for he, of course, must be on hand when the strongest young men of
the family start out with a cart and a pair of oxen to cut a young
oak tree and bring it home. Upon the chosen tree they throw a handful
of wheat with the greeting, “Happy Badnyi Day to you!” Then they
begin to cut it very carefully, timing the strokes of the axes and
placing them so that the tree shall fall directly toward the rising
sun, and at the exact moment when its red ball begins to show at the
edge of the world. If by any mischance, or a stroke of the axe in
the wrong place, the tree falls toward the west, there will be great
distress, for this is thought to mean that very bad luck will follow
the family through all the coming year. If the tree should fall in
the right direction but catch in the branches of another, the good
fortune of the family will only be delayed for a while. The small
boy’s part is to watch very closely where the first chip falls, for
it is most important to carry home that first oak chip. The trunk of
the tree is trimmed and cut into two or three logs, of which one is
a foot or more longer than the others. They are then dragged to the
house, but are not taken inside until sunset; in the meantime they
stand in the courtyard on either side the door. The house mother
leaves her work as they are brought home to break a flat cake of
purest wheat flour upon the longest log, while the little girls sing
special songs. But soon she goes back to her work, for there is a
deal to be done before sunset; the women are making Christmas cakes
in the shape of lambs and chickens, and most often of little pigs
with blunt-pointed noses and curly tails. For the pig belongs to a
Servian Christmas as much as turkey does to an American Thanksgiving.
Long ago the pagan Servians used to sacrifice a pig to the sun-god
on the day of the old Badnyak; and to this day you will not find
one Servian house in which “roast pig” is not the chief dish of the
Christmas dinner. While the women bake, the men prepare the pig for
the next day’s roasting. The boy who so carefully brought home that
first oak chip put it at once into a wooden bowl, and his little
sister and he cover the chip, and fill the bowl with wheat.
Just at sunset the whole family gathers in the big kitchen. The
mother of the family gives a pair of woollen gloves to one of the
men—most often to the father, sometimes to the strongest of her
sons, who goes outside to bring in the Badnyak. Tall wax candles
are set on either side the open door, and in front of it the mother
stands with the wooden bowl in her hands. As the log is brought in
she throws a handful of wheat at the bearer, who says, “Good evening,
and may you have a happy Badnyi Day.” He is answered by a chorus of
greetings from all in the room. In some parts of the country each
man present brings in a log and at each is thrown a little wheat
in sign of the wish that, in the year to come, food may be plenty
enough to throw away. A glass of red wine is then sprinkled on the
log, and the oldest and the strongest of the family together place
it on the burning fire in such a way that the thick end of the log
sticks out above the hearth for about a foot. And sometimes you may
see a prudent father smear the end of it with honey and place on it
a bowl of wheat, an orange, and the ploughshare, that they may be so
warmed by the Christmas fire that the cattle shall be fed, the bees
industrious, and the trees and fields be fruitful, through all the
year.
The Day of the Little God
There is so little sleep for the Servian peasant on a Christmas
morning that very few except the old and the babies go to bed at all
on the night before “the day of the little God,” as it is called. For
one thing, the new Badnyak, the great log on the Christmas fire, must
be kept burning all the time, and brightly. Then the all-important
pig must be set to roast early. When it is ready and laid before the
fire, some one goes outside and fires off a gun or pistol; and when
the roasted pig is taken from the fire, the shooting is repeated.
From four to eight o’clock on a Christmas morning every Servian
village reëchoes as if it were celebrating the Fourth of July with
cannon crackers.
Just before sunrise some young girl of the family goes to the
fountain, or the brook from which they usually get their drinking
water. Before she fills her pots or jars she greets the water,
wishing it a happy Christmas, and throws into it a handful of wheat.
The first cupfuls of water drawn are put into a special jar and
are used to make the “Chesnitza,” the Christmas cake, which is to
be divided into a piece for each member of the family, present or
absent. A small silver coin baked into it is supposed to fall to the
lot of that member of the family who is to meet with special good
fortune during the coming year.
