CYBELE, THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.
Cybele was a little girl; she had large gray eyes, and brown hairsmoothly parted over her forehead, while there was a pitiful expressionround her mouth, that pleaded with you so earnestly, you could scarcehelp stopping, as you met her, to give her a few pennies.
Her real home was not in this country. Long ago she had come over fromthe bright land of Italy,--from its warm, sunny skies and beautifulgardens, where the birds sang so joyfully, and gay music sounded on theair,--all which she longed to see and hear again; and as all thingsthere had been so beautiful, and here so dreary, all beauty grew to bethe same thing as that dear Italy, so that when she even saw flowers inthe window of some lordly house, she would stand, gazing tearfullythrough them at the far-off home!
Cybele's mother had died in that beautiful land, and it was in one ofits lovely gardens her body rested while her spirit soared heavenward.The little girl knew this place so well;--the orange-trees grew aboutit, and the song of the waterfall, near by, played and sparkled in thetones of the birds. But Cybele's aunt had taken the little girl with herto this distant land, and the child could no longer go and weep over thegrave where her mother's body had been laid; but her heart was there--itcould not forget. She dreamed of it in the long nights; and, when sheplayed upon her tambourine, the remembrance inspired her notes, makingpeople love to listen to her.
Away down in an uncomfortable, out-of-the-way part of the city dwell agreat many poor people, who have come from distant countries to findhere some bread, which may keep them from starving. The streets wherethey dwell are dirty, and the houses look smoky and wretched. There arequeer little shops, with oranges and cigars, bread and tobacco, in thewindows, and if you go in you smell yeast, and see milk-cans standingabout, while a man in a green jacket sells you what you ask for. To suchshops do the people near by come for their bread and cent's worth ofmilk. To such a shop little Cybele came, early in the morning, and lateat night; and so dingy looked the shops and people, that her aunt's roomseemed bright and cheerful in comparison. This room, nevertheless, wassmall and quite dark, having but one window, which looked down into abrown back-yard; but her aunt kept the room neat and clean; the bedstood off by itself, in one corner, the two chairs on either side of thetable, and in the cupboard were a few plates and cups, with which thescanty table was spread; yet was this room dear to the child, since thedreams she had dreamed there hung over her still with their light andlove.
It chanced, one day, that her aunt fell sick--so sick as to be obligedto lie on the bed. For a long time she had not been able to do any hardwork, but had sat at home and made little brooms for Cybele to take outwith her when she went to play the tambourine about the streets. AndCybele had seen how her aunt grew pale, day by day, but she had notdreamed the time would come when her aunt must lay still on the bed forweariness.
With a heavy heart she took the brooms and the tambourine, and went out,hoping to get a few pennies, and bring home a doctor for her aunt.
But it was a sad day for Cybele. She was rudely sent away from the doorsat which she stopped, and though she stood long before the windows oflordly houses, in which she felt were many persons, still the sasheswere left down, and no kind group appeared to encourage her. So shepassed on, through quiet squares and noisy streets, but everywhere metwith a repulse.
What should she do? It was impossible to go home without money. Shethought of the poor aunt who was sick, and of the mother who lay away inthe gardens of Italy, and new courage came into her soul. A gentlemancame toward her, with ruddy cheeks and smooth, rich clothes. Surely hewill not turn away from the little child. So she stepped forward, and,when he came near, she looked up in his face, saying,
"Please, sir, will you not buy one of my brooms?"
But he brushed by her, unheeding her gentle tones, and leaving her eyesfilled with tears.
Then came along a careless boy, whistling a merry tune, and with hishands thrust into his pockets. Confidence and hope made her ask himalso.
"Please, will you buy a broom?"
The boy stopped, and, still whistling, looked into her face, glancedover her dress, tambourine and brooms; and, as his eyes rested uponthese last, he replied:
"Buy a broom! Pray, what think you I want with one of those flimsythings?" And then he looked at her as though he thought her so absurd!
Cybele was abashed by his manner, and began to think she had asked himto do a very foolish thing, so she hurried to reply:
"I don't know, I'm sure; but they brush away flies with them."
