by Jeff Guinn
Leonardo da Vinci
Francis had first met Leonardo in Milan, Italy, in the late 1400s, and kept in touch with him after that. Leonardo’s style of painting was quite unique; he liked to use dark colors as backgrounds, believing this made light colors stand out better. Leonardo also was a great scientist. He filled whole notebooks with ideas for flying machines and boats that moved underwater. But in 1519, he told Francis he was tired of being such a public figure, saying, “The greatest artists work in private.” Very soon Francis helped spirit Leonardo away from France, where he had been living, to Arthur’s toy factory in London. Almost immediately, Leonardo came up with wonderful new ways to paint faces on dolls. He and Willie Skokan would meet once or twice a year to invent new toys. It was a happy time for Leonardo—indeed, it was a happy time for all of us.
“I believe we have finally done everything necessary,” I told Felix one afternoon after we’d spent most of the day visiting Arthur in London. For a change the city seemed almost clean, and it was a fine, sunny spring day. “The factories here and in Germany are producing all the toys we need, we have special days to distribute our gifts, and since it’s spring, with winter so far away, we can even relax a little and simply enjoy ourselves.”
I should have known better. Life is never as uncomplicated as we’d prefer. Even as Felix and I chatted, a German priest named Martin Luther was breaking away from the Catholic church because he didn’t agree with some church teachings. Because Luther’s followers were said to be protesting, they eventually became known as “Protestants.” European Christians no longer all belonged to the Catholic church.
There were religious changes in England, too. Little Princess Catherine of Aragon had, of course, grown up to marry Prince Arthur of England in 1501. Prince Arthur was expected to become England’s king, but the poor fellow died unexpectedly before he ever had a chance to inherit the throne of his father, King Henry VII. Arthur’s younger brother Henry became the new heir, and in 1509 Catherine had to marry Henry when he became king.
It wasn’t a very happy marriage; Catherine was much older than Henry VIII, and by 1527 he wanted to divorce her. The Catholic church wouldn’t allow the divorce; while Henry was arguing with church officials in Rome, he met a woman named Anne Boleyn and decided to marry her. Kings usually do what they want, and Henry ordered the English church to break away from the Catholic church. His new Church of England allowed Henry to divorce Catherine and marry Anne. This second marriage wasn’t happy, either; Henry ended up getting married six different times. But the result for Christians in England was that, while Henry was king, they weren’t encouraged to worship as Catholics anymore.
After Henry VIII died in 1547, his daughter Mary became queen and ruled England. She wanted everyone to become Catholics again. Eleven years later Mary died and her sister Elizabeth became queen. She was a Protestant. The whole issue of religion, in England and in Europe, became quite confused.
This confusion affected our mission very much. I always loved children of all religious faiths and backgrounds, but the mythical Saint Nicholas who was supposed to give toys was traditionally a part of the Catholic church. People thought Saint Nicholas might only give toys to Catholic families. When our gift-giving continued as usual in every country regardless of whether children receiving them were Protestants or Catholics, the stories about who was giving the presents began to change.
For instance, Catholic saints weren’t welcome in the England of Queen Elizabeth I, so parents began telling their children about “Father Christmas,” who came down chimneys on Christmas Eve after everyone was asleep and filled the stockings of children who’d been good throughout the year. In France, the same mission was carried out by “Père Noel,” and so on until each country seemed to have a different idea about who gave children presents and the nights on which he or she did it. You notice I say “he or she.” In Italy, children began to believe that Befana, a very old woman, brought them their presents. Some Italian parents even told their children that Befana was a friendly witch.
Truthfully, it didn’t matter to us what name this mysterious gift-giver was given, or what he or she was supposed to look like. We wanted to help children be happy. If that meant being Saint Nicholas in Belgium, and leaving gifts there on December 6, then being Father Christmas in England on December 25 and Befana in Italy on January 6, well, that was all right. Layla was especially pleased about the Befana tale, and insisted on dressing up in old robes and distributing the presents in Italy herself.
Sometimes it took a while for countries to separate our gift-giving from the religious purpose of Christmas, which of course was and is to celebrate the birth of Jesus. We never intended to interfere with that much more important part of the Christmas season. Rather, we wanted to add to it.
In Germany, for instance, parents told children that Saint Nicholas came on December 6, and that the Christ Child brought more gifts on December 25. “Christkind” was the German name for him. As years passed, that name began to be pronounced “Kris Kringle,” by German settlers in other parts of the world, especially in America. German children today still expect their Christmas presents from the Christkind, who is usually accompanied by little gnomish helpers.
We heard all of these tales and considered them carefully before deciding on one simple rule. In each country, we would gladly take on whatever identity its children preferred. We would leave presents for children in every home where we were welcome. In a few cases, we learned that parents did not want us to come, and we regretfully avoided those houses.
Wars continued to trouble us. Our powers were always weakened whenever there was fighting nearby. Children whose countries were at war often had to do without gifts from us. It seemed like an unfair penalty for them, and our greatest pleasure was being able to return to these countries and give gifts there when the fighting was over.
