stumbled over the helmet of an old crusader, carved in stone, that rose
some six inches or so above the floor. In a moment, she fell and lay
sprawling, spilling out at least a dozen babies. "Heilige Mayke" (Holy
Mary!), she cried, as she rolled over. "Have I killed them?"
Happily the wee ones were thrown against the long-trained gown of an old
lady walking directly in front of her, so that they were unhurt. They
were easily picked up and laid on the tray again, and once more the line
started.
Happily the Bishop had been notified that he would not have to call out
the names of all the infants, that is, three hundred and sixty-six; for
this would have kept him at the solemn business all day long. It had
been arranged that, instead of any on the list of the chosen forty-six,
to be so named, all the boys should be called John, and all the girls
Elizabeth; or, in Dutch, Jan and Lisbet, or Lizbethje. Yet even to say
"John" one hundred and eighty times, and "Lisbet" one hundred and
eighty-six times, nearly tired the old gentleman to death, for he was
fat and slow.
So, after the first six trays full of wee folks had been sprinkled, one
at a time, the Bishop decided to "asperse" them, that is, shake, from a
mop or brush, the holy water, on a tray full of babies at one time. So
he called for the "aspersorium." Then, clipping this in the basin of
holy water, he scattered the drops over the wee folk, until all, even
the six extra girl babies in the Turk's Head, were sprinkled. Probably,
because the Bishop thought a Turk was next door to a heathen, he dropped
more water than usual on these last six, until the young ones squealed
lustily with the cold. It was noted, on the contrary, that the little
folks in the mince pie dishes were gently handled, as if the good man
had visions of Christmas coming and the good things on the table.
Yet it was evident that such tiny people could not bear what healthy
babies of full size would think nothing of. Whether it was because of
the damp weather, or the cold air in the brick church, or too much
excitement, or because there were not three hundred and sixty-six
nurses, or milk bottles ready, it came to pass that every one of the wee
creatures died when the sun went down.
Just where they were buried is not told, but, for hundreds of years,
there was, in one of The Hague churches, a monument in honor of these
little folks, who lived but a day. It was graven with portraits in stone
of the Count and Countess and told of their children, as many as the
days of the year. Near by, were hung up the two basins, in which the
holy water, used by the Bishop, in sprinkling the babies, was held. The
year, month and day of the wonderful event were also engraved. Many and
many people from various lands came to visit the tomb. The guide books
spoke of it, and tender women wept, as they thought how three hundred
and sixty-six little cradles, in the Count's castle, would have looked,
had each baby lived.
THE ONI ON HIS TRAVELS
Across the ocean, in Japan, there once lived curious creatures called
Onis. Every Japanese boy and girl has heard of them, though one has not
often been caught. In one museum, visitors could see the hairy leg of a
specimen. Falling out of the air in a storm, the imp had lost his limb.
It had been torn off by being caught in the timber side of a well curb.
The story-teller was earnestly assured by one Japanese lad that his
grandfather had seen it tumble from the clouds.
Many people are sure that the Onis live in the clouds and occasionally
fall off, during a peal of thunder. Then they escape and hide down in a
well. Or, they get loose in the kitchen, rattle the dishes around, and
make a great racket. They behave like cats, with a dog after them. They
do a great deal of mischief, but not much harm. There are even some old
folks who say that, after all, Onis are only unruly children, that
behave like angels in the morning and act like imps in the afternoon. So
we see that not much is known about the Onis.
Many things that go wrong are blamed on the Onis. Foolish folks, such as
stupid maid-servants, and dull-witted fellows, that blunder a good deal,
declare that the Onis made them do it. Drunken men, especially, that
stumble into mud-holes at night, say the Onis pushed them in. Naughty
boys that steal cake, and girls that take sugar, often tell fibs to
their parents, charging it on the Onis.
The Onis love to play jokes on people, but they are not dangerous. There
are plenty of pictures of them in Japan, though they never sat for their
portraits, but this is the way they looked.
