door, and was shouting its spring cry over moor and meadow.
The brothers were poorer than ever that year. Nobody would send them a
single shoe to mend, and Scrub and Spare would have left the village
but for their barley-field and their cabbage-garden. They sowed their
barley, planted their cabbage, and, now that their trade was gone,
worked in the rich villagers' fields to make out a scanty living.
So the seasons came and passed; spring, summer, harvest, and winter
followed each other as they have done from the beginning. At the end of
the latter Scrub and Spare had grown so poor and ragged that their old
neighbors forgot to invite them to wedding feasts or merrymakings,
and the brothers thought the cuckoo had forgotten them, too, when at
daybreak on the first of April they heard a hard beak knocking at their
door, and a voice crying:--
“Cuckoo! cuckoo! Let me in with my presents!”
Spare ran to open the door, and in came the cuckoo, carrying on one
side of its bill a golden leaf larger than that of any tree in the North
Country; and in the other side of its bill, one like that of the common
laurel, only it had a fresher green.
“Here,” it said, giving the gold to Scrub and the green to Spare, “it is
a long carriage from the world's end. Give me a slice of barley bread,
for I must tell the North Country that the spring has come.”
Scrub did not grudge the thickness of that slice, though it was cut
from their last loaf. So much gold had never been in the cobbler's hands
before, and he could not help exulting over his brother.
“See the wisdom of my choice,” he said, holding up the large leaf of
gold. “As for yours, as good might be plucked from any hedge, I wonder a
sensible bird would carry the like so far.”
“Good master cobbler,” cried the cuckoo, finishing its slice,
“your conclusions are more hasty than courteous. If your brother is
disappointed this time, I go on the same journey every year, and for
your hospitable entertainment will think it no trouble to bring each of
you whichever leaf you desire.”
“Darling cuckoo,” cried Scrub, “bring me a golden one.”
And Spare, looking up from the green leaf on which he gazed as though it
were a crown-jewel, said:--
“Be sure to bring me one from the merry tree.”
And away flew the cuckoo.
“This is the feast of All Fools, and it ought to be your birthday,” said
Scrub. “Did ever man fling away such an opportunity of getting rich?
Much good your merry leaves will do in the midst of rags and poverty!”
But Spare laughed at him, and answered with quaint old proverbs
concerning the cares that come with gold, till Scrub, at length getting
angry, vowed his brother was not fit to live with a respectable man; and
taking his lasts, his awls, and his golden leaf, he left the wattle hut,
and went to tell the villagers.
They were astonished at the folly of Spare, and charmed with Scrub's
good sense, particularly when he showed them the golden leaf, and told
that the cuckoo would bring him one every spring.
The new cobbler immediately took him into partnership; the greatest
people sent him their shoes to mend. Fairfeather, a beautiful village
maiden, smiled graciously upon him; and in the course of that summer
they were married, with a grand wedding feast, at which the whole
village danced except Spare, who was not invited, because the bride
could not bear his low-mindedness, and his brother thought him a
disgrace to the family.
As for Scrub he established himself with Fairfeather in a cottage close
by that of the new cobbler, and quite as fine. There he mended shoes to
everybody's satisfaction, had a scarlet coat and a fat goose for
dinner on holidays. Fairfeather, too, had a crimson gown, and fine blue
ribbons; but neither she nor Scrub was content, for to buy this grandeur
the golden leaf had to be broken and parted With piece by piece, so the
last morsel was gone before the cuckoo came with another.
Spare lived on in the old hut, and worked in the cabbage-garden. (Scrub
had got the barley-field because he was the elder.) Every day his coat
grew more ragged, and the hut more weather-beaten; but people remarked
that he never looked sad or sour. And the wonder was that, from the time
any one began to keep his company, he or she grew kinder, happier, and
content.
Every first of April the cuckoo came tapping at their doors with the
golden leaf for Scrub, and the green for Spare. Fairfeather would have
entertained it nobly with wheaten bread and honey, for she had some
notion of persuading it to bring two golden leaves instead of one; but
the cuckoo flew away to eat barley bread with Spare, saying it was not
fit company for fine people, and liked the old hut where it slept so
snugly from Christmas till spring.
Scrub spent the golden leaves, and remained always discontented; and
Spare kept the merry ones.