As the 1500s passed and the 1600s began, we continued our mission in Europe and England. But reports continued to arrive from what everyone thought of as the New World. Columbus had been the first captain to sail across the Atlantic Ocean and claim land for Spain. England and France were among the other countries to hire explorers whose job was to establish settlements in the New World and bring back any treasure they might find.
“The biggest treasure in the New World is going to be the land itself,” Francis kept insisting. “It’s a special place, Nicholas, and one day it’s going to be full of special people. When will you go there to see for yourself? We’ll take care of things in the Old World for you while you’re away.”
I resisted the trip for quite a while. There was still so much work to do in England and Europe. It was especially enjoyable now to see new Christmas customs being developed—people in Germany decorating Christmas trees, for instance. Keeping green boughs during winter had long been traditional in many parts of the world—the idea was that these cheerful decorations promised spring would come again. But the Germans were the ones who connected this longtime belief to Christmas around the year 1500. Legend, which is almost always interesting but not always accurate, indicates the great German Martin Luther took some fresh evergreens into his home on Christmas, and after that, his friends and followers began to do the same.
But in the early 1600s, such lovely new Christmas traditions hadn’t yet made their way across the Atlantic Ocean. It was reported that settlers in the New World were having hard times of it. They suffered from bad weather, strange diseases, and simple loneliness for the families and friends they had to leave behind. One complete English settlement called Roanoke simply disappeared.
“You know you want to go across the ocean and bring Christmas comfort to those suffering people,” Layla scolded me one morning. “Arthur writes from London that some people calling themselves the Saints are going to sail to the New World in a ship called the Mayflower. Why not sail with them?”
“Will you come, too?” I asked.
“I think I’d better stay behind and make sure th
ings run smoothly here,” Layla replied. “Don’t look so sad at the thought! It won’t hurt us to be apart for a little while—after all, we’ve been married for over a thousand years!”
“I’ll need someone to help me,” I pleaded.
“Well, then, take Felix,” Layla suggested. “It’s been centuries since the two of you were out on your own together. It will almost be like a vacation for you.”
So Felix and I went to London, where we met William Brewster, the leader of the Saints. He told us his group was leaving England because they weren’t allowed to worship as they pleased, and that they called themselves Saints because they were willing to suffer to enjoy freedom of religion.
“We have exactly one hundred passengers, and one-third are part of our group,” Brewster explained. “The others are craftsmen and physicians and such, who will be needed to help us establish our new colony. How could the two of you help out if we let you join us?”
“Well, I’m very good at carving wood and fixing things,” Felix said quickly. “As for my friend Nicholas, well, he’s a hard worker, if not a good one.”
I was offended by Felix’s remark and became even more offended when Brewster added, “Well, I can tell by his weight that he’s at least good at eating. You might find yourself losing a few pounds in the New World, my friend!”
“I’ll take my chances,” I replied, feeling insulted.
Brewster agreed to let us come, so 102 passengers left England on the Mayflower in September 1620. All during the long, hard years ahead of them, these people called themselves Saints. It was only two hundred years later that historians renamed them “the Pilgrims.”
“The so-called Saints certainly aren’t living up to that name,” Felix whispered to me, ducking a heavy plate some Saint had thrown at a non-Saint. “Nobody’s gotten off this ship yet and already the trip seems to be a complete disaster.”
SEVENTEEN
Hard Times in the New World
The Saints and the rest of the 102 people bound for the New World were supposed to sail in two ships, the Mayflower and the Speedwell. But at the last minute, someone decided the Speedwell wasn’t safe enough to cross the ocean. Felix and I thought this meant the trip would be delayed until another ship could be found, but instead all 102 of us were crowded into the ninety-foot-long Mayflower.
If everyone had acted pleasant it would have been hard enough to get along when we were packed so tightly together, but the thirty or so Saints weren’t a very friendly group. They tried to keep separate from everyone else, which was practically impossible, and spent a lot of time criticizing the rest of us for not acting properly. What they meant by that was not doing everything exactly the way the Saints wanted. Several times there almost were fights. At one point during the voyage everyone was asked to sign an agreement to create a fair government when we landed, so that there would be reasonable laws for all of us to follow, Saints and non-Saints alike. Everyone couldn’t wait for the day that we arrived at our destination, which was supposed to be near the area in Virginia where, in 1607, Captain John Smith of Britain had founded Jamestown, the first permanent British colony in the land most Europeans were already calling “America.”
Well, we only missed landing in Virginia by hundreds of miles. Instead of sailing into a friendly harbor, the Mayflower ended up on the coastal rocks of Plymouth, Massachusetts, well to the north. Most passengers had already been in very bad moods, and this made them feel even worse. Everyone started accusing everyone else of all sorts of things.
“The so-called Saints certainly aren’t living up to their name,” Felix whispered to me, ducking a heavy plate some Saint had thrown at a non-Saint. “Nobody’s gotten off this ship yet and already the trip seems to be a complete disaster.”
William Brewster and another Saint leader, William Bradford, tried to get people calmed down. They reminded everyone about the agreement they’d signed to set up a good government, and it was only after the passengers stopped arguing that we were allowed to get off the ship—which by then, we all hated—and take our first steps on American soil.
Felix and I joined in as everyone concentrated on building a strong fort. Some natives—whom we called “Indians” just as Columbus had, although we, of course, knew we weren’t in India—wandered out of their own villages to stare at us. It was December 21, and already very cold.
It came as no surprise to Felix and me that little notice was taken of Christmas Day. There were some prayers said, but that was the extent of it. Felix and I wished we could give toys to the few children in the group, but we hadn’t been able to bring any with us on the voyage and there wasn’t time after we landed to make gifts before December 25.
“Next year, though, we’ll help these children have a wonderful Christmas,” I assured Felix.
The winter was a harsh one. The Saints insisted on wearing rather odd clothing, mostly black with white collars and wide belts. They believed wearing bright colors was a sin. Their cloaks were ragged and did little to keep out the cold. The non-Saints had it a little better, dressing for warmth rather than in the plain styles favored by the Saints. The food brought over on the Mayflower soon ran out, and we couldn’t expect any other ships arriving from England for quite some time, especially since we’d ended up landing so far from where we’d been expected to settle.
In the spring, the Indians saved the people of Plymouth. They showed their new neighbors how to plant crops, and how to use fish as fertilizer. Eventually, there was enough to eat, and in November 1621 William Bradford, who’d been elected governor, announced there would be a special feast called Thanksgiving to celebrate the group’s survival. Quite properly, the Indians were invited to join in. Everyone ate a lot; afterward, in the crude shelter we’d built inside the fort, I told Felix, “This wonderful Thanksgiving is a sure sign that Christmas here in Plymouth will be celebrated joyfully!” Felix and I had spent several months secretly making toys out of wooden sticks, bits of cloth, and lumps of clay. Felix still carved beautifully. We eventually made a doll for every little girl in Plymouth, and marbles or a toy wagon for every little boy.
But we weren’t allowed to give these gifts. Right after that first Thanksgiving, Governor Bradford announced Christmas would not be celebrated in Plymouth—ever. Astonished, Felix and I rushed to his tent and demanded to know why.
“To set aside December twenty-fifth would be to admit another day is as important as Sunday, the Sabbath,” Bradford droned. He was a boring man both in appearance and speech. “If you two have studied your Scripture, you would realize no one truly knows the date of our Lord’s birth. So there must be no celebration on the twenty-fifth, none at all.”
“You mean, there can be no presents given?” I asked. “Presents are a happy Christmas tradition, and have been for centuries.”
“We have come to America to begin new, more proper traditions,” Bradford lectured.
Felix shot me a warning look, but I was angry and said to Bradford, “Saint Nicholas won’t like this!”
Bradford looked irritated. “There is no place in Plymouth for that ridiculous myth, either. I think I know my history as well as any man, and I’m sure if the real Saint Nicholas were standing here, he’d completely agree with me.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” I growled, and Felix grabbed me and hurried me away before I could say more.
Despite our protests, Bradford banned Christmas. All the Saints accepted his decision. Some of the other settlers didn’t. Although they weren’t allowed to have a Christmas service, they simply took the day off from work and ran around the fort playing games with their children. Bradford wouldn’t permit even this. He told them it wasn’t right for them to play while the Saints worked. He took away their hoops and sticks and balls and told them that if they had to celebrate at all, they should do it quietly in their tents and log shelters.
Oh, I was furious. I told Felix we should leave Plymouth at once and never, ever come back. “How dare that man Bradford refuse
to let people enjoy Christmas?” I fumed. “I’ve had enough of these Saints, and of this New World called America. As soon as the first ship finds us, you and I are going back to Europe, where Christmas is properly celebrated!”
“Don’t be too impatient,” Felix suggested. “Surely someone like you, who’s almost fifteen hundred years old, must realize some things take time. This place known as America isn’t always going to be ruled by such stiff-necked people.”
“They don’t want Saint Nicholas and his gifts here,” I complained.
Felix smiled. “Why don’t we spend a year looking around?” he asked. “You just might find that Saint Nicholas is here already.” When I said I didn’t understand, he added, “These Saints from England aren’t the only European settlers, you know.”
I’d quite forgotten.
A few hundred miles to the south of Plymouth, Dutch explorers and traders had begun establishing towns. The Dutch had reputations as hardheaded businesspeople, but they also loved celebrations, especially those involving Christmas. Felix’s plan was for us to pack up our few belongings and visit some of these Dutch settlements. I agreed, and when Governor Bradford said he wouldn’t give us permission to go, we simply left quietly in the middle of the night. The winter weather was harsh, but as usual Felix and I could travel faster than normal humans. We reached the Dutch trading village of Fort Orange in two days.
These villages didn’t have as many rules as Plymouth, and the people were friendlier. A British explorer named Henry Hudson had been hired by the Dutch a few years earlier to sail to America and find good land there for them to colonize. When he reported finding a huge harbor, with a wide river connecting it to wonderful green valleys, the Dutch were quick to send over their first ships full of colonists. Unlike the Saints, they weren’t looking for religious freedom, but for trading opportunities.