The Path of Life | Page 7

he put on his greatcoat, drew the hood over his head and went.
From behind the black clouds came a light, a dull copper glow, without rays, high up where the stars were; it set golden edges to the hem of the clouds; the heaven remained black. There appeared a little streak of glowing copper, which grew and grew, became a sickle, a half-disk and at last a great, round, giant gold moon, which rose and rose. It went up like a huge round orange behind the heaven and, more and more swiftly, shot up into the sky, growing smaller and smaller, till it became just a common moon, the laughing moon among the stars.
He alone had seen it.
Now he took his star on his shoulder, pulled his hood deep over his head and wandered down the little path, all over the snow, to where the lights were burning. It was lonely, lifeless, that white plain under that burnished sky; and he was all alone, the black fellow on the snow. And he saw the world so big, so monotonously bleak; a flat, white wilderness, with here and there a straight, thin poplar and a row of black, lean, knotty willows.
He went down towards the lights.
The village lay still. The street was black with people. Great crowds of womenfolk, tucked and muffled in black hooded cloaks, tramped as in a dream along the houses, over the squeaking snow. They shuffled from door to door, stuck out their bony hands and asked plaintively for their God's-penny. They disappeared at the end of the street and went trudging into the endless moonlight.
Children went with lights and stars and stood gathered in groups, their black faces glowing in the shine of their lanterns; they made a huge din with their tooting-horns[2] and rumble-pot[3] and sang of
The Babe born in the straw
and
The shepherds they come here. They're bringing wood and fire And this and that and t'other: Now bring us a pot of beer.
[2] A cow's horn fitted with a mouthpiece.
[3] An iron pot with a bladder stretched across the top, beaten with sticks, like a drum.
Mad Wanne went alone; she kept on lurching across the street with her long legs, which stuck out far from under her skirt, and held her arms wide open under her hooded cloak, like a demon bat. She snuffled something about:
'Twas hailing, 'twas snowing and 'twas bad weather And over the roofs the wind it flew. Saint Joseph said to Mary Maid: "Mary, what shall we do?"
Top[4] Dras, Wulf and Grendel, three fellows, tall as trees, were also loafing round. They were the three Kings: Top had turned his big jacket and blackened his face; Grendel wore a white sheet over his back and blew the horn; and Wulf had a mitre on and carried a great star with a lantern on a stick. So they dragged along the street, singing at every door:
Three Kings with a star Came travelling from afar, Over mountains, hills and dale, To go and look In every nook, To go and look for the Lord of All.
[4] Beggar.
Their rough voices droned and three great shadows walked far ahead of them on the white street-snow. All those people came and went and twisted and turned and came and went again. Each sang his own little song and fretted his whining prayer. Above all this rose the dull toot of the baker's horn, as he kept on shouting:
"Hot bread! Hot bread!"
High hung the moon and blinked the stars; and fine white shafts fell through the air, upon everything around, like silver pollen.
"Maarten of the mountain!" whispered the children behind the window. "Maarten the Freezyman!"[5]
[5] A legendary figure of a snow-covered bogie, who comes down to the villages at Christmas-time and runs away with the children.
And they crept back into the kitchen, beside the fire.
And the black man stood outside the door, tugging at the string of his twirling star, and sang through his nose:
Come, star, come, star, you must not so still stand! You must go with me to Bethlehem Land, To Bethlehem, that comely city, Where Mary sits with her Babe on her knee....
Along the country-roads, the farmhouses stood snowed in, with black window-shutters, which showed dark against the walls and shut in the light, and stumpy chimneys, with thick smoke curling from them. Indoors, there was no seeing clearly: the lamp hung from the ceiling in a ring of steam and smoke and everything lay black and tumbled. In the hearth, the yule-log lay blazing. The farmer's wife baked waffles and threw them in batches on the straw-covered floor.
In one corner, under the light and wound from head to foot in tobacco-smoke, were the farm-hands, playing cards. They sat wrapped up in their game, bending over their little table, very quiet. Now and