Kabanata Kabanata 9 · The Festival of Saint Nicholas

, four extra days were to be allowed for a general

cleaning of the schoolhouse.

Jacob and Ben had obtained permission to go on a long skating

journey--no less a one than from Broek to The Hague, the capital of

Holland, a distance of nearly fifty miles! *{Throughout this narrative

distances are given according to our standard, the English statute mile

of 5,280 feet. The Dutch mile is more than four times as long as ours.}

“And now, boys,” added Jacob, when he had told the plan, “who will go

with us?”

“I will! I will!” cried the boys eagerly.

“And so will I,” ventured little Voostenwalbert.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Jacob, holding his fat sides and shaking his puffy

cheeks. “YOU go? Such a little fellow as you? Why, youngster, you

haven’t left off your pads yet!”

Now, in Holland very young children wear a thin, padded cushion around

their heads, surmounted with a framework of whalebone and ribbon, to

protect them in case of a fall; and it is the dividing line between

babyhood and childhood when they leave it off. Voost had arrived at this

dignity several years before; consequently Jacob’s insult was rather to

great for endurance.

“Look out what you say!” he squeaked. “Lucky for you when you can leave

off YOUR pads--you’re padded all over!”

“Ha! ha!” roared all the boys except Master Dobbs, who could not

understand. “Ha! ha!”--and the good-natured Jacob laughed more than any.

“It ish my fat--yaw--he say I bees pad mit fat!” he explained to Ben.

So a vote was passed unanimously in favor of allowing the now popular

Voost to join the party, if his parents would consent.

“Good night!” sang out the happy youngster, skating homeward with all

his might.

“Good night!”

“We can stop at Haarlem, Jacob, and show your cousin the big organ,”

said Peter van Holp eagerly, “and at Leyden, too, where there’s no end

to the sights; and spend a day and night at the Hague, for my married

sister, who lives there, will be delighted to see us; and the next

morning we can start for home.”

“All right!” responded Jacob, who was not much of a talker.

Ludwig had been regarding his brother with enthusiastic admiration.

“Hurrah for you, Pete! It takes you to make plans! Mother’ll be as full

of it as we are when we tell her we can take her love direct to sister

Van Gend. My, but it’s cold,” he added. “Cold enough to take a fellow’s

head off his shoulders. We’d better go home.”

“What if it is cold, old Tender-skin?” cried Carl, who was busily

practicing a step he called the “double edge.” “Great skating we should

have by this time, if it was as warm as it was last December. Don’t you

know that if it wasn’t an extra cold winter, and an early one into the

bargain, we couldn’t go?”

“I know it’s an extra cold night anyhow,” said Ludwig. “Whew! I’m going

home!”

Peter van Holp took out a bulgy gold watch and, holding it toward the

moonlight as well as his benumbed fingers would permit, called out,

“Halloo! It’s nearly eight o’clock! Saint Nicholas is about by this

time, and I, for one, want to see the little ones stare. Good night!”

“Good night!” cried one and all, and off they started, shouting,

singing, and laughing as they flew along.

Where were Gretel and Hans?

Ah, how suddenly joy sometimes comes to an end!

They had skated about an hour, keeping aloof from the others, quite

contented with each other, and Gretel had exclaimed, “Ah, Hans, how

beautiful! How fine! To think that we both have skates! I tell you, the

stork brought us good luck!”--when they heard something!

It was a scream--a very faint scream! No one else upon the canal

observed it, but Hans knew its meaning too well. Gretel saw him turn

white in the moonlight as he busily tore off his skates.

“The father!” he cried. “He has frightened our mother!” And Gretel ran

after him toward the house as rapidly as she could.

CHAPTER 9. The Festival of Saint Nicholas

We all know how, before the Christmas tree began to flourish in the home

life of our country, a certain “right jolly old elf,” with “eight tiny

reindeer,” used to drive his sleigh-load of toys up to our housetops,

and then bounded down the chimney to fill the stockings so hopefully

hung by the fireplace. His friends called his Santa Claus, and those

who were most intimate ventured to say “Old Nick.” It was said that

he originally came from Holland. Doubtless he did, but, if so, he

certainly, like many other foreigners, changed his ways very much after

landing upon our shores. In Holland, Saint Nicholas is a veritable

saint and often appears in full costume, with his embroidered robes,

glittering with gems and gold, his miter, his crosier, and his jeweled

gloves. Here Santa Claus comes rollicking along, on the twenty-fifth of

December, our holy Christmas morn. But in Holland, Saint Nicholas visits

earth on the fifth, a time especially appropriated to him. Early on the

morning of the sixth, he distributes his candies, toys, and treasures,

then vanishes for a year.

