THE ROSE CROWN.
For Clara.
Dear, tender-hearted little Clara:—In the olden time, there was a beautiful superstition in Germany, that on Christmas eve our Saviour, just as he was when a little child here below, comes at midnight in at the door, and fills all those children's shoes with gifts, who have followed His example of goodness and obedience. You know that you hang up your stockings, and Santa Claus comes down the chimney; but the little German children believe that they are far more blessed. It is a beautiful idea, for it brings Him, who for our sakes became a little child on earth, more closely and lovingly to the children's hearts. They grow up sure of His love and sympathy, from infancy to old age.
I have asked Sarah ("the doctor") to write me another story after the German fashion, on purpose for you. She has given me this "Rose Crown;" and the story turns upon the sweet and solemn belief of the German children.
You will perceive that the little Gottfried in the story thought of this with such intensity, and with such perfect faith in its truth, as to cause him to walk in his sleep, like a somnambulist. No doubt your dear mother can tell you many strange and extraordinary stories of somnambulists, who do the most wonderful and startling things while in this kind of trance state, of which they are utterly unconscious when they awake.
I hope this story will please my dear little Clara; it is called
THE ROSE CROWN.
"It was Christmas eve, and a cold winter's day. The flakes of snow fell softly and thickly, and had already covered the earth with a white cloak.
"At one of the windows of the large house that stands on the top of the hill, where the purple violets first peep out in the spring-time, stood the little Gottfried and his sister Marie.
"'Only look, dear Marie,' said Gottfried, 'how fast the snow falls! What large flakes! They look like little milk-white doves.'
"'It is the Mother Holle shaking her feather-beds,' cried Marie, laughing; and looking up towards the sky, and beckoning with her hand, she sang—
"'Mother Holle,
Good wife Holle,
Fill the meadows fair and full:
Stay not, pause not,
Shake away,
Make the snow fall fast to-day.'
"'Oh! I can sing a prettier song than thine,' said Gottfried. 'Listen, now. The good wife Katarine taught it to me;' and he sang—
"'See the snow-flakes,
Merry snow-flakes!
How they fall from yonder sky,
Coming lightly, coming sprightly,
Dancing downwards, from on high.
Faint or tire, will they never,
Wheeling round and round forever.
Surely nothing do I know,
Half so merry as the snow;
Half so merry, merry, merry,
As the dancing, glancing snow.
"'See the snow-flakes,
Solemn snow-flakes!
How they whiten, melt and die.
In what cold and shroud-like masses
O'er the buried earth they lie.
Lie as though the frozen plain
Ne'er would bloom with flowers again.
Surely nothing do I know,
Half so solemn as the snow,
Half so solemn, solemn, solemn,
As the falling, melting snow.'
"'Ah! thy song is sad, brother,' said little Marie: 'it makes me sigh.'
"As she spoke, a little boy, poorly clad, was seen coming up the avenue; and Gottfried exclaimed—'Here comes Heinrich!' and running out of the room, he presently returned, leading by the hand Heinrich, the little faggot-maker, whose mother, a poor but pious widow, lived in a hut just out of the village.
"'Why, Heinrich, where hast thou been this cold day?' asked Marie.
"'Taking my faggots to Herr Kaufferman's,' said the poor boy. 'But oh, Gottfried, they have there the most beautiful Christmas Tree!' and then Heinrich paused and sighed.
"'And to-night the dear Christkindchen, or Holy Child, will bring them presents,' said Gottfried. 'I hope he will fill thy shoes full.'[A]
THE BAD BOY TAUNTING HEINRICH.
"'Alas! the Christ-child never comes to me,' said Heinrich.
"'What! hast thou never heard how he comes at midnight, bearing a lighted taper and a crown of white roses, and gives presents to all the good children?'
"'My mother has told me of this,' said Heinrich, 'and I have waited and watched, but he never comes! He never will come. It was only yesterday that I met Hans, the butcher's son, and he mocked me, and snapped his fingers in my face, and said—"Thou art so poor, that thy shoes will never have any thing in them;" and I was so angry, and wanted to strike him, but my mother said I must never fight or quarrel with any one, and I went away from him; but it is hard to be poor,' and here he began to cry.
"'Ah! yes, it is sad, dear Heinrich; but do not weep; here, wipe thine eyes with my new pocket-handkerchief. Come, now, be happy; and I will pray to the Christ-child, and beg him to come this very night to thee.'
"At this the little faggot-maker's face brightened, and soon after he went away.
"In the evening, the children had their supper, and soon after they stood by the knee of their kind mother, and sang this hymn:
"Jesus, our Shepherd! we ask for thy blessing,
Through the long hours of this dreary night;
Let us not know (thy kind favor possessing)
Danger or sorrow, till morning is bright.
"Jesus, our Saviour! oh! grant thy protection,
To thy dear arms we have trustingly come;
Oh, Lamb of God! make secure our election,
Guard us, and keep us, and call us thine own.
"Jesus, our Crown! Oh, thou Heavenly Glory!
Humbly we kneel, and entreat thee to love,
Bless and receive us, as in Bible story,
Till we shall come to thy mansion above."
"When they had finished the hymn, they reverently repeated their prayers; and then, each bidding the other good night and sweet dreams, went to their white-curtained beds.
"Later at night, their mother came to see that they were warm. Gottfried was still awake; he was troubled about little Heinrich; and he told his mother how the poor boy had grieved because the Christ-child never came to him. 'I have prayed to Him, dear mother; do you think He will hear me?' said the tender-hearted boy.
"'Yes, dear child,' said the mother, 'dost thou not remember what the hymn says?
