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THE BOOK OF EASTER

Ci.it.iylc

■?&v&-

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

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THE RESURRECTION.

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COTYIIGBT, 1910,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

: up and clcclrotyped. Published March, 19

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7 Zh 7

7^>7 A f "*- ANDOVER - HARVARD

Theological Library
Cambridge, mass.

INTRODUCTION

/~\OR "Book of Easter" is constructed along the suc-
^-' cessive lines of the table of contents: "Before the
Dawn"; "Easter Days"; "Easter Hymns."

I. There can be no truer instance of the darkest hour
before the dawn than the dreariness and distress of the
first so-called "Good Friday." What the two disciples
said to the Master as they walked to Emmaus on the night
of Easter Day tells the story: "We trusted that it had been
He that should have redeemed Israel " ; and still more, the
cry of the broken-hearted Magdalen uttered in the ear of
the yet undetected and undiscovered Christ, "Xney have
taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid
Him." There was some reason then, as there is not now,
for the utterly dreary and hopeless feeling about death;
and the death of such an one as Jesus Christ was, to those
who loved Him and knew Him, had in it every element of
desolation and disconsolateness, — the darkest of midnight
hours; but it was very early in the morning that Easter
light and hope were to dawn.

II. The Scripture story of Easter needs careful study
to avoid confusion that seems almost at times to be con-
tradiction. Really and truly, it grows out of the piling
up, from different sources and from different points of
view, of the tremendous mass of accumulated evidence
which proves the Easter story absolutely true. And it
certainly must be borne in mind that the reading is not

vi Introduction

complete until St. Paul's argument and witness are added
to the Gospel story. The tremendous reality which in
the first place satisfied the intimate affection of St. John
and St. Mary of Magdala, and then arrested and converted
the ingrained and intense hostility of Saul, has in it a wit-
ness of its power.

III. The Easter hymns and carols set themselves and
sing themselves to joyous and triumphant tunes. The an-
alogies in nature, read as we read them since Easter Day,
are prophecies and parables of the great Easter fact. The
poets of the older time used these analogies as meaning
that, while springtime brought life to the withered flowers,
that they should rise again to the fragrance of a new life,
the buried man — St. Paul did not hesitate to say the
planted man — had no resurrection.

Nothing is so natural, so usual, so universal, so inevitable
and so irresistible, so indefinable and so inexplicable, as
Easter, or that for which it stands, coming from the old
Saxon osier, rising. The book of Easter is written every
spring over all the earth, in greening grass and budding
trees and springing flowers, and the carol of Easter is the
song of the home-coming birds. As a word it has not a
rightful place anywhere in Holy Scripture, the word in the
original which it pretends to translate being pascha;
but the feast is of immemorial observance in the Christian
Church, and through it, without canon or enactment of
any sort, the first day became, instead of the seventh, the
day of the week to be kept holy, and the Lord's Day became
the substitute for the Jewish Sabbath.

Of course there is no such universal appeal about the
keeping of Easter as about the keeping of Christmas;
but it has been growing and spreading in its observance for

Introduction vii

many years, until now ii is kept quite as much in certain
ways by the great Prolestant churches, who used to ignore
it, as by the Roman Catholics and the Episcopalians. This
may be explained on many grounds, but it must be recog-
nized that but for Easter, Christmas would have been an
empty unreality. If the manger cradle had emptied itself
into the garden tomb, with either its stone unmoved or its
seal unbroken, or with no evidence from its opened mouth
that the body which had lain in it had risen in a recogniz-
able reality, the cradle would have been forgotten, and
Christmas would have been an unknown and unkept feast.
There is a certain element, too, of personality and
picturesqueness about Christmas which is more or less
lacking in our keeping of Easter; and the personality is
that of a little Baby, which lays instant hold on the heart of
humanity. In this point specially we realize that while
angels heralded the birth of the little Baby and brought the
shepherds to the stable, while the new star lighted itself
in the sky to lead the wise men to the Holy Child, there was
no announcement or outward visible sign of the actual
rising; but silently and secretly, just before the day broke,
with no mortal eye to see and no witness to describe, He
rose again from the dead. And it was only known by the
fact that when the watchers came to bring the embalming
spices, the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty,
and the angel message was, "He is not here: He is risen."
One dislikes the element of fashionable frivolity which
has come to mark some people's keeping of the Easter
feast; but, apart from that, as the city shops and streets
break out into fragrant and beautiful bloom, one realizes
the close kinship between heavenly and spiritual things and
things material and earthly.

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viii Introduction

Like the book of Christmas, (he book of Easter has
in it the element of mystery and marvel. The Christmas
mysteryis defined in the Creed and explained, "conceived
by the Holy Ghost, horn of the Virgin Mary." The
Easter mystery is defined, but unexplained, in just a short,
strong, simple assertion, "The third day He rose again from
the dead"; and this tremendous fact, on which the truth
of Christianity as a religion depends, has as its corollary "I
believe in the resurrection of the body. I look for the resur-
rection of the dead." They are statements of two very
widely different facts.

We manufacture most of our difficulties about believing
in the resurrection of the body, because our minds are so
material that we attach a false meaning to words. The body
means to us this composite creation of bone and muscle,
flesh and blood, with all its aches and pains. This is not the
body that shall rise again. This has not in it the possi-
bility of the resurrection from the dead that we look for.
It would not be a resurrection from the dead, because
it is a body of mortality which has in it the possibility and
the necessity of dying. God is not saving up and storing
the dust, that He may collect out of it and put together again
bones and sinews and muscles and bits of flesh. Resur-
rection means the coming back to the immortal life of the
collective personality, with all its physical faculties and
attributes, having shed its mere fleshiness; as a grain of
com sheds its hard shell, a butterfly its chrysalis, a silk-
worm its cocoon, and a bird its discarded egg, to be no more
chrysalis or shell or cocoon or egg, but to be that for which
these were but temporary coverings, the true life being all
the while within. This is the resurrection of mercy; the
other would be only the resurrection of misery.

Introduction ix

And this is not miraculous — to use a foolish word that
only means a wonder, — because there is no wonder about
it; nor is it supernatural, — to use a still more foolish
word, — because we do not know the "metes and bounds"
of nature and cannot say, therefore, what lies beyond them.
It is perfectly natural. Every planted thing that has in it a
germ of life must come to life again. It is almost the law
of life that it comes after and through and by means of
death. That very living and enlivening thing which has a
touch of Easter in its name, yeast, is produced by fermenta-
tion, and fermentation is a process of decay.

St. Paul asserts these two truths in the strong and stir-
ring words of his argument to the Corinthians: "Thou 1
fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it
die"; and, "Thou sowest not that body which shall be,
but bare grain, ... but God giveth it a body as it hath
pleased Him and to every seed his own body."

So much for our future and final Easter; but the" Lord
Christ's Easter was very different from this. It has in it
the miracle, the wonder, the mystery, not in its fact
but in its manner, because He laid aside, rejected and
discarded, the means by which most dead and buried
things come back to life. He rose again in the identical
body in which He had lived and died on earth. One can-
not go behind the plain reiterated statement of this without
denying the Gospels and discrediting Christ. Like many
other things, the credulity of unbelief makes and accepts
far more incredible things than are demanded of intelli-
gent faith. This would make the manhood of Christ to
have consisted only of His human soul. It would leave the
body in which the soul dwelt for thirty years unaccounted

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x Introduction

for, or it would make the body in which our Lord was on
earth for forty days an apparition. " Behoid and see," our
Lord said, "that it is I myself. Handle me and see, for a
spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have."

That all this is difficult to define and impossible to ex-
plain means nothing except that it is a mystery; but some-
how or other the actual, identical, physical reality, the hands
and the feet and the wounds and the voice and the words
and the habits, whether reconcilable or not, must be taken
as true; while at the same time the tomb was empty and
the old preresurrection body was not there. In this sense
of absolute sameness, with what St. Gregory calls "a subtle
sublimation," we believe that our Lord rose again from the
dead on the third day.

Bishop Wesfcott speaks of the "mysterious awfulness
about His Person which first inspires fear and then claims
adoration." "Thus Christ is seen to be changed, but
none the less He is also seen to be essentially the same.
Nothing has been left in the grave though all has been
transfigured. He is the same, so that the marks of the
Passion can become sensibly present to the doubting
Thomas ; the same, so that He can eat of the broiled fish
which the disciples had prepared; the same, so that one
word spoken with the old accent makes Him known to the
weeping Magdalene; the same, so that above all expecta-
tion, and against the evidence of death, the Apostles could
proclaim to the world that He who suffered upon the cross
had indeed redeemed Israel; the same, in patience, in ten-
derness, in chastening reproof, in watchful sympathy, in
quickening love." And this is the mystery, the marvel,
the truth, the triumph, the greatness and the glory of
Easter.

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Introduction xi

There are some few perfectly simple, plain, practical,
positive lessons which grow out of it. For instance, our
own lives ought to be the lives of people who, having died
to sin, have risen to righteousness, the same in character,
only lifted up to new heights of dignity and duty. And
the picture of the great forty days, during which our Lord
remained on earth between the Resurrection and the Ascen-
sion, presents to us what ought to be the portrait of every
life, whether it is of the man converted from sin, or of the
child, growing from the beginning grace of its regeneration,
through sanctification, to conformity with the likeness of
our risen Lord.

Wm. Croswell Doane.

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CONTENTS

Introduction .

. William Crontictl Doane

BEFORE THE DAWN

How the Ancients thought of Death
There is Hope of a Tree . . From the Book of Job
;aid, I shall cot see the Lord From the Book of Hezekiak

Wonders are Many
The Eleosinian Mysteri
The Dead Pan .

The Crucifixion

Stsbat Mater Dolorosa

Christ Crucified

To keep a True Lent

Old Good Friday Customs

Hot Cross Buns

Chelsea Bun-houses .... William Hone 22
The Clear Spring Dawn is Breaking . . Eliza Cook 23

Hanging Judas in Mexico . C. Bryson- Taylor 25

The Processions of Passion Week in Seville

Katharine Lee Bales 26

In the Sistine Chapel .... Hans Andersen 41

From Sophocles' "Antigone" 6

esandLaterOutgrowths Anonymous 6

Elizabeth Barrett Brawn ing 9

Trans, by William T. Irons 13

n Ike Fourth Gospel 15

Jaeoponeda Todi 17

Alfred Noyes 19

. Robert Herrick 20

. Folk Lore 3i

EASTER DAYS

The Resurrection

The Primitive Easter Play

The Passion Flay at Obeiammergau . . Canon Farrar 54
Quaint Easter Customs

The Easter Sepulchre Compiled 64

Easter Eve Barnabe Googe 66

Easter Eggs Eniilianne 67

The Fete of the Eggs, France . . The Mirror 68

The Easter Hare Anonymous 69

Customs of Easter Week . Brand's "Antiquities" 71

The Bells of the Kremlin . . . . A.J. C. //are 73

Easter in Jerusalem, 1835 ... A. W. Kinglake 75

In Rome under the Old Papal Regime . Lady ButUr 84

Easter in Greece .... Theodore T. Bent 87

When the Dead return in Japan Mary Crawford Fraser 91

Egg-rolling in Washington . . . Anonymous 93

On the Island of Ischia .... Sybil Fitzgerald 95

The Russian Easter . . . The Saturday Review 97

EASTER HYMNS

An Easter Carol

Lord of the Living ,

Jesus Christ is risen To-day

The Strife is O'er, the Battle Done .

Through the Long Hidden Years

Eastertide

Christ is Risen ! lift the Song

Trans, of at
The World Itself keeps Easter Day .
Ye Happy Bells of Easter Day . Adapted by R. R. Chope 1
Christ the Lord is risen To-day . . Chanes Wesley 1
Morn's Roseate Hues .... William Cooke I
Easter Week Charles Kingsiey 1

William Croswcll Doane 1

William Croswell Doane 1

. Frederick L. Hosmer I

. Lyra Davidica 1

Francis Pott 1

W. Chatlerton Dix 1

Archer T. Gurney I

t Old Latin Hymn I

John Ma:on Neale I

The Tempest Over and Gone . . Christina G. Rossetti 119
Easter Carol Georgt N. Lcvejoy 130

IV
EASTER STORIES

The Myth of Demeter and Perception

The Odour of the Ointment

Easter Eggs

Easter Eve

The Ballad of Judas Iscariot

The Easter Vision .

Walter Paler 1 25

Zona Gale 136

Ckristoph Schmidt 157

, Vladimir Korolenio 175

Robert Buchanan 184

Hamilton Wright Matte 188

GOLDEN TRUMPETS

Easter Music Margaret Dttand l<

Surprise Maltbie D. Babcoek i<

A Violet Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney l>

An Easter Lily .... Charles G. D. Robert! I-

Blessing the Fields

The Roman Ambarvalia . . Walter Pattr 1;

Rogation Days in France C, L.-S. »

Blessing the Fields in Italy . ■ . Lina Duff Gordon 2'

The Eternal Spring Jokn Milton 21

An Easter Love Song .... Ella Higginson 2<
The Spring Chorus . . , . A. G. Swinburne *
April . . . . . Robert Broioning 2

Little Boy Blue Alfred Noyes 2

An Old-fashioned Spring . . . E. P. Powell 2.

Spring ■ Alfred Tennyson 2

In Springtide Lev/is Morris 2

The Easter Robin . , Alexander F. Chamberlain 2

A Group of Spring Songs
A Song of Waking
What Will the Violets Be ?
Green Things Growing .
"la Life Worth Living?"
The Spring Call .
Robin's Come

An Apple Orchard in the Spring
Song from " Pippa Passes " .

Katharine Ltt Baits 217

William C. GanntU 219

Dinah Mulock Craii 219

. Alfred Austin 220

. Thomas Hardy 221

William W. Caldwell 222

William Martin 223

Robert Bruwning 234

AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST!

" Their Eyes were Opened "

The Life Abundant

Consolation

Immortality

Angels to Be

New Life .

Sweet Day, so Cool and Bright

The Central Truth of Paul's Gospel

"The Great Coropai
The Hope of Death
Easter Day
Easter Morning
The Awakening
An Easter Message
Easter

is Dead '

From Oit Gospel of Luke 229
Hibbert Lectures 231
Elizabeth B. Browning 232
Matthew Arnold 233
Leigh Hunt 233
Susan Coolidgt 234
George Herbert 235
Bernard Lucas 236
John Hunter 239
Henry Vaughan 240
Robert Browning 241
Edmund Spenser 242
. Ella Higginton 242
. Lyman Abbott 244
Richard Watson Gildtr 245

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LIST OF PLATES

The Resurrection .

Rembrandt . Fran

Descent from the Cross .

Rubens . fact

Holy Women at the Tomb

Piothhorst

An Easter Procession, Franc

From a Photograph „

Awake, Thou that Sleepest 1

Fra Angelica . . „

Faster Carols .

Anderson . . . ,

Easter Morning

Von Uhde . „

The Coming of Spring

From a Photograph . „

Paradise ....

Fra Angelica . , „

Blessing the Fields .

Breton . , . „

Viewing the Plum Blossoms,

Japan ....

Du Cant

The Saviour in Glory

Veronese

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THE PUBLISHERS of this little volume
desire to acknowledge the courtesy with
which many authors and publishers have
granted permission to reprint poems, articles,
or extracts cited herein.

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BEFORE THE DAWN

.CoOylc

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The Land of Forgetfulness
/'ILT thou show wonders to the dead ?

Shall they that are deceased arise and praise thee ?
Shall thy loving -kindness be declared ia the grave?
Or thy faithfulness in Destruction?
Shall thy wonders he known in the dark ?
And thy righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?

From the Psalms of David

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How the Ancients thought of Death -^v *a

t*OR there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it

■*■ will sprout again,

And that the tender branch thereof will not cease.

Though the root thereof wax old in the earth.

And the stock thereof die in the ground ;

Yet through the scent of water it will bud,

And put forth boughs like a plant.

But man dieth, and wastetb away :

Yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?

As the waters fail from the sea,

And the river decayeth and drieth up,

So man lieth down and riseth not:

Till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake,

Nor be roused out of their sleep.

From the Book of Job

T SAID, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the

*• land of the living:
I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the

world.
Mine age is removed, and is carried away from me as a

shepherd's tent:
I have rolled up like a weaver my life; he will cut me off

from the loom :
From day even to night wilt thou make an end of me . . .
For the grave cannot praise thee, death cannot celebrate

thee:
They that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth.
From the Book of Hezekiah
5

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The Book of Easter

"\TS BONDERS are many, and none is more wonderful
* " than man; the power that crosses the white sea,
driven by the stormy south wind, making a path under
surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest
of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear,
turning the soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs
go to and fro from year to year.

And the light-hearted race of birds, and the tribes of
savage beasts, and the sea-brood of the deep, he snares in
the meshes of his woven toils, he leads captive, man excel-
lent in wit. And he masters by his arts the beast whose
lair is in the wilds, who roams the hills; he tames the horse
of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon its neck, he tames
the tireless mountain bull.

And speech, and wind-swift thought, and all the moods
that mould a state, hath he taught himself; and how to flee
the arrows of the frost, when 'tis hard lodging under the
clear sky and the arrows of the rushing rain ; yea, he hath re-
source for all ; without resource he meets nothing that must
come: only against Death shall he call for aid in vain.
From Sophocles' Antigone, translated by R. C. Jebb

The Eleusinian Mysteries and Later Outgrowths
T ONG and hot have been the discussions as to the
■■— ■ ' origin of spring festivals between those who claim,
for example, that the spring rites at Eleusis can be traced
to an Egyptian origin, and those who insist that any such
adoption by one race from another was rare in mythology,
and that such resemblances spring rather from a universal
inclination to certain forms of worship. Eleusis, which
means the place of "coming," was not at first a name
attached to one locality rather than another, and it was

Before the Dawn

the very commonness of these early festivals which made
the singling out of one place where they were celebrated
difficult. Though they seem to have existed from earliest
times, it is not until the growing supremacy of Athens
drew into prominence the Attic celebrations that we find
frequent mention of these old rehearsals of the perennial
miracle of the return of spring, the reclothing of the Earth
in greenery after its faded robes had been stripped away
and hidden by Winter. In these early myths and songs
are the foundation of all drama. The desire for expres-
sion of the two great emotions attributed to Nature, her
sorrow when the sun is withdrawn, and her joy when the
fruitful season of growth begins again, is poetically de-
veloped with repetition into the dramatic myth of Deme-
ter and Persephone. The Norsemen, too, had their
celebrations of the death of the earth in winter, or, in the
northernmost regions, the extinction of the sun itself
for the coldest months, and our very name of Easter is
taken from the Norse. But in that country behind the
later season myth lies an even more primitive myth of
light and dark. A little later in the year Haider's bale-
fires are lit at sundown and kept burning through a night;
with wider significance in Greece, Demeter, seeking Per-
sephone, hurries over the earth with a torch in her hand. In
later days the festival came, with the growth of agriculture,
to be overshadowed by the rejoicings of the harvest season,
and by the autumn celebration of the mysteries of the earth-
goddess. In the beginning she had not been separated
from the divinity of spring, who, having wandered for nine
months, at last returns bringing new life and warmth and
sunshine to the waiting earth. Therefore the Greeks
celebrated the Eleusinian mysteries with processions of
7

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The Book of Easter

veiled figures with torches moving from side to side in
mimic search for the lost Persephone. So down through
the years the festival of the divinity of spring, whom the
Norsemen catted Ostara or Eastre, was especially the
season of new birth ; whence arose the custom of baptizing
at Easter and also the symbolism of the Easter egg. The
coloring of these eggs, red and yellow, may have been in
reference to the Easter fire, or else to the sun. At Easter
the hearth-fire was lighted afresh, and in many European
countries even now the peasants carry candles to be lit
and blessed at the attar, guarding the flame that from
it the home fire may be rekindled on Easter morning.
Easter bonfires are kindled on all the hills, since witches
are banned so fax as an Easter fire sheds its light. Around
these fires the youths and girls who hope for marriage
during the coming year must dance three (or nine) times
or give three leaps over the flame. May-pole dances also
may have had their origin in these same spring rites of
Eleusis, for the rhythmic interlacing circles of figures hold-
ing the bright -colored ribands recall inevitably the measured
torch-light dance of Eleusis, the search from side to side
for lost Persephone. In these modem days where once
the image of Demeter would have been borne, thai of
the Virgin is now, as in the Middle Ages, carried about to
bless the fields. The days set apart are the Rogation Days,
and on one of them or on Ascension Day is celebrated the
old ceremony of decorating with fresh flowers the wells
or springs in token of the returning flow. In Brittany
in old days the choirs of the churches, headed by the priest,
made, and possibly still make, solemn procession with
garlands and chanting to the near-by fountains.

Anonymous
8

),n 1 230 1* Google

Before the Dawn

The Dead Pan -^ -=* *=>. *=»■ <

Z^ODS of Hellas, gods of Hellas!
*"-* Can ye listen in your silence ?
Can your mystic voices tell us
Where ye hide ? In floating islands
With a wind that evermore
Keeps you out of sight of shore ?

Pan, Pan is dead.
*****
Gods bereavfed, gods belated, —
With your purples rent asunder!
Gods discrowned and desecrated;
Disinherited of thunder!
Now, the goats may climb and crop
The soft grass on Ida's top —

Now, Pan is dead.

Calm of old, the bark went onward,
When a cry more loud than wind,
Rose up, deepened, and swept sunward.
From the piled Dark behind:
And the sun shrank and grew pale,
Brealhed against by the great wail —
Pan, Pan is dead.

And the rowers from the benches
Fell, — each shuddering on his face, —
While departing Influences
Struck a cold back through the place;
And the shadow of the ship
Reeled along the passive deep —
Pan, Pan is dead.

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The Book of Easter

And that dismal cry rose slowly,
And sank slowly through the air;
Full of spirit's melancholy
And eternity's despair!
And they heard the words it said —
Pan is dead — Great Pan is dead —
Pan, Pan is dead.

Twas the hour when One in Sion
Hung for love's sake on a cross —
When His brow was chill with dying,
And His soul was faint with loss;
When His priesdy blood dropped downward,
And His kingly eyes looked throneward —
Then, Pan was dead.

By the love He stood alone in,
His sole Godhead stood complete;
And the false gods fell down moaning,
Each from off his golden seat —
All the false gods with a cry
Rendered up their deity —
Pan, Pan was dead.

Wailing wide across the islands,
They rent, vest -like, their Divine !
And a darkness and a silence
Quenched the light of every shrine;
And Dodona's oak swang lonely
Henceforth, to the tempest only —
Pan, Pan was dead.

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Before the Dawn

Pythia staggered, — feeling o'er her,
Her lost god's forsaking look,
Straight her eyeballs filmed with horror,
And her crispy fillets shook;
And her lips gasped through their foam,
For a word that did not come —
Pan, Pan was dead.

O ye vain false gods of Hellas,

Ye are silent evermore !
And I dash down this old chalice,
Whence libations ran of yore.
See! the wine crawls in the dust
Wormlike — as your glories must,

Since Pan is dead.
*****
Earth outgrows the mythic fancies
Sung beside her in youth ;
And those debonair romances
Sound but dull beside the truth.
Phoebus' chariot-course is run !
Look up, poets, to the sun !

Pan, Pan is dead.

Christ hath seat us down the angels;
And the whole earth and the skies
Are illumed by the altar-candles
Lit for blessed mysteries;
And a Priest's hand through creation,
Waveth calm and consecration —
And Pan is dead.

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Truth is fair: should we forego it?
Can we sigh right for a wrong?
God Himself is the best Poet,
And the Real is His Song.
Sing His truth out fair and full,
And secure His beautiful —
Let Pan be dead 1

Truth is large. Our aspiration
Scarce embraces half we be.
Shame! to stand in His creation
And doubt Truth's sufficiency! —
To think God's song unexcelling
The poor tales of our own telling —
When Pan is dead.

What is true and just and honest,
What is lovely, what is pure —
AH of praise that hath admonisht, —
All of virtue, shall endure :
These are themes for poets' uses.
Stirring nobler than the Muses —
Ere Pan was dead.

O brave poets, keep back nothing,
Nor mix falsehood with the whole !
Look up Godward ! speak the truth in
Worthy song from earnest soul !
Hold, in high poetic duty,
Truest Truth the fairest Beauty 1
Pan, Pan is dead.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Before the Dawn

rVES Ira, dies ilia,

■*-** Solvet smclum in favilla
Teste David cum SybUla.

T"YAY of wrath! oh, day of mourning!
^-* See fulfilled the prophets* warning.
Heaven and earth in ashes burning !

Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth,
When from heaven the Judge descendeth,
On Whose sentence all dependeth.

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth ;
Through earth's sepulchres it ringeth;
All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck, and nature quaking,

All creation is awaking,

To its Judge an answer making.

Lo ! the Book exactly worded,
Wherein all hath been recorded :
Thence shall judgment be awarded.

When the Judge His seat attainefh,

And each hidden deed arraigneth,
Nothing unavenged remaineth.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading?
Who for me be interceding,
When the just are mercy needing?

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King of majesty tremendous,
Who dost free salvation send us,
Fount of pity, then befriend us 1

Think, good Jesu, my salvation
Cost Thy wondrous Incarnation;
Leave me not to reprobation I

Faint and weary Thou hast sought me,
On the cross of suffering bought me.
Shall such grace be vainly brought me?

Righteous Judge ! for sin's pollution
Grant Thy gift of absolution,
Ere that day of retribution.

Guilty, now I pour my moaning,
All my shame with angubh owning;
Spare, O God, Thy suppliant groaning!

Thou the sinful woman saved'st;
Thou the dying thief forgavest;
And to me a hope vouchsafest.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing,
Yet, good Lord, in grace complying,
Rescue me from fires undying 1

A Latin Hymn of the Thirteenth Century,
translated by Rev. Wm. T. Irons, 1849

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The Crucifixion -^ "=»■ *c> ^ "=. <*

*~pHEY took Jesus therefore: and he went out, bearing
-*- the cross for himself, unto the place called "The
place of a skull," which is called in Hebrew "Golgotha":
where they crucified him, and with him two others, on
either side one, and Jesus in the midst. And Pilate wrote
a title also, and put it on the cross. And there was written,

"Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews."
This title therefore read many of the Jews: for the place
where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city: and it was
written in Hebrew, and in Latin, and in Greek. The chief
priests of the Jews therefore said to Pilate, "Write not,
The King of the Jews; but, that he said, I am King of
the Jews." Pilate answered, "What I have written I

The soldiers therefore, when they had crucified Jesus,
took his garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a
part; and also the coat; now the coat was without seam,
woven from the top throughout. They said therefore one
to another, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it, whose it
shall be: that the scripture might be fulfilled, which saith,
They parted my garments among them,
And upon my vesture did they cast lots.
These things therefore the soldiers did. But there were
Standing by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's
sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.
When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple
standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother,
"Woman, behold thy sonl" Then saith he to the dis-
ciple, "Behold thy mother!" And from that hour the
disciple took her unto his own home.
iS

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The Book of Easter

After this Jesus, knowing that all things are now finished,
that the scripture might be accomplished, saith, "I thirst."
There was set there a vessel full of vinegar: so they put a
sponge full of the vinegar upon hyssop, and brought it to
his mouth. When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar
he said, "It is finished," and he bowed his head, and gave
up- his spirit.

The Jews therefore, because it was the Preparation, that
the bodies should not remain on the cross upon the sabbath
{for the day of that sabbath was a high day) asked of Pilate
that their legs might be broken ; and that they might be
taken away. The soldiers therefore came, and brake the
legs of the first, and of the other which was crucified with
him : but when they came to Jesus, and saw that he was dead
already, they brake not his legs ! howbeit one of the soldiers
with a spear pierced his side, and straightway there came
out blood and water.

And he that hath seen hath borne witness, and his
witness is true: and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye
also may believe. For these things came to pass, that the
scripture might be fulfilled, A bone of him shall not be
broken. And again another scripture saith, They shall
look on him whom they pierced.

And after these things Joseph of Arimathasa being a
disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, asked
of Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus: and
Pilate gave him leave. He came therefore, and took away
his body. And there came also Nicodemus, he who at the
first came to him by night, bringing a mixture of myrrh and
aloes, about a hundred pound weight. So they took the
body of Jesus, and bound it in linen cloths with the spices,
as the custom of the Jews is to bury. Now in the place

DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

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Before the Dawn

where he was crucified, there was a garden; and in the
garden a new tomb wherein was never man yet laid. There
then because of the Jews' Preparation (for the tomb was
nigh at hand) they laid Jesus.

From The Fourth Gospel

Stabat Mater Dolorosa o *&• *=» <=y -cs-

5TABAT Mater Dolorosa
Juxta crucem lacrymosa
Dum pendehat JUius
Cujus ammtm gementent
Contristatem el dolentem
Pertransivii gladius.

By the cross her sad watch keeping
Stood the maiden mother weeping

Near her dying Son and Lord;
Woe wherewith the heart is broken.
Sorrows never to be spoken,

Smote her, pierced her like a sword.

O with what vast grief oppressed,
Bowed the more than woman blessed,

Mother of God's only Son I
O what bitterness came o'er her,
When the dread doom passed before her

Seeing her Beloved undone !

Say can any stand by tearless
When so woebegone and cheerless
Mourns the Virgin undented;
c 17

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The Book of Easter

Or the rising anguish smother.
When he sees the tenderest Mother
Suffer with her suffering child?

Love's pure fountain, let me borrow
From thine anguish sense oF sorrow;

Make me, Mother, mourn with thee;
Be my heart's best offerings given
Evermore to Christ in Heaven:

Let me his true servant be.

Holy Mother, draw me, win me;
Plant the Crucified within me;

Brand his wounds upon my heart;
For my sake thy Son was stricken ;
With his blood my spirit quicken;

Half his agonies impart.

Let me feel thy sore affliction,
And my Master's crucifixion

Share till life's last dawn appears;
So with thee bis cross frequenting,
Daily would I kneel repenting,

Meek companion of thy tears.

Pierce me with my Saviour's piercings,
Let me taste the Cross and cursings,

And for love the wine-press tread!
Through thy kindly inspiration,
Virgin, let me find salvation

In the doom of quick and dead.

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Before the Dawn

Let Christ's guardian cross attend me,
And his saving death defend me,

Cradled in his arras of love!
When the body sleeps forsaken,
Mother, let my soul awaken
Id God's paradise above.
Translated from the Latin of

Jacopone da Todi by P. S. Woksley

Christ Crucified -^y -^y «a- <a- -^

/""LEAR on the ghostly sky the sharp, black cross,

^^ Searing the lean, white, shuddering limbs, arose;

And the dark night grew darker than the depth

Of ocean with unutterable fear.

Then from a land beyond the stars it seemed

There crept a thin, sad voice that cut the heart

To hear it, for so cruelly tried the Christ

That, of the women waiting there, two fell

Fainting; but the third woman silently

With white, clenched hand clung upright to the cross ;

And from her mouth a. thin, bright thread of blood

Ran trickling down ; then darker grew the night.

And dark beyond all hope of any dawn,

Death sank upon the Christ who cried, "My God,

My Father, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"

When over Calvary the darkness waned,

Clear on the ghostly sky the sharp, black cross

Bearing the naked, lean, white limbs arose ;

And, of the two women waiting there, two slept ;

But one clung closely to the bitter tree.

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The Book of Easter

Her mouth was bloody from her broken heart.
And death e'en now was laying his cold hand
Upon her brow ; the twain who slept were good
And holy women ; this was Magdalen.

Alfred Noyes

To keep a True Lent -a* ^> *&

TS this a Fast, to keep
* The larder Leane,

And cleane.
From fat of veales and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still

To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to faste an houre,

Or rag'd to go.

Or show
A downcast look and soure?

No; 'tis a Fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,

Unto the hungry soule.

It is to fast from strife,

From old debate,

And hate;
To circumcise thy life ;

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Before the Dawn

To show a heart grief -rent,

To starve thy sin,

Not bin ;
And that's to keep thy Lent.

Robert Heerick.

Old Good Friday Customs -"a- -^ *2»- «&■

AT St. Bartholomews, West Smithfield, the church-
^ *■ wardens proceeded to an old tomb of a lady whose
name is now unknown, and threw down upon it twenty-one
new shillings which were picked up by twenty-one of the
oldest widows of the parish. The grave-stone was in the
floor, since the will of the donor (some time before the Great
Fire) had decreed that any widow who from pride would
not stoop for it should have no sixpence. This was done
as late as the beginning of this century.

At Allhallows, Lombard Street, the custom prescribed
in the will of Peter Symonds in the year 1665 is faithfully
carried out. He directed that "60 of ye youngest boys of
Christ's Hospital (the Bluecoat School) should attend
divine service on Good Friday morning at Allhallows
Church, each to receive a new penny and a bag of raisins."

At Brighton, formerly, the entire fishing community
used to engage in the amusement of skipping the rope all
through the day, which was known as Hand Rope Day.

In Suffolk plain rice boiled in milk is considered the
orthodox dish for Good Friday.

In nearly all the Sussex villages not only boys but
grown-up and even very aged men play at marbles on Good
Friday. It is considered as wrong to omit this solemn duty
as to go without the Christmas pudding, etc. It seems to

The Book of Easter

be the object of every man and boy to play marbles as
much as possible; they will play in the road at the church
gate till the last moment before service and begin again the
instant they are out of church. Persons play at marbles
on Good Friday who would never think of playing on any
other day, and it seems, moreover, to be regarded as an
amusement permissible on a holy day.

One writer conjectures that it might have been ap-
pointed as a Lenten sport to keep people from more boister-
ous and mischievous enjoyments.

Folk Lore

Hot Cross-buns o ^ «^ o o <i.

"Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs
With one- or two-a-penny hot cross-buns.
Whose virtue is, if you believe what's said.
They'll not grow mouldy like the common bread."

Poor Robin's Almanack, 1733.

TT is an old belief that the observance of the custom of
■*- eating buns on Good Friday protects the house from
fire, and several other virtues are attributed to these buns.
Some thirty or forty years ago pastry-cooks and bakers
vied with each other for excellence in making hot cross-
buns; the demand has decreased, and so has the quality
of the buns. But the great place of attraction for bun-
eaters at that time was Chelsea; for there were the two
"royal bun-houses." Before and along the whole length
of the long front of each stood a flat-roofed neat wooden
portico or piazza of the width of the footpath, beneath
which shelter "from summer's heat and winter's cold"
crowds of persons assembled to scramble for a chance of
purchasing "royal hot cross Chelsea buns" within a

Before the Dawn

reasonable time; and several hundreds of square black
tins, with dozens of hot buns on each tin, were disposed of
in every hour from a little after six in the morning till
after the same period in the evening of Good Friday.
Those who knew what was good better than newcomers
gave the preference to the "old original royal bun-house,"
and at which "the king himself once stopped," and who
could say as much for the other? This was the conclusive
tale at the door, and .from within the doors, of the old
original bun -house. Alas! and alack ! there is that house
now, and there is the house that was opened as its rival;
but where are ye who contributed to their renown and
custom among the apprentices and journeymen, and the
little comfortable tradesmen of the metropolis, and their
wives and children, where are ye? With thee hath the
fame of Chelsea buns departed, and the "royal bun-
houses" are little more distinguished than the humble
graves wherein ye rest.

William Hone

' I ''HE clear spring dawn is breaking, and there cometh
-*■ with the ray,
The stripling boy with shining face, and dame in hodden

gray;

Rude melody is breathed by all, young, old, the strong

and weak;
From manhood, with its burley tone, and age with treble

Forth come the little busy Jacks, and forth come little

Gills,
As thick and quick as working ants about their summer

hills;

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The Book of Easter
With baskets of all shapes and makes, of every size and

Away they trudge with eager step, through alley, street,

and court.
A spicy freight they bear along, and earnest is their

care.
To guard it like a tender thing from morning's nipping

And though our rest be broken by their voices shrill and

There's something in the well-known cry we dearly love

to hear,
'Tis old familiar music, when " the old woman runs"
With " one-a-penny, two-a-penny hot cross-buns!"
Full many a cake of dainty make has gained a good re-

We all have lauded gingerbread and parliament done

But when did luscious banbttries or dainty sally lunns
E'er yield such a merry chorus theme as "one-a-penny

buns!"
The pomp of palate that may be like old Vitellus fed,
Can never feast as mine did on the sweet and fragrant

bread;
When quick impatience could not wait to share the early

But eyed the pile of hot cross-buns, and dared to snatch

and steal.
Oh ! the soul must be uncouth as a Vandal's, Goth's, 01

Hun's,
That loveth not the melody of one-a-penny buns!

