On Christmas Eve the Mayor's stately mansion presented a beautiful
appearance. There were rows of different-colored wax candles burning
in every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of gold
and crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily,
and lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music.
There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and
carriages were constantly arriving, and fresh guests tripping over
them. They were all children. The Mayor was giving a Christmas
Masquerade to-night, to all the children in the city, the poor as well
as the rich. The preparation for this ball had been making an immense
sensation for the last three months. Placards had been up in the most
conspicuous points in the city, and all the daily newspapers had
at least a column devoted to it, headed with THE MAYOR'S CHRISTMAS
MASQUERADE in very large letters.
The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children
whose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes
were directed to be sent in to him.
Of course there was a great deal of excitement among the regular
costumers of the city, and they all resolved to vie with one another
in being the most popular, and the best patronized on this gala
occasion. But the placards and the notices had not been out a week
before a new Costumer appeared, who cast all the others into the shade
directly. He set up his shop on the corner of one of the principal
streets, and hung up his beautiful costumes in the windows. He was a
little fellow, not much larger than a boy of ten. His cheeks were as
red as roses, and he had on a long curling wig as white as snow.
He wore a suit of crimson velvet knee-breeches, and a little
swallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden buttons. Deep lace ruffles
fell over his slender white hands, and he wore elegant knee-buckles
of glittering stones. He sat on a high stool behind his counter and
served his customers himself; he kept no clerk.
It did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things he
had, and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they begun to
flock to his shop immediately, from the Mayor's daughter to the poor
rag-picker's. The children were to select their own costumes; the
Mayor had stipulated that. It was to be a children's ball in every
sense of the word.
So they decided to be fairies, and shepherdesses, and princesses,
according to their own fancies; and this new costumer had charming
costumes to suit them.
It was noticeable, that, for the most part, the children of the rich,
who had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts of
goose-girls and peasants and such like; and the poor children jumped
eagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hours
in their miserable lives.
When Christmas Eve came, and the children flocked into the Mayor's
mansion, whether it was owing to the Costumer's art, or their own
adaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful how
lifelike their representations were. Those little fairies in their
short skirts of silken gauze, in which golden sparkles appeared as
they moved, with their little funny gossamer wings, like butterflies,
looked like real fairies. It did not seem possible, when they floated
around to the music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes,
half by their filmy, purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying in
time, that they could be anything but fairies. It seemed absurd to
imagine that they were Johnny Mullens, the washwoman's son, and Polly
Flinders, the charwoman's little girl, and so on.
The Mayor's daughter, who had chosen the character of a goose-girl,
looked so like a true one that one could hardly dream she ever was
anything else. She was, ordinarily, a slender, dainty little lady,
rather tall for her age. She now looked very short and stubbed and
brown, just as if she had been accustomed to tend geese in all sorts
of weather. It was so with all the others--the Red Riding-hoods, the
princesses, the Bo Peeps, and with every one of the characters who
came to the Mayor's ball; Red Riding-hood looked round, with big,
frightened eyes, all ready to spy the wolf, and carried her little
pat of butter and pot of honey gingerly in her basket; Bo Peep's eyes
looked red with weeping for the loss of her sheep; and the princesses
swept about so grandly in their splendid brocaded trains, and held
their crowned heads so high that people half believed them to be true
princesses.
But there never was anything like the fun at the Mayor's Christmas
ball. The fiddlers fiddled and fiddled, and the children danced and
danced on the beautiful waxed floors. The Mayor, with his family and a
few grand guests, sat on a dais covered with blue velvet at one end of
the dancing hall, and watched the sport. They were all delighted. The
Mayor's eldest daughter sat in front and clapped her little soft white
hands. She was a tall, beautiful young maiden, and wore a white dress,
and a little cap woven of blue violets on her yellow hair. Her name
was Violetta.
[Illustration: THERE NEVER WAS ANYTHING LIKE THE FUN AT THE MAYOR'S
CHRISTMAS BALL.]
The supper was served at midnight--and such a supper! The mountains
of pink and white ices, and the cakes with sugar castles and
flower-gardens on the tops of them, and the charming shapes of gold
and ruby-colored jellies! There were wonderful bonbons which even the
Mayor's daughter did not have every day; and all sorts of fruits,
fresh and candied. They had cowslip wine in green glasses, and
elderberry wine in red, and they drank each other's health. The
glasses held a thimbleful each; the Mayor's wife thought that was all
the wine they ought to have. Under each child's plate there was a
pretty present; and every one had a basket of bonbons and cake to
carry home.