I do not know how many years passed in this manner, when a certain great
lord, who owned that village, came to the neighborhood. His castle stood
on the moor. It was ancient and strong, with high towers and a deep
moat. All the country as far as one could see from the highest turret
belonged to its lord; but he had not been there for twenty years, and
would not have come then only he was melancholy. And there he lived in
a very bad temper. The servants said nothing would please him, and the
villagers put on their worst clothes lest he should raise their rents.
But one day in the harvest-time His Lordship chanced to meet Spare
gathering water-cresses at a meadow stream, and fell into talk with the
cobbler. How it was nobody could tell, but from that hour the great lord
cast away his melancholy. He forgot all his woes, and went about with a
noble train, hunting, fishing, and making merry in his hall, where all
travelers were entertained, and all the poor were welcome.
This strange story spread through the North Country, and great company
came to the cobbler's hut,--rich men who had lost their money, poor men
who had lost their friends, beauties who had grown old, wits who had
gone out of fashion,--all came to talk with Spare, and, whatever their
troubles had been, all went home merry.
The rich gave him presents, the poor gave him thanks. Spare's coat
ceased to be ragged, he had bacon with his cabbage, and the villagers
began to think there was some sense in him.
By this time his fame had reached the capital city, and even the court.
There were a great many discontented people there; and the king had
lately fallen into ill humor because a neighboring princess, with seven
islands for her dowry, would not marry his eldest son.
So a royal messenger was sent to Spare, with a velvet mantle, a diamond
ring, and a command that he should repair to court immediately.
“To-morrow is the first of April,” said Spare, “and I will go with you
two hours after sunrise.”
The messenger lodged all night at the castle, and the cuckoo came at
sunrise with the merry leaf.
“Court is a fine place,” it said, when the cobbler told it he was going,
“but I cannot come there; they would lay snares and catch me; so be
careful of the leaves I have brought you, and give me a farewell slice
of barley bread.”
Spare was sorry to part with the cuckoo, little as he had of its
company, but he gave it a slice which would have broken Scrub's heart in
former times, it was so thick and large. And having sewed up the leaves
in the lining of his leather doublet, he set out with the messenger on
his way to court.
His coming caused great surprise there. Everybody wondered what the king
could see in such a common-looking man; but scarcely had His Majesty
conversed with him half an hour, when the princess and her seven islands
were forgotten and orders given that a feast for all comers should be
spread in the banquet hall.
The princes of the blood, the great lords and ladies, the ministers of
state, after that discoursed with Spare, and the more they talked the
lighter grew their hearts, so that such changes had never been seen at
court.
The lords forgot their spites and the ladies their envies, the princes
and ministers made friends among themselves, and the judges showed no
favor.
As for Spare, he had a chamber assigned him in the palace, and a seat
at the king's table. One sent him rich robes, and another costly jewels;
but in the midst of all his grandeur he still wore the leathern doublet,
and continued to live at the king's court, happy and honored, and making
all others merry and content.
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY OF STRASBURG
A GERMAN FOLK-TALE
BY J. STIRLING COYNE (ADAPTED)
Once, long ago, there lived near the ancient city of Strasburg, on the
river Rhine, a young and handsome count, whose name was Otto. As the
years flew by he remained unwed, and never so much as cast a glance at
the fair maidens of the country round; for this reason people began to
call him “Stone-Heart.”
It chanced that Count Otto, on one Christmas Eve, ordered that a great
hunt should take place in the forest surrounding his castle. He and his
guests and his many retainers rode forth, and the chase became more
and more exciting. It led through thickets, and over pathless tracts
of forest, until at length Count Otto found himself separated from his
companions.
He rode on by himself until he came to a spring of clear, bubbling
water, known to the people around as the “Fairy Well.” Here Count Otto
dismounted. He bent over the spring and began to lave his hands in the
sparkling tide, but to his wonder he found that though the weather was
cold and frosty, the water was warm and delightfully caressing. He
felt a glow of joy pass through his veins, and, as he plunged his hands
deeper, he fancied that his right hand was grasped by another, soft
and small, which gently slipped from his finger the gold ring he always
wore. And, lo! when he drew out his hand, the gold ring was gone.
Full of wonder at this mysterious event, the count mounted his horse and
returned to his castle, resolving in his mind that the very next day he
would have the Fairy Well emptied by his servants.
