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<strong>NEW-YEARS GIFTS</strong><strong>January 1st</strong>
The day of the month came into my mind as soon as I awoke. Another yearis separated from the of ages, and drops into the gulf of the past!
The crowd hasten to wele her young sister. But while all looks areturoward the future, mi to the past. Everyone smiles uponthe new queen; but, in spite of myself, I think of her whom time has justed in her winding-sheet. The past year!--at least I know what shewas, and what she has given me; while this one es 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 e do on a rainy day? I walk up and down my attic out of temper, and Idetermio light my fire.
Unfortuhe matches are bad, the ey smokes, the wood goes out!
I throw down my bellows in disgust, and sink into my old armchair.
In truth, why should I rejoice to see the birth of a new year? All thosewho are already ireets, with holiday looks and smiling faces--dothey uand what makes them so gay? Do they even know what is themeaning of this holiday, or whenes the of New-Years gifts?
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 produce.
(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 opehe new year, theysurrous beginning with good omens, and thence came the ofvisits between neighbors, of wishing happiness, and of New-Years gifts.
The presents given by the Romans were symbolic. They sisted s, dates, honeyb, as emblems of "the sweetness of the auspider which the year should begin its course," and a small pieoneycalled stips, which foreboded riches.)
Here I close the parenthesis, aurn to my ill-humor. The littlespeech I have just addressed to myself has restored me my self-satisfa, but made me more dissatisfied with others. I could nowenjoy my breakfast; but the portress has fotten my ms milk, a of preserves is empty! Anyone else would have been vexed: as forme, I affect the most supreme indifferehere 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.
However, I do not know why my thoughts should grow mloomy 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 whbbr>.</abbr>en the most trifling crosstakes the form of a calamity. Our tempers are like an lass, whichmakes the object small reat acc to the end you look through.
Usually, the prospect that opens out before my window delights me. It isa mountain-range of roofs, with ridges crossing, interlag, and piledon one another, and upon which tall eys raise their peaks. It wasbut yesterday that they had an Alpine aspee, 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 kit preparations and dishwater;and lastly, the telegraph, that I see far off on the old tower ofMontmartre, has the effect of a vile gallows stretg its arms over thecity.
My eyes, thus hurt by all they meet, fall upon the great mans housewhich faces my attic.
The influence of New-Years Day is visible there. The servants have anair of eagerness proportioo 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 thhbred horses, draws up before the doorsteps. They are, withoutdoubt, the New-Years gift preseo the mistress of the house by herhusband; for she es herself to look at the new equipage. Very soos into it with a little girl, all streaming with laces, feathersas, 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.
Thus all the world are exging 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.
The my wishes for a happy New Year go and seek out all my unknownfriends--lost in the multitude which murmurs like the o at my feet!
To you first, hermits in cities, for whom death and poverty have createda solitude in the midst of the crowd! unhappy laborers, who areo toil in melancholy, a your daily bread in silenddesertion, and whom God has withdrawn from the intoxig pangs of loveand friendship!
To you, fond dreamers, who pass through life with your eyes turowardsome polar star, while you tread with indifference over the rich harvestsof reality!
To you, ho fathers, who lengthen out the evening to maintain yourfamilies! to you, poor eeping and w 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!
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!
Here I am suddenly interrupted by loud and increasing chirpings. I lookabout me: my window is surrounded with sparrows pig up the crumbs ofbread whi 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 plaihat I had nothing to give: thanks to me, thesparrows of this part of the town will have their New-Years gifts!
Twelve oclock.--A knock at my door; a pirl es in, and greets meby 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 lohe same: the other day she was a child,now she is almost a young woman.
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. Paule<var></var>tte is not pretty--she is even thought plain; as for me,I think her charming. Perhaps that is not on her at, but on my own.
Paulette appears to me as one of my happiest recolles.
