Thus all the world are exchanging good wishes and presents to-day. Ialone have nothing to give or to receive. Poor Solitary! I do not evenknow one chosen being for whom I might offer a prayer.
Here I am suddenly interrupted by loud and increasing chirpings. I lookabout me: my window is surrounded with sparrows picking up the crumbs ofbread which in my brown study I had just scattered on the roof. At thissight a flash of light broke upon my saddened heart. I deceived myselfjust now, when I complained that I had nothing to give: thanks to me, thesparrows of this part of the town will have their New-Years gifts!
The evening has passed like a moment. The old woman told me the historyof her life, sometimes smiling, sometimes drying her eyes. Perrine sangan old ballad with her fresh young voice. Henry told us what he knows ofthe great writers of the day, to whom he has to carry their proofs. Atlast we were obliged to separate, not without fresh thanks on the part ofthe happy family.
Paulette complains that her candles go too quickly, and that her woodcosts too much. The fireplace in their garret is so large that a fagotmakes no more show in it thana match; it is so near the roof that thewind blows the rain down it, and in winter it hails upon the hearth; sothey have left off using it. Henceforth they must be content with anearthen chafing-dish, upon which they cook their meals. The grandmotherhad often spoken of a stove that was for sale at the brokers close by;but he asked seven francs for it, and the times are too hard for such anexpense: the family, therefore, resign themselves to cold for economy!
Paulette is thin, pale, and miserably clad; but she has always the sameopen and straightforward look--the same mouth, smiling at every word, asif to court your sympathy--the same voice, somewhat timid, yet expressingfondness. Paulette is not pretty--she is even thought plain; as for me,I think her charming. Perhaps that is not on her account, but on my own.
NEW-YEARS GIFTS
Usually, the prospect that opens out before my window delights me. It isa mountain-range of roofs, with ridges crossing, interlacing, and piledon one another, and upon which tall chimneys raise their peaks. It wasbut yesterday that they had an Alpine aspect to me, and I waited for thefirst snowstorm to see glaciers among them; to-day, I only see tiles andstone flues. The pigeons, which assisted my rural illusions, seem nomore than miserable birds which have mistaken the roof for the back yard;the smoke, which rises in light clouds, instead of making me dream of thepanting of Vesuvius, reminds me of kitchen preparations and dishwater;and lastly, the telegraph, that I see far off on the old tower ofMontmartre, has the effect of a vile gallows stretching its arms over thecity.
as they usually come from that country.]fixed the stove, while I arranged a dozen logs in the great fireplace,taken from my winter stock. I shall make up for them by warming myselfwith walking, or by going to bed earlier.
But the wonders are not yet ended. The little sister opens the oven, anddiscovers some chestnuts just roasted; the grandmother puts her hand onthe bottles of cider arranged on the dresser; and I draw forth from thebasket that I have hidden a cold tongue, a pot of butter, and some freshrolls.
Unfortunately the matches are bad, the chimney smokes, the wood goes out!
At the sight of the lamp, the stove, and the visitor, who stands therelike a magician in the midst of these wonders, they draw back almostfrightened. Paulette is the first to comprehend it, and the arrival ofthe grandmother, who is more slowly mounting the stairs, finishes theexplanation. Then come tears, ecstasies, thanks!
Here I close the parenthesis, and return to my ill-humor. The littlespeech I have just addressed to myself has restored me my self-satisfaction, but made me more dissatisfied with others. I could nowenjoy my breakfast; but the portress has forgotten my mornings milk, andthe pot of preserves is empty! Anyone else would have been vexed: as forme, I affect the most supreme indifference. There remains a hard crust,which I break by main strength, and which I carelessly nibble, as a manfar above the vanities of the world and of fresh rolls.
To you first, hermits in cities, for whom death and poverty have createda solitude in the midst of the crowd! unhappy laborers, who arecondemned to toil in melancholy, and eat your daily bread in silence anddesertion, and whom God has withdrawn from the intoxicating pangs of loveand friendship!