"Flies!" he repeated, contemptuously, at the same time taking one of thebrooms from her little bundle, and thrusting it about him in allconceivable ways; pulling open the brush, and altogether ruining it."Flies! it is getting too cool for flies; and, besides, my mother neverlets any get into the house; so it's no use any way. Why don't you gohome? It's a shame to be walking round the streets so. You ought to bein school, or at work, or something else."
CYBELE THE TAMBOURINE GIRL.]
"I don't know how to do anything else," replied Cybele, the bloodrushing to her cheeks; "my aunt is sick, and I want to get some money."
"Tush!--always sick!" replied the boy, contemptuously; "how silly! Iwonder the beggars don't all die some day, they've been sick so long!"
"We are not beggars!" said Cybele, raising her head somewhat proudly,and preparing to move away. "If you don't want the broom, I'll take it,if you please."
The boy seemed half pleased, as he looked at her, and said:
"Proud, too--if it isn't funny! Here, don't go away--I want to hear yourtambourine."
So she laid down her bundle of brooms, and, arranging her tambourine,played him some merry tunes.
"Can't you dance, too?" asked the boy, when she had finished. So shedanced and played to him; and, when she stopped, he placed a penny inher hand, and coolly walked away.
She looked at the penny lying in her hand, and then after the boy, whowas walking up the street, and she couldn't help thinking how verylittle it was, and how she hoped he would have given her more. Shelooked at the little broom he had ruined, and everything seemed sadderthan before. Then, by some strange freak, her mind ran off to thegardens where her mother slept, as it always did when darkness gatheredround her, and she longed, more than ever before, to throw herself onthe ground there, and quietly sleep a long, long time. During the wholeday she had received but a few pennies; so few, they would not induce adoctor to go down to her sick aunt. If she only could have met some kindheart, which would have gone home with her, and given kind words andsoothing draughts to the sick one! But it was not brought into her path.
When she came home and saw how much worse her aunt was than when she hadleft her in the morning, her little heart grew sick; and Cybele, who hadseen her mother grow thin and die, began to be terrified, lest the aunttoo would be taken.
So, she went up to her gently, and kissed her brow, and the poor auntopened her eyes and smiled mournfully; and when she heard how littlemoney the tambourine had brought that day, she tried to conceal hersorrow lest the little child should be grieved.
Then Cybele lighted a small fire in their bit of a fireplace, and made alittle tea for her aunt. It was the very last she had; but when shethought how much her aunt needed it, and how she would need still moreon the morrow, hope whispered, quite cheerfully, that with thetambourine she would win from people's pockets many a bright cent. Withthese thoughts, she looked very lovingly towards the tambourine, whichlay quietly upon the floor in the corner, its gay bells silent, as ifit, too, felt sorrow for the aunt's sickness.
After Cybele had toasted a bit of bread, and given it, with the tea, tothe aunt--had received the kind kiss, and saw her close her eyes--shethought she slept, and new courage filled her heart; she began to thinkof the pleasant people she should see to-morrow. What a kind crowd shedrew about her! They looked on her with loving eyes, and the sweetsmiles played about their lips. There were the groups of prettychildren, in gay frocks and ro
sy cheeks, which should gather about theparlor-window, when she should stop before it and strike the tambourinewith her hand; and they would smile upon her, and then the elder sister,who should be so mild and gentle, would come and throw up the sash, andspeak with her; and, perhaps, even she would throw down to her a sprigof the geranium which stood near by on the flower-stand. Then she waslured further on, to think of a great fortune which was to be obtained,that she might go back to the laughing skies of Italy, and spend herdays in the lovely garden where her mother slept.
But when Cybele arose in the morning, and told her aunt how she wasgoing out to gather in the pennies, the poor aunt sighed, and bade herstay at home a while, for she could not bear to be alone.
So Cybele sat down upon the floor, and, taking the tambourine, sang andplayed the softest and sweetest airs she could remember; and, as sheplayed, it seemed as though new tones, and words even, were given tospeak out of it.
