IV

Marius completed his work by cutting through the trunk again, making a

noble _cacho-fio_ near five feet long--big enough to burn, according to

the Provencal rule, from Christmas Eve until the evening of New Year's

Day.

It is not expected, of course, that the log shall burn continuously.

Each night it is smothered in ashes and is not set a-blazing again until

the following evening. But even when thus husbanded the log must be a

big one to last the week out, and it is only in rich households that the

rule can be observed. Persons of modest means are satisfied if they can

keep burning the sacred fire over Christmas Day; and as to the very

poor, their _cacho-fio_ is no more than a bit of a fruit-tree's

branch--that barely, by cautious guarding, will burn until the midnight

of Christmas Eve. Yet this suffices: and it seems to me that there is

something very tenderly touching about these thin yule-twigs which make,

with all the loving ceremonial and rejoicing that might go with a whole

tree-trunk, the poor man's Christmas fire. In the country, the poorest

man is sure of his _cacho-fio_. The Provencaux are a kindly race, and

the well-to-do farmers are not forgetful of their poorer neighbors at

Christmas time. An almond-branch always may be had for the asking; and

often, along with other friendly gifts toward the feast, without any

asking at all. Indeed, as I understood from the Vidame's orders, the

remainder of our old almond was to be cut up and distributed over the

estate and about the neighborhood--and so the life went out from it

finally in a Christmas blaze that brightened many homes. In the cities,

of course, the case is different; and, no doubt, on many a chill hearth

no yule-fire burns. But even in the cities this kindly usage is not

unknown. Among the boat-builders and ship-wrights of the coast towns the

custom long has obtained--being in force even in the Government

dock-yard at Toulon--of permitting each workman to carry away a

_cacho-fio_ from the refuse oak timber; and an equivalent present

frequently is given at Christmas time to the labourers in other trades.

While the Vidame talked to me of these genial matters we were returning

homeward, moving in a mildly triumphal procession that I felt to be a

little tinctured with ceremonial practices come down from forgotten

times. Old Jan and Marius marching in front, Esperit and the sturdy

Nanoun marching behind, carried between them the yule-log slung to

shoulder-poles. Immediately in their wake, as chief rejoicers, the

Vidame and I walked arm in arm. Behind us came Elizo and Janetoun and

Magali--save that the last (manifesting a most needless solicitude for

Nanoun, who almost could have carried the log alone on her own strapping

shoulders) managed to be frequently near Esperit's side. The children,

waving olive-branches, careered about us; now and then going through

the form of helping to carry the _cacho-fio_, and all the while shouting

and singing and dancing--after the fashion of small dryads who also were

partly imps of joy. So we came down through the sun-swept, terraced

olive-orchards in a spirit of rejoicing that had its beginning very far

back in the world's history and yet was freshly new that day.

Our procession took on grand proportions, I should explain, because our

yule-log was of extraordinary size. But always the yule-log is brought

home in triumph. If it is small, it is carried on the shoulder of the

father or the eldest son; if it is a goodly size, those two carry it

together; or a young husband and wife may bear it between them--as we

actually saw a thick branch of our almond borne away that

afternoon--while the children caracole around them or lend little

helping hands.

Being come to the Mazet, the log was stood on end in the court-yard in

readiness to be taken thence to the fire-place on Christmas Eve. I

fancied that the men handled it with a certain reverence; and the Vidame

assured me that such actually was the case. Already, being dedicate to

the Christmas rite, it had become in a way sacred; and along with its

sanctity, according to the popular belief, it had acquired a power which

enabled it sharply to resent anything that smacked of sacrilegious

affront. The belief was well rooted, he added by way of instance, that

any one who sat on a yule-log would pay in his person for his temerity

either with a dreadful stomach-ache that would not permit him to eat his

Christmas dinner, or would suffer a pest of boils. He confessed that he

always had wished to test practically this superstition, but that his

faith in it had been too strong to suffer him to make the trial!

On the other hand, when treated reverently and burned with fitting

rites, the yule-log brings upon all the household a blessing; and when

it has been consumed even its ashes are potent for good. Infused into a

much-esteemed country-side medicine, the yule-log ashes add to its

efficacy; sprinkled in the chicken-house and cow-stable, they ward off

disease; and, being set in the linen-closet, they are an infallible

protection against fire. Probably this last property has its genesis in

the belief that live-coals from the yule-log may be placed on the linen

cloth spread for the Great Supper without setting it on fire--a belief

which prudent housewives always are shy of putting to a practical test.

