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December 12, 1947     Catholic Northwest Progress
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@ The CATHOLIC NORTHWEST PROGRESS Page Thirteen L The Angelic Little King ARGARET" swung her bare toes carefuly in front of the gas burner and tried to make herself believe it was a fixeplace---a huge one, like tl one in GrandfatheE house in Budapest where :Mother had rasted apples when she was a little girl. It always seemed a little bit silly to sit in front of the gas burner and tell stories at bedtime, because with all the pretending in the world it was still a gas burner. But Mother, who worked all day in a bakery, aad so little time with her family that even Michael was glad to sit still for these few minutes. It was practically the only time Michael did sit still. Margaret wriggled in anticipation. "Mother," she called, "won't it be pretty soon when you come?" "Just a minute, Margaret," her moth- er answered, treadling hard on the sew- ing machine and stopping to turn the corner of a patch. "That Michael," he added, "how quick he is through the knees! And NOT--" she turned an ac- cusing eye on her curly-haired son, "NOT because he prays so much." Michael pretended not to hear as his mother went on for his benefit, "It seems that in our house, where one finds a piece of coal in one's Christmas stocking for every time he is naughty, somebody I know will have a lot of coal in his stock- ing." "Perhaps we won't have to buy any coal, Mother," said Margaret. "If the angels really kept count of all the times Michael has been naughty since last Christmas, we'll have enough for the winter. But it won't fit in his stocking, even if he borrows Joe Cernak's like last year." "It is true, Joe has immense feet," Mrs. Rosenski agreed. "But Michael, also, has immense naughtiness. We will have to let the angels keep track of those things." Michael blinked-angrily under his an- gelic mop of blond curls. "I bet you get plenty coal in YOUR stocking," he ac- cused Margaret. His mother shook her head and sat down beside Margaret. "Get your knit- ting, Margaret," she reminded the little girl. Margaret smothered a sigh and went for her knitting bag. She had so hoped her mother would forget about it so she could watch the blue flames instead of the tiresome needles. Once settled, she looked up at her mother. "Now, Mother, please--" she begged, "tell us about Christmas when you were a little girl --when there was snow, and Grand- mother roasted a goose." "Who is a goose now?" teased her mother. "You waflt me to tell you again a story you already knov!" She looked carefully over Margaret's knitting, picked up a stitch that was dropped, and went on with her mending. "I do not remem- ber much in Budapest, you know," she said. "I was much too little--not much more than Michael when we left. But I remember the cold, and how the snow looked on the church spires, and the smell of the roast goose, and the boys With the Bethlehem on Christmas Eve.,' "What boys?" asked Michael, sitting up. "What did they do?" "The boys in the neighborhood," his mother explained. "They would dress like the Bethlehem shepherds, and carry a little manger with the Holy Infant in it. They would sing a Christmas song outside in tie snow, then rap at the door and call, Szabad a Bethlehemeseknek be- jonni? That means, 'May the men of Bethlehem come in?' And we would be waiting indoors for them--how we would jump up and down with joy to see the little manger! We were so proud of your Uncle Peter when he got big enough to be a shepherd:" She bent over her mend- ing. "It was Peter who died on the ship coming over. He was very naughty some- times, but he was my favorite brother. And he made an angelic looking shep- herd." Nlargaret looked thoughtfully at Mi- chael. She knew what her mother meant. "After the boys had let all of us look at the manger," her mother continued, "the )ady of the house would give them By SISTER MARY JEAN DORCY, 0.P. a gift, which they put in a big sack carried by one of the boys. There would be apples and fine cakes---" "Poppy-cakes?" asked lchaeL "Yes, poppy-seed cakes," said his Ynoth- er. "We caged them Makos kalacs and they were delicious! Nut-fKled cakes, too --D'ios Kalacs--,e would dream of those cakes! The men of Bethlehem would thank the lady, then go on to another home. Afterwards, there would be a tree, and gifts for everyone. Then mid- night Mass, and again on Christmas morning a great high Mass with famous singers. The Christmas dinner had to be prepared the day before. How good the house smelled, with food and the gar- lands of green from the country, and the spicy smell Of the tree!" "Our