Midnight.--All has gone off well. At the hour agreed upon, I was at theold bandbox-makers; she was still out. My Piedmontese[In Paris a chimney-sweeper is named "Piedmontese" or "Savoyard,"
Now their wonder turns into admiration; the little family have never seensuch a feast! They lay the cloth, they sit down, they eat; it is acomplete banquet for all, and each contributes his share to it. I hadbrought only the supper: and the bandbox-maker and her children suppliedthe enjoyment.
Then let my wishes for a happy New Year go and seek out all my unknownfriends--lost in the multitude which murmurs like the ocean at my feet!
Three oclock.--All is settled with my neighbor, the chimney-doctor;he will repair my old stove, and answers for its being as good as new.
January 1st
My eyes, thus hurt by all they meet, fall upon the great mans housewhich faces my attic.
At first the little girl replied in monosyllables; but very soon thetables were turned, and it was I who interrupted with short interjectionsher long and confidential talk. The poor child leads a hard life. Shewas left an orphan long since, with a brother and sister, and lives withan old grandmother, who has "brought them up to poverty," as she alwayscalls it.
The crowd hasten to welcome her young sister. But while all looks areturned toward the future, mine revert to the past. Everyone smiles uponthe new queen; but, in spite of myself, I think of her whom time has justwrapped in her winding-sheet. The past year!--at least I know what shewas, and what she has given me; while this one comes surrounded by allthe forebodings of the unknown. What does she hide in the clouds thatmantle her? Is it the storm or the sunshine? Just now it rains, and Ifeel my mind as gloomy as the sky. I have a holiday today; but what canone do on a rainy day? I walk up and down my attic out of temper, and Idetermine to light my fire.
I have come home slowly, ruminating with a full heart, and pureenjoyment, on the simple events of my evening. It has given me muchcomfort and much instruction. Now, no New-Years Day will come amiss tome; I know that no one is so unhappy as to have nothing to give andnothing to receive.
I placed the wallflower in the open window, where a ray of sunshine bidit welcome; the birds were singing around, the sky had cleared up, andthe day, which began so loweringly, had become bright. I sang as I movedabout my room, and, having hastily put on my hat and coat, I went out.
As I came in, I met my rich neighbors new equipage. She, too, had justreturned from her evenings party; and, as she sprang from the carriage-step with feverish impatience, I heard her murmur "At last!"
The wallflower had grown in a common pot; but Paulette, who is a bandbox-maker, had put it into a case of varnished paper, ornamented witharabesques. These might have been in better taste, but I did not feelthe attention and good-will the less.
To you, fond dreamers, who pass through life with your eyes turned towardsome polar star, while you tread with indifference over the rich harvestsof reality!
What bursts of laughter at nothing! What a hubbub of questions whichwaited for no reply, of replies which answered no question! The oldwoman herself shared in the wild merriment of the little ones! I havealways been struck at the ease with which the poor forget theirwretchedness. Being used to live only for the present, they make a gainof every pleasure as soon as it offers itself. But the surfeited richare more difficult to satisfy: they require time and everything to suitbefore they will consent to be happy.
(The old Romans divided the year into ten months only; it was NumaPompilius who added January and February. The former took its name fromJanus, to whom it was dedicated. As it opened the new year, theysurrounded its beginning with good omens, and thence came the custom ofvisits between neighbors, of wishing happiness, and of New-Years gifts.
Paulette appears to me as one of my happiest recollections.
In truth, why should I rejoice to see the birth of a new year? All thosewho are already in the streets, with holiday looks and smiling faces--dothey understand what makes them so gay? Do they even know what is themeaning of this holiday, or whence comes the custom of New-Years gifts?
However, Paulette now helps her to make bandboxes, her little sisterPerrine begins to use the needle, and her brother Henry is apprentice toa printer. All would go well if it were not for losses and want of work--if it were not for clothes which wear out, for appetites which growlarger, and for the winter, when you cannot get sunshine for nothing.
they cry out, they rush on headlong; the weaker ones fall, and thefrightenedcrowd tramples them down in its convulsive struggles. Iescaped from the confusion by a miracle, and was hastening away, when thecries of a perishing child arrested me: I reentered that human chaos,and, after unheard-of exertions, I brought Paulette out of it at theperil of my life.
At five oclock we are to set out, and put it up in Paulettesgrandmothers room.
