ONCE AT CHRISTMAS
46 pgs w/decorative borders, including 3 color plates
6 7/8"h x 5 3/4"w; Abingdon Press, 1928

BEING the tale of how one came from afar at Christmas-tide, but found not at once that for which he sought.

BEFELL that at the season when snow lay manteling-white upon the heath, came one trudging afoot through the high forest. Companions had he none, nor good horse to bear him; and of lordly garments had he none save only upon his hauberc a frayed surcoat, stiff of wear and sweat. He wore a battered casque upon his head, and his limbs were begirt, after the manner of men-at-arms, by thongs of beaten leather.

Always he faced right eagerly the fore, as one who cometh gladly after much journeying, to a dear and beloved place. Often he started onward faster than was his wont, but he must needs compose himself again after the way of one who has learned the fortitude of measured march in a far and arduous campaign.

Now, as he journeyed he came upon a hermit that was issued forth from his hermitage. And the good man, beholding the soldier, crieth:

"Messire by the token upon your shoulder, I perceive that you are late returned from the Holy War. In the name of God and his sweet Mother, give you good welcome." And he made that he would take the young man to sup and to ease in his hermitage for the Yuletide.

"Right good will do I owe you for the offer of your bounty," saith the other: but this day I would come, sans repose, to my own door and hearth. Tell me, I pray, how far distant is the fair city of Gilderlynde?"

Thereupon the other answereth, "Messire, it is one league through the forest to the first glimpse of the battlements, and half a league thereafter to the nearest gate."

"Give you joy," saith the soldier: then stop I cannot, for Gilderlynde is my heart's dearest intent."

So he took leave and went swiftly on his way. And haply, as he approached the town, the forest opened into holt and mead, and the landscape grew so sweet and tender that him-seemed he had returned to the fairest place that ever he did see. And his heart waxed so joyous in his breast that when a small bird gave even-song in a tree the soldier must pause mightily in the road and stand all silent, and turn his face to the sky lest there come two tears in his eyes and roll down upon his cheeks, the which were a most outrageous thing for a young man, resolute and of high courage.

Now came he after a breathless hour to the battlements of the town, and in no time thereafter he betook himself through the nearest gate, nor did he make pause at the market place, but sped forthwith past the outer bailey to a house on a fair street over against the keep. And there, to his deep joy, he would enter. But a thrall with a golden chaplet about his brow and smelling most unctuous scent did rise up from within the door, barring the way right haughtily, and saying, "What would ye, messire?"

The soldier answereth, saying, "How now? Dost not remember me, lad? Here have I dwelt for a goodly round of seasons with my sister, who is even now within."

Then the thrall, noting the battered casque upon the other's head, and his shabby surcoat, condescendeth, saying, "Are you not he who, in years agone, was wont to carve huntsmen and knights and flowers and fair ladies in wood upon great chests and inglesides and on the porticos of the castle?"

"Yes" saith the soldier, "but open, I pray, that I may come to the maid Mellicent, my sister."

"Your sister is no longer within," saith the thrall.

The soldier falleth back deadly amazed. "No longer within?"

"You have spoken," saith the thrall.

"She is not dead!"

"Nay, I misdoubt that she is dead."

"Where, then, may she be?" faltereth the soldier.

"I know not," answereth the thrall. "I only know that she is gone this long time away, and no one knoweth whither she hath departed." And he would fain have shut the door against him of the ragged coat. Howbeit the soldier persisted strongly at the door, and the thrall let call the new master of the house. This one made more show of courtesy, but he too knew naught of the damsel save only that she had gone away. Then he noteth the cross on the other shoulder and saith:

"You are newly come from the Holy War! It is long rumored hereabout that the War hath failed. What think you thereof? Is it so?"

"Messire I know not," saith the soldier. "I only know that both in time of victory and in dire distress, we went always resolutely forward at the given command." Then came the soldier swiftly away from the house where he had lived, and hastened to this neighbor and that, inquiring eagerly of each for word of the maid Mellicent. Alack, those he had best known were gone away. Such as remained were busy with their affairs, and on seeing his torn coat, they must needs busy themselves with their affairs more than ever before. At best none could tell more than that the damsel had ridden forth in the spring of the year with a post horse and car beside.

