The First Christmas Tree | Page 9

ways of error to the path of salvation. Hearken
to him in all things like a father. Bow your hearts to his teaching. He
comes not for earthly gain, but for the gain of your souls. Depart from
evil works. Worship not the false gods, for they are devils. Offer no
more bloody sacrifices, nor eat the flesh of horses, but do as our
Brother Boniface commands you. Build a house for him that he may
dwell among you, and a church where you may offer your prayers to
the only living God, the Almighty King of Heaven.'"
It was a splendid message: proud, strong, peaceful, loving. The dignity
of the words imposed mightily upon the hearts of the people. They
were quieted as men who have listened to a lofty strain of music.
"Tell us, then," said Gundhar, "what is the word that thou bringest to us

from the Almighty. What is thy counsel for the tribes of the woodland
on this night of sacrifice?"
"This is the word, and this is the counsel," answered Winfried. "Not a
drop of blood shall fall to-night, save that which pity has drawn from
the breast of your princess, in love for her child. Not a life shall be
blotted out in the darkness tonight; but the great shadow of the tree
which hides you from the light of heaven shall be swept away. For this
is the birth-night of the white Christ, son of the All-Father, and Saviour
of mankind. Fairer is He than Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin
the Wise, kinder than Freya the Good. Since He has come to earth the
bloody sacrifices must cease. The dark Thor, on whom you vainly call,
is dead. Deep in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. His power
in the world is broken. Will you serve a helpless god? See, my brothers,
you call this tree his oak. Does he dwell here? Does he protect it?"
A troubled voice of assent rose from the throng. The people stirred
uneasily. Women covered their eyes. Hunrad lifted his head and
muttered hoarsely, "Thor! take vengeance! Thor!"
Winfried beckoned to Gregor. "Bring the axes, thine and one for me.
Now, young woodsman, show thy craft! The king-tree of the forest
must fall, and swiftly, or all is lost!"
The two men took their places facing each other, one on each side of
the oak. Their cloaks were flung aside, their heads bare. Carefully they
felt the ground with their feet, seeking a firm grip of the earth. Firmly
they grasped the axe-helves and swung the shining blades.
"Tree-god!" cried Winfried, "art thou angry? Thus we smite thee!"
"Tree-god!" answered Gregor, "art thou mighty? Thus we fight thee!"
Clang! clang! the alternate strokes beat time upon the hard, ringing
wood. The axe-heads glittered in their rhythmic flight, like fierce eagles
circling about their quarry.
The broad flakes of wood flew from the deepening gashes in the sides

of the oak. The huge trunk quivered. There was a shuddering in the
branches. Then the great wonder of Winfried's life came to pass.
Out of the stillness of the winter night, a mighty rushing noise sounded
overhead.
Was it the ancient gods on their white battle-steeds, with their black
hounds of wrath and their arrows of lightning, sweeping through the air
to destroy their foes?
A strong, whirling wind passed over the tree-tops. It gripped the oak by
its branches and tore it from its roots. Backward it fell, like a ruined
tower, groaning and crashing as it split asunder in four great pieces.
Winfried let his axe drop, and bowed his head for a moment in the
presence of almighty power.
Then he turned to the people, "Here is the timber," he cried, "already
felled and split for your new building. On this spot shall rise a chapel to
the true God and his servant St. Peter.
"And here," said he, as his eyes fell on a young fir-tree, standing
straight and green, with its top pointing towards the stars, amid the
divided ruins of the fallen oak, "here is the living tree, with no stain of
blood upon it, that shall be the sign of your new worship. See how it
points to the sky. Let us call it the tree of the Christ-child. Take it up
and carry it to the chieftain's hall. You shall go no more into the
shadows of the forest to keep your feasts with secret rites of shame.
You shall keep them at home, with laughter and song and rites of love.
The thunder-oak has fallen, and I think the day is coming when there
shall not be a home in all Germany where the children are not gathered
around the green fir-tree to rejoice in the birth-night of