"Ah, _Madre mia_, I heard thee singing to the Bambino, and it was so
sweet, _so_ sweet, I could not help but follow, I _love_ it so."
She stepped softly to the heavy doors, and with her whole weight
bracing against one, pushed it softly open and passed through. Ah! but
it was beautiful here.
Far, far above her head shone out dimly a hundred sparks of light like
twinkling stars. And everywhere hung garlands of green, sweet-smelling
garlands of green, that filled the place with their spicy fragrance.
And no one need grow weary here for lack of resting-place. Why, it was
quite filled with seats, soft-cushioned and comfortable. Nina stole
into one of the pews and sat down. She was very tired,--very, very
tired.
From her dim corner she peeped forth timidly, scarcely daring to raise
her eyes lest the vision of the radiant Madonna should burst upon her
view all too suddenly. But when at last she really gazed aloft to the
point from which the tremulous voice sprung, no glorified figure met
her view. She still heard the melting, thrilling tones, but, alas! the
blessed singer--the Santa Maria--was invisible. All she could
distinguish in the half-gloom of the place was the form of a man seated
in the lofty gallery overhead. He was sitting before some kind of
instrument, and his fingers slipping over the keys were bringing forth
the most wonderful sounds. Ah, yes! Nina knew what music one could
make with one's fingers. Did not Telemacho play upon the harp? Did
not she herself accompany her own singing upon her fiddle,--her darling
fiddle, which she clasped lovingly beneath her arm and bravely tried to
shield from the weather? But surely, surely he could not be _playing_
that voice! Oh, no! it was the Santa Maria, and she was up in heaven
out of sight. It was only the sound of her singing that had come to
earth. Poor little Nina! She was so often disappointed that it was
not very hard to miss another joy. She must comfort herself by finding
a reason for it. If there was a reason, it was not so hard. Nina had
to think of a great many reasons. But nevertheless she could not
control one little sigh of regret. She would so much have liked to see
the Santa Maria. If she _had_ seen her, she thought she would have
asked her to give her a Christmas gift,--something she could always
keep, something that no one could take from her and that would never
spoil nor break. One had need of just such an indestructible
possession if one lived in the "Italian Quarter." Things got sadly
broken there. And--and--there were so few, so very few gifts. But it
was warm and dim and sweet in here,--a right good place in which to
rest when one was tired. She bent her head and leaned it against the
wooden back of the seat, and her eyes wandered first to one interesting
object and then to another,--to the tall windows, each of which was a
most beautiful picture, and all made of wonderfully colored glass; to
the frescoed walls garlanded with green and at last to the organ-loft
itself, in which was the solitary figure of the musician, seated before
that strange, many-keyed instrument of his, practising his Christmas
music.
He had lit the gas-jets at either side of the key-board, and they threw
quite a light upon him as he played, and upon the huge organ-pipes
above his head. Nina thought she had never seen anything as beautiful
as were their illuminated surfaces. She did not know what they were,
but that did not matter. She thought they looked very much like
exceedingly pointed slippers set upright upon their toes. She fancied
they were slippers belonging to the glorious angels who, Telemacho
said, always came to earth at Christmas-tide to sing heavenly anthems
for the Festa del Gesù Bambino, and to distribute blessings to those
who were worthy.
Perhaps they had trod upon the ice outside, and had wet the soles of
their slippers, so that they had been forced to set them up on end to
dry. She had no doubt they would be gone in the morning.
The tremulous voice had ceased some time ago, and now the organ was
sending forth deep, heavy chords that made the air thrill and vibrate.
The pew in which Nina sat quite shook with the sounds, and she shrank
away from the wooden back, and cuddled down upon the cushion in the
seat, feeling very mysterious and awestruck, but withal quite warm and
happily expectant.
"Ah, ah!" she thought, "they are coming,--the angels are coming. That
is why the seat trembles so. There are so many of them that though
they step very lightly it shakes the ground. He, up there, is playing
their march music for them. Oh, I know! I know! I have seen the
soldiers in the streets; and when they came one could feel the ground
tremble, and they had music, too,--they kept step to it. I 'll lie
very still and not move, and maybe I can even get a glimpse of the Gesù
Bambino himself, and if I should--ah! _if_ I should, then I know I 'd
never be tired nor cold nor sad-hearted any more."
