Speaker 1: Babushka. If you were a Russian child, you would not
watch to see Santa Claus come down the chimney, but
you would stand by the windows to catch a peep
at poor Babushka as she hurries by. Who is Babushka?
Is she Santa Claus's 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 cover lid, drops a tear on the
baby's white pillow, and goes away 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 Babushka. She's
always in a hurry. One hears her running fast along
crowded streets and over quiet country fields. She seems to
be out of breath and tired, and 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 whispered to each other. Is the
Babushka 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 Claus 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,
lou the Babushka. 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 down 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 Babushka,
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, Babushka's home
did not seem so very quiet. But in the winter,
with only the snow flakes 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 that Babushka 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 her little hut.
Babushka was frightened at the splendor. There were three kings
with crowns on their heads, and the jewels on the
king's 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
saddlecloths 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, Babushka could see
in it a golden liquid, which she knew from its
color must be Mrhr. 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 that vase to have been filled with incense. Babushka
was terribly frightened, so she hid herself in her hut
and let the servants knock a long time at her
door before she dared to open it and answer their
questions as to what road they should take to some
far away town. You know, she had never studied a
geography lesson in her life. She was old and stupid
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, 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 they 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
their 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 frankencense 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, Babushka, 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 cozy. She looked up
into the sky and the star was nowhere to be seen. Besides,
wanted to put her hut in order. Perhaps she would
be ready to go tomorrow, But the three kings could
not wait, so when tomorrow's sun rose, they were far
ahead on their journey. It seemed like a dream to
poor Babushka, for even the tracks of the camel's 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 the mirrhr.
She wished she had gone with the travelers, and she
thought a great deal about the little baby the three
Kings had gone to worship. She had no children of
her own, nobody loved her. Ah, if only she had 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. Babushka felt this little tooth cut into her
heart every time she remembered the visit of the three Kings.
After a while, the thought of that 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 Babushka 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'd forgot,
I'm 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,
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 Babushka 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 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? End of
Babushka by Adelaide Skeeel