Christmas Day is devoted by the Hollanders to church rites and pleasant

family visiting. It is on Saint Nicholas’s Eve that their young people

become half wild with joy and expectation. To some of them it is a sorry

time, for the saint is very candid, and if any of them have been bad

during the past year, he is quite sure to tell them so. Sometimes he

gives a birch rod under his arm and advises the parents to give them

scoldings in place of confections, and floggings instead of toys.

It was well that the boys hastened to their abodes on that bright

winter evening, for in less than an hour afterward, the saint made his

appearance in half the homes of Holland. He visited the king’s palace

and in the selfsame moment appeared in Annie Bouman’s comfortable home.

Probably one of our silver half-dollars would have purchased all that

his saintship left at the peasant Bouman’s; but a half-dollar’s worth

will sometimes do for the poor what hundreds of dollars may fail to

do for the rich; it makes them happy and grateful, fills them with new

peace and love.

Hilda van Gleck’s little brothers and sisters were in a high state of

excitement that night. They had been admitted into the grand parlor;

they were dressed in their best and had been given two cakes apiece at

supper. Hilda was as joyous as any. Why not? Saint Nicholas would never

cross a girl of fourteen from his list, just because she was tall and

looked almost like a woman. On the contrary, he would probably exert

himself to do honor to such an august-looking damsel. Who could tell? So

she sported and laughed and danced as gaily as the youngest and was

the soul of all their merry games. Her father, mother, and grandmother

looked on approvingly; so did her grandfather, before he spread his

large red handkerchief over his face, leaving only the top of his

skullcap visible. This kerchief was his ensign of sleep.

Earlier in the evening all had joined in the fun. In the general

hilarity there had seemed to be a difference only in bulk between

grandfather and the baby. Indeed, a shade of solemn expectation, now

and then flitting across the faces of the younger members, had made them

seem rather more thoughtful than their elders.

Now the spirit of fun reigned supreme. The very flames danced and

capered in the polished grate. A pair of prim candles that had been

staring at the astral lamp began to wink at other candles far away in

the mirrors. There was a long bell rope suspended from the ceiling in

the corner, made of glass beads netted over a cord nearly as thick as

your wrist. It is generally hung in the shadow and made no sign, but

tonight it twinkled from end to end. Its handle of crimson glass sent

reckless dashes of red at the papered wall, turning its dainty blue

stripes into purple. Passersby halted to catch the merry laughter

floating, through curtain and sash, into the street, then skipped on

their way with a startled consciousness that the village was wide-awake.

At last matters grew so uproarious that the grandsire’s red kerchief

came down from his face with a jerk. What decent old gentleman could

sleep in such a racket! Mynheer van Gleck regarded his children with

astonishment. The baby even showed symptoms of hysterics. It was high

time to attend to business. Madame suggested that if they wished to see

the good Saint Nicholas, they should sing the same loving invitation

that had brought him the year before.

The baby stared and thrust his fist into his mouth as mynheer put him

down upon the floor. Soon he sat erect and looked with a sweet scowl at

the company. With his lace and embroideries and his crown of blue ribbon

and whalebone (for he was not quite past the tumbling age), he looked

like the king of the babies.

The other children, each holding a pretty willow basket, formed a ring

at once, and moved slowly around the little fellow, lifting their eyes,

for the saint to whom they were about to address themselves was yet in

mysterious quarters.

Madame commenced playing softly upon the piano. Soon the voices

rose--gentle, youthful voices--rendered all the sweeter for their

tremor:

“Welcome, friend! Saint Nicholas, welcome!

Bring no rod for us tonight!

While our voices bid thee welcome,

Every heart with joy is light!

