“I see what you mean,” Professor Ridgeway said. “I think the children were interested, but at the same time we mustn’t kill the cat with cream. Tomorrow I’ve thought of something that they will enjoy very much. There’s a little history connected with it, but not enough to bother anybody.”
So bright and early the next morning the Ridgeways went to a street called Les Allées.
“Some more history, Daddy?” the children asked.
“No,” their father said. “This is for you.”
The street was long and shaded by great trees, almost like a park. Under the trees many little booths had been set up in a long row. At first the children were only curious, but then, in a moment, they were perfectly delighted.
“Toys!” Dumpling cried.
“More than toys,” Father said. “Something special.”
“Why, it’s Christmas!” Susan said. “The Baby Jesus, the stable, the sheep and the cows—everything!”
George was struck dumb for the moment; for here, as Susan said, was Christmas, and this year he had not even begun to remember to count the days.
Each booth was filled with hundreds of tiny brightly colored figures. Some of them were made of wax, but most of them were made of clay and painted. One booth would have figures five or six inches high; another would have figures two or three inches high. Some booths would have figures less than an inch high. But all these tiny figures were made to tell the story of the first Christmas night in Bethlehem. The figures were for sale, and one could go from booth to booth and select one’s own Christmas crib, or crèche, as the French people call the scene of the Nativity.
Here were all the important characters in the scene: the Infant Jesus in the manger, Mary and Joseph kneeling, the shepherds, and the three wise men. But besides these well-known and beloved figures, there were hundreds of others. There were the animals, of course—the camels, the sheep, the cows, the donkeys, even some tiny dogs and cats. Then there were the santons.
These were figures of all sorts of people bringing gifts to the Holy Infant. There were butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers; millers with sacks of flour; woodsmen with bundles of sticks; farm women with chickens; fishwives with baskets of fish; scissors grinders with their wheels; choirboys singing. This was where the history came in, for Father said that these little figures had been made in the south of France for many generations, and that the santons really went back to the Middle Ages, when the tradesmen were organized in guilds. The different guilds had celebrated Christmas by acting out the Christmas story or by bringing gifts of their best products to the Christ Child in the churches. Now the memory of these medieval activities lives on in the tiny figures that surround the Christmas crèche.
At first the Ridgeway children ran from booth to booth, exclaiming and comparing and pointing things out to one another. Then Father gave each of them some money, and Mother said, “Now don’t be in a hurry, but use your heads and select the figures for a good crèche that we can take home and set up for Christmas every year for the rest of our lives.”
They discussed the matter a great deal, since it was to affect so many Christmases. They had to consider packing and expense as well as the future. The large santons would cost too much and take up too much room in their luggage. Yet the very tiniest figures of all, which the French called “grasshoppers,” were too small to make a good Nativity scene. The two-to-three-inch figures seemed to be the best.
Dumpling selected the Baby Jesus. He was made of wax, and lay in a manger on a bit of real straw. He was pink and smiling, and His arms were outspread, as if He were welcoming His friends. Susan chose Mary and Joseph, and George chose the animals. He chose a camel, a sheep, a dog, and a reclining cow and donkey for the stable. Then they chose a shepherd and the three wise men. The wise men all wore tiny gilt crowns, and one of them was black, which seemed to the children both interesting and pleasant.
The most exciting part came in choosing the santons. There were so many of them that it would have been impossible to buy them all.
“Besides,” Susan said, “we must look for quality, not quantity.”
“Like the princess says,” added Dumpling.
So finally they took the woodsman and the fishwife and a little spinner with a fluff of cotton wound on her spindle; the scissors grinder, the miller, and the choirboy with a little round hole for his singing mouth.
“We’ll build a stable out of a box,” said George.
“And we’ll get twigs and bits of evergreen for trees,” Susan said.
“And a looking glass for a lake,” said Dumpling.
“And rocks,” said George.
“Very small rocks,” Mother said.
The pleasant old lady in the booth where they had made their selection wrapped each little figure in a wisp of tissue paper and packed them all neatly in a cardboard box.
Then she said something in French which none of the Ridgeways quite understood.
Father said, “It’s about something we have forgotten, I believe. You’ve paid her the money, so it can’t be that.”
The old woman was smiling at them, and she pointed now at some tiny wax figures hanging from the top of the booth. The Ridgeways hadn’t noticed these before, and now they saw that they were small pink angels, dangling by silver threads and trembling in the breeze like hummingbirds.
The children were in despair when they saw the angels because they had spent all their money. But at this point Professor Ridgeway put his hand in his pocket. “We really must have an angel,” he said.
“Oh yes,” said Mother. “How in the world could we forget the angel?” They were all very happy when the angel was added to the other figures in the box.
The old lady in the booth was happy, too, and because they had been such nice customers, and were far from home, she wrapped up a tiny cat to go with the dog and, without charging them a sou for it, put it in the box beside the angel.
“How long until Christmas?” Dumpling asked as they walked away with their treasures.
“Nearly a month,” Father said.
