The news had quickly spread throughout the tiny village of Vieutrou. The houses were few, and no secret could be kept for long. It was one of those typical hamlets of the Swiss Alps, tucked away in thick pine forests. The village of Vieutrou was loosely laid out as a circle of small, dilapidated farms surrounding a parish church in much the same condition. What was the news?
The Duchesnes, a poor, young sharecropping couple, living
in a pathetic, windowless barn, had given birth to a boy. In a village such as Vieutrou, the arrival of
a little boy was a source of joy not only for the parents, but also for their
employer. A son would eventually help
his parents in the field, pushing heavy plows and carrying weighty loads. For the employer, the birth was a stroke of
luck. The sharecroppers’ productivity
would be affected by the new arrival, but the baby would soon turn into a
productive child who would not have to be paid.
Though the biting cold of winter winds and snow had
proved of lesser intensity than in previous years, the Alps were still a
forbidding place to be in the dead of winter.
Cold, snow, and gusty winds further isolated small communities such as
Vieutrou. Toward the end of autumn in
1411, children sitting under the venerable village oak, resting after a
backbreaking day spent carrying water jugs, were interrupted in their playing
by news of the birth.
“Come, come see!”
Yelled a thin, young boy who was covered in mud.
“Guillaume’s woman wi’ boy!”
The small boys and girls would have been overjoyed at any
news breaking the monotony of their daily, uneventful lives. They therefore jumped to their feet and
started running toward the Duchesne barn, all too happy to abandon the jugs. Under their small, frail feet clad in old,
ripped leather shoes, dead leaves cracked and rustled. Above, in vast skies, enormous gray clouds
were gathering to announce the first imminent snowstorm of the season. The clouds were slowly, but surely, blocking
the warming rays that had been weakening steadily all afternoon.
“Wait! Wait for
me,” yelled a scrawny boy. “Me legs no
enough long!”
“Well, run faster, silly boy,” answered a young girl
running in bare feet, holding her ruined shoes.
“We see who’ll get the’ first,” said the tallest and strongest boy, all too happy to show off in front of girls by shoving his way through the younger boys.
Finally, the children arrived at the dilapidated barn,
and entered through the half-open door.
Amazed by the scene in front of them, they could well have been an
endless source of inspiration for a master painter. Dirty shoes with no laces, sometimes almost
completely ripped, bodies covered in muddy rags handed down to them from
long-gone brothers and sisters, eyes lost in confused gazes, a few yellow,
broken teeth, hair disheveled — such were the children in front of the young
couple and their son. Nevertheless,
though the scene was one of misery, an atmosphere of joy pervaded the barn,
perhaps because they all shared the same condition. Everyone that is, except the landlord, the
only village employer. This man, despite
his expensive clothes, could never have been compared to a gentleman. Clothes that would have improved one’s
appearance emphasized the employer’s origin.
His vast frame, his gaudy stance, and his oversized belly contributed to
the uneven stretching and pulling of his clothes. However, to the villagers, the man was one
they respected dearly, for he was a man of wealth, a local “bourgeois.” Because all the villagers were poor, they
formed a bond.
With the falling veil of night, all was going to change. Pressed against one another, the adults and children continually whispered endearing words to the newborn wrapped in thick wool blankets. Suddenly, the adults, who had arrived after the children, made space for the happy village priest. In turn, the children moved aside, and the priest solemnly approached the newborn. The couple, though comfortably seated in straw, looked tired and miserable.
Antonella and Guillaume Duchesne had wandered the Alps
for several weeks before they had found work in the village of Vieutrou. It had been a difficult adaptation to a new
life for Antonella, who had never known penury, other than that of the convent
she had fled from. She was now but a
mere shadow of her former self. Though
her beauty was still striking, and many were the young men who strained their
necks in turning to gaze at her curvy silhouette, her gaze held a profound
disappointment at the world’s cruelty.
She was not lively anymore, and fear of suffering had rendered her less
daring. Guillaume missed her lovely
smile, the one which caused her dimples to show and her cheeks to puff
red. He felt guilty for taking her on
this journey, but, of course, he had had no choice. The choice had been hers, and he could only
help her as best he could. Shortly after
leaving the convent, the couple had found a poor priest to marry them, paying
him with some manual labor. She loved
her new husband, and he was everything she had ever wished for in a man. However, freedom was definitely not as she
had imagined it to be; she was not ready for the card life had dealt her.
