1932-10-31 — Page 23

CHINA MAIL CHRISTMAS NUMBER.

A Christmas Film

Christmas Day Chrough the Ages

By Rev. &. L. Allen

THE

HE world's life is something like the unrolling of a cinema... film. There is someone away at the back and out of our sight we are still debating whether it is Fortune or Fate or God that is doing it. who is working the machinery. Scenes pass before us in rapid succession, kings are crowned and lose their crowns, some men starve in want and others perish from sheer surfeit of wealth and pleasure, millions are born, live, and die in complete obscurity, mere passing blurs on the screen, while others have the whole scene to themselves for a few moments. then they too pass off the edge and are forgotten by the onlookers. But everywhere there is life, movement, change. And the sounds that accompany it! Noise of hammers, clatter of machinery, roar of wind and boom of cannon! To be sure, there are words also, but only seldom can we make sense even of these. Now, and again a voice clearer and bolder than the rest is raised to assure us that there is meaning in it all and what that meaning us -bit we are not yet certain that we can believe him.

It is a Christmas film I want to display. I mean I want to show you some of the events that are associated in history with this day. The day is famous enough already, and that for the greatest of all reasons; so they can add nothing to its glory, in fact some of them have done not a little to tarnish it. For even that circle of human happiness and festivity which we call Christ- mas Day has not been able to keep altogether outside itself such things as passion and cruelty, ambition and needless wrong,{"

It is the year 800 and on Christmas Day the great church of St. Peter's at Rome is crowded to the doors. For the Frankish King is there, "Charles son of Pepin, Charlemagne as he is known in history. He is master of Western Europe, and the men who form his escort as he marches proudly down the aisle in the sight. of all, are those who have made him what he is. Soldiers are there, their hands straying idly to the hilts of the swords they have drawn on many a battlefield, and monks too, worn with long vigils and the many hazards through which they have passed, carrying some of them crucifixes that have been held aloft while heathen multitudes went down to the river to be baptized. For" Charles has, offered the men of his time the Gospel on a sword's point.

Men have begun to talk of him of late in a new way: The old "Caesars belong to history, they were pagan and no one wishes them back. But. here is one who might well be a Christian Caesar, who might bring again the glory that was Rome, and that . under the shadow of the Cross. He himself has more than once played in his own mind with such a project. There is the Empress Irene in Constantinople, why not marry her and take the Eastern Empire with her as her portion? Why not then, Emperor of East and West alike, the new Augustus, the new Caesar, march one day down this aisle again and set a new crown on his head?

The service has begun. Charles looks at the Pope where he stands, and smiles inwardly. How much this man owes to him! Only the year before, in one of their riotous moods, the Roman people drove him from their city, and strange rumours got abroad that they had gouged out his eyes. But he fed uninjured across the Alps and Charles is here now to restore him. Will he restore Leo the Third has grown some- him? That remains to be seen.

what proud since he took his high office, it might be well to set another in his place, or at any rate to teach him a lesson he will never forget.

The service is going forward. But Charles's thoughts are elsewhere and the solemn Latin of the priests is lost on him. It is time to go forward to receive the consecrated wafer. He rises from his seat, advances to the high altar and kneels there. His head is bowed, the Pope is reading the service, and all eyes are There is a stir fixed on these two. But what is happening? in the congregation, Charles looks up, and there is the. Pope standing by the altar, a gold crown in his hand For whom is it meant? There can be no doubt about that. The next ninment the crown is on Charles's head and the great church rings with the deafening shouts of the Romans, "To Charles Augustus crowned by God, to the great and pacific Emperor of the Romans, long life and victory As if something tells him that the thing hê is doing is pagan and not Christian in the least, the Pope ad- vances and crying, Hail Caesar! Hall Augustus!" prostrates himself before the Emperor,

Charles is moodily silent. As he leaves the church, he signs to his friend Eginhard, who steps up to him to receive his con

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fidence. "Had I known," he says, "what that priest meant to do. I had not set foot in this place to-day. Caesar, yes, but Caesar in my own right, not by grace of a shaveling priest who owes his life to me!"

Over two centuries have gone by, but men's manners have not yet greatly changed. Europe is still a haunt of ignorance and cruelty, and culture seldom ventures outside of the walls of the monasteries which offer it a refuge in an unappreciative world. We are now in England.

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For two months, ever since Haröld fell on Senlac field, con- Would fusion has reigned in London, and division of counsels. Edwin and Morcar march down from the north and drive the Norman upstart into the sea? No! they preferred the enjoyment of their own estates to uncertain battle for the men of another shire. Edgar Atheling has been proclaimed king, but where are the armed men to make good his claim? And William is drawing nearer all the time, he is like the snake which wraps its coils round its victim before striking it dead.. Away to west and north, a line of burning villages flashes to the people of London the message that there is no alternative, they must not merely have him as their king, they must perforce make a show of welcoming him.

Now it is Christmas Day and William and his land-hungry Normans crowd, Westminster Abbey. Outside the church, a strong detachment of foot-soldiers keeps order, while the English look on in gaping, sullen fashion at the solemn farce that is being enacted in their midst..

"

But what is that? There is a stir on the flank, men run to and fro, swords are drawn, and one shouts "Treachery, trea- chery" On all hands the cry is taken up, the priest within hear it and turn pale at the sound, the Normans start to their feet Only William and rush out of the church with drawn swords. and his few immediate followers sit there, perfectly composed. The ceremony must go on. What matters if a rabble of English-· men is being killed outside! There will be much more of that before these people have learned their lesson!

A tongue of flame leaps into the air outside and a fitful glare from it falls across the altar itself. A Norman has tossed a light. ed brand onto the thatched roof of a cottage and the flames are spreading to right and left. But William sits unmoved. Perhaps he has planned all this himself, who knows? The trembling voices of the clergy compete in vain with the shrieks of the unhappy folk outside. But what of that? The crown is set on his head, and by the light of burning homes Witham is crowned King of the English on Christmas Day!

It is Christmas Day on the Western front in 1914. A man stands up in the trench, takes a round object in his hand, holds it a moment, then flings it into the air, where it describes a curve- and drops on the German parapet. A deafening explosion follows and bits of sandbagno, not this time! A hand stretches out from the German trench and picks up the missile. It is a tin of jam! "Merry Christmas to you, Jerry!" a voice shouts, and the answer comes back, "A Merry Christmas to you!" Two hands appear again on the German parapet and a man scrambles up. The Englishman who threw the jam follows his example, the two meet in No Man's Land and shake hands. Then there is laughing and shouting all along the line, men come tumbling out into the open, minus their rifles. They shake hands, exchange cigarettes, and chatter gaily in such bits of French, English, and German as they can command. The words that best express the general sentiment seem to be those of a tall Cockney, "La guerre no bon !” The officers stand aside at first, a bit dubious of the whole pro- ceeding, but they too are sick to death of this ghastly business war and before long they are fraternising as well.

Two padres meet and hold a brief consultation. A joint service is suggested, and there is no need this time, to order man to fall in. There is an English hymn and then a German, a few words from each padre and a brief prayer to close. Each man's thoughts fly back to the old home, the Yule log on the hearth, the children round the table, and the Christmas tree with its burden of toys. Perhaps they will soon be back there! Perhaps this war will all be over now! They hardly dare to speak of what is in their minds, but surely this slaughter will not all begin again! "Peace on earth, goodwill among men!" will it come true at last?

(Continued on Page 85.).