File:The Christmas kalends of Provence and some other (1902) (14593975369).jpg

Identifier: christmaskalends00janv (find matches)
Title: The Christmas kalends of Provence and some other
Year: 1902 (1900s)
Authors: Janvier, Thomas Allibone, 1849-1913
Subjects: Christmas Festivals -- France Provence Provence (France) -- Social life and customs
Publisher: New York London : Harper
Contributing Library: New York Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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s lost also themusic of the words, I feel that I am givingvery much less than the true effect of theseProvengal Christmas songs. To be appre-ciated, to be understood, they must be heardas I heard them: sung by that Christmascompany, with Magalis tenderly vibrantvoice leading the chorus in which every oneof those singing Provengaux joined. Eventhe old grandfather — still standing at thefire-place—marked the time of the music withthe knife that he held in his hand; and histhin old voice piped in with the others, andhad a gay or a tender ring in it with thechanging melody, for all that it was socracked and shrill. I am persuaded, so thoroughly did theyall enjoy their own carolling, that the sing-ing of noels would have gone on until broadda3^1ight had it not been for the interventionof the midnight mass. But the mass ofChristmas Eve — or, rather, of Christmasmorning—is a matter not only of pleasurebut of obligation. Even those upon whomchurchly requirements at other times restii8
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THE BLIND GIRL —NOEL tbe Chrutmas Ralenas of Prooence lightly rarely fail to attend it; and to thefaithful it is the most touchingly beautiful—as Easter is the most joyous—church fes-tival of the year. By eleven oclock, therefore, we were underway for our walk of a mile or so down thelong slope of the hill side to the village: alittle clump of houses threaded by narrowcrooked streets and still in part surroundedby the crusty remnant of a battlementedwall—that had its uses in the days when rob-ber barons took their airings and when pil-laging Saracens came sailing up the slack-water lower reaches of the Rhone. Down thewhite road in the moonlight we went in astraggling company, while more and moreloudly came to us through the crisp nightair the sound of the Christmas bells. Presently some one started a very sweetand plaintive noel: fairly heart-wringing inits tender beseeching and soft lament, yetwith a consoling under-note to which it con-stantly returned. I think, but I am not

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