Sunday Post - 22.12.1940, Blaðsíða 2

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SUNDAY POST
WHEN I was asked to write
my reflections bn Christ-
inas I was rather at a loss, since
for some time now I have not
been what you might call a
Christmas man. But when I was
a small boy, I used to look for-
ward very « much to Christmas,
although Christmas day was not
much different from any other
day except that on Christmas
Eve the cows were fed a bit
earlier than usual and that there
was a pleasant smell of balking
and apples about the house. Per-
haps too, the Evening Star may
have seemed Just a little more
friendly, more personal and per-
haps, even a little nearer than
usual. I often used to ask my
grandmother whether she did
not look forward to Christ-
mas, but she always gave the
same answer. ”1 look forward to
the time when the days begin to
lengthen." I could never under-
stand this; to me there was no
tea son why the spring-time
should seem more pleasant than
the short winter days. As a child I
had no sense of the supernatural
and belived neither in angels or
the nine goblins which were sup-
posed to appear at 'Christmas
time. But I used to puzzle a lot
over some of the verses in the
Christmas hymns which seemed
strange and exciting. Most of my
Xmases since I have been grown
up have been spent abroad and
I have always tried to be travell-
ing on that day. But, even now,
every year at Christmas time I
find myself humming a verse of
a carol which still seems strange
and remarkable just Us it did
When I was a child;
„Sa guS, sem rsehur himni ha-
Uim, hann hvilir nu i dyrastalli
lagum."
(’’The God who rules the
heavens is now in a manger
laid.")
With the years I have come
to understand that old woman
who said she looked forward to
Heathen Yule
and
brother would guide me. Then
he changed his tone and look-
ing at me with searching fath-
erly eyes asked me:
“What can you tell me about
Christian Christmas
the time when the days grow
longer. Now I see that in those
words is hidden the true spirit of
our Northern Christmas. Christ-
mas is not only a bigger thing
for the northern than the south-
ern people; it is first and fore-
most a Nordic festival, and has
probably been celebrated for
thousands of years. Christmas is
the festival of midwinter, the
time when “the Sun comes back
from the south" and „promises
anew summer",and the man who
loves a girl more than his own
life wishes her a happy summer
orf the 21st of December for it
is on that day that the summer
begins. “O that I were a new
man and could love you again
from the start", wrote the poet
Jonas far from home on the
shortest day of the last Christ-
mas of his life. The Icelanders
celebrate the day of their Saint
Poriakur on the 23rd of Decem-
ber which is nearer the Nordic
Christmas or perhaps I should
say nearer the astronomical
Christmas than the 25th.
As I have said Christmas has
its origin in the solstice festival
of the northern people, who make
merry in celebration af the re-
turn of the sun, the giver of life.
At Christmas the man of the
North gives himself and his fam-
ily as much worldly pleasure as
he can afford, the best food his
country produces, as much drink
as each one can stand and puts
on his best clothes. He decorates
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his house and lights it up, lavis-
hes on himself and his family as
many beautiful presents as he
can; all that can bring pleasure
to body and soul is brought out.
There is singing, dancing, gam-
es and merrymaking, night is
turned into day and all the Routine
of everyday life is thrown to the
winds. The Nordic Christmas is
the festival of man’s joy in
worldly pleasure, and as the
festival of the things of this world
it is the most human festival of
the year — hut, perhaps, we
must call it rather a heathen festi-
val. 1
But happily I can say that I
once celebrated a Christian Christ-
mas. It was in Sussex. I left
London on the morning of Christ-
mas Eve and at noon I arrived
at the Carthusian Monastery in
Partridge Green in Sussex where
I had arranged to spend Christ-
mas. /
The monks were Spanish or
French. There were not many
Englishmen. The monastery was
large and imposing. The Car-
thusians are a silent order who
only talk for half an hour each
week. They usually spend
twelve or fourteen hours of the
twenty-four in services and are
up the greater part of the night.
They live in small detached hour
ses connected by long corridors,
and after they have been ad-
mitted for full membership no
one is allowed to see them. Each
monk has a small garden be-
hind his house.
I was received by an old French
lay brother in a brown oorwl
who welcomed me and showed
me to my room. In the endless
cloisters I occasionally caught a
glimpse of white-robed hooded
figures, but they always disappe-
ared as soon as I drew near. I
noticed that whenever they pass-
ed the door of the chapel they
would fall on their knees and
make a deep obeisance to the
holy body of Christ, a custom
not noticed in other monasteries
where it is only customary to
kneel for it.
He of the brown cowl brought
me food and drink immediately
on my arrival. No sooner had
I finished my meal than the
father whose duty it was to look
after the guests came in. He pus-
hed his hood back from his head,
sat down opposite me, took his
watch from his pocket and plac-
ing it on the mantelpiece said he
might speak to me for a quarter
of an hour. He then asked me if I
wanted to be treated as a guest or
tif I would follow the rules of the
monastery. With great politeness
I begged that no special trouble
should be taken on my account
and expressed my desire to do
just as the monks themselves did.
He then told me that the lay
your soul?"
I tried to tell him something
about my poor soul which I
have never been quite convinced
/that Lpossess, and was thorough-
ly interested in his conversa-
tion when suddenly he saw that
the fifteen minutes was up; he
stopped in the middle of a sent-
ence, took his watch down from
the mantelpiece, put his hood
back and without another word
he was gone.
The minutes passed by. The
silence of the building was deep-
ly impressive especially after the
Christmas bustle of London. The
brown-cowled lay brother came
in, silently placed some devot-
ional books on the table and
went out again. Afternoon turn-
ed into evening and still noth-
ing disturbed the silence except
for the faint ringing of Ibells
coming from some unknown pan:
of the building. Growing tired
of pacing up and down the floor
I picked up a prayer book and
began to turn over the pages,
to pass the time.
Suddenly at about six o’clock
when I was beginning to await
the arrival of some Christmas
fare an ear-splitting clash and
peal of bells smote my ears and
shortly afterwards the la^ brot-
er appeared, put his finger to
his lips compelling silence, and
conducted me to an obscure pew
in the corner of the
gallery of (the chapel from
whence I could see the altar
while the main body of the
chapel was hidden from my view
There I sat miserably for two
solid hours in the light of a
single candle, holding a psaltar
and listening to the chanting of
monks. Carthusian chants fare
more melancholy than those for
example of the Benedictines, and
are Ambrosial rather than Gre-
gorian. ►
When I returned to my room
after this lengthy Evensong I felt
ithat I had even more right than
(Please turn to page 11.)?
by Hallddr Laxness
Author of “Salka Valka” and “Independent People.”'"