“And please don’t begin to get excited,” Mother said. “We’re going to be too poor this year to give a lot of presents.”
“And we still have to get to Paris and find a place to live,” said Father.
“Well, anyway,” said Susan, “we’ve got a Christmas scene to last us the rest of our lives. I think that’s quite important.”
Numéro 54
The Ridgeways took a bus north from Marseilles, so that they could more easily stop along the way to see the historical sights. There were Roman ruins and old castles, and famous bridges and old castles, and town halls and more old castles.
“I am getting tired of old castles,” Dumpling said, trailing Irene along behind her by one of her rag arms.
“Never mind, dear,” Mother said. “There can’t be more than ten old castles to visit before we get to Paris, and Paris is a very lively modern city.”
“Paris is where people see exciting nightlife,” Susan said. “I read it in the guidebook. Bright lights and champagne—all that sort of thing.”
“Well, you won’t see very much of that,” Father said. “Historical castles are much better for growing children than champagne.”
“What is champagne?” Dumpling wanted to know.
“It’s a kind of wine,” Mother said, “full of bubbles, like ginger ale.”
“What does it taste like?” George inquired. But it turned out that none of them knew because none of them had ever tasted it.
Father was a little surprised by this. He said to Mother, “Why, darling, you’re always having the characters in your novels guzzling champagne. I certainly thought you must have tasted some once in your life—before I knew you, perhaps.”
“No,” Mother admitted reluctantly, “I’ve never tasted it. But I have a very active imagination.”
It was strange that they should have had this discussion about champagne on that particular day, bec
ause before the day was over— But that is getting ahead of the story, and one really has to lead up to these things bit by bit.
After the last old castle for the day, the bus trundled the Ridgeways into a small market town where they intended to spend the night. It was a quaint little town that gave Father quite a thrill, but old stone walls and moats and towers did not impress the children any longer. What interested them was that the town seemed to be holding some kind of fair.
There were farmers’ carts on the roads, and the bellowing of cattle who wished to be at home instead of on exhibit at a fair. The streets were hung with banners, and the central square was filled with merry-go-rounds and shooting galleries. All the shops had special exhibits in the windows, and the hotel at which the Ridgeways stopped had a banner over the door that said Foire Commerciale, or Commercial Fair.
“Dear me!” Mother said. “I hope we get rooms. I hope we find a place to sleep.”
As it turned out, there was only one room left in the hotel, but it was a very large room and it had three large beds in it.
“It will have to do,” Father said.
The children were delighted, because they found that the three beds were close enough together so that they could jump from one bed to the other. A bounce on the first bed, a leap to the second bed, there a bounce, then a leap, a bounce on the third bed, and off to race around and start with the first bed again. Of course, Susan was too old for this sort of thing, but George and Dumpling were having a fine time until Mother said, “No, no, no! I can’t stand any more of this on an empty stomach. Get washed at once and we’ll go down to dinner.”
So they all got washed and slicked back their hair and went sedately downstairs and into the dining room.
At the dining-room door a young lady in the costume of the province handed each one of them a small white card with a number written on it.
Father’s number was 51, Mother’s was 52, Susan’s was 53, George’s was 54, and Dumpling’s was 55.
“And what are these for?” asked Professor Ridgeway in his best French.
The young lady explained that, because of the fair, there was to be a drawing of prizes during dinner, and that any of their numbers might win a prize.
“Well, well,” Mother said. “Hang onto your numbers. Of course none of us will win and we mustn’t get our hopes too high. Still, one never knows.”
It was a long dinner with many courses. First there was potato soup, and then there was a fish course. The waiter brought in a very large boiled carp on a platter, and the fish looked as natural as life because it had its tail and its fins and its head on, and a bit of parsley in its mouth. Its eyes glared sadly at the prospective diners.
As everybody knew, George did not care much for fish except to smuggle it away to give to cats. But there was something about this particular fish that dampened the spirits of all of them.
“Now listen,” Mother said. “We’re all hungry and we don’t know what else is to come. We’d better do the best we can with this.”
“But, Mother,” Susan said, “it looks so real.”
Professor Ridgeway hastily cut off the head and tail of the fish and hid them under the parsley. “Why, this is going to be dee-licious,” he said in a rather hollow voice. He removed the fish’s skin and lifted the solid white flesh off the bones and served each member of the family a portion.
“Now, isn’t that nice?” Mother said.
They really were hungry, and everybody tried to enjoy the fish, even George. But it did have quite a strong taste of muddy waters, and all of them did keep remembering the mournful look in its eyes when the platter was first brought in. Other people around them at different tables seemed to be enjoying their carp very much, but the Ridgeways were glad to see the bones carried away and some very nice roast beef brought in for the third course. After the roast beef came a lettuce salad, and, after the lettuce salad, a caramel custard. While the coffee was being served, the young lady in peasant costume came forward to the center of the room, carrying a box of numbers that matched the numbers held by the diners. A gentleman in tails and white tie joined her.
“They’re going to draw,” said Susan. “Look! Look! Where are your numbers?”
