Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1898-12-24
SAXONY SANTA CLAUS
HANS RUPERT WALKS ALL THE WAY
FROM RUSSIA.

cessiOn on Christmas Eve.
Hans Rupert is the name of the
Santa Claus of Saxony given by the
simple, pious peasantry. CLANS Rup-
pert will arrive tonight" the children
of Saxony cry all along the dear, dark
ening twilight of Christmas eve, as they
fatten their little Saxon noses against
the cottage window panes, peering out
along the winter roads for "our Hans
Rupert" "Hans Rupert is coming
tonight!' say the simple heart ted grown
up folk to one another, people who
have one evening in the winter twilight
IF their hard, stern lives when it will
be all glow and glamour and froth of
FUN.
Hans Rupert comes from Russia,
from its silent mysteries of steppe
and of SHOWS. But he is not
Slav. Hans Rupert is not the ira
ditional Santa Claus Of the Teuton
land-a jolly old man with curly beard
and winking smile. "Hans Rupert is
a tall, brawny, peasant looking fell
low" say the good Saxony folk with
sublime earnestness as if they had seen
him. Hans Rupert has muscles minted
from their own brave life of gray toll.
Hans Rupert walks all the way from
afar, from the Asiatic HUSBAND and, at
every step he takes toward the Caucasus
chain, at every stride up and up, still
up the lodges of its rock and bluff and
brae, across its brawling streams, now
down on the other side of its stern
shoulder Swallowed in the star calm, at
every pace past the Russian villages
twinkling through the night mists like
sparklets struck off from the czar crown
way off there above the Neva, as he
foots it grandly-this great, grand, gal
liant Hans Ruppert-his top boots that
at the beginning of the long Christmas
march reached only below the knee,
grow taller and taller, still higher-un-
til when he hears the Rhein- strom muir
muir and the golden voice above the
Lorelei rock, and at last at the gates of
Berlin sees the mighty CLEAN of the
army Of the vaterland, the Hans Rup-
perish boots are up to the loins, cuiras-
sier fashion, accordion wrinkled and
mirror in their mighty polish the very
"Sword of My Illustrious GRANDPA
ther'' And Hans Rupert stands a
grenadier, one of the sacred bodyguard
around an emperor, stands with star on
breast and double headed eagle on he'll
met, stands a mighty ghost to deal
death to the foes of vaterland-until
next Christmas.
On his back, through all his long
trudge tonight, Hans Rupert carries
his pack. 1t is pack of good things.
Thou hast no Christmas tree within
that mighty bundle, Hans! The peasant
children have made the tree all ready
for Hans in the diligent purchase from
their little Saxon pfennige on the mar
ket day. Hans Rupert brings the gar
ments for the Christmas tree. Here in
his pack is the Christ child's hair, the
gold and silver filigree which Hans
will twist across the branches with his
own brawny hands. Here are the can
dies, the Christ child's eyes, and the
toys and the gifts, "the blessings that
drop from the hands of Baby Jesus"
And now the procession forms at 8
o'clock on Christmas eve to go to see
what Hans Rupert has brought to the
little family. The procession begins
with grandfather and grandmother, on
whose scanned ard yellowed cheeks
glistens the gentle tear of age. Then
follow the father and the mother and
the unwedded uncles and aunts, and
now the children, according to age and
size, who are awed in anticipation of
"our Hans Rupert" on the other side
of that door toward which the process
sion is now moving. They stand up on
tiptoe and peer behind fathers stalwart
frame. rebuked by das mutterchen, with
a solid Saxon cuff ON the unwilling ear.
each, mutterchen, it's heilige Nachtr'
pleads the father, and mother moder-
ates Here are the servants of the house
hold, wearing their good Christmas
starch of check apron stiffness. How it
stands out in its buckram beauty! If it
were possible-which the dear Herr
Gardener of us all forfend-the apple
cheeks of the good house girl glow with
a more fruity glisten as she gazes down
upon the spheric circumference of
starch. The housemaid' S smile is laun-
dered, too, and it never leaves her lips
uhtAA lHuO hiyStCl lous uOOI VII tucI6 Is
opened by grandfather trembling old
hand, and now some one in the Christ
mas procession has struck the sweet,
resonant, prolonging chords of the nth
er, and the hymn rises as one "pure
concert" along the whole of the house
holds heart:
o heilige Nacht!
Stille Nacht!
The door is thrown open, and only
the stalwart spirits-the Erdgeiste who
guard the scallops and volutes of the
Teutonic verb-can comprehend the
meander and the meaning of the fam
ily's EXPLANATIONS now. Hans Rupert
has done it all Hans Rupert has done
it all The tree glistens into gracious
charm. 1t is the aurora of the Divine
Child.
And then the good Saxon muscles fall
to, and fall, too, on supper. Now, the
supper is sweet feature of this great
evening, 1897. For only once year
does the marZipan come rOund-marZi
pan. that dear cake, crusted with pow
dered almonds Only once year does
"stoken" come round, that dearest cake
with raisins-raisins plucked by Hans
RUPERT in that faroff mystery-raisins
that grew and hadn't anything to do
with sour grapes.
But the supper passes, and the night
is deepening. The eyes of childhood are