OUR ARBRE DE NOËL
We bought it on the Sunday morning from old Grand'mere Gomard in the
Avenue de St. Cloud.
It was not a noble specimen of a Christmas-tree. Looked at with cold,
unimaginative eyes, it might have been considered lopsided; undersized
it undoubtedly was. Yet a pathetic familiarity in the desolate aspect of
the little tree aroused our sympathy as no rare horticultural trophy
ever could.
Some Christmas fairy must have whispered to Grand'mere to grub up the
tiny tree and to include it in the stock she was taking into Versailles
on the market morning. For there it was, its roots stuck securely into a
big pot, looking like some forlorn forest bantling among the garden
plants.
[Illustration: The Tree Vendor]
Grand'mere Gomard had established herself in a cosy nook at the foot of
one of the great leafless trees of the Avenue. Straw hurdles were
cunningly arranged to form three sides of a square, in whose midst she
was seated on a rush-bottomed chair, like a queen on a humble throne.
Her head was bound by a gaily striped kerchief, and her feet rested
snugly on a charcoal stove. Her merchandise, which consisted of half a
dozen pots of pink and white primulas, a few spotted or crimson
cyclamen, sundry lettuce and cauliflower plants, and some roots of
pansies and daisies, was grouped around her.
[Illustration: The Tree-Bearer]
The primulas and cyclamen, though their pots were shrouded in pinafores
of white paper skilfully calculated to conceal any undue lankiness of
stem, left us unmoved. But the sight of the starveling little fir tree
reminded us that in the school hospital lay two sick boys whose roseate
dreams of London and holidays had suddenly changed to the knowledge that
weeks of isolation and imprisonment behind the window-blind with the red
cross lay before them. If we could not give them the longed-for home
Christmas, we could at least give them a Christmas-tree.
The sight of foreign customers for Grand'mere Gomard speedily collected
a small group of interested spectators. A knot of children relinquished
their tantalising occupation of hanging round the pan of charcoal over
whose glow chestnuts were cracking appetisingly, and the stall of the
lady who with amazing celerity fried pancakes on a hot plate, and sold
them dotted with butter and sprinkled with sugar to the lucky possessors
of a _sou_. Even the sharp urchin who presided over the old red
umbrella, which, reversed, with the ferule fixed in a cross-bar of wood,
served as a receptacle for sheets of festive note-paper embellished with
lace edges and further adorned with coloured scraps, temporarily
entrusting a juvenile sister with his responsibilities, added his
presence to our court.
[Illustration: Rosine]
Christmas-trees seemed not to be greatly in demand in Versailles, and
many were the whispered communings as to what _les Anglais_ proposed
doing with the tree after they had bought it. When the transaction was
completed and Grand'mere Gomard had exchanged the tree, with a sheet of
_La Patrie_ wrapped round its pot, for a franc and our thanks, the
interest increased. We would require some one to carry our purchase, and
each of the bright-eyed, short-cropped Jeans and Pierres was eager to
offer himself. But our selection was already made. A slender boy in a
_béret_ and black pinafore, who had been our earliest spectator, was
singled out and entrusted with the conveyance of the _arbre de Noël_ to
our hotel.
The fact that it had met with approbation appeared to encourage the
little tree. The change may have been imaginary, but from the moment it
passed into our possession the branches seemed less despondent, the
needles more erect.
"Will you put toys on it?" the youthful porter asked suddenly.
"Yes; it is for a sick boy--a boy who has fever. Have you ever had an
_arbre de Noël_?"
"_Jamais_," was his conclusive reply: the tone thereof suggesting that
that was a felicity quite beyond the range of possibility.
The tree secured, there began the comparatively difficult work of
finding the customary ornaments of glass and glitter to deck it. A
fruitless search had left us almost in despair, when, late on Monday
afternoon, we joyed to discover miniature candles of red, yellow, and
blue on the open-air stall in front of a toy-store. A rummage in the
interior of the shop procured candle clips, and a variety of glittering
bagatelles. Laden with treasure, we hurried back to the hotel, and began
the work of decoration in preparation for the morning.
During its short stay in our room at the hotel, the erstwhile despised
little tree met with an adulation that must have warmed the heart within
its rough stem. When nothing more than three coloured glass globes, a
gilded walnut, and a gorgeous humming-bird with wings and tail of spun
glass had been suspended by narrow ribbon from its branches, Rosine, the
pretty Swiss chambermaid, chancing to enter the room with letters, was
struck with admiration and pronounced it "très belle!"
And Karl bringing in a fresh _panier_ of logs when the adorning was
complete, and silly little delightful baubles sparkled and twinkled from
every spray, putting down his burden, threw up his hands in amazement
and declared the _arbre de Noël_ "magnifique!"
This alien Christmas-tree had an element all its own. When we were
searching for knick-knacks the shops were full of tiny Holy Babes lying
cradled in waxen innocence in mangers of yellow corn. One of these
little effigies we had bought because they pleased us. And when, the
decoration of the tree being nearly finished, the tip of the centre stem
standing scraggily naked called for covering, what more fitting than
that the dear little Sacred _Bébé_ in his nest of golden straw should
have the place of honour?