[Illustration:
_H. Hofmann_
BETHLEHEM]
No other visitor is allowed to enter the house before the “Polaznik,”
the Christmas guest, has come. The part is usually taken by some boy
from a neighbor’s family, who comes very early and brings with him a
woollen glove full of wheat. When at his knock the door is opened,
he showers the wheat over those around the brightly burning fire and
into all corners of the room with the greeting, “Christ is born.” The
mother of the family throws a handful of wheat at him and all the
others shout, “In truth, He is born!” The guest then walks straight
to the fire, and with the heavy shovel strikes the burning log with
all his force repeatedly, so that thousands of sparks rise high in
the chimney, while he says, “May you have this year so many oxen,
so many horses, so many sheep, so many pigs, so many beehives of
honey, so much good luck, so much success and happiness.” After this
good wish he kisses his host, drops to his knees before the Christmas
log on the fire, kisses one end of it, which sticks out of the
fireplace into the room, and places a coin upon it as his gift. As he
rises, a woman offers him a low wooden chair, but just as he seats
himself draws it away so that he sits down hard upon the ground, and
is thus supposed to fix to it firmly every good wish he has spoken.
Finally he is wrapped in a thick blanket, and with it around him sits
quietly for a few minutes while the young folks who are to tend the
flocks and herds in the coming year come to the hearth and kiss each
other solemnly across the Christmas log. The wearing of the blanket
is said to insure thick cream in the next year, and the shepherds’
kisses will make for peace and plenty among the cattle.
Before the chief meal of the day, all the members of the family
gather about its head, each with a lighted candle in hand, while he
prays briefly. Then they turn and kiss each other with such greetings
as: “Peace of God be with us!” “Christos is born!” “In truth, He is
born!” “Therefore let us bow before Christos and His birth.” And
toward the end of the meal all stand to drink “to the glory of God
and of the birth of Christ,” which marks the end of the Christmas
celebration.
Nature Folk-lore of Christmastide
Among all the older peoples of Europe there are many bits of folk
stories which tell of the wonderful peace which fell upon the world
on the night of the Holy Eve. A Bosnian legend says that at the
time of the birth of Christ “the sun in the east bowed down, the
stars stood still, the mountains and the forests shook and touched
the earth with their summits, and the green pine tree bent, ...
the grass was beflowered with opening blossoms, incense sweet as
myrrh pervaded upland and forest, birds sang on the mountain top,
and all gave thanks to the great God.” This belief in the holy and
gracious kinship of all nature at this season finds expression in
many countries in an added tenderness for all living things during
Yuletide. The very sparrows, whose nests the boys are free to raid at
any other time, have a sheaf of rye set up for their Christmas feast,
says Mr. Riis, who tells that once, stranded in a Michigan town, he
was wandering about the streets and came upon such a sheaf raised
upon a pole in a dooryard. “I knew at once,” he says, “that one of my
people lived in that house and kept Yule in the old way. So I felt as
if I were not quite a stranger.”
In England, robins are the birds of Christmas time; an old legend has
it that on the day of Christ’s suffering the robin fluttered beside
Him, and in trying to pluck thorns from His crown stained its breast
crimson.
So ever when the snow comes round
To crown the wintry year,
Perched high upon the holly bough
Red Robin warbles clear.
No other songster on the spray
At Christmas time is heard,
But when the Saviour’s birth we keep,
We hear the Saviour’s bird.
The Spanish show special kindness at this time to any ass or cow,
believing that on Holy Night they breathed upon the Christchild to
keep Him warm. Many other quaint old beliefs used to be common about
how the animals act at Christmas time. From northern Canada comes
the Indian saying that on the Holy Night the deer all kneel and look
up to the Great Spirit, but that whoever spies upon them will have
stiffness in his knees for all the year to come. In the German Alps
it was believed that animals have the gift of speech on Christmas
Eve, but that he who listens will surely hear them foretell some evil
for the listener. Of a like belief Mr. Riis says that, when he was a
boy:—
“All the animals knew perfectly well that the holiday had come, and
kept it in their way. The watch-dog was unchained. In the midnight
hour on the Holy Eve the cattle stood up in their stalls and bowed
out of respect and reverence for Him who was laid in a manger when
there was no room in the inn, and in that hour speech was given them,
and they talked together. Claus, our neighbor’s man, had seen and
heard it, and every Christmas Eve I meant fully to go and be there
when it happened; but always long before that I had been led away
to bed, a very sleepy boy, with all my toys hugged tight, and when I
woke up the daylight shone through the frosted window-panes, and they
were blowing good morning from the church tower; it would be a whole
year before another Christmas. So I vowed, with a sigh at having
neglected a really sacred observance, that I would be there sure on
the next Christmas Eve. But it was always so, every year, and perhaps
it was just as well, for Claus said that it might go ill with the one
who listened, if the cows found him out.”