Guillaume, the handsome young giant with long blond hair and blue eyes, slender and muscular, dressed in a heavy wool coat, now stood by his wife for the baptism. His soft eyes caressed the beautiful Antonella, herself slender with beautiful, new black hair that unfolded in long curls onto her shoulders. With her deep-blue lake-like eyes, she lovingly gazed at her newborn and then at her husband. Her plump chest rhythmically followed her breath, as she nursed her baby for the first time. The Duchesnes were visibly tired. Though they were grateful for the loving attention, they looked forward to a night alone. Her labor had lasted nearly thirty hours. The village midwife had called on two other women for help, worried about her patient’s health. Throughout these long hours, Guillaume had expected the worse possible outcomes. At times he would picture his beloved wife dying of blood loss, and at other times he would see his child stillborn. He pictured himself carrying the bodies of his wife and child, and burying them in the village cemetery. In fact, Guillaume was not a man who was used to happiness. His life had been harsh, since he started work at the age of four. A happy prospect caused him to be at a loss.
The village priest stepped in front of the small
family. He was proud to be the first to
hold the newborn. He stretched his
scrawny arms, covered with the dirty long sleeves of his monastic robe, and
asked for permission to pick up the infant.
Antonella, exhausted by harsh hours of labor, nursing her son, hesitated
for what seemed an eternity. She threw a
concerned look toward her proud husband.
He approved with a nod. The
beautiful, young woman raised the baby and the priest gently wrapped him in the
folds of his vast monastic robe. He
motioned the adults standing next to the door to close it, blocking cold air
from entering. Taking the infant out of
his robe, he raised him high in the air, dropping the thick woolen blanket.
“My children, my flock, behold what has come to us! A small man is in our community. Pray for our beloved young couple, and let us
celebrate the event in our good old church refectory. Brother Hughes and I will be more than happy
to prepare a feast!”
“Yeah! Yeah! Let the young couple rest. We must go and help prepare the feast,” said
a thin farmer, clutching his long pitchfork.
All became eager to help, looking forward to meager
dishes prepared by each household. While
the crowd started to disperse, the priest suddenly shouted in distress. Adults and children turned their heads to the
terrified priest. Just a moment before,
his eyes had been filled with tenderness, but now they were wide with
fear. The young couple turned their eyes
toward their religious leader, and took fright at the sight of his horrified
expression. Antonella extended her arms
as if to reach her son, but the terrified priest made no movement. He just gazed at the infant’s left hand, his
mouth drooping in consternation.
“His hand — his left hand — it has six fingers! It is the devil’s sign, horrible events will
occur among us!” The priest crossed
himself. “May God take pity on us!”
Each villager crossed himself, and all turned their eyes
toward the infant. Then they looked at
the couple, who were frozen in fear.
Antonella uttered a few words on the insignificance of the sixth finger,
but she caused the priest to go into a greater panic. Now, the solidarity and unity that had
characterized the scene suddenly broke apart and the priest said, with gravity,
gazing at the couple reproachfully, “You, Antonella, you knew your son had six
fingers; how could you hide such a monstrosity from our eyes? And you, Guillaume, you should be ashamed to
shelter a child of the devil!”
“But . . .,” said Antonella, looking at Guillaume with
teary eyes. “It is nobody’s fault, and it can always be remedied later!”
“True, we fix our child’s hand later,” said Guillaume in
an uncertain tone.
“How dare you,” yelled the outraged priest, still holding
the baby in his arms.
“How dare you
defend this creature, this bit of devil, you who hid the devil’s work from our
poor, innocent eyes?”
“But . . .,” said Antonella, tears running down her rosy
cheeks.
“Enough! Enough!” yelled the priest, taken over by an
uncontrollable fury.
“Here, take the fruit of your union back, we are all
going to determine your future among us immediately. Everyone, follow me to our good, old church!”
He handed the wailing newborn back to his distressed
mother. Desperate to quell the baby’s
crying and her fear, Antonella pressed the newborn against her chest. Guillaume stood, stunned, in front of his
wife and child, ready to defend them if need be. The priest opened the door into the dark
night and, to everybody’s surprise, snow flew into the warm barn. It was not unusual for snow to accumulate
rapidly in the Alps, but nobody had given it a thought. Cold snow, ushered by a freezing wind,
chilled all the villagers to their bones.
Everybody left, disconcerted, alternating between staring at the couple
and after the wild priest who had already left.
Only Auguste Duperrain stayed, the Duchesne’s employer. Desperate and sweating despite intense cold,
he wiped his forehead with his expensive clothes. Without so much as a look at the poor couple,
he started talking to himself. “What to
do, what can I do?”
“We find a solution, “said Guillaume, not so sure that
they would.
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” Auguste answered with a haggard
look. “Do you always think about only
yourselves? And me ... who is going to
work in my fields after the priest and the entire village decide to throw you
out ... miserable vermin that you are?”
“We will find a solution!
We will find one,” said Antonella, suddenly realizing what the employer
was saying. The child echoed her fears
with his unending cries.
“Oh ... poor me, poor me,” whined Auguste. “I will have to look for new sharecroppers!”
Cursing, Auguste Duperrain, stepped into the dark
night. A few minutes earlier the door
had been carefully closed, but now it slammed violently back and forth, pushed
on by the fierce, freezing wind and snow.
