Part 16

Thus the good Sir Cleges, who had never thought of his own welfare, but had spent all his substance in order that others might be comfortable and happy, now found himself deserted as soon as he had nothing more to give. He was no longer able to appear at King Uther’s court, and he who had been one of the merriest and best loved of the knights of the Round Table dropped quietly out of sight and soon was altogether forgotten. With his wife and his children, Sir Cleges went to live in the one poor house that was left to him, and there in poverty and obscurity he strove to forget the fickle friends who had so readily forsaken him.

Now it happened some years after this that King Uther decided to spend the Christmas-tide at the royal castle of Cardiff, which stood not far from Sir Cleges’ humble dwelling. Great preparations were made for the Christmas feasting, and invitations were sent out to all the brave knights of the kingdom. On Christmas eve all the knights and their ladies were come together at Cardiff, and then the feasting began in earnest. The cooks and the servers ran hither and thither, and all was excitement and bustle. In the great hall, there were tumblers and dancers and magicians to amuse the Christmas feasters with their tricks and gamboling. Singers and minstrels of all kinds had been summoned, and the music of the pipes and trumpets and bugles was heard far and wide. Nothing was spared that might help to make the time speed rapidly and joyously for all the assembled knights and their ladies.

In his little house not far away, Sir Cleges heard the sounds of rejoicing in the great hall of the castle, and it made him sad and bitter. He had not been invited to the feasting, for long since he had been forgotten and none of his old friends troubled to inquire whether he was dead or living. “Many a happy day,” said Sir Cleges, to the Lady Clarys, “have I given to those who reck not now of my sorrow.” But the Lady Clarys would not allow Sir Cleges to dwell on thoughts of unkindness, and bade him consider how much they still had to be grateful for, and thus little by little she comforted him and brought him again to contentment.

Thus the Christmas eve Sir Cleges and the Lady Clarys spent quietly in their humble cottage, and found such pleasure in the innocent joys and playfulness of their happy children that they had no longing for the noisy revelry of the courtiers in the castle of Cardiff.

The next day was Christmas day, and, with good will in their hearts for all men, Sir Cleges and the Lady Clarys went to the church to give thanks for their many blessings. Now after the church was over, Sir Cleges walked in his garden; and after a time he knelt down to pray beneath a cherry-tree that stood in the midst of the garden. As Sir Cleges knelt, praying, he suddenly felt a bough of the tree striking him on the head, and, seizing hold of it and springing to his feet, lo, what was his astonishment to see the bough covered with green leaves and full of cherries--red, ripe, and luscious! Picking one of the cherries, Sir Cleges put it into his mouth, and it seemed to him he had never tasted anything so delicious. Gathering more of the fruit, he ran into the house and cried out, “Behold, Dame Clarys, what a marvel is here!” And when the Lady Clarys had come she could hardly believe her eyes. “Cherries at Christmas-time!” she exclaimed. “How can such a thing be!” And when Sir Cleges had told her how he had been praying beneath the tree, how he had felt a bough striking him on the head, and how, when he took hold of it, he had found it filled with green leaves and ripe fruit, then the Lady Clarys believed that the cherries were real, and great was her wonder at the marvel which had happened in their little garden.

“Now hast thou indeed,” she said, “a present fit for a king! No longer grieve that thou hast no Christmas offering for the good King Uther, for cherries such as these I doubt he has ever seen.”

And then the Lady Clarys counseled Sir Cleges to gather the cherries and to put them in a basket and bear them straightway as a present to the king. And Sir Cleges, glad at heart that even in his poverty he could do something to add to the joy of the king’s Christmas feasting, readily consented so to do.

To Cardiff Castle Sir Cleges took his way, and on his arm he bore the basket of the wonderful fruit. It was just dinner-time when Sir Cleges reached the castle gate, and all the court were about to sit down to meat. But when the porter at the gate saw the poverty-stricken man with a basket on his arm approaching to enter, he drove him away with scorn and reviling.

“Begone, old beggar,” he said, “with thy rags and thy tatters! What have such as thou to do entering kings’ castles? Let me see the last of thee, or thou shalt not soon forget where thou belongest.”

“Pray let me through the gate, good porter,” answered Sir Cleges, to this greeting. “I have here in this basket a Christmas present for the king.”

“Thou a Christmas present for the king! A likely story, in sooth! Show me what thou hast in thy basket that thou thinkest worthy a king.”

