Words: Josef Mohr (1792-1848)
Music: Franz Gruber (1787-1863)
While the composition of "The Messiah" by Handel and "Christmas Oratorio" 18 by Bach in the 18th century had helped instill the Christmas spirit in many, there was still the need for a simple song that could be sung by everyone. This song was finally found in "Silent Night" whose words were written by an Austrian village priest, Josef Mohr, and its melody by the church organist Franz Gruber.
Born in Salzburg, Austria, Josef served as a choir boy in his youth, and later became assistant pastor of the parish church in the small town of Oberndorf, in the Austrian Tyrol, not too far from the city of Salzburg,
Franz Gruber, also born in Austria, was the son of a linen weaver. His father tried to persuade him to follow the same trade, but from the time he was a small child, Franz was fascinated by music. Without his father's knowledge, he would slip out secretly and go to his schoolmaster's home, where he learned to play the organ.
Once, when the schoolmaster was ill, there would have been no music for the church service had Franz (then twelve years old) not volunteered to take his place. Franz was allowed to do so, and played the entire service from memory! After this, his father let him take regular music lessons. At the age of 20, upon completing his other studies, Franz became a teacher and also a church organist.
On December 24, 1818, Mohr listened intently as his church organist and friend, Franz Gruber, told him that the pipe organ in the church would not be available for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, since it was damaged almost beyond repair. Unfortunately, mice had eaten the organ bellows 19, and because of the deep winter snows, it would not be possible for a repairman to arrive to restore the organ in time for the service.
Father Mohr, not knowing what to do without the traditional organ music for the service, then received a messenger asking him to go out to bless the newborn babe of a peasant mother. Meanwhile, Gruber went back to the organ loft in a growing mood of despair and disappointment. He paced the floor, trying to come up with a solution to the problem that seemed to grow more critical with every passing hour.
Perhaps seeing the child in the mother's arms reminded the priest of Mary and Baby Jesus, for as Father Mohr walked home through the snow on that starlit sky, he thought of that first Christmas when the angels sang to the wondering shepherds. Once back home, he thought over the events, and felt moved to put his feelings into words. Soon, without too much conscious effort on his part, the words began to flow from his pen. As fast as he scratched them down on a piece of paper, other words and lines came crowding in to take their place. Before he knew it, he had written several simple stanzas.
However, he had no music for it, and he wanted the composition sung at the Christmas service. He hurried to see his friend, Franz, to ask him to furnish the melody for his words. Handing his friend a copy of his new stanzas, he said, "Franz, write some music for my new poem and we will sing it at the Midnight Mass, organ or no organ!" Mohr suggested that the song be composed and played on the guitar, but Gruber protested that he was an organist not a guitarist, and certainly not a composer. Mohr brushed his objections aside by explaining, "Surely you know three chords on the guitar." Gruber nodded as the pastor continued, "Then why not write the music as simple as possible using those three chords, arrange it, and tonight while you play, we will sing the new carol!"
Gruber proceeded to do what Mohr requested, and within a hour or so, had completed the tune. He took it to the priest, who was delighted with it. At the Christmas service in 1818, the two men, singing the tenor and bass, formed a quartet with two women singers, and, to the accompaniment of Father Mohr's Italian guitar, introduced a new carol to the world.
After having finally received Gruber's letter, asking him to come and fix the organ, an organ builder and repairman from the valley of Zillertal, Karl Mauracher arrived. When the instrument was in good playing order, Franz Gruber sat down to try the instrument. Father Mohr happened to be in the church that afternoon and insisted that Gruber play the music he had composed for the new Christmas carol. Upon hearing it, Mauracher was delighted, immediately fell in love with the tune and begged Gruber to give him a manuscript copy of the new song, asking if he might take it back with him to the Zillertal Valley and share it with the singers and musicians there who are always on the lookout for a new song.
Mauracher took a copy of the carol back to his home town. The villagers were thrilled and called it the "Song from Heaven." Ten years later, Mauracher heard four children with exceptionally good voices, Caroline, Josef, Andreas and Amalie Strasser. He taught the carol to them, and they enjoyed singing it.