It was late on Christmas Eve before our task was ended. But next morning
when Karl, carrying in our _petit déjeûner_, turned on the electric
light, and our anxious gaze sought our work, we found it good.
Then followed a hurried packing of the loose presents; and, a _fiacre_
having been summoned, the tree which had entered the room in all
humility passed out transmogrified beyond knowledge. Rosine, duster in
hand, leant over the banisters of the upper landing to watch its
descent. Karl saw it coming and flew to open the outer door for its
better egress. Even the stout old driver of the red-wheeled cab creaked
cumbrously round on his box to look upon its beauties.
[Illustration: Alms and the Lady]
The Market was busy in the square as we rattled through. From behind
their battlemented wares the country mice waged wordy war with the town
mice over the price of merchandise. But on this occasion we were too
engrossed to notice a scene whose picturesque humour usually fascinated
us, for as the carriage jogged over the rough roads the poor little
_arbre de Noël_ palpitated convulsively. The gewgaws clattered like
castanets, as though in frantic expostulation, and the radiant
spun-glass humming-birds quivered until we expected them to break from
their elastic fetters and fly away. The green and scarlet one with the
gold-flecked wings fell on the floor and rolled under the seat just as
the cab drew up at the great door of the school.
The two Red-Cross prisoners who, now that the dominating heat of fever
had faded, were thinking wistfully of the forbidden joys of home, had no
suspicion of our intention, and we wished to surprise them. So, burdened
with our treasure, we slipped in quietly.
From her lodge window the concierge nodded approval. And at the door of
the hospital the good Soeur received us, a flush of pleasure glorifying
her tranquil face.
Then followed a moment wherein the patients were ordered to shut their
eyes, to reopen them upon the vision splendid of the _arbre de Noël_.
Perhaps it was the contrast to the meagre background of the tiny
school-hospital room, with its two white beds and bare walls, but,
placed in full view on the centre table, the tree was almost imposing.
Standing apart from Grand'mere's primulas and cyclamen as though,
conscious of its own inferiority, it did not wish to obtrude, it had
looked dejected, miserable. During its sojourn at the hotel the
appreciation of its meanness had troubled us. But now, in the shabby
little chamber, where there were no rival attractions to detract from
its glory, we felt proud of it. It was just the right size for the
surroundings. A two-franc tree, had Grand'mere possessed one, would have
been Brobdignagian and pretentious.
[Illustration: Adoration]
A donor who is handicapped by the knowledge that the gifts he selects
must within a few weeks be destroyed by fire, is rarely lavish in his
outlay. Yet our presents, wrapped in white paper and tied with blue
ribbons, when arranged round the flower-pot made a wonderful show, There
were mounted Boers who, when you pressed the ball at the end of the
air-tube, galloped in a wobbly, uncertain fashion. The invalids had good
fun later trying races with them, and the Boy professed to find that his
Boer gained an accelerated speed when he whispered "Bobs" to him. There
were tales of adventure and flasks of eau-de-Cologne and smart virile
pocket-books, one red morocco, the other blue. We regretted the
pocket-books; but their possession made the recipients who, boylike,
took no heed for the cleansing fires of the morrow, feel grown-up at
once. And they yearned for the advent of the first day of the year, that
they might begin writing in their new diaries. For the Sister there was
a miniature gold consecrated medal. It was a small tribute of our
esteem, but one that pleased the devout recipient.
[Illustration: Thankfulness]
Suspended among the purely ornamental trinkets of the tree hung tiny net
bags of crystallised violets and many large chocolates rolled up in
silver paper. The boys, who had subsisted for several days on nothing
more exciting than boiled milk, openly rejoiced when they caught sight
of the sweets. But to her patients' disgust, the Soeur, who had a pretty
wit of her own, promptly frustrated their intentions by counting the
dainties.
"I count the chocolates. They are good boys, wise boys, honest boys, and
I have every confidence in them, but--I count the chocolates!" said the
Soeur.
[Illustration: One of the Devout]
As we passed back along the Rue de la Paroisse, worshippers were
flocking in and out of Notre Dame, running the gauntlet of the unsavoury
beggars who, loudly importunate, thronged the portals. Before the quiet
nook wherein, under a gold-bestarred canopy, was the tableau of the
Infant Jesus in the stable, little children stood in wide-eyed
adoration, and older people gazed with mute devotion.
Some might deem the little spectacle theatrical, and there was a slight
irrelevance in the pot-plants that were grouped along the foreground,
but none could fail to be impressed by the silent reverence of the
congregation. No service was in process, yet many believers knelt at
prayer. Here a pretty girl returned thanks for evident blessings
received; there an old spinster, the narrowness of whose means forbade
her expending a couple of sous on the hire of a chair, knelt on the
chilly flags and murmured words of gratitude for benefits whereof her
appearance bore no outward indication.
We had left the prisoners to the enjoyment of their newly acquired
property in the morning. At gloaming we again mounted the time-worn
outside stair leading to the chamber whose casement bore the ominous red
cross. The warm glow of firelight filled the room, scintillating in the
glittering facets of the baubles on the tree; and from their pillows two
pale-faced boys--boys who, despite their lengthening limbs were yet
happily children at heart--watched eager-eyed while the sweet-faced
Soeur, with reverential care, lit the candles that surrounded the Holy
_Bébé_.