Some Onis have only one eye in their forehead, others two, and, once in
a while, a big fellow has three. There are little, short horns on their
heads, but these are no bigger than those on a baby deer and never grow
long. The hair on their heads gets all snarled up, just like a little
girl's that cries when her tangled tresses are combed out; for the Onis
make use of neither brushes nor looking glasses. As for their faces,
they never wash them, so they look sooty. Their skin is rough, like an
elephant's. On each of their feet are only three toes. Whether an Oni
has a nose, or a snout, is not agreed upon by the learned men who have
studied them.
No one ever heard of an Oni being higher than a yardstick, but they are
so strong that one of them can easily lift two bushel bags of rice at
once. In Japan, they steal the food offered to the idols. They can live
without air. They like nothing better than to drink both the rice spirit
called saké, and the black liquid called soy, of which only a few drops,
as a sauce on fish, are enough for a man. Of this sauce, the Dutch, as
well as the Japanese, are very fond.
Above all things else, the most fun for a young Oni is to get into a
crockery shop. Once there, he jumps round among the cups and dishes,
hides in the jars, straddles the shelves and turns somersaults over the
counter. In fact, the Oni is only a jolly little imp. The Japanese
girls, on New Year's eve, throw handfuls of dried beans in every room of
the house and cry, "In, with good luck; and out with you, Onis!" Yet
they laugh merrily all the time. The Onis cannot speak, but they can
chatter like monkeys. They often seem to be talking to each other in
gibberish.
Now it once happened in Japan that the great Tycoon of the country
wanted to make a present to the Prince of the Dutch. So he sent all over
the land, from the sweet potato fields in the south to the seal and
salmon waters in the north, to get curiosities of all sorts. The
products of Japan, from the warm parts, where grow the indigo and the
sugar cane, to the cold regions, in which are the bear and walrus, were
sent as gifts to go to the Land of Dykes and Windmills. The Japanese had
heard that the Dutch people like cheese, walk in wooden shoes, eat with
forks, instead of chopsticks, and the women wear twenty petticoats
apiece, while the men sport jackets with two gold buttons, and folks
generally do things the other way from that which was common in Japan.
Now it chanced that while they were packing the things that were piled
up in the palace at Yedo, a young Oni, with his horns only half grown,
crawled into the kitchen, at night, through the big bamboo water pipe
near the pump. Pretty soon he jumped into the storeroom. There, the
precious cups, vases, lacquer boxes, pearl-inlaid pill-holders, writing
desks, jars of tea, and bales of silk, were lying about, ready to be put
into their cases. The yellow wrappings for covering the pretty things of
gold and silver, bronze and wood, and the rice chaff, for the packing of
the porcelain, were all at hand. What a jolly time the Oni did have, in
tumbling them about and rolling over them! Then he leaped like a monkey
from one vase to another. He put on a lady's gay silk kimono and wrapped
himself around with golden embroidery. Then he danced and played the
game of the Ka-gu'-ra, or Lion of Korea, pretending to make love to a
girl-Oni. Such funny capers as he did cut! It would have made a cat
laugh to see him. It was broad daylight, before his pranks were over,
and the Dutch church chimes were playing the hour of seven.
Suddenly the sound of keys in the lock told him that, in less than a
minute, the door would open.
Where should he hide? There was no time to be lost. So he seized some
bottles of soy from the kitchen shelf and then jumped into the big
bottom drawer of a ladies' cabinet, and pulled it shut.
"Namu Amida" (Holy Buddha!), cried the man that opened the door. "Who
has been here? It looks like a rat's picnic."
However, the workmen soon came and set everything to rights. Then they
packed up the pretty things. They hammered down the box lids and before
night the Japanese curiosities were all stored in the hold of a swift,
Dutch ship, from Nagasaki, bound for Rotterdam. After a long voyage, the
vessel arrived safely in good season, and the boxes were sent on to The
Hague, or capital city. As the presents were for the Prince, they were
taken at once to the pretty palace, called the House in the Wood. There
they were unpacked and set on exhibition for the Prince and Princess to
see the next day.
When the palace maid came in next morning to clean up the floor and dust
the various articles, her curiosity led her to pull open the drawer of
the ladies' cabinet; when out jumped something hairy. It nearly
frightened the girl out of her wits. It was the Oni, which rushed off
and down stairs, tumbling over a half dozen servants, who were sitting
at their breakfast. All started to run except the brave butler, who
caught up a carving knife and showed fight. Seeing this, the Oni ran
down into the cellar, hoping to find some hole or crevice for escape.
