Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 132.djvu/188

182 his feet only brush the snow without leaving any traces.

The Sparrows. How beautiful he is! One would say he was a little wax image.

The Chimney. Hush! listen! At this moment a young and solemn voice full of sweet tones, like a baby's laugh, resounded in the crystalline atmosphere that cold and moonlight always create on heights.

The child-king stopped on a terraced roof, and there standing surrounded by all his little basket-carriers, he spoke thus to his people.

Christmas. Yes, my friends, it is I, it is Christmas. Good-morning, roofs, good morning, my old belfries! The night is so clear that I see you all scattered around me in this large Paris that I love. Oh, yes! my Paris, I do love you, because you who laugh at everything, you have not yet laughed at little Christmas because you believe in him, you who hardly believe any more in anything. So, you see, I come to visit you every year. Never have I missed. I came even during the siege, do you remember? How very sad it was indeed! No fires, no lights, the chimneys all cold, and the bombshells whistling around my head; tearing up the roofs and knocking down chimneys. And, then, so many little children missing! I had too many toys that year, and I brought away whole baskets full. Happily to-night I shall have none left, for they told me I would have a great many shoes to fill. So, I have brought the most marvellous playthings, and all French ones.

A Parisian Sparrow. Bravo! I take to him passing well, that little one there!

All The Sparrows. Piou, piou! Cui, cui! Long live Christmas!

A Flock of Storks (flying through the heavens in a long triangle). Qua, qua! All hail, Christmas!

The Wind (blowing up the snow). Sing, then, to Christmas, if you please, you also!

The Snow (in a whisper). I cannot sing to him, but I offer him incense. Look at the cloud of soft white dust that I throw around the baskets and in the blonde curls of my little king! Ah! we have known each other for a long while, we two! Think! I saw him born down there in his little stable.

The Wind, the Bells, and Chimneys (singing together with all their might). Christmas! Christmas! Long live Christmas!

Christmas. Not so loud, my friends — not so loud; we must not wake up all our little ones down there. It is so good, the happiness that comes to one while sleeping, and when one does not expect it! Now, good kobolds, come with me on the roofs; we will begin our distribution. But listen to this. I have determined to try something new this year. All that we have of prettiest in playthings, the gilded Punchinellos, the satin bags full of pralines, the large dolls all dressed in lace, I want all those to go to the poor little sabots in the chimneyplaces where there is no fire, and in the cold garrets, and we will put in the happy houses, on the velvet carpets and thick fur rugs, all these little toys that cost only a sou, and which smell so strongly of glue and pine wood.

The Sparrows. That will be famous, famous! Now, that is a good idea.

The Kobolds. Pardon us for making an observation to you, little Christmas; but see, with your new system the poor will be happy, but the little rich ones will weep. And my faith! a child who cries is neither rich or poor, it is a child that weeps and there is nothing sadder.

Christmas. Never you mind. I know better than you. The poor will be so enchanted even to touch those complicated toys which look so tempting to them behind the window-panes of the shops on the Boulevard, and whose glided splendor adds really nothing to the value of the toys and their means of giving pleasure. But I will bet anything that the little rich ones will be delighted to have for once in their lives jumping-jacks and wooden dolls or springs; in fact all those temptations at thirteen sous apiece of which the bazars, where they are never allowed to enter, are full. Come on, then; it is all arranged. And now, en route and let us hasten! There are so many chimneys in Paris and the night is so short.

Thereupon the little lights dispersed themselves in every direction, looking as though all the small pine branches from the Christmas-tree had been lighted and thrown on the snow. Not a chimney was forgotten, from those of palaces surrounded by terraces and trees all white with the hoarfrost, to the poor roofs heavy-ladened with poverty, and which seemed to lean together in order not to fall beneath its sad weight. Soon on all the Paris houses one could hear the ringing of the little bells, and all those odd and various sounds to be heard in toy-shops. The baa-ing of little woollen sheep, the lisping of speaking dolls, the rustling of embroidered satins, rattles, trumpets, small wheels on wooden post-horses, the postilions cracking whips, and 