Centuries ago, Advent, like Christmas, was 40 days long. Right before Advent began, children in European countries awaited the arrival of St. Martin, the saint famed for giving his cloak to a poor man suffering with the cold. In many areas, the saint arrived on his white horse, but in this version, good Saint Martin uses a donkey. Notice the treats he gives the children: nuts and cakes they would not ordinarily have every day in those days before prepackaged snacks and grocery stores. The entire family also had a treat: it was traditional to eat goose on St. Martin's Day, or "Martinmas," as it was called. From this came the old saying, "As plump as a Martinmas goose."Imagine, children, that a little bird had seen all this—a little bird rocking itself high up in the top branch of a linden-tree; or, perhaps, a nightingale trilling gloriously in the pleasant solitude of a rosebush—for they have nightingales in Germany—but I forgot! The dear old Saint comes in the middle of November when all the merry company of birds has fled and only a few withered leaves remain clinging to the branches.
So, then, dear children, suppose it was a clear, bright star which shone down on St. Martin's Eve, and told all it saw. The stars have been over the world so long, that our own dear star has seen the grandfathers of the grandfathers of the great-grandfathers of every child—yes, and great-grandfathers even farther back than that,—listening with beating heart to the heavy steps of the Saint coming upstairs, and then knocking solemnly against the sitting-room door.
Saint Martin and Santa Claus live near together, which is very pleasant for them, for they can talk together of the little people they love, and what they would like to give them. It is hard for Santa Claus to turn his face away even from a naughty child and go off with all his treasures on his back; but Saint Martin always leaves something, if it is only a bunch of switches for a luckless youngster whom you can't help but pity as he is sent supperless to bed.
Santa Claus hurries from one end of the earth to the other at all the world's call if it only wants him; but the bright star that saw Saint Martin, always twinkled down on the river Rhine, in Germany, especially on an old town called Düsseldorf.
You 've heard of the beautiful Rhine? The river with the high hills on either side; with vineyards covering them from base to summit, and perched upon the highest peaks the ruins of stone-built castles where beautiful ladies and gallant cavaliers once lived.
It is pleasant to think of them looking down on the flowing river below from the tops of queer turrets, or out of narrow, deep-set slits of windows. Why, on one of the hills a dragon lived who ravaged the whole country round till a brave knight came and killed him and then married the beautiful lady whom the dragon had stolen from her home. Surely you have heard of the Loreley, who combed her golden hair with a golden comb, while she sang a magic song? But I shall forget Saint Martin if I say more.
Imagine, children, then, that wonderful country where Saint Martin and Santa Claus live next door to each other, where, it is said, the toys grow on trees,—think of a doll-tree and a rocking-horse tree!—and the cakes and candies on bushes, so that you can pick off anything you like. On the eleventh of November, after tea, Santa Claus strolled into Saint Martin's garden to see how his neighbor was getting ready for his journey: wished him God-speed, and many good children to serve, and helped him mount his patient donkey with the huge, heavy baskets at its sides filled with delicious things not to be seen just yet. Saint Martin flung a few switches over his shoulder,—after all there are not many bad children,—and with his round, rosy face and kind eyes glowing with pleasure he started off. The dear old man is so glad to shut his eyes to all naughtiness that, if a bad child, at the last moment, begs pardon of his parents, I think Saint Martin always finds a good excuse to call. Of course it never snows nor rains when he comes, for he would not have his children's pleasure spoiled for all the world, and so he and his donkey—a nice, cheerful donkey, but rather short in the legs, so that Saint Martin's sandaled feet touch the ground—reached the old town of Düsseldorf with its narrow street and the gabled, red-roofed houses where all the children, great and small, were ready to greet him royally.
You understand, now, the advantage of being a star and seeing everything? The queer, old town was brilliant with light; in every window shone a lamp, and the streets were crowded with children all hurrying to the market-place, where stood the statue of an old Prince John riding a superb bronze horse. Who knows, when this old John was a child perhaps his heart also beat fast when the beautiful princess, his mother, told him to be good, for Saint Martin was coming? If the bronze prince could have looked down, how he 'd have winked at the sudden light which came pouring into the great, square market-place from every alley and street. Every child in the whole town had come, and each carried a torch or a lantern,—Chinese lanterns, glass lanterns, or hollowed-out pumpkins with candles burning inside. How they laughed,—the children! why, there was not one so poor or so small that it had not a twinkling light to swing in the air while walking in the long procession which formed here in the market-place. In and out of the crooked streets they filed, swinging their lanterns and singing an old hymn to Saint Martin, while, at the end of the long line, the babies were carried, and even they clutched gorgeous lanterns with dimpled hands, and sang, too, they did. I wish you could have heard them. How sweet and clear were the young voices, rising into the night; not that it was a very wonderful hymn, but it was loved for the sake of old memories, for parents and grand-parents leaning out of the windows remembered that they, too, had sung the melody.
As for Saint Martin, he and his donkey remained modestly hidden; he watched the little people filing all over the town with torches and lanterns, and he rejoiced when he heard the hymn, listening fondly till the clear voices became fainter and fainter and the little feet were beginning to be very tired. At last the children wanted to go home and see Saint Martin in real earnest. It was time, for the babies at the end of the procession were doubled up, fast asleep, and even the red and yellow lanterns could not keep them awake. So, in the twinkling of an eye, the streets were deserted,—not a child remained. Now was the time for Saint Martin to start on the most important part of his mission. He patted the donkey gently on the neck, and went to every house where he was called.