As their parents were skillful glove-makers, the children went with them each year to the great fair at Leipzig, where Mr. and Mrs. Strasser offered their gloves for sale. While there, the children often sang in front of their parents' booth and on the streets to advertise their wares 20. To their great surprise, the General Director of Music of the Kingdom of Saxony, Mr. Pohlenz (who had heard them sing one day), asked them to attend a concert.
At the close of the regular program Mr. Pohlenz invited them to come to the platform and sing before the King and Queen of Saxony. Although the young Strassers were nervous, they arose, went to the front of the hall, and sang several selections, including their favorite "Song from Heaven." Their singing created a sensation, and they were invited to the palace on Christmas Eve, 1832, to sing the carol again before the royal family.
"Silent Night" was first published in 1840 in Leipzig, as a Tyrolean Christmas carol, accompanied by the statement, "Hymn of Unknown Origin--Author and Composer Unknown."
The King of Prussia, Frederick Wilhelm IV, heard "Silent Night" for the first time in 1854, when it was sung by the entire choir of the Imperial Church in Berlin. He declared that this song should be given first place at all Christmas concerts in his country; he also instructed his court musicians to try to find out the names of the author and composer.
That year, these men got in touch with the monks of St. Peter's monastery in Salzburg, and inquired whether they had any information about the origin of the song. By a fortunate turn of events, a choir boy there, the son of Franz Gruber, heard of the investigation, and he soon convinced the monks that it was his father's music. Years later, in 1897, a tablet honoring Franz Gruber was placed on the school where he had taught.
"Silent Night" is said to have a wider use than any other Christmas carol. It has been translated into many different languages, and sung in some of the most distant and isolated countries. Thus it has spread from a small Austrian village throughout the entire world.
Silent Night
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night! Holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight!
Glories stream from heaven afar;
Heav’nly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Savior, is born!
Christ, the Savior, is born!
Silent night! Holy night!
Son of God, love’s pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth;
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
The First Noel
Words and Music: Anonymous
17th century traditional English carol
Have you ever wondered where the word "noel" comes from? Some scholars claim "noel" is of French origin, meaning "a shout of joy" at the birth of Jesus. Others say that it stems from the medieval Latin word "natalis," meaning "birth," which explains why some people refer to Christmas as "His natal day." There is yet another Latin word that some claim as the accurate source of "noel," the word "novella," which means "news," which relates the idea that the news of Jesus' birth causes the shouts of joy associated with Christmas time.
However, other scholars say that the original is of English spelling, "nowell," rather than the French "noël." This could be another example of how the English language has changed down through the centuries.
For example, the English people took the parting phrase with which they bade one another "Fare thee well," and made it into one word, "Farewell." They also took the phrase "God be with you," and shortened the four words into one, the word "goodbye."
In the same way, if the word "nowell" was first a phrase instead of a word, perhaps it was something like "Now all is well!" The English forefathers greeted each other every Christmas morning with the cry "Now all is well," since God had regarded those who had walked in darkness by giving them a great Light--Jesus! Soon, "Now all is well" became merely "Now well," and was later further shortened to "Nowell."
If so, when the unknown poet who wrote "The First Noel" sat down to compose his story poem about the birth of Jesus sometime during the 17th century, perhaps he decided that the message of the angels to the shepherds, "Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people" (Luke 2:10), was a message to remind us that "now all is well," for Christ is born in Bethlehem.
"The First Noel" has been a popular carol for almost three centuries, and is about the oldest familiar carol in the English language. It is noted for its simplicity and sincerity. After having been handed down by word of mouth for many generations, "The First Noel" was finally copied down with the stanzas properly polished, the tune correctly harmonized, and printed for the first time in a collection of Christmas carols published in 1833.
The First Noel
The first Noel the angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay,
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep.
Chorus
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel!
Born is the King of Israel!
They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the East beyond them far,
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night.
