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 sacrifice
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 battlesteeds； 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 treetops。 It
gripped the oak by its branches and tore it from the 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 toward 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。 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 songs 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 Christ。〃
So they took the little fir from its place； and carried it
in joyous procession to the edge of the glade； and laid it on
the sledge。 The horses tossed their heads and drew their load
bravely； as if the new burden had made it lighter。
When they came to the house of Gundhar； he bade them throw
open the doors of the hall and set the tree in the midst of
it。 They kindled lights among the branches until it seemed to
be tangled full of fire…flies。 The children encircled it；
wondering； and the sweet odour of the balsam filled the house。
Then Winfried stood beside the chair of Gundhar； on the
dais at the end of the hall； and told the story of Bethlehem；
of the babe in the manger； of the shepherds on the hills； of
the host of angels and their midnight song。 All the people
listened； charmed into stillness。
But the boy Bernhard； on Irma's knee； folded in her soft
arms； grew restless as the story lengthened； and began to prattle
softly at his mother's ear。
〃Mother；〃 whispered the child； 〃why did you cry out so
loud； when the priest was going to send me to Valhalla？〃
〃Oh； hush； my child；〃 answered the mother； and pressed him
closer to her side。
〃Mother；〃 whispered the boy again； laying his finger on
the stains upon her breast； 〃see； your dress is red！ What are
these stains？ Did some one hurt you？〃
The mother closed his mouth with a kiss。 〃Dear； be still；
and listen！〃
The boy obeyed。 His eyes were heavy with sleep。 But he
heard the last words of Winfried as he spoke of the angelic
messengers； flying over the hills of Judea and singing as they
flew。 The child wondered and dreamed and listened。 Suddenly
his face grew bright。 He put his lips close to Irma's cheek
again。
〃Oh； mother！〃 he whispered very low； 〃do not speak。 Do
you hear them？ Those angels have come back again。 They are
singing now behind the tree。〃
And some say that it was true； but others say that it was
only Gregor and his companions at the lower end of the hall；
chanting their Christmas hymn：
All glory be to God on high；
And on the earth be peace！
Good…will； henceforth； from heaven to man；
Begin and never cease。
End