And then, when Sir Cleges lifted the cover of the basket and showed him the cherries, he was surprised almost beyond speech. “Heaven defend us!” he exclaimed; “cherries at Christmas-time! How can such a thing be? Certainly this is a present worthy a king. But listen, old man,” said he, greedily, “thou shalt not pass through this gate unless thou dost promise to give me a third of the reward which the king shall give for the present thou bringest.” And Sir Cleges, seeing no other way of passing the gate, promised the porter that one third of the reward should be his.

Now after Sir Cleges had passed by the porter, he thought all would be well; but no sooner had he reached the door of the hall than he was met by the usher, who forbade him to go in.

“Out with thee, old fellow!” he exclaimed. “How cam’st thou here? This is no place for beggars and basket-men such as thou.”

Then when Sir Cleges said he had a present in his basket for the king, the usher, like the porter, must see what the present could be.

“Holy Saint Peter!” he gasped, when Sir Cleges had lifted the cover of the basket. “Cherries at Christmas-time! How can such a thing be?”

But he soon recovered from his surprise and told Sir Cleges he might go in, but only if he promised that one third of the reward which the king gave him should come to him. And Sir Cleges, thinking how hard it was to do even a kindness to a king, must needs promise as he had done before.

When Sir Cleges entered the great hall all was bright and merry there. The knights and the ladies of King Uther’s court, all decked in their finest feathers and silks, were about to sit down to the banquet. The serving-men went scurrying back and forth from the kitchen, bearing platters of rich food for the king’s feasters and stumbling over each other in their excitement and hurry. The table was hardly able to carry everything they wanted to put upon it. There were great haunches of venison, and roast swans and geese and ducks and pheasants by the dozen. At each end, there stood a huge pasty almost as big around as a cart wheel. The king’s cooks had used all their art in concocting cakes and pies and puddings, to say nothing of the sweetmeats of marchpane molded into the forms of towers and castles, or of knights on horseback, or baskets of fruit and flowers, and various other fanciful and astonishing structures. Everybody’s mouth was watering, but the king was not yet ready to sit down to the feasting, and the courtiers and their ladies stood chatting and laughing merrily with one another. All were too busy to pay any heed to the shabby Sir Cleges, with the basket on his arm, until the watchful eye of the king’s haughty steward happened to fall upon him. Horrified to see such a melancholy figure in the midst of so gay a company, he hastened up to Sir Cleges and was hustling him out of the hall with short ceremony before Sir Cleges managed to say that he had a present for the king.

“Beggars are not givers,” said the steward; “but show me, what is the present thou dost bring?”

Then, when Sir Cleges had lifted the cover of the basket and had shown him the cherries, he was no less surprised than the others had been, nor was he less greedy.

“Cherries at Christmas!” he exclaimed. “Whoever heard of such a thing? But listen, sir,” said he, in a low voice, “thou speakest not with the king unless thou promise me one third of the reward he gives thee.”

When Sir Cleges heard these words he thought to himself: “Little enough am I to get out of this. If I have a dinner for my pains, it’s as much as I may look for.” But he said nothing until the steward prodded him again, and then, seeing that there was no other way of getting by this greedy officer, he promised him a third of his reward, as he already had done to the porter and the usher.

At last the way was free for Sir Cleges; and with his precious basket, he made his way through the throng of the courtiers to the place where the king was seated on a dais.

“Receive, O King,” said he, falling on his knees before King Uther, “this Christmas offering from one of thy most humble subjects.”

And when King Uther looked into the basket and saw that it was filled with luscious red cherries, he too, like the Lady Clarys, could hardly believe his eyes.

“Cherries at Christmas!” he cried. “Now certainly this is a marvel, and a right worthy gift thou has brought to us, good fellow.” Then when he had tasted one of the cherries he declared a better cherry he had never eaten. And then he gave some to each of the knights and ladies; and they all wondered greatly to see such fruit at that bleak season.

“The king’s thanks hast thou won,” said Uther to Sir Cleges, “for thou hast made this Christmas feasting forever memorable. But sit thou now at our table and have part in our dinner, and afterward thou shalt have whatever reward for thy gift that thou askest.”

Then he motioned to the haughty steward to make a place for Sir Cleges; and certainly a strange figure this shabby knight made among all the gay lords and their ladies. Little they thought that this humble stranger had once bestowed benefit upon many a one of them, and little heed they paid to one whom they took to be but a poor old gardener! But Sir Cleges said nothing, and sat quietly at the table, to his heart’s content enjoying all the good things the king had provided for his Christmas dinner. And though the best cooks of the land had shown there all their skill and cunning, nothing at that feast was so wonderful as the cherries which had been brought by the humble stranger.

