The Christmas Kalends of Provence

Vidame and Misè Fougueiroun the excitement did not even lurk: it blazed forth so openly that they were as a brace of comets-bustling violently through ou

open-work cake-a grating wrought in dough-an inch or so in thickness, either plain or sweetened or salted, fried delicately in the best olive-oil of Aix or Maussane. It is made throughout the winter, but its making at Christmas time is of obligation; and the custom obtains among the women-though less now than of old-of sending a fougasso as a Christmas gift to each of their intimates. As this custom had in it something more t

along the lines of the Roman Camp. He was fidgeting back and forth between the hall (our usual place of morning meeting) and the kitchen: torn by his conflicting desires to attend upon me, his guest, and to take his accustomed part in the friendly c

joyous nature was in train. Among them I recognized the young fellow whom we had met with his wife carrying away the yule-log; and found that all of them were workmen upon the estate who-either being married or having homes within walking

im a "Bòni fèsto!" the housekeeper gave his Christmas portion: a fougasso, a double-handful each of figs and almonds, a stalk of celery, and a bottle of vin cue[2]-the cordial that is used for the libation of the yule-log and for the solemn yule-cup; and each, as he received his portion, made his little speech of friendly thanks-in several cases most gracefully tur

al the story that his own grandfather used to tell regularly every year

wn on the borders of Spain. December was well on, but the season was open-so open that he found one day a tree still bearing oranges. He filled a basket with the fruit and carried it to the Captain

cuts me in two, Commandant, I should like to go to Provence and

, and the word of a soldier of the Republic was better than the o

ern Pyrénées, De

y-two years old, five feet six inches high, chestnut hair and eyebrows, ordinary nose, mouth the same, round chin, mediu

ow joyfully he reached Maillane on the lovely Christmas Eve, and how there was danger of rib-cracking from the hugging tha

tizen,' the Mayor demanded,

word about his famous pass-he answered: 'Well, you see I t

'Other people also may take fancies-and mine is that thou shalt explain this

me before the District Judge: a savage old fellow in a red cap, with a beard up to his ey

e might be carried too far; therefore he whipped out his pas

at is the best that the best of us can be. With a pass like that in thy pocket thou canst snap thy fingers at all the mayors in Provence; and

cluded. "He was satisfied to stay in his own dear home until the