From Eleza Cook's Old Cries
24

Before the Dawn

Hanging Judas in Mexico "i- "cs- *=* ^a-

TN North America, Mexico appears to be the only place
*• where Judas plays the prominent part assigned him all
over South America, as in Spain and Portugal. Holy Satur-
day is the day especially devoted to him. His effigy, made
as hideous as possible — which is very hideous indeed,
since his creators are endowed with the ardent imagination
of their race — is placed upon funeral piles and burned
with immense glee; he is flogged, hanged, and maltreated
in ways without number. In the City of Mexico such
hatred is particularly and picturesquely violent. On Good
Friday morning booths are erected in all parts of the city,
where many Judases are sold, grotesque and distorted of vis-
age, garbed in uncouth attire. All day long images large and
small are bought by men, women, and children, by dozens, by
scores, by hundreds. On the morning of Holy Saturday, the
city, to the believing mind, is transformed into a vast place
of execution. Ropes stretch across the street from house
to house; from every rope a Judas hangs, filled with straw
and gunpowder, black and very ugly swaying in the sun.
He is everywhere, swinging stiffly, like a three-days gibbeted
corpse; hooted at, cursed in vivid Spanish with all terms
of infamy and shame. But a few minutes before twelve
comes a sudden hush, a rent of stillness in the blare of noise.
The crowd stands listening for the signal of noon from the
bell of the cathedral, waiting keenly, in strained attention;
only the Judases still swing to and fro in the sunshine, pas-
sive, unconcerned. The signal comes, booming over all the
city. On the instant frenzy smites (he town. Every
luckless Judas is cut down by yelling men and cast headlong
into flames. He explodes, individually and collectively,
25

The Book of Easter

with dreadful noise and much vile-smelling smoke; this is
the tainted soul of him fleeing forth to hell which he has
merited. His end is greeted with furious rejoicings, shouts
of triumph, parting yells of defiance.

C. Bryson Taylor
By permission of the author and Everybody's Magatine.

The Processions of Passion Week in Seville *o-

' I "HE oblong Plaza de la Constitucio'n, the scene in
*• days gone by of many a tournament, aalo de fe,
and bull-fight, is bounded on one side by the ornate Re-
naissance facade of the city hall, and on the other, in part,
by the plain front of the court-house, before which criminals
used to be done to death. Private dwellings, with their
tiers of balconies, one of which had fallen to our happy
lot, cross the wider end of the plaza, while the other opens
into the brilliant street of Las Sierpes, too narrow for
carriages, but boasting the gayest shop windows and
merriest cafe's of all the town.

Busy as our eyes were kept, we were able to lend ear
to the explanations of our Spanish friends, who told us
that the Church dignitaries, after the procession of palms,
took no official part in the shows of Passion Week, although
many of the clergy belonged, as individuals, to the religious
brotherhoods concerned. The Church reserves its street
displaysfor Corpus Christi. These brotherhoods, societies,
of ancient origin, and connected with some church or chapel,
own dramatic properties often of great intrinsic value and
considerable antiquity.

For days before Holy Week one may see the members
busy in the churches at the task of arranging groups of

Before the Dawn

sacred figures, vested as richly as possible in garments
of silk and velvet, with ornaments of jewels and gold,
on platforms so heavy that twenty-five men, at least, are
needed to carry each. These litters are escorted through
the principal streets and squares of the city by their re-
spective societies, each brotherhood having its distinctive
dress. It is customary for every cofradta to present two
pageants — the first in honor of Christ, the second, and
more important, in honor of Mary, to whom chivalrous
Spain has always rendered supreme homage; but some-
times the two tableaux are combined into one.

After Palm Sunday a secular quiet fell upon Seville,
not broken until' Wednesday. At five o'clock this March
afternoon it was still so hot that few people were rash
enough to move about without the shelter of parasols.
Sevillian priests, sombre -robed as they were, sauntered
cheerily across the plaza under sunshades of the gayest
hues, orange, green, azure red, and usually all at once,
but the shamefaced Englishmen flapped up broad um-
brellas of uncompromising black. There was a breezy
flutter of fans on the grand stand, the water-sellers had to
fill their jars again and again, and the multitude of smokers,
puffing at their paper cigarettes to cool themselves, really
brought on a premature twilight.

It was nearly seven before a score of gendarmes, march-
ing abreast, cleared the way for the procession. Then
appeared, in the usual guise, some twenty feet apart, two
files of those strange shapes, with high, peaked caps, whose
visors descended to the breast, slowly advancing with an
interval of about six feet from man to man. Their caps
and frocks were black, but the long capes glowed a vivid
red. They carried the customary lighted tapers, so tall
27

The 'Book of Easter

that, when rested on the ground, they reached to the shoul-
der. Midway between the files walked a cross-bearer,
followed by a Nazarene, who uplifted the standard of St.
Andrew's Cross in red on a black ground. Bearers of
other insignia of the order preceded the great litter, on
which, under a golden palm tree, was represented by
life-size effigies of the arrest of Christ among his disciples,
St. Andrew having the foremost place. The second
pageant presented by this brotherhood was accompanied
by bevies of white-robed boys swinging censers and chant-
ing anthems. Then came, in effulgence of light, the Most
Holy Virgin, escorted, as if she were the earthly Queen of
Spain, by a detachment of the Civil Guard, whose white
trimmings and gold belts gleamed in the candle rays.

The remaining three cofradias that had part in the
Wednesday ceremonies exhibited but one pageant each.
A troop in black and gold conducted a Calvary, with Mary
Mother and Mary Magdalene both kneeling at the foot
of the crbss, robed in the richest velvet. Figures in white,
with stripes of red, came after, with a yet more costly Cal-
vary. The well-carved crucifix rose from a gilded mound,
and Our Mother of Healing wore a gold crown of exceed-
ing price. But the third Calvary all wrought in black
and gold, the colors of the brotherhood, which were re-
peated in standard and costume, won the plaudits of the
evening. Here Longinus, a Roman centurion, mounted
on a spirited horse, was in (he act of piercing with his lance
the Saviour's side. Amid vivas and bravos this Passion
picture passed, like its predecessors, in clouds of incense
and peals of solemn music. On Thursday the wearing
of black was almost universal. We rummaged our shawl-
straps for some poor equivalent of the Spanish black
38

Before the Dawn

silks and black mantillas. The Civil Guard was more
superb than ever in full-dress uniform, with red vests
and white trousers. No sound of wheels was suffered
within the city limits, and late arrivals had to commit their
luggage to a porter and follow him on foot.

At three o'clock, in the Sagrario of the cathedral, the
archbishop washed the feet of thirteen old paupers, who
sat in two confronting rows, looking neat as wax and happy
as honey, each dressed in a brand-new suit, with a long-
fringed damask towel over his shoulder. Their old blood
had been warmed by the archbishop's own wine, for they
had just come from luncheon in the ecclesiastical palace,
where they had been served by the highest dignitaries of
the church and the proudest nobles of the city. The
function of foot washing was not taken too seriously.
The fat canons smiled good-humoredlyon their archbishop,
as his group of attendants lowered him to his knees and
lifted him again before every old man in turn, and the
acolytes nudged one another with boyish mirth over the
rheumatic, embarrassed efforts of the beneficiaries to put
on their stockings.

The first two pageants of the afternoon, those of the
bull-fighters and the cigarette -makers, were awaited with
special eagerness. For these Seville brotherhoods, more
than thirty in all, still maintain something of the medieval
structure of the guilds. Just as in England and France,
from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, or thereabouts,
organized companies of craftsmen used to present in
Passion Week successive scenes from the life of Christ,
these Spanish cof radios to-day maintain such general
lines of division in performing a similar function. Yet any
Catholic Sevillian may, if he chooses, secure admission
20

The Book of Easter

to any of these societies, irrespective of occupation. The
young caballero who chanced to be our prime source of
information this Thursday afternoon was himself of a
prominent family, a protege* of the archbishop, and a
Student of law, yet he belonged to the brotherhood of Fruit
Venders, although his devotion seemed a little languid,
and he had excused himself on this occasion from the long
march in the breathless Nazarene garb.

The bull-fighters of Andalusia are eminently religious
and are said, likewise, to be remarkable for their domestic
virtues. All their manly fury is launched against the bull,
and they have only gentleness left for wives and children.
I have heard no better argument for the bull ring. At
all events these toreros, marching soberly in black, with
yellow belts, escorted with well-ordered solemnity an
image of the crucified Christ, followed by a queenly effigy
of Our Lady of Refuge, erect behind terraced ranks of
candles on a flower-strewn litter, under a costiy canopy
of black velvet embroidered with gold. The cigarette-
makers came after with their two pageants, Christ fastened
to the pillar, and Our Lady of Victory.

It was, as usual, the second upon which the main ex-
pense had been lavished. A great company of acolytes,
richly clad and swinging censers of pure silver, went in
- advance of the Virgin, and three bands of music followed
ber with continuous acclaim, while a regiment of soldiers
attended as a guard of honor. Immediately in front of
the paso went, surrounded by officers and aides, General
Ochando, his head uncovered and his breast glittering
with decorations, for the young king of Spain is a mem-
ber of this cofradia, and had sent the distinguished mili-
tary governor of the provinces, who has a palace in Se-
3°

Before the Dawn

ville, to represent him. Especial enthusiasm was called out
l>ythis image of Mary, for the cigarette-makers had just pre-
sented her- with a new mantle at a cost of nine thousand
dollars. The brothers were willingly aided by the seven
thousand women who work in the immense tobacco fac-
tory, the average contribution of each donor being two
centimos [two-fifths of a cent] a week during the pre-
ceding year. No wonder that the Virgin seemed to Stand
proudly upon her ' silvered- pedestal, her gorgeous new
mantle streaming out until it almost touched the head of
a white-vested girl who walked barefoot close behind the
litter, so fulfilling a vow made in extremity of illness.

Black and white were the banners and costumes of the
third procession, very effective through the deepening
dusk. Their leading pageant was a Gethsemane famous
for the beauty of the carving. Christ is represented in
prayer before an angel, who bears in one hand the cross
and in the other the cup of bitterness, while Peter, James,
and John are sleeping near their Master. These Passion
groups are, with a few exceptions of still earlier date, works
of the seventeenth century, the glorious period of Spanish
art, the day of Murillo and Velasquez. The most and best
are from the hand of the Sevillian Montage's, of chief
repute in the Spanish school of polychrome sculpture,
but this Gethsemane was carved by his imitator, Roldan,
whose daughter, La Roldana, is accredited with the figure
of the angel and with the reliefs that adorn the pedestal.

Another Virgin, who, like all the rest, seemed a scintil-
lation of gold and jewels, swept by, and a new troop of
Nazarenes, this time purple and white, passed with two
august pageants, — the Descent from the Cross and the
Fifth Anguish of Mary. Then came two files of ash-

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The Book of Easter

colored figures who marshalled between their rows of
starry tapers, each taper bending toward its opposite,
a vivid presentation of the Crowning with Thorns, and
after this, their Mary of the Valley, noted for the gracious
sweetness of her countenance. This image is held to be
one of MontaneYs masterpieces in wood-carving.

Five processions had now passed, with their two pageants
each, and the hour was late, but we could not leave the
balcony for anything so commonplace as dinner. Far
down the street of Las Sierpes waved a river of lights,
announcing the advent of the most ancient of all the
Sevillian brotherhoods, Jesus of the Passion. The crowded
plaza rose in reverence as the Crucifixion paso was borne
by, and Our Lady of Mercy, too magnificent for her
name, was greeted with rapturous outcries.

Just how and when and where something in the way of
food was taken, I hardly know, but as this, the last of the
Thursday evening processions, passed in music out to the
plaza, a few of us made speed by a deserted side street to
the cathedral. We were too late for the Miserere, which
was just closing in that surprising hubbub, the stamping
of feet and beating of canes and chairs against the floor,
by which, Spanish piety is wont to "punish Judas." But
we took our station near by the entrance to the Royal
Chapel, wherein had been erected the grand Holy Week
monument, in white and gold, shaped like a temple and
shining with innumerable silver lamps and taper lights.

Within this monument the Host, commonly spoken of in
Spain as Su Majeslad, had been solemnly placed the night
before, much as the mediaeval church used to lay the
crucifix, with requiems, under the High Altar on Good
Friday, and joyously bring it forth again Foster morning.

Before the Dawn

But Spanish^ Catholicism is strangely indifferent to dates,
burying the Host on Wednesday and celebrating the Res-
urrection Saturday. The processions of Friday dawn, de
tnadntgada, call out great numbers of the devout, who
would thus keep the last watch with their Lord. The
clocks struck three as the leading pageant, a very ancient
image of Christ, bearing a silver-mounted cross of tortoise-
shell, halted before the Alcalde. A white banner wrought
with gold heralded the Virgin, who rose, in glistening
attire, from a golden lake of lights.

The wealthy cofradia of San Lorenzo followed in their
costly habits of black velvet. They, too, conducted a
pageant of Christ bearing his cross, one of the most beauti-
ful groups of Montanes, the pedestal adorned with angels
in relief. To the Christ, falling on the Via Dolorosa, the
brotherhood, with the usual disregard of historic propriety,
had given a royal mantle of ermine, embroidered with
gold and pearls. A large company of black-clad women,
carrying candles, walked behind the pa so, on their peni-
tential march of some eight hours. Many of them were
ladies delicately bred, whose diamonds sparkled on the
breast of the approaching Mary. For the Sevillian seftoras
are accustomed to lend their most valuable gems to their
favorite Virgins for the Semana Santa, and San Lorenzo's
Lady of Grief is said to have worn this night the worth of
millions. She passed amid a great attendant throng, in
such clouds of incense that the eye could barely catch the
shimmer of her silver pedestal, the gleam of the golden
broideries that almost hid the velvet of her mantle and
the flashes and jets of light that shot from the incredible
treasure of jewels that she wore.

The third troop of Nazarenes, robed in white and
D 33

The Book of Easter

violet, bore for banner a white cross upon a violet ground.
Their Christ -pageant pictured Pilate in his judgment seat
in the act of condemning the Son of God to death. Jesus,
guarded by armed soldiers, calmly confronts the troubled
judge, at whose knee wait two little pages with a basin
of water and towels.

And now came one of the most gorgeous features of the
Holy Week ^ processions — a legion of Roman soldiers,
attired as never Roman soldiers were, in gold greaves and
crimson tunics, with towering snow-white plumes. But a
splendid show they made as, marching to drum and fife,
they filed down Las Sitrpes and stretched " in never
ending line" across the plaza. Our most Holy Mary of
Hope, who followed, wearing a fair white tunic and a gold-
embroidered mantle of green, (he color of the hopeful
season, drowned the memory of that Stern military music
in a silver concert of flutes.

After this sumptuous display, the fourth band of Naza-
renes, gliding through the plaza between night and day
in their garb of black and white, could rouse but little
enthusiasm, although their Crucifixion was one of the
most artistic, and their Lady of the Presentation had her
poorest garment of fine satin.

A pearly lustre was stealing through the sky, and the
chill in the air was thinning the rows of spectators on the
grand stand, when mysterious, dim-white shapes, like
ghosts, bore by in utter silence a pageant of Christ fainting
beneath the burden of the cross.

But soon the clamor of drums and fifes ushered in an-
other long array of Roman soldiers, a rainbow host in red
and pink and blue, crimson plumes alternating with white,
and golden shields with silver. The electric lights, globed
34

Before the Dawn

high overhead, took one look at this fantastic cavalcade
and went out with a gasp.

It was now clear day. Canaries began to sing in their
cages, and parrots to scream for chocolate. Sleepy-eyed
servant-maids appeared on the balconies, and market
women, leading green-laden donkeys, peered forth from
the side streets into the square. The morning light made
havoc with the glamour of the pageants. Something
frank and practical in sunshine stripped those candle-
lighted litters of their dignity. Busy people dodged
through (he procession lines, and one Nazarene after an-
other might be seen slipping out of the ranks and hurrying
awkwardly, in his cumbersome dress, with the half-burned
taper under his arm, to the refuge of his own mosquito
netting and orange tree. The tired crowd grew critical
and irreverent, and openly railed upon the Virgin of this
ghostly cofradia because her velvet mantle was com-
paratively plain. "Bahl how poor it is! Are we to sit
here all the night for such stingy shows as that?"

But the last brotherhood in the madrugada processions
had, with their white frocks and blue caps and capes,
suited themselves to the colors of the day. The stumbling
children, blind with sleep, whom fathers were already
leading off the square, turned back for a drowsy gaze at
the resplendent tunic of the Christ in the Via Dolorosa
pato, a tunic claimed to he the richest of all the garments
worn by the effigies of Jesus. So lovely was this trooping
company in their tints of sky and cloud, bearing a great
blue banner and a shining ivory cross, that they brought
order and decorum with them.

The division that escorted the Virgin marched on with

special steadiness, not a peaked cap drooping, nor a boyish

The Book of Easter

acolyte faltering under the weight of his tall gilded censer.
This most Holy Mary of Anguish, whose litter and canopy
were all of white and gold, swept by in triumphal peals of
music while the clocks were striking six. In some mental
confusion, I said good night to the people I left on the
balcony, and good morning to the people I met on the
stairs, and ate my breakfast before I went to bed.

It seemed as if human nature could bear no more; the
eyes ached with seeing, and phantasmal processions went
sweeping through our dreams; yet Friday afternoon at
five o'clock found our balcony like the rest, full to over-
flowing. Some twenty thousand people were massed in the
plaza, and it was estimated that over one hundred thou-
sand waited along the line of march. Our Spanish en-
tertainers, Still unrefreshed by any chance for sleep, were
as gayly and punctiliously attentive to their guests as ever,
from our gallant host, who presented the ladies with
fragrant bouquets of roses and orange blossoms, to the
little pet of the household, who at the most engrossing
moments in the ceremonial would slip away from her
privileged stand on a footstool against the railing to sum-
mon any member of the party who might be missing the
spectacle.

The Spanish colors floated out from city hall and court-
house, but the great concourse below was all in hues of
mourning, the black mantillas often falling over dresses
of plain purple. The sefioritas in the balconies had
substituted knots of black ribbon for the customary flowers
in the hair. Jet trimmings abounded, and the waving fans
were black.

The coming processions, we were assured on every
hand, would be the most solemn of all and the most sump-

3«

Before the Dawn

tuous. The habits of the Nazarenes would be of satin, silk,
and velvet. The images of Christ and the Virgin would
be attired with all possible magnificence of damask and
ermine, gold and jewels. Brotherhood would vie with
brotherhood in splendor, and one prodigy of luxury would
succeed another.

The leading company, whose far-trailing robes carpeted
the street with fine black velvet, stood for the olive industry.
This cqfradia had been poor and unimportant for genera-
tions, but in recent years a devoted brother, a manufacturer
of olive packing barrels, had poured forth his accumu-
lated fortune upon his society, with the result that their
pasos are now second in ostentation and expense to none.
The donor, long since too feeble to bear his taper in the
line, lives in humble obscurity, but hb old heart swells
with joy this great day of the year when he sees, following
the elaborate carving of the Crucifixion, the dazzling
chariot of Our Lady of Solitude. Upon her mantle, which
enjoys the proud distinction of being the very costliest of
all, he has lavished twenty thousand dollars. Longer by
a yard than any of the others, it was yet unable to find
place for all the gold which the zealous Nazarene had given
for it, and the residue was bestowed about the pedestal
and canopy. The paso is so heavy with gold that it re-
quires a double force of men to carry it ; but each of these
hidden bearers, getting air as best he can through a silver
breathing-tube, is sure of a dollar for his recompense as

All the adornment of the litter is of pure gold, and such
wealth of jewels glinted from the Virgin's glorious raiment
that a triple force of Civil Guards was detailed for her pro-
tection. Her ardent worshipper has denied her nothing.
37

The Book of Easter

The very columns that uphold her canopy are exquisite in
carving, and it is his yearly pride to see that her clouds
of incense are the thickest, and her train of musicians the
most extended, in all that glittering line.

The second cofradia exhibited but a single pageant,
relying for effect upon the beauty of the sculpture. The
Mater Dolorosa was bowed in her desolation at (he foot
of the Holy Rood, from which hung only the white folds
of the winding sheet.

But the third brotherhood had bethought themselves
to introduce between their austere crucifixion and their
shining image of Mary another preposterous parade of
Roman soldiers — flower-colored, plume -tossing, butterfly
creatures far too bright, if not too good, "for human nature's
daily food." One whiff from Cfesar's iron breast would
have blown them away like soap bubbles.

The silversmiths trooped by in graver, more majestic
state, their purple velvet habits girded with gold cords.
Upon a gilded pedestal, wrought with high relief, was seen
their Christ, bowed beneath a precious cross of tortoise-
shell and silver. Our Lady of Expectation gleamed with
gold gems, and this haughty brotherhood received a full
meed of applause.

Black from top to toe was the fifth procession. Their
Jesus of the Via Dolorosa bent beneath a sombre cross of
ebony embossed with gold, but the blithe young voices
of the countless choir-boys, singing like birds before the
dawn, ushered in a sun-bright image of Mary.

But something was amiss with the processional order.
Where were (he stately ranks of Montserrat? Alas and
alas! Scarcely had this aristocratic cofradia gone a hun-
dred paces from their chapel when, in the narrow street of

Before the Dawn

Murillo, a leaning candle touched the lace skirt of the Vir-
gin and instantly all the front glitter was in flames. It was
hardly a matter of minutes. From the balconies above
were dashed down pailfuls and pitcherfuls of water. The
Nazarenes, wrenching away the blue velvet mantle WOO-
drously embroidered in gold with castles, lions, bmA fleurs-
de-lis, succeeded in rescuing a ragged half of it, and the
Civil Guards, drawing their swords and forming a circle
about the smoking litter, saved the jewels from robbery.
Perhaps the other paso, too, Christ of the Conversion of the
Penitent Thief, had some protecting influence. But in
all this ado about her finery the poor Virgin's face, beloved
for its winsome look, was completely burned away. In
sorry plight Our Lady of Montserrat was hurried back to
her chapel, and the swift rumor of the disaster seat a super-
stitious trouble through the city.

But more and more solemnly the taper-bearing troops of
Nazarenes poured by the culminating pictures of the Pas-
sion. These last three cofradias presented each single
pageant. An escort in dark purple conducted an impres-
sive Descent from the Cross. The Virgin, her crowned
head bowed in anguish, clasps the drooping body of Christ
to her heart, while John and Mary Magdalene look on in
hopeless sorrow. Figures in black and white came after,
with their sixteenth -century carving, Christ of the Dying
Breath, beneath the cross standing Our Lady of Tears.
And last of all, in slow sad movement, their white trains
streaming like a line of light along the stone-paved way,
passed the second brotherhood of San Lorenzo, bearing
the Most Blessed Virgin in her Solitude. The gold of
her mantle seemed one with the gold of the candle rays,
and, for many a silent watcher those gliding, gleaming,
39

The Book of Easter

spirit-like forms will move forever down a shining path
in memory. So closed the Holy Week processions.

"How sorry I am," said our host, with the Andalusian
twinkle in his eye. "It is almost eleven o'clock. Ladies
and gentlemen, will you please walk out to dinner ? "

On Saturday morning we went early to the cathedral
for the closing rite. The Sagrario was thronged. Some of
the seftoras had brought low folding chairs with them,
others sat upon the floor, but most of that innumerable
congregation knelt or stood. We were all facing the great
purple veil which concealed the high altar, with Roldan's
retablo of the Descent from the Cross. There was an hour
or more of expectation, during which rosaries slipped
through the fingers of many a veiled nun, and the soft mur-
mur of prayer came from strong men as well as from pale-
faced women. Suddenly, while a shock of thunder crashed
from the organ, hidden ministrants sharply drew on hidden
cords, the purple curtain parted in the midst, and the two
folds rolled asunder, revealing the high altar, with its carv-
ing of the accomplished Passion. The organ poured forth
jubilees of victory, all the bells of the cathedral pealed
together, Gloria in Excdsis soared in choral chant, and
amid the awe-stricken multitudes fallen to their knees Su
Majeslad was borne in priestly procession from the tomb
in the Royal Chapel to the candles and incense which
awaited at the high altar that triumphal coming.

Easter Sunday was celebrated by a bull-fight.
Katharine Lee Bates in

Spanish Highways and Byways

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Before the Dawn

In the Sistine Chapel *> -o -o -a- -^

HpHE last week of Lent was come, and strangers
■*■ streamed back towards Rome. Carriage after
carriage rolled in through the Porta del Popolo and the
Porta del Giovanni. On Wednesday afternoon began
the Miserere in the Sistine chapel. My soul longed for
music; in the world of melody I could find sympathy
and consolation. The throng was great, even within
the chapel — the foremost division was already filled with
ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet and golden
draperies, for royal personages and foreigners from various
courts, were erected so high that they looked out beyond
the richly carved railing which separated the ladies from
the interior of the chapel. The papal Swiss guards stood
in their bright festal array. The officers wore light armor,
and in their helmets a waving plume : this was particularly
becoming to Bernardo, who was greeted by the handsome
young ladies with whom he was acquainted.

I obtained a seat immediately within the barrier, not
far from the place where the papal singers were stationed.
Several English people sat behind me. I had seen them
during the carnival, in their gaudy masquerade dresses;
here they wore the same. They wished to pass themselves
off for officers, even boys of ten years old. They all wore
the most expensive uniforms, of the most showy and ill-
matched colors. As for example, one wore a light blue
coat, embroidered with silver, gold upon the slippers, and a
sort of turban with feathers and pearls. But this was not
anything new at the festivals in Rome, where a uniform
obtained for its wearer a better seat. The people who
were near smiled at it, but it did not occupy me long.

The Book of Easter

The old cardinals entered in their magnificent violet-
colored velvet cloaks with their white ermine caps, and
seated themselves side by side, in a great half circle,
within the barrier, whilst the priests who had carried their
trains seated themselves at their feet. By the little side
door of the altar the Holy Father now entered in his purple
mantle and silver tiara He ascended his throne. Bishops
swung the vessel of incense around him, whilst young
priests in scarlet vestments knelt, with lighted torches
in their hands, before him and the high altar.

The reading of the lessons began. But it was impossible
to keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the Missal —
they raised themselves, with the thoughts, to the vast
universe which Michael Angelo has breathed forth in
colors upon the ceiling and the walls. I contemplated
his mighty sibyls and wondrously glorious prophets, every
one of them a subject for a painting. My eyes drank in
the magnificent processions, the beautiful groups of angels ;
they were not to me painted pictures; all stood living
before me. The rich tree of knowledge from which
Eve gave the fruit to Adam; the Almighty God, who
floated over the waters, not bome up by angels, as the old
masters represented him — no, the company of angels
rested upon him and his fluttering garments. It is true
I had seen these pictures before, but never as now had they
seized upon me. The crowd of people, perhaps even the
lyric of my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical
impressions ; and many a poet's heart has felt as mine did I

The bold foresRortenings, the determinate force with

which every figure steps forward, is amazing, and carries

one quite away ! It is a spiritual Sermon on the Mount,

in color and form. Like Raphael, we stand in astonish-

, *Goodc

Before the Dawn

ment before the power of Michael Angelo. Every prophet
is a Moses like that which he formed in marble. What
giant forms are those which seize upon our eye and our
thoughts as we enterl But, when intoxicated with this
view, let us turn our eyes to the background of the chapel,
whose whole wall is a high altar of art and thought. The
great chaotic picture, from the floor to the roof, shows
itself there like a jewel, of which all the rest is only the
setting. We see there the last judgment.

Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and the
apostles and his mother stretch forth their hands be-
seechingly for the poor human race. The dead raise the
grave stones under which they have lain; blessed spirits
float upwards, adoring to God, whilst the abyss seizes its
victims. Here one of the ascending spirits seeks to save
his condemned brother, whom the abyss already embraces
in its snaky folds. The children of despair strike their
clinched fists upon their brows, and sink into the depths 1
In bold foreshortening, float and tumble whole legions
between heaven and earth. The sympathy of the angels;
the expression of lovers who meet; the child that, at the
sound of the trumpet, clings to the mother's breast, — is so
natural and beautiful that one believes one's self to be
one among those who are waiting for judgment. Michael
Angelo has expressed in colors what Dante saw and has
sung to the generations of the earth.

The descending sun, at that moment, threw his last
beams in through the uppermost window. Christ, and
the blessed around him, were strongly lighted up; whilst
the lower part, where the dead arose, and the demons
thrust their boat, laden with damned, from shore, were
almost in darkness.

,..,.Cooy[e

The Book of Easter

Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended,
and the last light which now remained was removed, and
the whole picture-world vanished from before me; but, in
that same moment, burst forth music and singing. That
which color had bodily revealed arose now in sound: the
day of judgment, with its despair and its exultation, re-
sounded above us.

The Father of the Church, stripped of his papal pomp,
stood before the altar and prayed at the holy cross: and
upon the wings of the trumpet resounded the trembling
choir, "Populus mens, quid feci tibif" Soft angels' tones
rose above the deep song, tones which ascended not from
a human breast: it was not a man's nor a woman's; it
belonged to the world of spirits; it was like the weeping
of angels dissolved in melody.

In this world of harmony my soul imbibed strength
and the fulness of life. I felt myself joyful and strong
as I had not been for a long time. Annunciata, Ber-
nardo, all my love, passed before my thought. I loved,
in this moment, as blessed spirits may love. The peace
which I had sought in prayer, but had not found. Sowed
now, with these tones, into my heart.

IIans Andersen in The Improvisalore

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EASTER DAYS

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TT IS characteristic of human life that its greatest day
■*- should be its saddest, full of suffering and sorrow. It
showed how life in its essential nature was sad ; but it was
a day of hope, its sorrow full of promise, and this too is
characteristic of human life.

Phillips Brooks.

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The Resurrection ^ <i. ^ <^ ^ o

X TOW on the first day of (he week cometh Mary Magda-
■*■ ™ lene early, while it was yet dark, unto the tomb, and
seeth the stone taken away from the tomb. She runneth
therefore, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other
disciple, whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them, "They
have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we know
not where they have laid him." Peter therefore went forth,
and the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb.
And they ran both together: and the other disciple outran
Peter, and came first to the tomb ; and stooping and look-
ing in, he seeth the linen cloths lying; yet he entered not
in. Simon Peter therefore also cometh, following him,
and entered into the tomb; and he beholdeth the linen
cloths lying, and the napkin, that was upon his head, not
lying with the linen cloths, but rolled up in a place by itself.
Then entered in therefore the other disciple also, which
came first to the tomb, and he saw, and believed. For as
yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again
from the dead. So the disciples went away again unto
their own home.

But Mary was standing without at the tomb weeping:
so, as she wept, she stooped and looked into the tomb;
and she beholdeth two angels in white sitting, one at the
head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had
Iain. And they said unto her, "Woman, why weepest
thou?" She saith unto them, "Because they have taken
away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid
him." When she had thus said, she turned herself back and
beholdeth Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus.
e 4 Q

The Book of Easter

Jesus saith unto her, "Woman, why weepest thou? whom "
seekest thou?" She, supposing him to be the gardener,
saith unto him, "Sir, if thou hast borne him hence, tell me
where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away."
Jesus saith unto her, "Mary." She turneth herself, and
saith unto him in Hebrew, "Rabboni": which is to say,
master. Jesus saith to her, "Touch me not; for I am
not yet ascended unto the Father, but go unto my brethren,
and say to them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father,
and my God and your God." Maty Magdalene cometh
and telleth the disciples, " I have seen the Lord" ; and how
that he had said these things unto her.

When therefore it was evening, on that day, the first
day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the
disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood
in the midst, and saith unto them, "Peace be unto you."
And when he had said this, he shewed unto them his hands
and his side. The disciples therefore were glad, when
they saw the Lord. Jesus therefore said to them again,
"Peace be unto you: as the Father hath sent me, even so
send I you." And when he had said this, he breathed
on them, and saith unto them, "Receive ye the Holy
Ghost : whose soever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven unto
them; whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained."
But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not
with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore
said unto him, "We have seen the Lord." But he
said unto them, " Except I shall see in his hands the print
of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails,
and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." And
after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas
with them. Jesus' cometh, the doors being shut, and stood
So

Easter Days

in the midst, and said, "Peace be unto you." Then saith*
he to Thomas, "Reach hither thy finger, and see my hands;
and reach hither thy hand, and put it into my side: and
be not faithless, but believing." Thomas answered and
said unto him, "My Lord and my God." Jesus saith
unto him, " Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed:
blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.'*
From The Fourth Gospel

The Primitive Easter Play -a- *a- -^ ^a-

TF we would look upon one of these primitive dramas,
so unconscious of its own dramatic nature and
dramatic destiny, we must thread our way through blos-
somed English lanes and enter the grateful cool of the high-
arched cathedral. About us is a motley multitude, —
nobles in scarlet hose and tunics of cloth of gold, ladies in
bright-hued trailing gowns with floating sleeves and richly
embroidered girdles, rainbow-vested children pattering
along in blue and yellow shoes, as if stained from their
treading among the violets and primroses, and peasant
groups in coarser stuffs of ruder shape and duller tint.
Yet there is color everywhere, the raiment of the wor-
shippers almost seeming to catch the broken lights from the
great window that gleam like marvellous jewels east and
west and forth from shadowy aisles. And the well-wrought
stone of capital and canopy and crocket has tints of russet
and of buff, and the walls are fairly frescoed, and statues,
colored to the look of life, repose on the gem-set tombs of
bishops and of princes. It is an age of art, an era of percep-
tion and of feeling. The trooping multitude brings eyes and
Si

The Book of Easter

ears all sensitive and eager. The very influences of the
sacred place quicken the {esthetic craving. These medieval
church-goers, even the meagre and the ragged, long for a
service vivid, exquisite, aglow with life and beauty. But
the scientific and philosophic faculties are not yet hungry.
The mental world of these thought-children is peopled by
> angels, saints, and devils in company with ghosts, fairies,
and hobgoblins. Of these the devil is undoubtedly the
favorite, calling out half-terrified interest and half-tri-
umphant respect. It is the devil who figures most con-
spicuously in carving and in speech. . . .

White-robed monks fill the dim, mysterious choir, the
altar is heavily draped with black, the golden crucifix,
thick-set with jewels, is missing from its place, but on the
north of the chancel we see the Easter sepulchre with
the stone rolled away from the door. The solemn ritual
of the Mass proceeds in wonted fashion, with fragrance
of incense, with silver sound of bell, with kneelings and up-
risings, with processional pomp and awful adoration, and
over all the glory of the chant. But when, after a prepara-
tory chorus of the prophets answered by a chorus of the
church, there is reached that point in the service whereat the
tender story of the Marys coming to the sepulchre was of old
time rendered as an anthem, three choristers in long white
stoles, bearing perfume-breathing censers, step forth from
the singing band anil walk slowly, with groping motions
and dirge-like music, toward the north chancel. As they
near the tomb, with gesture of surprise to see the open door,
other white -raimen ted figures, with palm branches in hand,
rise from the mouth of the sepulchre to meet them, singing
in sweet, high notes: —

"Quem quasritis in sepulchro, O Christicolae?"
5*

Easter Days

The Marys make answer in softer, tremulous tone: —

"Jesum Nazarenum crucifixum, O coelicoke!"
And the angels respond with victorious cadence : —
"Non. est hie, surrexit sicut pwedixerat;
Ite, nuntiate quia surrexit de sepulchro."
In obedience to the gesture of the angels the Marys
stoop to the opening of the tomb, draw forth the linen
wrappings, and lifting these in sight of all the people, in
token of that garment of death which the risen Christ has
put off from him, turn to the chorus with exultant song: —
"Dominus surrexit de sepulchro! Alleluia 1"
Then the Te Deum, rolling forth from all that multitude
in impetuous thanksgiving, floods choir, nave, and tran-
septs, the worshippers clasp one another, with tears raining
down their faces, the black draperies are borne away, the
altar glistens again in gold and rich embroidery, the shining
crucifix is lifted to its place, and, simple as the representa-
tion has been, even the little lad ia primrose shoes will never
forget the service, nor the thrill of Easter joy in his soul.

There are a few selfish moments, in which the people
press tumultuously toward the carven choir screen, in the
belief that eyes which may behold the Easter elevation of
the crucifix shall not close in death for the year to come;
but as the tide ebbs, and the throng pours out into the sun-
shine, the living picture has done for them what no dogma,
no argument, no philosophic analysis, would have had
the power to do, and in devout rejoicing neighbor greets
neighbor with the sacred words, "The Lord is risen!"
Katharine Lee Bates in

The English Religious Drama
S3

The Book of Easter

The Passion Play at Oberammergau -==»• -^
/~\BERAMMERGAU is a beautiful little village stand-
ing in a lonely valley almost on the watershed of the
Bavarian Alps. A mile or two on one side the streams
run east toward Munich, but here in the village itself
the Amraer runs westward towards the Palner See,
Looked at from above, it forms an ideal picture of an ideal
village. The clean white walls of the houses with their
green window -shutters are irregularly grouped round the
church, which, with its mosque-like minaret, forms the
living centre of the place. It is the rallying point of the
villagers, who used to perform their play in the church-
yard — architecturally as morally the keystone of the
arch. Seen at sunset or at sunrise, the red-tiled and gray-
slated roofs which rise among the trees on the other side of
the rapid and crystal Ammer seem to nestle together under
the shade of the surrounding hills around the protecting
spire of the church. High overhead gleams the white cross on
the lofty Kofel crag which guards the entrance to the valley.
In the irregular streets Tyrol ese mountaineers are
strolling and laughing in their picturesque costume, but at
the solemn Angelus hour, when the bells swing out their
music in the upper air, every hat is raised, and bareheaded
all remain until the bells cease to peal. It is a homely,
simple, unspoiled village, and that they have been unspoiled
by the flood from the outer world which submerges them
every week all summer through every ten years is in itself
almost as the miracle of the burning bush. The student
of social economics might do worse than spend some days
observing how life goes with the villagers of Oberam-
mergau. . . .

