine,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting there before him—the mother of his children, of the + sleeping ones, of the buried ones—the butterfly broken on the wheel + of years: lustreless and useless now in its summer. + </p> + <p> + She sat there with the whiteness of death. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. THE ROOM OF THE SILENCES + </h2> + <p> + The Christmas candles looked at her flickeringly; the little white candles + of purity, the little red candles of love. The holly in the room concealed + its bold gay berries behind its thorns, and the cedar from the faithful + tree beside the house wall had need now of its bitter rosary. + </p> + <p> + Her first act was to pay what is the first debt of a fine spirit—the + debt of courtesy and gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “It is a wonderful story, Frederick,” she said in a manner which showed + him that she referred to the beginning of his story and not to the end. + </p> + <p> + “As usual you have gone your own way about it, opening your own path into + the unknown, seeing what no one else has seen, and bringing back what no + one else ever brought. It is a great revelation of things that I never + dreamed of and could never have imagined. I appreciate your having done + this for me; it has taken time and work, but it is too much for me + to-night. It is too new and too vast. I must hereafter try to understand + it. And there will be leisure enough. Nor can it lose by waiting. But now + there is something that cannot wait, and I wish to speak to you about + that; Frederick, I am going to ask you some questions about the last part + of the story. I have been wanting to ask you a long time: the story gives + me the chance and—the right.” + </p> + <p> + He advanced a step toward her, disengaging himself from the evergreen. + </p> + <p> + “I will answer them,” he said. “If they can be answered.” + </p> + <p> + And thus she sat and thus he stood as the questions and answers passed to + and fro. They were solemn questions and solemn replies, drawn out of the + deeps of life and sinking back into them. + </p> + <p> + “Frederick,” she said, “for many years we have been happy together, so + happy! Every tragedy of nature has stood at a distance from us except the + loss of our children. We have lived on a sunny pinnacle of our years, + lifted above life’s storms. But of course I have realized that sooner or + later our lot must become the common one: if we did not go down to Sorrow, + Sorrow would climb to us; and I knew that on the heights it dwells best. + That is why I wish to say to you to-night what I shall: I think fate’s + hour has struck for me; I am ready to hear it. Its arrow has already left + the bow and is on its way; I open my heart to receive it. This is as I + have always wished; I have said that if life had any greatest tragedy, for + me, I hoped it would come when I was happiest; thus I should confront it + all. I have never drunk half of my cup of happiness, as you know, and let + the other half waste; I must go equally to the depth of any suffering. + Worse than the suffering, I think, would be the feeling that I had shirked + some of it, had stepped aside, or shut my eyes, or in any manner shown + myself a cowardly soul.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause she went over this subject as though she were not satisfied + that she had made it clear. + </p> + <p> + “I have always said that the real pathos of things is the grief that comes + to us in life when life is at its best—when no one is to blame—when + no one has committed a fault—when suffering is meted out to us as + the reward of our perfect obedience to the laws of nature. In earlier + years when we used to read Keats together, who most of all of the world’s + poets felt the things that pass, even then I was wondering at the way in + which he brings this out: that to understand Sorrow it must be separated + from sorrows: they would be like shadows darkening the bright disk of + life’s clear tragedy, thus rendering it less bravely seen. + </p> + <p> + “And so he is always telling us not to summon sad pictures nor play with + mournful emblems; not to feign ourselves as standing on the banks of + Lethe, gloomiest of rivers; nor to gather wolf’s bane and twist the poison + out of its tight roots; nor set before us the cup of hemlock; nor bind + about our temples the ruby grape of nightshade; nor count over the berries + of the yew tree which guards sad places; nor think of the beetle ticking + in the bed post, nor watch the wings of the death moth, nor listen to the + elegy of the owl—the voice of ruins. Not these! they are the emblems + of our sorrows. But the emblems of Sorrow are beautiful things at their + perfect moment; a red peony just opening, a rainbow seen for an instant on + the white foam, youth not yet faded but already fading, joy with its + finger on his lips, bidding adieu. + </p> + <p> + “And so with all my happiness about me, I wish to know life’s tragedy. And + to know it, Frederick, not to infer it: <i>I want to be told</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “If you can be told, you shall be told,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She changed her position as though seeking physical relief and composure. + Then she began: + </p> + <p> + “Years ago when you were a student in Germany, you had a college friend. + You went home with him two or three years at Christmas and celebrated the + German Christmas. It was in this way that we came to have the Christmas + Tree in our house—through memory of him and of those years. You have + often described to me how you and he in summer went Alpine climbing, and + far up in some green valley girdled with glaciers lay of afternoons under + some fir tree, reading and drowsing in the crystalline air. You told me of + your nights of wandering down the Rhine together when the heart turns so + intimately to the heart beside it. He was German youth and song and dream + and happiness to you. Tell me this: before you lost him that last summer + over the crevasse, had you begun to tire of him? Was there anything in you + that began to draw back from anything in him? As you now look back at the + friendship of your youth, have the years lessened your regret for him?” + </p> + <p> + He answered out of the ideals of his youth: + </p> + <p> + “The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. I never tired of being with + him. Nothing in me ever drew back from anything in him. When he was lost, + the whole world lost some of its strength and nobility. After all the + years, if he could come back, he would find me unchanged—that friend + of my youth!” + </p> + <p> + With a peculiar change of voice she asked next: + </p> + <p> + “The doctor, Herbert and Elsie’s father, our nearest neighbor, your + closest friend now in middle life. You see a great deal of the doctor; he + is often here, and you and he often sit up late at night, talking with one + another about many things: do you ever tire of the doctor and wish him + away? Have you any feeling toward him that you try to keep secret from me? + Can you be a perfectly frank man with this friend of your middle life?” + </p> + <p> + “The longer I know him the more I like him, honor him, trust him. I never + tire of his companionship or his conversation; I have no disguises with + him and need none.” + </p> + <p> + “The children! As the children grow older do you care less for them? Do + they begin to wear on you? Are they a clog, an interference? Have Harold + and Elizabeth ceased forming new growths of affection in you? Do