The Christening
“Now, doctor, a little cognac.”
“With pleasure.”
And the old naval doctor, holding out his little glass, watched the precious liquor rising to the brim, flecked with golden gleams.
Then he lifted it to the level of his eye, passed it in front of the light from the lamp, sniffed it, sucked in a few drops that he rolled a long time on his tongue and on the moist, sensitive flesh of his palate, then said:
“Oh, the divine poison! Or rather, the seductive assassin, the adorable destroying angel!
“You know nothing about it, you people. You have read, it is true, that excellent book called L’Assommoir, but you have not seen, as I have, drink exterminate a whole tribe of savages, a small Negro kingdom, drink carried in kegs landed, with the most peaceful air, by red-bearded English sailors.
“But now listen. I have seen, with my own eyes, the strangest and most amazing drama of strong drink, and quite near here, in Brittany, in a little village in the neighbourhood of Pont l’Abbé.
“I was living at the time, on a year’s leave, in a country-house left me by my father. You know that flat coast where the wind whistles day and night over the gorse bushes, and where one still sees here and there, upright or lying along the ground, those monstrous stones which were once gods and which have retained something disturbing in their attitude, in their aspect, their shape. They always look to me as if they were just going to come alive, and I should see them set out across the countryside, with slow heavy steps, the steps of granite giants, or fly off on vast wings, stone wings, towards a Druid heaven.
“The sea encloses and dominates the horizon, the restless sea, full of black-headed rocks, always covered with a slaver of foam, like dogs who lie in wait for the fishermen.
“And they, these men, they go down to this terrible sea which overturns their fishing-cobbles with one shake of his blue-green back, and swallows them down like pellets. They go out in their small boats, day and night, brave, anxious, and drunk. Drunk they most often are. ‘When the bottle is full,’ they say, ‘you see the reef; but when it’s empty, you see it no more.’
“Go into the thatched cottages. You’ll never find the father there. And if you ask the wife what has become of her man, she stretches her arm towards the sombre sea, muttering and frothing out its white saliva along the shore. He slept below it one evening when he had drunk a little too deeply. And the eldest son as well. She has four boys left, four tall striplings, fair-skinned and sturdy. Their turn next.
“I was living then in a country-house near Pont l’Abbé. I lived alone with my servant, an old sailor, and a Breton family who took care of the property in my absence. It consisted of three people, two sisters and the man who had married one of them, and who looked after my garden.
“This same year, about Christmas-time, my gardener’s spouse was brought to bed of a boy.
“The husband came to ask me to stand godfather. I could hardly refuse, and he borrowed ten francs, for christening-expenses, he said.
“The ceremony was arranged for the second of January. For eight days the ground had been covered with snow, a vast carpet, colourless and sombre, which seemed, in this low flat country, to stretch out over illimitable wastes. The sea, far beyond the white plain, looked black; and we could see it moving restlessly, shaking its back, rolling its waves, as if it wanted to fling itself on its pale neighbour, who seemed dead, so quiet, so sad, so cold she lay.
“At nine o’clock in the morning, Papa Kérandec arrived in front of my door with his sister-in-law, the big Kermagan, and the nurse who was carrying the child rolled up in a quilt.
“And then we all set out for the church. It was cold enough to split the dolmens, one of those piercing cold days which crack the skin and cause frightful pain with their bitter cold that burns like fire.
“As for me, I was thinking of the poor little creature who was being carried in front of us, and I thought to myself that this Breton race really was made of iron, since children were able, from the moment they were born, to survive such excursions.
“We arrived in front of the church, but the door remained shut. The priest was late.
“Thereupon the nurse, resting herself on one of the boundary stones near the porch, began to undress the infant. I thought at first that he had wetted his napkin, but I saw that they were stripping him naked, the poor little wretch, stark naked, in the icy air. I ran forward, horrified at the insensate act.
“ ‘Are you mad! You’ll kill him.’
“The woman answered placidly:
“ ‘Oh, no, honoured sir, he must come before the good God quite naked.’
“The father and the aunt looked on at the performance with the utmost calm. It was the custom. If it were not followed, ill luck would befall the infant.
“I worked myself up into a rage, I cursed the man, I threatened to go home, I tried forcibly to cover up the frail little body. It was all no use. The nurse escaped from me, running through the snow, and the poor little devil’s body turned purple.