At four o'clock the fiddlers put up their fiddles and the children
went home; fairies and shepherdesses and pages and princesses all
jabbering gleefully about the splendid time they had had.
But in a short time what consternation there was throughout the city!
When the proud and fond parents attempted to unbutton their children's
dresses, in order to prepare them for bed, not a single costume would
come off. The buttons buttoned again as fast as they were unbuttoned;
even if they pulled out a pin, in it would slip again in a twinkling;
and when a string was untied it tied itself up again into a bow-knot.
The parents were dreadfully frightened. But the children were so tired
out they finally let them go to bed in their fancy costumes, and
thought perhaps they would come off better in the morning. So Red
Riding-hood went to bed in her little red cloak, holding fast to her
basket full of dainties for her grandmother, and Bo Peep slept with
her crook in her hand.
The children all went to bed readily enough, they were so very
tired, even though they had to go in this strange array. All but the
fairies--they danced and pirouetted and would not be still.
[Illustration: THEIR PARENTS STARED IN GREAT DISTRESS]
"We want to swing on the blades of grass," they kept saying, "and play
hide-and-seek in the lily-cups, and take a nap between the leaves of
the roses."
The poor charwomen and coal-heavers, whose children the fairies were
for the most part, stared at them in great distress. They did not know
what to do with these radiant, frisky little creatures into which
their Johnnys and their Pollys and Betseys were so suddenly
transformed. But the fairies went to bed quietly enough when daylight
came, and were soon fast asleep.
There was no further trouble till twelve o'clock, when all the
children woke up. Then a great wave of alarm spread over the city. Not
one of the costumes would come off then. The buttons buttoned as fast
as they were unbuttoned; the pins quilted themselves in as fast as
they were pulled out; and the strings, flew round like lightning and
twisted themselves into bow-knots as fast as they were untied.
And that was not the worst of it; every one of the children seemed to
have become, in reality, the character which he or she had assumed.
The Mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out in
the pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds of
down, throwing aside their silken quilts, and cried that they must go
out and watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their straw
pallets, and wanted to go to court; and all the rest of them likewise.
Poor little Red Riding-hood sobbed and sobbed because she couldn't go
and carry her basket to her grandmother, and as she didn't have any
grandmother she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very much
troubled. It was all so mysterious and dreadful. The news spread very
rapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the new
Costumer's shop, for every one thought he must be responsible for all
this mischief.
The shop door was locked; but they soon battered it down with stones.
When they rushed in the Costumer was not there; he had disappeared
with all his wares. Then they did not know what to do. But it was
evident that they must do something before long, for the state of
affairs was growing worse and worse.
The Mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestried
wall and planted her two feet in their thick shoes firmly. "I will
go and tend my geese!" she kept crying. "I won't eat my breakfast! I
won't go out in the park! I won't go to school. I'm going to tend my
geese--I will, I will, I will!"
And the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough, unpainted
floors in their parents' poor little huts, and held their crowned
heads very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesses
were, mostly, geese-girls when they were their proper selves, and
their geese were suffering, and their poor parents did not know what
they were going to do, and they wrung their hands and wept as they
gazed on their gorgeously-appareled children.
Finally, the Mayor called a meeting of the Aldermen, and they all
assembled in the City Hall. Nearly every one of them had a son or
a daughter who was a chimney-sweep, or a little watch-girl, or a
shepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great many
votes, and contrary votes; but they did not agree on anything, until
some one proposed that they consult the Wise Woman. Then they all held
up their hands, and voted to, unanimously.
[Illustration: "I WILL GO AND TEND MY GEESE!"]
So the whole board of Aldermen set out, walking by twos, with the
Mayor at their head, to consult the Wise Woman. The Aldermen were all
very fleshy, and carried gold-headed canes which they swung very high
at every step. They held their heads well back, and their chins stiff,
and whenever they met common people they sniffed gently. They were
very imposing.
The Wise Woman lived in a little hut on the out-skirts of the city.
She kept a Black Cat; except for her, she was all alone. She was very
old, and had brought up a great many children, and she was considered
remarkably wise.