He retired to his room, and, throwing himself just as he was upon his
couch, tried to sleep; but the strangeness of the adventure kept him
restless and wakeful.
Suddenly he heard the hoarse baying of the watch-hounds in the
courtyard, and then the creaking of the drawbridge, as though it were
being lowered. Then came to his ear the patter of many small feet on
the stone staircase, and next he heard indistinctly the sound of light
footsteps in the chamber adjoining his own.
Count Otto sprang from his couch, and as he did so there sounded a
strain of delicious music, and the door of his chamber was flung open.
Hurrying into the next room, he found himself in the midst of numberless
Fairy beings, clad in gay and sparkling robes. They paid no heed to
him, but began to dance, and laugh, and sing, to the sound of mysterious
music.
In the center of the apartment stood a splendid Christmas Tree, the
first ever seen in that country. Instead of toys and candles there hung
on its lighted boughs diamond stars, pearl necklaces, bracelets of
gold ornamented with colored jewels, aigrettes of rubies and sapphires,
silken belts embroidered with Oriental pearls, and daggers mounted in
gold and studded with the rarest gems. The whole tree swayed, sparkled,
and glittered in the radiance of its many lights.
Count Otto stood speechless, gazing at all this wonder, when suddenly
the Fairies stopped dancing and fell back, to make room for a lady of
dazzling beauty who came slowly toward him.
She wore on her raven-black tresses a golden diadem set with jewels.
Her hair flowed down upon a robe of rosy satin and creamy velvet. She
stretched out two small, white hands to the count and addressed him in
sweet, alluring tones:--
“Dear Count Otto,” said she, “I come to return your Christmas visit. I
am Ernestine, the Queen of the Fairies. I bring you something you lost
in the Fairy Well.”
And as she spoke she drew from her bosom a golden casket, set with
diamonds, and placed it in his hands. He opened it eagerly and found
within his lost gold ring.
Carried away by the wonder of it all, and overcome by an irresistible
impulse, the count pressed the Fairy Ernestine to his heart, while she,
holding him by the hand, drew him into the magic mazes of the dance. The
mysterious music floated through the room, and the rest of that Fairy
company circled and whirled around the Fairy Queen and Count Otto, and
then gradually dissolved into a mist of many colors, leaving the count
and his beautiful guest alone.
Then the young man, forgetting all his former coldness toward the
maidens of the country round about, fell on his knees before the Fairy
and besought her to become his bride. At last she consented on the
condition that he should never speak the word “death” in her presence.
The next day the wedding of Count Otto and Ernestine, Queen of the
Fairies, was celebrated with great pomp and magnificence, and the two
continued to live happily for many years.
Now it happened on a time, that the count and his Fairy wife were
to hunt in the forest around the castle. The horses were saddled and
bridled, and standing at the door, the company waited, and the count
paced the hall in great impatience; but still the Fairy Ernestine
tarried long in her chamber. At length she appeared at the door of the
hall, and the count addressed her in anger.
“You have kept us waiting so long,” he cried, “that you would make a
good messenger to send for Death!”
Scarcely had he spoken the forbidden and fatal word, when the Fairy,
uttering a wild cry, vanished from his sight. In vain Count Otto,
overwhelmed with grief and remorse, searched the castle and the Fairy
Well, no trace could he find of his beautiful, lost wife but the imprint
of her delicate hand set in the stone arch above the castle gate.
Years passed by, and the Fairy Ernestine did not return. The count
continued to grieve. Every Christmas Eve he set up a lighted tree in
the room where he had first met the Fairy, hoping in vain that she would
return to him.
Time passed and the count died. The castle fell into ruins. But to this
day may be seen above the massive gate, deeply sunken in the stone arch,
the impress of a small and delicate hand.
And such, say the good folk of Strasburg, was the origin of the
Christmas Tree.
THE THREE PURSES
A LEGEND
BY WILLIAM S. WALSH (ADAPTED)
When Saint Nicholas was Bishop of Myra, there were among his people
three beautiful maidens, daughters of a nobleman. Their father was so
poor that he could not afford to give them dowries, and as in that land
no maid might marry without a dowry, so these three maidens could not
wed the youths who loved them.