And by the light of that same star
Three wise men came from country far;
To seek for a king was their intent,
And to follow the star wherever it went.
17th century traditional English carol
Have you ever wondered where the word "noel" comes from? Some scholars claim "noel" is of French origin, meaning "a shout of joy" at the birth of Jesus. Others say that it stems from the medieval Latin word "natalis," meaning "birth," which explains why some people refer to Christmas as "His natal day." There is yet another Latin word that some claim as the accurate source of "noel," the word "novella," which means "news," which relates the idea that the news of Jesus' birth causes the shouts of joy associated with Christmas time.
However, other scholars say that the original is of English spelling, "nowell," rather than the French "noël." This could be another example of how the English language has changed down through the centuries.
For example, the English people took the parting phrase with which they bade one another "Fare thee well," and made it into one word, "Farewell." They also took the phrase "God be with you," and shortened the four words into one, the word "goodbye."
In the same way, if the word "nowell" was first a phrase instead of a word, perhaps it was something like "Now all is well!" The English forefathers greeted each other every Christmas morning with the cry "Now all is well," since God had regarded those who had walked in darkness by giving them a great Light--Jesus! Soon, "Now all is well" became merely "Now well," and was later further shortened to "Nowell."
If so, when the unknown poet who wrote "The First Noel" sat down to compose his story poem about the birth of Jesus sometime during the 17th century, perhaps he decided that the message of the angels to the shepherds, "Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people" (Luke 2:10), was a message to remind us that "now all is well," for Christ is born in Bethlehem.
"The First Noel" has been a popular carol for almost three centuries, and is about the oldest familiar carol in the English language. It is noted for its simplicity and sincerity. After having been handed down by word of mouth for many generations, "The First Noel" was finally copied down with the stanzas properly polished, the tune correctly harmonized, and printed for the first time in a collection of Christmas carols published in 1833.
The First Noel
The first Noel the angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay,
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter’s night that was so deep.
Chorus
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel!
Born is the King of Israel!
They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the East beyond them far,
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night.
And by the light of that same star
Three wise men came from country far;
To seek for a king was their intent,
And to follow the star wherever it went.
We Three Kings
Words and Music: John Henry Hopkins (1820-1891)
Of the several Christmas carols written by the American Rev. John Henry Hopkins Jr., "We Three Kings" is his best one. Although composed in the 19th century, its style and mixture of modes 22 have led a number of hymnologists 23 to believe it is of medieval origin and consider Hopkins as the "arranger."
Even though the Bible speaks of "wise men from the East" who journeyed from the East to worship the newborn King (see Matthew 2:1,7,16), because it doesn't specifically say that these travelers were kings, some people were hesitant to receive "We Three Kings" as a genuine Christmas carol when it was composed in 1857 and first printed in 1859. But this point of controversy didn't prevent Hopkins from writing his carol about the visit of the wise men, whether they were actually kings, astrologers or philosophers.
While the Gospel of Matthew makes no reference to the names, the number, or even the royalty of the kings, the details have come down to us through legend and tradition. The three names traditionally given to the kings--Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar, who read and knew the movements of the stars (see Matthew 2:2)--were chosen somewhere along the way, we don't know by whom or where. And why three wise men? This number was selected, no doubt, because of the three special gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh, as each man brought one precious gift to lay at the feet of Jesus.
We Three Kings
We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar.
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
Chorus
O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light.
Born a king on Bethlehem's plain,
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign.
Frankincense to offer have I.
Incense owns a Deity nigh.
Prayer and praising all men raising,
Worship Him, God on high.
Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.
Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Sounds through the earth and skies.
Of the several Christmas carols written by the American Rev. John Henry Hopkins Jr., "We Three Kings" is his best one. Although composed in the 19th century, its style and mixture of modes 22 have led a number of hymnologists 23 to believe it is of medieval origin and consider Hopkins as the "arranger."