Then went the soldier to a far quarter of the city, and to the fellowship where he had carved the chests and lecterns and rich panels for portico and chamber. But when he inquired that he might come again to his chosen work, it was told him that his place was taken by another, and that his master, Thaddeus, who had promised him employ and emprise, was long since gone away. (In troth, since the time of Thaddeus, another master had come and gone!) Those within wore new faces, strange and sleek and well-in-formed. They looked at him coldly; and what time he turned away, there came to his ears half-hidden words and laughter that the War had failed.

Now, with a dread that he had not known in battle upon him, he came down to the market-place. Hereabout was clamor and confusion and much gaiety, for the lords and captains and burgesses were abroad to make merry. Jongleurs made rare blandishment, with ball and hoop and white hare; fools upon hobby horses skirmished through the throng and held merry battle; pipers with gay pipes and drummers with nimble sticks set up a madman's dance, with stumps dancing and bells ringing.

Bowmen there were and pike men and knights-at-arms in shining hauberc and basinet, young and well-clad and glistering for battle; and ladies there were, and damsels and gentle youths in samite dropped with gold and costly fur. Never, it seemed, were costlier crowds nor more prospersome. And these, when they saw his battered casque, and the grim crease where a Saracen had mis- wrought, spoke naught but looked aside as they had seen something best forgot. And a brace of young scriveners, sitting at the street corner where they might ply their fluent quills for those who could not set down their own thoughts, sniggered as he passed by, saying, "Here is yet another who hath made Christendom secure."

Then came a young squire-of-the-guard right gallant in shining habergeon and saith, "Comrade, join our ranks again. Here is good timber for your belly, and right good cheer, and soon betimes, the best of battle and plunder from our neighboring states." But the soldier, drawing aside, saith, God helping me, I shall not find the need to fight again.'

Whereupon, three portly, waddling burgesses with rounded paunches well-draped in satin, speak aloud that he may hear, saying, "Certes, and had we but set out against the Saracens, we would have hounded them light and fiercely to the world's end, and destroyed them utterly, for they are loathely cruel, and vile beyond all living things."

But the soldier departed from them silently. And there came upon him the memory of a night in battle when the Flemings and the Tuscans and the Normans held the mountains of Naplouse as in siege, with sortie and repulse and sortie again. And bethougt him how, as he lay most grievous wounded beyond the camp with a flinder of iron from his smashed headpiece in his forehead, and a spear-wound two finger-breadths into his thigh, there came by night a Saracen, and did lift him up right tenderly, and bear him back to the outskirt of the Norman camp.

The while he was so thinking, he met a beggar all filthy in rags and rusty gorget of steel. And he noted a croix rouge like his own on the fellow's shoulder. And as he passed, the beggar cried aloud and clipped him by the hand. Thereupon the soldier beheld him closely, and lo, it was one of his own companions from the War.

"Now by St. John," saith the beggar, "when last we fought at Belus across from Mount Carmel, I had not thought to see you in this world again!"

"Nor I," quoth the soldier, "for when I saw you last I thought you would be foundered and sunk into the earth under the great burthen of crescent-shields and scimitars and lance heads that you carried away upon your back in memory of the Saracen!"

"Certes, it was a good war, the best I ever waged," saith the beggar, " and the last."

"But what do you in beggar's rags and dole," asketh the soldier, "while these of the town go so rich and fairly clad?"

"Gramercy, "saith the other with a grin, "I have more gold than most. When they see my sorry plight, and the badge from the War upon my arm, and that I limp upon one foot, they give me in pity of their gold. And certes, it is only fair, for I have been at great pains learning to limp so woefully, with a loathely cinder in my shoe."

Now the soldier must needs smile, though it irketh him somewhat that his comrade should so mishandle; and he changeth to another matter saying, "What is this thing one heareth in the town, that the War hath failed?"

