A Very French Christmas

by Guy de Maupassant

  “In the first place, I must confess that if I have not been convinced and converted by what I have seen, I have at least been strongly moved; and I am going to strive to tell it to you naively, as if I had the credulity of an Auvergnat.

  “I was then a country doctor, living in the town of Rolleville, on the plains of Normandy. The winter that year was terrible. By the end of November the snow came after a week of heavy frosts. One could see from afar the great snow clouds coming from the north, and then the descent of the white flakes commenced. In one night the whole plain was in its winding sheet. Farms, isolated in their square incisures, behind their curtains of great trees powdered with hoarfrost, seemed to sleep under the accumulation of this thick, light-colored covering.

  “No noise could reach this dead country. The crows alone in large flocks outlined long festoons in the sky, living their lives to no purpose, swooping down upon the livid fields and picking at the snow with their great beaks. There was nothing to be heard but the vague, continued whisper of this white powder as it persistently fell. This lasted for eight days and then stopped. The earth had on its back a mantle five feet in thickness. And during the next three weeks, a sky spread itself out over this smooth, white mass, hard and glistening with frost, which was clear as blue crystal by day, and at night all studded with stars, as if the hoarfrost grew by their light.

  “The plain, the hedges, the elms of the enclosures, all seemed dead, killed by the cold. Neither man nor beast went out. Only the chimneys of the cottages, clothed in white linen, revealed concealed life by the fine threads of smoke which mounted straight into the frosty air. From time to time one heard the trees crack, as if their wooden limbs were breaking under the bark. And sometimes a great branch would detach itself and fall, the resistless cold petrifying the sap and breaking the fibers. Dwellings set here and there in fields seemed a hundred miles away from one another. One lived as he could. I alone endeavored to go to my nearest clients, constantly exposing myself to the danger of remaining in some hole in the winding sheet of snow.

  “I soon perceived that a mysterious terror had spread over the country. Such a plague, they thought, was not natural. They pretended that they heard voices at night, and sharp whistling and cries, as of someone passing. These cries and the whistles came, without doubt, from emigrant birds which traveled at twilight and flew in flocks toward the south. But it was impossible to make these frightened people listen to reason. Fear had taken possession of their minds, and they listened to every extraordinary event.

  “The forge of Father Vatinel was situated at the end of the hamlet of Epivent, on the highway, now invisible and deserted. As the people needed bread, the blacksmith resolved to go to the village. He remained some hours chattering with the inhabitants of the six houses that formed the center of the country, took his bread and his news and a little of the fear that had spread over the region and set out before night.

  “Suddenly, in skirting a hedge, he believed he saw an egg on the snow; yes, an egg was lying there, all white like the rest of the world. He bent over it, and in fact it was an egg. Where did it come from? What hen could have gone out there and laid an egg in that spot? The smith was astonished; he could not comprehend it; but he picked it up and took it to his wife.

  “ ‘See, wife, here is an egg that I found on the way.’

  The woman tossed her head, replying:

  “ ‘An egg on the way? And this kind of weather! You must be drunk, surely.’

  “ ‘No, no, my lady, it surely was at the foot of the hedge, and not frozen but still warm. Take it; I put it in my bosom so that it wouldn’t cool off. You shall have it for your dinner.’

  “The egg was soon shining in the saucepan where the soup was simmering, and the smith began to relate what he had heard around the country. The woman listened, pale with excitement.

  “ ‘Surely I have heard some whistling,’ said she, ‘but it seemed to come from the chimney.’

  “They sat down to table, ate their soup first and then, while the husband was spreading the butter on his bread, the woman took the egg and examined it with a suspicious eye. ‘And if there should be something in this egg,’ said she.

  “ ‘What, think you, would you like to have in it?’

  “ ‘I know very well.’

  “ ‘Go ahead and eat it. Don’t be a fool.’ She opened the egg. It was like all eggs, and very fresh. She started to eat it but hesitated, tasting, then leaving, then tasting it again. The husband said: ‘Well, how does it taste, that egg?’