Nina started suddenly to her feet. The place was filled with a soft,
white radiance. Faintly, as though from a distance, came the sounds of
delicious music, and a rare fragrance was in all the air. What was it?
Oh, what was it? She felt her heart beat louder and faster, and she
thought she must cry out for very pain of its throbbing. But she made
no sound, only waited and watched in breathless wonder and anticipation.
The light about her grew clearer and more lustrous; the faint strains
of melody more glorious, and the perfumed air sweeter still; and lo!
the whole place was thronged with white-winged spirits, clad all in
garments so pure and spotless that they glistered at every turn. Each
seemed to have in charge some precious treasure which she clasped
lovingly to her breast, and all were so beautiful and tender-eyed that
Nina could not be afraid. The dazzling forms flitted to and fro like
filmy clouds; and as one passed very near her, Nina stretched out her
hand to grasp her floating robe. But though she scarcely touched it,
it was enough to make the delicate fabric sag and droop as if some
strange weight had suddenly been attached to it. Its wearer paused in
her flight, and glanced down at her garment anxiously, and then for an
instant appeared to be trying to remember something. In her eyes there
grew a troubled look, but she shook her head and murmured,--
"Alas! What have I done? What can I have done? I can think of no way
in which I have let the world touch me, and yet I must have, for my
robe is weighted, and--" But here she suddenly espied Nina.
"Ah!" she cried, her deep eyes clearing, "it was you, then, little
mortal. For a moment I was struck with fear. You see if a bit of the
world attaches to our garments it makes them heavy and weighs them
down, and it is a long time ere they regain their lightness. Such a
mishap seldom occurs, for generally we are only too glad to keep our
minds on perfect things. But once in a long, long while we may give a
thought to earth, and then it always hangs upon us like a clog; and if
we did not immediately try to shake it off, we should soon be quite
unable to rid ourselves of it, and it would grow and grow, and by and
by we should have lost the power to rise above the earth, and should
have to be poor worldlings like the rest; and, on the other hand, if
the worldlings would only throw off all the earth-thoughts that weigh
them down, they would become lighter and more spotless, and at last be
one of us. But if it was you who touched my robe and if I can help
you, I am not afraid. What do you wish, little one?"
For a moment Nina could find no voice in which to reply; but by and by
she gained courage to falter out,--
"I came in here because I heard most beautiful music, and I thought it
might be the Santa Maria singing to the Bambinetto, since it is his
birthday--or will be to-morrow; and I thought--I did not mean to do
wrong, but I thought maybe if I could see the Gesù Santissimo once,
only once, I should never be tired nor cold nor sad-hearted any more.
They say on the Festa del Gesù Bambino one gets most beautiful gifts.
I have never got any gifts; but perhaps he might give me one if I
promised to be very good and to take most excellent care of it and
never to lose it."
By this time the whole company of spirits, seeing their sister in
conversation with a little mortal, had crowded eagerly about; and as
Nina finished her sentence they all cried out in the sweetest, most
musical chorus imaginable,--
"She wants a gift,--the earth-child wants a gift; and she promises to
be very good, and to take excellent care of it and never lose it. The
little one shall have a gift."
But most gently they were silenced by a nod from the spirit to whom
Nina had first spoken.
"Dear child," she said, "we are the Christmas spirits,--Peace, Love,
Hope, Good-will, and all the rest. We come from above, and we are
laden with good gifts for mankind. To whomever is willing to receive
we give; but, alas! so few care for what we bring. They misuse it or
lose it; and that makes us very sad, for each gift we carry is most
good and perfect."
"Oh! how can they?" cried Nina. "I would be so careful of mine, dear
spirits. I would lock it away, and--"
But here the spirit interrupted her with a pitying smile and the
words,--
"But you should never do that, dear one. If one shuts away one's gifts
and does not let others profit by them, that is ill too. One must make
the best of them, share them with the world always, and remember whence
they come."
