An Old Christmas Story For Children
Teaching the next generation about works of mercy
Going through some older catholic magazines, I came across this moving little story from 1880, translated from French into Danish for the Copenhagen parishioners for Christmas. I find these kind of stories quite rare in today’s children’s books, and so I decided to translate it into English so that more people can enjoy the story. And so the story goes:
Little Wolf’s wooden shoes
Once upon a time — a long time ago, so long ago that all people have forgotten when it happened — in a city in Northern Europe, who’s name is so difficult that no man can remember what it was called — there once was a small, seven year old boy, who’s name was Wolff; he had lost both of his parents, and was now the burden of a hardhearted and greedy old lady, that would only kiss her little nephew once a year, on New Year’s Eve, and who would draw a deep, sighing breath of agony, every time she put a bowl of soup in front of him.
But the poor boy was so kindhearted, that he still cherished the old lady, even though he was very scared of her, and even though his little body always trembled in fear, when he looked at her huge wart with four grey hairs growing on it, located on the tip of her nose.
While the whole city knew, that Wolff’s old aunt owned her own house, and that she kept an old woolen sock filled with money, she was not eligible to receive a free education for her nephew. In stead, she had tormented the man responsible for Wolff’s education so much to get a discount for his tuition, that this lousy Headmaster utterly despised the poor boy. He was deeply annoyed with having such a poorly dressed, and on top of it all, such a low paying student attend his school.
Because of this, regardless of the boy deserving it or not, the Headmaster would often put a sign with a written insult on the boy’s back and make him wear a ridiculous hat with donkey ears on his head for humiliation; yes, he even created strife between the boy and his friends, who were all sons of more accomplished citizens, so that the other students directed all their bullying towards the orphan boy.
The poor boy was therefore very unhappy, and every time it was Christmas, he would sneak around in the dark corners of the city and weep to himself.
On Christmas Eve, the Headmaster would bring all the children to Midnight Mass and then return them to their parents. It was a very strict winter that year, and snow had been steadily coming down for days in a row. Upon arrival, all the school children were therefore warmly dressed and wrapped in fur hats pulled well down over their ears, wearing two or three coats, knitted or lined mittens on their hands and with thick, solid winter boots on their feet. Little Wolff was the only one standing there, shaking with cold, in his usual apparel; the clothes that he always wore, Sunday or weekday. On his feet were only cotton stockings and heavy wooden shoes.
His classmates were annoyed that he looked so sad and miserable, like a poor, silly farmer boy, and so one after the other, they all had a good laugh on his behalf, but the poor boy had to make such an effort to keep warm, by blowing air into his hands, and his frost bites hurt so much that he hardly noticed any of it. — And so the boys lined up two and two and followed their Headmaster into the church.
To enter the church was wonderful, in the flickering candle lights, and the warmth of the place brought little boys' hearts to life. While the organ played its tunes and singing filled the sanctuary, the boys did not pass the opportunity to chatter joyfully among themselves about the food they were going to eat when they returned home from church.
The Mayor’s son had, before leaving home, seen a very large goose, all stuffed to the brink with truffles, so that it appeared black spotted like a leopard. At the Councilor’s house, they had a small pine tree in a wooden box, and on its branches were hanging oranges, sugar candy and little decorative dolls. And the County Clerk’s kitchen maid had tied her hair ribbons firmly in the back of her neck with a small pin, and she only did this when she was in her most excellent mood, on occasions when she was certain to get a share of her most enjoyable sugar cake.
In this fashion the boys continued on, chatting with each other about what kind of presents Santa Claus would bring them, and what he would put in their shoes which they, never to forget, all had to leave out next to the fire place, before going to bed. And in the eyes of these little rascals, all dazzling of excitement, joy was shining as they thought of waking up the following morning, and the first thing they would spot were rosy, bright red candy bags, filled with sugar coated almonds, tin soldiers, organised according to battalions in their boxes, that still smelled like varnish, and handsome dolls, dressed in scarlet red costumes with sequins on them.
Little Wolff knew very well from personal experience that his greedy, old aunt would send him to bed with no supper, but as he knew that all throughout the year he had been a very good and hard working boy, more than anyone could require, he still hoped in his innocence, that Santa Claus would not forget about him, and so he decided that as soon as he got home, he would put his wooden shoe in the box next to the fire place.
