26. Winter Arrives in Courances
Marcel and I would join the local hunters for the season’s start. He is not just a capable dog, but a highly efficient pointer and well-disciplined. We would get light snows from time to time, which made things even more romantic. I can see him by his pile of birds in the courtyard of le Presbytère, looking up to have his picture taken. Exhausted. I sent a photo to my brother and he said, he looks “plumb tuckered out.” In French, vanné, crevé, claqué.
The gift-wrapped boxes were again at the maternelle (nursery school, kindergarten) next to the Marie, just as they had been when we arrived from Dallas a year ago. What a year. What a year. All the chores, and adventures, and settling in, and French Affaires, and TAN, and new friends, and Mass in Milly, and our new Anglican church, and our new home at 7 rue du petit Paris. The guests that flocked to our door. So many beautiful memories. We would be off shortly to the prefecture in Evry to renew our Titre de Sejour (visa). We were enrolled in the excellent French health care system, knew the pharmacy, hair salon, doctors and nurses, best restaurants, favorite hiking trails, favorite weekend getaways.
We were at home now. Elizabeth’s garden was dormant for the winter but would spring into life in the late March. The new roof and refurbishment of my office maisonette had been completed. The wood furnace puts out an amazing amount of heat. We have a garage space full of seasoned wood and Elizabeth has me on fireplace duty. It is all very efficient. 20 paces to the wood pile and back to replenish our big living room fireplace.
We have decided to put on a Lessons and Carols service next door at St Etienne. My new private prayer church! The French love carol singing. English carols are characteristically thought of as the quintessence of the Christmas season. Il est né le petit enfant is also hard to beat. We decide on a mixture of English and French hymns, and lessons to be read in both languages. Père Mercier will officiate with me of course. The mayor will send out notices.
Because of the separation of church and state, there is no singing of carols in the schools, so this comes as a welcome offering. The French equivalent of the Trapp Family Singers happens to be in our parish, and they will bring their talents, mother on the guitar and three gorgeous young voices.
Patrick’s wife Isabelle pitches in and makes lovely bulletins for the service, with red yarn as the binding. Elizabeth will prepare a mulled wine for the event, which wafts through the ancient church, to be served at the back when we have concluded.
Of course we must get a Christmas tree!
Elizabeth has been busy decking the house, each window supplied with its own battery-powered candle with wreath at base. This is her “season to be jolly.” The little girl from Highland Park creating a French home at Christmas. Pull out all the stops. Favorite Christmas music from early December on.
We see a super “Christmas Tree for sale” place, set up on the right side of the roundabout as you leave Fontainebleau, after we depart from Sunday morning Anglican church services. Yes, the French can be garish, too! We will head back mid-week. Our station wagon ought to be able comfortably to handle any holiday tree. We are, to be sure, in the Forest of Fontainebleau, and Christmas tree farms thrive in our region and climate. Elizabeth has goosebumps. The final missing piece of Christmas au Presbytère.
We are back home and having lunch. We’ll head back out to the Christmas Tree place as it looks like a major enterprise and where most people buy their trees. Come on. Marcel, should be exciting. Your first Christmas!
We arrive and the place is humming. Now, Elizabeth and I had celebrated Christmas at our home in Dallas, of course, and I knew something of her taste in trees. This place was Christmas Tree Central, however, and the sizes ran from medium to grand. “Grand” is where Elizabeth always goes. I complain I’m not sure it will fit in the house. Oh, calm down. Of course it will.
Grand it will be.
When it comes time to load the thing, I back the station wagon up for them to place it in. Marcel is there so we leash him for the operation. Of course there is not enough room. But the deed is done, and Elizabeth has the “we shall make this work” look on her face. In the tree goes, top bit first. All the way up to the inside windscreen and bending a bit upon arrival. Can’t close the station wagon door. Not a problem, they tied the gate in some inventive way. As for Marcel? He will ride in the front seat with Elizabeth. I am dubious, she is thrilled, Marcel is confused. Why is there a tree in our car? Trees are for marking.
Mental note on that, when we get back to le Presbytere and get the tree positioned in the corner of the living room.
At least we have double wide gates and doors, so the importation process yields up only a modest bunch of cursing. We had opted for them to put a nice wooden base on the trunk, since that was a small additional price and we didn’t move a Christmas tree holder with us to France. We would discover reasonably quickly why these holders are important. Yes, these trees need water. The very ancient looking and traditional stands are nicely ancient and traditional, but that is because your average person putting up a tree in the 19th century and earlier didn’t have it in the house for two weeks. We will put up with the dropped needles this year, and next year plump for the stand associated with the 21st century Christmas Tree realities.
How grand the house looks with the tree full of lights. We have a big red oriental rug that fills the room and that too feels like Christmas, offset by all the greenery filling the windows. We have snow outside and carols on the Bose player. It is December dark, with short days and long nights. The fires go all day in the fireplace, and in the morning I have simply to stir the embers and reload. The house was made to let the fireplaces do their work. We have one in our bedroom as well, but it isn’t necessary. Our home is a sanctuary of Christmas warmth, kitchen smells, a resplendent tree, lights in the window and joy in the heart. Move over, Currier and Ives.
The evening comes for our well-advertised “Lessons and Carols” service. A keyboard player comes from the Milly parish. We have the “Trapp Family.” And we have a church packed and ready to sing in French and in English. Members of the parishes nearby have joined us. The citizens of our little village we don’t usually see on Sundays. And surprise, the Marquise and her two sons and one daughter are there, she now being helped to walk. It feels like the entire village and our neighbors have come together to sing in a Joyeux Noel.
I will never forget this evening. All the hands that helped make it work. Paul-Marie and me leading the simple service. And, of course, the final “Silent Night.” Sung without accompaniment, each person now waiting for the candles distributed at the start to be lit. The acolytes come down the aisle with tapers. The lights are extinguished.
It is a foretaste of heaven.
Then the lights come back on, and I see Elizabeth standing by a huge punch bowl—product of her brocante searches—ready to ladle hot mulled wine into plastic cups. C’est vin chaud, I hear her strong teacher’s voice announce. Mulled wine.
Joyeux Noel. Merry Christmas one and all.
I think of the words of John Betjeman. I recite them from memory each Christmas.
And is it true and is it true
This most tremendous tale of all
Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue
A Baby in an ox’s stall?
The maker of the stars and sea
Become a child on earth for me?
And is it true for if it is
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies
Bath salts, inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant.
No love that in a family dwells
No caroling in frosty air
Nor all the steeple shaking bells
Can with this simple truth compare.
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in bread and wine.
Merry Christmas one and all.
Elizabeth and I are in our home, in our church, in our village, and Marcel has joined the fun. The party is complete.
Our first Christmas and one that will live forever in our memory.