,GoogIc

Easter Days

As I write, it is now two days after the Passion Play.
The crowd has departed, the village is once more quiet and
still. The swallows are twittering in the eaves, and blue
and cloudless sky overarches the amphitheatre of hills.
All is peace, and the whole dramatic troupe pursue with
equanimity the even tenor of their ordinary life. Most of
the best players are wood-carvers; the others are peasants
or local tradesmen. Their royal robes or their rabbinical
costumes laid aside, they go about their ordinary walk in
the ordinary way as ordinary mortals. But what a revela-
tion it is of the mine of latent capacity, musical, dramatic,
intellectual, in the human race that a single mountain
village can furnish, under capable guidance, and with ade-
quate inspiration, such a host competent to set forth such a
play from its tinkers, tailors, ploughmen, bakers, and the
like! It is not native capacity that is lacking to mankind.
It is the guiding brain, the patient love, the careful educa-
tion, and the stimulus and inspiration of a great idea. But
given these, every village of country yokels from Dorset
to Caithness might develop artists as noble and as devoted
as those of Oberammergau.

In order to explain the meaning of the typical tableaux
and to prepare the audience for the scene which they are
about to witness, recourse is had to an ingenious arrange-
ment, whereby the interlude between each scene is filled up
with singing in parts and in chorus by a choir of Schutzgeis-
ter, or Guardian Angels. The choragus, or leader of the
choir, first recites some verses clearly and impressively,
then the choir bursts out into song accompanied by an
orchestra concealed from view in front of the stage. The
tinkle of a little bell is heard, and the singers draw back so
as to reveal the tableaux. The curtain rises and the tab-
55

The Book of Easter

leau is displayed, during which they sing again. The
curtain falls, they resume their old places, and the singing
proceeds. Then when they come to the end, half file off
to the right, half to the left, and the play proper begins.
When the curtain falls, they again take their places and
resume their song. The music is very simple but impres-
sive, and the more frequently it is heard, the more you feel
its force and pathos. The chorus occupies the stage for
fully half the time devoted to the piece.

Their dress is very effective. From the choragus in the
centre in bright scarlet, all wear coronets, with the cross
in the centre, and are habited in a white under tunic, with
golden edging, in yellow leather sandals and stockings of
the same color as the robe, which falls from their shoulders.
These rubes, held in place by gold -decorated cords and
tassels round the breast and round the waist, are arranged
very artistically and produce a brilliant effect, especially
when the wearers are leaving the stage by the wings.
Twice, however, these brilliant robes are exchanged for
black — immediately before and immediately after the
Crucifixion. The bright robes, however, are resumed at
the close, when the play closes with a burst of hallelujahs
and a jubilant triumph over the Ascension of Our
Lord.

The first tableau is emblematic of the Fall. When the
curtain is drawn up, Adam and Eve, a man and woman
of the village, habited very decently in white sheepskin,
are flying from the Garden of Eden, where stands the tree
with the forbidden fruit, while from its branches hangs
the Serpent, the Tempter. An angel with a sword painted
to look like flame forbids their return. After the choir
have sung a stanza the curtain falls, they resume their
56

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Easter Days

places on the stage singing how from afar from Calvary's
heights gleams through the night the morning dawn. They
go on singing, and after a while the curtain is rung up again
for the second tableau. This represents the Adoration of
the Cross. A cross of wood painted on a rock occupies
the centre of the stage. One girl stands with one hand
around the cross, the other holding a palm branch, while
another kneels at its foot. Around are grouped fourteen
smaller cherubs, charming little creatures, all standing or
kneeling as motionless as if they had been hewn out of stone
The grace of the little ones is wonderful, and the grouping
most natural. All point to or gaze at the Cross.

When the curtain falls, it docs not rise upon another
tableau until after the first scene has been presented and
Christ has made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem amid
the hosannas of the children. The third tableau, which
comes immediately before the Sanhedrim meets to discuss
how to destroy the Galilean, shows us the children of Jacob
in the plain of Dothan conspiring how to kill Joseph, who,
in his coat of many colors, — in this case plain white with
red facings or stripes, — b approaching from behind. His
brethren are leaning against the well into which they decide
to fling their unfortunate victim. The chorus sing a verse
emphasizing the parallel between Joseph and Jesus.
The common offence alleged against each is that he would
make himself a king to reign over us.

After the meeting of the Sanhedrim there are two tab-
leaux, both intended to foreshadow the departure of Christ
for Bethany. The first, taken from (he Apocrypha, and
therefore unfamiliar to most English visitors, represents the
departure of Tobias, who with his little dog takes leave of
his parents before setting forth with the angel Raphael,
57

The Book of Easter

who is in dress, with a staff instead of wings. The little
dog stands as if stuffed, if indeed it is not. All the
human performers in the tableaux preserve the most per-
fect natural pose with inflexible immobility. I watched
them closely, and never saw a linger shake in any of the
tableaux. Only Isaac's eyes blinked as he lay on the altar
of Mount Moriah, and one little child seated among the
hundred who represented the Israelites bitten by the fiery
serpents moved her eyes. With these two exceptions ■
they might all have been modelled in ivory.

After Tobias comes the tableau of the Bride in the Song
of Solomon, who is lamenting her lost and absent bride-
groom. She is gorgeously arrayed in the midst of a bevy of
fair companions in the traditional flower garden, and while
it is displayed, the chorus sings a lament as ardent in its
passion as the original in Canticles. Christ, of course, is
prefigured by the absent bridegroom ; the lamenting bride,
who appeals to the daughters of Jerusalem, is the Church,
the Lamb's Bride of the Apocalypse. The comparison may
be orthodox, but the contrast between the bride and her
flower-surrounded companions and the almost intolerable
pathos of the parting at Bethany, which immediately fol-
lows, is greater than that which exists elsewhere in the
play.

The sixth tableau, which is supposed to typify the doom
of Jerusalem for the rejection of the Saviour, presents us
with a picture of the court of Ahasuerus at the moment
when Vashti the Queen is falling before the wrath of her
royal consort, who is welcoming Esther to the vacant throne.
Judging from the tableaux, Ahasuerus could not be con-
gratulated upon the change. Poor Vashti's beauty is all
exposed to the assembled banqueters, but exposed in

Easter Days

shame and disgrace instead of being exhibited as the
glory of her lord's harem. Her fate is declared by the
chorus to foreshadow that of the Synagogue.

The seventh and eighth tableaux foreshadow the Last
Supper. Both are marvellous displays of artistic skill in
grouping hundreds of persons in a comparatively small
space. The first is the gathering of the manna in the wilder-
ness; the second the return of the spies from the Promised
Land with a bunch of grapes so colossal as to cause two
strong men to stagger beneath its weight. The whole of
the stage is a mosaic of heads and hands. Four hun-
dred persons, including one hundred and fifty children, are
grouped in these two great living pictures, and so motion-
less are they thai you might almost imagine that they were
a group in colored marble. The tableaux are conventional
enough. Moses has his two gilt rays like horns jutting out
of his head, the manna falls from above the stage like snow
in a theatrical winter piece, and there is no attempt to re-
duce the dimensions of the bunch of grapes to credible
proportions. But these details of criticism are forgotten
in admiration of the skill with which every one, down to
the smallest child, is placed just where he ought to be placed,
does just what he ought to do, clad in the right color, and in
harmonious relation to all his neighbors. The reference to
the manna and to the land that flowed with milk and honey
lead up to the institution of the Last Supper.

The ninth tableau brings us back to Joseph, whose sale
to the Midianites for twenty pieces of silver naturally
leads up to Judas's bargain for twenty pieces of silver with
the Sanhedrim for the betrayal of his Master for thirty.
It was curious to recognize among the mute figures in the
tableaux many of those who but a moment before had been
59

The Book of Easter

active in the Sanhedrim. Such anachronisms, however,
hardly call for more than a passing smile.

The scene in the Garden of Gethsemane is heralded by a
double tableau. The first, which is the tenth in order of
tableaux, shows Adam under the curse; the second, Joab's
treacherous assassination of Amasa. Adam, clad in a
white sheepskin, is represented as sweating and wearied
by digging in ungrateful soil. Three of his small children
are helping him to pull the thorns and briers from the
earth, while Eve, apparently a young girl, with black hair,
also skin-clad, is the centre of a group of three very young
children, while two in the background are playing with a
stuffed lamb. The parallel is worked out by the choir be-
tween Adam's sweating and the bloody sweat in Geth-
semane.

The effective tableau which follows represents Joab
making ready to smite Amasa under the fifth rib, while
proffering him a friendly kiss. We here come upon
several soldiers who do duty in the next scene as the guard
who arrest Jesus. The tableau is remarkable, because as
the chorus sings there comes an echo from the rocks within
where a concealed choir sing in response to the eager in-
quiry of the chorus, "What happened? What happened?"
describing the murder of Amasa, which, of course, needs
no link to connect itself with the coming betrayal of- Jesus.

After the arrest of Christ comes the interval or pause
for lunch. When the audience reassembles to witness the
appearance of Christ before the high priest, the prefatory
tableau — the twelfth of the series — shows how Micaiah,
the prophet of the Lord, was smitten by Zedekiah, the priest
of Baal, for daring to predict, before Ahab and Jehosha-
phat, the approaching death of the King of Israel at the battle
60

Easter Days

of Ramoth Gilead. The chorus sings several verses which
lay stress upon the fact that if men speak out the truth,
they must expect to be smitten in the face. The singing is
rendered with much force and effect.

The thirteenth and fourteenth tableaux come before the
appearance of Christ before Caiaphas. They represent the
stoning of Naboth, a venerable old man who is being crushed
beneath the missiles of Jezebel's sons of Belial, and the
sufferings of Job, who is shown on his dunghill, scoffed at,
plagued, and derided by his friends, his servants, and even
by his wife. The chorus sings a series of verses about Job,
all beginning with the German equivalent of Ecce Homo —
"Seht Welch ein Mensch!" the phrase afterwards used
by Pilate when displaying Christ to the people.

The fifteenth tableau prefacing the despair of Judas
represents the despair of Cain. Cain, a tall, dark, and stal-
wart man, clad in a leopard's skin, is dropping the heavy
tree branch with which he has slain his brother. Abel, in a
lambskin, lies dead, with an ugly wound on his right temple.
Cain's right hand is pressed upon the brow on which is to
be set the brand of God. It is a fine scene, full of simple,
tragic effect.

The sixteenth tableau, which precedes the appearance
of Christ before the tribunal of Pilate, the foreign ruler,
is devoted to the scene in which Daniel was denounced
before Darius immediately preceding his consignment to
the den of lions. Daniel stands forth before the king
undismayed by his accusers, a much more vigorous and
rugged specimen of persecuted virtue than the Man of
Sorrows, who immediately afterwards was led before Pilate.

Tableau seventeenth, which prefigures the contemptu-
ous mockery of Christ by Herod, represents Samson
61

The Book of Easter

avenging himself upon the Philistines by pulling down
the temple upon their heads. The blinded giant 'strains
at one of the two pillars on which the roof rests, breaking
it asunder, and the company in their mirth wait in horror
to see their impending doom. The parallel in this case
is between the mocking of Samson and the jeers to which
Christ was subjected, not to the vengeance of the former
upon the Philistines.

The eighteenth and nineteenth tableaux precede the
scourging. The former represents the bringing of Joseph's
coat, all steeped in blood, to the patriarch Jacob; the
latter the sacrifice of Isaac. Joseph's coat is not very
bloody. His father's distress is very vividly expressed.
Isaac lies on Mount Moriah, a curly, black-headed youth,
— boy or girl, it was difficult to make out, — while Abra-
ham, who is just about to slay him with a bright falchion,
is restrained by an angel, who points to a ram in a thicket,
which, although stuffed, looks as much alive as any of the
human figures in the tableaux.

The scene in which Christ is sentenced to death is pref-
aced by two tableaux, neither of them particularly ap-
propriate. The first represents Joseph acclaimed as
Grand Vizier of Pharaoh. The stage is filled with a
bright spirited multitude of acclaiming beholders. The
tableau is unquestionably vivid, but as a preface to the
Death Sentence it is somewhat out of place. More
appropriate, although scenically less telling, is the choice
of the scapegoat, which is represented as taking place in
the temple, before an interested crowd of spectators.

Two more tableaux bring us to the Crucifixion. The
first represents Isaac carrying the wood with which he was
to be burned up the slope of Mount Moriah ; the second,

Easter Days

another scene from the wilderness, full of spirit and life,
shows Moses raising the brazen serpent on high so that
all who look upon it may live even though they have been
bitten by the fiery serpent. The stage is crowded with life.

There used to be two additional tableaux, representing
Jonah and the whale, and the passage of the children
through the Red Sea. These tableaux, which preceded
the Resurrection, have disappeared, reducing the total
number from twenty-five to twenty-three. The most
remarkable omission — regarded from the point of view
of Scripture history — is the entire absence of David
from the tableaux.

There is no allusion to Solomon, or to the Conquest of
Canaan, or to Isaiah, the evangelical prophet. But within
the compass of twenty-three pictures a really marvellous
range of subjects is obtained, and all of them, whether
appropriate or inappropriate according to our ideas, are
worked out with marvellous care and presented with the
most painstaking fidelity on the part of all concerned.
The gospel according to St. Daisenberger, as unfolded
on the stage at Oberammergau, is his version of the story
that transformed the world, and that will yet transform
it again. It is the old, old story in a new, and to Protes-
tants, somewhat unfamiliar dress. It is as if the Gospel
from the stained windows of our cathedrals had suddenly
taken living bodily shapes and transacted itself once more
before our astonished eyes.

Many of the scenes of the play have an almost harrow-
ing interest, but some of them may be singled out as
especially effective. Among these are the conspiracy of
the priests in the Sanhedrim, a mast powerful conception
from first to last; the parting of Jesus with his mother
63

The Book of Easter

Maiy; the Last Supper; the thrilling protests of Nicode-
mus and Joseph of Arimathea; the mocking of Christ by
the soldiers; the silence before the contemptible Herod;
the scene before Pilate's judgment seat ; and the bearing
of the Cross to Golgotha. During some of these scenes
there was scarely a face among the four thousand spec-
tators which was not wet with tears, and what is more
remarkable some of the actors themselves were visibly
weeping. — What are we to say of the last scenes of all !
Speaking of my own personal impressions, I can only say
that they seemed to me too awfully sacred to be witnessed
without misgivings. Everything indeed is done to prepare
the mind of the spectators, the chorus laying aside their
splendid mantles, appear in black; the song which they
sing and the words spoken by the choragus are meant to
hush every heart into profound solemnity. Even amid the
marvellous realism there is the most consummate reverence.
The great minds which worked out the ideal of the play rose
superior to a morbid extravagance. Even amid the brief
agony of the Crucifixion they never lose sight of the pre-
dominant elements of hope and joy.

Canon Fakkar.

Quaint Easter Customs "v> *^> -c* -o- *cv

The Easter Sepulchre
''THE primitive Passion drama was nothing more than
-* the solemn lowering the crucifix on Good Friday, the
laying it away beneath the altar, and the raising it again,
with anthems of rejoicing, on the Resurrection festival.
Mr. Pollard has pointed out that a trace of the old observ-
ance yet lingers in the custom of veiling the crucifix from
Holy Thursday to the first evensong of Easter.

6 4

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Easter Days

But the hallowed place beneath the altar did not long
suffice, as the ritual became more and more magnificent,
for the reception of the crucifix or of the gilded picture, or
carven figure, sometimes substituted in this ceremony for
the crucifix. Temporary sepulchres of wood were built
in arched recesses of the chancel wall, on the north, and
by the fourteenth century these in turn gave way, in many
churches both of England and the Continent, to permanent
structures of stone. An interesting record remains of
Durham : —

"Within the church of Durham, upon Good Friday, there
was a marvellous solemn service, in which service time,
after the Passion was sung, two of the eldest monks took a
goodly large crucifix all of gold of the semblance of our
Saviour Christ, nailed upon the Cross. . . . The service
being ended, the said two monks carried the Cross to the
Sepulchre with great reverence (which Sepulchre was set
up that morning on the north side of the choir, nigh unto
the High Altar, before the service time), and there did lay
it within the said Sepulchre with great devotion."

Upon these sepulchres was lavished rich beauty of carv-
ing and of color. The sleeping soldiers, their weapons
drooping in their hands, were carved upon the lower portion,
and upon the upper the hovering figures of attendant
angels. The sepulchre was guarded during the night
preceding Easter Sunday by some officer of the church,
who was duly paid for his vigil. So late as 1558 the
"accompts" of St. Helen's Abingdon contain the following

"Payde for making the sepulture, ios."
"For peynting the same sepulture, 3s."
"For stones, and other charges about it, 4s 6d."

' 65

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The Book of Easter

"To the sexton for meat and drink, and watching the
sepulture according to custon, 23d."

Compiled and condensed from Various Sources

East eh Eve
f~\N Easter Eve the fire all is quencht in every place,
^"^ And fresh againe from out the flint is fetcht with

solemne grace ;
The priest doth halow this against great daungers many one,
A brande whereof doth every man with greedie minde take

That, when the fearefull storme appears, or tempest black

By lighting this he safe may be from stroke of hurtful skies,
A taper great, the Pasckall namde, with musicke then they

blesse,
And franckencense herein they pricke, for greater holy-

nesse;
This burnetii night and day as signe of Christ that con-

querde hell,
As if so be this foolish toye sufnseth this to tel!.
Then doth the bishop or the priest the water halow

straight,
That for their baptisme is reserved : for now no more of

waight
Is that they usde the yeare before ; nor can they any more
Young children christen with the same, as they have done

before.
With wondrous pomp and furniture amid the church they go,
With candles, crosses, banners, chrisrae, and oyle ap-

poynted tho':

■ —Google

Easter Days

Nine times about the font they marche, and on the Saintes

do call
Then still at length they stande, and straight the priest

begins withall.
And thrise the water doth he louche, and crosses thereon

Here bigge and barbrous wordes he speaks, to make the

Devill quake;
And holsome waters conjureth, and foolishly doth dresse,
Supposing holyar that to make which God before did

blesse.
And after this his candle than he thrusteth in the floode,
And thrice he breathes thereon with breath that stinkes of

former foode.
And making here an end, his chrisme he poureth thereupon,
The people staring hereat stande amazed every one;
Beleaving that great powre is given to this water here,
By gaping of these learned men, and such like trifling

gere.
Therefore in vessels brought they draw, and home they

Against the grieves that to themselves or to their beasts

may come.
Then clappers cease, and belles are set againe at libertee,
And herewithal the hungrie times of fasting ended bee.
Babnabe Googe

Easter Eggs
(~\N Easter Eve and Easter Day, all the heads of fami-
*— ' lies send great chargers, full of hard eggs, to the
church, to get them blessed, which the priests perform by
saying several appointed prayers, and making great signs

,„.»Goo s lc

The Book of Easter

of the cross over them, and sprinkling them with holy
water. The priest, having finished the ceremony, demands
how many dozen eggs there be in every bason? These
blest eggs have the virtue o{ sanctifying the entrails of the
body, and are to be the first fat or fleshy nourishment they
take after the abstinence of Lent. The Italians do not
only abstain from flesh during Lent, but also from eggs,
cheese, butter, and all white meats. As soon as the eggs
are blessed, every one carries his portion home, and caus-
eth a large table to be set in the best room in the house,
which they cover with their best linen, all bestrewed with
flowers, and place round about it a dozen dishes of meat,
and the great charger of eggs in the midst. Tis a very
pleasant sight to see these tables set forth in the houses
of great persons, when they expose on side-tables (round
about the chamber) all the plate they have in the house,
and whatever else they have that is rich and curious, in
honor df their Easter eggs, which of themselves yield a
very fair show, for the shells of them are all painted with
divers colors, and gilt. Sometimes they are no less than
twenty dozen in the same charger, neatly laid together in
the form of a pyramid. The table continues, in the same
posture, covered, all the Easter week, and all those who
come to visit them in that time are invited to eat an Eas-
ter egg with them, which they must not refuse.

Emu ANNE.

The Fete of the Eggs, France
•"PHIS »te was held annually at the Easter season on
■*• La Motte du Pongard, an ancient druidical barrow
situated at a short distance from Dieppe, and was only
abolished at the time of the Revolution.

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Easter Days

"A crowd of persons of both sexes came from the neigh-
boring villages, and met together round the barrow,
forming what is called in the country an 'Assembly.'
A hundred eggs were put into a basket, and placed at the
foot of the eminence. One of the troop (now united in
a circle) took an egg which he carried to the top of the
mound, then another successively till they were all placed
there. He then brought them back one by one, till they
were all placed in the basket. In the same time some
other member of the 'Assembly' 'ran the eggs' as it is
called ; that is, went as fast as legs would carry him to
Bacqueville, a large village about a mile and a quarter
from the spot; and if he returned before the hundredth
egg was replaced in the basket, he gained the prize, of
course, which consisted of a hogshead of cider, which he
afterward distributed among his friends. The whole 'As-
sembly' now gave themselves up to rejoicing and amuse-
ment, and danced in a ring around the pile, representing a
chain without end. The egg figured in this rural ffite
in memory of the serpent egg consecrated by the Druids.
It was also an emblem of the year, as it is attested by the
accounts of many religious ceremonies in different nations."
The Mirror

The Eastek Hare
TT is an interesting speculation for the stroller on Broadway
■*■ at the Easter season to consider from what a distance
the poetic fancies of the distant nations of remote times
have filtered down to decorate the festival of a God they

The old, old association of the waning moon, returning
in its own time to light the darkness, with the night of

The Book of Easter

winter and the return of the sun and of new life in the spring
is back of many of the trinkets that ornament a con-
fectioner's window to-day. To the Phoenician, perhaps,
the egg was the symbol of the golden moon floating in
that far-away liquid space whence come the spring rains;
whence, too, was believed to come the impulse of the new
life which yearly breaks through the hard shell of the frost-
bound earth. Easter torches have passed from hand to
hand ever since the summer festivals in the northern
mountains. They were kindled at midnight and carried
to the hill-tops to light the path of Baldur, should he re-
turn from the dead.

From Egypt and Farther India comes the association
of the hare with the Easter season. A writer in the
Atlantic Monthly says: "The name of the hare in Egyptian
was un, which means open, to open, the opener. Now
the moon was the open-eyed watcher of the skies at night,
and the hare, born with open eyes, was fabled never to
close them. It is an old saying that: 'The Hare feeds
only at night.'" The same word un, probably because
of the repeated association of opening and shutting, came
to have a significance of periodicity also associated with
the habits of the hare, and with the moon goddess, as the
measurer of days. The suggestion of purity and innocence
with the white coat of the Easter hare is wholly a modem
addition.

The Hindoo myth has it that Buddha, changing into the
body of a hare, offered himself as food to a starving traveller;
and that therefore the hare abides in the sun forever.
Another old saying is, "The moon leaps like a hare when
the sun dies."

Easter Days

Customs of Easier Week

THE following extract is from the Public Advertiser
for Friday, April 13, 1787: "The custom of
rolling down Greenwich -hill at Easter is a relique of old
City manners, but peculiar to the metropolis. Old as the
custom has been, the counties of Shropshire, Cheshire,
and Lancashire boast one of equal antiquity, which they
call Heaving, and perform with the following ceremonies,
on the Monday and Tuesday in the Eastei week. On
the first day a party of men go with a chair into every
house to which they can get admission, force every female
to be seated in their vehicle, and lift them up three times,
with loud huzzas. For this Ihey claim the reward of a-
chaste salute, which those who are too coy to submit to
may get exempted from by a fine of one shilling, and
receive a written testimony, which secures them from a
repetition of the ceremony for that day. On the Tuesday
the women claim the same privilege, and pursue their
business in the same manner, with this addition — that
they guard every avenue to the town, and stop every
passenger, pedestrian, equestrian, or vehicular." That
it is not entirely confined, however, to the northern
counties may be gathered from the . following letter,
which Brand received from a correspondent of great
respectability in 1709: —

"Having been a witness lately to the exercise of what
appeared to me a very curious custom at Shrewsbury,
I take the liberty of mentioning it to you, in the hope that
amongst your researches you may be able to give some
account of the ground or origin of it. I was sitting alone
last Easter Tuesday at breakfast at the Talbot at Shrews-
7*

The Book of Easter

bury, when I was surprised by the entrance of all the
female servants of the house handing in an arm-chair,
lined with white, and decorated with ribbons and favors
of different colors. I asked them what they wanted.
Their answer was, they came to heave me. It was the
custom of the place on that morning, and they hoped I
would take a seat in their chair. It was impossible not
to comply with a request very modestly made, and to a set
of nymphs in their best apparel, and several of them under
twenty. I wished to see all the ceremony, and seated
myself accordingly. The group then lifted me from the
ground, turned the chair about, and I had felicity of a
salute from each. I told them I supposed there was a fee
due upon the occasion, and was answered in the affirm-
ative; and having satisfied the damsels in this respect,
they withdrew to keave others. At this time I had never
heard of such a custom; but, on inquiry, I found that on
Easter Monday, between nine and twelve, the men heave
the women in the same manner as on the Tuesday, be-
tween the same hours, the women heave the men. I will
not offer any conjecture on the ground of the custom,
because I have nothing like data to go upon; but if you
should happen to have heard anything satisfactory re-
specting it, I should be highly gratified by your mention-
ing it. . . ."

From Brand's Popular Antiquities

A WARWICKSHIRE correspondent says: — "When
■**■ I was a child, as sure as Easter Monday came, I
was taken to see the children clip the churches. This
ceremony was performed amid crowds of people, and
shouts of joy by the children of the different charity

Easter Days

schools, who at a certain hour flocked together for the
purpose. The first comers placed themselves hand in
hand with their backs against the church, and were joined
by their companions, who gradually increased in number,
till at last the chain was of sufficient length completely to
surround the sacred edifice.

"As soon as the hand of the last of the train had grasped
that of the first the party broke up, and walked in pro-
cession to the other church (for in those days Birmingham
boasted but of two), where the ceremony was repeated."
Hone's Every Day Book.

The Bells of the Kremlin -^- -^- *=* -o
'THOUGH the tower of Ivan Veliki is the finest
*■ belfry in Russia, it has no special beauty, but being

two hundred sixty-nine feet high, towers finely above
all the other buildings of the Kremlin in the distant views.
Halfway up is a gallery, whence the sovereigns from Boris
to Peter the Great used to harangue the people. The
exquisite bells are only heard in perfection on Easter Eve
at midnight. On the preceding Sunday (Palm Sunday)
the people have resorted in crowds to the Kremlin to buy
palm branches, artificial flowers, and boughs with waxen
fruits to hang before their icons. On Holy Thursday
the Metropolitan has washed the feet of twelve men, repre-
senting the Apostles, in the cathedral, using the dialogue
recorded in John xii. Then at midnight on Easter Eve
the great bell sounds, followed by every other bell in Mos-
cow; the whole city blazes into light; the tower of Ivan
Veliki is illuminated from its foundation to the cross on
its summit. The square below is filled with a motley
73

The Book of Easter

throng, and around the churches are piles of Easter cakes,
each with a taper stuck in it, waiting for a blessing. The
interior of the Church of the Rest of the Virgin is thronged
by a vast multitude bearing was tapers. The Metropolitan
and his clergy, in robes blazing with gold and precious
stones, have made the estemal circuit of the church three
times, and then, through the great doors, have advanced
towards the throne between myriads of lights. No words
can describe the colors, the blaze, the roar of the uni-
versal chant. Descending from the throne, the Metro-
politan has incensed the clergy and the people, and the
clergy have incensed the Metropolitan, whilst the spectators
have bowed and crossed themselves incessantly. After
a service of two hours the Metropolitan has advanced,
holding a cross which the people have thronged to kiss.
He has then retired to the sanctuary, whence, as Ivan
Veliki begins to toll, followed by a peal from a thousand
bells announcing the stroke of midnight, he emerges in a
plain purple robe, and announces "Christos voscres!"
Christ is risen. Then kisses of love are universally
exchanged, and, most remarkable of all, the Metropolitan,
on his hands and knees, crawls around the church, kissing
the icons on the walls, the altars, and the tombs, and,
through their then opened sepulchres, the incorruptible
bodies of the saints. After this no meetings take place
without the salutation "Christos voscres," and the answer,
"Vo istine voscres " (He is risen).

Of the many bells in the tower the most (pmarkable
was the historic bell of Novogorod, which summoned the
council of the Vetche.to assemble, and which was carried
off to Moscow by Ivan the Great ; it is now said to be lost.
The square at the foot of the tower, and the pavement be-
74

Easter Days

tween it and the cathedral, is still used at Easter as a place
of assembly for religious disputations.

Aogobtos J. C. Hare in Studies in Russia

Easter in Jerusalem, 1835 -^- -^- -s» -o
' I 'HE Pilgrims begin to arrive in Palestine some weeks
* before the Easter festival of the Greek Church.
They come from Egypt, from all parts of Syria, from
Armenia and Asia Minor, from Stamboul, from Roumelia,
from the province of the Danube, and from all the Russias.
Most of these people bring with them some articles of
merchandise, but I myself believe (notwithstanding the
common taunt against pilgrims) that they do this rather as
a mode of paying the expenses of their journey than from
a spirit of mercenary speculation. They generally travel
in families, for the women are of course more ardent than
their husbands in undertaking these pious enterprises,
and they take care to bring with them all their children, how-
ever young, for the efficacy of the rites does not depend
upon the age of the votary, so that people whose careful
mothers have obtained for them the benefit of the pilgrim-
age in early life are saved from the expense and trouble of
undertaking the journey at a later age. The superior
veneration so often excited by objects that are distant
and unknown shows not perhaps the wrong headedness
of a man but rather the transcent powers of his imagina-
tion. However this may be, and whether it is by mere
obstinacy that they poke their way through intervening
distance, or whether they come by the winged strength
of fancy, quite certainly the pilgrims who flock to Palestine
from the most remote houses are the people most eager
75

The Book of Easter

in the enterprise, and in number, too, they bear a very high
proportion to the whole mass.

The great bulk of the pilgrims make their way by sea
to the port of Jaffa. A number of families will charter
a vessel amongst them, all bringing their own provisions,
which are of the simplest and cheapest kind. On board
every vessel thus freighted there is, I believe, a priest,
who helps the people in their religious exercises and tries
(and fails) to maintain something like order and harmony.
The vessels employed in this service are usually Greek
brigs or brigantines, and schooners, and the number of
passengers stowed in them is almost always horribly
excessive. The voyages are sadly protracted, not only
by the land-seeking, storm-flying habits of the Greek
seamen, but also by their endless schemes and speculations,
which are forever tempting them to touch at the nearest
port. The voyage, too, must be made in winter, in order
that Jerusalem may be reached some weeks before the
Greek Easter, and thus by the time they attain the holy
shrines the Pilgrims have really and truly undergone a
respectable quantity of suffering. I once saw one of these
pious cargoes put ashore on the coast of Cyprus, where
they had touched for the purpose of visiting, not Paphos,
but some Christian sanctuary. I never saw (no, never
even in the most horribly stuffy ball room) such a dis-
comfortable collection of human beings. Long huddled
together in a pitching and rolling prison, fed on beans,
exposed to some real danger and to terrors without end,
they had been tumbled about for many wintery weeks in
the chopping seas of the Mediterranean. As soon as
they landed, they stood upon the beach and chanted a
hymn of thanks; the chant was morne and doleful,

Easter Days

but really the poor people were looking so miserable that
one could not fairly expect from them any lively outpour-
ing of gratitude.

When the pilgrims have landed at Jaffa, they hire camels,
horses, mules, or donkeys, and make their way as well as
they can to the Holy City. The space fronting the Church
of the Holy Sepulchre soon becomes a kind of bazaar, or
rather, perhaps, reminds you of an English fair. On this
spot the pilgrims display their merchandise, and there,
too, the trading residents of the place offer their goods
for sale. I have never, I think, seen elsewhere in Asia
so much commercial animation as upon this square of
ground by the church door. The "money-changers"
seemed to be almost as brisk and lively as if they had
been within the temple.

When I entered the church, I found a babel of worship-
pers. Greek, Roman, and Armenian priests were perform-
ing their different rites in various nooks and corners, and
crowds of disciples were rushing about in all directions,
some laughing and talking, some begging, but most of
them going around in a -tegular and methodical way to
kiss the sanctified spots and speak the appointed syllables
and lay down the accustomed coin. If this kissing of the
shrines had seemed as though it were done at the bidding
of enthusiasm, or of any poor sentiment even feebly ap-
proaching to it, the sight would have been less odd to Eng-
lish eyes; but as it was, I stared to see grown men thus
steadily and carefully embracing the sticks and the stones,
not from love or from zeal (else God forbid that I should
have stared), but from a calm sense of duty. They
seemed to be not "working out," but transacting the great
business of salvation.

, ,..,.Cooy[e

The Book of Easter

A Protestant, familiar with the Holy Scriptures, but
ignorant of tradition and the geography of modern Jeru-
salem, finds himself a good deal "mazed" when he first
looks for the sacred sites. The Holy Sepulchre is not in
a field without the walls, but in the midst and in the best
part of the town, under the roof of the great church which
I have been talking about; it is a handsome tomb of oblong
form partly subterranean and partly above ground and
closed on all sides except the one by which it is entered.
You descend into the interior by a few steps, and there
find an altar with burning tapers. This is the spot which
is held in greater sanctity than any other at Jerusalem.
When yon have seen enough of it, you feel perhaps weary
of the busy crowd and inclined for a gallop; you ask
your dragoman whether there will be time before sunset
to procure horses and take a ride to Mount Calvary.
Mount Calvary, Signor ? — eccolo it is upstairs on the first
floor. In effect you ascend it, if I remember rightly, just
thirteen steps, and then you are shown the now golden
sockets in which the crosses of our Lord and the two
thieves were fixed. All this is startling, but the truth is
that the city having gathered round the Sepulchre, which
is the main point of interest, has crept northward, and thus,
in great measure, are occasioned the many geographical
surprises that puzzle the "Bible Christian."

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre comprises very
compendiously almost all the spots associated with the
closing career of our Lord.

Just there on your right he stood and wept by the pillar ;
on your left he was scourged ; on the spot just before you
he was crowned with the crown of thorns; up there he was
crucified, and down here he was buried. A locality is

Easter Days

assigned to even the minutest event connected with the
recorded history of our Saviour; even the spot where the
cock crew when Peter denied his Master is ascertained,
and surrounded by the walls of an Armenian convent.
Many Protestants are wont to treat these traditions con-
temptuously, and those who distinguish themselves from
their brethren by the appellation of "Bible Christians"
are almost fierce in their denunciation of these supposed

Although the pilgrims perform their devotions at the
several shrines with so little apparent enthusiasm, they
are driven to the verge of madness by the miracle displayed
before them on Easter Saturday. Then it is that the
heaven-sent fires issue from the Holy Sepulchre. The
Pilgrims all assemble in the great church, and already,
long before the wonder is worked, they are wrought by
anticipation of God's sign, as well as by their struggles
for room and breathing space, to a most frightful state of
excitement. At length the chief priest of the Greeks,
accompanied (of all the people in the world) by the Turkish
governor, enters the tomb. After this there is a long
pause, and then suddenly from out of the small apertures
on either side of the sepulchre there issue long, shining
flames. The pilgrims now rush forward, madly struggling
to light their tapers at the holy fire. This is the dangerous
moment, and many lives are often lost.

The year before that of my going to Jerusalem, Ibrahim
Pasha, from some whim or motive of policy, chose to
witness the miracle. The vast church was, of course,
thronged, as it always is on that awful day. It seems that
the appearance of the fire was delayed for a very long time,
and that the growing frenzy of the people was heightened
79

The Book of Easter

by suspense. Many, too, had already sunk under the effect
of the heat and the stifling atmosphere, when at last the
fire flashed from the sepulchre. Then a terrible struggle
ensued ; many sunk and were crushed. Ibrahim had taken
his station in one of the galleries, but now feeling, perhaps,
his brave blood warmed by the sight and sound of such
strife, he took upon himself to quiet the people by his
personal presence, and descended into the body of the
church with only a few guards. He had forced his way
into the midst of the dense crowd, when unhappily he
fainted away. His guards shrieked out, and the event
instantly became known. A body of soldiers recklessly
forced their way through the crowd that they might save
the life of their general. Nearly two hundred people were
killed in the struggle.

The following year, however, the government took
better measures for the prevention of these calamities.
I was not present at the ceremony, having gone away from
Jerusalem some time before, but I afterwards returned
into Palestine, and I then learned that the" day had passed
off without any disturbance of a fatal kind. It is, however,
almost too much to expect that so many ministers of peace
can assemble without finding some occasion for strife,
and in that year a tribe of wild Bedouins became the
subject of discord. These men, it seems, led an Arab
life in some of the desert tracts bordering on the neigh-
borhood of Jerusalem, but were connected with any of
the great ruling tribes. Some whim or notion of policy had
induced them to embrace Christianity, but they were grossly
ignorant of the rudiments of their adopted faith, and having
no priest with them in their desert, they had as little knowl-
edge of religious ceremonies as of religion itself. They were
So

AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST!

