If you were a Russian child you would not watch to see Santa Klaus come
down the chimney; but you would stand by the windows to catch a peep at
poor Babouscka as she hurries by.
Who is Babouscka? Is she Santa Klaus' wife?
No, indeed. She is only a poor little crooked wrinkled old woman, who
comes at Christmas time into everybody's house, who peeps into every
cradle, turns back every coverlid, drops a tear on the baby's white
pillow, and goes away very, very sorrowful.
And not only at Christmas time, but through all the cold winter, and
especially in March, when the wind blows loud, and whistles and howls
and dies away like a sigh, the Russian children hear the rustling step
of the Babouscka. She is always in a hurry. One hears her running fast
along the crowded streets and over the quiet country fields. She seems
to be out of breath and tired, yet she hurries on.
Whom is she trying to overtake?
She scarcely looks at the little children as they press their rosy faces
against the window pane and whisper to each other, "Is the Babouscka
looking for us?"
No, she will not stop; only on Christmas eve will she come up-stairs
into the nursery and give each little one a present. You must not think
she leaves handsome gifts such as Santa Klaus brings for you. She does
not bring bicycles to the boys or French dolls to the girls. She does
not come in a gay little sleigh drawn by reindeer, but hobbling along on
foot, and she leans on a crutch. She has her old apron filled with candy
and cheap toys, and the children all love her dearly. They watch to see
her come, and when one hears a rustling, he cries, "Lo! the Babouscka!"
then all others look, but one must turn one's head very quickly or she
vanishes. I never saw her myself.
Best of all, she loves little babies, and often, when the tired mothers
sleep, she bends over their cradles, puts her brown, wrinkled face close
down to the pillow and looks very sharply.
What is she looking for?
Ah, that you can't guess unless you know her sad story.
Long, long ago, a great many yesterdays ago, the Babouscka, who was even
then an old woman, was busy sweeping her little hut. She lived in the
coldest corner of cold Russia, and she lived alone in a lonely place
where four wide roads met. These roads were at this time white with
snow, for it was winter time. In the summer, when the fields were full
of flowers and the air full of sunshine and singing birds, Babouscka's
home did not seem so very quiet; but in the winter, with only the
snowflakes and the shy snow-birds and the loud wind for company, the
little old woman felt very cheerless. But she was a busy old woman, and
as it was already twilight, and her home but half swept, she felt in
a great hurry to finish her work before bedtime. You must know the
Babouscka was poor and could not afford to do her work by candle-light.
Presently, down the widest and the lonesomest of the white roads, there
appeared a long train of people coming. They were walking slowly, and
seemed to be asking each other questions as to which way they should
take. As the procession came nearer, and finally stopped outside the
little hut, Babouscka was frightened at the splendor. There were
Three Kings, with crowns on their heads, and the jewels on the Kings'
breastplates sparkled like sunlight. Their heavy fur cloaks were white
with the falling snow-flakes, and the queer humpy camels on which they
rode looked white as milk in the snow-storm. The harness on the camels
was decorated with gold, and plates of silver adorned the saddles. The
saddle-cloths were of the richest Eastern stuffs, and all the servants
had the dark eyes and hair of an Eastern people.
The slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each of the Three
Kings carried a present. One carried a beautiful transparent jar, and
in the fading light Babouscka could see in it a golden liquid which
she knew from its color must be myrrh. Another had in his hand a richly
woven bag, and it seemed to be heavy, as indeed it was, for it was
full of gold. The third had a stone vase in his hand, and from the rich
perfume which filled the snowy air, one could guess the vase to have
been filled with incense.
Babouscka was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut, and
let the servants knock a long time at her door before she dared open it
and answer their questions as to the road they should take to a far-away
town. You know she had never studied a geography lesson in her life,
was old and stupid and scared. She knew the way across the fields to the
nearest village, but she know nothing else of all the wide world full of
cities. The servants scolded, but the Three Kings spoke kindly to her,
and asked her to accompany them on their journey that she might show
them the way as far as she knew it. They told her, in words so simple
that she could not fail to understand, that they had seen a Star in the
sky and were following it to a little town where a young Child lay. The
snow was in the sky now, and the Star was lost out of sight.
"Who is the Child?" asked the old woman.
"He is a King, and we go to worship him," they answered. "These presents
of gold, frankincense and myrrh are for Him. When we find Him we will
take the crowns off our heads and lay them at His feet. Come with us,
Babouscka!"
What do you suppose? Shouldn't you have thought the poor little woman
would have been glad to leave her desolate home on the plains to
accompany these Kings on their journey?
But the foolish woman shook her head. No, the night was dark and
cheerless, and her little home was warm and cosy. She looked up into the
sky, and the Star was nowhere to be seen. Besides, she wanted to put her
hut in order--perhaps she would be ready to go to-morrow. But the Three
Kings could not wait; so when to-morrow's sun rose they were far ahead
on their journey. It seemed like a dream to poor Babouscka, for even
the tracks of the camels' feet were covered by the deep white snow.
Everything was the same as usual; and to make sure that the night's
visitors had not been a fancy, she found her old broom hanging on a peg
behind the door, where she had put it when the servants knocked.
Now that the sun was shining, and she remembered the glitter of the gold
and the smell of the sweet gums and myrrh, she wished she had gone with
the travelers.
And she thought a great deal about the dear Baby the Three Kings had
gone to worship. She had no children of her own--nobody loved her--ah,
if she had only gone! The more she brooded on the thought, the more
miserable she grew, till the very sight of her home became hateful to
her.
It is a dreadful feeling to realize that one has lost a chance of
happiness. There is a feeling called remorse that can gnaw like a sharp
little tooth. Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into her heart every
time she remembered the visit of the Three Kings.
After a while the thought of the Little Child became her first thought
at waking and her last at night. One day she shut the door of her house
forever, and set out on a long journey. She had no hope of overtaking
the Three Kings, but she longed to find the Child, that she too might
love and worship Him. She asked every one she met, and some people
thought her crazy, but others gave her kind answers. Have you perhaps
guessed that the young Child whom the Three Kings sought was our Lord
himself?
People told Babouscka how He was born in a manger, and many other things
which you children have learned long ago. These answers puzzled the
old dame mightily. She had but one idea in her ignorant head. The Three
Kings had gone to seek a Baby. She would, if not too late, seek Him too.
She forgot, I am sure, how many long years had gone by. She looked in
vain for the Christ-child in His manger-cradle. She spent all her little
savings in toys and candy so as to make friends with little children,
that they might not run away when she came hobbling into their
nurseries.
Now you know for whom she is sadly seeking when she pushes back the
bed-curtains and bends down over each baby's pillow. Sometimes, when the
old grandmother sits nodding by the fire, and the bigger children sleep
in their beds, old Babouscka comes hobbling into the room, and whispers
softly, "Is the young Child here?"
Ah, no; she has come too late, too late. But the little children know
her and love her. Two thousand years ago she lost the chance of finding
Him. Crooked, wrinkled, old, sick and sorry, she yet lives on, looking
into each baby's face--always disappointed, always seeking. Will she
find Him at last?
Come, Bossy, come Bossy! Here I am with my cup,
Come give me some milk, rich and sweet.
I will pay you well with red clover hay,
The nicest you ever did eat.