"Two truffled turkeys, Garrigou?"
"Yes, reverend Father, two magnificent turkeys stuffed with truffles.
There's no mistake, for I helped to stuff them myself. The flesh almost
cracked as they roasted, it was so tight--so----"
"Holy Virgin! and I, who love truffles as----Hurry; give me my
surplice, Garrigou. And what else besides the turkeys; what else did you
see in the kitchen?"
"Oh! all sorts of good things. Since noon we've done nothing but pluck
pheasants, pewits, wood-hens, and heath-cocks. Feathers are scattered
thick. Then from the pond they've brought eels and golden carp and
trout, and----"
"What size are the trout, Garrigou?"
"Oh, as big as that! reverend Father. Enormous!"
"Heavens, I seem to see them! Have you put the wine in the flasks?"
"Yes, reverend Father, I've put the wine in the flasks. But what's a
mouthful or two as you go to midnight Mass! You should see the
dining-hall in the château, full of decanters that sparkle with wine of
every color. And the silver dishes, above all the ornamented ones; the
flowers; the candlesticks! I never saw anything to equal it. Monsieur
the Marquis has invited all the nobility of the neighborhood. You will
be at least forty at table, without counting either the bailiff or the
notary. Ah! it will make you very happy to be there, reverend Father.
Why, only to smell the delicious turkeys--the odor of truffles pursues
me even yet. Muh!"
"Come, come, Garrigou, you must guard against the sin of greediness, and
especially on the night of the Nativity. Quickly, now, light the candles
and sound the first bell for Mass; midnight is very near, and we must
not be late."
This conversation was held on Christmas night, in the year of grace
sixteen hundred and sixteen, between the reverend Dom Balaguère,
formerly prior of Barnabites, now chaplain in the service of the Sires
de Trinquelague, and his clerk Garrigou; or at least what he supposed
was his clerk Garrigou, because you will learn that the devil had that
night taken on the round face and wavering traits of the young
sacristan, the better to tempt the reverend Father to commit the
dreadful sin of gluttony. Now, while the supposed Garrigou (hum! hum!)
rung, with all his might, the bells of the seignorial chapel, the
reverend Father put on his chasuble in the little sacristy of the
château; and, his mind already becoming troubled by the gastronomic
descriptions he had heard, he repeated to himself:
"Roasted turkeys; golden carp; trout as large as that!"
Outside, the night wind blew, scattering the music of the bells, and one
by one lights began to appear in the shadows about the flanks of Mont
Ventoux, upon the summit of which rose the ancient towers of
Trinquelague. These lights were carried by the farmers on their way to
attend midnight Mass at the château. They climbed the paths in groups of
five or six, the father leading, lantern in hand, the women enveloped in
their big brown mantles, where their infants nestled for shelter. In
spite of the hour and the cold all these honest people marched
cheerfully on, sustained by the thought that when they came out from the
Mass they would find, as they did each year, tables spread for them
below in the kitchens. Now and again on the rough ascent, the coach of
some seigneur, preceded by torch-bearing porters, reflected in its
glasses the cold moonlight; or, maybe, a mule trotted along shaking his
bells, and in the light of the lanterns covered with frost, the farmers
recognized their bailiff and saluted him as he passed:
"Good-evening, good-evening, Master Arnoton."
"Good-evening, good-evening, my children."
The night was clear, the stars were polished with cold, the wind stung,
and a fine sleet, which glistened on the clothes without wetting them,
kept faithfully the tradition of Christmases white with snow. Raised
there aloft, the château appeared like the goal of all things, with its
enormous mass of towers and gables, the belfry of its chapel mounting
into the blue-black sky, and a crowd of small lights that winked, went
and came, twinkled at all the windows, and seemed, on the sombre
background of the building, like sparks running through the cinders of
burnt paper. Once past the drawbridge and the postern, it was necessary,
in order to gain the chapel, to traverse the first courtyard, full of
coaches, of valets, of sedan-chairs, and bright with the flare of
torches and the fires of the kitchens. There was the click of the
turnspits, the crash of stewpans, the noises of glass and silver
preparing for the dinner. From below, a warm vapor, which smelt of
roasting meat and the strong herbs of curious sauces, whispered to the
farmers, to the chaplain, to the bailiff--to all the world:
"What a revel we are going to have after Mass!"