:y GoOglc

Easter Days

not even capable of conducting themselves in a place of wor-
ship with ordinary decorum, but would interrupt the service
with scandalous cries and warlike shouts. Such is the
account the Latins give of them, but I never heard the other
side of the question. These wild fellows, notwithstanding
their entire ignorance of all religion, are yet claimed by the
Greeks, not only as proselytes who have embraced Chris-
tianity generally, but as converts to the particular doctrines
and practice of their church. The people thus alleged to
have concurred in the great schism of the Eastern Empire
are never, I believe, within the walls of a church, or even of
any building at all, except upon this occasion of Easter, and
as they then never fail to find a row of some kind going on
by the side of the sepulchre, they fancy, it seems, that the
ceremonies there enacted are funeral games of a martial
character held in honor of a deceased chieftain, and that a
Christian festival is a peculiar kind of battle, fought between
walls, and without cavalry. It does not appear, however,
that these men are guilty of any ferocious acts, or that
they attempt to commit depredations. The charge against
them is merely that by their way of applauding the per-
formance — by their horrible cries and frightful gestures —
they destroy the solemnity of divine service; and upon this
ground the Franciscans obtained a finnan for the exclusion
of such tumultuous worshippers. The Greeks, however,
did not choose to lose the aid of their wild converts merely
because they were a little backward in their religious educa-
tion, and they, therefore, persuaded them to defie the firman
by entering the city en masse and overawing their ene-
mies. The Franciscans, as well as the government au-
thorities, were obliged to give way, and the Arabs trium-
phantly marched into the church. The festival, however,
a 81

The Book of Easter

must have seemed to them rather flat, for, although there
may have been some "casualties" in the way of eyes
black and noses bloody and women "missing," there
was no return of " killed."

Formerly the Latin Catholics concurred in acknowledging
(but not, I hope, in working) the annual miracle of the
heavenly fire, but they have for many years withdrawn their
countenance from the exhibition, and they now repudiate
it as a trick of the Greek Church. Thus, of course, the
violence of feeling with which the rival churches meet at
the Holy Sepulchre on Easter Saturday is greatly increased,
and a disturbance of some kind is certain. In the year
I speak of, though no lives were lost, there was, as it seems,
a tough struggle in the church. I was amused at hearing of
a taunt that was thrown that day upon an English traveller.
He had taken his station in a convenient part of the church,
and was, no doubt, displaying that peculiar air of serenity
and gratification with which an English gentleman usually
looks on at a row, when one of the Franciscans came by,
all reeking from the fight, and was so disgusted at the cool-
ness and placid contentment of the Englishman (who
was a guest at the convent) that he forgot his monkish
humility, as well as the duties of hospitality, and plainly

"You sleep under our roof, you eat our bread, you
drink our wine, and then when Easter Saturday comes
you don't fight for us I "

Vet these rival churches go on quietly enough till their
blood is up. The terms on which they live remind one
of the peculiar relation subsisting at Cambridge between
"town and gown."

These contests and disturbances certainly do not origi-

Easter Days

nate with the lay pilgrims, the great body of whom are, as I
believe, quiet and inoffensive people. It is true, however,
that their pious enterprise is believed by them to operate
as a counterpoise for a multitude of sins, whether past or
future, and perhaps they exact themselves in after life to
restore the balance of good and evil. The Turks have a
maxim which, like most cynical apothegms, carries with it
the buzzing trumpet of falsehood as well as the small, fine
"sting of truth." " If your friend has made the pilgrimage
once, distrust him; if he has made the pilgrimage twice,
cut him dead I" The caution is said to be as applicable to
the visitants of Jerusalem as to those of Mecca, but I cannot
help believing that the frailties of all the Hadjis, whether
Christian or Mahometan, are greatly exaggerated. I cer-
tainly regarded the pilgrims to Palestine as a well-disposed,
orderly body of people, not strongly enthusiastic, but desir-
ous to comply with the ordinances of their religion, and to
attain the great end of salvation as quietly and economically
as possible.

When the solemnities of Easter are concluded, the pil-
grims move off in a body to complete their good work by
visiting the sacred scenes in the neighborhood of Jerusalem,
including the wilderness of John the Baptist, Bethlehem, and,
above all, the Jordan, for to bathe in those sacred waters
is one of the chief objects of the expedition. All the pil-
grims — men, women, and children — are submerged en
chemise, and the saturated linen is carefully wrapped up
and preserved as a burial dress that shall endure for sal-
vation in the realms of death.

A. W. Kinglake in Eothen

:y GoOglc

The Book of Easter

In Rome under the Old Papal Regime, 1870
ALTHOUGH I have revisited the well-loved city
•*■ several times since those early days, the first visit
stands out so much more fully colored and intense in local
sentiment than the subsequent ones, which seem almost
insipid by comparison. You and I then saw her as she
can never be seen again; we were just in time to know her
under the old papal regime, and we left three months before
the Italians came in to rob her of her unique character.
I cannot be too thankful that we have that put safely away
in the treasury of our memories. We saw the Roman
citizens kneeling in masses along the streets as the Pope's
mounted Chasseurs in cocked hats and feathers heralded
the approach of Pio Nono's ponderous coach, in which His
Holiness was taking his afternoon airing. We saw the
stately cardinals and bishops in their daily stroll on the
Pincian, receiving the salutes of soldiers and civilians.
There were such constant salutations everywhere, all day
long, and such punctilious acknowledgments from the
ecclesiastics that on closing my eyes at night I always
saw shovel hats rising and sinking like flocks of crows
hovering over a harvest field.

We saw the sentries on Good Friday mounting guard with
arms reversed and all the flags that day flying at half mast ;
the Colosseum was in those days treated as consecrated
ground, more as the scene of Christian martyrdoms than as
a pagan antiquity. There stood the stations of the Cross, and
there a friar preached every Wednesday during Lent. That
fearsome ruin was then warmly lined with rich flora and va-
rious lusty trees and shrubs that have all been scraped and
scoured away in harmony with the spirit of modern Italy.

Easter Days

What luck was it for us to be in Rome that wonderful
year of 1870, when the Ecumenical Council filled her
streets and churches with every type of episcopal eccle-
siastic from the four quarters of the globe, each accom-
panied by his "theologian" and by secretaries in every
variety of dress, from the modem American to the pig-
tailed Chinaman. Great times for the art student, with
all these types and colors as subjects for his pencil.
The characteristics and the color of Rome were thus
multiplied and elaborated to the utmost possible point, up
to the very verge of the great Cleavage; and we saw it all.

The open-air incidents connected with the great church
functions have left an extraordinary vivid impression on
my mind on account of their eminently pictorial qualities.
I can see again the archaic "glass coaches" of Pope and
cardinals, high swung and seeming to bubble over with
gilding, rumbling slowly up to the church door where
the ceremony is to take place, over the cobblestones,
behind teams of fat black steeds, the leaders' scarlet
traces sweeping the ground. The occupants of these
wonderful vehicles are glowing like rubies in their ardent
robes, which flood their faces with red reflections in the
searching sunshine. A prelate in exquisite lilac, mounted
on a white mule with black housings, bears a jewelled
cross, sparkling in the sun, before the Pope's carriage;
the postilions, coachmen, and lackeys are eighteenth-
century figures come to life again, and, truth to tell, they
might have brought their liveries over them, furbished up
for the occasion. Not much public money seems appro-
priated for new liveries in the papal household, nor in
that of the College of Cardinals. Then, the medley of
modern soldiers that took part officially and unofficially

The Book of Easter

in these scenes — the off-duty zouaves, with bare necks
outstretched, cheering frantically, "Long live the Pope-
King," in many languages; the French Legion inclined
to criticise the old liveries — it all seems to me like the
happening of yesterday 1 And I can see the rain of
flowers falling on the kindly old Pope from the specta-
tors in the balconies, where rich draperies give harmonious
backgrounds to all this color.

Finally, we saw the last papal benediction to be given
from the facade of St. Peter's on that memorable Easter
Sunday, 1870. The scene was made especially notable
in its pictorial effect by the masses of bishops, all in snow-
white copes and mitres, who completely filled the terrace
above the colonnade on the Vatican side of the Piazza.
What a symphony of white they made up there, partly
in the luminous shadow of the long awning, partly in the
blazing sunshine. Some of the illuminated ones used their
mitres as parasols. Such a huge parterre of prelates had
never been beheld before. It was a parterre of human
lilies. My diary exclaims, "Oh, for Leigh ton's genius
to paint itl" It was entirely in his style— composition,
color, and sentiment. The balustrade was hung with
mellow, old, faded tapestry, and above the bishops' heads
rose those dark old stone statues that tell so well against
the sky. I remember the moment of intense silence (hat
fell on the multitude a little before Pio Nono, wearing the
Triple Crown, stood up and in a loud voice gave forth
"to the city and to the world" the mighty words of blessing
from the little balcony far up aloft. And I remember, too,
how that sudden silence seemed to cause a strange uneasi-
ness amongst the cavalry and artillery horses, which all
began to neigh.

, ,«„GoogIc

Easter Days

On this great day the white and yellow flag emblem of
the Temporal Power, waved upon the light spring breeze
wherever one turned. How little we dreamed that in a few
months that flag was to be hauled down, drawn under by
the fall of the greatest military empire then in existence !
Lady Butler

in Sketch Book and Diary

Easter in Greece *o "^v "^- ^a- *c* -c*

T DO not propose to narrate the usual routine of a Greek
Easter, the breaking of the long fast, the elaborately
decorated lambs to be slaughtered for the meal, the noctur-
nal services, and the friendly greetings, — of these every-
body knows enough, — but first of all to take the reader to
a convent dedicated to the life-saving virgin, the wonder
of Araorgos. It is next to the wealthiest convent in Greece,
owning all the richest lands in Amorgos and the neighbor-
ing islands, besides possessions in Crete in the Turkish
islands, etc The position chosen for the convent is most
extraordinary. A long line of cliff, about two miles from
the town, runs sheer down one thousand feet into the sea;
a narrow road or ledge along the coast leads along this
cliff to the convent which is built halfway up. Nothing
but the outer wall is visible as you approach. The church
and cells are made inside the rock. From the balconies
one looks deep down into the sea; overhead towers the red
rock, blackened for some distance by the smoke of the
convent fires ; here and there are dotted holes in the rock,
where hermits used to dwell in almost inaccessible eyries.

We entered by a drawbridge, with fortifications against
pirates, and were shown into the reception room, where

The Book of Easter

the superior met us and conducted us to cells in the rock
above, to the large storehouses below, and to the narrow
church with its five magnificent silver icons, three of which
were to be the object of such extraordinary veneration
during Easter week. One adorns a portrait of the Madonna
herself, found, they say, by some sailors in the sea below,
and is beautifully embossed and decorated with silver;
one of St. George Balsamitis, the patron saint of the pro-
phetic source of Amorgos ; and the other is an iron cross
set in silver, and found, they say, on the heights of Mount
Krytelos, a desolate mountain only visited by peasants,
who go there to cut down its prickly evergreen oak as fodder
for their mules.

We were up and about early on Easter morning; the
clanging of bells and the bustle beneath our windows made
it impossible to sleep. Papa Demetrios came in dressed
exceedingly smart in his best canonicals, to give us the
Easter greeting. At nine o'clock we from the house of the
demarch and all the world started forth on our pilgrimage
to meet about halfway the holy icons from the convent.
All the inhabitants of the island from villages far and near
were assembled to do reverence.

I was puzzled as to what could be the meaning of three
round circles, like threshing-floors, left empty in the midst
of the assemblage. All round were spread gay rugs, car-
pets, and rich brocades; every one seemed subdued by a
sort of reverential awe. Papa Demetrios and two chosen
priests set forth along the narrow way to the convent to
fetch the icons, for no monk is allowed to participate in
this great ceremony. So at the convent door year after
year at Easter time the superior hands over to the three
priests the three precious icons to be worshipped for a

Easter Days

week. A standard led the way, the iron cross on a staff
followed, the two pictures came next, and as they wended
their way by the narrow path along the sea, the priests and
their acolytes chanted monotonous music of praise. The
crowd was now in breathless excitement as they were seen
to approach, and as the three treasures were set up in the
middle of the three threshing-floors, everybody prostrated
himself upon his carpet and worshipped. Of the five
thousand inhabitants of the island not one who was able
to come was absent.

Amidst the firing of guns and ringing of bells the icons
were then conveyed into the town to the Church of Christ.
Here vespers were sung before a crowded audience, and the
first event of the feast was over.

Monday dawned fair and bright, as days always do about
Easter time in Greece. The event of the day was the ardu ■
ous climb of a long procession following the priests and
icons up the steep ascent of Mount Elias. At the sum-
mit is a small chapel dedicated to the prophet, and here
tables were spread with food and wine to regale such of
the faithful as could climb so far.

My friend, the demarch, with whom I walked, felt serious
inconvenience from such violent exercise; so we sat for a
while on a stone while he related to me how in times of
drought these icons would be borrowed from the convent
to make a similar ascent to the summit of Mount Elias,
and how the peasants would follow in crowds to kneel and
pray for rain.

It is strange how closely the Prophet Elias of the Christian
ritual corresponds to Apollo, the sun-god; the namesof Ellas
and Helios possibly suggested the idea. When it thunders,
they say Prophet Elias is driving in his chariot after dragons,

The Book of Easter

and his temples, like those of Phcebus Apollo, are invariably
set on high, and visited with great reverence to times of
drought and deluge.

The next day, Tuesday, the icons visited the once cele-
brated Church of St. George Balsamitis, where is the oracle
of Amorgos. At the beginning of the nineteenth century
this oracle was consulted by thousands: sailors from the
islands around would consult it before a voyage, young
men and maidens would consult it before matrimony: but
during the piratical days which followed, the discovery was
made that evil-intentioned men would work the oracle for
their own ends. Despite all this the oracle is still much
consulted by the credulous, and reminds one forcibly of
the shrines of Delphi of old.

Papa Anatolius demurred much about opening the
oracle for me, fearing that I intended to scoff ; but at length
I prevailed, and he put on his chasuble and went hurriedly
through the liturgy to St. George before the altar. After
this he took a tumbler, which he asked me carefully to
inspect, and on my expressing satisfaction with its cleanness
he proceeded to unlock a little chapel on the right side
of the narlhrex. Here was the sacred stream, which flows
into a marble basin carefully kept clean. He filled the
tumbler and examined its contents in the sun's rays with
a microscope that he might read my destiny. He then
returned to the steps of the altar and solemnly delivered
his oracle of "health and success, but much controversy,"
according to certain unwritten rules which the priests of St.
George hand down from one to another. The church of
the oracle is rich and is filled with votive offerings from
those whose visit to the oracle has been followed by happi-
ness or success; most numerous are wedding wreaths and
90

Easter Days

silver ships. Nowhere is one brought so closely face to face
with the connecting links between heathendom and Chris-
tendom as in Greece.

We were all rather tired that evening on our return from
the oracle, and when the bells failed to wake us early, I was
not sorry that the icons had already started on pilgrimage
to a distant place where I had already been.

The Sunday next after Easter may be said to be the real
festival, for on this day the icons returned to their homes;
the same crowd assembled to bid them farewell. Five
hundred men then accompanied the three priests all the
way to the convent along the narrow road, and the monks
beneficently presented each with a basket of as much bread
. and cheese as he could carry, and this Easter dole took up
well-nigh all the afternoon.

Condensed from an article by Theodore T. Bent
in Macmillan's Magazine

When the Dead return in Japan -^> ^> o
T ASKED to-day why the sea was so full of stars last

night — I had never noticed it at other times, but only
in these three days. And then I was told the story of the
Festival of the Dead, which I had heard spoken of in Tokyo
in a scornful, superficial way, but which I hear is kept
religiously in the provinces still.

The dear dead ! Little children and old people, and all
the souls that pass out of earth's family day by day, dis-
robed of their fair garment of the flesh, they love not the
short winter days or the long dark winter nights ; but when
:r broods over the land, when the night is welcome be-
e it brings a breath of coolness to those whose work is not

The Book of Easter

yet over, then they who have laid by the wholesome tasks
of earth come back in shadowy myriads to visit their
old homes; to hover round those who still love and remem-
ber them; to smile, if ghosts can smile, at the food and
money, clothing and sandals, and little ships for travelling,
all made ready by the loving souls to whom only such
earthly needs are comprehensible, but who, in preparing
their humble gifts, are investing them with the only presents
the spirits may take home with them again — the gift of
love, which never forgets, or disbelieves, or despairs.

Just for these three days of July — the 13th, 14th, and
15th — heart-broken mothers feel the little lost son or
daughter close at hand, brought back perhaps by Jizo
Sama, the god who watches over the spirits of little children.
The lights are lit before the small thai, the death tablet, set
up in the place of honor, and inscribed with a name that
the little one would not have turned from his play for here,
that never passed his mother's lips till he was carried away
from her — his dead name, the one by which his shadowy
companions call him in the yonder world. Full of com-
fort must these three days be for the faithful souls who are
always yearning to offer some service or some token of love
to the dead. Now they come back; and though no one
sees them, they take their old places in their old homes.
They And the house decked and garnished for their coming ;
the lotus flower, never used save for their honor, is gathered
and set by their shrine ; and many another lovely plant and
sprig, all with symbolical meanings, are brought in. Rice
and vegetables, fruit and cakes, are placed for tliem; no ani-
mal food is offered, as pure spirits would consider that a
sinful nourishment; but tea is poured out with punctilious
ceremony in tiny cups at stated hours. In some towns there
92

Easter Days

is a market or fair held expressly that people may buy all
they need for the entertainment of the ghosts. As these
always come from the sea, torches are stuck in the sands
to show them where to land ; and when the three days are
ended, and the travellers must go back, reluctantly, to their
homes, then tiny ships are launched — straw ships of lovely
and elaborate designs, freighted with dainty foods, and
lighted by small lanterns. Incense, too, is burning before
they set forth; and then they go, by river or stream if the
sea is distant, with their little cargo of love-gifts visible,
and their spirit travellers invisible, back to their joy or their
sorrow in the under world.

Mary Chawfobd Fraser

in Letters from Japan

Egg-rolling in Washington -cv "^ o -d*

lVTARCH and April in Washington spell for the adult
**■*■ the perfection of a climate which at its best no capi-
tal on earth can surpass. Color, fragrance, and an almost
indefinable sense that the appropriate necessary mood is
one of languid leisure are pervasive. The spring odors
and flowers seem suddenly to flood the gardens and lawns.
In the tiny six-by-two bed under a bay-window and in the
stretches of living green by the river the daffodils have
succeeded the crocus; hyacinths and flaring tulips fill the
borders, and even the stems in the hedges are full of color.
Over every tree there is a smoky veil where the swelling
leaf -buds have blurred the winter tracery of bare twigs
against the sky, but are not yet heavy enough to cast a
shade.
Only the children seem energetic, especially on Easier
93

The Book of Easter

Monday, the great day for Washington babies. Along
Pennsylvania Avenue they stream — well-dressed, nurse-
attended darlings mingling with the raggedest little coons
that ever snatched an egg from a market-basket. The
wide street looks as if baby-blossom time had come, for there
are hundreds of the children who on this special afternoon
storm the grounds of the White House for their annual
egg-rolling. Long ago the sport took place on the terraces
below the Capitol, and a visitor to the city then wrote: —

"At first the children sit sedately in long rows; each
has brought a basket of gay-colored, hard-boiled eggs,
and those on the upper terrace send them rolling to the line
on the next below, and these pass on the ribbon-like streams
to other hundreds at the foot, who scramble for the hopping
eggs and hurry panting to the top to start them down again.
And as the sport warms those on top who have rolled all
the eggs they brought finally roll themselves, shrieking with
laughter. Now comes a swirl of curls and ribbons and
furbelows, somebody's dainty maid indifferent to bumps
and grass-stains. Over yonder a queer eight-limbed crea-
ture, yelling, gasping, laughing, all at once, shakes itself
apart into two slender boys racing toward the top to come
down again. Another set of boys who started in a line of
six with joined handsare trying to come down in somersaults
without breaking the chain. On all sides the older folk
stand by to watch the games of this infant Carnival which
comes to an end only when the children are forced away
by fatigue to the point of exhaustion, or by parental order.
No one seems to know how the custom began."

When the games proved too hard a test for the grass on

the Capitol terraces, Congress stopped the practice, and the

President opened the slope back of the White House. No

Easter Days

grown person is admitted unless accompanied by a child,
but even under this restriction the annual crowd is great
enough to threaten the survival of the event.

Anonymous

On the Island of Ischia ^s- *=* -^> -^> -^>

TT is only on Easter Day that the century-old ceremony
*■ which may yet be seen in many parts of Italy remains
unchanged. Between eleven and midday a dense crowd
collects on either side of the principal street leading past
the Church of St. Maria di Tareto. Along this road, borne
on men's shoulders, two painted wooden statues slowly
advance. They represent the figures of St. John and
the Virgin Mary, whose face is covered by a thick black
veil. Opposite to them comes the Brotherhood of St.
Maria Visitapoveri in long, white surplice gowns; and
in their midst is carried a large golden angel; and last of
all a figure of Christ, risen and triumphant. At a given
signal the standard of the brotherhood is waved aside;
the Christ -remains stationary; and the angel, after bend-
ing before Him in salute, turns and is carried at full speed
through the passage left by .the spectators to announce
to the Virgin that her Son is risen. The Virgin refuses to
believe, and the angel returns sadly to the Christ to tell
Him of his unsucceas. Again sent to the Virgin, but all in
vain, he again retires; and yet again is sent upon His urgent
mission to the Holy Mother, who now begins, half in doubt,
to move slowly forward. Joyfully the angel reports this
to the Son, who once more sends him to encourage St,
John and His Mother, both of whom finally believe, and
rush forward to see the great truth for themselves. During
95

The Book of Easter

this curious bit of Miracle Play, the people continue to

sing loudly the Regina CaU; and at the meeting of
Mother and Son the veil of the Virgin drops, pigeons and
small birds are allowed to fly around, from every window
and roof water wafers float down, and from the Campanili
the bells announce that the ceremony is over. Then
gradually the mass of human beings in their bright holiday
garb seems to melt away like a dissolving kaleidoscope,
and the streets resume their sleepy character.

The contributions to cover the expenses of the religious
festivals in Ischia are subscribed by emigrant Italians in
America and at the Cape, but mostly by the peasants
themselves, who would fain avert all evils that menace
their land — plague, pestilence, and earthquake — by
insuring themselves, their vineyards, houses, boats, and
fish against every possible calamity, arguing that should
the ground of Ischia quake again, St. Vito, if handsomely
fCtcd, should save at least a portion. It is their investment,
and they believe implicitly in the interest it gives.

There is a quaint fashion here attached to the use of
eggs at Easter. On Palm Sunday it is the custom for a
young affianced girl to send a gift of a hundred and one
eggs and a branch of olive to her lover; and on the day
of St. Restituta, May 17, the grateful lover sends her in
return twelve pounds of torrone, a sweet-meat peculiar
to Italy, made of honey and almonds, and harder than
most stones.

A young fellow asked this favor of an egg one day as
he looked up at the window of a mischievous girl. "Ma
certo," she answered, and fetching one fresh and raw,
broke it neatly over his face. But far from discouraging
him, this proceeding filled him with such hope and de-
„6

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EASTER CAROLS.

:y Google

:y GoOglc

Easter Days

termination that they were speedily married, and have
now a merry family of children, both parents probably
believing it was one of the substantial sources of their
prosperity.

Sybil Fitzgerald

in Naples

The Russian Easter -^ "C> ^> -a- *^-

/""\F the northern countries, Russia is the one which

^-' continues to attach a national and strictly orthodox
importance to the several seasons of Carnival, Lent, and
Easter. Carnival, or "Butter Week," as the Russians
call it, is a general holiday. As with the old customs of the
Western Carnivals, there are pagan relics in the Russian
festival too. But the relics of paganism in Russia have
often an extraordinary blending of Scandinavian and
Asiatic myths, under a veneer of Christianity. There is
nothing here that recalls either Greece or Rome.

In the country districts a fantastic figure called Masslia-
nitsa (Butter Goddess) is prepared for Carnival week. The
peasants drive it about upon a gayly decorated sledge,
singing special songs and horovode (folk choruses) reserved
for this special season. At the end of the week the Butter
Goddess, which is not unlike English Guy Fawkes, is
burnt, and formal farewell is bidden to pleasure for the
week that precedes Easter. In the towns the favorite amuse-
ment of the people during Carnival week is sought on the
exhilarating artificial ice hills. Unsweetened pancakes, or
blinni, constitute the chief daily dish in every household.
Educated Russians have now to a certain degree emanci-
pated themselves from the strict penance and abstinence
prescribed during Lent by the Orthodox Church, which
h 9/

The Book of Easter

forbids even fish on many days and during Lent week.
The imperial theatres, however, usually remain closed for
the forty days, dances and big social functions also cease,
and, in the provinces, billiards, cards, and gambling are
tabooed in the restaurants and clubs. Concerts arc al-
lowed, at which secular music is permitted. The term so
familiar to English ears of so-called "sacred" music is
unknown to the Russian, by the way. To his ear all good
music is sacred. One week of Lent even the most lax
Russians usually elect to keep rigorously. It is generally
Holy Week. The churches are then crowded with peni-
tents of both sexes, seeking absolution for their sins. Pre-
vious to approaching the confessional a quaint and rather
touching custom obtains during this week, namely, the
habit of asking the forgiveness of one's neighbors for any
slight or wrong committed towards them.

With Easter Eve dawns the principal and most solemn
Russian festival of the whole year, alike for rich and poor.
At the midnight mass every church is ablaze with candle
light; the shrines and icons are brilliantly illuminated,
and each member of the congregation bears a lighted
wax taper. The military and state officials appear in
parade uniform ; civilians and fashionable ladies in evening
dress; the people in holiday attire. After the midnight
benediction comes the blessing of the "passka" (the break-
ing-fast bread), consisting of a small saffron cake, a toy
pyramid of stiff curds, and an egg, products of the three
representative geneses of man's food — the Earth, the Cow,
and the Fowl. The egg ■ — the shell of which is broken
by the newly hatched chicken — is the emblem of Christ's
Resurrection from the Tomb. This trifle "bread" offer-
ing is brought by the more pious of the worshippers for the

Easter Days

priest's blessing, and carried home after mass, to be placed
on the festive Easter breakfast table as a symbol that the
Lenten fast is at an end.

What Christmas boxes are to the English, or ies tlrennes
to the French on New Year's Day, Easter gifts are to the

At Easter the Russians not only celebrate the miraculous
Resurrection of the Son of God and their own spiritual
awakening from the bonds of sin, but the festival also sug-
gests to them in a very eloquent manner the resurrection of
the whole earth and the release of all the agencies of nature
from the enthralment of winter. Nowhere more than in
the vast expanse of Northern Russia is this annually recur-
ring lesson of the physical world so forcibly inculcated.
For there perhaps more than anywhere on the face of the
globe, the prolonged winter, with its frost and snow, abruptly
disappears and is replaced by a verdant spring, almost sum-
mer-like in its suddenness of warmth and sunshine.

The Saturday Review

Easter Day *z> *&■ -^v <^- *> -*^>

TXTEEP not beside His tomb,

** Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
99

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The Book of Easter

He lies and moulders low;
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.

Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,

Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.

Whate'er befell,

Earth is not hell ;
Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.
For all that breathe beneath the heaven's high cope,
Joy with grief mires, with despondence hope.
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or, at least, faith unbelief.

Though dead, not dead;

Not gone, though fled;

Not lost, though vanished.

In the great gospel and true creed,

He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.

Arthur Hugh Clough.

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Ill

EASTER HYMNS

.CoOylc

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T EAD us, O Shepherd true,
*-~* Thy mystic sheep, we sue;

Lead us, O holy Lord,

Who from Thy sons dost ward,

With all-prevailing charm,

Peril and curse and harm;

O Path where Christ hath trod,

O Way that leads to God,

O Word abiding aye,

O endless Light on high,

Mercy's fresh -springing flood,

Worker of all things good,

O glorious Life of all

That on their Maker call, —
Christ Jesus, hear.

From the First Christian Hymn, ascribed to Clement of
Alexandria about 315 a.d. Translated by Dean
Plumtre

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An Easter Carol

W H ,

fHAT shall the song of Easter be?
Moses' and Miriam's song by the sea !
"The Lord hath triumphed gloriously."

To-day .Life won triumphantly
The final fight with Death, for He
Who won this glorious victory,

He rose to-day, to "die no more";
He vanquished in this holy war
Death's old "dominion," heretofore

Unbroken. So our song shall be,
Glory to Him Who set us free,
From Death's relentless tyranny.

Gladly our voices let us raise,

In chant and psalm and hymn and praise,

To Him Who won in wondrous ways;

Dying, to conquer death, that we,
Fearless in death, may also be
"Among the dead," as He was, "free";

And learn the power of Jesus' strife.

That through death comes the perfect life,

With joys eternal rich and rife.

And the earth that opens its thousand graves,

To make the sleeping seeds; and the waves

Of the loosened brook that the meadow laves;

, .Google

The Book of Easter

And the tiny chirp from the vocal nest,
No longer warm with the mother's breast,
Eager with wakening life's new zest,
Blend with the carol of all the rest,
And join in the song to Him Who saves,
From death, through death; each living thing,
To its own perfect life to bring;
Our conquering, risen, ascended King.

William Croswell Doane
in The Churchman, 1008

Lord of the Living -cy -a- -^- -o -cv

T ORD of the dead, Who from the Tree
■*— ' Didst reign in wondrous majesty,
Whom earth and sky their sovereign owned,
Thorn-crowned upon Thy cross enthroned;
Thou only "free among the dead,"
Lead on; we follow, safely led;
As Joseph, Israel's hosts before,
So Jesus leads death's deep sea o'er.

Lord of the living 1 Paradise
Still glows in sweet and strange surprise;
Since Thou proclaimedst liberty
To saints that waited long for Thee.
The King in all His beauty now
They patient see, and bending low
Beneath the altar, cry "how long"
Ere we Thy royal courts may throng?

Easter Hymns

Lord of the living ! Higher far
The glories of Thy conquest are;
"God of the living," not "the dead,"
Since all men live in Thee, their Head.
God-Man, enthroned above the skies,
One day Thy buried saints shall rise,
In Thy glad service to abide,
And with Thy likeness satisfied.

William Ckoswell Doane

Risen -cy *5>- <s- -^y ■ < cy *c* -^y *=*

' | *HEY came, bringing spices at the break of the day
■*■ With hearts heavy-laden and sore,
And lo, from the tomb was the stone rolled away,

An angel sat there by the door!
"Why seek ye the living 'mid emblems of death?
Not here, He is risen," the shining one saith.

O type through the ages and symbol of faith,

Whose spirit is true evermore:
The hearts we have cherished we lose not in death,

The grave over love hath no power.
There sitteth the angel, there speaketh the word —
"Not here, they are risen," in silence is heard.

O ye who still watch in the valley of tears

And wait for the night to go by,
Lift, lift up your eyes, on the mountains appears

The day-spring of God from on high !
107

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The Book of Easter

He turneth the shadows of night into day; —

"Not here, they are risen," His shining ones say.
Frederic L. Hosmer
in The Thought of God
By permission of the author

s Christ is risen To-day -^> <a

JESUS CHRIST is risen to-day,
Alleluia I
Our triumphant holy day,

Alleluia !
Who did once upon the cross,

Alleluia !
Suffer to redeem our loss.
Alleluia 1 Amen.

Hymns of praise then let us sing '
Unto Christ, our heavenly King,
Who endured the cross and grave,
Sinners to redeem and save.
Alleluia !

But the pains which He endured,
Our salvation hath procured;
Now above the sky He's King,
Where the angels ever sing
Alleluia !

Sing we to our God above
Praise eternal as His love;

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Easter Hymns

Praise Him, all ye heavenly host,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;
Alleluia ! Amen.
From Lyra Davidica. Author and translator unknown

The Strife is o'er, the Battle Done "=> *s-

A LLELUIA! Alleluia! Alleluia!

The strife is o'er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won ;
The song of triumph has begun.
Alleluia! Amen.

The powers of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions hath dispersed;
Let shout of holy joy outburst.
Alleluia !

The three sad days are quickly sped;
He rises glorious from the dead;
All glory to our risen Head !
Alleluia !

He closed the yawning gates of hell;
The bars from heaven's high portals fell;
Let hymns of praise His triumphs tell.
Alleluia !

Lord ! by the stripes which wounded Thee,
From death's dread sting Thy servants free,
That we may live, and sing to Thee
Alleluia! Amen.

Translated by Francis Pott
109

The Book of Easter

Through the Long, Hidden Years ^ "^
HROUGH the long, hidden years Thou hast s

TTIR'

A child of expectance and tears;
Through the twilight of stars Thou hast brought me,
Through doubting and manifold fears.

True, the bright Paschal moon shone out clearly,

And songs of the feast filled the air,
But the Temple the ancients loved dearly,

Oh, something was still wanting there!

All its types and dim shadows but lead me
Where now at Thy pure Altar-throne,

With Thyself, Bread of Life, Thou dost feed me,
And makest me one of Thine own.

O the beautiful stars are all paling,

The bright Paschal moon sails away,

All the types and dim shadows are failing
At break of this wonderful day !

W. Chatterton Dec

/"'HRIST is risen ! Christ is risen I
^-* He hath burst His bonds in twain;
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen I
Alleluia 1 swell the strain!

For our gain He suffered loss
By Divine decree,
no

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Easter Hymns

He hath died upon the cross,
But our God is He.
Christ is risen I Christ is risen !

He hath burst His bonds in twain;
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen !

Alleluia! swell the strain ! Amen.

See, the chains of death are broken;
Earth below and heaven above
Joy in each amazing token

Of His rising, Lord of love;
He forevermore shall reign

By the Father's side,
Till He comes to earth again,
Comes to claim His bride.
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen !

He hath burst His bonds in twain;
Christ is risen! Christ is risen!
Alleluia ! swell the strain !

Glorious angels downward thronging

Hail the Lord of all the skies;

Heaven, with joy and holy longing

For the Word incarnate, cries,

"Christ is risen! Earth, rejoice!

Gleam, ye starry train !
All creation, find a voice;
He o'er all shall reign."
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen !

He hath burst His bonds in twain;
Christ is risen I Christ is risen 1

o reign. Amen.

Archer T. Gurney

The Book of Easter

Christ is Risen o ^> <* *a* -

/"■"HRISTisrisenl Lift the song
^-* Of our Easier gladness;
With the bright triumphant throng

Cast away all sadness,
Springtide flowers tell us how

We must leave the sighing,
As we pass the sorrow now

Of our earthly dying.

Lo, the Marys in the gloom

Weeping, bowed with sorrow,
Little dreaming at the Tomb

What their joy to-morrow —
Whom they sought the Lord they found

Now no more in sadness; —
Where did woe and grief abound

There He brought the gladness I

Lo, that eve in sorrow went

Two disciples walking,
All their mind on Jesus bent,

Of His Passion talking — ■
Till a Stranger on the road

To those hearts now burning,
Told of suffering here for God

Into Glory turning!

Lo, the Apostles met in fear
That same sorrow bearing

Till the Master came to hear

They His grief were sharing —

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:y GoOglc

Easter Hymns

And through doors fast closed, once dead,

He appeared, who ever,
Loved them to the end, He said,

And would leave them never.

Lo, in all our sorrow here,

Often deep repining,
Through all doubt and darksome fear

Easter sun is shining —
Wherefore now on things above

Set we our affection —
Know the power of Jesus' Love

By His Resurrection !
Gladsome birds, fresh breezes tell

With the sunny weather
That dear Creed we love so well,

"All things rise together," —
So the angels joyfully

Taught the wondrous story, —
" Christ is risen ! To Galilee

Go and preach His Glory I " s

Anonymous

The World itself keeps Easter Day «* ■<s-

HpHE world itself keeps Easter Day,
■*■ And Easter larks are singing;
And Easter flow'rs are blooming gay,
And Easter buds are springing.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
The Lord of all things lives anew,
And all His works are living too.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
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The Book of Easter

There stood three Marys by the tomb,

On Easter morning early —

When day had scarcely chased the gloom.

And dew was white and pearly.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

With loving, but with erring, mind

They came the Prince of Life to find ;

Alleluia I Alleluia!

But earlier stiil the angel sped,

His news of comfort giving;

And "Why," he said, "among the dead

Thus seek ye for the living?"

Alleluia! Alleluia!

"Go tell them all, and make them blest,

Tell Peter first, and then the rest."

Alleluia! Alleluia!

But one, and one alone, remained,
With love that could not vary;
And thus a higher joy she gained,
That sometime sinner, Mary.
Alleluia ! Alleluia !
The first the dear, dear form to see
Of Him that hung upon the tree.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

The world itself keeps Easter Day,
And Easter larks are singing;

And Easter flowers are blooming gay,

And Easter buds are springing.

Alleluia ! Alleluia I

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Easter Hymns

The Lord of all things lives anew,
And all His works are living too.
Alleluia! Alleluia 1

John Mason Neale

Ye Happy Bells of Easter Day o -

\T E happy bells of Easter Day !
-*■ Ring ! ring I your joy
Thro' earth and sky,
Ye ring a glorious word —
The notes that swell in gladness tell,
The rising of the Lord.

Ye carol bells of Easter Day!

The teeming earth,

That saw His birth
When lying 'neath the sward,
Upspringing now in joy, to show
The rising of the Lord !

Ye glory bells of Easter Dayl

The hills that rise

Against the skies,

Reecho with the word —

The victor breath that conquers death -

The rising of the Lord !

Ye passion bells of Easter Day !
The bitter cup,
He lifted up,

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The Book of Easter

Salvation to afford.
Ye saintly bells ! your passion tells
The rising of the Lord!

Ye mercy bells of Easter Day !

His tender side

Was riven wide,

Where floods of mercy poured;

Redeemed clay doth sing to-day

The rising of the Lord !

Ye victor bells of Easter Day !