Even though the Bible speaks of "wise men from the East" who journeyed from the East to worship the newborn King (see Matthew 2:1,7,16), because it doesn't specifically say that these travelers were kings, some people were hesitant to receive "We Three Kings" as a genuine Christmas carol when it was composed in 1857 and first printed in 1859. But this point of controversy didn't prevent Hopkins from writing his carol about the visit of the wise men, whether they were actually kings, astrologers or philosophers.
While the Gospel of Matthew makes no reference to the names, the number, or even the royalty of the kings, the details have come down to us through legend and tradition. The three names traditionally given to the kings--Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar, who read and knew the movements of the stars (see Matthew 2:2)--were chosen somewhere along the way, we don't know by whom or where. And why three wise men? This number was selected, no doubt, because of the three special gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh, as each man brought one precious gift to lay at the feet of Jesus.
We Three Kings
We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar.
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
Chorus
O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light.
Born a king on Bethlehem's plain,
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign.
Frankincense to offer have I.
Incense owns a Deity nigh.
Prayer and praising all men raising,
Worship Him, God on high.
Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.
Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Sounds through the earth and skies.
What Child Is This?
Words: William C. Dix
Music: Anonymous--16th century English melody;
arranged by Sir John Stainer
Here is another example of how some carol tunes were often taken from popular folk tunes.
During the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, there was a song entitled, "My Lady Greensleaves." Shakespeare often referred to the song as being one of the most popular of his day. The words to "My Lady Greensleaves" are no longer in use today, but the melody is still popular in the form of the carol "What Child Is This?"
The words to this carol were written during the reign of Queen Victoria, by William C. Dix. He was the manager of an insurance company in England, and wrote many beautiful hymns.
What Child Is This
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Music: Anonymous--16th century English melody;
arranged by Sir John Stainer
Here is another example of how some carol tunes were often taken from popular folk tunes.
During the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, there was a song entitled, "My Lady Greensleaves." Shakespeare often referred to the song as being one of the most popular of his day. The words to "My Lady Greensleaves" are no longer in use today, but the melody is still popular in the form of the carol "What Child Is This?"
The words to this carol were written during the reign of Queen Victoria, by William C. Dix. He was the manager of an insurance company in England, and wrote many beautiful hymns.
What Child Is This
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks
Words: Nahum Tate (1652-1715)
Music: George Frederick Handel (1685-1759)
Considered to be one of the best poets of his time, Nahum Tate was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1652, the son of an Irish clergyman. Even though Nahum Tate was Poet Laureate 28 of England during the reigns of William and Mary, Queen Anne, and George I, his loose living as a drunkard and a spendthrift eventually led to his downfall, and he died in 1715 at a debtor's refuge in Southwark, London. His literary works, which were mainly stage plays, are now forgotten, except for his inspiring carol, "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night," which was set to a melody written by George F. Handel, and ranks as one of our most popular Christmas carols.
Handel, one of the most outstanding composers of all time, was born in Halle, Germany. After 1713 he made his home in England, and became a naturalized English citizen in 1727. He is best known for his famous oratorio, "The Messiah," composed in 1741, which was completed in just 24 days.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks
While shepherds watch’d their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.
”Fear not,” said he, for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind;
“Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.”
“To you, in David’s town this day,
Is born of David’s line
The Savior who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign:
The heav’nly Babe you there shall find
To human view displayed,
All meanly wrapped in swathing bands,
And in a manger laid.”
Thus spake the seraph, and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels praising God, who thus
Addressed their joyful song:
“All glory be to God on high
And on the earth be peace.
Goodwill henceforth from heav’n to men
Begin and never cease.”
Music: George Frederick Handel (1685-1759)
Considered to be one of the best poets of his time, Nahum Tate was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1652, the son of an Irish clergyman. Even though Nahum Tate was Poet Laureate 28 of England during the reigns of William and Mary, Queen Anne, and George I, his loose living as a drunkard and a spendthrift eventually led to his downfall, and he died in 1715 at a debtor's refuge in Southwark, London. His literary works, which were mainly stage plays, are now forgotten, except for his inspiring carol, "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night," which was set to a melody written by George F. Handel, and ranks as one of our most popular Christmas carols.