  “She did not answer, but finished swallowing it. Then, suddenly, she set her eyes on her husband, fixed, haggard, and excited, raised her arms, turned and twisted them, convulsed from head to foot, and rolled on the floor, sending forth horrible shrieks. All night she struggled in these frightful spasms, trembling with fright, deformed by hideous convulsions. The smith, unable to restrain her, was obliged to bind her. And she screamed without ceasing, with voice indefatigable:

  “ ‘I have it in my body! I have it in my body!’

  “I was called the next day. I ordered all the sedatives known, but without effect. She was mad. Then, with incredible swiftness, in spite of the obstacle of deep snow, the news, the strange news ran from farm to farm: ‘The smith’s wife is possessed!’ And they came from all about, not daring to go into the house, to listen to the cries of the frightened woman, whose voice was so strong that one could scarcely believe it belonged to a human creature.

  “The curate of the village was sent for. He was a simple old priest. He came in surplice, as if to administer comfort to the dying, and pronounced with extended hands some formulas of exorcism, while four men held the foaming, writhing woman on the bed. But the spirit was not driven out.

  “Christmas came without any change in the weather. In the early morning the priest came for me.

  “ ‘I wish,’ said he, ‘to ask you to assist me tonight at service for this unfortunate woman. Perhaps God will work a miracle in her favor at the same hour that he was born of a woman.’

  “I replied: ‘I approve heartily, Monsieur l’Abbé, but if the spell is to be broken by ceremony (and there could be no more propitious time to start it) she can be saved without remedies.’

  “The old priest murmured: ‘You are not a believer, Doctor, but aid me, will you not?’ I promised him my aid.

  “The evening came, and then the night. The clock on the church was striking, throwing its plaintive voice across the vast extent of white, glistening snow. Some black figures were wending their way slowly in groups, drawn by the bronze call from the bell. The full moon shone with a dull, wan light at the edge of the horizon, rendering more visible the desolation of the fields. I had taken four robust men with me, and with them repaired to the forge.

  “The Possessed One shouted continually, although bound to her bed. They had clothed her properly, in spite of her resistance, and now they brought her out. The church was full of people, illuminated but cold; the choir chanted their monotonous notes; the serpent hummed; the little bell of the acolyte tinkled, regulating the movements of the faithful.

  “I had shut the woman and her guards into the kitchen of the parish house and awaited the moment that I believed favorable.

  “I chose the time immediately following communion. All the peasants, men and women, had received their God, resolving to submit to the severity of His will. A great silence prevailed while the priest finished the divine mystery. Upon my order, the door opened and the four men brought in the mad woman.

  “When she saw the lights, the crowd on their knees, the choir illuminated, and the gilded tabernacle, she struggled with such vigor that she almost escaped from us, and she gave forth cries so piercing that a shiver of fright ran through the church. All bowed their heads; some fled. She had no longer the form of a woman, her hands being distorted, her countenance drawn, her eyes protruding. They held her up until after the march of the choir, and then allowed her to squat on the floor.

  “Fina
lly, the priest arose; he waited. When there was a moment of quiet, he took in his hands a silver vessel with the bands of gold, upon which was the consecrated white wafer and, advancing some steps, extended both arms above his head and presented it to the frightened stare of the maniac. She continued to shout, but with eyes fixed upon the shining object. And the priest continued thus, motionless, as if he had been a statue.

  “This lasted a long, long time. The woman seemed seized with fear, fascinated; she looked fixedly at the bright vessel, trembled violently but at intervals, and cried out incessantly, but with a less piercing voice.

  “It happened that she could no longer lower her eyes; that they were riveted on the Host, that she could no longer groan, that her body became pliable and that she sank down exhausted. The crowd was prostrate, brows to earth.

  “The Possessed One now lowered her eyelids quickly, then raised them again, as if powerless to endure the sight of her God. She was silent. And then I myself perceived that her eyes were closed. She slept the sleep of the somnambulist, the hypnotist—pardon!—conquered by the contemplation of the silver vessel with the bands of gold, overcome by the Christ victorious.