The thorny crown

He layeth down:

Ringl Ring! with strong accord —

The mighty strain of love and pain,

The rising of the Lord!

Adapted by R. R. Chope

from an anonymous hymn

Christ the Lord is risen To-day -^ ^

{""HRIST the Lord is risen to-day,
^■* Sons of men, and angels say;
Raise your joys and triumphs high!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply!

Love's redeeming work is done,
Fought the fight, the battle won;
Lo, our sun's eclipse is o'er;
Lo, he sets in blood no more.
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Easter Hymns

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal;
Christ hath burst the gates of hell;
Death in vain forbids his rise;
Christ hath opened paradise.

Lives again our glorious King;
"Where, O Death, is now thy sting?"
Once he died our souls to save;
"Where's thy victory, boasting Grave?"

Soar we now where Christ has led,
Following our exalted Head;
Made like Him, like Him we rise;
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies 1

Chables Wesley

Morn's Roseate Hues ^> "0 ^> *> ^>

Morn's roseate hues have decked the sky;
The Lord has risen with victory;
Let earth be glad, and raise the cry:

Alleluia.
The Prince of Life with death has striven,
To cleanse the earth His blood has given,
Has rent the veil, and opened heaven;

Alleluia.
And He, the wheat-corn, sown in earth,
Has given a glorious harvest birth;
Rejoice and sing with holy mirth

Alleluia.

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The Book of Easter

Our bodies, mouldering to decay,
Are sown to rise to heavenly day;
For He by rising burst the way:
Alleluia.

And he, dear Lord, that with Thee dies,

And fleshly passions crucifies,
In body, like to Thine, shall rise:
Alleluia.

Oh, grant us, then, with Thee to die,
To spurn earth's fleeting vanity,
And love the things above the sky:
Alleluia.

Oh, praise the Father and the Son,
Who has for us the triumph won.
And Holy Ghost, — the Three in One;

Alleluia.

William Cooke

Easter Week ^> "^ ^- <^ ■*?>■ *z

CEE the land, her Easter keeping,
^ Rises as her Maker rose. '
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping, ,

Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices,

Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,

While the wild birds build and sing.
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Easter Hymns

You, to whom your Maker granted

Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;

Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,

Each his Easter tribute bring —
Work of fingers, chant of voices,

Like the birds who build and sing.

Charles Ktngsley

The Tempest Over and Gone *&■ *> *2-
' I "HE tempest over and gone, the calm begun,
-*- Lo, "it is finished," and the Strong Man sleeps:
All stars keep vigil watching for the sun,

The moon her vigil keeps.

A garden full of silence and of dew

Beside a virgin cave and entrance stone:

Surely a garden full of angels too.
Wondering, on watch, alone.

They who cry, "Holy, Holy, Holy," still,

Veiling their faces round God's throne above,

May well keep vigil on this heavenly hill
And cry their cry of love.

Adoring God in His new mystery

Of Love more deep than hell, more strong than death;
Until the day break and the shadows flee,
The Shaking and the Breath.

Christdja G. Rossetti
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The Book of Easter

Easter Carol -^>

O EARTH! throughout thy borders
Re-don thy fairest dress;
And everywhere, O Nature !

Throb with new happiness;
Once more to new creation

Awake, and death gainsay,

For death is swallowed up of life,

And Christ is risen to-day I

Let peals of jubilation

Ring out in all the lands;
With hearts of deep elation

Let sea with sea clasp hands;
Let one supreme Te Deum

Roll round the world's highway,
For death is swallowed up of life,

And Christ is risen to-day !

George Newell Lovejoy

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IV
EASTER STORIES

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' I 'HE natural life is the immortal life. You know a little
■*■ more truth ; then a little more obedience, then more
truth; forever so. But all depends on being in earnest.
Phillips Brooks

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The Myth of Demeter and Persephone

(The Homeric Hymn, t
has assigned a date a

" T BEGIN the song of Demeter" — says the prize-poet,

■*- or the Interpreter, the Sacristan of the holy places —
"the song of Demeter and her daughter Persephone
whom Aldoneus carried away by the consent of Zeus, as
she played, apart from her mother, with the deep-bosomed
daughters of the Ocean, gathering flowers in a meadow
of soft grass — roses and the crocus and fair violets and
flags, and hyacinths, and, above all, the strange flower of
the narcissus, which the Earth, favoring the desire of
Aldoneus, brought forth for the first time, to snare the
footsteps of the flower-like girl. A hundred heads of blos-
som grew up from the roots of it, and the sky and the earth
and the salt wave of the sea were glad at the scent thereof.
She stretched forth her hands to take the flower; thereupon
the earth opened, and the king of the great nation of the
dead sprang out with his immortal horses. He seized
the unwilling girl, and bore her away weeping, on his
golden chariot. She uttered a shrill cry, calling upon her
father Zeus; but neither man nor god heard her voice,
nor even the nymphs of the meadow where she played;
except Hecate only, the daughter of Perseus, sitting,
as ever, in her cave, half veiled with a shining veil, thinking
delicate thoughts; she, and the Sun also, heard her.

"So long as she could still see the earth, and the sky,
and the sea with the great waves moving, and the beams
of the sun, and still thought to see again her mother, and
the race of the ever-living gods, so long hope soothed her,

The Book of Easter

in the midst of her grief. The peaks of the hills and the
depths of the sea echoed her cry. And the mother heard
it. A sharp pain seized her at the heart; she plucked
the veil from her hair, and cast down the blue hood from
her shoulders, and fled forth like a bird, seeking Per-
sephone over dry [and and sea. But neither man nor god
would tell her the truth; nor did any bird come to her as
a sure messenger.

"Nine days she wandered up and down upon the earth,
having blazing torches in her hands; and, in her great
sorrow, she refused to taste of ambrosia, or of the cup
of the sweet nectar, nor washed her face. But when the
tenth morning came, Hecate met her, having a light in
her hands. But Hecate had heard the voice only, and had
seen no one, and could not tell Demeter who had borne
the girl away. And Demeter said not a word, but fled
away swiftly with her, having the blazing torches in her
hands, till they came to the Sun, the watchman both of
gods and men; and the goddess questioned him, and the
Sun told her the whole story.

"Then a more terrible grief took possession of Demeter,
and, in her anger against Zeus, she forsook the assembly
of the gods and abode among men, for a long time veiling
her beauty under a worn countenance, so that none who
looked upon her knew her, until she came to the house
of Celeus, who was then king of Eleusis. In her sorrow,
she sat down at the wayside by the virgin's well, where the
people of Eleusis come to draw water, under the shadow
of an olive tree. She seemed as an aged woman whose
time of child-bearing is gone by, and from whom the gifts
of Aphrodite have been withdrawn, like one of the hired
servants, who nurse the children or keep house, in kings'

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Easter Stories

palaces. And the daughters of Celeus, four of them, tike
goddesses, possessing the flower of their youth, Callidice,
Clesidice, Demo, and Callithoe' the eldest of them, coming
to draw water that they might bear it in their brazen
pitchers to their father's house, saw Demeter and knew
her not. The gods are hard for men to recognize.

"They asked her kindly what she did there, alone;
and Demeter answered, dissembtingly, that she was
escaped from certain pirates, who had carried her from
her home and meant to sell her as a slave. Then they
prayed her to abide there while they returned to the palace,
to ask their mother's permission to bring her home.

''Demeter bowed her head in assent; and they, having
filled their shining vessels with water, bore them away,
rejoicing in their beauty. They came quickly to their
father's house, and told their mother what they had seen
and heard. Their mother bade them return, and hire
the woman for a great price; and they, like the hinds or
young heifers leaping in the fields in spring, fulfilled with
the pasture, holding up the folds of their raiment, sped
along the hollow roadway, their hair, in color like the
crocus, floating about their shoulders as they went. They
found the glorious goddess still sitting by the wayside,
unmoved. Then they led her to their father's house;
and she, veiled from head to foot, in her deep grief, fol-
lowed them on the way, and her blue robe gathered itself
as she walked, in many folds about her feet. They came
to the house, and passed through the sunny porch, where
their mother, Metaneira, was sitting against one of the
pillars of the roof, having a young child in her bosom.
They ran up to her; but Demeter crossed the threshold,
and, as she passed through, her head rose and touched
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The Book of Easter

the roof, and her presence filled the doorway with a divine
brightness.

"Still they did not wholly recognize her. After a time
she was made to smile. She refused to drink wine, but
tasted of a cup mingled of water and barley, flavored with
mint. It happened that Metaneira had lately borne a
child. It had come beyond hope, long after its elder
brethren, and was the object of a peculiar tenderness
and of many prayers with all. Demeter consented to
remain and become the nurse of this child. She took
the child in her immortal bands, and placed it in her
fragrant bosom; and the heart of the mother rejoiced.
Thus Demeter nursed Demophoou. And the child
grew like a god, neither sucking the breast, nor eating
bread; but Demeter daily anointed it with ambrosia,
as if it had indeed been the child of a god, breathing
sweetly over it and holding it in her bosom; and at
nights, when she lay alone with the child, she would hide
it secretly in the red strength of the fire, like a brand;
for her heart yearned towards it, and she would fain have
given to it immortal youth.

"But the foolishness of his mother prevented it. For
a suspicion growing up within her, she awaited her time,
and one night peeped in upon them, and thereupon cried
out in terror at what she saw. And the goddess heard
her; and a sudden anger seizing her, she plucked the child
from the fire and cast it on the ground, — the child she
would fain have made immortal, but who must now share
the common destiny of all men, though some inscrutable
grace should still be his, because he had lain for a while
on the knees and in the bosom of the goddess.

"Then Demeter manifested herself openly. She put

Easter Stories

away the mask of old age, and changed her form, and the
spirit of beauty breathed about her. A fragrant odor
fell from her raiment, and her flesh shone from afar; the
long yellow hair descended waving over her shoulders,
and the great house was filled as with the brightness of
lightning. She passed out through the halls; and Meta-
neira fell to the earth, and was speechless for a long time
and remembered not to lift the child from the ground.
But the sisters, hearing its piteous cries, leapt from their
beds and ran to it. Then one of them lifted the child from
the earth, and wrapped it in her bosom, and another
hastened to her mother's chamber to awake her; they came
round the child, and washed away the flecks of the fire from
its panting body, and kissed it tenderly all about; but the
anguish of the child ceased not; the aims of other and
different nurses were about to enfold it.

"So, all night, trembling with fear, they sought to pro-
pitiate the glorious goddess; and in the morning they
told all to their father, Celeus. And he, according to the
commands of the goddess, built a fair temple; and all
the people assisted; and when it was finished every man
departed to his own home. Then Demeter returned,
and sat down within the temple walls, and remained still
apart from the company of the gods, alone in her wasting
regret for her daughter Persephone.

"And, in her anger, she sent upon the earth a year of
grievous famine. The dry seed remained hidden in the
soil; in vain the oxen drew the ploughshare through the
furrows; much white seed-corn fell fruitless on the earth,
and the whole human race had like to have perished, and
the gods had no more service of men, unless Zeus had
interfered. First he sent Iris, afterwards all the gods,

The Book of Easter

one by .one, to turn Demeter from her anger; but none
was able to persuade her; she beard their words with a
hard countenance, and vowed by no means to return to
Olympus, nor to yield the fruit of the earth, until her
eyes had seen her lost daughter again. Then, last of all,
Zeus sent Hermes into the kingdom of the dead, to per-
suade Aldoneus to suffer his bride to return to the light of
day. And Hermes found the king at home in his palace,
sitting on a couch, beside the shrinking Persephone, con-
sumed within herself by desire for her mother. A doubtful
smile passed over the face of Aldoneus; yet he obeyed the
message, and bade Persephone return; yet praying her
a little to have gentle thoughts of him, nor judge him too
hardly, who was also an immortal god. And Persephone
arose up quickly in great joy; only, ere she departed,
he caused her to eat a morsel of sweet pomegranate,
designing secretly thereby, that she should not remain
always upon earth, but might some time return to him.
And Aldoneus yoked the horses to his chariot; and Per-
sephone ascended into it; and Hermes took the reins
in his hands and drove out through the infernal halls;
and the horses ran willingly; and they two quickly passed
over the ways of that long journey, neither the waters of
the sea, nor of the rivers, nor the deep ravines of the hills,
nor the cliffs of the shore, resisting them ; till at last Her-
mes placed Persephone before the door of the temple where
her mother was ; who, seeing her, ran out quickly to meet
her, like a nucnad coming down a mountain side, dusky
with woods.

"So they spent all that day together in intimate com-
munion, having many things to hear and tell. Then Zeus
sent to them Rhea, his venerable mother, the oldest of
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Easter Stories

divine persons, to bring them back reconciled, to the
company of the gods; and he ordained that Persephone
should remain two parts of the year with her mother,
and one third part only with her husband, in the king-
dom of the dead. So Demeter suffered the earth to yield
its fruits once more, and the land was suddenly laden with
[eaves and flowers and waving com. Also she visited
Triptolemus and the other princes of Eleusis, and in-
structed them in the performance of her sacred rites, —
those mysteries of which no tongue may speak. Only,
blessed is he whose eyes have seen them; his lot after
death is not as the lot of other men! . . ."

The worship of Demeter belongs to that older religion,
nearer to the earth, which some have thought they could
discern, behind the more definitely national mythology of
Homer. .She is the goddess of dark caves, and is not
wholly free from monstrous form. She gave men the
first fig in one place, the first poppy in another; in another,
she first taught the old Titans to mow. She is the mother
of the vine also; and the assumed name by which she
called herself in her wanderings, is Dfls — a gift; the
crane, as the harbinger of rain, is her messenger among
the birds. She knows the magic powers of certain plants,
cut from her bosom, to bane or bless; and, under one of
her epithets, herself presides over the springs, as also coming
from the secret places of the earth. She is the goddess,
then, at first, of the fertility of the earth in its wildness;
and so far, her attributes are to some degree confused
with those of the Thessalian Gaia and the Phrygian Cybele-
Afterwards, and it is now that her most characteristic
attributes begin to concentrate themselves, she separates
herself from these confused relationships, as specially
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The Book of Easter

the goddess of agriculture, of the fertility of the earth
when furthered by human skill. She is the preserver of
the seed sown in hope, under many epithets derived from
the incidents of vegetation, as the simple countryman names
her, out of a mind full of the various experiences of his
little garden or farm. She is the most definite embodi-
ment of all those fluctuating mystical instincts, of which
Gaia, the mother of the earth's gloomier offspring, is
a vaguer and mistier one. There is nothing of the con-
fused outline, the mere shadowiness of mystical dreaming,
in this most concrete human figure. No nation, less
Ksthetically gifted than the Greeks, could have thus
lightly thrown its mystical surmise and divination into
images so clear and idyllic as those of the solemn goddess
of the country, in whom the characteristics of the mother
are expressed with so much tenderness, and the " beauteous
head" of Kore, then so fresh and 1 peaceful.

In this phase, then, the story of Demeter appears as the
peculiar creation of country people of a high impressi-
bility, dreaming over their- work in spring or autumn,
half consciously touched by a sense of its sacredness, and
a sort of mystery about it. For there is much in the life
of the farm everywhere which gives, to persons of any
seriousness of disposition, special opportunity for grave
and gentle thoughts. The temper of people engaged in
the occupations of country life, so permanent, so "near
to nature," is at all times alike; and the habitual solemnity
of thought and expression which Wordsworth found in
the peasants of Cumberland, and the painter Francois
Millet in the peasants of Brittany, may well have had its
prototype in early Greece. And so, even before the
development, by the poets, of their awful and passionate
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Easter Stories

story, Demeter and Persephone seem to have been pre-
eminently the venerable, or a-we/ul, goddesses. Demeter
haunts the fields in spring, when the young lambs are
dropped; she visits the bams in autumn; she takes part
in mowing and binding up the com, and is the goddess of
sheaves. She presides over all the pleasant, significant
details of the farm, the threshing-floor and the full granary,
and stands beside the woman baking bread at the oven.
With these fancies are connected certain simple rites;
the half-understood local observance and the half-believed
local legend reacting capriciously on each other. They
leave her a fragment of bread and a morsel of meat, at
the cross-roads, to take on her journey; and perhaps some
real Demeter carries them away, as she wanders through
the country. The incidents of their yearly labor become
to them acts of worship; they seek her blessing through
many expressive names, and almost catch sight of her,
at dawn or evening, in the nooks of the fragrant fields.
She lays a finger on the grass at the roadside, and some
new flower comes up. All the picturesque implements
of country life are hers; the poppy also, emblem of an
inexhaustible fertility, and full of mysterious juices for
the alleviation of pain. The countrywoman who puts
her child to sleep in the great, cradle-like basket for win-
nowing the com, remembers Demeter Courotrophos, the
mother of com and children alike, and makes it a little
coat out of the dress worn by its father at his initiation
into her mysteries. Yet she is an angry goddess too
sometimes — Demeter Erinnys, the goblin of the neighbor-
hood, haunting its shadowy places. She lies on the ground
out of doors on summer nights, and becomes wet with
the dew. She grows young again every spring, yet is of
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The Book of Easter

great age, the wrinkled woman of the Homeric hymn,
who becomes the nurse of Demophobn. Other lighter,
errant stories nest themselves, as time goes on, within
the greater. The water-newt, which repels the lips of
the traveller who stoops to drink, is a certain urchin,
Abas, who spoiled by his mockery the pleasure of the
thirsting goddess, as she drank once of a wayside spring
in her wanderings. The night-owl is the transformed
Ascalabus, who alone had seen Persephone eat that morsel
of pomegranate, in the garden of Aldoneus. The bitter
wild mint was once a girl, who for a moment had made
her jealous, in Hades. . . . Ovid gives this account of
it in the Fasti — a kind of Roman calendar — for the
seventh of April, the day of the games of Ceres. He
tells over again the old story, with much of which, he says,
the reader will be already familiar; but he has something
also of his own to add to it, which the reader will hear
for the first time; and, like one of those old painters who,
in depicting a scene of Christian history, drew from their
own fancy or experience its special setting and accessories,
he translates the story into something very different from
the Homeric hymn. The writer of the Homeric hymn
had made Celeus a king, and represented the scene at
Eleusis in a fair palace, like the Venetian painters who
depict the persons of the Holy Family with royal orna-
ments. Ovid, on the other hand, is more like certain
painters of the early Florentine school, who represent
the holy persons amid the more touching circumstances
of humble life; and the special something of his own
which he adds, is a pathos caught from homely things,
not without a delightful, just perceptible, shade of humor
even, so rare in such work. All the mysticism has disap-
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Easter Stories

peared; but, instead, we trace something of that "wor-
ship of sorrow," which has been sometimes supposed to
have had no place in classical religious sentiment. Id
Ovid's well-finished elegiacs, Persephone's flower-gather-
ing, the Anthology, reaches its utmost delicacy; but I
give the following episode for the sake of its pathetic
expression : —

"After many wanderings Ceres was come to Attica.
There, in the utmost dejection, for the first time, she
sat down to rest on a bare stone, which the people of Attica
still call the stone of sorrow. For many days she remained
there motionless, under the open sky, heedless of the rain
and of the frosty moonlight. Places have their fortunes;
and what is now the illustrious town of Eleusis was then
the field of an old man named Celeus. He was- carrying
home a load of acorns, and wild berries shaken down
from the brambles, and dry wood for burning on the hearth ;
his little daughter was leading two goats home from the
hills; and at home there was a little boy lying sick in
his cradle. 'Mother,' said the little girl —and the god-
dess was moved at the name of mother — 'what do you,
all alone, in this solitary place?' The old man stopped
too, in spile of his heavy burden, and bade her take shelter
in his cottage though it was but a little one. But at first
she refused to come; she looked like an old woman,
and an old woman's coif confined her hair; and as the
man still urged her, she said to him, 'Heaven bless you;
and may children always be yours ! My daughter has been
stolen from me. Alas! how much happier is your lot
than mine;' and, though weeping is impossible for the
gods, as she spoke, a bright drop, like a tear, fell into
her bosom. Soft-hearted, the little girl and the old man
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The Book of Easter

weep together. And after that the good man said, 'Arise I
despise not the shelter of my little home; so may the
daughter whom you seek be restored to you.' 'Lead me/
answered the goddess; 'you have found out the secret
of moving me ; ' and she arose from the stone, and followed
the old man; and as they went he told her of the sick
child at home — how he is restless with pain, and cannot
sleep. And she, before entering the little cottage, gathered
from the untended earth the soothing and sleep-giving
poppy; and as she gathered it, it is said that she forgot
her vow, and tasted of the seeds, and broke her long fast,
unaware. As she came through the door, she saw the
house full of trouble, for now there was no more hope of
life for the sick boy. She saluted the mother, whose name
was Metaneira, and humbly kissed the lips of the child,
with her own lips; then the paleness left its face, and
suddenly the parents see the strength returning to its body;
so great is the force that comes from the divine mouth.
And the whole family was full of joy — the mother and
the father and the little girl ; they were the whole house-
hold."

Walter Pates in Greek Studies

The Odour of the Ointment -^ -^ -^ -^v
A SCENSION lilies were everywhere in our shabby
^*- drawing-room. They crowded two tables and filled
a comer and rose, slim and white, atop a Sheraton cabinet.
Every one had sent Pelleas and me a sheaf of the flowers
— the Chartres, the Cleatams, Miss Willie Lillieblade,
Enid, Lisa, and dear Hobart Eddy had all remembered
us on Easter eve, and we entered our drawing-room after

■36

THE COMING OF SPRING,

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Easter Stories

breakfast on Easier morning to be all but greeted with
a winding of the white trumpets. The sun smote them
and they were a kind of candle, their light secretly diffused,
premonitory of Spring, of some resurrection of light as
a new element. It was a wonderful Easter day, and in
spite of our sad gray hair Pelleas and I were never in
fairer health; yet for the first time in our fifty years to-
gether Easter found us close prisoners.

Easter morning, and we were forbidden to leave the
house!

"Etarre," Pelleas said with some show of firmness,
"there is no reason in the world why we should not
go."

"Ah, well now," I said with a sigh, "I wish you could
prove that to Nichola. Do I not know it perfectly
already ? "

It is one sign of our advancing years, we must suppose,
that we are prone to predicate of each other the trifles
which Heaven sends. The sterner things we long ago
learned to accept with our hands clasped in each other's;
but when the postman is late or the hot water is cold or
we miss our paper we have a way of looking solemnly
side wise.

We had gone upstairs the night before in the best of
humours, Pelleas carrying an Ascension lily to stand in
the moonlight of our window, for it always seems to us
the saddest injustice to set the sullen extinguisher of
lowered lights on the brief life of a flower. And we had
been looking forward happily to Easter morning when the
service is always inseparable from a festival of Spring.
Then, lo ! when we were awakened there was the treacher-
ous world one glitter of ice. Branches sparkled against
137

The Book of Easter

the blue, the wall of the park was a rampart of silver,
and the faithless sidewalks were mockeries of thorough-
fare. But the grave significance of this did not come to
us until Nichola entered the dining room with the griddle
cakes and found me dressed in my gray silk and Pelleas
in broadcloth.

"Is it," asked our old serving-woman, who rules us
as if she had brought us from Italy and we had not, more
than forty years before, tempted her from her native
Capri, " is it that you are mad, with this ice everywhere,
everywhere?"

"It is Easter morning, Nichola," I said with the mild-
ness of one who supports a perfect cause.

"Our Lady knows it is so," Nichola said, setting down
her smoking burden, "but the streets are so thick with ice
that one breaks one's head a thousand times. You must
not think of so much as stepping in the ar-y."

She left the room, and the honey-brown cakes cooled
while Pelleas and I looked at each other aghast.

To miss our Easter service for the first time in our life
together! The thought was hardly to be borne. We
reasoned with Nichola when she came back, and I think
that Pelleas even stamped his foot under the table; but
she only brought more cakes and shook her head, the
impertinent old woman who has conceived that she must
take care of us.

"One breaks one's head a thousand times," she obsti-
nately repeated. " Our Lady would not wish it. Danger
is not holy."

To tell the truth, as Pelleas and I looked sorrowfully
from the window above the Ascension lilies we knew that
there was reason in the situation, for the streets were peril-

138

Easter Stories

ous even to see. None the less we were frankly resentful,
for it is bad enough to have a disagreeable matter occur
without having reason on its side. As for our carriage,
that went long ago together with the days when Felleas
could model and I could write so that a few were deceived ;
and as for a cab to our far downtown church and back,
that was not to be considered. For several years now we
have stepped, as Nichola would say, softly, softly from one
security to another so that we Deed not give up our house;
and even now we are seldom sure that one month's com-
fort will keep its troth with the next. Since it was too icy
to walk to the car we must needs remain where we were.
"I suppose," said I, as If it were a matter of opinion,
"that it is really Easter uptown too. But someway — "
"I know," Pelleas said. Really, of all the pleasures
of this world I think that the " I know " of Pelleas in an-
swer to something I have left unsaid is the last to be
foregone. I hope that there is no one who does not have
this delight.

"Pelleas — " I began tremblingly to suggest.
"Ah, well now," Pelleas cried resolutely, "let us go
anyway. We can walk beside the curb slowly. And
after all, we do not belong to Nichola." Really, of all
the pleasures of this world I think that the daring of
Pelleas in moments when I am cowardly is quite the last
to be renounced. I hope that there is no one who has
not the delight of living near some one a bit braver than
himself.

With one accord we slipped from the drawing-room

and toiled up the stairs. I think, although we would not

for the world have said so, that there may have been in

our minds the fear that this might be our last Easter to-

J39

The Book of Easter

gether and, if it was to be so, then to run away to Easter
service would be a fitting memory, a little delicious human
thing to recall among austerer glories. Out of its box
in a twinkling came my violet bonnet and I hardly looked
in a mirror as I put it on. I fastened my cloak wrong
from top to bottom and seized two right-hand gloves and
thrust them in my muff. Then we opened the door and
listened. There was not a sound in the house. We
ventured into the passage and down the stairs and I think
we did not breathe until the outer door closed softly upon
us. For Nichola, we have come to believe, is a mystic
and thinks other people's thoughts. At all events, she
finds out so often that wc prefer to theorize that it is her
penetration and not our clumsiness which betrays us.

Nichola had already swept the steps with hot water and
salt and ashes and sawdust combined: Nichola is so
thorough that I am astonished she has not corrupted me
with the quality. Yet no sooner was I beyond the pale of
her friendly care than I overestimated thoroughness, like
the weak character that I am, and wished that the whole
street had practised it. I took three steps on that icy
surface and stood still, desperately.

"Pelleas," I said weakly, "I feel — I feel like a little
nut on top of a big, frosted, indigestible cake."

I laughed a bit hysterically and Pelleas slipped my arm
more firmly in his and we crept forward like the hands of
a clock, Pelleas a little faster, as the tall minute hand.
We turned the comer safely and had one interminable
block to traverse before we reached the haven of the car.
I looked down that long expanse of slippery gray, unbroken
save where a divine janitor or two had interposed, and my
courage failed me. And Pelleas rashly ventured on advice.

Easter Stories

"You walk too stiffly, Etarre," he explained. "Relax,
relax ! Step along slowly but easily, as I do. Then,
if you fall, you fall like a child — no jar, no shock, no broken
bones. Now relax — "

Before I could shape my answer Pelleas had relaxed.
He lay in a limp little heap on the ice beside me, and I
shall never forget my moment of despair,

I do not know where she came from, but while I stood
there hopelessly reiterating, "Pelleas — why, Pelleasl"
on the verge of tears, she stepped from some door of the
air to my assistance. She wore a little crimson hat and
a crimson collar, but her poor coat, I afterward noted,
was sadly worn. At the moment of her coming, it was her
clear, pale face that fixed itself in my grateful memory.
She darted forward, stepped down from the curb, and held
out two hands to Pelleas.

"Oh, sir," she said, "I can help you. I have on rubber

Surely no interfering goddess ever arrived in a more
practical frame of mind.

When Pelleas was on his feet, looking about him in
a dazed and rather unforgiving fashion, the little maid
caught off her crimson muffler and brushed his coat.
Pelleas, with bared head, made her as courtly a bow as
his foothold permitted, and she continued to stand some-
what shyly before us with the prettiest anxiety on her
face, shaking the snow from her crimson muffler.

"You are not hurt, sir?" she asked, and seemed so
vastly relieved at his reassurance that she quite won our
hearts. "Now," she said, "won't you let me walk with
you? My rubber boots will do for all three!"

We each accepted her arm without the smallest protest.

The Book of Easter

I will hazard that no shipwrecked sailor ever inquired of
the rescuing sail whether he was inconveniencing it.
Once safely abroad, however, and well under way, he may
have symbolized his breeding to the extent of offering
a faint, polite resistance.

As "Shall we not be putting you out?" Pelleas inquired,
never offering to release her arm.

And "I'm afraid we are," I ventured, pressing to her
all the closer. She was frail as I, too, and it was not the
rubber boots to which I pinned my faith; she was young,
and you can hardly know what safety that bespeaks until
you are seventy, on ice.

"It's just there, on the south corner of the avenue,"
Pelleas explained apologetically, and for the first time I
perceived that by common consent we had turned back
toward home. But neither of us mentioned that.

Then, as we stepped forward, with beautiful nicety
rounding the corner to come upon our entrance, suddenly,
without a moment's warning, our blackest fears were
fulfilled. We ran full upon Nichola.

"Ah, I told you, Pelleas!" I murmured; which I had
not, but one has to take some comfort in crises.

Without a word Nichola wheeled solemnly, grasped my
other arm, and made herself fourth in our singular party.
Her gray head was unprotected and her hair stood out all
about it. She had thrown her apron across her shoulders,
and great patches in her print gown were visible to all the
world. When Nichola's sleeves wear out, she always cuts
a piece from the front breadth of her skirt to mend them,
trusting to her aprons to conceal the lack. She was a sorry
old figure indeed, out there on the avenue in the Easter
sunshine, and I inclined bitterly to resent her interference.

Easter Stories

"Nichols," said I, haughtily, "one would think that we
were obliged to be wheeled about on casters."

Nichola made but brief reply,

"Our Lady knows you'd be better so," she said.

So that was how, on Easter morning, with the bells peal-
ing like a softer silver across the silver of the city, Pelleas
and I found ourselves back in our lonely drawing-room,
considerably shaken and hovering before the fire which
Nichola stirred to a leaping blaze. And with us, since we
had insisted on her coming, was our new little friend, flutter-
ing about us with the prettiest concern, taking away my
cloak, untying my bonnet, and wheeling an arm-chair for
Pelleas, quite as if she were the responsible little hostess
and we her upset guests. Presently, the bright hat and
worn coat laid aside, she sat on a hassock before the blaze
and looked up at us, like a little finch that had alighted at
our casement and had been coaxed within. I think that I
love best these little bird-women whom one expects at any
moment to hear thrilling with a lilt of unreasonable song.

"My dear," said I, on a sudden, "how selfish of us, I
dare say you will have been going to church?"

She hesitated briefly.

"I might 'a' gone to the mission," she explained, unac-
countably colouring, "but I don't know if I would. On
Easter."

"But I should have thought," I cried, "that this is the
day of days to go."

"It would be," she assented, "it would be — " she went
on, hesitating, "but, ma'am, I can't bear to go," she burst
out, " because they don't have no flowers. We go to the
mission," she added, "and not to the grand churches. And
it seems — it seems — don't you think God must be where
!43

The Book of Easter

the moat flowers are? An' last Easter we only had one
geranium."
Bless the child 1 I must be a kind of pagan, for I under-

"Your dowers are beautiful," she said shyly, with a
breath of content. "Are they real? I've been wantin' to
ask you. I never saw so many without the glass in front.
But they don't smell much," she added wistfully; "I
wonder why that is. "

Pelleas and I had been wondering that very morning.
They looked so sweet-scented and yet were barren of fra-
grance ; and we told ourselves that perhaps they were lilies
of symbol without mission or message beyond the symbol
without hue or passion or, so to say, experience.

" Perhaps if one were to make some one happy with them
or to put them in a bride's bouquet they would no longer be
scentless," Pelleas quaintly said.

But now my mind was busy with other problems than
those of such fragrance.

"Where do you go to church, my dear?" I asked, not
daring to glance at Pelleas.

"To the mission," she said, "over — " and she named
one of the poorest of the struggling East Side chapels.
"It's just started," she explained, "an' the lady that give
most, she died, and the money don't come. And poor
Mr. Lovelow, he's the minister and he's sick — but he
preaches, anyhow. And pretty near nobody comes to hear
him," she added, with a curious, half-defiant emotion,
her cheeks still glowing. It was strange that I, who am
such a busybody of romance, was so slow to comprehend
that betraying colour.

Pelleas and I knew where the mission was. We had even
144

Easter Stones

peeped into it one Sunday when, though it was not quite
finished, they were trying to hold service from the un painted
pulpit. I remember the ugly walk covered with the lead-
pencil calculations of the builders, the forlorn reed organ,
the pushing feet upon the floor. And now "the lady who
give most" had died.

"Last Easter," our little friend was reiterating, "we had
one geranium that the minister brought. But now his
mother is dead and I guess he won't be keeping plants.
Men always lets 'em freeze. Mis' Sledge, she's got a cac-
tus, but it hasn't bloomed yet. Maybe she'll take that.
And they said that they was going to hang up the letters
left from last Christmas, for the green. They don't say
nothing but 'Welcome' and the 'Star of Bethlehem,' but I
s'pose the 'Welcome' is always nice for a church, and I
s'pose the star shines all year around, if you look. But they
don't much of anybody come! Mr. Lovelow, he's too
sick to visit round much. Last Sunday they was only
'leven in the whole room."

"Only 'leven in the whole room." It hardly seemed
credible in New York. But I knew the poverty of some
of the smaller missions, especially in a case where "the
lady that give most" had died. And this poor young
minister, this poor Mr. Lovelow whose mother had died and
who was too sick to "visit round much," and doubtless
had an indifferent, poverty-ridden parish which no other
pastor wanted — I knew in an instant the whole story of the
struggle. I looked over at our pots of Ascension lilies and
I found myself unreasonably angry with the dear Cleatams
and Chartres and Hobart Eddy and the rest for the self-
indulgence of having given them to us.

t my eyes met those of Pelleas. He was
I4S

The Book of Easter

leaning forward, looking at me with an expression of both
daring and doubt of my approval, and I saw his eyes go
swiftly to the lilies. What was he contriving, I wondered,
my heart beating. He was surely not thinking of sending
our lilies over to the mission, for we could never get them
all there in time, and Nichola — ■

"Etarre !" said Pelleas — and showed me in a moment
heights of resourcefulness to which I can never attain, —
"Etarre! It is only half after ten. We can't go out to
service — and the mission is not four blocks from us.
Why not have our little friend run over there and, if there
are only two dozen or so in the chapel, have that young
Mr. Lovelow bring them all over here, and let it be Easter
in this room? "

He waved his hand toward the lilies waiting there alt
about the walls and doing no good to any save a selfish
old mart and woman. He looked at me, almost abashed
at his own impulse. Was ever such a practical Mahomet,
proposing to bring to himself some Mountain Delectable?

"Do you mean," I asked breathlessly, "to let them have
services in this — "

"Here with us, -in the drawing-room," Pelleas ex-
plained. "Why not? There were fifty in the room for
that Lenten morning mustcale. There's the piano for the
music. And the lilies — the lilies — "

"Of course we will," I cried. "But, oh, will they come?
Do you think they will come? "

I turned to our little friend, and she had risen and was
waiting with shining eyes.

"Oh, ma'am," she said, trembling, "why, ma'am ! Oh,
yes'm, they'll come. I'll get 'em here myself. Oh, Mr.
Lovelow, he'll be so glad. . . ."
146

: :.:::,C00yIc

Easter Stories

She flew to her bright hat and worn coat and crimson
muffler.

"Mr. Lovelow says," she cried, "that a shabby church is
just as much a holy temple as the ark of the government
— but he was so glad when we dyed the spread for the
orgin — Oh, ma'am," she broke off, knotting the crimson
scarf about her throat, "do you really want 'em? They
ain't — you know they don't look — "

"Hurry, child," said Pelleas, "aad mind you don't let
one of them escape ! "

When she was gone we looked at each other in panic.

"Pelleas," I cried, trembling, "think of all there is to
be done in ten minutes."

Pelleas brushed this aside as a mere straw in the wind.
"Think of Nichola," he portentously amended. In all
our flurry we could not help laughing at the frenzy of our
old servant when we told her. Old Nichola was born upon
the other side of every argument. In her we can see the his-
tory of all the world working out in a miniature of wrinkles.
For Nichola would have cut off her gray hair with Sparta,
hurled herself fanatically abroad on St. Bartholomew's
day, borne a pike before the Bastile, broken and burned
the first threshing-machine in England, stoned Luther, and
helped to sew the stars upon the striped cloth in the kitchen
of Betsy Ross.

"For the love of Heaven," cried Nichola, "church in the
best room ! It is not holy. Whoever heard o' church in a
private house, like a spiritualist seeonce or whatever they
are. An' me with a sponge-cake in the oven," she con-
cluded fervently. "Heaven be helpful, mem, I wish't
you'd 'a' went to church yourselves."

Chairs were drawn from the library and dining room
147

The Book of Easter

and from above stairs, and frantically dusted with Nichols's
apron. The lilies were fumed from the windows to look in-
ward on (he room, and a little table for theBible was laid with
a white cloth and set with a vase of lilies. And in spite of
Nichola, who every moment scolded and prophesied and
nodded her head in the certainty that all the thunders of
the church would descend upon us, we were ready when the
door-bell rang. I peeped from the drawing-room window
and saw that our steps were filled !

