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Christmas Chronicles 3.8 - Anna the Racer
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Christmas Chronicles 3.8 - Anna the Racer
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- [00:01]
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- [00:44]
Narrator/Radio Host
Classical 89 KBYU FM presents the Christmas Chronicles an exclusive dramatic reading written by Tim Slover. This eight part series captures the magic and mystery of everyone's favorite yuletide character, revealing a true and complete history of Santa Claus. In episode one, While searching for Christmas pine boughs, our storyteller came across a curious volume. That green book revealed itself as an account of the true identity of Santa Claus. Its author was the court historian Professor Dunstan Wyatt.
- [01:17]
Storyteller/Professor Dunstan Wyatt
I read it all night in my study. I fell asleep around dawn after I finished it. When I woke up, I intended to stumble into the bedroom to tell my wife all about what had happened and show her the book. But the book was gone. In its place was a note. We needed this back, it said, but don't worry, you'll remember every word. Yours sincerely, Dunstan.
- [01:44]
Narrator/Radio Host
Episode two is performed by Richard Johnstone.
- [01:49]
Storyteller/Professor Dunstan Wyatt
The Green Book, written from original sources and interviews by Professor Dunstan Wyatt ES Court historian Castle Noel Now Klaus the Carpenter, the man whom legend calls Santa Claus, was born simply Klaus. He was the first and only child of a skilled carpenter and his good wife, both of whom, I'm sorry to say, died when the Black Death came to their village at the foot of Mount Feldburg in the Black Forest in 1343. Little Klaus, barely out of babyhood then, had no other family and so he was adopted by the Worshipful Guild of Foresters, Carpenters and Woodworkers. It was very unusual for the guild to adopt a child, but Klaus father had been a much loved member and so they did it.
- [02:49]
Of course, the masters of the guild were extremely preoccupied with their work of making ploughs and hawsers and clock gears. Many, many things were made of wood in those days, and they really did not have the time to rear Klaus. So mostly they didn't. They gave him plenty of food, which he liked very much. They gave him old carpenter's tools instead of toys, and they gave him genial, distracted pats on the head whenever he came within range. Benign neglect. It was a Very satisfactory arrangement. It is not surprising that Klaus became a very fine worker of wood. He had the best carvers and joiners and carpenters to watch and learn from, though they didn't actually notice they were teaching him. What was surprising, even alarming, to some in the guild was that by the age of 17 he had quietly surpassed them all. The piece he made to prove that he deserved the title master, his masterpiece was an exceptionally lovely chair. It was expertly joined, intricately and richly carved and inlaid with all 14 hard woods that grew on Mount Feldburg. It was immediately adopted by the guild as the new governor's chair. Klaus was given his master woodworker's badge, a gold pine tree toasted with ale, and slapped on the back for congratulations. We must have raised you well, Klaus, the master said, though we confess we didn't notice. You must have, said Klaus, and laughed. And all the guild members present at his pinning ceremony joined in. And that was not surprising, because of the three extraordinary features of Claus extraordinary laugh. First, it was exceptionally loud and deep, even when he was a boy, coming from the very roots of his soul. Second, it was completely untainted by any sort of meanness. Klaus never laughed at anyone, always with them. And third, it tended to make whoever heard it start laughing too. So of course, everyone laughed now.
- [05:11]
Almost everyone. There was one member who did not laugh. His name was Rolf Eckhoff, and he was as thin and hard as an iron spike, with white blond hair and a pursed mouth which looked as if it could never laugh. And though he was a competent woodsman, which, with commissions enough for common items, he had been trying and failing to become a master for six years now. This laughing, carefree boy had done it on his first try, the youngest master in the history of the guild. But he is just a boy, Rolf Eckhorff sneered. Yes, he is our boy, the masters replied proudly. And they laughed and toasted and. And congratulated themselves all over again.
- [06:00]
Rolf Eckhoff looked on Klaus masterpiece and knew he could never make such a beautiful, clever thing. And that knowledge filled him with jealousy and hatred. But he was the sort of man who could wait to take revenge. For now he said nothing further. But he did not slap Claus back. He did not toast him with Alex. And certainly he did not laugh. Klaus did not notice. And if he had, he would not have comprehended. His nature was open and magnanimous. If ever Jupiter predominated in a personality, it did in his. Claus was, in every sense of the word, Jov.
- [06:48]
And so Klaus built himself a small cottage on the hill above the village and set up on his own as a carpenter and joiner, and especially wood carver. It was soon well known that if you wanted something special, a stool with legs carved to look like those of a bear, or a bridal bed with a headboard inlaid with scenes from the Black Forest, you went to Klaus. And so he prospered. He grew, never tall, but deep chested and very strong, and his hair and beard, when it came in, were the color of a fox's pelt.
