A German Christmas

In Germany a little girl begins to think about Christmas almost as soon as she gets back from a summer holiday, for it is still very much the custom there to make something yourself for those you love best, and German girls learn while they are still little to embroider beautifully all kinds of articles for household use,—a monogram on a fine handkerchief, or sprayof flowers on a bit of linen to wear at the neck. An older girl makes such things as a canvas traveller’s-case, or a set of shoe-bags, embroiders a sofa-cushion or knits a silk necktie. Mothers and aunts are more likely to make soberly useful gifts of stockings, underclothing, dresses; nothing is thought out-of-place. But every one must give to every one else. That islaw. And every one aims to keep as a secret what she is making; it must be hidden at least from the one for whom it is intended, so there is quite an air of “I know something nice, but I cannot tell it,” about a German household through all the weeks before the holiday.

About a fortnight before Christmas the fair begins which Mrs. Sidgwick tells us is to be seen “in any one of the old German cities in the hill country, when the streets and the open places are covered with crisp clean snow, and the mountains are white with it, and the moon shines on the ancient houses, and the tinkle of sledge bells reaches you when you escape from the din of the market, and look down at the bustle of it from some silent place, a high window, perhaps, or the high empty steps leading into the cathedral. The air is cold and still, and heavy with the scent of the Christmas trees brought from the forest for the pleasure of the children. Day by day you see the rows of them growing thinner, and if you go to the market on Christmas Eve itself you will find only a few trees left out in the cold. The market is empty, the peasants are harnessing their horses or their oxen, the women are packing up their unsold goods. In every home in the city one of the trees that scented the open air about a week ago is shining now with lights andlittle gilded nuts and apples, and is helping to make that Christmas smell, all compact of the pine forest, wax candles, cakes, and painted toys, you must associate so long as you live with Christmas in Germany.”

We have Christmas trees in plenty, but to the German mind we have them all wrong. In the first place, their trees are small, and every one, from the Emperor down to the poorest laborer, has a tree. But he has it at home, on Christmas Eve if he can, less often on Christmas Day, and only sometimes on the day after, which they call the Second Christmas Day. A German family never invites apartyto its Christmas tree, only relatives or intimate friends. As a rule, there is one tree, fixed on a small stand in the centre of a large square table covered with a snow-white cloth, and around the tree the presents are arranged, those for each person in a separate pile. The tree is lighted for beauty, and is decorated with ornaments of glass and tinsel, sweetmeats, apples, gilded nuts, and a few very small toys. Some of the sweetmeats made for German trees are very elaborate. There areKringeln, transparent sugar candies twisted in figure eights or circles, so that they easily hang on. There are sugar candy animals of every shape and color; and here and there a fascinating scene in colored sugar on a white background, a sportsman in a red coat, perhaps, pointing his gun at an enormous rabbit that sits up almost touching the end of the gun-barrel. The celebratedLübecker Marzipan(a kind of almond paste which you have tasted, maybe, on bride-cake) imitates all kinds of fruit and vegetables so well that they can easily be mistaken for real.

DRESSING DOLLS IN GERMANY FOR AMERICAN CHRISTMAS TREES

The trees are set in the front rooms and the curtains are drawn up to give any passer-by a glimpse of their beauty. The family gathers in the room behind, sometimes a carol or hymn is sung, and at its end suddenly the parlor doors fly back, showing the little green tree all alight and the piles of presents for every one. Then comes a scramble and search for one’s own pile,—a long silence while parcels are opened breathlessly. Such a handshaking and embracing and thanking as follows!

In some families where there are several children and plenty of money, each person may have a tree of his own, and at any rate will have his own table covered with presents and things to eat. Of such a family the mother writes:—

Every time the three babies go into the garden they expect to meet the Christ Child with His arms full of gifts. They firmly believe that it is thus their presents are brought, and it is such a charming idea that Christmas would be worth celebrating for its sake alone.

The library is uninhabitable for several days before and after, as it is there that we have the trees and presents. All down one side are the trees, and the other three sides are lined with tables, a separate one for each person in the house. When trees are lighted, and stand in their radiance shining down on the happy faces, I forget all the trouble it has been, and the number of times I have had to run up and down stairs, and the various aches in head and feet, and enjoy myself as much as anybody. First the June baby is ushered in, then the others and ourselvesaccording to age, then the servants, then come the head inspector and his family, and other inspectors from the different farms, the mamsells, the bookkeepers and secretaries, and then all the children, troops and troops of them—the big ones leading the little ones by the hand and carrying the babies in their arms, and the mothers peeping round the door. As many as can get in stand in front of the trees, and sing two or three carols; then they are given their presents, and go off triumphantly, making room for the next batch. My three babies sung lustily, too, whether they happened to know what was being sung or not....

When they came to say good night they were all very pale and subdued. The April baby had an exhausted-looking Japanese doll with her, which she said she was taking to bed, not because she liked him, but she was so sorry for him, he seemed so very tired. They kissed me absently, and went away, only the April baby glancing at the trees as she passed and making them a courtesy.

“Good-by, trees,” I heard her say; and then she made the Japanese doll bow to them, which he did, in a very languid and blase fashion. “You’ll never see such trees again,” she told him, giving him a vindictive shake, “for you’ll be brokened long before next time.”

She went out, but came back as though she had forgotten something.

“Thank the Christkind so much, Mummy, won’t you, for all the lovely things He brought us. I suppose you’re writing to Him now, isn’t you?”

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