She astonished herself, and a kind of sorrowful ecstasy came into hersoul. She played on, and on, and forgot that the day was passing off, inwhich she was to earn so many bright pennies, in order to bring home thekind physician who was to make the dear aunt well at once. She went tothe far-off land, and sang of the vineyards and the soft, warm air; ofthe gently-moving waters, and the fragrant blossoms around the banks ofthe lakes. O, the moon rose up before her, and she drank from its lovingbeams; the stars sent down their misty light, as if shrouded because oftheir great beauty! Once in that land, how had she forgotten all thingselse! A holy inspiration had come down over her; an angel of lightappeared to her enchanted eyes, beckoning her to rest her head upon hisbosom.
"Fear not!" he said, "for I will yet take you to the lovely gardenswhere your mother dwells."
But, when she eagerly stretched out her arms and cried, "Take me now,"he disappeared, and she found the song stayed upon her lips, the roomhushed, and only the glory, which the angel's presence had shed about,still lingered there. The holy stillness came into her heart also, andshe sat quietly upon the floor a long time; and when, at last, she roseand went up to her aunt's bedside, she found the brow she kissed wascold, the hand she clasped was chilly; and, in looking with fear uponthe aunt's face, she found the dews of death resting there.
The aunt was dead! Those songs, which flowed so easily from Cybele'slips, had become the requiem of the dead, and those soft tones had beenthe last sigh of a passing soul.
Cybele knew that when the angel had over-shadowed her, as she sang, hehad borne hence her aunt's spirit.
But, O, it was so hard to be left all alone! And when the people fromthe other room came in and prepared her aunt for the burial; when theytook her from the bed and put her in the rude coffin, the child's heartfelt like breaking, and, had it not been for the words the angel hadspoken to her when he came to bear hence the dear aunt, she would havewept without ever smiling again.
Then they carried away the coffin into a dismal place, where was neithergreen grass nor pleasant brook, nor even a flower, might it be ever solittle; and there was a row of square, black doors against the walls,one of which they opened, and shoved the coffin into a dark place.
O, it was so dreary a place, with the high fence all about it, and thecold, dismal, gray clouds above! It did not seem to Cybele that shecould leave the aunt there. Could she only lie away in the beautifulland where the mother slept, where the birds rested their wings upon thelemon-trees, and the blue sky smiled in quiet peacefulness!
But the people who stood around could not understand her grief, and sothey hurried her from the yard and locked up the gate.
That night Cybele lay alone upon the bed on which her aunt had died, andthe lonely grief came so fast upon her that she could not sleep, and themorning found her weary and heart-broken.
Then there came into her room a coarse man, who told her she must goout, for she could no longer live there; that she might be allowed totake her tambourine with her, but all the rest,--and there was littleenough, the two chairs, the bed, the kettle and the few things in thecupboard,--were his, to pay for the rent of the room and he told her, ifshe brought a few pennies to the people who lived in the next room, whennight was come, they would take care of her.
Now the man had no sooner spoken these words, than Cybele decided tohave nothing to do with the people in the next room, for she could notlove them. The father and mother were so coarse and cross, and the boyswere so rude and big;--they had often refused to help her aunt, andwhile she was sick they had never come with kind words to smooth herpillow. Even after she had died, they had but come to put her in a rudecoffin, and carry her to a dismal place, from which they thrust out theonly heart who yearned for her.
So Cybele did not think of going to them. She tied the large silkhandkerchief over her head, which had served her for a bonnet since shehad left Italy, and, taking her dear tambourine in her hand, and thepoor, neglected brooms, she went away out of the rooms where she hadlived so long, where she had seen the angel, and where her aunt haddied. Then, after standing upon the sill of the door a few moments,looking down the long staircase, out into the world to which she wasgoing, she raised her gray eyes, and sweetly said, as though replying tothe angel's admonition, "I'm not afraid." Ah, dearest one, you need notfear when the heavenly Father is so near unto your heart!