But when the Aldermen reached her hut and found her seated by the
fire, holding her Black Cat, a new difficulty presented itself. She
had always been quite deaf, and people had been obliged to scream as
loud as they could in order to make her hear; but, lately, she had
grown much deafer, and when the Aldermen attempted to lay the case
before her she could not hear a word. In fact, she was so very deaf
that she could not distinguish a tone below G-sharp. The Aldermen
screamed till they were quite red in their faces, but all to no
purpose; none of them could get up to G-sharp, of course.
So the Aldermen all went back, swinging their gold-headed canes, and
they had another meeting in the City Hall. Then they decided to send
the highest Soprano Singer in the church choir to the Wise Woman; she
could sing up to G-sharp just as easy as not. So the high-Soprano
Singer set out for the Wise Woman's in the Mayor's coach, and the
Aldermen marched behind, swinging their gold-headed canes.
The high-Soprano Singer put her head down close to the Wise Woman's
ear, and sang all about the Christmas Masquerade, and the dreadful
dilemma everybody was in, in G-sharp--she even went higher,
sometimes--and the Wise Woman heard every word. She nodded three
times, and every time she nodded she looked wiser.
"Go home, and give 'em a spoonful of castor-oil, all 'round," she
piped up; then she took a pinch of snuff, and wouldn't say any more.
So the Aldermen went home, and each one took a district and marched
through it, with a servant carrying an immense bowl and spoon, and
every child had to take a dose of castor-oil.
But it didn't do a bit of good. The children cried and struggled when
they were forced to take the castor-oil; but, two minutes afterward,
the chimney-sweeps were crying for their brooms, and the princesses
screaming because they couldn't go to court, and the Mayor's daughter,
who had been given a double dose, cried louder and more sturdily: "I
want to go and tend my geese! I will go and tend my geese!"
So the Aldermen took the high-Soprano Singer, and they consulted the
Wise Woman again. She was taking a nap this time, and the Singer had
to sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was very
cross, and the Black Cat put up his back and spit at the Aldermen.
"Give 'em a spanking all 'round," she snapped out, "and if that don't
work put 'em to bed without their supper!"
Then the Aldermen marched back to try that; and all the children in
the city were spanked, and when that didn't do any good they were put
to bed without any supper. But the next morning when they woke up they
were worse than ever.
The Mayor and the Aldermen were very indignant, and considered that
they had been imposed upon and insulted. So they set out for the Wise
Woman's again, with the high-Soprano Singer.
She sang in G-sharp how the Aldermen and the Mayor considered her an
imposter, and did not think she was wise at all, and they wished her
to take her Black Cat and move beyond the limits of the city. She sang
it beautifully; it sounded like the very finest Italian opera-music.
"Deary me," piped the Wise Woman, when she had finished, "how very
grand these gentlemen are." Her Black Cat put up his back and spit.
"Five times one Black Cat are five Black Cats," said the Wise Woman.
And, directly, there were five Black Cats, spitting and miauling.
"Five times five Black Cats are twenty-five Black Cats." And then
there were twenty-five of the angry little beasts.
"Five times twenty-five Black Cats are one hundred and twenty-five
Black Cats," added the Wise Woman, with a chuckle.
[Illustration: SHE SANG IT BEAUTIFULLY.]
Then the Mayor and the Aldermen and the high-Soprano Singer fled
precipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred and
twenty-five Black Cats had seemed to fill the Wise Woman's hut full,
and when they all spit and miauled together it was dreadful. The
visitors could not wait for her to multiply Black Cats any longer.
As winter wore on, and spring came, the condition of things grew more
intolerable. Physicians had been consulted, who advised that the
children should be allowed to follow their own bents, for fear of
injury to their constitutions. So the rich Aldermen's daughters were
actually out in the fields herding sheep, and their sons sweeping
chimneys or carrying newspapers; while the poor charwomen's and
coal-heavers' children spent their time like princesses and fairies.
Such a topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. Why, the Mayor's
little daughter was tending geese out in the meadow like any common
goose-girl! Her pretty elder sister, Violetta, felt very sad about it,
and used often to cast about in her mind for some way of relief.
When cherries were ripe in spring, Violetta thought she would ask the
Cherry-man about it. She thought the Cherry-man quite wise. He was a
very pretty young fellow, and he brought cherries to sell in
graceful little straw baskets lined with moss. So she stood in the
kitchen-door, one morning, and told him all about the great trouble
that had come upon the city. He listened in great astonishment; he had
never heard of it before. He lived several miles out in the country.