Tell us every fault and failing,

We will bear thy keenest railing,

So we sing--so we sing--

Thou shalt tell us everything!

Welcome, friend! Saint Nicholas, welcome!

Welcome to this merry band!

Happy children greet thee, welcome!

Thou art glad’ning all the land!

Fill each empty hand and basket,

‘Tis thy little ones who ask it,

So we sing--so we sing--

Thou wilt bring us everything!”

During the chorus sundry glances, half in eagerness, half in dread, had

been cast toward the polished folding doors. Now a loud knocking was

heard. The circle was broken in an instant. Some of the little ones,

with a strange mixture of fear and delight, pressed against their

mother’s knee. Grandfather bent forward with his chin resting upon his

hand; Grandmother lifted her spectacles; Mynheer van Gleck, seated by

the fireplace, slowly drew his meerschaum from his mouth while Hilda and

the other children settled themselves beside him in an expectant group.

The knocking was heard again.

“Come in,” said madame softly.

The door slowly opened, and Saint Nicholas, in full array, stood before

them.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Soon he spoke. What a mysterious majesty in his voice! What kindliness

in his tones!

“Karel van Gleck, I am pleased to greet thee, and thy honored vrouw

Kathrine, and thy son and his good vrouw Annie!

“Children, I greet ye all! Hendrick, Hilda, Broom, Katy, Huygens,

and Lucretia! And thy cousins, Wolfert, Diedrich, Mayken, Voost, and

Katrina! Good children ye have been, in the main, since I last accosted

ye. Diedrich was rude at the Haarlem fair last fall, but he has tried

to atone for it since. Mayken has failed of late in her lessons, and too

many sweets and trifles have gone to her lips, and too few stivers to

her charity box. Diedrich, I trust, will be a polite, manly boy for

the future, and Mayken will endeavor to shine as a student. Let her

remember, too, that economy and thrift are needed in the foundation of

a worthy and generous life. Little Katy has been cruel to the cat more

than once. Saint Nicholas can hear the cat cry when its tail is pulled.

I will forgive her if she will remember from this hour that the smallest

dumb creatures have feelings and must not be abused.”

As Katy burst into a frightened cry, the saint graciously remained

silent until she was soothed.

“Master Broom,” he resumed, “I warn thee that the boys who are in the

habit of putting snuff upon the foot stove of the schoolmistress may one

day be discovered and receive a flogging--”

Master Broom colored and stared in great astonishment.

“But thou art such an excellent scholar, I shall make thee no further

reproof.”

“Thou, Hendrick, didst distinguish thyself in the archery match last

spring, and hit the Doel *{Bull’s-eye.} though the bird was swung before

it to unsteady thine eye. I give thee credit for excelling in manly

sport and exercise, though I must not unduly countenance thy boat

racing, since it leaves thee little time for thy proper studies.

“Lucretia and Hilda shall have a blessed sleep tonight. The

consciousness of kindness to the poor, devotion in their souls, and

cheerful, hearty obedience to household rule will render them happy.

“With one and all I avow myself well content. Goodness, industry,

benevolence, and thrift have prevailed in your midst. Therefore, my

blessing upon you--and may the new year find all treading the paths of

obedience, wisdom, and love. Tomorrow you shall find more substantial

proofs that I have been in your midst. Farewell!”

With these words came a great shower of sugarplums, upon a linen sheet

spread out in front of the doors. A general scramble followed. The

children fairly tumbled over each other in their eagerness to fill their

baskets. Madame cautiously held the baby down in their midst, till the

chubby little fists were filled. Then the bravest of the youngsters

sprang up and burst open the closed doors. In vain they peered into the

mysterious apartment. Saint Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

Soon there was a general rush to another room, where stood a table,

covered with the finest and whitest of linen damask. Each child, in a

flutter of excitement, laid a shoe upon it. The door was then carefully

locked, and its key hidden in the mother’s bedroom. Next followed

goodnight kisses, a grand family procession to the upper floor, merry

farewells at bedroom doors, and silence, at last, reigned in the Van

Gleck mansion.

Early the next morning the door was solemnly unlocked and opened in the

presence of the assembled household, when lo! a sight appeared, proving

Saint Nicholas to be a saint of his word!