At last the father became so very poor that he no longer had money with
which to buy food or clothes for his daughters, and he was overcome by
shame and sorrow. As for the daughters they wept continually, for they
were both cold and hungry.
One day Saint Nicholas heard of the sad state of this noble family. So
at night, when the maidens were asleep, and the father was watching,
sorrowful and lonely, the good saint took a handful of gold, and, tying
it in a purse, set off for the nobleman's house. Creeping to the open
window he threw the purse into the chamber, so that it fell on the bed
of the sleeping maidens.
The father picked up the purse, and when he opened it and saw the gold,
he rejoiced greatly, and awakened his daughters. He gave most of the
gold to his eldest child for a dowry, and thus she was enabled to wed
the young man whom she loved.
A few days later Saint Nicholas filled another purse with gold, and,
as before, went by night to the nobleman's house, and tossed the purse
through the open window. Thus the second daughter was enabled to marry
the young man whom she loved.
Now, the nobleman felt very grateful to the unknown one who threw purses
of gold into his room and he longed to know who his benefactor was and
to thank him. So the next night he watched beneath the open window.
And when all was dark, lo! good Saint Nicholas came for the third time,
carrying a silken purse filled with gold, and as he was about to throw
it on the youngest maiden's bed, the nobleman caught him by his robe,
crying:--
“Ohs good Saint Nicholas! why do you hide yourself thus?”
And he kissed the saint's hands and feet, but Saint Nicholas, overcome
with confusion at having his good deed discovered, begged the nobleman
to tell no man what had happened.
Thus the nobleman's third daughter was enabled to marry the young man
whom she loved; and she and her father and her two sisters lived happily
for the remainder of their lives.
THE THUNDER OAK
A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND
WILLIAM S. WALSH AND OTHER SOURCES
When the heathen raged through the forests of the ancient Northland
there grew a giant tree branching with huge limbs toward the clouds. It
was the Thunder Oak of the war-god Thor.
Thither, under cover of night, heathen priests were wont to bring
their victims--both men and beasts--and slay them upon the altar of the
thunder-god. There in the darkness was wrought many an evil deed, while
human blood was poured forth and watered the roots of that gloomy tree,
from whose branches depended the mistletoe, the fateful plant that
sprang from the blood-fed veins of the oak. So gloomy and terror-ridden
was the spot on which grew the tree that no beasts of field or forest
would lodge beneath its dark branches, nor would birds nest or perch
among its gnarled limbs.
Long, long ago, on a white Christmas Eve, Thor's priests held their
winter rites beneath the Thunder Oak. Through the deep snow of the
dense forest hastened throngs of heathen folk, all intent on keeping
the mystic feast of the mighty Thor. In the hush of the night the folk
gathered in the glade where stood the tree. Closely they pressed around
the great altar-stone under the overhanging boughs where stood the
white-robed priests. Clearly shone the moonlight on all.
Then from the altar flashed upward the sacrificial flames, casting their
lurid glow on the straining faces of the human victims awaiting the blow
of the priest's knife.
But the knife never fell, for from the silent avenues of the dark forest
came the good Saint Winfred and his people. Swiftly the saint drew from
his girdle a shining axe. Fiercely he smote the Thunder Oak, hewing a
deep gash in its trunk. And while the heathen folk gazed in horror and
wonder, the bright blade of the axe circled faster and faster around
Saint Winfred's head, and the flakes of wood flew far and wide from the
deepening cut in the body of the tree.
Suddenly there was heard overhead the sound of a mighty, rushing wind. A
whirling blast struck the tree. It gripped the oak from its foundations.
Backward it fell like a tower, groaning as it split into four pieces.
But just behind it, unharmed by the ruin, stood a young fir tree,
pointing its green spire to heaven.
Saint Winfred dropped his axe, and turned to speak to the people.
Joyously his voice rang out through the crisp, winter air:--
“This little tree, a young child of the forest, shall be your holy tree
to-night. It is the tree of peace, for your houses are built of fir. It
is the sign of endless life, for its leaves are forever green. See how
it points upward to heaven! Let this be called the tree of the Christ
Child. Gather about it, not in the wildwood, but in your own homes.
There it will shelter no deeds of blood, but loving gifts and rites of
kindness. So shall the peace of the White Christ reign in your hearts!”