- [07:25]
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- [07:53]
Storyteller/Professor Dunstan Wyatt
But during the summer, when Klaus was 20, something happened which made him stop his fancy carving. The Black Death returned to his village.
- [08:07]
It did not tarry at his cottage, but many another house was visited. The villagers tasted death all that summer and fall and into the winter. Not until the midwinter wind blew down the lanes and snows covered thatch and stone did the Black Death walk on and leave the village in peace. As it happened. And this is one of those quirks a historian finds hard to explain. It never returned, but it had turned the village into a Swiss cheese with holes. In most families here, a father was taken, and no one else in the household even sickened there. All but one died, a child of three, leaving her to be adopted by a childless aunt. Indeed, all the 27 children who lost parents in that terrible year found homes of some sort, and none wandered alone. That is how the village was. Many went to become replacement sisters or brothers, daughters or sons to those who had lost them all. This Klaus saw, and a new idea occurred to him. It did not make him laugh, for it was not a time for laughing, but a smile creased his ruddy face and a sparkle came into his hazel ey.
- [09:33]
The next morning he put all his tools into a large flour sack, flung it over his shoulders, and whistled his way down the hill from his cottage. At the very first house, he came to a small place under a great larch tree. He knocked on the door. A sad eyed woman holding a baby on her hip answered. Dame Grusher said. Klaus, what have you lost? Dame Grusher bit her lip. I have lost my Jacob, she said. He took her small hands in his red calloused ones. I cannot help that, he said. But he let go of her hands and heaved his great sack down onto the cold ground in front of her door. It opened and she could see the tools inside. What have you lost that these can mend? I have no table. We burned it because Father Goswin thought it was plague tainted. Let's go inside and measure, said Klaus. For the next months, Klaus scarcely saw his own cottage. He spent all his days in the houses of the village, making and mending, or going to the forest for wood and hauling it. Back, door to door he went, and he asked always the same question, what have you lost? And heard the same heart wringing answers. I've lost my Johann, my Gretchen, my little Arnulf, all my children, my old father. Everyone but me. What could he say to such losses? Only that he was sorry. But what could he do for those who are suffering a little, he thought. And he did it.
- [11:25]
He made chairs and butter churns and many tables, for many had been burnt like Dame Grusha's after the sick and dying had lain on them. Soon all in the village were familiar with the sight of the strong young man with flaming red hair and bearded coming and going, his sack of tools slung over his back. And all knew his question by heart. What have you lost that I can help? He did not think to charge money for his labours. But he ate and slept wherever he worked, and despite their grief, or perhaps in relief of it, the villagers liked to tease him for his hearty appetite. You'll grow fat if you keep eating like that, they jested. So be it, Klaus answered back. If that's the price I must pay for this good goose, then I say, so be it. And though he didn't laugh because it wasn't a time yet for laughter, he would smile. And the villagers loved to see his smile in this time of mourning, because they knew it sprang from a heart that wanted only to do them good. It was simple. Klaus knew what to do, and the doing of it made him happy. And all the villagers looked out for him. And as he stumped down the lanes and across the fields with his sack of tools and took a measure of comfort from him.
- [12:47]
But one in the village did not. He charges nothing for his labors. Rolf Eckhorff complained to the governor of the Worshipful Guild of Foresters, Carpenters and Woodworkers, and nothing for materials. And this at a time when good business practice dictates we should set our prices higher, because of the demand. You must do something else. He'll ruin us all.
- [13:14]
But the governor only fixed Rolf Eckhoff with a baleful eye. For shame, he said. And indeed, Rolf Eckhoff felt a hot streak of shame run through him. And this too, he blamed on Klaus. But remember, he was the sort of man who could wait to take his revenge. Klaus knew nothing of this. Instead, he brooded on another problem. There were 52 surviving children in the village under Mount Feldburg, and Klaus knew them all. Because he had made and mended in virtually every house. The Black Death had bit deeper into their lives than into those of the grown ups. Because they had lived fewer years, they were sadder and quieter than children ought to be.
- [14:05]
And this wrung Klaus heart.
- [14:10]
Perhaps if they had something to do, he thought, for doing is what had helped to mend his heart. So he engaged as many as he could in his labours, teaching them simple woodworking skills. And this, Rolf Eckhorff would have said, had he known of it, was completely contrary to guild laws. And when a child grew too quiet and stared out into nothing for too long, and Klaus knew she was thinking of a lost mother or brother, he would say to her, will you go down to the mill stream and cut rushes with me? We need them for the Linda's new roof. He could not mend their losses, but. But he could teach them to help. And the helping, he knew, would go a measure to healing them. And so, in this way, many of the children grew to be really quite useful in bringing the village back to life. And children who did not at first help saw that those who did were happier, and that grown ups treated them with the respect accorded to all who help, young or old. And so they began to help too. And then even those who did no work at all claimed they did. And so everyone was included. And the houses went up and spirits lifted, and the golden days of September saw a better harvest than anyone had expected. And that is when Klaus had a truly sensational, momentous idea.