you ever + unconsciously seek pretexts for avoiding them?” + </p> + <p> + “The older they grow, the more I love them. The more they interest me and + tempt away from work and duties. I am more drawn to be with them and I + live more and more in the thought of what they are becoming.” + </p> + <p> + “Your work! Does your work attract you less than formerly? Does it develop + in you the purpose to be something more or stifle in you the regret to be + something less? Is it a snare to idleness or a goad to toil?” + </p> + <p> + “As the mariner steers for the lighthouse, as the hound runs down the + stag, as the soldier wakes to the bugle, as the miner digs for fortune, as + the drunkard drains the cup, as the saint watches the cross, I follow my + work, I follow my work.” + </p> + <p> + “Life, life itself, does it increase in value or lessen? Is the world + still morning to you with your work ahead or afternoon when you begin to + tire and to think of rest?” + </p> + <p> + “The world to me is as early morning to a man going forth to his work. + Where the human race is from and whither it is hurrying and why it exists + at all; why a human being loves what it loves and hates what it hates; why + it is faithful when it could be unfaithful and faithless when it should be + true; how civilized man can fight single handed against the ages that were + his lower past—how he can develop self-renunciation out of + selfishness and his own wisdom out of surrounding folly,—all these + are questions that mean more and more. My work is but beginning and the + world is morning.” + </p> + <p> + “This house! Are you tired of it now that it is older? Would you rather + move into a new one?” + </p> + <p> + “I love this house more and more. No other dwelling could take its place. + Any other could be but a shelter; this is home. And I care more for it now + that the signs of age begin to settle on it. If it were a ruin, I should + love it best!” + </p> + <p> + She leaned over and looked down at the two setters lying at her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you care less for the dogs of the house as they grow older?” + </p> + <p> + “I think more of them and take better care of them now that their hunting + days are over.” + </p> + <p> + “The friend of your youth—the friend of your middle age—the + children—your profession—the world of human life—this + house—the dogs of the house—you care more for them all as time + passes?” + </p> + <p> + “I care more for them all as time passes.” + </p> + <p> + Then there came a great stillness in the room—the stillness of all + listening years. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the only thing that you care less for as time passes?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Am I in the way?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to go over it all again with another?” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + She had hidden her face in her hands and pressed her head against the end + of the sofa. Her whole figure shrank lower, as though to escape being + touched by him—to escape the blow of his words. No words came. There + was no touch. + </p> + <p> + A moment later she felt that he must be standing over her, looking down at + her. She would respond to his hand on the back of her neck. He must be + kneeling beside her; his arms would infold her. Then with a kind of + incredible terror she realized that he was not there. At first she could + so little believe it, that with her face still buried in one hand she + searched the air for him with the other, expecting to touch him. + </p> + <p> + Then she cried out to him: + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t there anything you can say to me?” + </p> + <p> + Silence lasted. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh, Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the stillness she began to hear something—the sound of his + footsteps moving on the carpet. She sat up. + </p> + <p> + The room was getting darker; he was putting out the candles. It was too + dark already to see his face. With fascination she began to watch his + hand. How steady it was as it moved among the boughs, extinguishing the + lights. Out they went one by one and back into their darkness returned the + emblems of darker ages—the Forest Memories. + </p> + <p> + A solitary taper was left burning at the pinnacle of the Tree under the + cross: that highest torch of love shining on everything that had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + He quietly put it out. + </p> + <p> + Yet the light seemed not put out, but instantly to have travelled through + the open parlor door into the adjoining room, her bedroom; for out of that + there now streamed a suffused red light; it came from the lamp near the + great bed in the shadowy corner. + </p> + <p> + This lamp poured its light through a lampshade having the semblance of a + bursting crimson peony as some morning in June the flower with the weight + of its own splendor falls face downward on the grass. And in that room + this soft lamp-light fell here and there on crimson winter draperies. He + had been living alone as a bachelor before he married her. After they + became engaged he, having watched for some favorite color of hers, had had + this room redecorated in that shade. Every winter since she had renewed in + this way or that way these hangings, and now the bridal draperies remained + unchanged—after the changing years. + </p> + <p> + He replaced the taper against the wall and came over and stood before her, + holding out his hands to help her rise. + </p> + <p> + She arose without his aid and passed around him, moving toward her + bedroom. With arms outstretched guarding her but not touching her, he + followed close, for she was unsteady. She entered her bedroom and crossed + to the door of his bedroom; she pushed this open, and keeping her face + bent aside waited for him to go in. He went in and she closed the door on + him and turned the key. Then with a low note, with which the soul tears + out of itself something that has been its life, she made a circlet of her + white arms against the door and laid her profile within this circlet and + stood—the figure of Memory. + </p> + <p> + Thus sometimes a stranger sees a marble figure standing outside a tomb + where some story of love and youth ended: some stranger in a far land,—walking + some afternoon in those quieter grounds where all human stories end; an + autumn bird in the bare branches fluting of its mortality and his heart + singing with the bird of one lost to him—lost to him in his own + country. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the door the silence was that of a tomb. She had felt + confident—so far as she had expected anything—that he would + speak to her through the door, try to open it, plead with her to open it. + Nothing of the kind occurred. + </p> + <p> + Why did he not come back? What bolt could have separated her from him? + </p> + <p> + The silence began to weigh upon her. + </p> + <p> + Then in the tense stillness she heard him moving quietly about, getting + ready for bed. There were the same movements, familiar to her for years. + She would not open the door, she could not leave it, she could not stand, + no support was near, and she sank to the floor and sat there, leaning her + brow against the lintel. + </p> + <p> + On the other side the quiet preparations went on. + </p> + <p> + She heard him take off his coat and vest and hang them on the back of a + chair. The buttons made a little scraping sound against the wood. Then he + went to his dresser and took off his collar and tie, and he opened a + drawer and laid out a night-shirt. She heard the creaking of a chair under + him as he threw one foot and then the other up across his knee and took + off his shoes and socks. Then there reached her the soft movements of his + bare feet on the carpet (despite her agony the old impulse started in her + to caution him about his slippers). Then followed the brushing of his + teeth and the deliberate bathing of his hands. Then was audible the puff + of breath with which he blew out his lamp after he had turned it low; and + then,—on the other side of the door,—just above her ear his + knock sounded. + </p> + <p> + The same knock waited for and responded to throughout the years; so often + with his little variations of playfulness. Many a time in early summer + when out-of-doors she would be reminded of it by hearing some bird + sounding its love signal on a piece of dry wood—that tap of + heart-beat. Now it crashed close to her ear. + </p> + <p> + Such strength came back to her that she rose as lightly as though her + flesh were but will and spirit. When he knocked again, she was across the + room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her palms pressed together and + thrust between her knees: the instinctive act of a human animal suddenly + chilled to the bone. + </p> + <p> + The knocking sounded again. + </p> + <p> + “Was there anything you needed?” she asked fearfully. + </p> + <p> + There was no response but another knock. + </p> + <p> + She hurriedly raised her voice to make sure that it would reach him. + </p> + <p> + “Was there anything you wanted?” + </p> + <p> + As no response came, the protective maternal instinct took greater alarm, + and she crossed to the door of his room and she repeated her one question: + </p> + <p> + “Did you forget anything?” + </p> + <p> + Her mind refused to release itself from the iteration of that idea: it was + some <i>thing</i>—not herself—that he wanted. + </p> + <p> + He knocked. + </p> + <p> + Her imagination, long oppressed by his silence, now made of his knock some + signal of distress. It took on the authority of an appeal not to be + denied. She unlocked the door and opened it a little way, and once more + she asked her one poor question. + </p> + <p> + His answer to it came in the form of a gentle pressure against the door, + breaking down her resistance. As she applied more strength, this was as + gently overcome; and when the opening was sufficient, he walked past her + into the room. + </p> + <p> + How hushed the house! How still the world outside as the cloud wove in + darkness its mantle of light! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. THE WHITE DAWN + </h2> + <p> + Day was breaking. + </p> + <p> + The crimson curtains of the bedroom were drawn close, but from behind + their outer edges faint flanges of light began to advance along the wall. + It was a clear light reflected from snow which had sifted in against the + window-panes, was banked on the sills outside, ridged the yard fence, + peaked the little gate-posts, and buried the shrubbery. There was no need + to look out in order to know that it had stopped snowing, that the air was + windless, and that the stars were flashing silver-pale except one—great + golden-croziered shepherd of the thick, soft-footed, moving host. + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas morning on the effulgent Shield. + </p> + <p> + Already there was sufficient light in the room to reveal—less as + actual things than as brown shadows of the memory—a gay company of + socks and stockings hanging from the mantelpiece; sufficient to give + outline to the bulk of a man asleep on the edge of the bed; and it exposed + to view in a corner of the room farthest from the rays a woman sitting in + a straight-backed chair, a shawl thrown about her shoulders over her + night-dress. + </p> + <p> + He always slept till he was awakened; the children, having stayed up past + their usual bedtime, would sleep late also; she had the white dawn to + herself in quietness. + </p> + <p> + She needed it. + </p> + <p> + Sleep could not have come to her had she wished. She had not slept and she + had not lain down, and the sole endeavor during those shattered hours had + been to prepare herself for his awakening. She was not yet ready—she + felt that during the rest of her life she should never be quite ready to + meet him again. Scant time remained now. + </p> + <p> + Soon all over the Shield indoor merriment and outdoor noises would begin. + Wherever in the lowlands any many-chimneyed city, proud of its size, rose + by the sweep of watercourses, or any little inland town was proud of its + smallness and of streets that terminated in the fields; whereever any + hamlet marked the point at which two country roads this morning made the + sign of the white cross, or homesteads stood proudly castled on woody + hilltops, or warmed the heart of the beholder from amid their olive-dark + winter pastures; or far away on the shaggy uplift of the Shield wherever + any cabin clung like a swallow’s nest against the gray Appalachian wall—everywhere + soon would begin the healthy outbreak of joy among men and women and + children—glad about themselves, glad in one another, glad of human + life in a happy world. The many-voiced roar and din of this warm carnival + lay not far away from her across the cold bar of silence. + </p> + <p> + Soon within the house likewise the rush of the children’s feet would + startle her ear; they would be tugging at the door, tugging at her heart. + And as she thought of this, the recollection of old simple things came + pealing back to her from behind life’s hills. The years parted like naked + frozen reeds, and she, sorely stricken in her womanhood, fled backward + till she herself was a child again—safe in her father’s and mother’s + protection. It was Christmas morning, and she in bare feet was tipping + over the cold floors toward their bedroom—toward her stockings. + </p> + <p> + Her father and mother! How she needed them at this moment: they had been + sweethearts all their lives. One picture of them rose with distinctness + before her—for the wounding picture always comes to the wounded + moment. She saw them sitting in their pew far down toward the chancel. + Through a stained glass window (where there was a ladder of angels) the + light fell softly on them—both silver-haired; and as with the voices + of children they were singing out of one book. She remembered how as she + sat between them she had observed her father slip his hand into her + mother’s lap and clasp hers with a steadfastness that wedded her for + eternity; and thus over their linked hands, with the love of their youth + within them and the snows of the years upon them, they sang together: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Gently, Lord, O gently lead us + * * * * * * + “Through the changes Thou’st decreed us.” + </pre> + <p> + Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more than + common share of life’s shocks and violence, its wrongs and meannesses and + ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that they were being + led gently; so long as they were led together, to them it was gentle + leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby nature or man could + leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the sweeter for the sour; + the finer with one another because of life’s rudenesses. In after years + she often thought of them as faithful in their dust; and the flowers she + planted over them and watered many a bright day with happy tears brought + up to her in another