"'And when, dear Jesus, I kneel down,
Morning and night to prayer,
Something there is within my heart,
Which tells me thou art there."
"'He works sometimes through human hands; and now look thou, my little Gottfried,' continued his mother, kissing him, 'I will make this night a wreath of white roses for thee, and fasten a purse about the stems, with some golden guilders within, and thou shalt take it to Heinrich to-morrow morning.'
"'Ah, thou dearest mother!' cried Gottfried, joyfully, and the loving kisses were pressed upon her cheek. 'The dear Jesus has heard me already;' and kneeling in the bed, he poured out his grateful thanks; and then lying down, he soon fell asleep, with a bright flush of happiness upon his face.
"The snow had ceased to fall, and it was late, but still in the widow's cottage the fitful fire-light (for candles there were none) showed her bending over some work. By her side on the hearth crouched the little Heinrich.
"'Go to bed, dear child,' said his mother; 'it is too late for thee.'
"'Ah, dear mother! let me wait for thee,' answered the boy; 'it is so cold and dark in our little room above.' He was silent for a moment, gazing into the fire in a wishful manner; then he said—'Mother, dost thou think the Christ-child will indeed hear Gottfried's prayer, and come to me and thee?'
"'I hope he will, my Heinrich,' said the sad mother, smiling faintly.
"'Ah, but mother, dost thou not know it?'
"The fire burned low, and the poor woman could no longer see. She put up the coarse sewing with a sigh, and resting her hand tenderly on her boy's head, sat quite still.
"Not a sound was heard. The light in the room was dim, and gloom had settled upon the hearts of both mother and child.
"A low tap sounded at the door, and then it slowly opened; and to the astonished gaze of the two sitting by the hearth, there appeared the figure of a little child. A snow-white robe draped his slender limbs. In one hand he bore a lighted taper, and in the other a most beautiful wreath of white roses. His dark blue eyes shone with an unearthly lustre, as it appeared to the amazed and bewildered Heinrich, and his golden curls floated upon his shoulders.
"'Oh! mother! mother!' whispered Heinrich, almost breathless, 'it is the Christ-child in very truth come to me at last. His face is like Gottfried's—only far more beautiful;' and mother and son sank on their knees.
"Slowly the little form advanced towards them, paused before Heinrich, lightly placed the rose crown upon his head, and then, the sweet lips parting in a faint, tender smile, it waved its little hand towards him, and disappeared from their sight.
"When they could speak, the mother and son bowed their heads in thankful prayer, then lifted their brimming eyes to each other.
"'Truly thou hast been wondrously rewarded, my Heinrich,' said the poor widow; 'give the beautiful crown to me, that I may see what the dear Christ-child has brought to thee.'
"She stirred the fire, and put on some light wood to make a blaze, and then Heinrich lifted the crown from his head. As he did so—oh! wonder! there fell from it a silken purse, and through the deep crimson network they could see the yellow gleam of gold.
"With the early blush of morning little Gottfried awoke, and the first thing he did was to run smilingly to the door to find his shoes. There they were, in good truth, crammed to the very top with presents. Marie, too, awoke at the moment, and from each little white bed there arose delighted exclamations and merry shouts of joy.
"Now their mother entered, and said—'A merry Christmas to you, my children.'
"With joyful kisses they welcomed her, and breathlessly showed her their gifts; then Gottfried exclaimed—'Oh! mother! I have had such a pleasant dream; I dreamed that the dear Christ-child went to Heinrich with the wreath, and gave it to him.'
"'Well, thou shalt take it thyself this morning, dear child, when thou hast eaten thy breakfast.'
"But what was this? Where could the wreath be? The good mother, faithful to her promise had made it the evening before, and had laid it on the table in the parlor, but it was not to be found.
"This loss put the little Gottfried in such distress, that his mother promised quickly to make another; and she was just preparing to hasten out to purchase the roses, when Heinrich ran in, his mother following; and, scarcely pausing for breath, the boy told the wonderful thing that had happened to them in the night.
"With a sudden understanding of the strange and beautiful story, Gottfried's mother took Heinrich's mother aside, and whispered to her how the rose crown had mysteriously disappeared from the house in the night.
"The two mothers gazed into each other's faces, and then looked with love and wonder at the little unconscious Gottfried. Tender tears and smiles struggled in their faces, for they knew in a moment that it was he who had risen in his sleep, had taken the rose crown to Heinrich, and had laid his head upon his pillow again without waking.
"When they gently and tenderly told the strange tale to the wondering children, Heinrich, bursting into tears, threw his arms passionately round Gottfried's neck, and sobbed out—'Oh! Gottfried! how thou must have loved me to have done this thing, even while sleeping;' and the grateful boy never forgot it. He kept his crown of roses as his dearest treasure, though they soon became withered and brown; and Gottfried and Heinrich were always friends, though one was rich and the other poor; and each mother loved and blessed the child of the other even as her own."
[NOTE.—This story was suggested by reading about Christmas in Germany, in Bayard Taylor's "Views Afoot.">[
"A—h!" sighed the children, when the story was finished; "this is the best of all! How those two German boys must have loved each other ever after."
"Gottfried must have been almost as good as Charley," said Clara, with a glance full of love towards her brother. The little girl, with her sweet, sensitive nature, and gentle, caressing ways, seemed closer to Charley than the rest, though he loved all his brothers and sisters with his whole heart; but Clara was softer and tenderer, and murmured out her love in such a dove-like way, that, next to his mother, the sick boy liked to have her smooth his hair, and hold his hand, and kneel by his side in prayer; and the rest of the children knew this, and lovingly gave Clara "her place." Not a shade of envy, that black and wicked passion, ever entered their hearts; for, as I have many times written, this was the home of Love.