tree doesn't smll--not spicy," maid Margaret. "But then, maybe it did when it was new." '%Ve had a living tree from the forest outside of town," her mother recalled. "My brothers would go out to get it each year, and what excitement! Mother hung the trimmings, and most of all we liked the Szalon csukor--the sugar candy in fringed tissue paper like Uncle Andrew sends us every year from Paterson. And we liked the little red candles." "Real candles?" asked Margaret. "Yes, you couldn't have them here," her mother admitted. "Which reminds me, there was a small boy who ruined our tree lights last year, and we can- not buy new ones." Michael htmg his head. "I really do not remember much more. I know that one year--the year before he was a shepherd--Peter took all the candy out of the bright tissue papers and ,rapped up little pieces of coal-- to surprise us, he said. Dear me!" Margaret glanced uneasily at Michael. There was a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "When you came to New York was it like that?" Margaret prompted. "No, it was never quite the same again," she said. "Perhaps because we had no Peter to get into trouble and keep us guessing." "But you had Daddy?" Margaret prompted. "Well, yes--he lived next door. And he was always very kind. I used to go out on our fire escape to listen to him play the violin." Both looked up to where a battered old violin case hung on the wall. Then, without speaking, they looked towards the shelf above it where the print of Our Lady of Czestochawa, in the faded plush frame that had come from Grandfather Kosenski's, stood guard above the little yellow envelope from the War Department. Then both bent busily and silently over their work. Margaret had knit a whole row before she looked up again. "See, Mother," she whispered, "be's gone to sleep on the foor. I knew he wouldn't be quiet that long otherwise." The mother reached for a light shawl on the nearby table and covered the little boy. "Daddy never saw Christmas in Buda- pest?" Margaret asked. "N, Daddy was from Poland. I met him in New York."" Mrs. Kosenski reached over to cover Michael's knees where he had wriggled out from under the shawl. "He looks like an angel," she said. "only when he is asleep," Margaret commented. "It is time to go to bed," her mother retorted. "Put the cat out." Margaret closed the door on the cat, breathing foggy air as she did so. "He doesn't look so angel-like with a black eye, Mother," she said. "Maybe Sister should see him with one." "Sister? Sister who? And why should she see him with a black eye? Don't talk in circles, Margaret." Her mother paused in the act of putting away her se'ing. "Sister in the First Grade," explained Margaret. "She thinks he looks like an angel." "Well, and don't we?" demanded Mi- chael's mother. "Yes---BUT" said Margaret dubiously. "We know better. Sister doesn't. She thinks he would make a nice Holy In- fant in the Christmas. play--the little Holy King, you know, with the dress and crov,l." "Of course I know, the Holy Infant of Prague," said her mother, looking down fondly on the sleeping child. "The Christ- mas play! At school? "Yes " said Margaret. But Mother-- he'd have a black eye, or give some- body one---I know. And he might bite somebody--the Holy Infantl" "He does look like the little King," the mother meditated. "It would be awful if he bit somebody," pleaded Margaret. "He is only a baby, Margaret, and he needs his Daddy. A boy needs a Daddy. We spoil him." "lother ?" "Yes, little one?" She gathered up the little boy to take him to bed. "Will Daddy ever come back? The war is over." "We can pray." Margaret stood looking at the picture, on the wall beside the violin. "He is gone so long,,, she said. "I only remember he is terribly tall, and he swung me up by the light, and he smelled like tobacco." "It is time for prayers," her mother interrupted. "Quick, now, before it gets cold. Our Father Who art in Heaven--" Margaret shut her eyes, to pray bet- ter. But she was worried. Mother Would side in with Sister, and let Michael be the Holy Infant, and Michael would do ome awfui thing and spoil the play. Two worries kept Margaret awake that night. One was the thought of what awful things Michael might do if Sister insisted on dressing him up for the play. The other had to do with the play, too, indirectly. Today Joe Cernak had told her that he couldn't play unless he got a violin. The one he had been using bad to go back to its ox-ner, and poor Joe hadn't money enough to buy another. He wanted to use her father's but would never ask for it. It was one of the few treasures left to Alinka Kosenski--who had lost so many; besides, it was an un- usually fine