In the older parts of Montenegro, the head of the family and his
shepherd boy still follow the quaint old custom of lighting the
animals to their stalls on Christmas Eve. Each takes a lighted wax
candle and they go together into every stall in turn, holding the
candles for a moment in each of its corners. Then, at the stable
door they take stand, one at each side of it, and hold their candles
high while the little shepherdess drives the animals in. One by one,
sheep, goats, and oxen, they pass between the flickering lights.
After that, the shepherd boy and the little shepherdess kiss each
other “that the cattle may live in peace and love,” they say.
[Illustration: Decoration]
[Illustration: Deer]
Good King Wenceslas
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
Deep, and crisp, and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night,
Though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
Gath’ring winter fuel.
“Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou know’st it telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?”
“Sire, he lives a good league hence,
Underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence,
By St. Agnes’ fountain.”
“Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,
Bring me pine logs hither;
Thou and I will see him dine,
When we bear them thither.”
Page and monarch forth they went,
Forth they went together;
Through the rude wind’s wild lament,
And the bitter weather.
“Sire, the night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer.”
“Mark my footsteps, good my page!
Tread thou in them boldly;
Thou shalt find the winter’s rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly.”
In his master’s steps he trod,
Where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod
Which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
Shall yourselves find blessing.
A Mexican “Mystery” seen by Bayard Taylor
Against the wing-wall of the Hacienda del Mayo, which occupied one
end of the plaza, was raised a platform, on which stood a table
covered with a scarlet cloth. A rude bower of cane leaves on one end
of the platform represented the manger of Bethlehem, while a cord
stretched from its top across the plaza to a hole in the front of the
church bore a large tinsel star, suspended by a hole in its centre.
There was quite a crowd in the plaza, and very soon a procession
appeared, coming up from the lower part of the village. The three
kings took the lead; the Virgin, mounted on an ass that gloried in
a gilded saddle and rose-besprinkled mane and tail, followed them,
led by the angel; and several women, with curious masks of paper,
brought up the rear. Two characters, of the harlequin sort—one with a
dog’s head on his shoulders, and the other a bald-headed friar, with
a huge hat hanging on his back—played all sorts of antics for the
diversion of the crowd. After making the circuit of the plaza, the
Virgin was taken to the platform, and entered the manger. King Herod
took his seat at the scarlet table, with an attendant in blue coat
and red sash, whom I took to be his Prime Minister. The three kings
remained on their horses in front of the church; between them and the
platform, under the string on which the star was to slide, walked
two men in long white robes and blue hoods, with parchment folios
in their hands. These were the Wise Men of the East, as one might
readily know from their solemn air, and the mysterious glances which
they cast toward all quarters of the heavens.
In a little while, a company of women on the platform, concealed
behind a curtain, sang an angelic chorus to the tune of “Opescator
dell’ onda.” At the proper moment, the Magi turned toward the
platform, following the star, to which a string was conveniently
attached that it might be slid along the line. The three kings
followed the star till it reached the manger, when they dismounted,
and inquired for the sovereign, whom it had led them to visit.
They were invited upon the platform and introduced to Herod, as
the only king; this did not seem to satisfy them, and, after some
conversation, they retired. By this time the star had receded to the
other end of the line and commenced moving again, they following.
The angel called them into the manger, where, upon their knees, they
were shown a small wooden box, supposed to contain the sacred infant:
they then retired, and the star brought them back no more. After
this departure, King Herod declared himself greatly confused by what
he had witnessed, and was very much afraid this newly found king
would weaken his power. Upon consultation with his Prime Minister,
the Massacre of the Innocents was decided upon, as the only means of
security.
The angel, on hearing this, gave warning to the Virgin, who quickly
got down from the platform, mounted her bespangled donkey, and
hurried off. Herod’s Prime Minister directed all the children to be
handed up for execution. A boy, in ragged sarape, was caught and
thrust forward; the Minister took him by the heels in spite of his
kicking, and held his head on the table. The little brother and
sister of the boy, thinking he was really to be decapitated, yelled
at the top of their voices, in an agony of terror, which threw the
crowd into a roar of laughter. King Herod brought down his sword with
a whack on the table, and the Prime Minister, dipping his brush into
a pot of white paint which stood before him, made a flaring cross on
the boy’s face. Several other boys were caught and served likewise;
and finally, the two harlequins, whose kicks and struggles nearly
shook down the platform. The procession then went off up the hill,
followed by the whole population of the village.