"Will you show me some of your gifts?" asked Nina, timidly.
The spirit drew nearer and took from her bosom a glittering gem. It
was clear and flawless, and though it was white a thousand sparks of
flame broke from its heart, and flashed their different hues to every
side. As Nina looked, wrapped in admiration, she felt her heart grow
big, and she felt a great longing to do some one a kindness,--to do
good to some one, no matter to whom.
The spirits gazed at her kindling eyes.
"There!" they cried in joyous unison, "Love has already given you her
gift. The way you must use it is always to put in everything you do.
It will never grow less, but will always grow more if you do as we say.
And it is the same with Hope and Peace and Good-will and all the rest.
If all to whom we give our gifts should use them aright, the world
would hold a festival all the year."
And at this all the blessed throng closed about her, and loaded her
down with their offerings, until she was quite overcome with gratitude
and emotion.
"All we ask is that you use them well," they repeated with one accord.
"Let nothing injure them, for some day you will be called to account
for them all, you know. And now you are to have a special gift,--one
by which you can gain world-praise and world-glory. And oh! be careful
of it, dear; it will gain for you great good if you do not abuse it,
and you need never be tired nor cold nor sad-hearted any more--"
"But I have no place to keep all these things," cried Nina. "I have no
home. I live anywhere. I am only a poor little Italian singing-girl.
I--"
"Keep them in your heart," answered the spirits, softly; and then one
of them bent over and kissed her upon the lips.
"Ah, _gracia_, _gracia_,--thanks, thanks!" she cried; but even as she
spoke she sank back in dismay, for everything about her was dark and
still, and for a moment she did not know where she was. Then groping
blindly about in the shadow, she felt the wooden back of the pew in
which she sat, and then she remembered.
But the gifts,--the spirits' Christmas gifts to her. Where were they?
For a long time she searched, stretching out her hand and passing it
over cushion, bench, and floor; but all in vain. No heavenly object
met her grasp, and at last she gave a poor little moan of
disappointment and sorrow,--
"It was only a dream after all,--only a dream."
But now through the tall windows stole a faint streak of light. It
grew ever stronger, and by its aid Nina made her way to the doors, in
order to escape from the church in which she had slept away the night.
But alas! they were closed and fastened tight. She could not get out.
She wandered to and fro through the silent aisles, growing quite
familiar with the dusky place and feeling not at all afraid. She
thought over her dream, and recalled the fact that it was Christmas
Day,--the Festa del Gesù Bambino.
"It was a dream," she mused; "but it was a beautiful one! Perhaps the
spirits gave it to me for my Christmas gift. Perhaps the Gesù bade
them give it me for my Christmas gift;" and just as a glorious burst of
sunshine struck through the illuminated windows, she took up her little
fiddle, raised her bow and her voice at the same time, and sang out in
worshipful gratitude,--
"Mira, cuor mio durissimo,
Il bel Bambin Gesù,
Che in quel presepe asprissimo,
Or lo fai nascer tu!"
She did not hear a distant door open, nor did she see through it the
man who had unconsciously lured her into the church the evening before
by the power of his playing. No; she was conscious of nothing but her
singing and the sweet, long notes she was drawing with her bow from the
strings of her beloved violin.
But she did hear, after she had finished, a low exclamation, and then
she did see that same man hastening toward her with outstretched hands.
"Child, child," he cried, "how came you here! And such a voice! _such_
a voice! Why, it is a gift from Heaven!"
And amid all the excitement that followed,--the excitement of telling
who she was and hearing that she was to be taken care of and given a
home and trained to sing,--that, in fact, she was never to be tired nor
cold nor sad-hearted any more,--she had time to think,--
"Ah! _now_ I know. It was not a dream; it was the truth. I have all
my gifts in my heart for safe keeping. And my voice--hear! the
player-man says it is a gift from Heaven. And oh, I will always use it
with love and good-will, as the spirits bade me. They said it every
one did so it would be a _festa_ all the year."