Troubadour Tales 14

Troubadour Tales 14

Then, smiling at the Lady Elinor’s bewilderment, he told her the little

boy’s story, and she at once slipped down and greeted him kindly.

Then, clapping her hands with pleasure at finding a new playmate, she

declared he must come to see the Christmas crèche which she was just

finishing.

 

“Not so fast, _ma chère_!” interposed the count, “we must sup first,

for we are famished as the wolves we left behind us in the forest.” And

thereupon he called in the steward of the castle, who soon set out a

hearty supper on one of the long tables.

 

Elinor sat close by, eagerly chattering as they ate, and the moment

Félix had swallowed the last morsel, she seized him by the hand and

hastened across the hall, where her crèche was built upon a carved

bench. The poor little Lady Elinor had no mother, and her father, the

count, had been gone for several days; and although in the castle were

many serving men and women and retainers, yet none of these presumed to

dictate to the little mistress; and so she had put her crèche together

in a very odd fashion.

 

“There!” said she, “what thinkest thou of it, Félix? Of a truth, I

fancy somewhat is wanting, yet I know not how to better it!”

 

“Yes,” said Félix, bashfully, “it may be I can help thee.”

 

And so he set to work rearranging the little houses and figures, till

he succeeded in giving a life-like air to the crèche, and Lady Elinor

danced with delight.

 

While placing the little manger he happened to remember the figure of

the Christ Child still in his blouse pocket; this he timidly took out

and showed the little girl, who was charmed, and still more so when he

drew forth a small wooden sheep and a dog, which were also in the same

pocket, and which he begged her to keep.

 

The Lady Elinor was so carried away with joy that she flew to the side

of the count, and, grasping both his hands, dragged him across the room

to show him the crèche and the wonderful figures carved by Félix. Félix

himself was covered with confusion when he saw the count coming, and

would gladly have run from the hall, but that was impossible; so he

stood still, his eyes averted and his face crimson.

 

“See, _mon père_!” said Elinor, “see this, and this!” And she held up

the carvings for the count’s inspection.

 

[Illustration]

 

Count Bernard, who had good-naturedly crossed the room to please his

daughter, now opened his eyes wide with surprise. He took the little

figures she handed him and examined them closely, for he was a good

judge of artistic work of this kind. Then he looked at Félix, and at

length he said:

 

“Well, little forest bird, who taught thee the carver’s craft?”

 

“No one, sir,” faltered Félix; “indeed, I wish, above all things, to

learn of the Père Videau, the master carver; but my father says I must

be a shepherd, as he is.”

 

Here a tear rolled down Félix’s cheek, for he was half frightened and

terribly tired.

 

“Well, well,” said the count, “never mind! Thou art weary, little one;

we will talk of this more on the morrow. ’Tis high time now that both

of you were sound asleep. Hey, there! Jean! Jacques! Come hither and

take care of this little lad, and see to it that he hath a soft bed and

a feather pillow!”

 

The next morning the children ate a merry breakfast together, and after

it Count Bernard took Félix aside and asked him many questions of his

life and his home. Then, by and by, knowing how anxious the boy’s

parents would be, he ordered his trusty squire, Brian, to saddle a

horse and conduct Félix back to Sur Varne.

 

Meantime the little Lady Elinor begged hard that he stay longer in

the castle for her playfellow, and was quite heartbroken when she

saw the horse standing ready in the courtyard. Indeed, she would not

be satisfied until her father, the count, who could not bear to see

her unhappy, had promised to take her over some day to see Félix

in Sur Varne. Then she smiled and made a pretty farewell courtesy,

and suddenly snatching from her dark hair a crimson ribbon of Lyons

taffeta, she tied it about Félix’s sleeve, declaring:

 

“There! thou must keep this token, and be my little knight!” for the

Lady Elinor had many lofty notions in her small curly head.

 

Félix could only stammer out an embarrassed good by, for in the

presence of this lively little maid he found himself quaking more than

when he feared the terrible wolves of the forest. In another moment

Brian lifted him to the saddle, and, springing up behind, took the

bridle-rein, and off they went.

 

When, after several hours’ riding, they drew near Sur Varne, Félix

showed Brian the way to the Michaud cottage, and you can fancy how

overjoyed were the Père and Misè to see the travelers; for they had

been nearly beside themselves with grief, and had searched all night

for their little son.

