Long ago, when the North Sea howled louder than the bells in Hoorn, and gulls flew low over freezing docks, the townsfolk told stories of Saint Nicholas, protector of sailors and the poor.
Old mariners swore on salted bones that they had seen the saint walking the quays on winter nights, cloaked in shadow but lit by a single lantern, a golden-glowing flame that never flickered in the wind. His lantern, they said, had a will of its own. It drifted toward danger: guiding boats through fog, lighting up the faces of cutpurses just before they struck, or hovering above the waves where a sailor was about to drown.
The flame was a symbol, a guardian. It did not burn oil or wax, but hope.
This miraculous lantern was kept in the town’s small church of Saint Nicholas, placed above the altar, tended by the priest, and polished each morning by the altar boys. Each year during the Feast of Saint Nicholas in early December, townsfolk lined the pews in their thick wool coats, offering prayers for safe voyages, fair trade, and warm hearths.
But one winter, as wind rattled the shutters and ice crept across the canals, something unthinkable happened.
The Lantern’s Disappearance
On the eve of the Feast, the lantern vanished.
No smoke. No broken lock. Just an empty hook above the altar. At first, the priest blamed the wind. Then, a young boy claimed to have seen a shadow slip through the side door during vespers.
That night, the fog rolled in thicker than ever before. Ships returning to harbor were swallowed whole. A fishing vessel capsized on the shoals, and two men were lost. In the market square, someone stole from the spice seller. A butcher’s cart was looted. Whispers spread: “The saint has abandoned us.”
Fear grew like frost on the windows.
Only one person believed differently: Anke, the baker’s apprentice.
She was seventeen, with flour always dusting her sleeves and kindness tucked behind a quiet stare. That night, as she helped knead dough for the morning’s bread, she remembered the shadow she’d seen slipping into the church, the way the air had felt colder, hungrier.
Something in her gut told her the light had not left them… not entirely.
The Search Through the Winter Streets
Wrapped in a threadbare shawl and carrying a crust of rye in her pocket, Anke left the bakery before dawn, her breath forming ghosts in the air.
She walked along the quays, the mist so thick she could hardly see the water. The town was silent, no ship bells, no cart wheels, just the sound of ice cracking along the canal edges.
Then she saw it.
A flicker. A faint, golden glow, barely visible through the fog, drifting near the warehouses on the eastern edge of town.
Anke followed it, step by step, heart pounding, past barrels and crates, until she reached the broken door of a forgotten salt warehouse.
Inside, the glow brightened, and there, curled against a pile of empty sacks, was a beggar.
He was gaunt, hollow-eyed, wrapped in rags. And in his frostbitten hands he clutched the lantern of Saint Nicholas, its flame warming his face.
When he saw her, he began to cry. “I didn’t mean to steal it,” he said, his voice thin as steam. “I only wanted warmth. I was so cold… I feared I wouldn’t survive the night.”
Anke looked at him, truly looked. His hands were blue at the fingertips. He had no boots. And yet, in his desperation, he had not sold the lantern, nor smashed it.
She thought of the drowned sailors. The trembling merchants. The empty docks. But she also thought of this man, and how little warmth he had been shown in his life.
So she did what no one expected.
The Lantern’s Return
Anke took off her wool cloak, the only one she owned, and wrapped it gently around the beggar. “You will not freeze,” she said softly. “But the town needs this light.”
She cradled the lantern and returned to the church just as the bells struck six.
The priest gasped when he saw it, and her. He took the lantern in trembling hands and placed it once again above the altar. The moment it touched the hook, the flame blazed brighter, casting long beams across the nave.
That night, the fog lifted. The lost ships returned. The air smelled of salt and miracles. And by morning, the town bells rang so long and loud that people wept in the streets.
They did not just celebrate Saint Nicholas that day. They celebrated Anke, the girl who followed a faint glow through the dark and answered a cry for help.
Some say from that year on, the lantern glowed just a little warmer. Others say that Anke became the town’s next baker, and never once let a hungry mouth leave her shop empty-handed.
Moral of the Tale
True light is not in the lamp but in the hands that carry it, mercy and courage can guide more safely than any flame.
Knowledge Check
What is the moral of the folktale “The Lantern of Saint Nicholas”?
That mercy and courage can guide and protect more than any physical light.
What cultural group does the tale “The Lantern of Saint Nicholas” come from?
This folktale originates from the Dutch tradition of Europe.
Why did the beggar take the lantern?
He feared dying in the cold and sought its warmth to survive.
How does the folktale “The Lantern of Saint Nicholas” explain miracles?
It attributes sudden safety and the lifting of fog to the saint’s returned light.
Is “The Lantern of Saint Nicholas” considered a trickster tale, ghost story, or moral fable?
It is a moral fable with saintly miracle elements.
How is this folktale relevant to modern readers?
It reminds us that acts of compassion can restore safety and hope to entire communities.
Origin: This story comes from the Dutch tradition of Europe.