All around, were shelves filled with cheeses, jars of sour-krout,
pickled herring, and stacks of fresh rye bread standing in the corners.
But oh! how they did smell in his Japanese nostrils! Oni, as he was, he
nearly fainted, for no such odors had ever beaten upon his nose, when in
Japan. Even at the risk of being carved into bits, he must go back. So
up into the kitchen again he ran. Happily, the door into the garden
stood wide open.
Grabbing a fresh bottle of soy from the kitchen shelf, the Oni, with a
hop, skip and jump, reached outdoors. Seeing a pair of klomps, or wooden
shoes, near the steps, the Oni put his pair of three toes into them, to
keep the dogs from scenting its tracks. Then he ran into the fields,
hiding among the cows, until he heard men with pitchforks coming. At
once the Oni leaped upon a cow's back and held on to its horns, while
the poor animal ran for its life into its stall, in the cow stable,
hoping to brush the monster off.
The dairy farmer's wife was at that moment pulling open her bureau
drawer, to put on a new clean lace cap. Hearing her favorite cow moo and
bellow, she left the drawer open and ran to look through the pane of
glass in the kitchen. Through this, she could peep, at any minute, to
see whether this or that cow, or its calf, was sick or well.
Meanwhile, at the House in the Wood, the Princess, hearing the maid
scream and the servants in an uproar, rushed out in her embroidered
white nightie, to ask who, and what, and why, and wherefore. All
different and very funny were the answers of maid, butler, cook, valet
and boots.
The first maid, who had pulled open the drawer and let the Oni get out,
held up broom and duster, as if to take oath. She declared:
"It was a monkey, or baboon; but he seemed to talk--Russian, I think."
"No," said the butler. "I heard the creature--a black ram, running on
its hind legs; but its language was German, I'm sure."
The cook, a fat Dutch woman, told a long story. She declared, on honor,
that it was a black dog like a Chinese pug, that has no hair. However,
she had only seen its back, but she was positive the creature talked
English, for she heard it say "soy."
The valet honestly avowed that he was too scared to be certain of
anything, but was ready to swear that to his ears the words uttered
seemed to be Swedish. He had once heard sailors from Sweden talking, and
the chatter sounded like their lingo.
Then there was Boots, the errand boy, who believed that it was the
Devil; but, whatever or whoever it was, he was ready to bet a week's
wages that its lingo was all in French.
Now when the Princess found that not one of her servants could speak or
understand any language but their own, she scolded them roundly in
Dutch, and wound up by saying, "You're a lot of cheese-heads, all of
you."
Then she arranged the wonderful things from the Far East, with her own
dainty hands, until the House in the Wood was fragrant with Oriental
odors, and soon it became famous throughout all Europe. Even when her
grandchildren played with the pretty toys from the land of Fuji and
flowers, of silk and tea, cherry blossoms and camphor trees, it was not
only the first but the finest Japanese collection in all Europe.
Meanwhile, the Oni, in a strange land, got into one trouble after
another. In rushed men with clubs, but as an Oni was well used to seeing
these at home, he was not afraid. He could outrun, outjump, or outclimb
any man, easily. The farmer's vrouw (wife) nearly fainted when the Oni
leaped first into her room and then into her bureau drawer. As he did
so, the bottle of soy, held in his three-fingered paw, hit the wood and
the dark liquid, as black as tar, ran all over the nicely starched
laces, collars and nightcaps. Every bit of her quilled and crimped
hear-gear and neckwear, once as white as snow, was ruined.
"Donder en Bliksem" (thunder and lightning), cried the vrouw. "There's
my best cap, that cost twenty guilders, utterly ruined." Then she
bravely ran for the broomstick.
The Oni caught sight of what he thought was a big hole in the wall and
ran into it. Seeing the blue sky above, he began to climb up. Now there
were no chimneys in Japan and he did not know what this was. The soot
nearly blinded and choked him. So he slid down and rushed out, only to
have his head nearly cracked by the farmer's wife, who gave him a whack
of her broomstick. She thought it was a crazy goat that she was
fighting. She first drove the Oni into the cellar and then bolted the
door.