- [15:39]
It seemed to come up from his toes and fill his body inch by inch, upward, inch, until it came right up into his throat. And he laughed out loud. The first anyone had laughed. For months and months.
- [15:56]
He laughed.
- [16:01]
And those who heard that laugh, which was most of the village because of its tremendous volume, stopped their raking or bread making, or sprang up from where they had been dozing in the afternoon sun, and smiled. And in that moment, though they were ever sad for their losses, the Black Death well and truly left the hearts of Those who lived in the village under Mount Feldburg.
- [16:30]
Klaus kept his sensational idea quiet, but the villagers noticed that he did not go out of his house nearly so much as October gave way to November, and when the snow began to fly in December, Klaus loaded his large flour sack, the very one he had packed his tools around town in, and made his way to the fine stone church in the middle of the village to see the parish priest, Father Goswin.
- [16:58]
I'm not sure that I entirely understand, said Father Goswin, when Claus took an object from the sack and showed him it was a carved wooden bear with legs that really moved. It's a toy, klaus said proudly. I have 53. Not all bears, of course. He rummaged around in his sack filled with the toys he had been making, almost without stopping to sleep or eat for the past two months. Look at this one. I've made 15 of these. He put into Father Goswin's hand a spinning top made of white ash. The priest turned it over in his hand. He could make nothing of it. Here, said Klaus. You have to apply the string. And he wound up the top and sent it skipping and whistling up the nave. It crashed merrily into the choir screen. Klaus. Cried Father Goswin in alarm. 53, said Klaus, again, retrieving his top. Just the number of the children in the village, if you count little Lina, born last week. Look, I made this for her. Rummaging around in his sack again, he produced a minuscule rattle and shook it.
- [18:09]
I mean to take them to all the children's houses. Ah, Father Gosfin said. Why, they have lost so much this year. And then they helped when I needed it. It's their reward. Another thought of the children opening their doors and tripping sleepily over a bear or a top or. Or a boat. His face lit up with a smile. And the joke will be even greater for those who only pretended to help. His smile grew broader. Father Goswin had seen these smiles before and knew what they portended. Now, Klaus, he warned, you must not laugh. This is a holy edifice. And so Klaus didn't. But it was a near thing. They won't see me, he said. The toys will appear on their doorsteps in the night, and in the morning the children will wake up and find them there, as if by magic. Father Goswin crossed himself quickly. As if by an angel, you mean, he said. If you like, klaus said. Now, the eve of Christmas is coming up in a few days, and I thought that would be a good night to make my deliveries. Klaus carefully placed his sack at the priest's feet. So I've come to ask, will you bless my toys? Father Gosswin hesitated. He had blessed the sick. He had blessed women in childbirth. He had even blessed the occasional cow or goat. But toys, playthings? This was new and perhaps not entirely appropriate. Seeing the priest's hesitation, Klaus pressed his point. Christmas is when we celebrate God's son coming down and becoming a child, do we not? The shepherds gave the baby gifts, didn't they? And so did the astrologers. Wise men, the priest corrected him. So it's the perfect night to give my toys to the children. The night God gave us the gift of himself. Well, when put that way. Father Goswin drew himself up and laid an ecclesiastical hand on the bulky sack. In his best pulpit voice, he said, bless these toys, O Lord. At that moment, all the candles in the church blazed up suddenly brighter, a thing which had never happened before.
- [20:39]
The priest looked around, startled. For many weeks afterwards, he pondered this singular occurrence. It was as if he concluded, finally, heaven had approved his blessing. And he once later preached a Christmas sermon that all toys given and received in love are holy. And he believed it. And in time, he also came to believe that the whole thing had been his idea. On Christmas morning, as soon as there was light in the sky, Klaus stood outside his door and tried to be invisible while he watched and listened to what was happening all over the village below. He had gone out just after midnight on Christmas Eve, wrapped in a great shapeless cloak, his bag slung over his back. He left the toys on doorsteps, believing that, as they had been blessed, no one would steal them. And no one did. Now that it was the next morning, he listened with great satisfaction to shouts of surprise and glee floating up to his cottage. A mother rose early to go out and feed the chickens. Or a father opened the door just after frosty dawn to bring in some firewood, and they discovered the toys. Then they called for Ilse or Gabriel or Greta, and. And the children came running because the voice sounded so glad. And the father or aunt, or in the grander houses, serving girl said, here is a marvellous doll, for you see, its arms and legs can move. Or here is a carven deer, look at its antlers. Or here is a boat. Someone must know how you love to play at the mill pond.
- [22:25]
And then the children's eyes grew wide with wonder and delight, or their jaws dropped, or they whooped for joy.
