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- From: kamorgan@athena.mit.edu (Keith Morgan)
- Subject: Christmas Reading
- Message-ID: <1992Dec25.192509.1985@athena.mit.edu>
- Sender: kamorgan@athena.mit.edu (Keith Morgan)
- Nntp-Posting-Host: vongole.mit.edu
- Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
- Date: Fri, 25 Dec 1992 19:25:09 GMT
- Lines: 69
-
- .... I turned up the lights and the bright glare revealed all the more
- cruelly the tattered figure before us.
-
- Father Christmas advanced a timid step across the floor. Then
- he paused, as if in sudden fear.
-
- "Is this floor mined?" he said.
-
- "No, no," said Time soothingly. And to me he added in a
- murmured whisper, "He's afraid. He was blown up in a mine in No Man's
- Land between the trenches at Christmas-time in 1914. It broke his
- nerve."
-
- "May I put my toys on that machine gun?" asked Father
- Christmas timidly. "It will help to keep them dry."
-
- "It is not a machine gun," said Time gently. "See, it is only
- a pile of books upon the sofa." And to me he whispered, "They turned a
- machine gun on him in the streets of Warsaw. He thinks he sees them
- everywhere since then."
-
- "It's all right, Father Christmas," I said, speaking as
- cheerily as I could, while I rose and stirred the fire into a blaze.
- "There are no machine guns here and there are no mines. This is but
- the house of a poor writer."
-
- "Ah," said Father Christmas, lowering his tattered hat still
- further and attempting something of a humble bow, "a writer? Are you
- Hans Andersen, perhaps?"
-
- "Not quite," I answered.
-
- "But a great writer, I do not doubt," said the old man, with a
- humble courtesy that he had learned, it may well be, centuries ago in
- the yule-tide season of his northern home. "The world owes much to its
- great books. I carry some of the greatest with me always. I have them
- here--"
-
- He began fumbling among the limp and tattered packages that he
- carried. "Look! _The House that Jack Built_ - a marvellous, deep
- thing, sir - and this, _The Babes in the Wood_. Will you take it sir?
- A poor present, but a present still - not so long ago I gave them in
- the thousands every Christmas-time. None seem to want them now."
-
- He looked appealingly towards Father Time, as the weak may
- look towards the strong, for help and guidance.
-
- "None want them now," he repeated, and I could see the tears
- start in his eyes. "Why is it so? Has the world forgotten its sympathy
- with the lost children wandering in the wood?"
-
- "All the world," I heard Time murmur with a sigh, "is
- wandering in the wood." But out loud he spoke to Father Christmas in
- cheery admonition, "Tut, tut, good Christmas," he said, "you must
- cheer up. Here, sit in this chair the biggest one; so - beside the
- fire. Let us stir it to a blaze; more wood, that's better. And listen,
- good old Friend, to the wind outside - almost a Christmas wind, is it
- not? Merry and boisterous enough, for all the evil times it stirs among."
- ....
-
- "Merry Christmas" by Stephen Leacock,
- in _Frenzied Fiction_, London:1919.
-
-
- --
-
- Keith Morgan kamorgan@athena.mit.edu
- In the end nothing could be said of his work except that it was
- preposterous and true and totally unacceptable. Edward Whittemore
-