The air of the room was heavy with
odors; there was summer warmth in it.
In the middle of the room stood the fir tree itself, with its top
close to the ceiling and its boughs stretched toward the four walls of
the room impartially--as symbolically to the four corners of the
earth. It would be the only witness of all that was to take place
between them: what better could there be than this messenger of
silence and wild secrecy? From the mountains and valleys of the planet
its race had looked out upon a million generations of men and women;
and the calmness of its lot stretched across the turbulence of human
passion as an ancient bridge spans a modern river.
At the apex of the Tree a star shone. Just beneath at the first
forking of the boughs a candle burned. A little lower down a cross
gleamed. Under the cross a white dove hung poised, its pinions
outstretched as though descending out of the infinite upon some
earthly object below. From many of the branches tiny bells swung.
There were little horns and little trumpets. Other boughs sagged
under the weight of silvery cornucopias. Native and tropical fruits
were tied on here and there; and dolls were tied on also with cords
around their necks, their feet dangling.
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