A Story of the Christ Child

Tradition tells us that a century after the first Christmas a missionary stood on the banks of the Arno, telling the story of the Christ Child. That night a Roman prince returned to his stone mansion, to feast. Suddenly in the dark he heard a tap on the window and beheld a child’s face, a face beautiful enough to have been a model for Raphael’s cherubs, and lo, a voice like music in the air whispered “The Christ Child is hungry.” Irritated, the prince sent his soldiers to drive the child away, but from that moment his rich viands became tasteless and as ashes and sand. Once more he looked up, startled by a tap upon the window, and beheld the radiant child, standing at the window, in the darkness and the storm. Then came the voice saying, “The Christ Child is cold.” In his selfishness again he bade the soldiers drive the child away, and told his servants to draw the curtains close. In that moment the very fire grew cold, and the blazing embers threw off darkness, and a chill crept to the heart of the selfish prince. And then the ice began to melt. Springing up, he flung wide the door and plunged into the darkness, calling for the child. Faster and faster fled the vision, until it came to a house, where a widow was dead, and a group of little orphan children were sobbing in the night. Obedient to the Child’s command, the prince and his servants took them to his stately house, and brought other hungry children in, and feasted them, and henceforth his table was their table, his house their home, his sword their shield, his feet their wings. Some had thought that happiness was not for him, but in giving happiness to Christ’s children, his heart became the very citadel of joy and gladness.