“I have mine,” said Dumpling.
George had lost his under the table and he had to scramble around under the tablecloth and among the family feet for some time before he found it. Just as he came up, red and excited, he heard the first number called. It was Number 23.
Everybody craned around to look, and saw that Number 23 was held by a young lady in a blue dress. She had won the first prize—a handsome clock donated by the village jeweler. People began to be very excited when they saw that there were valuable prizes.
Number 9 won the second prize, which was a basket of groceries donated by a local market. It was won by a bald-headed bachelor who really had no use for it, and this seemed to amuse the people who were with him. By now the diners were all laughing and excited.
“Numéro thirty-nine,” called out the announcer, and the prize was a live rabbit donated by the local butcher.
“Oh! Boy, oh boy!” cried George. “Oh, why couldn’t I get that?”
“It’s too bad, dear,” Mother said. “But where could you keep it while we were traveling?”
“Numéro eighteen, donated by the stonemason.” This was a small tombstone with a lamb carved on the top. It was won by a young gentleman with a beard, and there was more laughter and even a few cheers.
“They’re drawing small numbers,” Susan said. “They’ll never get around to us.”
But the next number called was 64, and that put new hope into the Ridgeways. Number 64 won a gallon of cider, followed by Number 72, which won a pot of chrysanthemums from the local florist.
Now there was a slight pause, and everyone was afraid the drawing was over. But the pause was only for the proprietor of the hotel to come forward and announce that the next prize to be awarded would be donated by the hotel itself.
“It must be something fine,” Susan said, “for them to make so much fuss.”
The master of ceremonies put his hand into the box of numbers that the young lady held. There was another brief pause, and then he read out the winning number. “Numéro fifty-four.”
Luckily Mademoiselle had taught the children how to count in French, and George knew quite soon that it was his number they were calling. He stood up on his chair with a “Boy, oh boy!” and waved his card in the air. He had blissful visions of live rabbits hopping all over the dining room. He was even planning how he could get a large cardboard box and punch it full of holes, like the kitten’s box in the train.
Everybody began to applaud for him, and the people at the next table even shouted, “Bravo! Vive l’Amérique!” For somehow people had only to look at the Ridgeways to know that they were Americans.
In the midst of all this rejoicing, the Ridgeways saw the head waiter approaching with a very large platter.
“It’s something more to eat,” Susan said.
“It’s not alive,” Dumpling said.
George came down off his chair. Disappointment was already beginning to seep into his soul. Then the waiter set the large platter down on the table in front of George, and on the platter was a very large boiled carp with head and tail and eyes and a bunch of parsley.
Everybody was crowding around to see what George had won, and now they laughed harder than ever. Even Susan and Dumpling and Mother and Father laughed, because there was something irresistibly funny about the dazed expression on George’s face. Only George did not laugh. He swallowed two or three times. He was no longer hungry.
The waiter’s eyes twinkled, and he said, “What! Ze young American shentleman does not enjoy ze fish?”
“Not very much,” said George as politely as he could. “We’ve already had a fish.”
“Ah,” said the waiter, “so you do not care for fish? Zen I tell you what we do; we give you a bottle of champagne instead. Eh? Yo
u like zat?”
“Ah, champagne!” The people around them sighed.
“Okay,” said George. “I will take the champagne.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” said the other diners, “champagne!” It appeared that the platter of fish had only been a humorous way of introducing a prize that all the French people thought very fine.
“Ho-kay!” said the waiter pleasantly. “I take away ze fish. I bring ze champagne!” He raised the platter above his head and bore it away amid more shouts and laughter.
“It would have fed a lot of cats,” George said.
“But champagne, George!” cried Susan. “It isn’t every day that the Ridgeways get champagne!”
Mother and Father had been speechless during all this, but now suddenly Mother looked quite worried. “Oh dear!” she said. “Really, the fish might have been better. I’m not at all sure I should let you have champagne.”
“Fancy what the dean would say,” said Father worriedly, “if it got out at home that the Ridgeways had gone to Europe to let their children drink champagne.”
“But, Daddy,” Susan said sensibly, “we don’t have to pay for it, and one bottle won’t go very far among five of us.”
“I won it,” George said. “It was my number.”
“Oh dear,” Mother said, “oh dear!”
“Mommy,” Dumpling said, “we could go to bed right afterward.”
They all looked at Dumpling and saw how the light sparkled on her glasses and made her look wise.
Mother became more calm. “Everything you say is true,” she said, “and besides, it’s an experience that will probably never come again in our lives. But it must be done correctly, and Dumpling has given me an excellent idea.”
“What do you mean?” asked Father. “Are you going to let your innocent children drink an intoxicating beverage? Are you completely mad, my dear?”
“Only partially so, darling,” Mother said.
Just then the waiter returned with a bottle of champagne which he reverently offered to George.
“Garçon,” Mother said to the waiter, “you have been very kind to give us the champagne instead of the fish. Will you be so kind as to do us another small favor?”
Family Sabbatical (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries) Page 11
