The Crimes of Mars - The Gift (4 of 12)

The Gift

 

The Second Rhyme of Jean Ami

 

-Written in Recollection of My Father’s Keys-

 

-U-

 

What mercies can rain down on Earth

From sources never seen,

 

And bless the insubstantial buds

That yet are small and green!

 

For in the Days of Pentecost,

God gave most holy things,

 

And they were whiter than a dove

That fans its flawless wings

 

I was one year graced with such gifts in figures made of wood;

And they were fashioned in a heart that was most kind and good -

 

Four pikemen, and a mounted king, a silver saint de bleu;[1]

Three Templars of the Scarlet Cross, a holy priest or two

 

Six archers of a distant land,

Ten tall Teutonic knights

 

I loved them all

And served with them,

The worthies and the wights

 

I crossed myself with them at mass and kept some in my coat;

I sailed them on a magic lake and let them guide the boat

 

I gleaned much wisdom from these men,

 

As that was God’s intent �"

 

The truth about my history,

 

The facts I would invent:

 

The nature of our fellowship, of valor, truth, and shame,

And how a noble quest may flag but triumph, just the same!

 

U

 

But these good fellows lost their gleam;

 

Their burnish fell away

 

And faded in the little hands

That touched them every day

Oh, lesson learned by each dear child that plays upon the earth �"

 

What value hath the gift of love

If love knows not rebirth!

 

Oh, see the father turn his son away from horrid sights!

 

Oh, see him rack his noble mind

For what he knows delights

 

The innocence that is the child,

The scripture writ within,

 

That tells about a father’s love

And how it blesses him!

 

U

 

Therefore, did my dear father find

Our Savior’s loving way of breathing life

Into a tomb wherein his breath would stay,

 

Renewing every man of wood behind love's golden door

And changing every color from the one, it was before

 

Therefore, renew thy love divine,^[2]

That God may dwell in thee

 

And bind thee to another's joy,

Though thou he cannot see.

 

Thoughts of Camille Du Monde: Entry Four

                   

I cannot help but like these lines, as they remind me of some gifts I once received from my sister. But who would guess a great knight’s friend was once of low estate? Perhaps De Guerre did pity the young Ami or see a special virtue in him that might redound in noble deeds. Or perhaps the young Ami did seek a great lord’s favor and found by chance a willing heart to grant a way to his ambition.  Life has paths that exceed enumeration, and grace is present on each one, and so is chance. We cannot know what turns a man in any new direction, as so many are the possibilities and so hidden is the source. But in his father's repainting of some wood, our Jean Ami would know a greater father in this world and learn that love renews. A grace was surely done.^[3]

 

-P-

 

But a boy has many fathers in this world,

And each of them comes to him serendipitously

Or at the behest of diverse and interested spirits.

 

Sometimes, these men become

A truer father to a boy than his own,

And the boy will go in unexpected ways.

 

Yet, a warrior is often the sequel to a fierce lord’s epic,

A scholar, the improved pages of a wise man’s book.

 

But this happens only when  

A father is steadfast in his role

As a reliable conduit of grace

 

As grace is the primary reward a boy seeks

In any effort, he makes to please his father

 

In that way, I have been God’s imperfect steward,

Even though I recognize what makes me imperfect.

 

For many times, I have been oblivious to the impact

That the withholding of love has upon my child,

And not so much as wondered why

 

I am not disposed to grant mercy

To one that I love deeply -

 

And later, when I recognized my folly,

I was rebuked by the nullifying self-interest

That motivated my amendment in judgment,

 

Making the result less good,

And the act, an imperfect virtue.

 

Yet, often, a greater good arises

In the dissatisfaction of

Having loved poorly.

 

-P-

 

Still, these little men of wood are something passing strange to me, for they seem like the dolls of straw that peasant women fashion for young maids to learn the ways of family and of life. His father must have been a warrior, too; perhaps one recognized for his talents, like those who make our bows and deadly arrows; and perhaps even one who journeyed in the Holy Land and knew the men-at-arms who battled there. There are a few among our common folk that have such useful skills that we wonder at the magic in their hands when they create the things of war. It is a skill few nobles have, and often do we in deepest admiration draw such fellows near us.

---

[1] Saint Andrew was crucified on an x-shaped cross known as a saltire Traditionally, Andrew’s symbol is a silver saltire on a blue field. His image is presented on Page 244.

 

 

[2] “Love’s Golden Door” is based on the poet’s recollection of his father having repainted some of his favorite lead soldiers as Christmas gifts for him when he was eight years old. “It was the best gift I ever received,” he said. Of course, Paris recognized that Christmas and the traditions we associate with it today were not extant in the days of medieval France.

 

 

[3] Great war games were enacted with the hundreds of toy soldiers Paris acquired in childhood. Playing regularly with these little statues, his father educated him in the geography and history of the United States, Europe, North Africa, and Asia. Even the music, philosophy, poetry, and art of those areas were incorporated into the lessons. The glories of Rome and their battles with the barbarians, the romance of the legionnaires, and their conflicts with the Arabs - All were parts of the poet’s early education and lifelong inner-world.