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 unatablealarms which strike a multitude with panic fell upon the dense crowd:
they cry out, they rush on headlong; the weaker ones fall, and thefrightened crowd tramples them down in its vulsive struggles. Iescaped from the fusion by a miracle, and was hastening away, when thecries of a perishing child arrested me: I reehat human chaos,and, after unheard-of exertions, I brought Paulette out of it at theperil of my life.
That was two years ago: sihen I had not seen the child again but atlong intervals, and I had almost fotten 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 patiehat she had obtai.
The wallflower had grown in a on pot; but Paulette, who is a bandbox-maker, had put it into a case of varnished paper, ored witharabesques. These might have been ier taste, but I did not feelthe attention and good-will the less.
This ued present, the little girls modest blushes, thepliments she stammered out, dispelled, as by a sunbeam, the kind ofmist which had gathered round my mind; my thoughts suddenly ged fromthe leaden tints of evening to the brightest colors of dawn. I madePaulette sit down, and questioned her with a light heart.
At first the little girl replied in monosyllables; but very sooables were turned, and it was I who interrupted with short interjesher long and fidential 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 &quht them up to poverty," as she alwayscalls it.
However, Paulette now helps her to make bandboxes, her little sisterPerrine begins to use the needle, and></a> her brother Henry is appreoa 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 grer, and for the winter, when you ot get sunshine for nothing.
Paulette plains that her dles go too quickly, and that her woodcosts too much. The firepla their garret is se that a fagotmakes no more show in it than a match; it is so he roof that thewind blows the rain down it, and in wi hails upon the hearth; sothey have left off using it. Heh they must be tent with ahen 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 suexpehe family, therefore, resign themselves to cold for ey!
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 sist??er, 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.
I placed the wallflower in the open window, where a ray of sunshine bidit wele; the birds were singing around, the sky had cleared up, andthe day, which began so lly, had bee bright. I sang as I movedabout my room, and, having hastily put on my hat and coat, I went out.
Three oclock.--All is settled with my neighbor, the ey-doctor;he will repair my old stove, and answers for its being as good as new.
At five oclock we are to set out, and put it up in Paulettesgrandmothers room.
Midnight.--All has gone off well. At the hreed upon, I was at theold bandbox-makers; she was still out. My Piedmontese[In Paris a ey-sweeper is named "Piedmontese" or "Savoyard,"
as they usually e from that try.]fixed the stove, while I arranged a dozen logs in the great fireplace,taken from my wiock. I shall make up for them by warming myselfwith walking, or by going to bed earlier.
My heart beat at every step that was heard oaircase; 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 upoable, and a bottle of oilfor it is provided on the shelf. The ey-doctor is gone. Now myfear lest they should e is ged into impatie their noting. At last I hear childrens voices; here they are: they push openthe door and rush in--but they all stop in astonishment.
At the sight of the lamp, the stove, and the visitor, who stands therelike a magi in the midst of these wonders, they draw back almhtened. Paulette is the first to prehend it, and the arrival ofthe grandmother, who is more slowly mounting the stairs, fiheexplanation. Then e tears, ecstasies, thanks!
But the wonders are not yet ehe little sister opens the oven, anddiscovers some chestnuts just roasted; the grandmother p<u>.９9ｌｉｂ?</u>uts her hand otles 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.
Now their wourns into admiration; the little family have never seensuch a feast! They lay the cloth, they sit down, they eat; it is aplete ba for all, and each tributes his share to it. I hadbrought only the supper: and the bandbox-maker and her children suppliedthe enjoyment.
What bursts of laughter at nothing! What a hubbub of questions whichwaited for no reply, of replies whiswered 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 fet theirwretess. 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 sent to be happy.
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.
I have e home slowly, ruminating with a full heart, and pureenjoyment, on the simple events of my evening. It has given me mufort and mustru. Now, no New-Years Day will e amiss tome; I know that no one is so unhappy as to have nothing to give andnothing to receive.
As I came in, I met my rieighbors 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!"
I, when I left Paulettes family, said "So soon!"
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