Handel, one of the most outstanding composers of all time, was born in Halle, Germany. After 1713 he made his home in England, and became a naturalized English citizen in 1727. He is best known for his famous oratorio, "The Messiah," composed in 1741, which was completed in just 24 days.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks
While shepherds watch’d their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.
”Fear not,” said he, for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind;
“Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.”
“To you, in David’s town this day,
Is born of David’s line
The Savior who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign:
The heav’nly Babe you there shall find
To human view displayed,
All meanly wrapped in swathing bands,
And in a manger laid.”
Thus spake the seraph, and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels praising God, who thus
Addressed their joyful song:
“All glory be to God on high
And on the earth be peace.
Goodwill henceforth from heav’n to men
Begin and never cease.”
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Merry Christmas, My Friend
by Christa Holder Ocker
"I will never forget you," the old man said. A tear rolled down his leathery cheek. "I'm getting old. I can't take care of you anymore."
With his head tilted to one side, Monsieur DuPree watched his master. "Woof woof! Woof woof!" He wagged his tail back and forth, wondering, What's he up to now?
"I can't take care of myself anymore, let alone take care of you." The old man cleared his throat. He pulled a hankie from his pocket and blew his nose with a mighty blast.
"Soon, I'll move to an old age home and, I'm sorry to say, you can't come along. They don't allow dogs there, you know."
Bent over from age, the old man limped over to Monsieur DuPree and stroked his head.
"Don't worry, my friend. We'll find a home. We'll find a nice new home for you." And, as an afterthought he added, "Why, with your good looks, we'll have no trouble at all. Anyone would be proud to own such a fine dog."
Monsieur DuPree wagged his tail really hard and strutted up and down the kitchen floor. "Woof, woof, woof, woof." For a moment, the familiar musky scent of the old man mingling with the odor of greasy food gave the dog the feeling of well being. But then, a sense of dread took hold again. His tail hung between his legs and he stood very still.
"Come here." With great difficulty, the old man knelt down on the floor and lovingly pulled Monsieur Dupree close to him. He tied a ribbon around his neck with a huge red bow, and then he attached a note to it. Monsieur DuPree wondered what it said.
"It says," the old man read aloud, "Merry Christmas! My name is Monsieur DuPree. For breakfast, I like bacon and eggs – even corn flakes will do. For dinner, I prefer mashed potatoes and some meat. That's all. I eat just two meals a day. In return, I will be your most loyal friend."
"Woof woof! Woof woof!" Monsieur DuPree was confused and his eyes begged, What's going on?
The old man blew his nose into his hankie once more. Then, hanging onto a chair, he pulled himself up from the floor. Buttoning his overcoat, he reached for the dog's leash and softly said, "Come here my friend." He opened the door against a gust of cold air and stepped outside, pulling the dog behind. Dusk was beginning to fall. Monsieur DuPree pulled back. He didn't want to go.
"Don't make this any harder for me. I promise you, you'll be much better off with someone else." The street was deserted. It began to snow. Leaning into the wintry air, the old man and his dog pushed on. The pavement, trees, and houses were soon covered with a blanket of snow.
After a very long time, they came upon an old Victorian house surrounded by tall trees, which were swaying and humming in the wind. The old man stopped. Monsieur DuPree stopped, too. Shivering in the cold, they appraised the house. Glimmering lights adorned every window, and the muffled sound of a Christmas song was carried on the wind.
"This will be a nice home for you," the old man said, choking on his words. He bent down and unleashed his dog, then opened the gate slowly, so that it wouldn't creak. "Go on now. Go up the steps and scratch on the door."
Monsieur DuPree looked from the house to his master and back again to the house. He did not understand. "Woof woof! Woof woof!"
"Go on." The old man gave the dog a shove. "I have no use for you anymore," he said in a gruff voice. "Get going now!"
Monsieur DuPree was hurt. He thought his master didn't love him anymore. He didn't understand that, indeed, the old man loved him very much, yet he could no longer care for him. Slowly he straggled toward the house and up the steps. He scratched with one paw at the front door. "Woof woof! Woof woof!"