[Illustration:
_Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York_
THE CHRISTMAS TREE MARKET IN NEW YORK]
Breaking the Piñate
If you were in Mexico the week before Christmas you would not find
one Christmas tree, unless it were in some town where Americans
have been living for a good while. But everywhere children would
be talking about breaking a piñate (pronounced pin-yah-tay) as you
talk of having a tree. In the small stalls set up in the plazas
for the sale of Christmas gifts there are hundreds of different
gayly colored piñates. Some are bowl-shaped or oval jars made out
of the coarse red earthenware of Puebla, painted with dashes of
yellow and black in patterns that have been copied from old Indian
pottery. Others are made of paper in gay stripes of red and yellow,
in shape like tissue-paper balloons, and are decorated with tinsel
ornaments and streamers of bright-colored paper, such as are hung
on Christmas trees. Others still are made in the shape of grotesque
figures, clowns with baggy trousers, dancing girls in wide-spread
skirts, monks in long cloaks, and animals. All of them, jars or
paper figures, are easily breakable; they are stuffed with sweets,
crackers, rattles, whistles, or any other toys which are small and
light, and parents hang them—usually on Christmas Eve—from the
ceiling of a room or from a branch of a tree in the courtyard. Each
child of the family in turn after being blindfolded, given a long
stick, and led some distance away from the hanging piñate, is allowed
to grope toward where he thinks it is and to strike out at it three
times in the effort to break it. If he fails, another is given the
chance. Mexican families are large and often a father and all his
sons live together in square, flat-roofed buildings of sun-dried
brick around a common courtyard. So there is a deal of laughter and
excitement as one child after another makes his trial. At last one
manages to hit the piñate so that it breaks open and toys, sweets,
and ornaments come down in a shower. This is the moment for which
the children crowding around have been waiting, and they swoop down
upon the dainties in a joyous scramble. The successful child usually
receives a special prize; for, blindfolded as he is, he stands small
chance of getting anything else.
Breaking the piñate usually follows a curious ceremony in which all
those present walk together around the house several times chanting a
litany. The procession is in memory of the night when Joseph and Mary
journeyed to Bethlehem and found no room in the inn. Often even the
donkey belonging to the family is brought into the ceremony. After
the litany some go within the house while others outside sing a plea
for admittance, which is at first roughly refused. Finally they are
admitted, and another hymn is followed by feasting and merry-making,
of which breaking the piñate is the children’s part.
[Illustration: Decoration]
Christmas upon a Greenland Iceberg
One hot June day in 1869 there was a great stir in the new harbor
of Bremerhaven in Germany; at its entrance lay two stout ships,
the _Germania_ and the _Hansa_, fully fitted out for Arctic
exploration. Visitors and messengers were going back and forth. The
King of Prussia himself, with many of his nobles, the Grand Duke of
Mecklenburg, Schwerin, Count Bismarck, and General von Moltke among
them, had come from Berlin to say Godspeed to the commander and the
scientific gentlemen who were braving unknown dangers, and certain
privations and hardships “for the honor of the German navy and of
German science,” as his Majesty expressed it.
The last of the cases of stores hoisted on board the _Hansa_ were
stowed away with a peculiar laughing tenderness. They were stout
chests cased in lead in which friends of these explorers had placed
such friendly little trifles as are inseparable from the celebration
of Christmas wherever the Germans may be.
There is no place in this book for the story of their adventures
in the slow voyage up beyond the ice line. In July, by some
misunderstanding of signals, the two ships separated, never to
meet again. In September the _Hansa_ was caught in a great field
of floating ice and was carried for two hundred days thereafter in
the drift of the floe. An October storm so racked the ship that her
captain and crew were forced to abandon her and carry everything
out upon the ice. The great coal-bin of the ship was taken out and
turned into a store hut. All the supplies were taken there, the
ship’s three boats were carefully secured, everything was taken from
the _Hansa_ which could be used for fuel, and at last the ship was
cut away from the ice lest in sinking she destroy them.