instrument, with a tone that set it apart from ordinary violins. "I will have to ask Our Lady to do some- thing about it," Margaret said to her- self. "But I hope she doesn't side in with Mother and Sister Theodore." Our Lady took care of the violin prob- " lem. Monsignor asked it as a favor, and Mrs. Kosenski agreed to let Joe use the violin. But about the other affair, largaret groaned inwardly. Her mother and Sister Theodore closed the bargain without even consulting her. "Such an angelic little boy," said Sister. "He looks like a figure on a Christmas card, doesn't lie ?" The school play progressed without any apparent difficulties. Margaret kept her mother up to date on developments each night at supper. "It is going to be such a sweet play. The rich lady--you know, the one who didn't have any chil- dren so she had somebody make a little statue of the Holy Child ?"--Margaret's eyes shone with excitement as she re- counted the familiar legend of the In- fant of P.rague-- "Then, while the lights are out, Joe Cernak reaches through the curtains and takes the statue off the pedestal, and puts ]Iichael on it, and then  the lights go on again. Then Michael comes down the steps--I hope he doesn't kick one of the angels--and goes out with the fourth grade angels--that's us --to go up and down the streets looking for souls to save. And then--lIother, why do you cry? Is it so sad?" Alinka Kosenski shook her head. "Your father was so fond of the Holy Infant of Prague. He wore a medal of the Holy Little King when he went away to war." The evening of the play, Margaret .pent an agonizing hour getting her hair curled while Michael sulked in a corner. Even his mother was beginning to have misgivings by the time they reached the parish hall. (Continued on page 14) UNUSUAL FIGURINES FORM THIS CRIB Hand-carved from wood, dressed in real brocades, silk, and linen, and adorn- ed with jewels, these nine figures, 18 to 20 inches high, represent the Holy Family, the Magi and shepherds. This very s-triking Creche is a revival of 18th Century Neapolitan cribs. Two Polish women of Washington, D. C., sisters of the mural artist John DeRosen, and survivors of both the Polish and the London blitz during the war, specia lize in making these individually unique cribs. Miss Sophie De Rosen carved and painted the statuettes and her sister, Mrs. Mary" Wszeliki, de- signed the historically ac- curate costumes. (NCWO) @ The CATHOLIC NORTHWEST PROGRESS Page Thirteen L The Angelic Little King ARGARET" swung her bare toes carefuly in front of the gas burner and tried to make herself believe it was a fixeplace---a huge one, like tl one in GrandfatheE house in Budapest where :Mother had rasted apples when she was a little girl. It always seemed a little bit silly to sit in front of the gas burner and tell stories at bedtime, because with all the pretending in the world it was still a gas burner. But Mother, who worked all day in a bakery, aad so little time with her family that even Michael was glad to sit still for these few minutes. It was practically the only time Michael did sit still. Margaret wriggled in anticipation. "Mother," she called, "won't it be pretty soon when you come?" "Just a minute, Margaret," her moth- er answered, treadling hard on the sew- ing machine and stopping to turn the corner of a patch. "That Michael," he added, "how quick he is through the knees! And NOT--" she turned an ac- cusing eye on her curly-haired son, "NOT because he prays so much." Michael pretended not to hear as his mother went on for his benefit, "It seems that in our house, where one finds a piece of coal in one's Christmas stocking for every time he is naughty, somebody I know will have a lot of coal in his stock- ing." "Perhaps we won't have to buy any coal, Mother," said Margaret. "If the angels really kept count of all the times Michael has been naughty since last Christmas, we'll have enough for the winter. But it won't fit in his stocking, even if he borrows Joe Cernak's like last year." "It is true, Joe has immense feet," Mrs. Rosenski agreed. "But Michael, also, has immense naughtiness. We will have to let the angels keep track of those things." Michael blinked-angrily under his an- gelic mop of blond curls. "I bet you get plenty coal in YOUR stocking," he ac- cused Margaret. His mother shook her head and sat down beside Margaret. "Get your knit- ting, Margaret," she reminded the little girl. Margaret smothered a sigh and went for her knitting bag. She had so hoped her mother would forget about it so she could watch the blue flames instead of the tiresome needles. Once settled, she looked up at her mother. "Now, Mother, please--" she begged, "tell us