Now when the dinner was over, the king had not forgotten the poor man who had brought him the unexpected present, and summoning Sir Cleges to him, he bade him ask whatever reward he would in return for his welcome present. Then Sir Cleges bethought himself of the promises he had made to the porter, the usher, and the steward, and he said:

“Lord, King, this is the reward I ask: twelve strokes of this good staff that I bear in my hand, to be delivered on whomsoever it may please me within this royal castle.”

“A strange fellow art thou!” answered the king, in astonishment at this; “and from thy looks, thou hadst done better to ask for something more worthy my giving. But, since it is thy request, thou shalt not find the king fail of his promise. Take thy strokes and deliver them as thou see’st fit.”

“Thanks for thy boon, King Uther,” answered Sir Cleges; “none other shall please me so well as this one.”

And then, turning to the steward in the hall, with his staff Sir Cleges gave him a blow on the shoulders that made him bend double. “Three more thou gettest,” he said, “for that is the full share coming to thee!”

And with a right good will Sir Cleges gave the three strokes, and left the proud steward groaning with pain and terror. Then to the hall door Sir Cleges made his way and delivered another four, no less hearty and stinging, on the shoulders of the astonished usher.

“There, thou hast thy share!” said Sir Cleges, as he hastened to the gateway.

The porter greeted him eagerly, but he little guessed what was coming. Four times Sir Cleges lifted his staff and let it fall with all his might on the back of the greedy porter. And this last third of Sir Cleges’ boon you can be sure was not less light than the others had been.

When Sir Cleges had thus delivered the three thirds of the reward for his present, he found at his elbow a messenger from the king, who bade him return to the great hall of the castle. All the courtiers and the king were still there and were listening to a song the minstrel was singing. Now this song, as it happened, was made about Sir Cleges himself, and the minstrel was telling how this generous knight had spent all his days making other people happy and now was altogether lost and forgotten.

“Poor Sir Cleges!” sighed the king, “I loved him well, but alas! I have no hope ever again to see him.”

Just then, however, Sir Cleges knelt down before the king and thanked him for the reward he had given him, and told him that the twelve strokes had been duly delivered.

“But I beseech thee, good fellow,” answered the king, “tell me what the meaning of this may be. Why were these strokes on the shoulders of my varlets more pleasing to thee than a reward of gold or silver?”

Then Sir Cleges told the king how the porter, the usher, and the steward had each demanded a third of his reward before they would permit him to make his present, and he added, “May they learn thus to be more free in giving and less greedy in demanding. Perchance the next poor man may not find it so hard to come into the king’s presence.”

When the king and his courtiers heard all this, they laughed, and were delighted with the story.

“Well done,” said the king, “thou wielder of the staff! Thou hast taught these knaves a good lesson. How now, master steward, how likest thou thy share of this fellow’s present?”

“May the fiends burn him in flames below!” muttered the steward, as he rubbed the bruises on his shoulders.

Now the king was so pleased with all these happenings that had made his Christmas feasting so merry that he turned again to Sir Cleges and asked him what his name was.

“My name, sire,” answered the poverty-stricken knight, “is one not unknown to thee in the days of old. My name is Sir Cleges.”

“What!” exclaimed the king, “art thou the long-lost Sir Cleges whom men to this day praise for his good deeds and his charity?” And so moved with joy was the good King Uther to find his old friend again that he came down from his high seat and took him by the hand and could not make enough of him. When the courtiers saw how things were going, they all flocked around Sir Cleges claiming his friendship and acquaintance.

But the king did not stop with kind words. He knew that a knight with a heart as true and loyal as the heart of Sir Cleges was not easily to be found, even among the knights of the Round Table, and now he was determined never again to lose him. So he gave to him the good castle of Cardiff to dwell in and other lands and fees wherewith he might live worthily.

Thus ended the king’s Christmas feasting in the castle of Cardiff, and a happy day it was for the knight Sir Cleges and the Lady Clarys. Many a long year they lived in the noble castle the king had given them, and you may be sure that no selfish porters or ushers or stewards stood at the gates and doorways to stop any poor man who would enter there.

[21] Reprinted by permission of the author and “St. Nicholas Magazine.”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT[22]

_Selma Lagerlöf_

“Once upon a time,” said my Grandmother, as we sat together one Christmas Day when all the others had gone to church, “there was a man who went out at night to borrow some fire. ‘Help me, kind people,’ he said. ‘My wife has a little baby, and I must light a fire to warm her and the child.’