form the freshness of their unwearied union. + </p> + <p> + That was what she had not doubted her own life would be—with him—when + she had married him. + </p> + <p> + From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open and + entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance. He had + lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered that to her as + for the moment at least his solution of the matter—that he should + leave her to herself and absent himself in slumber. + </p> + <p> + The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations. + </p> + <p> + Before he awoke she must be gone—out of the house—anywhere—to + save herself from living any longer with him. His indifference in the + presence of her suffering; his pitiless withdrawal from her of touch and + glance and speech as she had gone down into that darkest of life’s + valleys; his will of iron that since she had insisted upon knowing the + whole truth, know it she should: all this left her wounded and stunned as + by an incredible blow, and she was acting first from the instinct of + removing herself beyond the reach of further humiliation and brutality. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively she took off her wedding ring and laid it on his dresser + beside his watch: he would find it there in the morning and he could + dispose of it. Then she changed her dress for the plainest heavy one and + put on heavy walking shoes. She packed into a handbag a few necessary + things with some heirlooms of her own. Among the latter was a case of + family jewels; and as she opened it, her eyes fell upon her mother’s thin + wedding ring and with quick reverence she slipped that on and kissed it + bitterly. She lifted out also her mother’s locket containing a miniature + daguerreotype of her father and dutifully fed her eyes on that. Her father + was not silver-haired then, but raven-locked; with eyes that men feared at + times but no woman ever. + </p> + <p> + His eyes were on her now as so often in girlhood when he had curbed her + exuberance and guided her waywardness. He was watching as she, coarsely + wrapped and carrying some bundle of things of her own, opened her front + door, left her footprints in the snow on the porch, and passed out—wading + away. Those eyes of his saw what took place the next day: the happiness of + Christmas morning turned into horror; the children wild with distress and + crying—the servants dumb—the inquiry at neighbors’ houses—the + news spreading to the town—the papers—the black ruin. And from + him two restraining words issued for her ear: + </p> + <p> + “My daughter!” + </p> + <p> + Passionately she bore the picture to her lips and her pride answered him. + And so answering, it applied a torch to her blood and her blood took fire + and a flame of rage spread through and swept her. She stopped her + preparations: she had begun to think as well as to feel. + </p> + <p> + She unpacked her travelling bag, putting each article back into its place + with exaggerated pains. Having done this, she stood in the middle of the + floor, looking about her irresolute: then responding to that power of low + suggestion which is one of anger’s weapons, she began to devise malice. + She went to a wardrobe and stooping down took from a bottom drawer—where + long ago it had been stored away under everything else—a shawl that + had been her grandmother’s; a brindled crewel shawl,—sometimes worn + by superannuated women of a former generation; a garment of hideousness. + Once, when a little girl, she had loyally jerked it off her grandmother + because it added to her ugliness and decrepitude. + </p> + <p> + She shook this out with mocking eyes and threw it decoratively around her + shoulders. She strode to the gorgeous peony lampshade and lifting it off, + gibbeted it and scattered the fragments on the floor. She turned the lamp + up as high as it would safely burn so that the huge lidless eye of it + would throw its full glare on him and her. She drew a rocking chair to the + foot of the bed and seating herself put her forefinger up to each temple + and drew out from their hiding places under the mass of her black hair two + long gray locks and let these hang down haglike across her bosom. She + banished the carefully nourished look of youth from her face—dropped + the will to look young—and allowed the forced-back years to rush + into it—into the wastage, the wreckage, which he and Nature, + assisting each other so ably, had wrought in her. + </p> + <p> + She sat there half-crazed, rocking noisily; waiting for the glare of the + lamp to cause him to open his eyes; and she smiled upon him in exultation + of vengeance that she was to live on there in his house—<i>his</i> + house. + </p> + <p> + After a while a darker mood came over her. + </p> + <p> + With noiseless steps lest she awake him, she began to move about the room. + She put out the lamp and lighted her candle and set it where it would be + screened from his face; and where the shadow of the chamber was heaviest, + into that shadow she retired and in it she sat—with furtive look to + see whether he observed her. + </p> + <p> + A pall-like stillness deepened about the bed where he lay. + </p> + <p> + Running in her veins a wellnigh pure stream across the generations was + Anglo-Saxon blood of the world’s fiercest; floating in the tide of it + passions of old family life which had dyed history for all time in + tragedies of false friendship, false love, and false battle; but fiercest + ever about the marriage bed and the betrayal of its vow. A thousand years + from this night some wronged mother of hers, sitting beside some sleeping + father of hers in their forest-beleaguered castle—the moonlight + streaming in upon him through the javelined casement and putting before + her the manly beauty of him—the blond hair matted thick on his + forehead as his helmet had left it, his mouth reddening in his slumber + under its curling gold—some mother of hers whom he had carried off + from other men by might of his sword, thus sitting beside him and knowing + him to be colder to her now than the moon’s dead rays, might have watched + those rays as they travelled away from his figure and put a gleam on his + sword hanging near: a thousand years ago: some mother of hers. + </p> + <p> + It is when the best fails our human nature that the worst volunteers so + often to take its place. The best and the worst—these are the sole + alternatives which many a soul seems to be capable of making: hence life’s + spectacle of swift overthrow, of amazing collapse, ever present about us. + Only the heroic among both men and women, losing the best as their first + choice, fight their way through defeat to the standard of the second best + and fight on there. And whatever one may think of the legend otherwise, + abundant experience justifies the story that it was the Archangel who fell + to the pit. The low never fall far: how can they? They already dwell on + the bottom of things, and many a time they are to be seen there with + vanity that they should inhabit such a privileged highland. + </p> + <p> + During the first of these hours which stretched for her into the tragic + duration of a lifetime, it was a successive falling from a height of moral + splendor; her nature went down through swift stages to the lowest she + harbored either in the long channel of inheritance or as the stirred + sediment of her own imperfections. And as is unfortunately true, this + descent into moral darkness possessed the grateful illusion that it was an + ascent into new light. All evil prompting became good