An hour later, the farmer got a gun and loaded it. Then, with his hired
man he came near, one to pull open the door, and the other to shoot.
What they expected to find was a monster.
But no! So much experience, even within an hour, of things unknown in
Japan, including chimneys, had been too severe for the poor, lonely,
homesick Oni. There it lay dead on the floor, with its three fingers
held tightly to its snout and closing it. So much cheese, zuur kool
(sour krout), gin (schnapps), advocaat (brandy and eggs), cows' milk,
both sour and fresh, wooden shoes, lace collars and crimped neckwear,
with the various smells, had turned both the Oni's head and his stomach.
The very sight of these strange things being so unusual, gave the Oni
first fright, and then a nervous attack, while the odors, such as had
never tortured his nose before, had finished him.
The wise men of the village were called together to hold an inquest.
After summoning witnesses, and cross-examining them and studying the
strange creature, their verdict was that it could be nothing less than a
_Hersen Schim_, that is, a spectre of the brain. They meant by this
that there was no such animal.
However, a man from Delft, who followed the business of a knickerbocker,
or baker of knickers, or clay marles, begged the body of the Oni. He
wanted it to serve as a model for a new gargoyle, or rain spout, for the
roof of churches. Carved in stone, or baked in clay, which turns red and
is called terra cotta, the new style of monster became very popular. The
knickerbocker named it after a new devil, that had been expelled by the
prayers of the saints, and speedily made a fortune, by selling it to
stone cutters and architects. So for one real Oni, that died and was
buried in Dutch soil, there are thousands of imaginary ones, made of
baked clay, or stone, in the Dutch land, where things, more funny than
in fairy-land, constantly take place.
The dead Japanese Oni serving as a model, which was made into a water
gutter, served more useful purposes, for a thousand years, than ever he
had done, in the land where his relations still live and play their
pranks.
THE LEGEND OF THE WOODEN SHOE
In years long gone, too many for the almanac to tell of, or for clocks
and watches to measure, millions of good fairies came down from the sun
and went into the earth. There, they changed themselves into roots and
leaves, and became trees. There were many kinds of these, as they
covered the earth, but the pine and birch, ash and oak, were the chief
ones that made Holland. The fairies that lived in the trees bore the
name of Moss Maidens, or Tree "Trintjes," which is the Dutch pet name
for Kate, or Katharine.
The oak was the favorite tree, for people lived then on acorns, which
they ate roasted, boiled or mashed, or made into meal, from which
something like bread was kneaded and baked. With oak bark, men tanned
hides and made leather, and, from its timber, boats and houses. Under
its branches, near the trunk, people laid their sick, hoping for help
from the gods. Beneath the oak boughs, also, warriors took oaths to be
faithful to their lords, women made promises, or wives joined hand in
hand around its girth, hoping to have beautiful children. Up among its
leafy branches the new babies lay, before they were found in the cradle
by the other children. To make a young child grow up to be strong and
healthy, mothers drew them through a split sapling or young tree. Even
more wonderful, as medicine for the country itself, the oak had power to
heal. The new land sometimes suffered from disease called the _val_
(or fall). When sick with the _val_, the ground sunk. Then people,
houses, churches, barns and cattle all went down, out of sight, and were
lost forever, in a flood of water.
But the oak, with its mighty roots, held the soil firm. Stories of dead
cities, that had tumbled beneath the waves, and of the famous Forest of
Reeds, covering a hundred villages, which disappeared in one night, were
known only too well.
Under the birch tree, lovers met to plight their vows, and on its smooth
bark was often cut the figure of two hearts joined in one. In summer,
the forest furnished shade, and in winter warmth from the fire. In the
spring time, the new leaves were a wonder, and in autumn the pigs grew
fat on the mast, or the acorns, that had dropped on the ground.
So, for thousands of years, when men made their home in the forest, and
wanted nothing else, the trees were sacred.
But by and by, when cows came into the land and sheep and horses
multiplied, more open ground was needed for pasture, grain fields and
meadows. Fruit trees, bearing apples and pears, peaches and cherries,
were planted, and grass, wheat, rye and barley were grown. Then, instead
of the dark woods, men liked to have their gardens and orchards open to
the sunlight. Still, the people were very rude, and all they had on
their bare feet were rough bits of hard leather, tied on through their
toes; though most of them went barefooted.