- [22:34]
Because it had been so long since they had something of their own. Just for pure enjoyment and fun. And for some, it was the very first time. And then the children hugged the dolls to them, or ran shouting down to the mill pond with their boats, or instantly named their bears and set them growling. Little Lena rattled her rattle, and the 15 who received tops somehow found each other in the village market square and started a heated competition. And it was all more glorious and wonderful than anyone could ever have dreamed. Toys. Toys on Christmas Day.
- [23:16]
All this Klaus saw and heard, and his heart told him that he had found his vocation. Oh, he would still make chairs and cupboards. That was his job. But he knew from that hour what his real profession was. Because this joy that he felt did not just make him happy. It told him who he really was and would be all his days. A man who made toys and gave them away to children. And Klaus laughed his great laugh. And many in the village heard it boom out on this Christmas morning.
- [23:54]
Klaus was convinced that not a soul in the village had even an inkling that it was he who had left the gifts on their doorsteps. He was wrong. Who else could do such ingenious carving? But of course, when everyone saw how pleased he was to be walking among them anonymously, as he thought, they never breathed a word to him. And they were very severe with their children, warning them, on pain of losing their toys, not to reveal to Klaus what all knew.
- [24:26]
Now, the next year was much like the first, except that the toys Klaus carved were even more ingenious. But the year after that, things changed.
- [24:45]
Klaus Village at the foot of Mount Feldburg, was a market town, and that meant that people from surrounding hamlets and villages came there for fairs and feasts. You know how things go. Children of Claus Village played with children from other towns when they came in for the St. Bartholomew's Day Fair. Those children were dazzled by the toys they saw. The children from Klaus's village made promises, and before he knew it, Klaus found himself responsible for making and delivering toys to two adjoining towns, each two miles away in opposite directions. So what had originally taken two months to make and an hour to deliver on Christmas Eve now took four months of solid work and four nighttime hours of tramping around with an even bigger sack of toys. Klaus didn't mind. He loved his work. But he began to worry that he might not be able to complete all his deliveries on Christmas Eve, which was essential if his toys were to receive their Christmas blessing the year after. When Klaus turned 24, he had five villagers to visit and almost 300 toys to make. He started the prodigious work of carving. In early May, so that he could be finished in time, he devised and tested an elaborate and demanding delivery plan which would only work if he started his rounds right after sundown. Accordingly, in December, he posted anonymously strict instructions in the village market square. Parents must get children to bed very early on Christmas Eve. No toys would be delivered to a child peeping through a window or around a corner. But on that Christmas Eve, a ferocious storm blew up.
- [26:36]
Klaus had barely finished the delivery to the children in his own village before half the night was gone. He was cold and tired and his cloak was soaked through. But he would not give up. There were children in those villages to the west and east and in the farmhouse on the Roman road who. Who were hoping. Hoping for a toy. He would not let them down.
- [27:02]
So he doggedly began the four mile western trek. But before he had trudged much more than a mile through the knee deep snow, he knew he was defeated. Strong as he was, he could not make the time he needed to get there and then out to the Roman road before dawn, much less get to the eastern village. He flung himself and his enormous sack under a sheltering pine by the side of the road to wait out the storm. It's no good, he sighed to the wind and the snow. I've failed them. It was as well that he did not know that at that very moment, Rolf Eckhorff, whose jealousy and rage had only increased over the years, was stealing as many toys as he could from the doorways of Klaus own beloved village, for that would have broken his heart. As it was, he almost wept from discouragement and frustration. He was going to let the children down and there was nothing he could do about it. And that was the condition Klaus was in when a sleigh hung with two lanterns came racing towards him over the snow, pulled by a single magnificent reindeer. Whoa, Dasher. A voice called and the sleigh sliced to a halt, spraying snow everywhere like sparks from a fire. The reindeer snorted and stamped as though it was impatient to run again. A figure swung gracefully off the sleigh's seat, grabbed one of the lanterns and used it to peer at Klaus. And the face the lantern revealed to Klaus had the yellowest hair and the merriest, wildest blood blue eyes he had ever seen. They both belonged to a rather striking young woman.
- [28:48]
You're just the man I need to see, the young woman said.
- [29:12]
Narrator/Radio Host
You have heard. Episode 2 Klaus the Carpenter Performed by Richard Johnstone Next time, hear Anna the Racer. The Christmas Chronicles is an eight part dramatic reading written by Tim Slover, music is by Robert Robary. The series producer is Judith Olassen Turney and technical producer is Jackie Tateishi, assisted by Juan Mijares. The executive producer is Walter Rudolph. To acquire a CD copy of the Christmas Chronicles as you've heard it, and for more information about the Christmas Chronicles, visit classical89.org the Christmas Chronicles is produced by Classical 89 KBYU FM, Provo, Utah, in cooperation with the BYU Division of Continuing Education.