  “They carried her out, inert, while the priest returned to the altar. The assistants, thrown into wonderment, intoned a Te Deum. The smith’s wife slept for the next four hours; then she awoke without any remembrance either of the possession or of the deliverance. This, ladies, is the miracle that I saw.”

  Doctor Bonenfant remained silent for a moment, then he added, in rather disagreeable voice:

  “And I could never refuse to swear to it in writing.”

  1882

  I TAKE SUPPER WITH MY WIFE

  Antoine Gustave Droz

  It was Christmas Eve, and a devilishly cold night. The snow fell in great flakes, which the wind beat against the windowpanes. The distant chimes reached us, confused and faint through the heavy, cottony atmosphere. The passersby, muffled in their cloaks, glided along hurriedly, brushing by the walls of the houses, bending their heads before the wind. Wrapped in my dressing gown, I smiled as I drummed on the windowpane, smiled at the passersby, at the north wind and the snow, with the smile of a happy man who is in a warm room with his feet in a pair of flannel-lined slippers which sink into a thick, soft carpet.

  My wife sat in a corner of the hearth with a piece of cloth before her which she cut and trimmed off; and every now and then she raised her eyes, which met mine. A new book lay on the mantelpiece awaiting me, and a log in the fireplace whistled as it spit out those little blue flames which tempt one to poke it.

  “There is nothing so stupid as a man trudging along in the snow. Is there?” said I.

  “Sh-h-h!” said my wife, laying down her scissors. Then she stroked her chin thoughtfully with her tapering pink fingers, slightly plump at the extremities, and looked over very carefully the pieces she had just cut out.

  “I say that it is absurd to go out into the cold when it is so easy to stay at home by the fire.”

  “Sh-h-h!”

  “What the deuce are you doing that is so important?”

  “I—I am cutting out a pair of suspenders for you,” and she resumed her task. Her hair was coiled a little higher than usual; and where I stood, behind her, I could just see, as she leaned over her work, the nape of her neck, white and velvety. Innumerable soft little locks curled there gracefully, and this pretty down reminded me of those ripe peaches into which we drive our teeth greedily. I leaned nearer to see and kissed my wife on the neck.

  “Monsieur!” exclaimed Louise, turning suddenly around.

  “Madame!” and we both burst into a laugh.

  “Come, come, on Christmas Eve!”

  “Monsieur apologizes?”

  “Madame complains?”

  “Yes; Madame complains. Madame complains of your not being more moved, more thrilled by the spirit of Christmas. The ding-ding-dong from the bells of Notre Dame awakens no emotion in you; and when the magic lantern went by under your very window, you were perfectly unmoved, utterly indifferent. I watched you attentively, though I pretended to work.”

  “Unmoved? Indifferent? I? When the magic lantern went by! Ah, my dear! You judge me very severely, and really—”

  “Yes, yes, laugh if you will. It is nevertheless true that the pretty memories of your childhood are lost.”

  “Come, my pet, would you like me to stand my boots in the fireplace tonight before I go to bed? Would you like me to stop the magic lantern man and go and get him a sheet and a candle-end, as my mother used to do? I can almost see her as she handed him the sheet. ‘Be careful you don’t tear it, now,’ she would say; and we all clapped our hands in the mysterious obscurity. I remember all those joys, dear; but, you see, so many things have happened since. Other pleasures have obliterated those.”

  “Yes, I understand, the pleasures of your bachelorhood! Come, now, I am sure this is the first Christmas Eve that has ever found you by your own fireside, in your dressing gown and without a supper, because you always had supper; that goes without saying.”

  “Why, I don’t know—”

  “Yes, yes, I wager you always had a supper.”

  “Well, perhaps I did, once or twice, although I scarcely remember; I may have had supper with a few old friends. And what did it all amount to? Two pennies’ worth of chestnuts and—”

  “And a glass of sugar and water.”

  “Well, just about. Oh, it was nothing much, I can assure you! It sounds great at a distance. We talked awhile, and then we went to bed.”