"How did the Costumer look?" he asked respectfully; he thought
Violetta the most beautiful lady on earth.
Then Violetta described the Costumer, and told him of the unavailing
attempts that had been made to find him. There were a great many
detectives out, constantly at work.
"I know where he is!" said the Cherry-man. "He's up in one of my
cherry-trees. He's been living there ever since cherries were ripe,
and he won't come down."
Then Violetta ran and told her father in great excitement, and he at
once called a meeting of the Aldermen, and in a few hours half the
city was on the road to the Cherry-man's.
He had a beautiful orchard of cherry-trees, all laden with fruit.
And, sure enough, in one of the largest, way up amongst the topmost
branches, sat the Costumer in his red velvet short-clothes and his
diamond knee-buckles. He looked down between the green boughs.
"Good-morning, friends," he shouted.
The Aldermen shook their gold-headed canes at him, and the people
danced round the tree in a rage. Then they began to climb. But they
soon found that to be impossible. As fast as they touched a hand or
foot to the tree, back it flew with a jerk exactly as if the tree
pushed it. They tried a ladder, but the ladder fell back the moment
it touched the tree, and lay sprawling upon the ground. Finally, they
brought axes and thought they could chop the tree down, Costumer and
all; but the wood resisted the axes as if it were iron, and only
dented them, receiving no impression itself.
Meanwhile, the Costumer sat up in the tree, eating cherries, and
throwing the stones down. Finally, he stood up on a stout branch and,
looking down, addressed the people.
"It's of no use, your trying to accomplish anything in this way," said
he; "you'd better parley. I'm willing to come to terms with you, and
make everything right, on two conditions."
The people grew quiet then, and the Mayor stepped forward as
spokesman. "Name your two conditions," said he, rather testily. "You
own, tacitly, that you are the cause of all this trouble."
"Well," said the Costumer, reaching out for a handful of cherries,
"this Christmas Masquerade of yours was a beautiful idea; but you
wouldn't do it every year, and your successors might not do it at all.
I want those poor children to have a Christmas every year. My first
condition is, that every poor child in the city hangs its stocking for
gifts in the City Hall on every Christmas Eve, and gets it filled,
too. I want the resolution filed and put away in the city archives."
"We agree to the first condition!" cried the people with one voice,
without waiting for the Mayor and Aldermen.
"The second condition," said the Costumer, "is that this good young
Cherry-man here, has the Mayor's daughter, Violetta, for his wife. He
has been kind to me, letting me live in his cherry-tree, and eat his
cherries, and I want to reward him."
"We consent!" cried all the people; but the Mayor, though he was
so generous, was a proud man. "I will not consent to the second
condition," he cried angrily.
"Very well," replied the Costumer, picking some more cherries, "then
your youngest daughter tends geese the rest of her life, that's all!"
The Mayor was in great distress; but the thought of his youngest
daughter being a goose-girl all her life was too much for him. He gave
in at last.
"Now go home, and take the costumes off your children," said the
Costumer, "and leave me in peace to eat cherries!"
Then the people hastened back to the city and found, to their great
delight, that the costumes would come off. The pins staid out, the
buttons staid unbuttoned, and the strings staid untied. The children
were dressed in their own proper clothes and were their own proper
selves once more. The shepherdesses and the chimney-sweeps came
home, and were washed and dressed in silks and velvets, and went to
embroidering and playing lawn-tennis. And the princesses and the
fairies put on their own suitable dresses, and went about their useful
employments. There was great rejoicing in every home. Violetta thought
she had never been so happy, now that her dear little sister was no
longer a goose-girl, but her own dainty little lady-self.
The resolution to provide every poor child in the city with a stocking
full of gifts on Christmas was solemnly filed, and deposited in the
city archives, and was never broken.
Violetta was married to the Cherry-man, and all the children came to
the wedding, and strewed flowers in her path till her feet were quite
hidden in them. The Costumer had mysteriously disappeared from the
cherry-tree the night before, but he left, at the foot, some beautiful
wedding presents for the bride--a silver service with a pattern of
cherries engraved on it, and a set of china with cherries on it, in
hand-painting, and a white satin robe, embroidered with cherries down
the front.