Looking back, he saw his master step behind a tree just as someone from inside turned the front doorknob. A little boy appeared, framed in the door by the light coming from behind. When he saw Monsieur DuPree, he threw both arms into the air and shouted with delight, "Oh boy! Oh boy! Mom and Dad, come and see what Santa brought!"
Through teary eyes, the old man watched from behind the tree. He saw the mother read the note, and tenderly pull the dog inside.
Smiling, the old man wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cold, damp coat as he disappeared into the night whispering, "Merry Christmas, my friend."
"I will never forget you," the old man said. A tear rolled down his leathery cheek. "I'm getting old. I can't take care of you anymore."
With his head tilted to one side, Monsieur DuPree watched his master. "Woof woof! Woof woof!" He wagged his tail back and forth, wondering, What's he up to now?
"I can't take care of myself anymore, let alone take care of you." The old man cleared his throat. He pulled a hankie from his pocket and blew his nose with a mighty blast.
"Soon, I'll move to an old age home and, I'm sorry to say, you can't come along. They don't allow dogs there, you know."
Bent over from age, the old man limped over to Monsieur DuPree and stroked his head.
"Don't worry, my friend. We'll find a home. We'll find a nice new home for you." And, as an afterthought he added, "Why, with your good looks, we'll have no trouble at all. Anyone would be proud to own such a fine dog."
Monsieur DuPree wagged his tail really hard and strutted up and down the kitchen floor. "Woof, woof, woof, woof." For a moment, the familiar musky scent of the old man mingling with the odor of greasy food gave the dog the feeling of well being. But then, a sense of dread took hold again. His tail hung between his legs and he stood very still.
"Come here." With great difficulty, the old man knelt down on the floor and lovingly pulled Monsieur Dupree close to him. He tied a ribbon around his neck with a huge red bow, and then he attached a note to it. Monsieur DuPree wondered what it said.
"It says," the old man read aloud, "Merry Christmas! My name is Monsieur DuPree. For breakfast, I like bacon and eggs – even corn flakes will do. For dinner, I prefer mashed potatoes and some meat. That's all. I eat just two meals a day. In return, I will be your most loyal friend."
"Woof woof! Woof woof!" Monsieur DuPree was confused and his eyes begged, What's going on?
The old man blew his nose into his hankie once more. Then, hanging onto a chair, he pulled himself up from the floor. Buttoning his overcoat, he reached for the dog's leash and softly said, "Come here my friend." He opened the door against a gust of cold air and stepped outside, pulling the dog behind. Dusk was beginning to fall. Monsieur DuPree pulled back. He didn't want to go.
"Don't make this any harder for me. I promise you, you'll be much better off with someone else." The street was deserted. It began to snow. Leaning into the wintry air, the old man and his dog pushed on. The pavement, trees, and houses were soon covered with a blanket of snow.
After a very long time, they came upon an old Victorian house surrounded by tall trees, which were swaying and humming in the wind. The old man stopped. Monsieur DuPree stopped, too. Shivering in the cold, they appraised the house. Glimmering lights adorned every window, and the muffled sound of a Christmas song was carried on the wind.
"This will be a nice home for you," the old man said, choking on his words. He bent down and unleashed his dog, then opened the gate slowly, so that it wouldn't creak. "Go on now. Go up the steps and scratch on the door."
Monsieur DuPree looked from the house to his master and back again to the house. He did not understand. "Woof woof! Woof woof!"
"Go on." The old man gave the dog a shove. "I have no use for you anymore," he said in a gruff voice. "Get going now!"
Monsieur DuPree was hurt. He thought his master didn't love him anymore. He didn't understand that, indeed, the old man loved him very much, yet he could no longer care for him. Slowly he straggled toward the house and up the steps. He scratched with one paw at the front door. "Woof woof! Woof woof!"