 

Of course almost the first question Félix asked was about Beppo, and he

felt a great load taken off his mind when he learned that the little

truant, who really had not strayed very far from the village, had been

found and brought home by one of the shepherds, and was even then

penned up safe and sound in the sheepfold.

 

After a good night’s sleep Félix was quite rested from his journey. He

was busy the next day in helping to garland the Yule log, in giving

Ninette and Beppo an extra scrubbing and brushing, and in all the final

happy preparations for the great holiday.

 

And so Christmas Eve came. It was a lovely starlit night, and on all

sides one could hear the beautiful Christmas songs of old Provence,

that all the peasants and the children sing as they troop along the

roads on their way to the great church of the village; for thither

every one flocks as the expected hour draws on.

 

Within the church all was a blaze of light; hundreds of tall wax tapers

shone and twinkled and shed their golden glow over the altar, and a

wonderful crèche with its manger and almost life-size figures stood on

another special altar of its own.

 

Then presently the stately service began, and went on with song and

incense, and the sweet chanting of children’s voices, till suddenly

from the upper tower of the church a joyous peal of bells rang in the

midnight! All at once, through the dense throng of worshipers nearest

the door a pathway opened, and in came four peasants playing on pipes

and flutes and flageolets a quaint old air made up nearly three hundred

years before by good King René for just such a ceremony as was to

follow.

 

After the pipers walked ten shepherds, two by two, each wearing a long

brown cloak, and carrying a staff and lighted candle; that is, all save

the first two, and these bore, one a basket of fruit, melons and grapes

and pears of sunny Provence, while the other held in his hands a pair

of pretty white pigeons with rose-colored eyes and soft, fluttering

wings.

 

And then, behind the shepherds came—what do you suppose?—Ninette!

Ninette, her fleece shining like snow, a garland of laurel and myrtle

about her neck, and twigs of holly nodding behind her ears; while bound

about her woolly shoulders a little harness of scarlet leather shone

against the white with dazzling effect; and fastened to the harness,

and trundling along at Ninette’s heels, came the gayest of little

wooden carts. It was painted in the brightest colors. Its wheels were

wrapped with garlands, and in it, curled up in a fat fleecy ball, lay

Beppo! Tied about his neck in a huge bow was a crimson ribbon of Lyons

taffeta, with a sprig of holly tucked into its loops.

 

Beppo lay quite still, looking about him with a bewildered, half-dazed

__EXPRESSION__, and just behind his cart came ten more shepherds with

staves and candles, while following them was a great throng of peasant

folk and children, among them Félix, all carrying lighted tapers, and

radiant with delight; for this was the Procession of the Offered Lamb,

and to walk in its train was considered by all the greatest honor and

privilege.

 

And especially did the shepherd folk love the beautiful old custom

which for centuries the people of Provence had cherished in memory of

the time, long ago, when the real Christ Child lay in the manger of

Bethlehem, and the shepherds of Judea sought him out to worship him,

and to offer him their fruits and lambs as gifts.

 

And so, on, up the long aisle, the procession slowly moved; the pipers

playing, and Ninette marching solemnly along, only now and then pausing

to thrust her nose between the Père Michaud and his companion, who

walked directly in front of her. Ninette pattered on as if she had trod

the floors of churches all her life; and as for Beppo, only once did he

stir, and then he gave a faint “Baa!” and tried to uncurl himself and

stand up; but just then the queer little cart gave a joggle which quite

upset his shaky lamb legs, and down he sank, and kept quiet throughout

the rest of the time.

 

When the procession reached the altar the musicians stopped playing,

and the first two shepherds, kneeling, presented the pigeons and the

basket of fruit; and then the little cart was wheeled up so as to bring

Beppo directly in front of all, and the whole company knelt as the

priest blessed the offerings.

 

After this beautiful ceremony which ended the service, the players

again struck up King René’s tune, and the procession, shepherds,

Ninette, Beppo, peasants, and all, once more moved on, this time down

the outer aisle and toward the great open portal.

 

It took some time for the last of its followers to reach the doorway,

for the throng was very great; but at length Félix, who had marched

with the children in the last group, came to the threshold and stepped out into the starry night.