_A Christmas Story._
I
--Two turkeys stuffed with truffles, Garrigou?...
--Yes, reverend, two magnificent turkeys, bursting out of their skins
with truffles. I know something about it; it was I who helped to stuff
them. It's fair to say that their skins are so tight, that a good
roasting would split them....
--Jesus and Mary! I really do love truffles!... Give me my surplice
quickly, Garrigou.... Is there anything else, apart from the turkeys,
that you have _noticed_ in the kitchen?...
--Oh! All sorts of good things.... We've done nothing but pluck birds
since midday; pheasants, hoopoes, hazel grouse, and common grouse.
Feathers flying everywhere. And from the lake; eels, golden carp,
trout, and some ...
--How fat are the trout, Garrigou?
--As fat as your arm, reverend.... Enormous!...
--Oh, God! I think I've seen them.... Have you put wine in the cruets?
--Yes, reverend, I have put wine in the cruets.... But I assure you,
it's nothing compared with what you will want to drink after you leave
midnight mass. If you saw what was in the chateau's dining room, all
the flaming carafes full of wine of all types.... And the silver
dishes, the carved centre pieces, the flowers, the candelabras.... No
one will ever have seen a Christmas dinner like this one. The Marquis
has invited all the noble lords in the neighbourhood. There'll be at
least forty at the sitting, not including the bailiff and the
scrivener.... Oh, you are really lucky to be among their number,
reverend!... There's nothing like sniffing these lovely turkeys, the
smell of the truffles follows me around.... Mm....
--Come, come, my child, let us beware of the sin of gluttony,
especially on Christmas Eve.... Hurry up, light the candles, and ring
the first bell for mass, as midnight is upon us, and we mustn't be
late....
This conversation took place one Christmas Eve in the year of our Lord
sixteen hundred and God knows what, between the reverend Dom Balaguère,
old prior of the Barnabites, then service chaplain of the Sires of
Trinquelage, and his minor cleric Garrigou. At least he thought it was
his minor cleric Garrigou, for, as you may know, that night the devil
himself took on the round face and bland features of the young
sacristan, in order to tempt the reverend father into the terrible sin
of gluttony. So, as the _so-called_ Garrigou was swinging his arms to
ring the seigneurial chapel's bells, the reverend managed to put his
chasuble back on in the small chateau sacristy, and with a spirit
already troubled by gastronomic anticipation, he excited it even more
as he dressed himself, by going over the menu,
--Roast turkeys ... golden carp ... trout as fat as your arm....
Outside the night-wind blew and broadcasted the music of the bells, as
the lights began to appear on the dark side of Mount Ventoux,
surmounted by the old towers of the Trinquelage. Tenant farmers'
families were walking to hear midnight mass at the chateau. They sang
as they climbed the hillside in small groups, the fathers in the lead,
holding the lantern, their wives, wrapped up against the wind in large,
brown mantles, which also acted as a shelter for the children when they
snuggled up. Despite the dark and the cold, all these brave folk walked
on joyfully, sustained by the thought that, just like every other year,
after the mass, there would be a table stocked up for them in the
kitchen downstairs. During the hard climb, a lord's coach, with its
leading torch-bearers, and its windows shimmering in the moonlight,
occasionally went by. Once, a mule with bells trotted past and the
farmers were able to recognise their bailiff by the light of their
lanterns, and greeted him as he passed:
--Good evening, Master Arnoton!
--Good evening, my dears!
The night was clear, the stars seemed intensified by the cold, and the
wind was stinging. Very fine ice crystals slid down their clothes
without wetting them, which kept up the tradition of a white Christmas.
At the very top of the hill, the chateau marked the end of their
journey, with its mass of towers and gables. The chapel's clock rose
into a dark blue sky, and a host of tiny lights flickered in and out at
every window in the murky rear of the building, and looked like sparks
running along burning paper.... To reach the chapel, after crossing the
drawbridge and passing through the rear entrance, you had to cross the
main courtyard, full of coaches, valets, and sedan-chairs. It was all
lit up by the fire of the torches and flares from the kitchens, which
was also the source of a squeaking spit, clattering saucepans, the
chink of crystal and silverware shaken about during the laying of the
tables, and a warm steam smelling deliciously of roast meat and strong
herbs in fine sauces. This started the farmers, chaplain, bailiff, and
everybody else commenting:
--What a splendid Christmas Eve dinner there is in store for us!