And with songs of joy the multitude of heathen folk took up the little
fir tree and bore it to the house of their chief, and there with good
will and peace they kept the holy Christmastide.
THE CHRISTMAS THORN OF GLASTONBURY
A LEGEND OF ANCIENT BRITAIN
ADAPTED FROM WILLIAM OF MALMESBURY AND OTHER SOURCES
There is a golden Christmas legend and it relates how Joseph of
Arimathea--that good man and just, who laid our Lord in his own
sepulcher, was persecuted by Pontius Pilate, and how he fled from
Jerusalem carrying with him the Holy Grail hidden beneath a cloth of
samite, mystical and white.
For many moons he wandered, leaning on his staff cut from a white-thorn
bush. He passed over raging seas and dreary wastes, he wandered through
trackless forests, climbed rugged mountains, and forded many floods.
At last he came to Gaul where the Apostle Philip was preaching the glad
tidings to the heathen. And there Joseph abode for a little space.
Now, upon a night while Joseph lay asleep in his hut, he was wakened
by a radiant light. And as he gazed with wondering eyes he saw an angel
standing by his couch, wrapped in a cloud of incense.
“Joseph of Arimathea,” said the angel, “cross thou over into Britain and
preach the glad tidings to King Arvigarus. And there, where a Christmas
miracle shall come to pass, do thou build the first Christian church in
that land.”
And while Joseph lay perplexed and wondering in his heart what answer he
should make, the angel vanished from his sight.
Then Joseph left his hut and calling the Apostle Philip, gave him the
angel's message. And, when morning dawned, Philip sent him on his way,
accompanied by eleven chosen followers. To the water's side they went,
and embarking in a little ship, they came unto the coasts of Britain.
And they were met there by the heathen who carried them before Arvigarus
their king. To him and to his people did Joseph of Arimathea preach the
glad tidings; but the king's heart, though moved, was not convinced.
Nevertheless he gave to Joseph and his followers Avalon, the happy isle,
the isle of the blessed, and he bade them depart straightway and build
there an altar to their God.
And a wonderful gift was this same Avalon, sometimes called the Island
of Apples, and also known to the people of the land as Ynis-witren, the
Isle of Glassy Waters. Beautiful and peaceful was it. Deep it lay in
the midst of a green valley, and the balmy breezes fanned its apple
orchards, and scattered afar the sweet fragrance of rosy blossoms or
ripened fruit. Soft grew the green grass beneath the feet. The smooth
waves gently lapped the shore, and water-lilies floated on the surface
of the tide; while in the blue sky above sailed the fleecy clouds.
And it was on the holy Christmas Eve that Joseph and his companions
reached the Isle of Avalon. With them they carried the Holy Grail hidden
beneath its cloth of snow-white samite. Heavily they toiled up the
steep ascent of the hill called Weary-All. And when they reached the top
Joseph thrust his thorn-staff into the ground.
And, lo! a miracle! the thorn-staff put forth roots, sprouted and
budded, and burst into a mass of white and fragrant flowers! And on the
spot where the thorn had bloomed, there Joseph built the first Christian
church in Britain. And he made it “wattled all round” of osiers gathered
from the water's edge. And in the chapel they placed the Holy Grail.
And so, it is said, ever since at Glastonbury Abbey--the name by which
that Avalon is known to-day--on Christmas Eve the white thorn buds and
blooms.
THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE
A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES
BY JOHN OF HILDESHEIM-MODERNIZED BY H. S. MORRIS (ADAPTED)
THE STAR
Now, when the Children of Israel were gone out of Egypt, and had won and
made subject to them Jerusalem and all the land lying about, there was
in the Kingdom of Ind a tall hill called the Hill of Vaws, or the Hill
of Victory. On this hill were stationed sentinels of Ind, who watched
day and night against the Children of Israel, and afterward against the
Romans.
And if an enemy approached, the keepers of the Hill of Vaws made a great
fire to warn the inhabitants of the land so that the men might make
ready to defend themselves.
Now in the time when Balaam prophesied of the Star that should betoken
the birth of Christ, all the great lords and the people of Ind and in
the East desired greatly to see this Star of which he spake; and they
gave gifts to the keepers of the Hill of Vaws, and bade them, if they
saw by night or by day any star in the air, that had not been seen
aforetime, that they, the keepers, should send anon word to the people
of Ind.