suggestion; every + injustice made its claim to be justification. She enjoyed the elation of + feeling that she was dragging herself out of life’s quicksands upward to + some rock, where there might be loneliness for her, but where there would + be cleanness. The love which consumed her for him raged in her as hatred; + and hatred is born into perfect mastery of its weapons. However young, it + needs not to wait for training in order to know how to destroy. + </p> + <p> + He presented himself to her as a character at last revealed in its + faithlessness and low carnal propensities. What rankled most poignantly in + this spectacle of his final self-exposure was the fact that the cloven + hoof should have been found on noble mountain tops—that he should + have attempted to better his disguise by dwelling near regions of + sublimity. Of all hypocrisy the kind most detestable to her was that which + dares live within spiritual fortresses; and now his whole story of the + Christmas Tree, the solemn marshalling of words about the growth of the + world’s spirit—about the sacrifice of the lower in ourselves to the + higher—this cant now became to her the invocation and homage of the + practised impostor: he had indeed carried the Christmas Tree on his + shoulder into the manger. Not the Manger of Immortal Purity for mankind + but the manger of his own bestiality. + </p> + <p> + Thus scorn and satire became her speech; she soared above him with + spurning; a frenzy of poisoned joy racked her that at the moment when he + had let her know that he wanted to be free—at that moment she might + tell him he had won his freedom at the cheap price of his unworthiness. + </p> + <p> + And thus as she descended, she enjoyed the triumph of rising; so the devil + in us never lacks argument that he is the celestial guide. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, hatred never dwells solitary; it readily finds boon companions. + And at one period of the night she began to look back upon her experience + with a curious sense of prior familiarity—to see it as a story + already known to her at second hand. She viewed it as the first stage of + one of those tragedies that later find their way into the care of family + physicians, into the briefs of lawyers, into the confidence of clergymen, + into the papers and divorce courts, and that receive their final flaying + or canonization on the stage and in novels of the time. Sitting at a + distance, she had within recent years studied in a kind of altruistic + absorption how the nation’s press, the nation’s science of medicine, the + nation’s science of law, the nation’s practice of religion, and the + nation’s imaginative literature were all at work with the same national + omen—the decay of the American family and the downfall of the home. + </p> + <p> + Now this new pestilence raging in other regions of the country had + incredibly reached her, she thought, on the sheltered lowlands where the + older traditions of American home life still lay like foundation rock. The + corruption of it had attacked him; the ruin of it awaited her; and thus + to-night she took her place among those women whom the world first hears + of as in hospitals and sanitariums and places of refuge and in their + graves—and more sadly elsewhere; whose misfortunes interested the + press and whose types attracted the novelists. + </p> + <p> + She was one of them. + </p> + <p> + They swarmed about her; one by one she recognized them: the woman who + unable to bear up under her tragedy soon sinks into eternity—or + walks into it; the woman who disappears from the scene and somewhere under + another name or with another lot lives on—devoting herself to memory + or to forgetfulness; the woman who stays on in the house, giving to the + world no sign for the sake of everything else that still remains to her + but living apart—on the other side of the locked door; the woman who + stays on without locking the door, half-hating, half-loving—the + accepted and rejected compromise; the woman who welcomes the end of the + love-drama as the beginning of peace and the cessation of annoyances; the + woman who begins to act her tragedy to servants and children and + acquaintances—reaping sympathy for herself and sowing ruin and + torture—for him; the woman who drops the care of house, ends his + comforts, thus forcing the sharp reminder of her value as at least an + investment toward his general well-being; the woman who endeavors to + rekindle dying coals by fanning them with fresh fascinations; the woman + who plays upon jealousy and touches the male instinct to keep one’s own + though little prized lest another acquire it and prize it more; the woman + who sets a watch to discover the other woman: they swarmed about her, she + identified each. + </p> + <p> + And she dismissed them. They brought her no aid; she shrank from their + companionship; a strange dread moved her lest <i>they</i> should discover + <i>her</i>. One only she detached from the throng and for a while withdrew + with her into a kind of dual solitude: the woman who when so rejected + turns to another man—the man who is waiting somewhere near. + </p> + <p> + The man <i>she</i> turned to, who for years had hovered near, was the + country doctor, her husband’s tried and closest friend, whose children + were asleep upstairs with her children. During all these years <i>her</i> + secret had been—the doctor. When she had come as a bride into that + neighborhood, he, her husband’s senior by several years, was already well + established in his practice. He had attended her at the birth of her first + child; never afterwards. As time passed, she had discovered that he loved + her; she could never have him again. This had dealt his professional + reputation a wound, but he understood, and he welcomed the wound. + </p> + <p> + Many a night, lying awake near her window, through which noises from the + turnpike plainly reached her, all earthly happiness asleep alongside her, + she could hear the doctor’s buggy passing on its way to some patient, or + on its return from the town where he had patients also. Many a time she + had heard it stop at the front gate: the road of his life there turned in + to her. There were nights of pitch darkness and beating rain; and + sometimes on these she had to know that he was out there. + </p> + <p> + Long she sat in the shadow of her room, looking towards the bed where her + husband slept, but sending the dallying vision toward the doctor. He would + be at the Christmas party; she would be dancing with him. + </p> + <p> + Clouds and darkness descended upon the plain of life and enveloped it. She + groped her way, torn and wounded, downward along the old lost human paths. + </p> + <p> + The endless night scarcely moved on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + She was wearied out, she was exhausted. There is anger of such intensity + that it scorches and shrivels away the very temptations that are its fuel; + nothing can long survive the blast of that white flame, and being unfed, + it dies out. Moreover, it is the destiny of a portion of mankind that they + are enjoined by their very nobility from winning low battles; these always + go against them: the only victories for them are won when they are leading + the higher forces of human nature in life’s upward conflicts. + </p> + <p> + She was weary, she was exhausted; there was in her for a while neither + moral light nor moral darkness. Her consciousness lay like a boundless + plain on which nothing is visible. She had passed into a great calm; and + slowly there was borne across her spirit a clearness that