  “And he says all that with the straightest face! You have never breathed a word of these simple pleasures to me.”

  “But, my dear, what I tell you is the absolute truth. I remember once, however, at Ernest’s, when I was in rather high spirits, we had a little music afterward. Will you push me that log? Well, never mind; it is almost midnight, and time for all reasonable people to —”

  (Louise, rising and throwing her arms around me.) “Well, I don’t choose to be reasonable, and I mean to eclipse the memory of those penny chestnuts and all that sugar and water! “ (Pushing me hastily into my study, and locking the door.)

  “What the deuce is the matter with you, my dear?” I cried from the other side of the partition.

  “Give me ten minutes, no more. Your book is on the mantelpiece; you have not seen it tonight. You will find the matches in the corner.”

  Then I heard the rattle of china, the rustle of silky stuffs. Could my wife have gone crazy? At the end of about ten minutes she unlocked the door.

  “Don’t scold me for shutting you out,” said she, embracing me. “Look at me. Have I not made myself beautiful? See! My hair just as you like it, high, and my neck uncovered. But my poor neck is so extremely shy that it never could have displayed itself in the broad light, if I had not encouraged it a little by wearing a low-necked gown. After all, it is only right to be in full dress uniform at a supper with the authority.”

  “What supper?”

  “Why, our supper. My supper with you, of course. Don’t you see my illumination and the table covered with flowers and good things to eat? I had it all ready in the alcove; but, you see, to push the table before the fire and make something of a toilet, I had to be alone. I have a big drop of old Chambertin for you. Come, Monsieur, come to supper; I am as hungry as a bear! May I offer you this chicken wing?”

  “This is a charming idea of yours, my love, but I really feel ashamed of myself, in my dressing gown.”

  “Take it off, sir, if you are uncomfortable, but do not leave me with this chicken wing on my hands. Wait a minute, I want to wait upon you myself.” And rising, she swung her napkin over her arm and pulled up her sleeve to her elbow. “Isn’t that the way the waiters do at the restaurants, tell me?”

  “Exactly. But stop a moment, waiter; will you permit me to kiss your hand?”

  “I haven’t time,” she said, smiling, and she drove the corkscrew bravely into the neck of a bottle. “Chamber
tin! A pretty name. And, besides, do you remember, before we were married—sapristi, what a hard cork!—you told me you liked it on account of a play by Alfred de Musset? Which you never gave me to read, by the way. Do you see those little Bohemian glass tumblers that I bought especially for tonight? We will drink each other’s health in them.”

  “And his too, eh?”

  “The heir’s, you mean? Poor little love of an heir, I should think so! Then I shall hide the two glasses and bring them out again this day next year, eh, dear? They will be the Christmas supper glasses, and we will have supper every year before the hearth, you and I alone, until our very old, old age.”

  “Yes, but when we shall have lost all our teeth—”

  “Never mind, we shall have nice little soups, and it will none the less be very sweet. Another piece for me, please, with a little jelly, thank you.”

  As she held out her plate to me, I caught a glimpse of her arm, the pretty contours of which disappeared in the lace.

  “What are you looking up my sleeve for instead of eating?”

  “I am looking at your arm, dear. You are exquisitely pretty tonight; do you know it? Your hair is wonderfully becoming, and that gown! I had never seen that gown before.”

  “Dame! When a person starts out to make a conquest!”

  “You are adorable!”

  “Are you quite sure that I am adorable tonight, charming, ravishing?” Then, looking at her bracelet attentively, “In that case I don’t see why, I don’t see—”

  “What is it that you don’t see, dear?”

  “I don’t see why you don’t come and kiss me.”

  And as the kiss was prolonged, she threw her head back, showing the double row of her pretty white teeth, exclaiming between her peals of laughter.

  “Give me some more pâté! I want some more pâté! Take care! You are going to break my Bohemian glass, the fruit of my economy! There is always some disaster when you try to kiss me. You remember at Madame de Brill’s ball, two nights before we were married, how you tore my gown while we were waltzing in the little parlor?”