The home-bringing ceremony being thus ended, we walked back to the

Chateau together--startling Esperit and Magali standing hand in hand,

lover-like, in the archway; and when we were come to the terrace, and

were seated snugly in a sunny corner, the Vidame told me of a very

stately yule-log gift that was made anciently in Aix--and very likely

elsewhere also--in feudal times.

In Aix it was the custom, when the Counts of Provence still lived and

ruled there, for the magistrates of the city each year at Christmas-tide

to carry in solemn procession a huge _cacho-fio_ to the palace of their

sovereign; and there formally to present to him--or, in his absence, to

the Grand Seneschal on his behalf--this their free-will and good-will

offering. And when the ceremony of presentation was ended the city

fathers were served with a collation at the Count's charges, and were

given the opportunity to pledge him loyally in his own good wine.

Knowing Aix well, I was able to fill in the outlines of the Vidame's

bare statement of fact and also to give it a background. What a joy the

procession must have been to see! The grey-bearded magistrates, in their

velvet caps and robes, wearing their golden chains of office; the great

log, swung to shoulder-poles and borne by leathern-jerkined henchmen;

surely drummers and fifers, for such a ceremonial would have been

impossibly incomplete in Provence without a _tambourin_ and _galoubet_;

doubtless a brace of ceremonial trumpeters; and a seemly guard in front

and rear of steel-capped and steel-jacketed halbardiers. All these

marching gallantly through the narrow, yet stately, Aix streets; with

comfortable burghers and well-rounded matrons in the doorways looking

on, and pretty faces peeping from upper windows and going all a-blushing

because of the over-bold glances of the men-at-arms! And then fancy the

presentation in the great hall of the castle; and the gay feasting; and

the merry wagging of grey-bearded chins as the magistrates cried all

together, "To the health of the Count!"--and tossed their wine!

I protest that I grew quite melancholy as I thought how delightful it

all was--and how utterly impossible it all is in these our own dull

times! In truth I never can dwell upon such genially picturesque doings

of the past without feeling that Fate treated me very shabbily in not

making me one of my own ancestors--and so setting me back in that

hard-fighting, gay-going, and eminently light-opera age.

V

As Christmas Day drew near I observed that Mise Fougueiroun walked

thoughtfully and seemed to be oppressed by heavy cares. When I met her

on the stairs or about the passages her eyes had the far-off look of

eyes prying into a portentous future; and when I spoke to her she

recovered her wandering wits with a start. At first I feared that some

grave misfortune had overtaken her; but I was reassured, upon applying

myself to the Vidame, by finding that her seeming melancholy distraction

was due solely to the concentration of all her faculties upon the

preparation of the Christmas feast.

Her case, he added, was not singular. It was the same just then with all

the housewives of the region: for the chief ceremonial event of

Christmas in Provence is the _Gros Soupa_ that is eaten upon Christmas

Eve, and of even greater culinary importance is the dinner that is eaten

upon Christmas Day--wherefore does every woman brood and labour that her

achievement of those meals may realize her high ideal! Especially does

the preparation of the Great Supper compel exhaustive thought. Being of

a vigil, the supper necessarily is "lean"; and custom has fixed

unalterably the principal dishes of which it must be composed. Thus

limited straitly, the making of it becomes a struggle of genius against

material conditions; and its successful accomplishment is comparable

with the perfect presentment by a great poet of some well-worn elemental

truth in a sonnet--of which the triumphant beauty comes less from the

integral concept than from the exquisite felicity of expression that

gives freshness to a hackneyed subject treated in accordance with

severely constraining rules.

It is no wonder, therefore, that the Provencal housewives give the

shortest of the December days to soulful creation in the kitchen, and

the longest of the December nights to searching for inspired culinary

guidance in dreams. They take such things very seriously, those good

women: nor is their seriousness to be wondered at when we reflect that

Saint Martha, of blessed memory, ended her days here in Provence; and

that this notable saint, after delivering the country from the ravaging

Tarasque, no doubt set up in her own house at Tarascon an ideal standard

of housekeeping that still is in force. Certainly, the women of this

region pattern themselves so closely upon their sainted model as to be

even more cumbered with much serving than are womenkind elsewhere.