The forests had to be cut down. Men were so busy with the axe, that in a
few years, the Wood Land was gone. Then the new "Holland," with its
people and red roofed houses, with its chimneys and windmills, and dykes
and storks, took the place of the old Holt Land of many trees.
Now there was a good man, a carpenter and very skilful with his tools,
who so loved the oak that he gave himself, and his children after him,
the name of Eyck, which is pronounced Ike, and is Dutch for oak. When,
before his neighbors and friends, according to the beautiful Dutch
custom, he called his youngest born child, to lay the corner-stone of
his new house, he bestowed upon her, before them all, the name of
Neeltje (or Nellie) Van Eyck.
The carpenter daddy continued to mourn over the loss of the forests. He
even shed tears, fearing lest, by and by, there should not one oak tree
be left in the country. Moreover, he was frightened at the thought that
the new land, made by pushing back the ocean and building dykes, might
sink down again and go back to the fishes. In such a case, all the
people, the babies and their mothers, men, women, horses and cattle,
would be drowned. The Dutch folks were a little too fast, he thought, in
winning their acres from the sea.
One day, while sitting on his door-step, brooding sorrowfully, a Moss
Maiden and a Tree Elf appeared, skipping along, hand in hand. They came
up to him and told him that his ancestral oak had a message for him.
Then they laughed and ran away. Van Eyck, which was now the man's full
family name, went into the forest and stood under the grand old oak
tree, which his fathers loved, and which he would allow none to cut
down.
Looking up, the leaves of the tree rustled, and one big branch seemed to
sweep near him. Then it whispered in his ear:
"Do not mourn, for your descendants, even many generations hence, shall
see greater things than you have witnessed. I and my fellow oak trees
shall pass away, but the sunshine shall be spread over the land and make
it dry. Then, instead of its falling down, like acorns from the trees,
more and better food shall come up from out of the earth. Where green
fields now spread, and the cities grow where forests were, we shall come
to life again, but in another form. When most needed, we shall furnish
you and your children and children's children, with warmth, comfort,
fire, light, and wealth. Nor need you fear for the land, that it will
fall; for, even while living, we, and all the oak trees that are left,
and all the birch, beech, and pine trees shall stand on our heads for
you. We shall hold up your houses, lest they fall into the ooze and you
shall walk and run over our heads. As truly as when rooted in the soil,
will we do this. Believe what we tell you, and be happy. We shall turn
ourselves upside down for you."
"I cannot see how all these things can be," said Van Eyck.
"Fear not, my promise will endure."
The leaves of the branch rustled for another moment. Then, all was
still, until the Moss Maiden and Trintje, the Tree Elf, again, hand in
hand, as they tripped along merrily, appeared to him.
"We shall help you and get our friends, the elves, to do the same. Now,
do you take some oak wood and saw off two pieces, each a foot long. See
that they are well dried. Then set them on the kitchen table to-night,
when you go to bed." After saying this, and looking at each other and
laughing, just as girls do, they disappeared.
Pondering on what all this might mean, Van Eyck went to his wood-shed
and sawed off the oak timber. At night, after his wife had cleared off
the supper table, he laid the foot-long pieces in their place.
When Van Eyck woke up in the morning, he recalled his dream, and, before
he was dressed, hurried to the kitchen. There, on the table, lay a pair
of neatly made wooden shoes. Not a sign of tools, or shavings could be
seen, but the clean wood and pleasant odor made him glad. When he
glanced again at the wooden shoes, he found them perfectly smooth, both
inside and out. They had heels at the bottom and were nicely pointed at
the toes, and, altogether, were very inviting to the foot. He tried them
on, and found that they fitted him exactly. He tried to walk on the
kitchen floor, which his wife kept scrubbed and polished, and then
sprinkled with clean white sand, with broomstick ripples scored in the
layers, but for Van Eyck it was like walking on ice. After slipping and
balancing himself, as if on a tight rope, and nearly breaking his nose
against the wall, he took off the wooden shoes, and kept them off, while
inside the house. However, when he went outdoors, he found his new shoes
very light, pleasant to the feet and easy to walk in. It was not so much
like trying to skate, as it had been in the kitchen.