about Christmas when you were a little girl --when there was snow, and Grand- mother roasted a goose." "Who is a goose now?" teased her mother. "You waflt me to tell you again a story you already knov!" She looked carefully over Margaret's knitting, picked up a stitch that was dropped, and went on with her mending. "I do not remem- ber much in Budapest, you know," she said. "I was much too little--not much more than Michael when we left. But I remember the cold, and how the snow looked on the church spires, and the smell of the roast goose, and the boys With the Bethlehem on Christmas Eve.,' "What boys?" asked Michael, sitting up. "What did they do?" "The boys in the neighborhood," his mother explained. "They would dress like the Bethlehem shepherds, and carry a little manger with the Holy Infant in it. They would sing a Christmas song outside in tie snow, then rap at the door and call, Szabad a Bethlehemeseknek be- jonni? That means, 'May the men of Bethlehem come in?' And we would be waiting indoors for them--how we would jump up and down with joy to see the little manger! We were so proud of your Uncle Peter when he got big enough to be a shepherd:" She bent over her mend- ing. "It was Peter who died on the ship coming over. He was very naughty some- times, but he was my favorite brother. And he made an angelic looking shep- herd." Nlargaret looked thoughtfully at Mi- chael. She knew what her mother meant. "After the boys had let all of us look at the manger," her mother continued, "the )ady of the house would give them By SISTER MARY JEAN DORCY, 0.P. a gift, which they put in a big sack carried by one of the boys. There would be apples and fine cakes---" "Poppy-cakes?" asked lchaeL "Yes, poppy-seed cakes," said his Ynoth- er. "We caged them Makos kalacs and they were delicious! Nut-fKled cakes, too --D'ios Kalacs--,e would dream of those cakes! The men of Bethlehem would thank the lady, then go on to another home. Afterwards, there would be a tree, and gifts for everyone. Then mid- night Mass, and again on Christmas morning a great high Mass with famous singers. The Christmas dinner had to be prepared the day before. How good the house smelled, with food and the gar- lands of green from the country, and the spicy smell Of the tree!" "Our tree doesn't smll--not spicy," maid Margaret. "But then, maybe it did when it was new." '%Ve had a living tree from the forest outside of town," her mother recalled. "My brothers would go out to get it each year, and what excitement! Mother hung the trimmings, and most of all we liked the Szalon csukor--the sugar candy in fringed tissue paper like Uncle Andrew sends us every year from Paterson. And we liked the little red candles." "Real candles?" asked Margaret. "Yes, you couldn't have them here," her mother admitted. "Which reminds me, there was a small boy who ruined our tree lights last year, and we can- not buy new ones." Michael htmg his head. "I really do not remember much more. I know that one year--the year before he was a shepherd--Peter took all the candy out of the bright tissue papers and ,rapped up little pieces of coal-- to surprise us, he said. Dear me!" Margaret glanced uneasily at Michael. There was a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "When you came to New York was it like that?" Margaret prompted. "No, it was never quite the same again," she said. "Perhaps because we had no Peter to get into trouble and keep us guessing." "But you had Daddy?" Margaret prompted. "Well, yes--he lived next door. And he was always very kind. I used to go out on our fire escape to listen to him play the violin." Both looked up to where a battered old violin case hung on the wall. Then, without speaking, they looked towards the shelf above it where the print of Our Lady of Czestochawa, in the faded plush frame that had come from Grandfather Kosenski's, stood guard above the little yellow envelope from the War Department. Then both bent busily and silently over their work. Margaret had knit a whole row before she looked up again. "See, Mother," she whispered, "be's gone to sleep on the foor. I knew he wouldn't be quiet that long otherwise." The mother reached for a light shawl on the nearby table and covered the little boy. "Daddy never saw Christmas in Buda- pest?" Margaret asked. "N, Daddy was from Poland. I met him in New York."" Mrs. Kosenski reached over to cover Michael's knees where he had wriggled out from under the shawl. "He looks like an angel," she said. "only when he is asleep," Margaret commented. "It is time to go to bed," her mother retorted. "Put the cat out." Margaret closed the door on the cat, breathing foggy air as she did so. "He doesn't look so