Then the other cursed bitterly, and saith with great dole, "Indeed, it is so. For notwithstanding we did acquit ourselves right valiantly in battle and did not stint ourselves nor our blood, yet have the captains, sitting in high assemblage brought ill where might have come great good." He continued to rail, against them, the while casting his eyes about for alms. Then the soldier turned and departed, seeking ever and anon through the city for her he would so gladly find, even if she were come to ill fortune and sorrow. And at last he came upon one who said that still another had told him that the damsel was long since gone out of the city to a town eight English leagues to the south.

All sore in spirit and heavy in his thoughts lest the fair maid had come by some grave misadventure, the soldier turned him toward the southward gate of the city. As the sun rode low over the battlements, he halted him wearily before a chapel garden beyond the wall. There he would fain enter and take comfort for an hour, and perchance find him a cool spring wherein to slake his thirst of the day. But three who sat in black vestments before the portal bade him stand, saying none the less, "Welcome messire, to our pious fellowship. Herein may you enter and rest you well for the night, and partake full bounteously of our sanctified sup and board. But first we must inquire and ask you somewhat of your belief."

And he saith to them, "Say on."

Then they say to him, "Do you believe that fifteen cherubim or shall it be twenty can rest inviolate upon the point of a needle?"

And he answereth, "I know not."

Then they say to him, "Do you hold that St. Thomas standeth with one foot upon the heavenly throne and playeth upon a dulcimer, or that he standeth fore-square and thrummeth upon a lute?"

And he answereth, "I do not know."

Whereupon they rose up before him with pale eyes and say unto him, "Messire you may not enter then."

"That may be as you wish," saith he. "But I have come from afar and I thirst. I ask but a cup, or- if I may not come aneigh - then a sponge of water upon a reed, that I may slake the bitterness of my lips."

But they raised up their voices against him, and said him nay. And now, out of his failure and miscomfort and loss came a black desolation and rage. And so by anger regaining his hardiment, he tore off the badge from his arm and flung it at their feet, and strode forthwith onward into the forest.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Now the forest appeared desolate beyond all hope. There was no greenery upon fir or pine, nor was there song of bird, nor any living thing therein save only trees, burned and blackened as by fire, and swept of drifted snow. So did he plod wearily under a night sky of wind and scant moon and flying cloud-wrack; and in his breast the flame of anger died down to coldness.

Ever and anon, as he swung along with the ancient rhythm of the march upon him, him-seemed the forest grew less drear, and the weariness of his limbs less grave. Overhead, the swift clouds did break and vanish before the splendor of the moon, and the stars shone forth. Now, in a sort, was peace come down upon him, and as he fared onward, he held converse with himself, saying: "Nay then, bethink me, my lot is not as dire as I have thought. Much have I gleaned in my wandering that no man may reave away. I have walked shoulder to shoulder with bearded fear, and I have not become craven in his presence. Through knowledge of death I have come keen of scent like a hound upon the realities of life. Having endured the long march, and the gnawing burthen of wounds, so may I also support with fortitude that which the future bringeth. Never more shall the face of truth be shut utterly away beyond a hiding veil of words; nor shall my eyes flinch before the eyes of any man, neither shall I greatly reck what number of cherubim may stand on the point of a needle. But if it is God's will, I would gladly look again upon the sweet face of my sister Mellicent."

Now a vast weight of weariness crept upon him, and finding a fissure in a fallen tree wherein were drifted leaves, he crawled within and did in some manner sleep.

So slept he until day-spring on the morrow, then journeyed toward the town whereof one had told him. Betimes he met a charcoal burner who gave him somewhat of his rough bread; then onward again incontinent upon his way, nor did he wot that the approaching eve was that of the dear Lord's nativity.

At long length, as he drew near to the town, came gently to his ears the sweet melody of bells from far across the countryside, and he saw that divers and sundry folk were come into the forest to gather the white-beaded mistletoe and the glowing holly, and to bring in the Yuletide logs for to give good Christmas cheer. As he made pause to listen, there was borne to his ears the sound of voices singing.

(Here one singeth:)

"When Christ was born of Mary
In Bethlehem, that fair cittee,
Angels sang, of joy to see,
In Excelsis Gloria.

"Shepherds saw the angels bright.
Round about was radiant light.
Christ. Our Lord is born this night,
In Excelsis Gloria.

"Shepherds haste them from the lea,
Wise men praise on bended knee,
Born He was for you and me,
In Excelsis Gloria."