"Nichola," said I, trembling, "you will come up to ser-
vice, will you not?" Nichola shook her gray old head.

"It's a nonsense," she shrilly proclaimed. "It will not
be civilized. It will not be religious. I'll open the door
on 'em, but I won't do nothink elst, mem."

When we heard their garments in the hall and the voice
of Little Friend, Pelleas pushed back the curtains and there
was our Easter, come to us upon the threshold.

I shall not soon forget the fragile, gentle figure who led
them. The Reverend Stephen Lovelow came in with
outstretched hand, and I have forgotten what he said or
indeed whether he spoke at all. But he took our hands and
greeted us as the disciple musf greet the host of the House
of the Upper Room. We led the way to the table, where
he laid his worn Bible and he stood in silence while the
others found their places, marshalled briskly by Little
Friend whoas captain was no less efficient than as deliverer.
There were chairs to spare, and when every one was seated,
in perfect quiet, the young clergyman bowed his head: —

"Lord, thou hast made thy face to shine upon us—"
he prayed, and it seemed to me that our shabby drawing-
room was suddenly quick with a presence more intimate
than that of the lilies.

Google

Easter Stones

When the hymn was given out and there was a fluttering
of leaves of the hymn-books they had brought, five of our
guests at a nod from Mr. Lovelow made their way forward.
One was a young woman with a ruddy face, but ruddy
with that strange wrinkled ruddiness of age rather than
youth, who wore a huge felt hat laden with flaming roses,
evidently added expressly for Easter Day. She had on a
thin waist of flimsy pink with a collar of beads and silver
braid, and there were stones ,of all colours in a half-dozen
rings on her hands. She took her place at the piano with an
ease almost defiant and she played the hymn not badly,
I must admit, and sang in a full riotous soprano.
Meanwhile, at her side was ranged the choir. There
were four — a great watch-dog of a bass with swelling
veins upon bis forehead and erect reddish hair; a little
round contralto in a plush cap and a dress trimmed with
the appliqued flowers cut from a lace curtain; a tall,
shy soprano who looked from one to another through the
hymn, as if she were in personal exhortation ; and a pleas-
ant-faced tenor who sang with a will that was good to hear
and was evidently the choir leader, for he beat time with a
stumpy, cracked hand set with a huge black ring on its
middle finger. The little woman next me offered her book,
and I had a glimpse of a pinched side face, with a displaced
strand of gray hair and a loose linen collar with no cravat;
but I have seldom heard a sweeter voice than that which
up-trembled beside me — : although, poor little woman !
she was sadly ill at ease because the thumb which rested on
the book next me was thrust in a glove fully an inch too
long. As for Pelleas, he was sharing a book with a young-
ish man, stooped, long-armed, with a mane of black hair,
whom Mr. Lovelow afterward told me had lost his position
149

The Book of Easter

in a sweat shop through drawing some excellent cartoons
on the box of his machine. Mr. Lovelow himself was
"looking over" with a mother and daughter who were later
presented to us, and who embarrassed any listener by
persistently talking in concert, each repeating a few words
of what the other had just said, quite in fashion of the most
gently bred talkers bent upon assuring each other of their
spontaneous sympathy and repose.

And what a hymn it was! After the first stanza they
gained in confidence, and a volume of sound filled the low
room — ay, and a world of spirit, too.

"Christ the Lord is risen to-day. Hallelu-jahl . . ."

They carolled, and Pelleas, who never can sing a tune
aloud, although he declares indignantly that in his head
he keeps it perfectly, and I, who do not sing at all, both
joined perforce in the triumphant chorus. Ah, I dare
say that farther down the avenue were sweet-voiced choirs
that sang music long rehearsed, golden, flowing; and yet
I think there was no more fervent Easter music than that
in which we joined. It was as if the other music were the
censer smoke and we were its shadow on the ground, but a
proof of the sun for all that.

I cannot now remember all that simple service, perhaps
because I so well remember the glory of the hour. I sat
where I could see the park stretching away, black upon
silver and silver upon black, over the Ascension lilies.
The face of the young minister was illumined as he read and
talked to his people. I think that I have never known such
gentleness, never such yearning and tenderness, as were his
with that handful of crude and careless and devout. And
though he spoke passionately and convincingly, I could not
but think that he was like some dumb thing striving for the
*5°

Easter Stories

utterance of the secret fire within — -striving to "bum
aloud," as a violin beseeches understanding. Perhaps there
is no other way to tell the story of that first day of the week
— "early, when it was yet dark."

" They had brougfit sweet spices," he said, "with which
to anoint him. Where are the spices that we have brought
to-day? Have we aught of sacrifice, of charity, of zeal,
of adoration — let us lay them at his feet in offering accept-
able unto the Lord, a token of our presence at the door of the
sepulchre from which the stone was rolled away. Where
are the sweet spices of our hands, where the pound of
ointment of spikenard wherewith we shall anoint the
feet of our living Lord ? For if we bring of our spiritual
possession, the Christ will suffer us, even as he suffered
Mary; and the house shall be filled with the odour of the
ointment."

"And the house shall be filled with the odour of the oint-
ment," I said over to myself. Is it not strange how a phrase,
a visla, a bar of song, a thought beneath the open stars,
will almost pierce the veil ?

"And the house shall be filled with the odour of the
ointment," I said silently all through the last prayer and the
last hymn and the benediction of "The Lord make his face
to shine upon you, the Lord give you peace." And some
way, with our rising, the abashment which is an integral
part of all such gatherings as we had convoked was not to
be reckoned with, and straightway the presentation and the
words of gratitude and even the pretty anxiety of Little
Friend fluttering among us were spontaneous and uncon-
strained. It was quite as if, Pelleas said afterward, we had
been reduced to a common denominator. Indeed, it seems
to me in remembering the day as if half the principles of

The Book of Easter

Christian sociology were illustrated there in our shabby
drawing-room; but for that matter I would like to ask
what complexities of political science, what profound bases
of solidarity, are not on the way to be solved in the pres-
ence of Easter lilies t* I am in all these matters most
stupid and simple, but at all events I am not blameful
enough to believe that they are exhausted by the theories.

Every one lingered for a little, in proof of the success of
our venture. Pelleas and I talked with the choir and with
the pianiste, and this lady informed us that our old rose-
wood piano, which we apologetically explained to have been
ours for fifty years, was every bit as good and every bit
as loud as a new golden -oak "instrument" belonging to her
sister. The tall, shy soprano told us haltingly how much
she enjoyed the hour and her words conveyed sincerity
in spite of her strange system of overemphasis of everything
she said and of carrying down the comers of her mouth as if
in deprecation. The plump little contralto thanked us, too,
with a most winning smile — -such round, open eyes she had,
immovably fixed on the object of her attention, and as Pelleas
said such evident eyes.

" Her eyes looked so amazingly like eyes," he afterward
commented whimsically.

We talked too with the little woman of the long-thumbed
gloves who had the extraordinary habit of smiling faintly
and turning away her head whenever she detected any one
looking at her. And the sweat-shop cartoonist proved to
be an engaging young giant with the figure of a Greek god,
classic features, a manner of gravity amounting almost to
hauteur, and as pronounced an East Side dialect as I have

''Will you not let us," I said to him, after Mr. Lovelow's
IS'

Easter Stories

word about his talent, "see your drawings some time?
It would give us pleasure."

Whereupon, "Sure. Me, I'll toin de whol' of 'em over
to youse," said the Greek god, thumbs out and shoulders
nickering.

But back of these glimpses of reality among them there
was something still more real ; and though I dare say there
will be some who will smile at the affair and call that interest
curiosity and those awkward thanks mere aping of con-
vention, yet Pelleas and I, who have a modest degree of
intelligence and who had the advantage of being present, do
affirm that on that Easter morning countless little doors
were opened in the air to admit a throng of presences. We
cannot tell how it may have been, and we are helpless before
alt argument and incredulity, but we know that a certain
stone was rolled away from the door of the hearts of us all,
and there were with us those in shining garments.

In the midst of all I turned to ask our Little Friend some
trivial thing, and I saw that which made my old heart leap.
Little Friend stood before a table of the lilies and with her
was young Mr. Lovelow. And something — I cannot tell
what it may have been, but in these matters I am rarely
mistaken; and something — as she looked up and he
looked down — made me know past all doubting how it
was with them. And this open secret of their love was
akin to the mysteries of the day itself.

The gentle, sad young clergyman and our Little Friend
of the crimson muffler had suddenly opened to us another
door and admitted another joyous presence. I cannot tell
how it may be with every one else, but for Pelleas and me
one such glimpse — a glimpse of two faces alight with hap-
piness on the street, in a car, or wherever they may be — is
'53

The Book of Easter

enough to make glad a whole gray week. Though to be
sure no week is ever wholly gray.

I was still busy with the sweet surprise of this and longing
for opportunity to tell Pelleas, when they all moved toward
the door and with good-bys filed into the hall. And
there in the anteroom stood Nichola, our old servant, who
brushed my elbow and said in my ear: —

"Mem, every one of 'em looks starvin'. I've a kettle
of hot coffee on the back of the range an' there's fresh
sponge-cake in plenty. I've put cups on the dinin' room
table, an' I thought — "

"Nichola !" said I, in a low and, I must believe, ecstatic

"An' no end o' work it's made me too," added our old
servant, sourly, and not to be thought in the least gracious.
It was a very practical ending to that radiant Easter
morning, but I dare say we could have devised none better.
Moreover, Nichola had ready sandwiches, and a fresh cheese
of her own making, and a great bowl of some simple salad
dressed as only her Italian hands can dress it. I wondered
as I sat in the circle of our guests, a vase of Easter lilies on
the table, whether Nichola, that grim old woman who
scorned to come to our service, had yet not brought her
pound of ointment of spikenard very precious.

"You and Mr. Lovelow are to spend the afternoon and
have tea with us," I whispered Little Friend, and had the
joy of seeing the telltale colour leap gloriously to her cheek
and a telltale happiness kindle in his eyes. I am never
free from amazement that a mere word or so humble a plan
for another's pleasures can give joy. Verily, one would sup-
pose that we would all be so busy at this pastime that we
would almost neglect our duties.
*54

: ,«„G00gIc

Easter Stories

So when the others were gone these two lingered. All
through the long spring afternoon they sat with us beside
our crackling fire of bavin-sticks, telling us of this and that
homely interest, of some one's timid hope and another's
sacrifice, in the life of the little mission. Ah, I dare say
that Carlyle and Hugo have Ihe master's hand for touching
open a casement here and there and letting one look in
upon an isolated life, and, sympathizing for one passionate
moment, turn away before the space is closed again, with
darkness; but these two were destined that day to give us
glimpses not less poignant, to open to us so many unknown
hearts, that we would be justified in never again being
occupied with our own concerns.

And when after tea they stood in the dusk of the halfway
trying to say good-by, I think that their secret must have
shone in our faces too; and, as the children say, "we all
knew that we all knew," and life was a thing of heavenly
blessedness.

Young Mr. Lovelow took the hand of Pelleas, and mine
he kissed.

"The Lord bless you, the Lord make his face to shine
upon you, the Lord give you peace," was in his eyes as he
went away.

"And, oh, sir," Little Friend said shyly to Pelleas as she
stood at the top of the steps, knotting her crimson muffler,
"ain't it good, after all, that Easter was all over ice?"

That night Pelleas carried upstairs a great armful of the

Ascension lilies to stand in the moonlight of our window.

We took lilies to the mantel, and set stalks of bloom on the

table, with their trumpets turned within upon the room.

155

The Book of Easter

And when the lower lights had been extinguished and
Nichola had bidden us her grumbling good night, we
opened the door of that upper room where the moon was
silvering the lilies; and we stood still, smitten with a
common surprise.

"Pelleas," I said uncertainly, "O Pelleas, I thought — "

" So did I," said Pelleas, with a deep breath.

We bent above the lilies that looked so sweet-scented
and yet had been barren of fragrance because, we had told
ourselves, they seemed flowers of symbol without mission
or message beyond the symbol, without hue or passion, or,
so to say, experience. ("Perhaps if one were to make
some one happy with them or to put them in a bride's
bouquet they would no longer be scentless," Pelleas had
quaintly said.) And now we were certain, as we stood
hushed beside them, that our Easter lilies were giving out
a faint, delicious fragrance.

I looked up at Pelleas almost fearfully in the flood of
spring moonlight. The radiance was full on his white
hair and tranquil face, and he met ray eyes with the
knowledge that we were suddenly become the custodians
of an exquisite secret. The words of the young servant
of God came to me understanding^.

"And the house shall be filled with the odour of the
ointment," I said over. "O Pelleas," I added tremu-
lously, "do you think . . ."

Pelleas lifted his face and I thought that it shone in the
dimness.

"Ah, well," he answered, "we must believe all the beau-
tiful things we can."

Zona Gale in The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre

,56

"Google

Easter Eggs ^> ^a- -*^y -*d- -^> -o -^y

A TANY centuries ago there dwelt in a little valley
■*■*■*■ surrounded by mountains a few poor charcoal-
burners. The narrow valley was closed in on every side
by trees and rocks. The huts of the poor peasants lay
scattered around. A few cherry or plum trees planted
beside each hut — a little tillage and pasture land — a
patch of flax and hemp — - a cow and one or two goats,
constituted all their riches, though they earned a trifle
besides by burning charcoal for the iron works in the
mountains. Poor as they were, however, they were never-
theless a very happy little community, for they wanted
nothing else. Their hardy mode of life, their constant
toil and temperate habits, made them very healthy; and
in these poor little huts you might see (what you would
seek in vain in palaces) men over a hundred years of age.
One day, when the com was just beginning to ripen, and
the heat had become very great in the mountains, a little
charcoal -girl, who had been tending her goats, came
running down, out of breath, to tell her parents that
some strange people had arrived in the valley, who wore
wonderful clothes and spoke with a strange accent — a
beautiful lady with two children and a very old man, who,
though he also wore a very rich dress, seemed to be her

"Ah," said the little girl, "the poor people are hungry
and thirsty and very tired. I met them is the mountains,
as I was searching for a stray goat, and I showed them the
way to our valley. We must take them out something
to eat and drink, and see whether, among the neighbors
and ourselves, we cannot get them lodgings for the night."
1 57

, ..... Cookie

The Book of Easter

Her parents immediately got some oaten bread, milk,
and goat's cheese, and hastened out to meet them. The
strangers, meanwhile, had been resting themselves under
the cool shade of the bushes — the lady was sitting upon
a moss-grown stone, and had drawn a white veil over her
face. One of the children, a very pretty delicate little
girl, sat upon her knee; the old servant, a man of venerable
appearance, was employed in unloading the mule which
they had with them; and the other child, a handsome,
lively boy, was giving a handful of thistles to the mule,
who ate them contentedly.

The charcoal-burner and his wife approached the strange
lady with deference, for her graceful figure, noble bearing,
and flowing white dress proclaimed her to be of high
rank.

"Just look," said the charcoal-burner's wife, in a low
tone, to her husband, "at the beautiful pointed collar,
and the lace cuffs which just show her delicate hands;
and her shoes are as white as cherry blossoms, and spangled
with silver flowers !"

"Hold your tongue," said her husband, "you are always
thinking of some nonsense like that. Great folk are en-
tilled to fine clothes; but after all, dress does not make
a person one whit better, and the poor lady, in spite of her
beautiful shoes, has had to walk many a weary step over
the rough roads!"

They advanced and offered their bread, milk, and
cheese to the strange lady. She threw back her veil,
and they were both filled with admiration of her beauty
and the gentle expression of her features. She thanked
them very much, and immediately gave a cup of the milk
to the child in her lap: and the tears streamed down her
■S»

Easter Stories

cheeks, as the poor little thing clutched the cup fast with
both her hands and drank eagerly. The pretty boy, too,
came* and drank. She then gave them some bread, and
afterwards drank herself and ate some of the bread ; while
the strange man cut huge slices of the cheese, and seemed
to enjoy it very much. Meanwhile the cottagers, young
and old, came out of their huts, and stood round in a
circle watching the newcomers with curious and wonder-
ing eyes.

As soon as the old man had done eating, he earnestly
begged them to provide, in some of their huts, a little room
for the lady for a short time; promising that she should
not be a burden to them, but should pay liberally for
everything.

"Ah, yes," said the lady herself, in a soft, pleasing
voice, "do take pity on an unhappy mother and her two
little ones, whom fate has driven from their home ! "

The men went together to consult in what house she
could most conveniently be received. In the upper part
of the valley there was a little stream which burst out from
among the red marble cliffs, and fell from rock to rock in a
mass of milky foam, turning in its course a mill which
hung upon the edge of the precipice. On the opposite
side of the stream the miller had built another pretty little
house. Like all the other houses in the valley, it was but
a wooden one; but it was extremely pretty, charmingly
shaded by overhanging cherry trees and surrounded by
a garden. This house the miller offered the strange lady
to take her abode in.

"My new cottage, above yonder," said he, pointing

with his hand, "I most cheerfully give up to you, just

as it stands. It is perfectly new; no one has ever lived

159

The Book of Easter

in it yet. I built it as a place to which I might retire when
I should give up the mill to my son. It was only yesterday
it was completed, and to-day you can take possession of
it, just as if I had built it expressly for yourself. I am sure
you will like it."

The good lady was delighted with this friendly offer,
and after she had rested a little, went to look at the cottage.
She carried the little girl in her arms, and the old man
led the boy by the hand, while the miller took charge of
the mule. To the great joy of the miller, she was delighted
with the little house. It was already provided with a
table, and a few chairs and bedsteads.

The lady had brought on the mule's back some hand-
some carpets and covers; so she was able to take up
her lodging for the night, thanking God that, after their
long wanderings, He had brought them to so pleasant a
spot.

Very early next morning the lady and her two children
came out of their cottage, to take a look at the surround-
ing country, for the day before they were too tired to do so.
She was charmed with the prospect. The huts of the
charcoal-burners lay far below, as if sown in twos or threes
in the green valley. The mill-stream wound, clear as
silver, midway between on the hills and cliffs, which were
covered with green brushwood on which the goats were
browsing, and it presented, in the morning sunshine, a
picture which no art could surpass. . . .

Summer and autumn passed, and the winter came. In
this wild region it was very severe. For months together
the little huts in the valley lay as if buried in snow, the
smoking chimneys and parts of the roofs alone appearing
above the white covering. Not a bit of the space between
ico

:y GoOglc

Easter Stories

the rocks could be seen, the mill stood still, and the water-
falls hung stiff and noiseless upon the cliffs. Neighbors
seldom could meet each other now; and when at last the
snow disappeared, and the spring returned once more,
great was the delight of all.

The children of the valley immediately came up to the
mill and brought to the two little strangers, Edmund and
Blanda, the earliest violets and cowslips which they could
find in the valley; and as soon as there were sufficient
of these sweet spring flowers, they made for them a most
beautiful blue and yellow garland.

"I must make some return to these kind children also,"
said the lady. "I shall get up a little festival for them
next Easter Day; for it is right to make these holidays as
happy as possible to children. But what shall I give them ?
At Christmas I was able to give them apples and nuts
which I sent for the purpose; but at this season one has
nothing in the house but a few eggs. Nature has not
yet produced her rich stores. The trees and bushes are
without fruits or berries — eggs are the earliest gift of
the spring."

"Ah, yes!" said Martha, "if the eggs were not so much
all of one color. White is certainly a nice color, but
the various tints of the fruits and berries, and the rosy
cheeks of the apples are far prettier."

"Your suggestion is not a bad one," said her kind
mistress; "I will boil the eggs hard, and color them in
the boiling, which can be easily done. The children,
I am sure, will be highly delighted with the different
colors."

The clever lady knew all about the different roots and
mosses which may be used for dyeing: and she colored

The Book of Easter

the eggs in a variety of ways; some she made blue, others
yellow, others a beautiful rose color; and some she
wrapped in tender green leaves, which left their impress
on the eggs, and gave them an extremely 'pretty varie-
gated appearance. On some of them she wrote a little
rhyme.

"Yes," said the miller, when he saw them, "these colored
eggs are just the thing for the festival, — now that Nature
has laid aside her white attire, and dresses herself out in
all her varied hues. The good lady does just like God,
who not only gives His fruits an agreeable flavor, but also
makes them beautiful and pleasing to the eye; — as He
dyes the cherry red, the plum purple, and the pear yellow,
so does she dye her eggs."

The lady now sent Martha round the valley to invite
all the children who were of the same age as Edmund
and Blanda to a little juvenile festival on Easter Day.

Easter Day, this season, proved an extremely beautiful
spring day — a true resurrection of nature. The sun
seemed so lovely and warm, the sky so clear and blue,
that it was really charming and imparted new life to every-
thing around. The meadows in the valley were already
a lovely green, and here and there dotted with flowers.
Every one enjoyed the sight of enjoyment and happiness.

Long before daybreak the lady and old Kuno were upon
their way to the church, which lay at a distance of more
than two miles beyond the mountains, Edmund and Blanda
remaining at home meanwhile, under Martha's care;
and the grown-up people of the valley, with the elder
children who were equal to the journey, accompanied
her to church. Towards midday the lady reached home,
riding on the mule which Kuno led, but it was long after
1 62

Easter Stories

this hour, in fact nearly evening, when the cottagers and
their children returned.

The moment the lady returned, her little guests, who had
been left home, and were anxiously longing for her return,
came up full of joy, all dressed out in their little finery,
and assembled before her door. She came out with Ed-
mund and Blanda, greeted them all affectionately, and
brought them into the garden, which Kuno had taken
great pains in improving last year, and had extended to
Lhe foot of the precipice. The lady sat down on a little
bench under a tree, and called the children close to her.
They all thronged around, and looked up to her with
affectionate smiles while she told them in simple language
the beautiful old story of the first Easter Day,

The children all listened to her with great attention,
and when she had finished she paused for a moment and
looked round at her young hearers. Among them she
noticed a brother and sister dressed in deep mourning,
and, hearing that they had lost their mother a few days
before, she showed them how they might draw comfort
from the story of the resurrection, and look forward in
joyous hope to beholding their dear mother once more
in Paradise.

She now brought the children to the shelter of the rock,
where Kuno had prepared a large oval table upon a nice
gravelled spot. The table was covered with a colored
cloth, and seats of fresh green sods were arranged around
it. The children, with Edmund and Blanda in the midst
of them, took their places at it. All eyes beamed with
joy, and with anticipation of the coming entertainment,
and it would not be easy to imagine a more interesting
sight than the little circle of yellow and brown locks and

>«3

The Book of Easter

happy faces which surrounded the table. "A wreath of
the most beautiful lilies and roses," said the lady to herself,
"is nothing in comparison with it!"

A large earthen dish filled with warm custard was now
placed upon the table, and before each of the little guests
was set a nice new bowl, filled with the custard. They
enjoyed it exceedingly. The lady then brought them out
through a side gate of the garden, into the little pine grove
which stood close by. There were nice green plots of
grass between the young trees, and here the lady told
each of the children to make a little nest with the moss
which grew in profusion upon the rocks and trees round
about. They joyfully obeyed, those who were not able
to make the nest themselves being helped by their more
clever companions; and then they all carefully marked
their own nests.

Then she brought them again into the garden; when,
behold 1 they found upon the table a huge cake — made
with eggs, and shaped like an immense crown. Each
of the children was helped to a large slice, and while they
were eating, Martha slipped quietly into the grove with
a large basketful of colored eggs, and laid them in the
little nests. The blue, red, yellow, or variegated eggs
looked very pretty amongst the delicate green moss, of
which the nests were formed.

When the children had finished eating, the lady called
them to come and look at their nests — and, behold ! in
every nest were found five eggs of the same color, with
a verse upon one of the number. . . . They all con-
sisted of but a few simple and unstudied words; they
were inscribed both on the eggs which she had already
distributed, and on another set which she afterwards
164

Easter Stones

divided among the children. Some of them were as

follows: —

To thee our earthly food we owe,
Grant us, O Lord, thy gifts to knowl

One thing is needful — only one —
Love God, my child, and Him alone.

On God's protecting arm rely;
To Him in all thy sorrows fly !

A docile child its parents' will
Is ever ready to fulfil.

The liar's steps shame will pursue;
His word is doubted, e'en when true.

A truly good and pious man
Assists his neighbour when he can.

Gentle thoughts and self-control
Bring peace and comfort to the soul.

The world and all its joys decay;
Virtue alone endures for aye.

The spring and summer passed over in the valley
without anything remarkable happening. The charcoal,
burners tilled their little farms, and then went to the forest
to bum charcoal; their wives attended to the housekeep-
ing at home, and reared a great number of hens; and
the children would often ask whether Easter would not
soon come again. But the noble lady was often very
unhappy, llcr faithful old servant, who till now had

The Book of Easter

always been at her side, and who in the commencement
used to make journeys of greater or less extent for her .
upon her business, was no longer able to leave the valley,
for his health began to fail; and, indeed, when autumn
came, and the leaves began to grow brown upon the bushes,
he could hardly even leave the house to enjoy what he
dearly loved, a little bask in the genial sunshine. Mis
mistress shed maay an anxious tear for the good old man
who was her last support, and she bitterly felt getting no
news from her dear native land, and being shut out from
the rest of the world in this secluded valley.

A circumstance occurred, too, which filled her with no
little alarm. One morning some of the charcoal-burners
came home from the forest and told the miller that the
night before, as they were sitting quiedy by their burning
heap, four strange men suddenly came upon them, with
iron helmets, and coats of mail, and with huge swords by
their side, and long lances in their hands. They said they
were retainers of the Count von Schroffeneck, who had
come into the mountains with a large train; and they
inquired about everything in the neighborhood. The
miller hastened with his news to the lady, who at
that moment was sitting by Kuno's sick-bed. The mo-
ment he mentioned the name of Schroffeneck, she turned
pale and cried out: "O my God! it is my deadliest foe —
I am sure he seeks nothing else but my life. I hope the
people did not let the strangers know where I am living!"
The miller assured her that as far as he knew they had not
mentioned her at all.

"The men," said he, "only warmed themselves at the
fire, and went away before daybreak; but they are still,
no doubt, reconnoitring through the mountains."
1 66

Easter Stories

"Dear Oswald!" said the lady to the miller, "ever
since I came to your house, I have always found you a
conscientious, upright, honest man. I will, therefore,
tell you my whole history, and the anxiety which now fills
my heart, for I reckon upon your counsel and assistance.

"I am Rosalind, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy.
Two noble lords, Hanno of Schroffeneck, and Arno of
Lindenburg, were suitors for my hand. Hanno was the
richest and most powerful lord in the country around,
and had the largest train of retainers, and the strongest
castles; but he was wanting in virtue and nobleness of
soul. Amo was the bravest and noblest knight in the
land; but, in comparison with his rival, he was poor,
for he had inherited from his generous father nothing
but one old castle and had never attempted to enlarge
his possessions by violence. To him, notwithstanding,
I gave my hand with my father's consent, and I brought
him large domains, and many strong castles as my dowry/
Our life was a paradise on earth.

"But Hanno of Schroffeneck conceived a deadly hate
against me and my husband, and became our mortal
enemy, though he concealed his hatred, and made no open
display of it for a time. At last my husband was called
to accompany the emperor in his expedition against the
Moslems. Hanno was summoned also; but he contrived,
under various pretexts, to delay his preparations, merely
promising to join the army as soon as possible. But while
my husband and his vassals were engaged in the most
distant part of the kingdom, fighting for their country,
the false Hanno invaded our territory, and there was not
a soul to oppose him. He laid everything waste far and
wide, and stormed one castle after another, till at last
167

The Book of Easter

nothing remained for me but to fly secretly with my two
darling children. My good old Kuno was my only guardian
angel upon this perilous flight during which I was constantly
exposed to Hanno's pursuit. He brought me to these
mountains, where I have lived so peacefully in this secluded
and unknown valley. Here it was my purpose to remain
till my husband should return from the war, and recover
our domains from the usurper. Kuno used to go from
time to time to the great world, to leam news of the war,
but he always came back with sad tidings; the wicked
Hanno was still in possession of our lands, and the war was
still continuing with varying success at the frontier. But
now for nearly a year my good Kuno has been sick, and
all this time I know nothing either of my country or my
beloved husband. Alas 1 perhaps he has long fallen under
the sword of the enemy. Perhaps Hanno, who is now
so close to us, has discovered my secret hiding-place —
and if so, what will become of me? Oh ! beg the char-
coal-burners, dear Oswald, not to betray me I "

"What, betray you?" cried the miller, "I will answer
for them all — every one of them would die for you I
Before the hateful tyrant of Schroffeneck shall lay a finger
upon you, he will first have to kill us all. Do not be afraid,
noble lady I"

The charcoal-burners repeated the same protestations
when the miller spoke to them. "Just let him come!"
they cried, "we will give him a lesson with our bill-hooks ! "

Meanwhile the good lady's days were spent in fear and
anxiety. She would hardly venture out of the house, and
never let her children from the doors. Her life was very
anxious and sad. But when all was quiet again in the
mountain, and nothing more was heard of the armed

Easter Stories

men, she at last ventured to take a walk. It was a lovely
day, late in the harvest, after a long continuance of rain.
A few hundred paces from her hut stood a sort of rustic
chapel, built of rough pine boards, and open in front.
But it contained a very pretty picture of the Flight into
Egypt, which Kuno had once brought home on one of his
journeys, to cheer the good lady in her exile.

Behind the chapel rose a steep wall of rock, and in front
stood a few pine trees, which formed a pleasant shade over
the entrance. The place had such an air of quiet and re-
pose, that one felt a pleasure in staying there. A grassy
path between picturesque rocks and shrubs led to it, and it
was the lady's favorite walk. This time, however, she
was not entirety without anxiety. She knelt down for a
while with her children at the little stool at the entrance of
the chapel. She prayed for a while, and then sat down upon
the bench. The children meanwhile were gathering black-
berries and amusing themselves by comparing them to little
black bunches of grapes, till by degrees they had strayed
some distance away.

While the lady sat thus alone, suddenly a pilgrim ap-
peared among the rocks and approached the chapel. He
wore a long black dress, and a short cloak over it. His
hat was adorned with scallop-shells, and in his hand he
carried a long white staff. He appeared to be very old,
but was still a stately, handsome man: his long white hair,
which flowed down upon his shoulders, and his beard, were
as white as snow, but his cheeks still retained all the bloom
of the rose. The lady was alarmed when she saw the
stranger. He saluted her respectfully and addressed her,
but she was very cautious and reserved in her conversation,
and looked with great coldness upon him, as though she

.6,

The Book of Easter

wished to discover whether she ought to trust a total
stranger, of whom she knew absolutely nothing.

"Noble lady," said the pilgrim at last, "be not afraid
of me, I am not such a stranger as you think. You are
Rosalind of Burgundy. I am well acquainted with the
cruel destiny which drove you to take refuge amid these
rugged rocks. Your husband, too, from whom you are uear
three years parted, is well known to me. While you have
been liviog in this distant spot many changes have taken
place in the world. If you are anxious to hear about the
good Arno of Lindenburg, and if his memory still lives in
your heart, I can give you some good news about him.
The war is over. The Christian army is coming home,
crowned with the laurels of victory. Your husband has
recovered the places that were wrested from him. The
wicked Hanno escaped into the fastnesses of this mountain;
but even from this last retreat he must soon be driven.
The sole, the ardent wish of your husband is to find once
more his beloved spouse."

"O God I what joyful news!" exclaimed the lady as she
sank on her knees, while big tears rolled down her cheeks.
"From my heart I thank Thee, O God," she said. . "Thou
hast seen my tears, Thou hast heard my silent sighs,
Thou hast granted my ceaseless prayers. Oh! Amo,
Arno, may that happy moment soon come, when I shall see
you once more, and present to you those children who were
babies when you left us, and who now for the first time
can call you by the endearing name of father ! "

"O stranger!" said she to the pilgrim, "who can doubt

whether I still cherish my husband's memory, and have his

love still fresh and ardent iu my heart? My children,

come here," said she, turning to her two little ones, who

170

Easter Stories

stood at a distance watching the strange man with curiosity,
but too shy to approach.

"Edmund," said she, addressing the boy, and telling
him at the same time not to be afraid, "Edmund, repeat
for this stranger the little prayer we say every morning for
your father." The boy, clasping his hands devoutly, and
raising his eyes to heaven, as in actual prayer, repeated in
a loud, impressive, and affecting tone, the following words:
"Dear heavenly Father, look down on us two poor little
orphans ! Our father is in the wars — oh ! save him from
death. We resolve to be good, that we may give Joy to our
dear father when he comes back to us. Ohl hear our
prayer."

"And you, Blanda," said she to a little yellow-haired,
rosy-cheeked girl, "repeat the prayer we say every evening
for your father, before we retire to rest." "Dear heavenly
Father, before we retire to rest, we pray to Thee for our
father. May he sleep in peace this night, and be guarded
from alt harm by Thy holy angels. Send down sweet sleep
to our mother, that she may forget her great griefs for a
while; or, should soft sleep he not granted her, let it fall
on the eyelids of our dear father. May that happy morn
soon dawn which shall behold us united once more!"

"Amen, Amen," said the mother, clasping her hands, and
looking tearfully to heaven.

At this moment the pilgrim burst into tears and wept
aloud.

He flung off the pilgrim's garb, hair, mantle, and frock,
and stood before them in the dazzling uniform of a knight,
glittering with gold and purple. He was in the full glow
of youthful beauty, full of health and vigor. He stretched
out his arms towards his wife and children, and in a voice of
171

The Book of Easter

the most heartfelt emotion, exclaimed, "Oh ! Rosalind, my
wife, and Edmund and Blanda, my dear children 1 "

This sudden, unexpected joy almost overpowered the
wife. The children, who, when they had seen the pilgrim
weeping, looked at their mother as if to beg her to help him,
were now, when they heard their own names, startled, and
almost frightened at what they believed was a miracle
occurring before their eyes; for they imagined nothing
less than that, as their mother had often told them in the
legends she used to relate to them, the old man changed
himself into a beautiful youth — or an angel from heaven;
so much were they struct by the appearance of their father,
who in reality was the handsomest knight in the whole
Christian army.

What was their delight when their mother assured them,
that the handsome gentleman was their beloved father, of
whom she had so often told them; and in this happy
meeting the hours fled away almost as rapidly as though
they had been moments.

Rosalind learned from her husband's conversation that
he had been coming in all haste, with strong escort, to
convey her from this retreat; but that the steepness of the
roads had compelled him to leave his train behind, and to
hasten forward alone, on foot, in this pilgrim garb, which
he had often used before, in order to see her the sooner, to
satisfy himself by personal inspection that she and her
children were well, and to prepare her for the joyful news.
She now asked how he had discovered her retreat.

"Dearest Rosalind," said he, "this happy reunion is the

fruit of your own charity to the poor, especially to the poor

children of this valley. Had it not been for your kind heart,

we should not have met so soon — perhaps we should

173

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Easter Stories

never have met again, for you were beset on all sides by
our enemies, and might easily have fallen into their hands.
It was not till the arrival of my party in the mountains that
Hanno finally retreated."
He showed her the painted egg with the inscription: —

On God's protecting arm rely;
To Him in all thy sorrows fly 1

"This egg," said he, "was, under God, the means of
reuniting us. For a long time I had been sending number-
less messengers in search of you, but always without suc-
cess. At last Eckbert, one of my squires, whom I had
given up for lost, he had been so long absent, returned
from an expedition. He had fallen into a ravine, and was
on the point of perishing with hunger, when a strange youth
saved his life by giving him a couple of eggs to eat, and gave
him this egg also, with the beautiful inscription, as a sou-
venir of his escape. Eckbert showed me the egg, and what
was my surprise, when at the first glance I discovered your
handwriting ! We instantly set out, and rode to the great
marble works in which the good youth was employed, and
he directed me hither. Had not your kind heart prompted
you to give this little feast of eggs to the children, — had
not your goodness inspired you to think of the wants of the
soul as well as of the body, and to write these pretty rhymes
upon the eggs, — had not you all, you, my dear little Edmund,
and my darling Blanda, been so kind to the strange youth,
we might never have enjoyed this happy day ! I shall have
this egg, therefore, cased in gold and pearls, and hung up
in our castle chapel as an everlasting memorial of the event."

Meanwhile, evening had begun to close, and the stars
173

The Book of Easter

began to appear here and there in the clear heaven. Count
Arno with his lady leaning upon his arm, and the children
tripping before them, came to their humble dwelling. Here
new joys awaited them. The squire and hb deliverer,
Fridolin, were already there, and had told the news to Kuno,
whom the joyous tidings of his master's return had made al-
most well again. The good youth, Fridolin, first advanced
and saluted the lady and her children most joyfully, as old
acquaintances. Next came Eckbert, the squire, who
owed his life to the eggs. "Permit me, dear countess,"
said he, approaching respectfully, "to kiss the hand to
which, under God's guidance, I am indebted for my life!"

The count embraced Kuno as his most trusty servant,
and shook with true gratitude the hand of the honest miller,
who stood by in full holiday costume in hb blue Sunday
coat. They all supped in happiness and contentment.