“But it was very late, so everybody was asleep, and no one answered.

“The man walked farther and farther on. At last in the distance he saw the glimmer of flames, and, going in that direction, he perceived that the fire was burning in the open air. Around it lay sleeping a flock of white sheep, watched by an old shepherd.

“When the man came up he saw that three large dogs also rested asleep at the shepherd’s feet. Waking at his approach, they opened their wide jaws as if to bark, but no sound was heard. The man saw the hair rise on their backs and their sharp teeth glitter in the firelight as they rushed upon him. One snapped at his legs, one at his hand, and a third sprang at his throat. But neither jaws nor teeth would obey and the man did not feel the smallest hurt.

“He wanted to go on that he might get what he needed. But the sheep lay so close together that he could not move forward. So he stepped on the animals’ backs, and walked across them to the fire. But not a single one moved or stirred.”

“Why didn’t they move, Grandmother?” I asked.

“You will find out in a little while,” answered Grandmother, and kept on with the story.

“When the man had almost reached the fire the shepherd looked up. He was a surly old man, cross and disagreeable to everybody. So when he saw the stranger, he caught up the long, pointed staff he carried in his hand while he was watching the flock, and hurled it at him. The stick flew straight at the man, but before it struck him, turned aside and whizzed far over the field.”

Here I interrupted again. “Grandmother, why didn’t the stick hit the man?” But she went on without answering.

“Then the man said to the shepherd, ‘Good friend, aid me by letting me have a little fire. My wife has an infant child and I need it to warm them both.’

“The shepherd would gladly have refused, but when he thought that his dogs had not been able to hurt the man, that the sheep had not run from him, and his staff would not strike him, he felt a little afraid, and did not dare to do so.

“‘Take as much as you need,’ he said.

“But the fire was almost out. There were no branches or brands, only a heap of glowing embers, and the stranger had nothing in which he could put the coals.

“The shepherd saw this and was glad because the man could get no fire. But the stranger stooped down, took the coals from the ashes with his hands, and put them in his cloak. And the coals neither scorched his hands nor singed his cloak. The man carried them away as if they were nuts or apples.”

Here I interrupted a third time, “Grandmother, why wouldn’t the coals burn the man?”

“You will soon hear,” she replied, and went on.

“When the shepherd, who was a sullen, bad-tempered man, saw all these things, he began to wonder: ‘What kind of night is this when the dogs do not bite, the sheep feel no fear, the lance does not kill, and fire does not burn?’ He called to the stranger, asking: ‘Why is it that all things show mercy upon you?’

“‘I cannot tell you if you do not see for yourself,’ said the man, and went away to light the fire for his wife and child.

“But the shepherd wanted to find out what all this meant, so he followed him and discovered that the man did not even have a hut to live in, only a sort of cavern with bare stone walls.

“The shepherd thought the poor little child might be chilled, and though he was a harsh man, he pitied and wanted to help it. So he gave the stranger a soft white sheepskin, and told him to put the child in it.

“But the very moment he showed that he, too, could be merciful, his eyes were opened and he saw and heard what he had neither seen nor heard before.

“He saw a dense circle of silver-winged angels, each with a harp in his hand, and all singing that on this night was born the Saviour, who would redeem the world from its sin.

“Then the shepherd understood why on this night all creatures were so happy that they did not desire to harm anything.

“The angels were not only around the shepherd, but he saw them everywhere. They were in the cave, on the mountains, and flying under the sky. They came in throngs along the way, and, as they passed, stopped and gazed at the child.

“There were joy and happiness and mirth and singing, and he saw all this amid the darkness of the night, where he had formerly seen and heard nothing. And he was so happy that his eyes were opened--that he fell on his knees and thanked God.”

Then Grandmother sighed, saying, “But what the shepherds saw, we could see, too, for the angels are flying over the earth every Christmas Eve, if we could only see them.”

And Grandmother laid her hand on my head, adding, “Remember this, for it is as true as that I see you and you see me. It does not depend upon candles and lamps, or on the moon and sun, but what we need is eyes to behold the glory of God.”

[22] By permission of “Good Housekeeping.” Translated expressly for this magazine from the Christ Legends of Selma Lagerlöf.

A QUEER CHRISTMAS[23]

_Marian Willard_

It was Christmas morning--the very day when twins should be having the merriest time in the world. But Betty and Bob were not merry at all; they sat and looked at each other and hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry.