The Press., 1911-12-13
EVERY GERMAN HAS
 A CHRISTMAS TREE.
One YuIstide Custom That Still Flour"
 ishes In the FatiierIand.

the German Christmas, which conjure up a clear, frosty atmosphere and re-echo the song of the skates on the frozen lakes, for the Anglo-Saxon notion of the German Christmas Is draw from those childhood hours spent over Hans Andersen and Grimm, and the sight of Christmas tree brings to mind the woodcutter tramping home through the snow laden forests, trailing behind him the fir tree for his family Christmas celebration, while in the towns the black quadrangle of the ven- erable market place is picked out in lights blazing on the trees in the win dows of the gabled houses.
 Fifty years ago, before the young German giant had awakened from the sleep of centuries, says a writer in the New York Evening Post, this idea of the peaceful German Christmas was correct. but if one of the burghers of old Berlin, returning from making his Christmas purchases on Christmas eve, were to be transplanted into the roar ing hub of empire which his Haupstadt has become in the year of grace 1911 the good man would probably expire on the spot.
 Fifty years ago, when Berlin was a dirty, unpretentious, provincial town, with i'll lighted, i'll paved streets and with the iron hand of militarism un- checked over it all, the Christmas fes- tival was the tranquil celebration of which one has read. In the Lustgar- ten, before the castle, a Christmas fair was annually established which the king and royal family used to visit to buy jumping jacks and gingerbread for the palace Christmas trees, like any other German family. The Lustgarten fair has passed away, the king of Prus- sia has become German emperor, Der lin has developed into fair and beau tiful city, and all that remains of the Christmas of once upon a time is the spirit-indeed, a precious inheritance that still holds supreme sway and rests concealed in the branches of the myri- ads of Christmas trees which rich and poor alike set up in their houses on the eve of the feast.
 Otherwise the old German simplicity has vanished. In the house of the rich merchant electric lights take the place of the Christ candles" and the motor car or the steam yacht which he gives his son as a Christmas present can find no place under the Christmas tree, as did the woolen comforter, the handful of gingerbread or the new skates in the day of his father. Caruso or Des- tim on the gramOphone takes the place of the Christmas hymns which used to be sung as an act of pious reverence to the ''Tannenbaum," or perhaps even. horrible dictu, the tree will be fas- tened to a clOckwerk contrivance which, on being wound up, revoIves to tune tangled out by a musical box. The bulging one storied shops with gingerbread and gilt angels stuck in their diamond paned window fronts have vanished, and their places are taken by stores built on the same style of palatial magnifcence as across the Atlantic.
 From the beginning of December till the feast they devote a considerable portion of their space to Christmas ba- zaars, where one imagines oneself transported to toyland. There are tre- mendOus set pieces with electric trans. airships and railway trains careeriDg about amid wonderful papier mache mountain scenery; ravishing visions of fair doll women and army corps on armp corps of the most gallant tin soldiers that ever manned a fort. The air is rent with an ear splitting cacoph- Ony of noise emitted by mechanical toys, and the atmosphere reeks with the smell of shavings and glue, that peculiar pungent Odor of the toyshop which brings back to the old fogies the mysterious delights of the birthday table.
 On Christmas eve every German must have his Christmas tree. When one passes through the streets on a wet Christrc IS eve-the sparkling frost and snowy .lantle of the feuilletonist rarely put in an appearance before January-one has the curious feeling of being in the midst of 60,OO0,000 people all engaged in doing the same thing. One can imagine the traveller looking on the thousands of Moham- medans laboriously threading their way across the desert to Mecca to win the title of Hadji regarding the scene with similar emotions. For when I say ev- cry German it is literally true. The streets of Berlin are deserted save for the cars and the omnibuses and cabs and an occasional policeman, and from behind the blinds of the windows of the great blocks of flats twinkle the candles on the Christmas trees, throw ing out their little beams into the dark ness of the night as did the star to the shepherds nearly 2.OOO years ago.
 Maddened the Poet.