The next morning the valley was a scene of joyous ex-
citement. The news of the arrival of the lady's husband,
a great, very great lord, set them all in commotion. Big
and little came up to see him; and the little hut was sur-
rounded by the people. The count, with hb wife and chil-
dren, came out and received them all affectionately,
thanking them all for their kindness to his wife and little
ones. "Oh, we are not her benefactors," theyreplied,
with tears in their eyes, "'tis she, ' tis she, who is our greatest
benefactress!" The count talked with them for a long
time,- speaking individually to each, and left them all im-
pressed by his kindness.

Meanwhile the count's train had, with the assistance

of some charcoal-burners, discovered a road into the valley.

Several knights, and a host of retainers on horseback and on

foot, marched, amid the sound of trumpets, between two

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Easter Stories

wooded mountains into the valley, their helmets and lances
glittering in the sunbeams. They saluted their long-lost
mistress with heart-felt joy, and their shouts of triumph
were ree'chocd by the rocks all around.

Count Arno remained for a few days, aud the evening
before his departure, with his wife and children and Kuno
and the rest of his train, he entertained all the inhabitants
of the valley at a feast. The table presented a very
motley appearance with the miller aud charcoal-burners
scattered amid knights and men-at-arms. At the close,
he distributed rich presents among his guests, especially to
the worthy miller; Martha remained in the countess's
service. He provided especially for the mother, brother,
and sister of the good youth Fridolin.

"For you, my dear little friends," said he to the children,
"I shall establish an annual festival in memory of my
wife's stay among such good people. Every Easter, eggs,
of all varieties of color, shall be distributed among the
children."

"And I," said the countess, "will extend this custom
throughout our entire dominions, and order that colored
eggs shall be similarly distributed there, in memory of my
deliverance." And she kept her word: and the eggs were
called Easter Eggs; and this pretty custom, by degrees,
extended throughout the entire country.

From the German of Christofh von Schmid

"P" ASTER Eve of the year 187-.

■^ Night had already fallen upon the silenced world.

The earth, warmed during the day, was now fanned by

The Book of Easter

the sharp breeze of a spring night frost and seemed to be
deeply breathing. This exhalation beneath the rays of
the glimmering, star-speckled firmament created pale
mists, that rose like clouds of incense to meet the coming
holiday.

All was still. The small provincial metropolis of N ,

wrapped in damp chill, was silently waiting for the first stroke
of the cathedral bells. But the town was by no means
asleep. In the dusk, in the shadows of the voiceless and
depopulated streets you could feel a pent-up expectancy.
At times a belated laborer, whom the holiday had all
but overtaken at his hard and thankless task, would run
by homewards; at times, too, a cabman's team would
clatter along; and then again the dumb silence. From
the street life had ebbed indoors, into rich mansions and
into squalid huts, all aglow with lights and there it lay
still. Over field and city, over all the earth the breeze
that blew carried a nameless sound heralding the approach-
ing Sabbath, holiday and rejuvenescence.

The moon had not risen and the city lay darkling on
a broad height upon which stood out a building, large and
gloomy. The peculiar, severe straight lines of the build-
ing were in shadowy outline against the starlit blue; a
black gate barely stood out from the dark mass of the wall,
and four turrets, high and tapering, one at each angle,
were silhouetted against the sky.

On a sudden there broke from the high cathedral belfry
upon the sensitive air of the brooding night the first ring-
ing stroke of the bells, then the second and the third.
Scarcely a moment passed before many bells in many
places, with varying tones, rang out, mingled and sang
strains that blended in a weird harmony and softly rocked
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Easter Stories

and hovered in the ether. From the gloomy building
also, could be heard a thin, cracked, jarring sound that
seemed to tremble in faint hopelessness of rising to the
ethereal heights of the mighty accord.

The ringing ceased. The sounds melted into the air,
but the previous silence of the night came back to its own
only by degrees; for a long time the plaintive, dying echo
wandered through the night like the quivering of an in-
visible string attuned. In the houses the lights went out;
the windows of the churches shone brightiy. The earth
in 187- was once again preparing to voice the old slogan
that conquered the universe — Love and Brotherhood.

Within the black gate of the gloomy building the bolts
rattled. Half a platoon of soldiers, with muskets clank-
ing in the darkness, came forth to relieve the guard. They
marched up to the corners, and at each post stopped for
a moment. From the dark little clump of men a solitary
figure would detach itself and walk off with measured
step; the man relieved would, in tum, become absorbed by
the murky little group. Then the half platoon moved on,
circling round the high prison walls. The sentry who was
to be posted on the western side was a young recruit,
whose country breeding still hung about his clumsy move-
ments. The young face betrayed the keen attention of
the tyro about to hold his first responsible place. He
stopped with his face toward the wall, and clanking his
musket, advanced two steps, faced about, and stood
shoulder to shoulder with the man he was relieving. Turn-
ing his head toward his relief, the sentry on post reciled
to the newcomer in a monotone the stand regulations: —

"From one corner to the other — to watch — not to
sleep, or doze — " the soldier mouthed jerkily, while the

N 177

The Book of Easter

recruit listened with attention, a strange look of anxiety
in his gray eyes.

"Understand?" spoke up the corporal.

"Yes, sirl"

"Well, be careful," sharply; then in milder tones he
added: —

"Fear nothing, Thadieff, you're not a woman to he
afraid of the devil."

"Afraid of the devil?" returned the naive Thadieff;
then, musingly, "something in my heart — a creepy kind
of feeling, bothers — "

At this simple, almost childish, confession, laughter
was heard among the little troop of soldiers.

"Poor little country wife," remarked the corporal with
a kind of pitying contempt. Then, in a more military
voice, he commanded: —

"Carry— arms! March!" The guard, with even tread,
disappeared around a corner and was soon out of earshot.
The new sentry shouldered his musket and quietly paced
the length of the wall. . . .

Inside the prison, as soon as the last stroke of the bell
was heard, all was astir. It was a long time since the
black and sorry night of the prison had seen so much
bustle. It seemed, indeed, as though the holiday had
brought with it a rumor of freedom. One after another
the doors of the cells opened. Men in long, gray, draggle-
tailed cloaks marched two by two in endless files along the
corridors and into the prison church, agleam with lights.
From the right and from the left they came, mounting
the stairs from below, and descending from above.
Through the noise of the tramping feet could be heard
from time to time the rattle of a musket or the clang of

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Easter Stories

fetters. Within the spacious church the gray throng
poured into a compartment separated by a grating of bars
and there became still. The windows of the church
were also protected with strong iron bars. . . .

The prison itself was empty. Only in the four turrets
at the angles, securely locked in, four lonely prisoners were
pacing their round cells like things caged, and every now
and then they would listen at their doors to scraps of song
that reached them from the church.

In one of the common cells, moreover, upon a bench,
lay an invalid. The warden, on hearing of this prisoner's
sudden illness as the others were being marched into
the chapel, entered his cell, bent over him, and looked into
bis eyes that burned with a strange lustre and gazed into
the distance without expression.

"Ivanov! — Listen, Ivanov," the warden addressed him.

The prisoner did not turn his head; he muttered some-
thing incomprehensible; his voice was hoarse and the
feverish lips moved with pain.

"Hospital to-morrow," ordered the warden curtly and
went out, leaving a turnkey at the door of the cell. The
turnkey glanced at the prostrate, feverish figure and shook
his head.

"Eh, Mr. Tramp, but you've tramped your last this
time, sure," he philosophized, and having decided that
there was nothing to keep him there, he walked down
the corridor to the chapel, and behind the closed door
followed the service, kneeling softly at the appointed

The desolate, unguarded cell was filled from time to

time with the mutterings of the invalid. He was not yet

an old man, thb invalid; he was large and well built.

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The Book of Easter

In his rambling talk he lived again his more immediate
past, and his face was distorted with suffering.

Fate had played a queer prank upon this tramp. Over
dangerous Taiga and mountainous wildernesses, braving a
thousand perils, he had walked fully a thousand versts
driven by a burning nostalgia, led on by one hope : " To
see them — a month — a week — to live with the folks
— then the road again for me." Only a hundred versts
from his native village he fell into that prison. . . .

But on a sudden the wild mutterings ceased. The
tramp opened his eyes and breathed more evenly. In his
burning head thoughts of a more soothing kind began to
stir.

The sough of the Taiga.

He recognizes that sound — musical, free. He had
learned to know the voices of the forest, the speech of
every tree. The lofty pine trees tinkle high above with
their dense, dark foliage; the fir trees whisper together
impressively; the bright larch waves with supple branch;
and the aspen quakes and shivers with frightened leafage.
The free birds twitter gayly and the garrulous brook goes
bowling turbulently along through stony gullies and secret
places of the Taiga. A flock of chattering magpies circles
in the air — they always hover over those thickets where
the tramp, hidden by the undergrowth, stealthily makes
his way through the Taiga.

The invalid seemed actually to smell a breath of the
Taiga wind. With a deep sigh he sat up; the eyes gazed
into the distance, but suddenly something like conscious-
ness gleamed in them. The tramp, an habilual fugitive,
saw before him that unusual phenomenon — an open
floor.

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\ Easter Stories

A mighty instinct quivered through his whole fever-
shaken organism. The symptoms of delirium swiftly
disappeared, or else rallied about the solitary image that
penetrated the chaos of his mind like a ray of light — the
open door.

In a minute he was standing up. It seemed as though
all the fire of his inflamed brain swept into the eyes. They
gazed ahead with an intentness set and terrible.

Some one coming out of the prison chapel opened the
door for a moment. Waves of the melodious singing,
softened by distance, struck upon the ears of the tramp
and then were heard no more. A tremor of emotion
passed over his pale face; his eyes grew dim and in his
mind arose a picture long cherished by memory — a
quiet night, the whispering of reverential, dark-boughed
pines about the church of his native village; a crowd of
fellow-villagers, fires burning along the river bank and this
same singing — he must hurry along in order to hear all
among his own people. . . .

All this time the turnkey behind the church door in
the corridor of the prison kneels and prays with all his
heart. . . .

The young recruit, with shouldered musket, is pacing
the length of the wall. The smooth prairie, but lately
denuded of the snow, stretches far into the distance before
the sentry. A light wind rustling dryly through last year's
grass over the steppes forces upon the mind of the sol-
dier a tender, melancholy reflection.

He stopped in his march, stood his musket on the ground,
put his hand on the muzzle, hb head on his hands, and fell
to musing. It was still not quite clear to him just why he
was here with a gun on this solemn night before Easter,

The Book of Easter

between prison wall and the empty prairie land. Indeed,
he was still a good deal of a moujik, not comprehending
much that a soldier ordinarily understands, and it was
not for nothing he was nicknamed "Country." It was
only a little while ago that he had been free, lord and
master of his own field, of his own work. But now a
nameless, indefinable dread dogged his very footsteps
at every moment, and drove the angular peasant nature
into the strict routine of the service.

But for the moment he was alone. The empty land-
scape spreading before him and the cry of the wind in
the prairie grass brought upon him a strange drowsiness,
and before his eyes floated pictures of home. He too sees
a village; there also the wind blows; fires burn about the
church and dark pines wave their green tops above it.

At times he starts, and then his gray eyes seem per-
plexed; what's this? The prairie, a gun, the wall. Reality
comes back to him for a moment, but soon the melancholy
whistle of the night wind again conjures up domestic
scenes and again the soldier is dozing as he leans upon
his gun. . . .

Not far from where stands the sentry a dark object
rises on the crest of the well; it is a human head. . . .
The tramp gazes over the broad steppe to the scarce-
discernible outline of the distant forest. . . . His chest
expands as he inhales eagerly the free, fresh breath of
mother-night. Hanging by the hands, he softly and noise-
lessly drops from the wall.

The jubilant sound of bells again wakes the nocturnal
stillness. The door of the prison chapel opens and the
Easter procession moves solemnly through the courtyard.
A wave of harmonious song breaks from the chapel.

Easter Stories

The sentry wakes with a start, straightens up, takes off
his cap to cross himself and — with his hand uplifted in
prayer he is suddenly frozen with horror. . . . The tramp,
upon reaching the ground, made a dash into the dry grass
of the steppe.

"Standi Stand, my fine fellow," cried the terror-stricken
sentry, raising his musket. All that he feared, all the
nameless dread that had possessed him, returned at the
sight of the fleeing figure in gray.

"Give the password!" flitted through the mind of the
.soldier, and taking aim at the fugitive, he cocked his eye
with a piteous grimace and fired. . . .

Over the city the harmonious peals again hover and circle
melodiously in the ether. The cracked bell of the prison
church again quakes and struggles like a slain bird in its
deathagony! From behind the walls float the first rhyth-
mic sounds of the solemn chant, "Christ is Risen."

But on a sudden all else is drowned by a musket shot
outside the wall. . . .

A weak, helpless groan is followed by a plaintive sob,
and then for the time all is still. . . .

But the far echo of the vacant steppes repeated with
dismal murmuring the last reverberations of the gun-
shot. ...

Vladimir Korolenko
Translated and abridged by Henry James Foeman

From The Bookman, March, 1905. By permission.

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The Book of Easter

The Ballad of Judas Iscariot -^> *^> "a-

" I "was the body of Judas Iscariot

*■ Lay in the Field of Blood;

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Beside the body stood.

The breath of the world came and went
Like a sick man's in rest;

Drop by drop on the world's eyes
The dews fell cool and blest.

Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
That made a gentle moan —

"I will bury underneath the ground
My flesh and blood and bone,

"I will bury them deep beneath the soil.
Lest mortals look thereon;

And when the wolf and raven come,
The body will be gonel"

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,
So grim, and gaunt, and gray,

Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.

Half he watk'd, and half he seem'd

Lifted on the cold wind;
He did not turn, for chilly hands

Were pushing from behind.

The first place he came unto,
It was the open wold,
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Easter Stories

And underneath were prickly whins,
And a wind that blew so cold.

The next place that he came unto,

It was a stagnant pool,
And when he threw the body in,

It floated light as wool.

The third place that he journeyed to

It was the Brig of Dread,
And the great torrents rushing down

Were deep, and swift, and red.

He dared not fling the body in

For fear of faces dim,
And arras were waved in the wild water

To thrust it back to him.

For days and nights he wander'd on,

All thro' the Wood of Woe,
And the nights went by like moaning wind,

And the days like drifting snow.

For months and years, in grief and (ears,

He walk'd the silent night;
Then the soul of Judas Iscariot

Perceived a far-off light.

And the soul of Judas Iscariot

Crawl'd to the distant gleam;
And the mists came down, and the rain was blown
Against him with a scream.
■8S

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The Book of Easter

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,

Strange, and sad, and tall,
Stood all alone at dead of night

Before a lighted hall.

The shadows of the wedding guests

Did strangely come and go,
And the body of Judas Iscariot

Lay stretched along the snow.

The Bridegroom in His robe of white

Sat at the table-head.
"Oh, who is he that moans without?"

The blessed Bridegroom said.

And one look'd forth from the lighted hall,

And answer' d fierce and low,
" 'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot

Gliding to and fro."

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot

Did hush itself and stand,
And saw the Bridegroom at the door

With a light in His hand.

The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And He was clad in white,

And far within the Lord's Supper
Was spread so broad and bright.

The Bridegroom shaded His eyes and look'd,
And His face was bright to see —

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"What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper
With thy body's sins?" said He.

And the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stood there black, and bare —

"I have wandered many nights and days;
There is no light elsewhere."

But the wedding guests cried out within,

And their eyes were fierce and bright —

"Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot
Away into the night 1"

The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And He waved hands still and slow,

And the third time that He waved His hands
The air was thick with snow.

And of every flake of falling snow,

Before it touch'd the ground,
There came a dove, and a thousand doves

Made ever a sweet sound.

And the body of Judas Iscariot

Floated away full fleet,
And the wings of the doves that bare it off

Were like its winding sheet

'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,

And beckoned, smiling sweet;
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot

Stole in, and fell at His feet.

Robert Buchanan

The Book of Easter

The Easter Vision -^> -^s- -*a- o -^ -^>

CIGHT he had, but not vision. The things about
Vw ' him stood out with the utmost distinctness; every
line was sharply defined, every feature and shape distinctly
lined. So accustomed was he to entire accuracy of per-
ception, to perfect exactness of knowledge, that he was im-
patient of any blur in another's sight, any uncertainty in
another's report or account of things. Confidence in his
own judgment had become second nature with him;
he acted as one who could make no mistakes. And this
was the impression others received from him. All men spoke
of his clearness of judgment; of the vigor and decision of
his nature; of the weight and authority of his character.
He was, in a word, the master of his world.

But it was significant that while men went to him for
advice in all practical matters, no man ever sought his
counsel in any moral confusion or uncertainty; no man
struggling to his feet from the mire in which he had slipped
ever turned to him for help; no man compassed about with
sorrow and in the presence of the supreme experiences
of life ever so much as thought of him. Exact, trust-
worthy, keen, truthful, the man of clear sight touched
his fellows only in the world of things; when the fortunes
of the soul were in the balance, he neither saw nor felt
nor understood.

To him all these intangible interests were as if they
were not. He managed his acres with perfect judgment,
but he could not see the landscape which enveloped them;
he saw the little section of the world in which he worked,
but the universe was invisible to him. In his sight men
were born, grew into childhood and youth, passed on into

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:y GoOglc

Easter Stories

manhood, did their, work, died and vanished from sight,
and that was the end. He saw the outlines of their char-
acter with marvellous clearness; he knew where they were
efficient and where they were weak; he judged with ex-
actness of their value for practical service; but of their
inner experience, of their spiritual struggles, of the forces
and conflicts which give character its equality and life
its meaning, he knew nothing. He was a master of the
knowledge of things, but no ray of that wisdom which
gives a man understanding of life ever penetrated the
central darkness of his mind. He had sight, but he was
without vision.

Now, all the wealth of this man's nature was lavished
on one whom he loved not blindly but instinctively — with
the passion of the heart which gropes after those things
that it needs without knowing that it needs them. In this
woman's eyes the man who loved her saw, without seeing,
the reflection of that heaven which was beyond his sight;
and in her nature he felt, without understanding, the play
and stir of those spiritual impulses and forces which slowly
fashion in a mortal frame an immortal spirit; and in her
life he was aware of a wealth of tenderness, of devotion,
of self -surrender, which he could neither measure nor
compute. And she became as his own soul; for she was
vision to him, and in her the mystery and blessedness of
life was present though never revealed.

This woman died, and the man's heart broke within him,
and the world of sight lay in ruins about him; for he saw
nothing save the beautiful garment which the spirit had
laid aside; and that, too, was put out of his sight. He
was in a prison of hopeless misery; and many tried to
speak to him, but he could not understand them for the

The Book of Easter

thickness of the walls which surrounded him; and many
strove to release him; but he could not be freed, for he had
locked the great doors from within.

In the darkness the man no longer saw the old familiar
things, and became as one blind — groping for the ac-
customed places of rest and finding them not, for the sweet
ways and usages of love and missing them. His out-
stretched hands touched nothing, and his passionate
longings returned upon themselves and turned to deepest
pain; and in his solitude and desolation nothing abode
with him save memory.

For a time he was as one dead, but one dear memory
kept companionship with him; and in the silence and
darkness one image was always in his thought. As the
days went by, that image seemed to fill his soul, and grew
more real, and touched the hidden springs of life within
him, and his heart grew tender under the spell of the great
love with which he lived alone in a night in which the
earth seemed to have vanished,

As his love deepened, a glimmer of hope began to suffuse
the night, like a faint radiance from a light beyond the
horizon, and delicate tendrils began to climb out of his
heart toward that light; and there came a breath of some-
thing surpassingly sweet, like a fragrance from invisible
gardens.

And the spirit of the man softened and stirred, and he
lifted his face, and the dim outlines of a new world-slowly
disclosed themselves. As he looked with wonder and awe
and the yearning of a child stretching out his hands toward
the light, this world became more distinct, and spread
around him in a beauty such as he had never dreamed of
before. There were familiar objects in that world, but
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Easter Stories

they were no longer hard and rigid; the outlines were lost
in vaster designs and were tender with new and deeper
meanings; the familiar acres were folded in a vaster land-
scape, whose far horizons seemed to recede into luminous
dbtances suffused with a light that streamed from the
heart of things, and enveloped them in a splendor and
beauty which broke out of them like a mighty flood of life.

The man went abroad once more with the heart of a child
and looked up to the heavens that had grown infinitely
tender and benignant, and across the landscape that glowed
and bloomed about his feet; for love had unsealed his
eyes, and the power of sight had passed on into vision.
And as he walked he was not alone, for one walked beside
him whose presence was peace and whose companionship
brought faith and trust and rest. The perishing world
which he had once seen had widened to become the im-
perishable world which love builded in the far beginning,
and which love enriches and enlarges and makes more
beautiful with the coming of every soul that enters into
it through the gates of birth and of death, for both are the
gates of life.

And as he looked, behold, the places where the dead lay
were blossoming fields; for all the reach and being of the
universe there was no death. Through all things streamed
the mighty tides of life, and in the range of his vision the
barren places broke into bloom, and far as his eager
spirit travelled there were the stirrings and strivings of
tender and delicate and mysterious things growing in
strength and beauty. And there was no more night; for
in the darkness, as in the light, infinite love watched and
waited and cherished all things in- its immortal hands;
and nothing was forgotten or lost. And he saw the uni-

101

The Book of Easter

verse traversed by a countless host to whom sight had be-
come vision ; full of the repose of a great freedom and
the deep joys of perfect strength fitted to imperishable ends.
And in that multitude he became aware of those who had
laid aside all care and sorrow and entered into the fulness
of life; and one moved near him — no longer a memory,
but a visible presence — who had vanished in the darkness
of his great sorrow; who had gone out of his sight to live
henceforth stainless, radiant, and immortal in his vision;
no longer hidden behind the veil which she had worn in
the days before the revelation, but shining without blur
or dimness or shadow upon the beauty of her unclouded
spirit. And after all the years of his love he knew that
for the first time he saw her as she was.

And the air was soft about him, and the fragrance of
the early flowers was borne to him; and like a far music
he heard the bells of Easter ringing above the churchyard.
Hamilton W. Mabie in The Life of the Spirit

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V
GOLDEN TRUMPETS

.CoOylc

:y GoOglc

A GUSH of bird-song, a patter of dew,
^*- A cloud and a rainbow's warning;
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue, —
An April day in the morning !

Harriet Prescott Spofford

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Easter Music ^ ^ "^ ^* ■^ "^ ■^
Jonquils
3LOW, golden trumpets, sweet and clear,
Blow soft upon the perfumed air;
Bid the sad earth to join your song,
"To Christ does victory belong/"

Oh, let the wind3 your message bear
To every heart of grief and care ;
Sound through the world the joyful lay,
"Our Christ has conquered Death to-day/"

On cloudy wings let glad words fly
Through the soft blue of echoing sky;
Ring out, O trumpets, sweet and clear,
"Through Death immortal Life is here!"

Margaret Deland

in The Old Garden
Copyright, 1887, Houghton Mifflin Company.

Surprise

/~\ LITTLE bulb, uncouth,

*"* Ragged and rusty brown,

Have you some dew of youth?

Have you a rusty gown?

Plant me and see

What I shall be, —

God's fine surprise

Before your eyesl

O fuzzy ugliness,

Poor, helpless, crawling worm,
Can any loveliness

Be in that sluggish form?
'97

DinijsobvGoOgk

The Book of Easter

Hide me and see
What I shall be, —
God's bright surprise
Before your eyes !

A body wearing out,

A crumbling house of clay 1
O agony of doubt

And darkness and dismay!
Trust God and see
What I shall be, —
His best surprise
Before your eyes !

Maitbie D. Babcock
Copyright, 1901, Charles Scribner' s Sons

A Violet <C <i, -^ <i, <y O -O

/^*0D does not send us strange flowers every year;
*~* When the spring winds blow o'er the pleasant places,
The same dear things lift up the same fair faces —
The violet is here.

It all comes back, the odor, grace, and hue,
Each sweet relation of its life repeated;
Nothing is lost, no looking for is cheated,
It is the thing we knew.

So after the death-winter it will be;
God will not put strange sights in heavenly places;
The old love will look out from the old faces, —
Veilchen, I shall have thee.

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney
Copyright, 187S, Houghton Mifflin Company
198

: ,«„G00gIc

Golden Trumpets

An Easter Lily o -s- *^> *=>• -<a- -c

\ FTER long months of slumber brown and sere,
**■ It dreams that April's smile is bending near,
And stirs, and from its withered covering slips;
Lifts a few leaves in the benignant light,
Then flowers, a soaring ecstasy of white,
Like a pure soul breathed upward to God's lips.

Charles G. D. Roberts

Blessing the Fields "^- ^> ^ -c* ^»

The Roman Ambarvaim
TT was the day of the "little" or private Ambarvalia
*■ celebrated by a single family for the welfare of all
belonging to it, as the great college of the Arval Brothers
officiated at Rome in the interest of the whole state. At
the appointed time all work ceases; the instruments of
labor lie untouched, hung with wreaths of flowers, while
masters and servants together go in solemn procession along
the dry paths of vineyard and com-field, conducting the
victims whose blood is presently to be shed for the puri-
fication from all natural or supernatural taint of the lands
they have "gone about." The. old Latin words of the
liturgy, to be said as the procession moved along, though
their precise meaning had long since become unintelligible,
were recited from an ancient illuminated roll, kept in a
painted chest in the hall, together with the family records.
Early on that day the girls of the farm had been busy in
the great portico filling large baskets with flowers plucked
short from branches of apple and cherry, then in spacious
bloom, to strew before the quaint images of the gods —
199

The Book of Easter

Ceres and Bacchus and the yet more mysterious Dea Dia
— as they passed through the fields, carried in their little
houses on the shoulders of white-dad youths, who were
understood to proceed to this office in perfect temperance,
as pure in soul and body as the air they breathed in the
firm weather of that early summer-time. The clean
lustral water and the full incense-box were carried after
them. The altars were gay with garlands of wool and the
more sumptuous sort of blossom and green herbs to be
thrown into the sacrificial fire, fresh gathered this morn-
ing from a particular plot in the old garden, set apart
for the purpose. Just then the young leaves were almost
as fragrant as Sowers, and the scent of the bean-fields
mingled pleasantly with the cloud of incense. But for the
monotonous intonation of the liturgy by the priests, clad
in their strange, stiff, antique vestments, and bearing ears
of green corn upon their heads, secured by flowing bands
of white, the procession moved in absolute stillness, all
persons, even the children, abstaining from speech after
utterance of the pontifical formula, Favete Unguis! —
Silence! Propitious Silence! lest any words save those
proper to the occasion should hinder the religious efficacy
of the rite. . . .

The names of that great populace of "little gods,"
dear to the Roman home, which the pontiffs had placed on
the sacred list of the Indigitamenla, to be invoked, because
they can help, on special occasions, were not forgotten
in the long litany — Vatican who causes the infant to
utter his first cry, Fabuiinus who prompts his first word,
Cuba who keeps him quiet in his cot, Domiduca, especially,
for whom Marius had through life a particular memory
and devotion, the goddess who watches over one's safe

Golden Trumpets

coming home. The urns of the dead in the family chapel
received their due service. They also were now become
something divine, a goodly company of friendly and
protecting spirits, encamped about the place of their
former abode — above all otheis, the father dead ten years
before, of whom, remembering but a tall grave figure
above him in childhood, Marius habitually thought as a
genius a little cold and severe.

Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi,
Sub pedibusque videt nubes et siderea. —

Perhaps 1 — but certainly needs his altar here below,
and garlands to-day upon hb urn. But the dead genii
were satisfied with little — a few violets, a cake dipped in
wine, or a morsel of honeycomb. Daily, from the time
when his childish footsteps were still uncertain, had
Marius taken them their portion of the family meal, at
the second course, amidst the silence of the company.
They loved those who brought them their sustenance;
but, deprived of these services, would be heard wandering
through the house, crying sorrowfully in the stillness of
the night.

And those simple gifts, like other objects as trivial —
bread, oil, wine, milk — had regained for him, by then-
use in such religious service, that poetic, and as it were
moral significance, which surely belongs to all the means
of daily life, could we but break through the veil of our
familiarity with things by no means vulgar in themselves.
A hymn followed, while the whole assembly stood with
veiled faces. The fire rose up readily from the altars,
in a dean, bright flame — a favorable omen, making it
a duty to render the mirth of the evening complete. Old

The Book of Easter

wine was poured out freely for the servants at supper in
the great kitchen, where they had worked in the imperfect
lights through the long evenings of winter. The young
Marius himself took but a very sober part in the noisy
feasting. A devout, regretful after-taste of what had been
really beautiful in the ritual he had accomplished took
him early away, that he might the better recall in revery
all the circumstances of the celebration of the day. As
he sank into a sleep, pleasant with all the influences of
long hours in the open air, he seemed still to be moving
in procession through the fields, with a kind of pleasurable
awe. That feeling was still upon him as he awoke amid
the beating of violent rain on the shutters, in the first storm
of the season. The thunder which startled him from sleep
seemed to make the solitude of his chamber almost pain-
fully complete, as if the nearness of those angry clouds
shut him up in a close place alone in the world. Then
he thought of the sort of protection which that day's cere-
monies assured. To procure an agreement with the gods
— Pacem decorum exposcere: that was the meaning of
what they had all day been busy upon. In a faith, sincere
but half-suspicious, he would fain have those Powers
at least not against him. His own nearer household
gods were all around his bed. The spell of his religion
as a part of the very essence of home, its intimacy, its
dignity and security, was forcible at that moment; only it
seemed to involve certain heavy demands upon him.
Walter Pater

in Marius the Epicurean

Google

The Feast of Rogations in France

THE Feast of Rogations is the name given by the
Roman Catholic Church to public processions and
prayers which take place during the three days preceding
the Feast of the Ascension, in order to obtain the blessing
of God on all the produce of the earth, grains, fruits, etc.,
that they may be protected from the disastrous blights
of frost, hail, flood, fires or pillage. The word Rogation
is derived from the Latin rogare — to pray or ask.

The Catholic Rogations offer so much analogy to the
ambarvalia of the ancient Romans, that among religious
critics several have seen, in the institution of this feast, but
a simple concession to popular tastes and traditions.
The masses seemed to regret the time when, in honor of
Ceres, they followed their priests in long processions
through the fields, and the necessity to restore this feast
under another name was recognized. The first promoter
of the Feast of Rogations in France appears to have been
Saint Mamert, Bishop of Vienne, Dauphiny, in 474. The
feast was soon adopted by several neighboring churches,
and in 511 a Council of Orleans ordained that the Feast
of Rogations should be generally observed throughout
France. It is scarcely celebrated anywhere in France
at the present day, but up to the early eighties of last
century celebrations were still conducted with great
fervor in lower Normandy, Brittany, and certain provinces
of middle France. During the three days preceding
Ascension, before sunrise, the clergy of each parish, fol-
lowed by a great number of the assembled faithful, would
203

The Book of Easter

leave their respective churches, and walk in procession,
across country, to another church, often at a considerable
distance. Psalms and litanies interspersed with priestly
benedictions were chanted on the way, and a hymn was
sung in unison at the central meeting point of the two
congregations. The most worldly of early morning
travellers, who heard from all sides these human voices
crossing from one point to another on a vast field or plain,
singing the same hymn with the same religious sentiment,
could not fail to be impressed and forced to feel that there
was something mystically great in such concerted action
by a multitude of people united in a similar religious
ceremony. After a short service in the neighboring church,
and before the return homeward, a picnic- breakfast from
provisions brought for the purpose was partaken of, with
cider or other liquid refreshment obtained in the visited
village, the greatest enthusiasm, friendliness, and happiness
prevailing on all sides.

Neither the Greek nor other Eastern Christians ever
celebrated the Feast of the Rogations. In England a
council held at Cleveshoo in 747 proscribed the celebra-
tion of Rogations secundum morem priorum nostrorum.
But vestiges of the celebration remain in certain country
places, where it is customary for the authorities during
one of the three days preceding Ascension to make the
rounds, or "beat the boundaries" of the parish. This,
however, is nothing but a municipal parade, which no
longer has any religious character.

Transcribed from French sources with
personal recollections by C. L.-S.

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Golden Trumpets

Blessing the Fields in Italy ■<> ^> *=>• -^>-

TN a way the church is responsible for the preserva-
■*■ t ion of many relics of the ancient world, for the Roman
priesthood has always appropriated from the past all that
it could; and in this they thought to show much wisdom,
thus to wean the people gradually from their paganism;
but it is extremely doubtful whether they have ever wholly
succeeded. The modem Italian mother still carries her
sick child to the little circular church at the foot of the
Palatine, just as the Roman mothers in this very temple
used to invoke the great Twin Brethren. It is now San
Toto, to whom they pray, as St. Theodore is familiarly
called, and the priest comes with ."bell and book and
candle" to chase away the evil. They may neglect to
give the child medical aid, but the visit to San Toto is
never missed. Early on Thursday or on Sunday morn-
ing the curious may see the ceremony, and witness the
faith of the people. At all other times the little temple is
closed, which sets the imagination working, and surrounds
the place with a mysterious charm.

Again, the priest is sought for an exorciser of spirits
by every householder at Easter time. Holy Week is
dedicated to the blessing of the houses within the town,
and after Easter comes the turn for the farms and country
bouses. It is a ceremony as old as old Rome itself.
Our priest here is kept very busy those days, and often
has a long walk to the boundaries of his parish. From
our eyrie we see him start off along the dusty road, carry-
ing his yellow stole and white cotta on his arm, while the
two small acolytes run beside him, swinging the silver
holy-water stoup and asperges in their race.
205

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The Book of Easter

The peasants receive him with a great show of joy, and
take him into all the rooms which they wish to be
blessed. There has been a great commotion and cleaning
up, "because the priest is coming" — indeed, it is their
spring cleaning. As the priest comes downstairs and
stands upon the threshing-floor, the massaia brings him
an offering of eggs, and if she can afford it, drops a few
copper coins into the holy-water stoup. At the end of
the day he has so many eggs that he has to send them to
the market. The Prevosto is always very pleased to come
and chase away the devils out of the Foftezzo ; the people
jeer a little as he puts on his best cotta and stole, but our
own opinion is that it is as much the variety in his daily
round as the extra donation which appeals to him. Our
small offering, being of paper, cannot be dropped into
the holy water, and while I am placing it in the envelope
the good father looks the other way; then as we shake
hands we pretend that an envelope is all part of hand-
shaking, but really we each know that the other
knows.

He is a simple person with a round, good-natured face,
a portly figure, and clean hands. While he blesses our
blossoming roof-top, he stops to look at everything, and
remarks how the roses have grown since last year.

"Now, let us go and bless the young cypresses," he says,
"and on the way we must not forget the cistern nor the
window-boxes and the seeds."

"Then there is the new potato patch," interrupts Fer-

"GH, gia," he answers, "you are right. And, Signora,
you are going to photograph us again this year, nort t

■"Google

Golden Trumpets

The conversation is kept up as a running accompani-
ment of the showering of holy water and the murmuring
of prayers. Then he catches his cotta in a rose —

"Perbacco," cries the Prevosto, as he looks at the tear

On the Rogation days the priest is called upon to pro-
tect the fields and the vineyards and the olive groves, and,
with the blessing of the Roman Church, to foster the spirit
of vegetation. Mr. Warde Fowler says that the priest of
to-day does much what the Fratres Aruales did in the
infancy of Rome when they led the procession of victims
through the fields, driven by the garlanded crowd, carry-
ing olive branches and chanting.

Fortunate is he who witnesses the scene at Assisi on
a clear and sunny morning, when everything seems young
except the piazza of San Rufino — that bore a look of
age and pain when it was built. After the procession
through the narrow streets and into the open country, all
return with song and prayer to this little brown piazza
of the cathedral, where the blessing with the sacrament
is given to the kneeling crowd. Then the arch-priest,
in yellow cope beneath a baldachin of old gold, carrying
on high the pyx, and the canons in purple capes trimmed
with fur, and the members of confraternities with crimson
and yellow tippets, all file into the cathedral beneath
the doorway of sculptured griffins, gargoyles, and strange
birds and beasts, and their voices grow faint to those in
the piazza.

Lina Duff Gordon

in Home Life in Italy

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u 1

The Book of Easter

The Eternal Spring -^s- *a. <* <2« "=s

THE birds their quire apply; sirs, vernal airs,
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune
The trembling leaves, while universal Pan,
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,
Lead on the eternal Spring.

John Milton

An Easter Love-Song *=> "a- "a- -^> -^

(He sings)
\EAREST, it is the Easter-time,

The love-time of the year,
And every little bird in rhyme ■

Is telling far and near
His passion to his listening mate . . .

Shall I alone, then, fear?
Nay . . . when the salmon-berry shows

Its crimson, veiny bells,
And when the shad-bush whitely blows

In lonely forest dells,
May I not tell my love in rhyme,

As his the robin tells?

When up the full veins of the pine

The saps push lustily,
And blossoms star the twinflower vine

Around each mossy tree,
And wandering silver sea-birds mate

In hollows of the sea;

When the last fluffy snowbird goes
The way that winter went,

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Golden Trumpets

And the thorn is scarlet on the rose,

And the willow's silver spent,
And here and there and everywhere

Is blown the violet's scent,

Then happy may I courage take,

By love and hope made strong,
And pray thee, dearest, to awake.

When the night is sweet and long,
And whitely from thy casement lean,
To hear my trembling song.
Ella Higginson

from The Voice of April Land

The Spring Chorus "=>• *o -cy *&- o -^

T 1 THEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,

* V The mother of months in meadow or plain
Fills the shadows and windy places

With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ;
And the brown bright nightingale amorous
Is half assuaged for Itylus,
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,

The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.

Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,

Maiden most perfect, lady of light,
With a noise of winds and many rivers,

With a clamor of waters, and with might;
Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet,
Over the splendor and speed of thy feet;
For the faint east quickens, and the wan west shivers,

Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night.
p 209

The Book of Easter

Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her,
Fold our hands round her knees, and cling?

O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her,
Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring !

For the stars and the winds are unto her

As raiment, as sons of the harp-player;

For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her,

And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing.

For winter's rains and ruins are over,

And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,

The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

A. C. Swinburne

in Atalanta in Calydon

April

O 1

H ! to be in England now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England — nowl

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows;

Golden Trumpets

Hark! where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge
Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's edge —
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when moontide wakes anew.
The buttercups, the little children's dower,
Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning

Little Boy Blue «s- «cv -<=>■ -a- -^- <a.

T ITTLE Boy Blue, come blow up your horn,
■'- J Summon the day of deliverance in;

We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn,

As we yearn for the home that we never shall win;

For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin,

And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong!

Ah ! when shall the song of the ransomed begin?
The world is grown weary with waiting so long.

Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave,

There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes:
Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave

As the skylark sings to those infinite skies!
This world is a dream, say the old and the wise,

And its rainbows arise o'er the false and the true
But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs, —

Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue!

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The Book of Easter

Little Boy Blue, if the child- heart knows,

Sound but a note as a little one may;
And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose,

And the Healer shall wipe all tears away;
Little Boy Blue, we are all astray,

The sheep's in the meadow, the cows in the corn.
Ah, set the world right, as a little one may;

Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn!
Alfred Noyes

in The Flower of Old Japan

An Old-fashioned Spring *^> *o -^> -^>
T HEAR a good deal about an old-fashioned winter, but
not often of an old-fashioned spring; yet the latter
was more unique than the former. It began in the January
thaw, when we not unfrequeatly had a warm spell of three
weeks during which the plough was put into the uplands —
these were openings in the solid forest, and on three
sides the beech trees stood unbroken. The few acres of
cleared land made a sunny sward that dried very easily,
but it was pretty well filled with stumps, and occasionally
a charred shaft standing twenty or thirty feet high. While
the plough was at work, we boys were kindling fires in the
stumps, which we gradually reduced to fertilizing ashes.
Harmless snakes would run out, thrusting their tongues
at us. So it was that plot after plot of virgin forest be-
came meadow or corn land ; and there was a deal of sweet-
ness in this simple pioneer preparation for crowding civili-
zation. We came for the most part from Connecticut,
and we had Connecticut ways and notions to the brim ;
but we were full of poetry, too. Our work was always

Golden Trumpets

with two things, worship and play. My father's custom
was to quit his work an hour before sunset, that he might
spend the time with us studying the little things of nature,
over the knolls and among the trees.

Hardly was the January thaw well over when it was time
to bring out the spiles and tap the maple trees. We did
not have far to go, for the forests came close down to our
homes and hugged us under their shelter. The spiles
were made of elder, with the pith pushed out, and one
end sharpened to drive into the tree. The holes were
bored with a half-inch auger, two of them about six inches
apart and three feet from the ground. Under the ends
of the spiles were placed all sorts of pans and kettles until
there were hardly enough pans in the house to hold the
milk. Three times every day these were emptied into
pails and carried to the big iron kettles that hung over the
fire down in the hollow. There was not a match in our
world in 1&30; we had to light our fires with coals from
the kitchen stove carried between two pieces of curled
bark. Often we had to run hard to keep the coals from
going out before we could get them to the woods. Oc-
casionally we boys would stop to blow them, and some-
times we had a stumble that sent us back on our errand.
Ah 1 but that was fun, when we handed the coals to father,
and he, with nice woodcraft, placed them among the
splinters of dry hemlock or bits of sumac wood and blew
till they crackled among the twigs. Soon the fire was burn-
ing and eating up great sticks of maple and logs of beech
that were skilfully piled under and around the two kettles.

The first kettle took the fresh sap as it was brought in
the pails. This was constantly skimmed of bits of wood
and leaves, until it was fairly clean. The second kettle

The Book of Easter

took the thickening syrup; and this must be carefully
watched lest it boil over. As soon as thick enough, the
syrup was carried to the house to be cleansed, and still
further boiled until it was brought to the sugar grain.
At all stages, I assure you that boiling maple syrup has
a delight peculiar to itself, for it must constantly be sampled
— and that is what boys were made for.

Overhead the woodpeckers tapped as busily as folk
below; and the yellow-bellied sort did it for the same
purpose — he liked sweet sap. . . .

The robins were looked for about the fifth of March, and
the bluebirds a few days earlier. I still wonder that
the robin was then so great a favorite, because no other
bird did so much to prevent us from getting a crop of
cherries and berries. I think it was because he was the
harbinger of warmer weather.

But to me the flight of the bees and butterflies was even
more welcome than that of the birds. My father kept
one hundred hives of bees, a few of them in the old cone-
shaped straw hives. When it was warm enough for a quick
run of sap, the bees would take a flight for health as well
as food, and not a few would be tempted to fly over the
snowbanks and never get back. They came to the maple
grove where they sucked chips and buzzed their happiness.

About the first of April was the time for bonne-fires.
AH around the horizon they spoke out to each other just
as the daylight deepened into dusk. Old and young
shouted and worked together from seven until nine, and
the waste, which had been raked from lawns and gardens,
was flung upon the burning piles. The whole air was
instinct with life. Even the smoke itself was humorous,
for it chased us about, no matter which way the wind blew.
314

Golden Trumpets

It is not easy in spring to get rid of the notion that every-
thing is happy — that the air and the brown earth and the
leafing trees and the grass, and the bonne-fires themselves
are rejoicing together because spring has come. Spring
is life — new life — and it throbs through all Nature.
E. P. Powell

Reprinted from the Independent by permission

Spring *-^> "£>■ ^> "^" *^> "^> ^> ^>

MOW fades the last long streak of snow,

* ™ Now bourgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick

By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drowned in yonder living blue

The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail

On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the sea-mew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky

To build and brood, that live their lives

From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,

And buds and blossoms like the rest.

Alfred Tennyson

The Book of Easter

In Springtide -cy -^v <*. ^^ -<^- o -cs<

'T'HIS is the hour, the day,
*• The time, the season sweet.
Quick! listen, laggard feet,
Brook not delay:
Love flies, youth pauses, May tide will not last;
Forth, forth while yet 'tis time, before the spring is past.

The summer's glories shine

From all her garden ground,
With lilies prankt around,
And roses fine;
But the pink blooms or white upon the bursting trees,
Primrose and violet sweet, what charm has June like these?

This is the time of song.

From many a joyous throat,
Mute all the dull year long,
Soars love's clear note:
Summer is dumb, and faint with dust and heat;
This is the mirthful time when every sound is sweet.

Fair day of larger light,

Life's own appointed hour,
Young souls bud forth in white —
The world's a-flower.
Thrill, youthful heart; soar upward, limpid voice:
g time is come — rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!

Lewis Morris

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Golden Trumpets

The Easter Robin -^ o "=- "=> o

A SWEET legend of the Greek Church tells us that
-^*- "Our Lord used to feed the robins round his mother's
door, when a boy; moreover, that the robin never left
the sepulchre till the Resurrection, and, at the Ascension,
joined in the angels' song."

Another popular story, however, relates that when
Christ was on His way to Calvary toiling beneath the
burden of the cross, the robin, in its kindness, plucked
a thorn from the crown that oppressed His brow, and
the blood of the divine martyr dyed the breast of the
bird, which ever since has borne the insignia of its char-
ity. A variant of the same legend makes the thorn
wound the bird itself and its own blood dye its breast.
Alexander F. Chamberlain

A Song of Waking ^> ■*£> "S> <2- -^

'"T'HE maple buds are red, are red,
*• The robin's call is sweet;
The blue sky floats above thy head,

The violets kiss thy feet.
The sun paints emeralds on the spray,

And sapphires on the lake;
A million wings unfold to-day,

A million flowers awake.

Their starry cups the cowslips lift

To catch the golden light,
And like a spirit fresh from shrift
' The cherry tree is white.
217

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The innocent looks up with eyes

That know no deeper shade
Than falls from wings of butterflies

Too fair to make afraid.

With long green raiment blown and wet.

The willows hand in hand
Lean low to teach the rivulet

What trees may understand
Of murmurous tune and idle dance,

With broken rhymes whose flow
A poet's ear can catch, perchance,

A score of miles below.

Across the sky to fairy realm

There sails a cloud-born ship;
A wind sprite standeth at the helm,

With laughter on his lips;
The melting masts are tipped with gold,

The 'broidered pennons stream;
The vessel beareth in her hold

The lading of a dream.

It is the hour to rend thy chains,

The blossom time of souls;
Yield all the rest to cares and pains,

To-day delight controls.
Gird on thy glory and thy pride,

For growth is of the sun;
Expand thy wings what'er betide,

The summer is begun.

Katharine Lee Bates

Golden Trumpets

What will the Violets be? "=* ^> "Q" "=»

'\XTHAT will the violets be
* * There in the Spring of springs?
What will the bird-song be

Where the very tree-bough sings?
What will their Easter be

Where never are dead to mourn,
But brightly the faces ask,

"O, when will the rest be bom?"

Brighter the Easter shines

On the faces here below,
That they are behind the flowers,

The heart of the living glow.
Beautiful secret, wait 1

Shall know in the Spring of springs
What the violets will be.

William C. Gannett
in The Thought of God
By permission of the Author

Green Things Growing ■& ^ ^ ^ ■?>

, the green things growing, the green things grow-

OP.'

The faint, sweet smell of the green things growing!

I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,

Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.

Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things

growing!
How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;

The Book of Easter

In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight

Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.

I love, I love thein so, — my green things growing !
And I think that they love me, without false showing;
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.
Dinah Maria Mcxock

"Is Life Worth Living?" <*■ ^ -^ -c>
TS life worth living? Yes, so long
■*- As spring revives the year,

And hails us with the cuckoo's song

To show that she is here;
So long as May of April takes,

In smiles and tears, farewell,
And wind-flowers dapple all the brakes,

And primroses the dell;
While children in the woodlands yet

Adorn their little laps
With lady-smock and violet

And daisy-chain their caps;
While over orchard daffodils

Cloud shadows float and fleet,
And ouzel pipes and laverock trills,

And young lambs buck and bleat;
So long as that which bursts the bud

And swells and tunes the rill.
Makes springtime in the maiden's blood,

Life is worth living still

Alfred Austin

Golden Trumpets

The Spring Call -^> -^> o *^> -^> •

F\OWN Wessex way, when spring's a-shine,
U The blackbird's "pret-ty de-urr!"
In Wessex accents marked as mine
Is heard afar and near.

He flutes it strong, as if in song;

No R's of feebler tone
Than his appear in "pretty dear,"

Have blackbirds ever known.

Yet they pipe "prattie deerh! " I glean,

Beneath a Scottish sky,
And "pehty de-aw!" amid the treen

Of Middlesex or nigh.

While some folk say — perhaps in play —

Who know the Irish isle,
*Tis "purrity dare!" in treeland there

When songsters would beguile.

Well: I'll say what the listening birds

Say, hearing "pret-ty de-urrl"
However strangers sound such words,

That's how we sound them here.

Yes, in this clime at pairing time,

As soon as eyes can see her
At dawn of day, the proper way

To call is "pret-ty de-urr!"

Thomas Hardy

The Book of Easter

Robin's Come <*■ -"C* -^ -^ ^> *a

"C"ROM the elm-tree's topmost bough,
■*■ Hark! the robin's early song!
Telling one and all that now

Merry springtime hastes along;
Welcome tidings dost thou bring,
Little harbinger of spring;
Robin's come !

Of the winter we are weary,

Weary of the frost and snow,
Longing for the sunshine cheery,

And the brooklet's gurgling flow;
Gladly, then, we hear thee sing
The reveille of the spring,
Robin's come!

Ring it out o'er hill and plain,

Through the garden's lonely bowers,

Till the green leaves dance again,
Till the air is sweet with flowers !

Wake the cowslips by the rill.

Wake the yellow daffodil !
Robin's come !

Then, as thou wert wont of yore,

Build thy nest and rear thy young

Close beside our cottage door,

In the woodbine leaves among;

Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear,

Nothing rude shall venture near.

William W. Caldwell

Golden Trumpets

An Apple Orchard in the Spring -^> "=v "=>
TTAVE you seen an apple orchard in the spring?
■*■■*■ In the spring?

An English apple orchard in the spring?
When the spreading trees are hoary
With their wealth of promised glory,
And the mavis sings its story,
In the spring.

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring?

In the spring?
And caught their subtle odors in the spring?
Pink buds pouting at the light,
Crumpled petals baby-white,
Just to touch them a delight —
In the spring.

Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring?

In the spring?
Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring?
When the pink cascades are falling,
And the silver brooklets brawling,
And the cuckoo bird soft calling,
In the spring.
If you have not, then you know not, in the spring,

In the spring,
Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring,
No sweet sight can I remember
Half so precious, half so tender,
As the apple blossoms render
In the spring.

William Martin

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Song from "Pippa Passes"

*T"HE year's at the spring
■*■ And day's at the morn:
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His heaven —
All's right with the world I

Robert Browning

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VI
AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST!

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A WAKE, thou that sleepest I and arise from the dead,
** and Christ shall give thee light.
For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first-
fruits of them that sleep.
Wherefore, reckon ye yourselves to be dead unto sin, but

alive unto God, through Jesus Christ.
For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first-
fruits of them that sleep.

An Easter Anthem

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" Their Eyes were Opened " -^. ■*=>■ <=>•

iND behold, two of the disciples were going that

an:

L very day to a village named Emmaus, which was
threescore furlongs from Jerusalem. And they com-
muned with each other of all these things which had
happened. And it came to pass, while they communed
and questioned together, that Jesus himself drew near,
and went with them. But their eyes were holden that
they should not know him. And he said unto them,
"What communications are these that ye have one with
another, as ye walk? " And they stood still, looking sad.
And one of them, named Cleopas, answering said unto
him, "Dost thou alone sojourn in Jerusalem and not
know the things which are come to pass there in these
days?" And he said unto them, "What things?" And
they said unto him, "The things concerning Jesus of
Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and
word before God and all the people: and how the chief
priests and our rulers delivered him up to be condemned
to death, and crucified him. But we hoped that it was
he which should redeem Israel. Yea and beside all this,
it is now the third day since these things came to pass.
Moreover certain women of our company amazed us,
having been early at the tomb; and when they found
not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen
a vision of angels, which said that he was alive. And
certain of them that were with us went to the tomb, and
found it even so as the women had said: but him they
saw not." And he said unto them, "O foolish men, and
slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have
spoken 1 Behoved it not the Christ to suffer these
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The Book of Easter

things, and to enter into his glory?" And beginning
from Moses and from all the prophets, he interpreted to
them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.
And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they were
going: and he made as though he would go further.
And they constrained him, saying, "Abide with us: for
it is toward evening, and the day is now far spent."
And he went in to abide with them. And it came to
pass, when he sat down with them to meat, he took
bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.
And their eyes were opened, and they knew him: and
he vanished out of their sight. And they said one to
another, " Was not our heart burning within us, while he
spake to us in the way, while he opened to us the scrip-
tures?" And they rose up that very hour, and re-
turned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered
together, and them that were with them, saying, "The
Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon."
And they rehearsed the things that happened in the way,
and how he was known of them in the breaking of the
bread.

And as they spake these things, he himself stood in the
midst of them, and saith unto them, "Peace be unto
you." But they were terrified and affrighted, and sup-
posed that they beheld a spirit. And he said unto
them, "Why are ye troubled ? and wherefore do reason-
ings arise in your heart ? See my hands and my feet,
that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for the spirit
hath not flesh and bones, as ye behold me having."
And when he had said this, he shewed them his hands and
his feet. And while they still disbelieved for joy, and
wondered, he said unto them, "Have ye here anything
230

Awake, Thou That Sleepest !

to eat?" And they gave him a piece of a broiled fish.
And he took it, and did eat before them.

And he said unto them, "These are my words which
I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, how that all
things must needs be fulfilled, which are written in the
law of Moses, and the prophets, and the psalms, con-
cerning me." Then opened he their mind, that they
might understand the scriptures; and he said unto them:
"Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer, and
rise again from the dead the third day; and that repent-
ance and remission of sins should be preached in his
name unto all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
Ye are witnesses of these things. And behold, I send
forth the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye
in the city, until ye be clothed with power from on high."

And he led them out until they were over against
Bethany; and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them.
And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he parted
from them, and was carried up into heaven. And they
worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great
joy: and were continually in the temple, blessing God.
From the Gospel of St. Luke

The Life Abundant ■*> *a* -c» <*■ -C*

DUT, indeed, what Christ brought into the world
*-^ was not so much new truth as fresh life — not so
much ethical principles and precepts unknown before,
as an enlarged capacity of moral obedience and growth,
ft is this which raises Christ above the level of the teacher,
and gives Him His claim to be called, however you may
define the word, the Saviour of the world. . . . One

The Book of Easter

of those deep sayings which seem to me to show that the
author of the Fourth Gospel had access to a genuine fund
of Christian traditions, which but for him would have
perished, is "I am come that they may have life, and
may have it more abundantly." And this I accept as an
authoritative description of Christ's mission. But if it b
so accepted, I must go on to point out that the possession
of life must be taken as the proof of contact and com-
munion with Christ ; that the qualifications for standing in
the line of Christian affiliation are not intellectual, but moral
and spiritual; and that it ought to be impossible to deny
the name of Christian to any who acknowledge Christ as
their Master, and can show any genuine likeness to Him.
This test might unchurch some loudly professing believers;
it would admit many heretics to the fold; but it would
at last gather in from diverse communions the pure, the
self-Forgetting, and the brave, and would make Christianity
as wide a thing as Christendom.

The Hibbert Lectures, 1883

Consolation o ■s*- O -^ -^ ^ "=>

X \ THEN some beloved voice that was to you
v * Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong disease and new —
What hope? what help? what music will undo
That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sign,
Not reason's subtle count; not melody
Of viols, nor of pipes that famous blew;
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,
Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees

Awake, Thou That Sleepest!

To the clear moon ; nor yet the spheric laws
Self-chanted, nor the angels' sweet all hails,
Melt in the smile of God: nay, none of these.
Speak THOU, availing Christ ! — and fill this pause.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Immortality o "^ "C* ^ "^ "^ ■cv
"C"OIL'D by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
-*■ We leave the brutal world to take its way.

And, Patience! in another life, we say,
The world shall be thrust down, and we up-bome.

And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn

The world's poor routed leavings? or will they,
Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day,

Support the fervors of the heavenly morn?

No, no ! the energy of life may be

Kept on after the grave, but not begun;

And he who flagg'd not in earthly strife,

From strength to strength advancing — only he,

His soul well-knit, and all his battles won,

Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.

Matthew Arnold

Angels to Be -o ^ -c> -c* -^s- <y -o

TOW sweet it were if, without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful, beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air
At evening in our room, and bend on ours
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
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News of dear friends, and children, who have never
Been dead indeed, — as we shall know forever.
Alas! we think not what we daily see
About our hearths, — angels that are to be,
Or may be if they will, and we prepare
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air, —
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.

Leigh Hunt

T^VERY day is a new beginning,

*—' Every mom is the world made new;

Ye who are weary of sorrow and sinning,

Here is a beautiful hope for you —

A hope for me and a hope for you.

All the past things are past and over,

The tasks are done and the tears are shed;

Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover,

Yesterday's wounds which smarted and bled
Are healed with the healing which night has shed.

Yesterday now is part of forever,

Bound up in a sheaf, which God holds tight,

With glad days, and sad days, and bad days which never
Shall visit. us more with their bloom and blight,
Their fulness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

Let them go, since we cannot relieve them.
Cannot undo and cannot atone ;

■ --Google

Awake, Thou That Sleepest !

God, in His mercy receive, forgive them;
Only the new days are our own,
To-day is ours, and to-day alone.

Here are the skies all burnished brightly,
Here is the spent earth, all reborn;

Here are the tired limbs, springing lightly

To face the sun and to share with the mom
In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.

Every day is a fresh beginning;

Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,

And spite of old sorrow and older sinning,
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.

Susan Coolidge

Sweet Day, so Cool and Bright *cy *^
CWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
*-* The bridal of the earth and aky:
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is even in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,

A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

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The Book of Easter

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like a season' d timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

George Herbert, j

The Central Truth of Paul's Gospel -s> -=* -o
' I *HE great distinction between the writings of Paul and
"• the other New Testament scriptures, is that, to Paul,
(he Gospel was a system of religious thought, based upon a
religious experience, a definite Christian philosophy, as
well as a way of Christian living. There is a unity charac-
teristic of system, an interrelation of parts due to the work-
ing of a logical mind. Paul is essentially a preacher, but he
is a preacher with a very definite theology at his back.
He is a teacher with the richest spiritual experience, but the
material has not been merely collected, it has been scien-
tifically arranged. The revelation he has received is from
the Lord, but it has passed through his mind, bears the
impress of his owo thought, has been constructed into the
system. Paul was a theologian, it is true, but he was a
theologian as the result of being a Christian, not a Christian
as the result of being a theologian. . . .

The foundation of Paul's Gospel upon which he reared,
first for himself, and then for the Church, his system of
theology, is the resurrection of Jesus, of which he became
assured on the road to Damascus. As he insists in his
letter to the Corinthians, — If Christ has not been raised,
then his whole faith is vain, he is still where he was in his
old Jewish days, under the condemnation of the Law,
and as the subject of a terrible delusion, he is most to be
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Awake, Thou That Sleepest!

pitied. It cannot be too strongly emphasized that it was
a fact and not a theory, experience and not argument,
which revolutionized his thought. He had been im-
pressed by the argument of Stephen, his logical mind
had acknowledged the slips by wiiich Stephen was draw-
ing him to the inevitable conclusion that Jesus was the
Messiah, but it was a fact, terrible and impossible to
avoid, namely, the cross of Jesus, which barred his further
progress. It needed therefore another and equally certain
fact, the resurrection of the crucified Jesus, to remove out
of his way the great stumbling-block. The appearance on
the Damascus road supplied hiro with that fact. He either
did see Jesus, or he firmly believed that he had seen him.
It was either fact or fancy. Now if it were a fact, it
would satisfactorily explain and account for the change
which passed over him, because it provided him with the
very same basis for his faith which the other apostles had,
and would set the death of Jesus, his great stumbling-block,
in an entirely different light. He would at least be able to
contemplate that event from a different standpoint, and it
would no longer present the impossible conclusion from
which his mind had revolted. But to be capable of pro-
ducing this effect, it must be as real and actual a fact as
the crucifixion. He must be as much convinced of the
reality of the one as of the other. If
theology we find it was wholly based c
that the Jesus who had been crucified had also been
raised from the dead, and he asserts with the strongest
possible emphasis, that if Christ has not been raised Judaism
has not been superseded.

We have to ask ourselves whether such a character as

that of Saul, with such a conception of the supreme im-

237

The Book of Easter

portance of the resurrection, would have parted with the
Judaism in which he had been brought up, and which was
built into the very texture of his being, unless he had satis-
fied himself that the resurrection of Christ was indubitable
fact and not mere fancy. No one has ever appreciated
the significance of that event more than Paul. To no one
could its reality have been of more vital importance. The
Opposition to what in these days we call the scientific Spirit,
which a belief in the resurrection of Jesus is supposed to
present, is more than matched by the opposition which
the death and resurrection of Jesus presented to the mind
of the Pharisee Saul. The event was one which he had
exceptional opportunities of examining, and his prejudices
against the whole conception would more than atone
for any lack of that scientific training for the examination
of such an event which would satisfy modern demands.
He was undoubtedly fully acquainted with all the Jewish
authorities could advance against the assertion of the dis-
ciples, and he had no doubt fully accepted their version of
what had taken place. It is of course always open for any
one to assert that the wish to believe is productive of the
belief. The point, however, is that we have not the slight-
est ground for supposing that Paul had any such wish, but
on the contrary we know he had the strongest reasons for
the opposite.

The resurrection of Jesus is not only Paul's starting-
point, its reality is the foundation of his Christian expe-
rience of the exalted Christ. He not only saw Him on the
road to Damascus, he was conscious of the permanent
influence of Christ upon his life. He had fellowship with
Christ.

Bernard Lucas in The Fifth Gospel
238

Awake, Thou That Steepest!

"The Great Companion is Dead" -o- -a- -£>•

"\/0U are familiar with the pathetic confession of
■*■ Professor Clifford, whose life was so brilliant yet so
tragic — "The heavens are now empty, the earth soulless,
and the Great Companion dead." Overmastered by the
spirit he had invoked, carried away by deeply subtle diffi-
culties of which simpler ages and simpler lives are ignorant,
all that he knew and felt was that for him the world had
lost its wonder and bloom, life its freshness and charm;
that he was spiritually desolate, alone in the universe,
unloved and uncared for save by his kind — for "the Great
Companion is dead." Yet to doubt God is not to lose God:
the Heavenly Father was near, we may be sure, to that
troubled soul in its gloom as He was to the Cross when the
cry came out of its darkness, "Why hasrThou forsaken
Me?" But one often thinks that if some clear and unde-
niable voice could call across the world, "The Great Com-
panion is dead," there are many people here and every-
where, within as well as without the churches, in whose
lives such a tremendous announcement would not and
could not make much practical difference, so little, alas I so
little, is God to them.

To forget God is the temptation which besets every one
of us. He with whom we have to do is always near us, yet
it is only now and then that we remember Him, have any
real impression of His being and glory, any vital and vivid
apprehension of His Presence, of what He is to us and of
what we owe to Him. A conviction which ought to equal
in force that which we possess of our own existence is
often dim and faint, ready to fade away and perish. As a
consequence we do not see our actions in relation to God and
3 39

The Book of Easter

fail to discern the tightness or the wrongness which they
derive from that relation. Not till this conviction is re-
stored to us in its freshness and strength, not till we live
remembering God, will our life be what it ought to be.
John Hunter

in Dt Profundis Claruavi

The Hope of Death -a- -a- -a- -<a- -o

•"FHEY are all gone into a world of light,
■*■ And I alone sit lingering here !
Their very memory is fair and bright.
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast

Like stars upon some gloomy grove.
Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed

After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory

Whose light doth trample on my days —

My days, which are at the best but dull and gory.
Mere glimmerings and decays.

O holy Hope, and high Humility 1

High as the heavens above.
These are your walks, and ye have showed them me,

To kindle my 'cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just !

Shining nowhere but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark !
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Awake, Thou That Sleepesi!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,

At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair field or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when men doth sleep.

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peepl

Henry Vaoghan

Easter Day ■*"> ■^ ^> ^* "^ ^

T LIVE, you see,

*■ Go through the world, try, prove, reject,

Prefer, still struggling to effect

My warfare; happy that I can

Be crossed and thwarted as a man,

Not left in God's contempt apart,

With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart,

Tame in earth's paddock as her prize.

Thank God, she still each method tries

To catch me, who may yet escape,

She knows, — the fiend in angel's shape!

Thank God, no paradise stands barred
To entry, and I find it hard
To be a Christian, as I said !
Still every now and then my head
Raised glad, sinks mournful — all grows drear
Spite of the sunshine, while I fear
And think, "How dreadful to be grudged
No ease henceforth, as one that's judged.
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Condemned to earth forever, shut
From Heaven!"
But Easter Day breaks 1 But
Christ rises ! Mercy every way
Is infinite, — and who can say?

Robert Browning

Easter Morning <&■ "^ -^ "a- -^>- *s.

A/TOST glorious Lord of life, that on this day

■L'l Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin,

And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away

Captivity thence captive, us to win;

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,

And grant that we, for whom Thou didest die.

Being with Thy dear blood clean washed from sin,

May live forever in felicity:

And that Thy love we weighing worthily

May likewise love Thee for the same again:

And for Thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,

With love may one another entertain.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought;

Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

Edmund Spenser

The Awakening o "a- "^v '^ o -^>

T WILL take heart again; the spring
*- Comes over Sehome hill,
And like tall, splintered spears of gold

The firs stand, soft and still;
Happily in its moist, brown throat

Chatters a loosened rill.
242

, ,..,.Cooy[e

Awake, Thou That Sleepestt

Below, across the violet sea,

With glistening, restless wings,

The sea-birds cleave the purple air
In white and endless rings;

Somewhere, within an open space,
One of God's own larks sings.

The warm breath of the waking earth
Carls up from myriad lips,

And who has loved and lost now drinks
In deep and trembling lips,

With memory's passionate pulse astir
From heart to finger-tips.

The ferns lift delicate veiny palm3

In dimples of the hills,
The spendthrift hyacinth's perfume

Along the pure air spills;
There is a breathing, faint and far,

From the dark throats of the mills.

The spider flings a glittering thread
From dewy blade to blade,

A robin drops on bended wing,
Near me, yet unafraid;

The early frosts have taken rout
Before the red sun's raid.

Behold, the earth is glad again,

And she has taken heart,
And in her swelling, fruitful breast,

God's own love-flowers start.
(Lord, may I not take courage, too?

I and my old self part?)
243

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The Book of Easter

Yea, when the birds grow dumb again

With pure delights that thrill
Their rapt and innocent souls, till they

Have not desire or will
For song, or sun, or any thing

But passion deep and still,

I will go into the dim wood

And lie prone on the sod,
My breast close to the warm earth-breast,

Prostrate, alone with God,
Of all his poor and useless ones,

The poorest, useless clod;

And I will pray {so earnestly

He cannot help but hear) :
"Lord, Lord, let me take heart again,

Let my faith shine white and clear,
Let me awaken with the earth,
And leave my old self here 1 "

Ella Higginson
in When the Birds go North Again

An Easter Message -^y <^ ^> <^ -^

CET aside, if you have ever had it, the notion that im-
^ mortal or eternal life is something to come by and by,
after you have died and risen again from the dead. Under-
stand that immortality is a present possession. You are
immortal or you never will be. Then consider what are
the laws of this spiritual life, this immortal life, this eternal
life, compliance with which is necessary to the maintenance
of it. First of all, you must desire it. It must be an object
244

Awake, Thou That Sleepest! ■

of controlling desire. "Blessed are they that hunger and
thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled," but they
must hunger and thirst. The second condition of the spir-
itual life is seeking it from Him who is the reservoir of life.
That is, it is prayer; for prayer is not primarily asking
for God's things, it is receiving life from God. Spirit with
spirit can meet, says Tennyson. Prayer assumes that spirit
with spirit can meet. Come to God that you may find
strength, health, comfort, inspiration. Some of you will say,
First I must know there is a God before I can pray. You are
wrong. First you must pray that you may know that there
is a God. You must live before you can believe. If you
would have a right to the tree of life, if you would have the
right to know that there is a tree of life, you must seek this
immortal life here, and seek it from the God who is here, and
seek it through the channels that He opens for you. Live
here and now the immortal life; and then if youare mistaken
and there is no life after the grave, still you will have been
immortal. We must have the immortal life here and now
if we would have a rational hope to have it hereafter. This
is my Easter morning message to you.
Lyman Abbott in a sermon preached at Cornell University
on an Easter Sunday

■\17HEN in the starry gloom
" " They sought the Lord Christ's tomb,
Two angels stood in sight
All dressed in burning white
Who unto the women said:
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"
245

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The Book of Easter

His life, hU hope, his heart,

With death they had no part;

For this those words of scorn

First beard that holy mora,

When the waiting angels said :

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

ye of this latter day,

Who journey the selfsame way —

Through morning's twilight gloom

Back to the shadowy tomb —

To you, as to them, was it said:

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

The Lord is risen indeed,

He is here for your love, for your need —

Not in the grave, nor the sky,

But here where men live and die;

And true the word that was said:

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

Wherever are tears and sighs,

Wherever are children's eyes,

Where man calls man his brother,

And loves as himself another,

Christ lives! The angels said:

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

Rktuaku Watson Gildes

By permission of Houghton Miffin Company.

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The Book of Christmas

With an Introduction by HAMILTON W. MABIE and
Drawings by GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS.

12 full-page drawings and 12 half-tone reproductions

of fa m us paintings.

Cloth, ibmo, decorated cover, $r.2j nit
" 'The Book of Christmas ' is one of the happiest anthologies
we have met in a long time. Such a book, as Mr. Mabie
sees it in his inspiring introduction, should be a 'text-book
of piety, friendship, merriment,' and that is what he has
made his dainty little volume, giving us more than three
hundred pages of prose and verse drawn from the widest
sources, from old writers who are classics and from others,
who, if not of the same eminence, have at all events pat
the spirit of Christmas into their work with feeling and art.
A number of picturesque illustrations and decorations, as
well as a charming title-page, have been drawn for tbe
volume by Mr. George Wharton Edwards, and there are
also included some reproductions in half-tone from pictures
from old and modern painters. In its pretty cover of green
and gold, the book is one to win its way anywhere. " —
Niw York Tribune.

"The large hospitality, the warm-hearted generosity, the
effort at joy, inspired by the season, all would make it a
custom worth observing, even though deep religious fervor
were not connected with its observance. All this glowing
sentiment, expressive of what is best in the human heart,
and formulated in the best form known in English literature
from Ben Jonson to Dickens, Milton and Jacob Riis,
Luther and James Russell Lowell, are embodied in this
little book, which stands a symposium of the highest human
expression on the subject." — Philadelphia Ledger.

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London's Lure

An Anthology in Prose 2nd Verse
By HELEN and LEWIS MELVILLE

A selection of whit poets and prose writers hive said about
the great metropolis — that capita! of all Europe which has
for moat Americans the closest attraction and the most last-
ing charm. Curious out-of-the-way places and equally
curious out-of-the-way people are tacked away in some
parts of the book, while elsewhere, Westminster Abbey,
St. Paul's Cathedral, and other of tbe more renowned parts
of the city come in for their share of treatment. Every
section of London is here and all the different viewpoints
from which it has been regarded, as well. The authors
selected range from Herrick, Shelley, Lamb, and Hazlitt
to Hood, Dickens, Thackeray, and Wilde.

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This book takes up New York in much the same way that
London was discussed in " London's Lure." A few pages
from old books of travel and correspondence show how the
city changed in aspect through the years. Then follow
more or less impressionistic pictures of different phases of
the modern city, from the yeasty, seething East Side, west
to where old Greenwich grimly holds its own; from the
" granite cliffs " of lower Broadway to where by nigbt " the
serpent of stars " winds around Momingside.

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The Ladies' Pageant

Bv E. v. LUCAS

"An unusual collection of poetry and prose in comment upon
the varying aspects of the feminine form and nature, wherein is
set forth for the delectation of man what great writers from
Chaucer to Ruskin have said about the eternal feminine. The
result is a decidedly companionable volume." — Town and

" To possess this book is to fill your apartment— your lonely
farm parlor or litde 'flat' drawing-room in which few sit —
with the rustle of silks and the swish of lawns; to comfort your
ear with seemly wit and musical laughter; and to remind you
how sweet an essence ascends from the womanly heart to (he
high altar of the Maker of Women." — Tht Chicago Tribtmt.

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Some Friends of Mine * rally o* men

By E. V. LUCAS
At test the sterner sex is to hare its literary dues. In this
little volume Mr. Lucas has essayed to do for men what he did
for the heroines of life and poetry and fiction in 'The Ladies'
Pageant.' No other editor has si
character, and this volume is as r

"Mr. Lucas does not compile.
assemble a quantity of rough mate

and then to fashion out of it a fabric stamped with his own per-
sonality. ... He makes a little book in which old poems and
bits of old prose take on a new character, through being placed
in a relation to one another determined by Mr. Lucas' peculiar
fancy. ... He will always be sure of an appreciative public"
— 1\t Nm York TKfotnt.

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deft a hand for

work of this

ch a fund of am

. of the author hi

ive been.

What he does,

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1 the classics,

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The Gentlest Art

A Chalet of Letters by Entertaining Hands
Edited by E. V. LUCAS

An anthology of letter-writing so human, interesting, and amus-
ing from first to tail, as almost to inspire one to attempt the
restoration of the lost art.

I, either." — The New York
Times.

" The author has made his selections with admirable care. We
do not miss a single old favorite. He has given us all that is
best in letter-writing, and the classification under such heads as
'Children and Grandfathers,' 'The Familiar Manner,' 'The
Grand Style,' ' Humorists and Oddities ' is everything that can
be desired." — The Argonaut.

" Letters of news and of gossip, of polite nonsense, of humor
and pathos, of friendship, of quiet reflection, stately letters in
the grand manner, and naive letters by obscure and ignorant
folk?'

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The Friendly Craft

Edited by ELIZABETH D. HANSCOM

In this volume the author has done for American letters what
Mr. Lucas did for English in " The Gentlest Art"
" ... An unusual anthology. A collection of American letters,
some of them written in the Colonial period and some of them
yesterday; all of them particularly human; many of them
charmingly easy and conversational, as pleasant, bookish friends
talk in a fortunate hour. The editor of this collection has an
unerring taste for literary quality and a sense of humor which
shows itself in prankish headlines. ... It is a great favor to
the public to bring together in Just this informal way the delight-
ful letters of our two centuries of history." — The Independent.
" There should be a copy of this delightful book in the collec-
tion of every lover of that which is choice in literature." — The
Item York Times.

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