is like the + radiance of the storm-winged sky. + </p> + <p> + And now in this calm, in this clearness, two small white figures appeared—her + children. Hitherto the energies of her mind had grappled with the problem + of her future; now memories began—memories that decide more perhaps + than anything else for us. And memories began with her children. + </p> + <p> + She arose without making any noise, took her candle, and screening it with + the palm of her hand, started upstairs. + </p> + <p> + There were two ways by either of which she could go; a narrow rear + stairway leading from the parlor straight to their bedrooms, and the broad + stairway in the front hall. From the old maternal night-habit she started + to take the shorter way but thought of the parlor and drew back. This room + had become too truly the Judgment Seat of the Years. She shrank from it as + one who has been arraigned may shrink from a tribunal where sentence has + been pronounced which changes the rest of life. Its flowers, its fruits, + its toys, its ribbons, but deepened the derision and the bitterness. And + the evergreen there in the middle of the room—it became to her as + that tree of the knowledge of good and evil which at Creation’s morning + had driven Woman from Paradise. + </p> + <p> + She chose the other way and started toward the main hall of the house, but + paused in the doorway and looked back at the bed; what if he should awake + in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of where she was? Would he call out + to her—with what voice? Would he come to seek her—with what + emotions? (The tide of memories was setting in now—the drift back to + the old mooring.) + </p> + <p> + Hunt for her! How those words fell like iron strokes on the ear of + remembrance. They registered the beginning of the whole trouble. Up to the + last two years his first act upon reaching home had been to seek her. It + had even been her playfulness at times to slip from room to room for the + delight of proving how persistently he would prolong his search. But one + day some two years before this, when she had entered his study about the + usual hour of his return, bringing flowers for his writing desk, she saw + him sitting there, hat on, driving gloves on, making some notes. The sight + had struck the flowers from her hands; she swiftly gathered them up, and + going to her room, shut herself in; she knew it was the beginning of the + end. + </p> + <p> + The Shadow which lurks in every bridal lamp had become the Spectre of the + bedchamber. + </p> + <p> + When they met later that day, he was not even aware of what he had done or + failed to do, the change in him was so natural to himself. Everything else + had followed: the old look dying out of the eyes; the old touch abandoning + the hands; less time for her in the house, more for work; constraint + beginning between them, the awkwardness of reserve; she seeing Nature’s + movement yet refusing to believe it; then at last resolving to know to the + uttermost and choosing her bridal night as the hour of the ordeal. + </p> + <p> + If he awoke, would he come to seek her—with what feelings? + </p> + <p> + She went on upstairs, holding the candle to one side with her right hand + and supporting herself by the banisters with her left. There was a turn in + the stairway at the second floor, and here the candle rays fell on the + face of the tall clock in the hallway. She sat down on a step, putting the + candle beside her; and there she remained, her elbows on her knees, her + face resting on her palms; and into the abyss of the night dropped the + tranquil strokes. More memories! + </p> + <p> + She was by nature not only alive to all life but alive to surrounding + lifeless things. Much alone in the house, she had sent her happiness + overflowing its dumb environs—humanizing these—drawing them + toward her by a gracious responsive symbolism—extending speech over + realms which nature has not yet awakened to it or which she may have + struck into speechlessness long æons past. + </p> + <p> + She had symbolized the clock; it was the wooden God of Hours; she had + often feigned that it might be propitiated; and opening the door of it she + would pin inside the walls little clusters of blossoms as votive + offerings: if it would only move faster and bring him home! The usual hour + of his return from college was three in the afternoon. She had symbolized + that hour; one stroke for him, one for her, one for the children—the + three in one—the trinity of the household. + </p> + <p> + She sat there on the step with the candle burning beside her. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck three! The sound went through the house: down to him, up + to the children, into her. It was like a cry of a night watch: all is + well! + </p> + <p> + It was the first sound that had reached her from any source during this + agony, and now it did not come from humanity, but from outside humanity; + from Time itself which brings us together and holds us together as long as + possible and then separates us and goes on its way—indifferent + whether we are together or apart; Time which welds the sands into the rock + and then wears the rock away to its separate sands and sends the level + tide softly over them. + </p> + <p> + Once for him, once for her, once for the children! She took up the candle + and went upstairs to them. + </p> + <p> + For a while she stood beside the bed in one room where the two little + girls were asleep clasping each other, cheek against cheek; and in another + room at the bedside of the two little boys, their backs turned on one + another and each with a hand doubled into a promising fist outside the + cover. In a few years how differently the four would be divided and + paired; each boy a young husband, each girl a young wife; and out of the + lives of the two of them who were hers she would then drop into some + second place. If to-night she were realizing what befalls a wife when she + becomes the Incident to her husband, she would then realize what befalls a + woman when the mother becomes the Incident to her children: Woman, twice + the Incident in Nature’s impartial economy! Her son would playfully + confide it to his bride that she must bear with his mother’s whims and + ways. Her daughter would caution her husband that he must overlook + peculiarities and weaknesses. The very study of perfection which she + herself had kindled and fanned in them as the illumination of their lives + they would now turn upon her as a searchlight of her failings. + </p> + <p> + He downstairs would never do that! She could not conceive of his + discussing her with any human being. Even though he should some day desert + her, he would never discuss her. + </p> + <p> + She had lived so secure in the sense of him thus standing with her against + the world, that it was the sheer withdrawal of his strength from her + to-night that had dealt her the cruelest blow. But now she began to ask + herself whether his protection <i>had</i> failed her. Could he have + recognized the situation without rendering it worse? Had he put his arms + around her, might she not have—struck at him? Had he laid a + finger-weight of sympathy on her, would it not have left a scar for life? + Any words of his, would they not have rung in her ears unceasingly? To + pass it over was as though it had never been—was not <i>that</i> his + protection? + </p> + <p> + She suddenly felt a desire to go down into the parlor. She kissed her + child in each room and she returned and kissed the doctor’s children—with + memory of their mother; and then she descended by