Looking back, he saw his master step behind a tree just as someone from inside turned the front doorknob. A little boy appeared, framed in the door by the light coming from behind. When he saw Monsieur DuPree, he threw both arms into the air and shouted with delight, "Oh boy! Oh boy! Mom and Dad, come and see what Santa brought!"
Through teary eyes, the old man watched from behind the tree. He saw the mother read the note, and tenderly pull the dog inside.
Smiling, the old man wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cold, damp coat as he disappeared into the night whispering, "Merry Christmas, my friend."
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Christmas Roses
by Lenora P. Rutledge, RDH
It was the afternoon of December 24, the day before Christmas, and as the newest dental hygienist in our office, I had to work. The only thing that brightened my day was the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in our waiting room and a gift sent to me by a fellow I was dating, a dozen long-stemmed red roses.
As I was cleaning my operatory, our receptionist came and said there was a lady in the front office who urgently needed to speak with me. As I stepped out, I noticed a young, tired-looking woman with an infant in her arms. Nervously, she explained that her husband-a prisoner in a nearby correctional facility-was my next patient. The guards were scheduled to bring him to the office that afternoon.
She told me she wasn't allowed to visit her husband in prison and that he had never seen his son. Her plea was for me to let the boy's father sit in the waiting room with her as long as possible before I called him for his appointment. Since my schedule wasn't full, I agreed. After all, it was Christmas Eve.
A short time later, her husband arrived-with shackles on his feet, cuffs on his hands, and two armed guards as an escort. The woman's tired face lit up like our little Christmas tree when her husband took a seat beside her. I kept peeking out to watch them laugh, cry, and share their child.
After almost an hour, I called the prisoner back to the operatory. While I worked, the guards stood just outside my door. The patient seemed like a gentle and humble man. I wondered what he possibly could have done to be held under such conditions. I tried to make him as comfortable as possible.
At the end of the appointment, I wished him a Merry Christmas-a difficult thing to say to a man headed back to prison. He smiled and thanked me. He also said he felt saddened by the fact he hadn't been able to get his wife anything for Christmas. On hearing this, I was inspired with a wonderful idea.
I'll never forget the look on both their faces as the prisoner gave his wife the beautiful, long-stemmed roses. I'm not sure who experienced the most joy-the husband in giving, the wife in receiving, or myself in having the opportunity to share in this special moment.
It was the afternoon of December 24, the day before Christmas, and as the newest dental hygienist in our office, I had to work. The only thing that brightened my day was the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in our waiting room and a gift sent to me by a fellow I was dating, a dozen long-stemmed red roses.
As I was cleaning my operatory, our receptionist came and said there was a lady in the front office who urgently needed to speak with me. As I stepped out, I noticed a young, tired-looking woman with an infant in her arms. Nervously, she explained that her husband-a prisoner in a nearby correctional facility-was my next patient. The guards were scheduled to bring him to the office that afternoon.
She told me she wasn't allowed to visit her husband in prison and that he had never seen his son. Her plea was for me to let the boy's father sit in the waiting room with her as long as possible before I called him for his appointment. Since my schedule wasn't full, I agreed. After all, it was Christmas Eve.
A short time later, her husband arrived-with shackles on his feet, cuffs on his hands, and two armed guards as an escort. The woman's tired face lit up like our little Christmas tree when her husband took a seat beside her. I kept peeking out to watch them laugh, cry, and share their child.
After almost an hour, I called the prisoner back to the operatory. While I worked, the guards stood just outside my door. The patient seemed like a gentle and humble man. I wondered what he possibly could have done to be held under such conditions. I tried to make him as comfortable as possible.
At the end of the appointment, I wished him a Merry Christmas-a difficult thing to say to a man headed back to prison. He smiled and thanked me. He also said he felt saddened by the fact he hadn't been able to get his wife anything for Christmas. On hearing this, I was inspired with a wonderful idea.
I'll never forget the look on both their faces as the prisoner gave his wife the beautiful, long-stemmed roses. I'm not sure who experienced the most joy-the husband in giving, the wife in receiving, or myself in having the opportunity to share in this special moment.
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