angel-like with a black eye, Mother," she said. "Maybe Sister should see him with one." "Sister? Sister who? And why should she see him with a black eye? Don't talk in circles, Margaret." Her mother paused in the act of putting away her se'ing. "Sister in the First Grade," explained Margaret. "She thinks he looks like an angel." "Well, and don't we?" demanded Mi- chael's mother. "Yes---BUT" said Margaret dubiously. "We know better. Sister doesn't. She thinks he would make a nice Holy In- fant in the Christmas. play--the little Holy King, you know, with the dress and crov,l." "Of course I know, the Holy Infant of Prague," said her mother, looking down fondly on the sleeping child. "The Christ- mas play! At school? "Yes " said Margaret. But Mother-- he'd have a black eye, or give some- body one---I know. And he might bite somebody--the Holy Infantl" "He does look like the little King," the mother meditated. "It would be awful if he bit somebody," pleaded Margaret. "He is only a baby, Margaret, and he needs his Daddy. A boy needs a Daddy. We spoil him." "lother ?" "Yes, little one?" She gathered up the little boy to take him to bed. "Will Daddy ever come back? The war is over." "We can pray." Margaret stood looking at the picture, on the wall beside the violin. "He is gone so long,,, she said. "I only remember he is terribly tall, and he swung me up by the light, and he smelled like tobacco." "It is time for prayers," her mother interrupted. "Quick, now, before it gets cold. Our Father Who art in Heaven--" Margaret shut her eyes, to pray bet- ter. But she was worried. Mother Would side in with Sister, and let Michael be the Holy Infant, and Michael would do ome awfui thing and spoil the play. Two worries kept Margaret awake that night. One was the thought of what awful things Michael might do if Sister insisted on dressing him up for the play. The other had to do with the play, too, indirectly. Today Joe Cernak had told her that he couldn't play unless he got a violin. The one he had been using bad to go back to its ox-ner, and poor Joe hadn't money enough to buy another. He wanted to use her father's but would never ask for it. It was one of the few treasures left to Alinka Kosenski--who had lost so many; besides, it was an un- usually fine instrument, with a tone that set it apart from ordinary violins. "I will have to ask Our Lady to do some- thing about it," Margaret said to her- self. "But I hope she doesn't side in with Mother and Sister Theodore." Our Lady took care of the violin prob- " lem. Monsignor asked it as a favor, and Mrs. Kosenski agreed to let Joe use the violin. But about the other affair, largaret groaned inwardly. Her mother and Sister Theodore closed the bargain without even consulting her. "Such an angelic little boy," said Sister. "He looks like a figure on a Christmas card, doesn't lie ?" The school play progressed without any apparent difficulties. Margaret kept her mother up to date on developments each night at supper. "It is going to be such a sweet play. The rich lady--you know, the one who didn't have any chil- dren so she had somebody make a little statue of the Holy Child ?"--Margaret's eyes shone with excitement as she re- counted the familiar legend of the In- fant of P.rague-- "Then, while the lights are out, Joe Cernak reaches through the curtains and takes the statue off the pedestal, and puts ]Iichael on it, and then  the lights go on again. Then Michael comes down the steps--I hope he doesn't kick one of the angels--and goes out with the fourth grade angels--that's us --to go up and down the streets looking for souls to save. And then--lIother, why do you cry? Is it so sad?" Alinka Kosenski shook her head. "Your father was so fond of the Holy Infant of Prague. He wore a medal of the Holy Little King when he went away to war." The evening of the play, Margaret .pent an agonizing hour getting her hair curled while Michael sulked in a corner. Even his mother was beginning to have misgivings by the time they reached the parish hall. (Continued on page 14) UNUSUAL FIGURINES FORM THIS CRIB Hand-carved from wood, dressed in real brocades, silk, and linen, and adorn- ed with jewels, these nine figures, 18 to 20 inches high, represent the Holy Family, the Magi and shepherds. This very s-triking Creche is a revival of 18th Century Neapolitan cribs. Two Polish women of Washington, D. C., sisters of the mural artist John DeRosen, and survivors of both the Polish and the London blitz during the war, specia lize in making these individually unique cribs. Miss Sophie De Rosen carved and painted the statuettes and her sister, Mrs. Mary" Wszeliki, de- signed the historically ac- curate costumes. (NCWO)