The CHRISTMAS SPIRIT IN LITERATURE

Ladies' Mirror, 1 December 1924, Page 16

The CHRISTMAS SPIRIT IN LITERATURE

6 3y 'Dolce cA. Duncan^

CHRISTMAS OWES MUCH TO LITERATURE FOR THE ASSOCIATIONS OF THE FESTIVAL HAVE APPEALED STRONGLY TO WRITERS

TTHERE is a magical thrill about the very thought of Christmas, a joyous warmth, a gladsome holiday feeling, a vision of care laid aside while old and young vie with one another in selfless kindnesses, and affectionate remembrances in memory of Him whom all Christendom revers as its spiritual King. And this feast-timepre-eminently the feast-time of the children has found expression in song and story right down the centuries. It was in the rich imagination of Northern Europe, of Germany, Denmark, Norway and Sweden that the Christ story took deep root, and gave us the earliest fairy tales connected with Christmas. It also gave us the Christmas tree, beloved alike by young and old in all English-speaking countries. Denmark gave the world gentle Hans Andersen, whose exquisite story of "The Little Match Girl" has become a classic in its stark simplicity. Frozen, starving, dying, she crouched in the darkness against the wall in the snow-covered street. She lighted a match, then another, then another, and "found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchants'. Thousands of tapers were burning on the green branches." And her kind grandmother, now an angel with wings, took her, "and they both flew upwards to brightness and joy." And those who found the child next day with her bundle of burned matches thought she had tried to warm herself, but "no one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, or into what glory she had entered." In "The Fir-tree" which became a Christmas tree, is another tale delightful to young people, because they can so easily follow the tree's reflections, and enter into its regrets when its brief glorious hour is over, and nothing remains but memories and empty boastings. The unselfishness of the true Christmas attitude is emphasized in the opening scene of Belgian Maeterlinck's wonderful "Blue Bird." Tvltvl and

Mytyl, the children of the poor wood-cutter, watch through their window the gay children's party of their neighbour, with the brilliant Christmas tree, and the gilt and shining presents. They have none themselves, nor have they been invited to the party, but that does not spoil their simple joy in the pleasure of the other children. But to Charles Dickens must be given the palm for his Christmas stories, which perhaps more perfectly realise the ideal love and sympathy which should dominate human intercourse, not at Christmas time merely, but at all times. Among American writers who have painted Christmas pictures with vivid pen, E. N. Wcscott may be given pride of place. He wrote one book only, but" that one—" David Harum"—is a work of genius. David the uneducated, rough, shrewd country banker and horsedealer celebrates Christmas in a way that not even a King could better. In return for the casual kindness of the generous debonair gentleman to a shy, halfstarved, ill-treated child, that child, grown-up, pays a debt of gratitude that had been accumluating for forty years, and in doing so raises Mrs. Cullom from the depths of despairing, hopeless poverty, to the heights of joy and happiness. It is a charming story, and bears retelling. The boy, child of poverty and hardship unbroken by any stray ray of sunshine, is gazing at the circus tent which seems to epitomize all that was most desirable in his little world. Mr. Cullom sees him, senses the child's longings, and adopts him for a few hours—hours whose memory is irradiated for ever after with

rare splendour for the little freckled waif. For his new friend takes him into the circus tent, buys him peanuts, cinnamon candy, gingerbreads, pink lemonade, and even cakes with which to ieed the elephant. Moreover, he gave him ten cents —ten whole cents—the first money the boy had ever owned! "An I remember how we talked about all the doin's, the ridin' and the jumpin', and the summcrsettin' an' all—fer he got all the shyniss out of me for the timean' once I looked up at him an 'he looked down with that curious look in his eyes, an' put his hand on my shoulder. Wa'al now, I tell ye, I had a queer crinkly feelin' go up an' down- my back, an' I like to up an' cried." But his father was awaiting him at the gate to thrash him for not mending the fence, and for the supposed theft of the money to go to the circus. And the next day, as soon as the boy could move, he ran away. Gradually he made good. He returned to the village comparatively well off. But the fortunes of the Cullom family had declined. Their land was gone save the small home of the widow, and that was heavily mortgaged. And so, not as a Christmas gift, but as payment for an old debt to her husband, David wipes out the poor woman's mortgages and enables her son to join her.

It makes good reading—how the bedraggled old dame is taken * to the house and smartened up for the Christmas dinner. Then the dinner itself—the oyster soup, the roast turkey, the succotash (whatever that may be), the currant jelly, the cranberry sauce, the mince pie, the sweet Indian corn, pudding with the cream sauce, and that bottle of champagne—well!

iii-et rlartc depicted another kind of Christmas in his tale “How Santa Claus Caine to Simpson’s Bar." And the poets have their say, too. Who does not know Milton’s stately ode on the Nativity. It is pure music: "But peaceful -was the night II 'herein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began. 7he -winds with -wonder whist. Smoothly the -waters kissed, II hisp ring new joys to the mild ocean Who now hath quite forgot to rare P bile birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave." Nearly two centuries earlier, Clement Marot, offspring of the French Renaissance, had penned his "Noel" in mediaeval French, which only adds to its charm. It is clear-cut as a cameo. "7V souvient— il plus dn prophete Qni nans dil cas de si haull faict. One d'une pucclle parfaiete \aislroil mig enfant tout parfaicl/ IS effect list faict La belle Pucclle _ - I en my fib dn del cone : Chan tons doe. doe. doe." Coming down to the present day, John Masefield’s beautiful "Christmas Kve at Sea deserves to be widely known. A few verses must suffice here ; I he hushed sea seems to hold her breath. And o’er the giddy swaying spars. Silent and excellent as Death, The dim blue skies are bright with stars. Dear (tod. they shone in Palestine Like this, and yon pale moon serene Looked down among the lowing kine On Mary and the daciarene. 7he angels called from deep to deep. The burning heavens fell the thrill, Startling the flocks of silly sheep rind lonely shepherds on the hill. 70-night, beneath the dripping bows Where flashing bubbles burst and throng, "the bow-wash murmurs, sighs and soughs A message from the angels' song. 7he moon goes nodding dozen the West. I he drowsy helmsman strikes the bell Rex Indecorum natus est I charge you, brothers, sing dowell. dowel!. . Rex Jndicorum natus est.”

And nearer home many a versifier has sung of Christmastide in terms which have a special appeal to colonists and settlers from the loved Homeland. In "A Letter from Australia,” Douglas Sladen voices the Christmas thoughts of most of us: And so it’s Christmas in the South as on the North Sea coasts, Though zve are starved with summer drouth, and you with winter frosts. And zue shall have our roast beef here and think of you the while, Though all the watery hemisphere cuts off the Mother Isle. Feel sure that zee shall think of you, zee zvho have zvandcred forth; And many a million thoughts zvill go to-day from South to North; Old heads zvill muse on churches old, where bells zvill ring to-day The very bells, perchance, zvhich tolled their fathers to the clay. In our own land, the late Sir William Steward during the early part of his political career, wrote his popular “Lines on Christmas Eve,” probably the first penned on this subject in New Zealand.