Then began a frightful period of drifting. Storm after storm put them
in danger of a sudden death which may have seemed more desirable
than waiting for the winds and currents to carry them slowly into a
warmer sea and toward the natural breaking up of the ice-floe. Hope
of rescue in those lonely waters was faint.
But they lived bravely and worked steadily, constructing around
the main hut, from the timbers saved from the _Hansa_, small black
shelters in which, all but buried in the snow, the men lived. And
that they kept Christmas in true German fashion the log of the vessel
tells:—
“The tree was erected in the afternoon, while the greater part of the
crew took a walk; and the lonely hut shone with wonderful brightness
amid the snow. Christmas upon a Greenland iceberg! The tree was
artistically put together of firwood and ravelled matweed [hemp?],
and Dr. Laube had saved a twist of wax taper for the illumination.
Chains of colored paper and newly baked cakes were not wanting, and
the men had made a knapsack and a revolver case as a present for
the captain. We opened the leaden chests of presents from Professor
Hochstetter and the Geological Society, and were much amused by their
contents. Each man had a glass of port wine; and we then turned
over the old newspapers which we found in the chests, and drew lots
for the presents, which consisted of small musical instruments, such
as fifes, jews’-harps, trumpets, etc., with draughts and other games,
puppets, crackers, etc. In the evening we feasted on chocolate and
gingerbread.”
[Illustration:
_From paintings by Raphael_
HEADS OF THE CHRIST CHILD]
“We observed the day very quietly,” wrote Dr. Laube in his diary. “If
this Christmas be the last we are to see, it was at least a cheerful
one; but should a happy return home be decreed for us, the next will,
we trust, be a far brighter. May God so grant!”
And He did. But that is not a Christmas story, and you will have to
look elsewhere for it.
Luther’s Christmas Carol for Children
Good news from Heaven the angels bring,
Glad tidings to the earth they sing:
To us this day a child is given,
To crown us with the joy of heaven.
This is the Christ, our Lord and God,
Who in all need shall aid afford:
He will Himself our Saviour be,
From sin and sorrow set us free.
To us that blessedness He brings,
Which from the Father’s bounty springs:
That in the heavenly realm we may
With Him enjoy eternal day.
All hail, Thou noble Guest, this morn,
Whose love did not the sinner scorn!
In my distress Thou cam’st to me:
What thanks shall I return to Thee?
Were earth a thousand times as fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
She yet were far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.
Ah, dearest Jesus, Holy Child!
Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber kept for Thee.
Praise God upon His heavenly throne,
Who gave to us His only Son:
For this His hosts, on joyful wing,
A blest New Year of mercy sing.
[Illustration: Decoration]
The Good Night in Spain
If you were a child in Spain, you would not be talking of Christmas
trees in the late December days, but of _navidades_, or “nativities.”
These are tiny models of a scene supposed to be Bethlehem. Some of
them are very simple, made of cardboard, colored paper, bits of stone
and sand. On one side is a hill, built up of paper or plaster, and
in the side of it is the cave to which the gentle cattle were used
to come for food and shelter. By its crude match-wood manger stand
or sit little figures of the Holy Family. Often these are modelled
from beautiful designs, the work of famous artists who put their
highest skill into creating the tiny images of the mother and the
Holy Child. Outside the cave stand the patient oxen, and perhaps the
donkey upon which the Infant Christ is to be carried out of the reach
of Herod. Overhead sparkles a shining star. Some of these simple
“nativities” can be bought for a few cents. Others made of better
materials, or with greater care, and with many figures, are more
costly. These have, besides the Holy Family, perhaps, a fire of ruddy
tinfoil around which shepherds gather, looking, in their straight
brown cloaks, as if they might have stepped from your Noah’s ark, and
back of them, on a hillside of green cloth, little white wool lambs
feed quietly. In still another you may even see a smuggler with a
slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, hiding with a load of tobacco
behind a paper rock to leave the road free for the Three Kings who in
all their tinsel go journeying to worship the Holy Child. The roads
are rough with bits of cork, the river is a strip of glass, and the
bridge over which the camels of the Wise Men pass is clearly of paper
stone; the rabbit hiding in the evergreens is quite as large as the
donkey saddled for the flight into Egypt; but in the magic of “the
Holy Night” all seem to be real, to live and feel, so natural and
tender is the children’s faith in these simple “nativities,” which
are repeated on a larger scale in all the churches.