This unexpected present, the little girls modest blushes, thecompliments she stammered out, dispelled, as by a sunbeam, the kind ofmist which had gathered round my mind; my thoughts suddenly changed fromthe leaden tints of evening to the brightest colors of dawn. I madePaulette sit down, and questioned her with a light heart.
I throw down my bellows in disgust, and sink into my old armchair.
I, when I left Paulettes family, said "So soon!"
The influence of New-Years Day is visible there. The servants have anair of eagerness proportioned to the value of their New-Years gifts,received or expected. I see the master of the house crossing the courtwith the morose look of a man who is forced to be generous; and thevisitors increase, followed by shop porters who carry flowers, bandboxes,or toys. Suddenly the great gates are opened, and a new carriage, drawnby thoroughbred horses, draws up before the doorsteps. They are, withoutdoubt, the New-Years gift presented to the mistress of the house by herhusband; for she comes herself to look at the new equipage. Very soonshe gets into it with a little girl, all streaming with laces, feathersand velvets, and loaded with parcels which she goes to distribute as New-Years gifts. The door is shut, the windows are drawn up, the carriagesets off.
As Paulette spoke, I felt more and more that I was losing my fretfulnessand low spirits. The first disclosures of the little bandbox-makercreated within me a wish that soon became a plan. I questioned her abouther daily occupations, and she informed me that on leaving me she mustgo, with her brother, her sister, and grandmother, to the differentpeople for whom they work. My plan was immediately settled. I told thechild that I would go to see her in the evening, and I sent her away withfresh thanks.
To you, honest fathers, who lengthen out the evening to maintain yourfamilies! to you, poor widows, weeping and working by a cradle! to you,young men, resolutely set to open for yourselves a path in life, largeenough to lead through it the wife of your choice! to you, all bravesoldiers of work and of self-sacrifice!
The day of the month came into my mind as soon as I awoke. Another yearis separated from the chain of ages, and drops into the gulf of the past!
Here my mind pauses to prove to itself its superiority over that of thevulgar. I make a parenthesis in my ill-temper in favor of my vanity, andI bring together all the evidence which my knowledge can produce.
However, I do not know why my thoughts should grow more gloomy by reasonof the difficulties of mastication. I once read the story of anEnglishman who hanged himself because they had brought him his teawithout sugar. There are hours in life when the most trifling crosstakes the form of a calamity. Our tempers are like an opera-glass, whichmakes the object small or great according to the end you look through.
My heart beat at every step that was heard on the staircase; I trembledlest they should interrupt me in my preparations, and should thus spoilmy intended surprise. But no!--see everything ready: the lighted stovemurmurs gently, the little lamp burns upon the table, and a bottle of oilfor it is provided on the shelf. The chimney-doctor is gone. Now myfear lest they should come is changed into impatience at their notcoming. At last I hear childrens voices; here they are: they push openthe door and rush in--but they all stop in astonishment.
To you, lastly, whatever your title and your name, who love good, whopity the suffering; who walk through the world like the symbolical Virginof Byzantium, with both arms open to the human race!
That was two years ago: since then I had not seen the child again but atlong intervals, and I had almost forgotten her; but Paulettes memory wasthat of a grateful heart, and she came at the beginning of the year tooffer me her wishes for my happiness. She brought me, besides, awallflower in full bloom; she herself had planted and reared it: it wassomething that belonged wholly to herself; for it was by her care, herperseverance, and her patience, that she had obtained it.
It was the evening of a public holiday. Our principal buildings wereilluminated with festoons of fire, a thousand flags waved in the nightwinds, and the fireworks had just shot forth their spouts of flame intothe midst of the Champ de Mars. Suddenly, one of those unaccountablealarms which strike a multitude with panic fell upon the dense crowd:
The presents given by the Romans were symbolic. They consisted of dryfigs, dates, honeycomb, as emblems of "the sweetness of the auspicesunder which the year should begin its course," and a small piece of moneycalled stips, which foreboded riches.)
Twelve oclock.--A knock at my door; a poor girl comes in, and greets meby name. At first I do not recollect her; but she looks at me, andsmiles. Ah! it is Paulette! But it is almost a year since I have seenher, and Paulette is no longer the same: the other day she was a child,now she is almost a young woman.