When the Midnight Mass had ended, people started rushing home to get something to eat, and the school boys also went out, two and two, just like before, following their Headmaster out of the church.
But right where the entrance was, stood a stone bench under a pointed arch, where a child lay sleeping. He was wearing a white woolen gown, but his feet were bare despite the cold. This was no beggar, for his gown was beautiful, clean and new, and next to him stood, wrapped in a piece of cloth, a protractor, an axe, a wedge and a few more carpentry tools.
As he lay there with his eyes closed, under the dim lights from the shining stars, his face had a touch of divine mildness to it, and his long, red-blond, wavy locks lit up like a halo surrounding his forehead. But it was a pitty to see his small feet, all blue of cold in the freezing December night.
The school boys, all dressed up in their solid winter clothing and winter boots, passed carelessly by this child, who none of them knew anything about; yes, a few of them, the sons of the more important men of the city, threw this vagabond looks that read contempt, the type of contemt that may often be found with the rich against poor, the full against hungry.
Still, little Wolff, being the last of the boys to step out of the church, felt very moved, when he gazed upon the beautiful child that lay there sleeping, and he stopped and watched him.
“This is just terrible” said the orphaned boy to himself. “This poor little fellow has no shoes on his feet in this rough weather…And what’s even worse, he doesn’t even have a boot or a wooden shoe to put forward this night, while he sleeps, for Santa Claus to come and fill with a little gift, to console his misery.”
And Wolff let his good heart carry him away, so that he pulled off his right wooden shoe, placed it in front of this sleeping child and ran off, as best as he could, limping and bouncing on one leg, with only his sock on his foot through the wet snow, all the way home to his aunt.
“What a fool!” cried the old one, who was all furious when she saw him come home without his wooden shoe. “What have you done with your other wooden shoe, you little bastard?!”
Little Wolff didn’t know how to lie, and even though he was shaking with fear, upon seeing the grey hairs sticking out from the wart on the scarred nose of this woman, he still made an effort to stutter out an explanation of what had happened.
But the old miser burst out in a sinister, squeaking laughter. “Oh, I see, the young lad has taken off his shoe to give to a low life beggar!…I have to say, this is something I’ve never heard before!…Now, since you’ve done that, I better put the other wooden shoe that you still have left, by the fire place, and I swear to you, that this very night Santa Claus will put something there to flog you with, when you wake up…And tomorrow I will only give you dry bread and water…Then we’ll see, if you will go out next time and give away your shoe to the first vagabond that comes your way.”
After saying this, the heartless woman gave the poor, little boy a few slaps in the face and sent him off to the small alcove, where his bed was. The child, now overcome with despair, undressed in the dark and soon fell asleep, but his pillow was soaked with tears.
The following morning, when the old lady, shivering with cold and coughing, went down to the living room on the bottom floor — behold, the large fire place was filled with magnificent toys and paper bags with the most delicious candy and all sorts of precious things; and in front of all these treasures stood the right wooden shoe, the one her nephew had given to the poor, little boy, placed just next to the left shoe, that the lady had placed there, planning to leave in it a spanking switch.
And when little Wolff, having arrived on his own upon hearing his aunt’s extraordinary outcry, rejoiced in his young innocence over all these splendid gifts brought to him by Santa Claus, loud outbursts of laughter could be heard from the street outside. And when the old lady and the child went out to see what was going on, they found all the mothers of the city gathered by the well. What had happened? — Actually, something very silly and strange had occurred. All the children of the wealthier families in the city, all those whose parents had planned to surprise them with the most precious gifts, had found nothing but spanking switches in their shoes.
Yet now, the orphan boy and the old lady were filled with fear thinking of all the valuables that were laying in their fire place at home. Then, all of a sudden, the parish priest came walking by, looking all disturbed. You see, on the bench by the entrance of the church, on the exact spot where earlier a “sleeping child” dressed in a white gown, but despite the cold with bare feet, had last night been seen resting his head, the priest had seen a golden crucifix that appeared to be carved into the old stone bench.
Upon hearing this, they all solemnly made the sign of the Cross, for then they understood, that the sleeping child with the carpentry tools by his side, was Jesus of Nazareth himself, having for a brief moment appeared in the way he was when working at home with his parents, and they all knelt down before this wonder, that Our Lord had done to reward the trust and love, offered to Him by a child.
François Coppée.
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