the rear stairway. + </p> + <p> + She set her candle on the table, where earlier in the night she had placed + the lamp—near the manuscript—and she sat down and looked at + that remorsefully: she had ignored it when he placed it there. + </p> + <p> + He had made her the gift of his work—dedicated to her the triumphs + of his toil. It was his deep cry to her to share with him his widening + career and enter with him into the world’s service. She crossed her hands + over it awhile, and then she left it. + </p> + <p> + The low-burnt candle did not penetrate far into the darkness of the + immense parlor. There was an easy chair near her piano and her music. + After playing when alone, she would often sit there and listen to the + echoes of those influences that come into the soul from music only,—the + rhythmic hauntings of some heaven of diviner beauty. She sat there now + quite in darkness and closed her eyes; and upon her ear began faintly to + beat the sad sublime tones of his story. + </p> + <p> + One of her delights in growing things on the farm had been to watch the + youth of the hemp—a field of it, tall and wandlike and tufted. If + the north wind blew upon it, the myriad stalks as by a common impulse + swayed southward; if a zephyr from the south crossed it, all heads were + instantly bowed before the north. West wind sent it east and east wind + sent it west. + </p> + <p> + And so, it had seemed to her, is that ever living world which we sometimes + call the field of human life in its perpetual summer. It is run through by + many different laws; governed by many distinct forces, each of which + strives to control it wholly—but never does. Selfishness blows on it + like a parching sirocco, and all things seem to bow to the might of + selfishness. Generosity moves across the expanse, and all things are seen + responsive to what is generous. Place yourself where life is lowest and + everything like an avalanche is rushing to the bottom. Place yourself + where character is highest, and lo! the whole world is but one struggle + upward to what is high. You see what you care to see, and find what you + wish to find. + </p> + <p> + In his story of the Forest and the Heart he had wanted to trace but one + law, and he had traced it; he had drawn all things together and bent them + before its majesty: the ancient law of Sacrifice. Of old the high + sacrificed to the low; afterwards the low to the high: once the sacrifice + of others; now the sacrifice of ourselves; but always in ourselves of the + lower to the higher in order that, dying, we may live. + </p> + <p> + With this law he had made his story a story of the world. + </p> + <p> + The star on the Tree bore it back to Chaldæa; the candle bore it to + ancient Persia; the cross bore it to the Nile and Isis and Osiris; the + dove bore it to Syria; the bell bore it to Confucius; the drum bore it to + Buddha; the drinking horn to Greece; the tinsel to Romulus and Rome; the + doll to Abraham and Isaac; the masks to Gaul; the mistletoe to Britain,—and + all brought it to Christ,—Christ the latest world-ideal of sacrifice + that is self-sacrifice and of the giving of all for all. + </p> + <p> + The story was for herself, he had said, and for himself. + </p> + <p> + Himself! Here at last all her pain and wandering of this night ended: at + the bottom of her wound where rankled <i>his problem</i>. + </p> + <p> + From this problem she had most shrunk and into this she now entered: She + sacrificed herself in him! She laid upon herself his temptation and his + struggle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Taking her candle, she passed back into her bedroom and screened it where + she had screened it before; then went into his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + She put her wedding ring on again with blanched lips. She went to his + bedside, and drawing to the pillow the chair on which his clothes were + piled, sat down and laid her face over on it; and there in that shrine of + feeling where speech is formed, but whence it never issues, she made her + last communion with him: + </p> + <p> + <i>“You, to whom I gave my youth and all that youth could mean to me; + whose children I have borne and nurtured at my breast—all of whose + eyes I have seen open and the eyes of some of whom I have closed; husband + of my girlhood, loved as no woman ever loved the man who took her home; + strength and laughter of his house; helper of what is best in me; my + defender against things in myself that I cannot govern; pathfinder of my + future; rock of the ebbing years! Though my hair turn white as driven snow + and flesh wither to the bone, I shall never cease to be the flame that you + yourself have kindled. </i> + </p> + <p> + “But never again to you! Let the stillness of nature fall where there must + be stillness! Peace come with its peace! And the room which heard our + whisperings of the night, let it be the Room of the Silences—the + Long Silences! Adieu, cross of living fire that I have so clung to!—Adieu!—Adieu!—Adieu!—Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + She remained as motionless as though she had fallen asleep or would not + lift her head until there had ebbed out of her life upon his pillow the + last drop of things that must go. + </p> + <p> + She there—her whitening head buried on his pillow: it was Life’s + Calvary of the Snows. + </p> + <p> + The dawn found her sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and there it + brightened about her desolately. The moment drew near when she must awaken + him; the ordeal of their meeting must be over before the children rushed + downstairs or the servants knocked. + </p> + <p> + She had plaited her hair in two heavy braids, and down each braid the gray + told its story through the black. And she had brushed it frankly away from + brow and temples so that the contour of her head—one of nature’s + noblest—was seen in its simplicity. It is thus that the women of her + land sometimes prepare themselves at the ceremony of their baptism into a + new life. + </p> + <p> + She had put on a plain night-dress, and her face and shoulders rising out + of this had the austerity of marble—exempt not from ruin, but exempt + from lesser mutation. She looked down at her wrists once and made a little + instinctive movement with her fingers as if to hide them under the + sleeves. + </p> + <p> + Then she approached the bed. As she did so, she turned back midway and + quickly stretched her arms toward the wall as though to flee to it. Then + she drew nearer, a new pitiful fear of him in her eyes—the look of + the rejected. + </p> + <p> + So she stood an instant and then she reclined on the edge of the bed, + resting on one elbow and looking down at him. + </p> + <p> + For years her first words to him on this day had been the world’s best + greeting: + </p> + <p> + “A Merry Christmas!” + </p> + <p> + She tried to summon the words to her lips and have them ready. + </p> + <p> + At the pressure of her body on the bed he opened his eyes and instantly + looked to see what the whole truth was: how she had come out of it all, + what their life was to be henceforth, what their future would be worth. + But at the sight of her so changed—something so gone out of her + forever—with a quick cry he reached his arms for her. She struggled + to get away from him; but he, winding his arms shelteringly about the + youth-shorn head, drew her face close down against his face. She caught at + one of the braids of her hair and threw it across her eyes, and then + silent convulsive sobs rent and tore her, tore her. The torrent of her + tears raining down into his tears. + </p> + <p> + Tears not for Life’s faults but for Life when there are no faults. They + locked in each other’s arms—trying to save each other on Nature’s + vast lonely, tossing, uncaring sea. + </p> + <p> + The rush of children’s feet was heard in the hall and there was smothered + laughter at the door and the soft turning of the knob. + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas Morning. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The sun rose golden and gathering up its gold threw it forward over the + gladness of the Shield. The farmhouse—such as the poet had sung of + when he could not help singing of American home life—looked out from + under its winter roof with the cheeriness of a human traveller who laughs + at the snow on his hat and shoulders. Smoke poured out of its chimneys, + bespeaking brisk fires for festive purposes. The oak tree beside it stood + quieted of its moaning and tossing. Soon after sunrise a soul of passion + on scarlet wings, rising out of the snow-bowed shrubbery, flew up to a + topmost twig of the oak; and sitting there with its breast to the gorgeous + sun scanned for a little while that landscape of ice. It was beyond its + intelligence to understand how nature could create it for Summer and then + take Summer away. Its wisdom could only have ended in wonderment that a + sun so true could shine on a world so false. + </p> + <p> + Frolicking servants fell to work, sweeping porches and shovelling paths. + After breakfast a heavy-set, middle-aged man, his face red with fireside + warmth and laughter, without hat or gloves or overcoat, rushed out of the + front door pursued by a little soldier sternly booted and capped and + gloved; and the two snowballed each other, going at it furiously. Watching + them through a window a little girl, dancing a dreamy measure of her own, + ever turned inward and beckoned to some one to come and look—beckoned + in vain. + </p> + <p> + All day the little boy beat the drum of Confucius; all day the little girl + played with the doll—hugged to her breast the symbol of ancient + sacrifice, the emblem of the world’s new mercy. Along the turnpike + sleigh-bells were borne hither and thither by rushing horses; and the + shouts of young men on fire to their marrow went echoing across the + shining valleys. + </p> + <p> + Christmas Day! Christmas Day! Christmas Day! + </p> + <p> + One thing about the house stood in tragic aloofness from its surroundings; + just outside the bedroom window grew a cedar, low, thick, covered with + snow except where a bough had been broken off for decorating the house; + here owing to the steepness the snow slid off. The spot looked like a + wound in the side of the Divine purity, and across this open wound the + tree had hung its rosary-beads never to be told by Sorrow’s fingers. + </p> + <p> + The sunset golden and gathering up its last gold threw it backward across + the sadness of the Shield. One by one the stars came back to their + faithful places above the silence and the whiteness. A swinging lamp was + lighted on the front porch and its rays fell on little round mats of snow + stamped off by entering boot heels. On each gatepost a low Christmas star + was set to guide and welcome good neighbors; and between those beacons + soon they came hurrying, fathers and mothers and children assembling for + the party. + </p> + <p> + Late into the night the party lasted. + </p> + <p> + The logs blazed in deep fireplaces and their Forest Memories went to + ashes. Bodily comfort there was and good-will and good wishes and the + robust sensible making the best of what is best on the surface of our + life. And hale eating and drinking as old England itself once ate and + drank at Yuletide. And fast music and dancing that ever wanted to go + faster than the music. + </p> + <p> + The chief feature of the revelry was the distribution of gifts on the + Christmas Tree—the handing over to this person and to that person of + those unread lessons of the ages—little mummied packages of the lord + of time. One thing no one noted. Fresh candles had replaced those burnt + out on the Tree the night before: all the candles were white now. + </p> + <p> + Revellers! Revellers! A crowded canvas! A brilliantly painted scene! + Controlling everything, controlling herself, the lady of the house: + hunting out her guests with some grace that befitted each; laughing and + talking with the doctor; secretly giving most attention to the doctor’s + wife—faded little sufferer; with strength in her to be the American + wife and mother in the home of the poet’s dream: the spiritual majesty of + her bridal veil still about her amid life’s snow as it never lifts itself + from the face of the <i>Jungfrau</i> amid the sad most lovely mountains: + the American wife and mother!—herself the <i>Jungfrau</i> among the + world’s women! + </p> + <p> + The last thing before the company broke up took place what often takes + place there in happy gatherings: the singing of the song of the State + which is also a song of the Nation—its melody of the unfallen home: + with sadness enough in it, God knows, but with sanctity: she seated at the + piano—the others upholding her like a living bulwark. + </p> + <p> + There was another company thronging the rooms that no one wot of: those + Bodiless Ones that often are much more real than the embodied—the + Guests of the Imagination. + </p> + <p> + The Memories were there, strolling back and forth through the chambers arm + and arm with the Years: bestowing no cognizance upon that present scene + nor aware that they were not alone. About the Christmas Tree the Wraiths + of earlier children returned to gambol; and these knew naught of those + later ones who had strangely come out of the unknown to fill their places. + Around the walls stood other majestical Veiled Shapes that bent undivided + attention upon the actual pageant: these were Life’s Pities. Ever and anon + they would lift their noble veils and look out upon that brief flicker of + our mortal joy, and drop them and relapse into their compassionate vigil. + </p> + <p> + But of the Bodiless Ones there gathered a solitary young Shape filled the + entire house with her presence. As the Memories walked through the rooms + with the Years, they paused ever before her and mutely beckoned her to a + place in their Sisterhood. The children who had wandered back peeped shyly + at her but then with some sure instinct of recognition ran to her and + threw down their gifts, to put their arms around her. And the Pities + before they left the house that night walked past her one by one and each + lifted its veil and dropped it more softly. + </p> + <p> + This was the Shape: + </p> + <p> + In the great bedroom on a spot of the carpet under the chandelier—which + had no decoration whatsoever—stood an exquisite Spirit of Youth, + more insubstantial than Spring morning mist, yet most alive; her lips + scarce parted—her skin like white hawthorn shadowed by pink—in + her eyes the modesty of withdrawal from Love—in her heart the + surrender to it. During those distracting hours never did she move nor did + her look once change: she waiting there—waiting for some one to come—waiting. + </p> + <p> + Waiting. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Bride of the Mistletoe, by James Lane Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE *** + +***** This file should be named 9179-h.htm or 9179-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/7/9179/ + + +Text file produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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