Every shoe was filled to overflowing, and beside each stood many a

colored pile. The table was heavy with its load of presents--candies,

toys, trinkets, books, and other articles. Everyone had gifts, from the

grandfather down to the baby.

Little Katy clapped her hands with glee and vowed inwardly that the cat

should never know another moment’s grief.

Hendrick capered about the room, flourishing a superb bow and arrows

over his head. Hilda laughed with delight as she opened a crimson box

and drew forth its glittering contents. The rest chuckled and said “Oh!”

and “Ah!” over their treasures, very much as we did here in America on

last Christmas Day.

With her glittering necklace in her hands, and a pile of books in her

arms, Hilda stole towards her parents and held up her beaming face for a

kiss. There was such an earnest, tender look in her bright eyes that her

mother breathed a blessing as she leaned over her.

“I am delighted with this book. Thank you, Father,” she said, touching

the top one with her chin. “I shall read it all day long.”

“Aye, sweetheart,” said mynheer, “you cannot do better. There is no one

like Father Cats. If my daughter learns his ‘Moral Emblems’ by heart,

the mother and I may keep silent. The work you have there is the

Emblems--his best work. You will find it enriched with rare engravings

from Van de Venne.”

Considering that the back of the book was turned away, mynheer certainly

showed a surprising familiarity with an unopened volume, presented by

Saint Nicholas. It was strange, too, that the saint should have found

certain things made by the elder children and had actually placed them

upon the table, labeled with parents’ and grandparents’ names. But all

were too much absorbed in happiness to notice slight inconsistencies.

Hilda saw, on her father’s face, the rapt expression he always wore when

he spoke of Jakob Cats, so he put her armful of books upon the table and

resigned herself to listen.

“Old Father Cats, my child, was a great poet, not a writer of plays like

the Englishman, Shakespeare, who lived in his time. I have read them in

the German and very good they are--very, very good--but not like Father

Cats. Cats sees no daggers in the air; he has no white women falling in

love with dusky Moors; no young fools sighing to be a lady’s glove; no

crazy princes mistaking respectable old gentlemen for rats. No, no. He

writes only sense. It is great wisdom in little bundles, a bundle for

every day of your life. You can guide a state with Cats’s poems, and you

can put a little baby to sleep with his pretty songs. He was one of the

greatest men of Holland. When I take you to The Hague, I will show you

the Kloosterkerk where he lies buried. THERE was a man for you to study,

my sons! He was good through and through. What did he say?

“O Lord, let me obtain this from Thee

To live with patience, and to die with pleasure!

*{O Heere! laat my daat van uwen hand verwerven,

Te leven met gedult, en met vermaak te sterven.}

“Did patience mean folding his hands? No, he was a lawyer, statesman,

ambassador, farmer, philosopher, historian, and poet. He was keeper of

the Great Seal of Holland! He was a--Bah! there is too much noise here,

I cannot talk.” And mynheer, looking with great astonishment into the

bowl of his meerschaum, for it had gone out, nodded to his vrouw and

left the apartment in great haste.

The fact is, his discourse had been accompanied throughout with a

subdued chorus of barking dogs, squeaking cats, and bleating lambs, to

say nothing of a noisy ivory cricket that the baby was whirling with

infinite delight. At the last, little Huygens, taking advantage of the

increasing loudness of mynheer’s tones, had ventured a blast on his new

trumpet, and Wolfert had hastily attempted an accompaniment on the drum.

This had brought matters to a crisis, and it was good for the little

creatures that it had. The saint had left no ticket for them to attend

a lecture on Jakob Cats. It was not an appointed part of the ceremonies.

Therefore when the youngsters saw that the mother looked neither

frightened nor offended, they gathered new courage. The grand chorus

rose triumphant, and frolic and joy reigned supreme.

Good Saint Nicholas! For the sake of the young Hollanders, I, for

one, am willing to acknowledge him and defend his reality against all

unbelievers.

Carl Schummel was quite busy during that day, assuring little children,

confidentially, that not Saint Nicholas but their own fathers and

mothers had produced the oracle and loaded the tables. But WE know

better than that.

And yet if this were a saint, why did he not visit the Brinker cottage

that night? Why was that one home, so dark and sorrowful, passed by?