Because of the Vidame's desolate bachelorhood, the kindly custom long

ago was established that he and all his household every year should eat

their Great Supper with the farm family at the Mazet; an arrangement

that did not work well until Mise Fougueiroun and Elizo (after some

years of spirited squabbling) came to the agreement that the former

should be permitted to prepare the delicate sweets served for dessert at

that repast. Of these the most important is nougat, without which

Christmas would be as barren in Provence as Christmas would be in

England without plum-pudding or in America without mince-pies. Besides

being sold in great quantities by town confectioners, nougat is made in

most country homes. Even the dwellers on the poor up-land farms--which,

being above the reach of irrigation, yield uncertain harvests--have

their own almond-trees and their own bees to make them honey, and so

possess the raw materials of this necessary luxury. As for the other

sweets, they may be anything that fancy and skill together can achieve;

and it is in this ornate department of the Great Supper that genius has

its largest chance.

But it was the making of the Christmas dinner that mainly occupied Mise

Fougueiroun's mind--a feast pure and simple, governed by the one jolly

law that it shall be the very best dinner of the whole year! What may be

termed its by-laws are that the principal dish shall be a roast turkey,

and that nougat and _poumpo_ shall figure at the dessert. Why _poumpo_

is held in high esteem by the Provencaux I am not prepared to say. It

seemed to me a cake of only a humdrum quality; but even Mise

Fougueiroun--to whom I am indebted for the appended recipe[1]--spoke of

it in a sincerely admiring and chop-smacking way.

Anciently the Christmas bird was a goose--who was roasted and eaten

('twas a backhanded compliment!) in honour of her ancestral good deeds.

For legend tells that when the Kings, led by the star, arrived at the

inn-stable in Bethlehem it was the goose, alone of all the animals

assembled there, who came forward politely to make them her

compliments; yet failed to express clearly her good intentions because

she had caught a cold, in the chill and windy weather, and her voice was

unintelligibly creaky and harsh. The same voice ever since has remained

to her, and as a farther commemoration of her hospitable and courteous

conduct it became the custom to spit her piously on Christmas Day.

I have come across the record of another Christmas roast that now and

then was served at the tables of the rich in Provence in mediaeval times.

This was a huge cock, stuffed with chicken-livers and sausage-meat and

garnished with twelve roasted partridges, thirty eggs, and thirty

truffles: the whole making an alimentary allegory in which the cock

represented the year, the partridges the months, the eggs the days, and

the truffles the nights. But this never was a common dish, and not until

the turkey appeared was the goose rescued from her annual martyrdom.

The date of the coming of the turkey to Provence is uncertain. Popular

tradition declares that the crusaders brought him home with them from

the Indies! Certainly, he came a long while ago; probably very soon

after Europe received him from America as a noble and perpetual

Christmas present--and that occurred, I think, about thirty years after

Columbus, with an admirable gastronomic perception, discovered his

primitive home.

Ordinarily the Provencal Christmas turkey is roasted with a stuffing of

chestnuts, or of sausage-meat and black olives: but the high cooks of

Provence also roast him stuffed with truffles--making so superb a dish

that Brillat-Savarin has singled it out for praise. Mise Fougueiroun's

method, still more exquisite, was to make a stuffing of veal and fillet

of pork (one-third of the former and two-thirds of the latter) minced

and brayed in a mortar with a seasoning of salt and pepper and herbs, to

which truffles cut in quarters were added with a lavish hand. For the

basting she used a piece of salt-pork fat stuck on a long fork and set

on fire. From this the flaming juice was dripped judiciously over the

roast, with resulting little puffings of brown skin which permitted the

savour of the salt to penetrate the flesh and so gave to it a delicious

crispness and succulence. As to the flavour of a turkey thus cooked, no

tongue can tell what any tongue blessed to taste of it may know! Of the

minor dishes served at the Christmas dinner it is needless to speak.

There is nothing ceremonial about them; nothing remarkable except their

excellence and their profusion. Save that they are daintier, they are

much the same as Christmas dishes in other lands.

While the preparation of all these things was forward, a veritable

culinary tornado raged in the lower regions of the Chateau. Both Magali

and the buxom Nanoun were summoned to serve under the housekeeper's

banners, and I was told that they esteemed as a high privilege their

opportunity thus to penetrate into the very arcana of high culinary art.

The Vidame even said that Nanoun's matrimonial chances--already good,

for the baggage had set half the lads of the country-side at loggerheads

about her--would be decidedly bettered by this discipline under Mise

Fougueiroun: whose name long has been one to conjure with in all the

kitchens between Saint-Remy and the Rhone. For the Provencaux are

famous trencher-men, and the way that leads through their gullets is not

the longest way to their hearts.