“I was just going to leave the cruel wretches when I saw the priest coming across the fields, followed by the sacristan and a country lad.
“I ran to meet him, and expressed my indignation to him, without mincing my words. He was not surprised, he did not quicken his pace, he made no attempt to hurry himself. He answered:
“ ‘What do you expect, sir? It’s the custom. They all do it, we can’t hinder them.’
“ ‘But at least get a move on!’ I shouted.
“He replied:
“ ‘I can’t come any quicker.’
“And he entered the vestry, while we remained on the threshold of the church, where I swear I suffered more than the little creature howling under the lash of the bitter cold.
“The door opened at last. We went in. But the child had to remain naked throughout the whole ceremony.
“It was interminable. The priest blundered on through the Latin syllables that issued from his mouth, falsely scanned. He walked with a slow gait, with the slow gait of a pious tortoise, and his white surplice froze my heart, like another fall of snow in which he had wrapped himself to torture, in the name of a cruel and barbarous God, this human grub racked by the cold.
“The christening was at last accomplished according to the proper rites, and I saw the nurse roll up again in its wide quilt the frozen child, who was moaning in a thin pitiful voice.
“The priest said to me:
“ ‘Will you come and sign the register?’
“I turned to my gardener:
“ ‘Now get back as quickly as you can, and get that child warm at once.’
“And I gave him some advice how to ward off inflammation of the lungs if there were still time to do it.
“The man promised to carry out my recommendation, and he went away with his sister-in-law and the nurse. I followed the priest into the vestry.
“When I had signed, he demanded five francs of me for expenses.
“Having given the father ten francs, I refused to pay again. The priest threatened to tear out the leaf and annul the ceremony. I threatened him, on my side, with the Public Prosecutor.
“The quarrel lasted a long time. I ended by paying.
“The instant I got home, I wanted to make sure that no further misfortune had happened. I ran to Kérandec’s house, but the father, the sister-in-law, and the nurse had not yet returned.
“The woman who had given birth to the child, left all alone, was sobbing with cold in her bed, and she was hungry, having had nothing to eat since the night before.
“ ‘Where the devil have they gone?’ I said.
“She answered, without surprise or resentment:
“ ‘They’ve gone off to celebrate the occasion.’
“It was the custom. Then I remembered my ten francs which ought to have paid for the christening and which was doubtless now paying for drink.
“I sent in some soup for the mother and I ordered a good fire to be made in her fireplace. I was anxious and angry, promising myself to let those devils have it hot and strong, and asking myself with horror what would become of the wretched brat.
“At six o’clock in the evening they had not returned.
“I ordered my servant to wait for them and I went to bed.
“I fell asleep very quickly, for I sleep like an old sea-dog.
“I was roused about daybreak, by my servant, who brought me some warm water for shaving.
“As soon as I had my eyes open, I demanded:
“ ‘And Kérandec?’
“The man hesitated, then he stammered:
“ ‘Oh, he came back, sir, after midnight, so drunk he could not walk, and the big Kesmagan woman too, and the nurse too. I verily believe they had slept in a ditch, so that the little baby was dead, which they hadn’t even noticed.’
“I leaped out of bed, shouting:
“ ‘The child is dead!’
“ ‘Yes, sir. They carried it to Mother Kérandec. When she saw it, she began to cry; then they made her drink to comfort her.’
“ ‘What, they made her drink?’
“ ‘Yes, sir. But I only learned that this morning, just now. As Kérandec had neither brandy nor money, he took the lamp oil that you had given them, sir, and all four of them drank it, as much as was left in the bottle. And now the Kérandec woman is very ill.’
“I had flung on my clothes with all haste, and, snatching up a stick, with the determination to thrash all these human beasts, I ran to my gardener’s house.
“The woman in the bed was rolling in agony, stupefied with paraffin, beside the blue corpse of the child.
“Kérandec, the nurse, and the big Kesmagan woman were snoring on the ground.
“I had to look to the wife, who died towards noon.”
The old doctor was silent. He took up the bottle of brandy, poured out a fresh glass and, once more flashing the lamplight across the tawny liquor so that it seemed to fill his glass with the translucent essence of dissolved topazes, he swallowed the treacherous and gleaming liquid at a gulp.