Here is another story in Library Lady’s Christmas Stories series.
BABOUSCKA
By ADELAIDE SKEEL
Edited by Jane Mouttet
If you were a Russian child, you would not watch for Santa Claus to 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 Claus’ wife?
No, indeed. She is only a poor, little, crooked, wrinkled old woman who comes into everybody’s house at Christmas time, peeps into every cradle, turns back every coverlid, drops a tear on the baby’s white pillow, and goes away sorrowfully.
And not only at Christmas time but throughout the cold winter, and especially in March, when the wind blows loud, whistles, 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 upstairs 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 happy little sleigh drawn by reindeer but hobbling along on foot, and she leans on a crutch. Her old apron is filled with candy and cheap toys; the children love her dearly. They watch to see her come, and when one hears a rustling, he cries, “Look! The Babouscka!” then all the 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 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. She was alone in a lonely place where four wide roads met. These roads were white with snow, for it was wintertime. 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 was half swept, she was in a great hurry to finish her work before bedtime. You must know that Babouscka was poor and could not afford to do her work by candlelight. Presently, down the widest and the most lonesome of the white roads, there appeared a long train of people coming. They were walking slowly and seemed to be asking each other questions about which way they should take. As the procession came nearer and finally stopped outside the little hut, Babouscka was frightened at the splendor. Three Kings with crowns on their heads and jewels on their breastplates that sparkled like sunlight stood at her door. Their heavy fur cloaks were white with the falling snowflakes, and the queer humpy camels on which they rode looked white as milk in the snowstorm. The harness on the camels was decorated with gold, and plates of silver adorned the saddles. The saddlecloths were made of the richest Eastern materials, and all the servants had the dark eyes and hair of Eastern people.
The slaves carried heavy loads on their backs, and each of the Three Kings carried a present. One had a beautiful transparent jar and, in the fading light, Babouscka could see it held a golden liquid which she knew from its color must be myrrh. Another had a richly woven bag in his hand, 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 that filled the snowy air, one could guess the vase to have been filled with incense.
Babouscka was terribly frightened, so she hid in her hut and let the servants knock a long time at her door before she dared open it and answer their questions about the road they should take to a faraway town. You know she had never studied a geography lesson, was old, uneducated, and scared. She knew the way across the fields to the nearest village, but she knew 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 so 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. We will take the crowns off our heads and lay them at His feet when we find Him. 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 tiny home was warm and cozy. 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 tomorrow. But the Three Kings could not wait, so they were far ahead on their journey when tomorrow’s sun rose. 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 dream, 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 lot about the little 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. Remorse can gnaw like a sharp little tooth. Babouscka felt this little tooth cut into her heart every time she remembered the Three Kings’ visit.
After a while, the Little Child became her first thought when she was waking up 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 everyone she met; some people thought her crazy, but others gave her kind answers. Perhaps you guessed that the young Child the Three Kings sought was our Lord?
People told Babouscka how He was born in a manger and many other things that children learned long ago. These answers puzzled the old dame mightily. She had just one idea in her uneducated 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 on toys and candy to make friends with little children so 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?”
No, she has come 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?
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