How the little folk hurry up to the sitting-rooms, dark but for the lanterns brought out of the street! The Saint likes to speak to each child alone, and so everybody else is hustled into a side room.
Put the lantern, with the candle still burning, in the middle of the floor; jump over it three times; call: "Saint Martin! Saint Martin! Saint Martin!" as bravely and loudly as you can.
Sure enough there comes a knock at the door. "Come in, Saint Martin!" some one says, with a beating heart. The saint opens the door a crack, and asks, in a solemn voice:
"Have you been a good child this whole year?"
As for concealment, it is of no use, for Saint Martin knows everything; so you might as well say, if it is the case, that you have been a bad child, for he has a respect even for naughty children who tell the truth.
"I 've been a bad child!" sobs a little voice; and if it is true, the saint flings a bunch of switches into the room, and stumps sadly down the dark stairs.
If, however, the little voice falters: "I 've tried to be a good child," then, oh, children! I wish you could be there once to see how Saint Martin rewards a child who has tried to be good. The door is thrown open,—though the saint keeps in the dark,—and in come, tumbling and rushing out of his enchanted bag, huge roasted chestnuts, bursting with pride and haste,—boiled chestnuts filled, as it were, with delicious cream; rosy apples, which come bumping in on their plump cheeks; nuts, raisins, figs, dates, oranges, walnuts,—nearly fresh from the tree,—filberts, cakes of every kind and shape, everything that the heart can wish; but, best of all, a word of praise from Saint Martin, who runs quite briskly down-stairs in his joy at having found a good child. The moment he is gone, a blaze of light bursts in from the next room, then in come father and mother and sisters and brothers, and the way they help to pick up Saint Martin's treasures is really splendid. Even this is not the end of the holy man 's visits. He has been known to come back at supper-time, when some one is sitting by the mother 's side, with two chubby arms hugging a huge dish of goodies. The door is flung open, and Saint Martin, wonderfully wrapped in a great cloak, while a broad-brimmed hat is pulled over his face, makes a low bow, as if begging pardon for coming so often, walks solemnly up to each, and leaves a mysterious package at every plate. He says little or nothing as he walks slowly about the table; but, goodness only knows, nobody wants words; they want actions, and Saint Martin 's are superbly generous. So, amid startled silence, he reaches the door and vanishes.
Once I knew a little boy who was so curious to see Saint Martin's donkey, and to learn whether or not the old man meant to go over the way to see his playmate, Elsbeth, that he ran after him down the dark stairs, where he stumbled and fell, and might have hurt himself badly if two strong arms had not caught him in time: but these arms did not belong to Saint Martin at all.
"Oh, Uncle! Uncle! did you see Saint Martin?" a breathless voice cried.
"Ah, what if I met him on the street just as he crossed over to Elsbeth!" Uncle said, solemnly, but with a twinkle in his pleasant, brown eyes.
"I am so glad," the small inquisitor said, drawing a sigh of relief; then looking up, wonderingly, as the strong arms let him down on the ground: "Uncle, what 's the matter with your hair? it 's all rumpled;" at which Uncle blushed unnecessarily. Then, without waiting for an answer: "Uncle, did you know Saint Martin 's voice is just like yours?"
"Ah, dear child, there are so many curious things in the world, and old people's voices often sound alike." Uncle begins to explain, a bit confused, while Saint Martin, over the way, has probably come and gone.
The bell in the church-tower, by the marketplace, struck twelve; the city was still; the happy children were asleep, and the lanterns were all burnt out. Saint Martin, on his donkey, trudging homeward, was all alone with the bright star. His two bags were quite empty, though he still carried the switches over his shoulder. The good donkey stepped briskly along, for he was going home and his load was so light.
To the star looking down, the saint seemed a little sad, as if it made him unhappy to part from his little people. However, he smiled as he saw the bright star.
"Come back, dear Saint Martin; come back next November, and the children and I will be ready for you," it seemed to say, and the dear old man patted the donkey encouragingly on the back, and so they reached their home in the wonderful land where the toy-trees grow. Santa Claus stood by the garden-gate under a sugar-plum-tree with chocolate blossoms, waiting for him.
"Glad to see you back, St. Martin! How are all the children?"
"Growing better every year!" he cried, joyously, as he dismounted from the donkey. "See," he said, quite excitedly, going toward Santa Claus, "I 've brought all the switches back. Now it is your turn; but do you think," he said, anxiously, "but do you think there 'll be toys enough on the trees for all the good children in the world?"
"Don't worry," Santa Claus said, kindly. "Little things trouble you. If there were twenty million more children in the world than there are, and not a bad one among 'em, there 'd be presents enough and to spare. I am glad you found the children so good, though you must be tired going up all those stairs. I find the chimneys a great convenience. Indeed," Santa Claus said, rather thoughtfully, "I don't think I could do the whole world alone if I had to climb so many stairs."
"But you don't," Saint Martin suggested.
"That 's true," and Santa Claus laughed. Perhaps, children, you never heard Santa Claus laugh? Keep your ears wide open this Christmas, for it is the jolliest, merriest sound in the world.
So they bade each other good-night and parted.
No comments:
Post a Comment