So at the hour of dusk, what time the winter sun betook him to his rest, came the soldier into a meadow that led onward to the fair town. Uprearing above the highest roofs, rose the outline of a mighty cathedral. So vast it was that he who now perceived it stood in astound. The roof and the transept thereof were unfinished and the chapels thereto; nor did the spire rise to its full height, nor the buttresses bear the full weight of masonry upon them. Yet was the whole of such surpassing great beauty that the soldier must draw deeply of his breath in wonderment. Nor might he take his eyed away, but went forward marveling.

Came he then to one that had been gathering mistletoe in the forest, and that one told him the cathedral, to wit, that those who build it were come from many regions and territories and yet worked in great good-fellowship together: and that there was still need of others to hew and cut, while yet there must be others to carve the lecterns and the missal cases and the stalls and pulpits of the nave.

So, as the evening of our Lord's birth cast its blue shadow upon the world, the soldier came into the town and to the doorway of the inn. Within, great logs were burning and holly was enwreathed about, and there was minstrelsy and right good Christmas cheer. He inquired of the stout host if peradventure there was word of her whom he sought. But no one, nor host nor stranger, had seen or knew ought of a maid so named, nor of one who traveled alone.

Now asked he for lodging that he might rest the night, but the host lamented, saying: "Alack the inn is so burgeoning-full that the walls do warp and crack most doleful to behold. Even now I dread to hear it split and sunder and fall all loathely about the landskip."

"Then think you, might I find a resting place in the town?" saith the soldier.

"Nay," saith the other, "I misdoubt the same, for at Yuletide, they who sojourn away do scamper back right merrily to the old nest." Then he paced up and down with finger on nose, bethinking him where he might send the wayfarer for the night. At last, stopping before him, he saith, "Messire, go you lightly up yonder steep way to the cathedral. Beside the postern gate, under a great fir tree, you will perceive a fair small house wherein liveth the master carver of the cathedral with his fair wife. And there, belike - since they are not long of the town and hence have no returning kin - you may find shelter."

Therewith the soldier issued forth from the inn and departed toward the hilltop whence rose the cathedral. But he approached slowly and in some misease from thinking of the three in black vestments and how that he had torn the badge frorn off his shoulder. Yet came he at last to the small house with the fir-tree before. And as he looked, him-seemed that the stars were come down into the fir-tree and burned like Yuletide candles among its branches.

He knocked, but no one opened; so after a time he entered therein and found him in a fragrant chamber with Christmas wreaths about, wherein stood many sculptured figures carven massively from well seasoned wood. Some were made and finished complete, some were chipped but roughly from the ponderous blocks; and all-pervading, came the perfume of oak, and cherry and walnut most joyous sweet to his nostrils. So he looked about him upon the carven saints and upon the bright tools wherewith the wood took shape and flowed beneath the hand, and he made an unspoken prayer, saying, "God grant that I may come again to my chosen work."

Of the figures that were fair and sweetly finished, one group stood somewhat apart from the rest. And that might rightly be, for it was made in the likeness of the Christ Child and of Mary, his mother. And fairer carven it was than anything he had seen in all his life, fairer, even, than the work of his master, Thaddeus; albeit here was a rare resemblance to that man's handicraft.

Now he looked upon the benign and loving face of the Christ Child; and he saw that it was wrought of such love and such tenderness that in the whole world, man had not made better. Thereupon he also regarded her who held the Child Jesus. And in that moment, he must needs fall back breathless a pace, with heart pounding most mightily in his breast, and look about him with a strange surmise, for lo, the face was the face of her whom he sought!

Now as he so stood, he saw a narrow spear of light; and, moving swiftly, he went forward to the portal of an inner room whence came the greater radiance. And looking, he saw within, lying upon a fair bed, one who held in her arms a wee tender wight and did give gentle nurture thereto; and upon a settle near by, his eyes aglow and looking always steadfastly upon these two, sat Thaddeus, the master carver.

* * * * *

Here he who writeth this tale ceaseth his writing and layeth down his pen. For on this Christmas night, happily and beyond all ill circumstance, it seemeth that the soldier is indeed come home.