Without more hesitation she said "Good-by" to the room, and quickly speddown the staircase out into the world, while thus she talked to hertambourine:
"Don't you be afraid either, dear little Tambourine!" and she held ittenderly in her arms; "nor you, dear Brooms! We shall have happy timestogether yet. Only think of the beautiful tunes I'll play on you, andhow the children will clap their hands when they hear your bells! No,don't be in the least afraid; I'll play on you as I never have beforesince once,"--here the little lip quivered in spite of itself,--"onlytry and play real pretty--do, so I shan't ever be lonesome with thinkingof the lovely gardens at home! Ah, Tambourine! Tambourine! you and I areall alone!" Just then, a sweet tone came from the bells of thetambourine, and comforted Cybele's heart.
She wandered up the streets, and stopped to look in upon the windows ofthe toy-shops; but the toy-carts, and those wonderful witches, who wouldalways stand on their heads, had no charm for her longer. Her heart wassaddened, and when she tried to strike out gay tunes, they would notcome--only sad ones, and sad words from her lips. The children pitiedher grave looks, and, when they could not persuade her to dance forthem, they would leave her in silence.
When she looked about her and saw all the children, how they were neveralone, that their eye's danced, and their voices were mirthful, shewould ask herself why she, too, was not happy. Then courage would cometo her, and she would strike a gay air, and call the children to herside; but, when she had finished, she was glad to creep away byherself, and lean her head upon her tambourine to weep. Then, when thevoice of the angel sounded in her heart, she would raise her head toreply, meekly, "No, I'm not afraid."
It chanced, one day, that she wandered into the obscure corner of achurch. It was evening service, and at first she was only glad to getaway from the cold, biting air; but she had not been there long before astrange feeling of gladness rose up in her heart. The organ awoke fromits stillness, and the tones gladdened her as the tambourine, dear as itwas, had never done. The hazy light poured in through the windows, andlit up the faces of the scattered worshippers with seraphic beauty, andit gave golden edges to the spotless robe of the priest in the chancel,played upon his white, flowing hair, and shone upon his upliftedcountenance. The priest spoke out blessed words of the Father in heaven,how he calls the tired and weary to come and be folded up in his arms;how he even says, "Suffer little children to come unto mo, and forbidthem not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." These words fell intothe parched heart of little Cybele, and ran all along there in lowsobs, and, stretching up her tiny arms, she murmured:
"Take me, take me now,--I want to come!" And she began to think of theangel who had said to her:
"Fear no
t, for I will yet take you to the lovely gardens where yourmother dwells."
The organ ceased, the priest went out from the chancel, one by one thepeople passed out from the church, the sexton closed up the doors andwent away, and Cybele sat in her corner, longing to see again the angelwho was so often in her thoughts, until the hazy light had faded away inthe darkness.
Then the moon rose, and streamed into the church, down the long aisles,and up into the chancel; and from the window above the place where thepriest had spoken those holy words there flooded a glory of light, whilethe columns and galleries stood still in their deepened shadows. It wasso holy a calm as to fill Cybele with a joyful awe. The tambourine slidfrom her lap; she crossed her hands upon her breast, and bent forwardher head with closed eyes. Low notes of the sweetest music swelled onthe air; louder they grew; until they seemed like the voices of thoserejoicing for deliverance from great sorrow. Louder, louder yet thevoices of angels mingled with them. As Cybele looked up there she sawgreat bands of holy angels rejoicing over her; among them the very onewhose words of consolation had been with her so many days. Quickly tohim she stretched out her arms, and he reached low down and raised herup to him. And they soared up, up to the region of the sun and the moon,hearing about them the soft voices of loving angels; the air was loadedwith the perfumes of celestial flowers, while every angel they met gavethem a word of welcome.
The angel did as he had promised, and the heavenly Father, whom Cybelehad prayed to take her, gave her into the loving arms of the mother, whodwelt in lovelier gardens than those of fair Italy, even the gardens ofheaven.
* * * *
When the people next opened the church, they found a dead child in oneof its corners. A little tambourine lay by its side, which, when theypicked it up, gave out pleasant, cheering tones; but, when they laid thedead body of the child in a cold, damp grave, they little thought whathappy songs the living spirit of it sang with its mother in the lovelygardens of God.