The Birth and Baptism of Jean Pierre Gaston
by Mihran Kulhanjian
In the year of our Lord 1249, 22 November, my brother Jean was baptized at the Notre-Dame-de-Paris. This was the tallest cathedral in Paris, reaching one hundred and fifteen feet to the sky. It is a grand cathedral and it is where we went to pray; it was also where Jean was baptized a few hours after his birth. I had never been to a baptism before, for Jean was my first sibling. Before him, I had not one brother nor sister, nor cousin.
We knew Jean was going to be a boy because mamma had dropped a drop of her blood into pure water and the blood sank to the bottom. If it had floated, father told me, that Jean would have been a girl. Mamma had also slept on her right side when she was with the child before his birth; this ensured that she again would give birth to a boy. So, it was not a surprise when Jean, my new brother, appeared on the twenty-second day of November. Mother did all the right things and Jean appeared as he should have—a boy.
When Jean was born they rubbed him all over with salt—and honey was given to him as his first meal; father told me this. I first saw Jean when Madam Clareau brought him out for father and me and Uncle Pierre to see. The baby was bundled tightly in linen. After we all saw him and confirmed that he was healthy, he was taken back to mamma who placed him in the wooded cradle that father had built from a piece of an old walnut tree he had received from Monsieur Reneau, the old rat catcher.
Jean was a prized boy. He was bathed every three hours and changed. He smelled of rose oil, which was rubbed all over his body—and afterwards he was once again wrapped very tightly in linen.
Later that day we all went to the church for the baptism. My mamma’s sister, Aunt Marie, carried Jean while father and Uncle Pierre held his garment called a train. Madam Clareau who helped mamma with the birth, carried Jean's bonnet. I followed along with the others and the cobbler, Monsieur Lafitte, who along with Uncle Pierre would be Jean's godfathers. Aunt Marie was going to be Jean’s godmother. Aunt Marie was always very nice to me and brought us white bread when she visited us.
Jean looked very beautiful for his baptism. Madam Clareau covered him with a piece of golden silk that shimmered when we got outside. The priest knew we were coming, so he decorated the front doors to the church for Jean. When we arrived at the church, Father Marques greeted us with a smile and we followed him to the baptismal table and bowl. Everything seemed to be covered with fine velvet for Jean. My grandfather and grandmother and friends from our district were all in the church to watch the baptism. I was the youngest person in the church and it felt special for me to be among my entire mother’s and father’s relatives and friends were an honor for me, and I could hardly contain myself of this glorious event.
Jean was undressed and laid on a silk pillow and Father Marques dipped his hand in holy oil and traced a cross over Jean’s forehead. Jean cried a little then stopped. Father Marques said something while rubbing the oil on his forehead, but I did not know what he was saying. Then Uncle Pierre took hold of Jean and moved him to the large bowl of water, holy water— Father Marques took Jean and dunked him in the water. Then Aunt Marie dried Jean with towels and Madam Clareau put his bonnet on his head. The holy oil was protected while on Jean’s forehead by his bonnet. Everyone watched the baptism and they were quiet.
Two days later, mamma dressed up and we all had to go to Notre-Dame-de-Paris so mamma could get “churched.” I asked mamma where we were going and she told me, “Notre Dame to see Father Marques.” Father told me she could not cook, or serve us food because after giving birth she was impure. Father said the clothes she wore to church were her wedding clothes. Mama is very beautiful and in her fine cloths father thought so too.
When we arrived at the church the priest greeted mamma and then she followed him.
“Enter the temple of God, adore the Son of the holy Virgin Mary, who has given you the blessing of motherhood,” Father Marques said to mamma.
“Do not look at anything evil when you leave the church, mamma,” I said. When we walked home mamma had to look away from bad, evil things like a crippled boy or an evil man, or Jean would become such a person. She had to walk straight home and not pay attention to ugly, wicked, immoral, sinful things. If she saw a good boy smiling on her, it was a worthy omen—Jean would be a good, God fearing boy.
When we got home everything was safe and mamma was blessed because she did not see evil on the way home. Everything was fine and I was given ten deniers by father to purchase food for the feast. I got two chickens for six denier for the both of them. I negotiated with the poulterer and I saved two deniers—papa will be proud of me.
As I was looking over chickens, deciding the best ones for our feast, I heard a man telling the poulterer that he had been a good and loyal customer for over three years. The poulterer said: “Three years and you’re still eating my chickens?” He did not give the man a discount, but he gave me one, after I told him about Jean.
I said to the poulterer: “Monsieur Bernard, you know me, I am Renee Hugo, I come with my mamma sometimes when she buys your chickens.”
“Yes, boy—Monsieur Hugo,” he said. “I know your mother. Chickens are four deniers.”
“You are a good poulterer.”
“Chickens are four deniers.”
“Yes, Monsieur. How are you doing today?”
“I’m very well. Chickens are four deniers.”
“How is your mother?”
“You know my mother?”
“I know many mothers?”
“My mother is well.”
“And your children and wife—how are they?
“Fine.”
“I’m very happy to hear this.
“I’m glad you are happy—chickens are four deniers. Do you have money, boy?”
“Monsieur, you have good chickens?’
“I know. This one is good and fat—four deniers.”
“What about this one?” I pointed at the biggest, fattest chicken of the bunch.”
“Four deniers.”
“And this skinny one?”
“Four deniers. Boy, do you have money to buy a chicken?
“I have money.”
“You have money? Show me how much you have.”
“I have enough.”
“Which one do you want boy. I do not have all day to talk to you.”
“You are a good man—a fair, compassionate man. I think you are a good man who enjoys people.”
“Yes, yes, I like people—which chicken do you want?”
“Monsieur, what do you think about the Muslims and the taking of Jerusalem?”
“It is outrageous.”
“Christians have to stick together.”
“Boy, pick a chicken.”
“I think you are a fine man—a fine Christian.”
“I am. Boy, take this chicken.
“Did I tell you about Jean?”
“No. Who is Jean?”
“My new brother—born two days past.”
“Congratulations.
“Thank you.
“How is your mother?”
“Good—she was churched.”
“Did she do well going home?”
“Yes, she saw no evil.
“Are you ready to buy a chicken, young Hugo?”
“You are a good man—a fine man.”
“Yes, boy, I know. Are you going to buy a chicken today or not?”
“How much is this one?”
“Four deniers.”
“Do you think King Louis and the Crusaders will beat the devil out of Jerusalem?”
“Yes!”
“God is on our side, isn’t he and King Louis is a good king isn’t he?”
“Yes, boy—on our side.”
“Parisians are fine people.”
“Yes—fine people. Four denier, boy. Make up your mind!
“Fair people.”
“Yes—fair people. How much money have you got?”
“I want this one and that one,” said I, pointing at the biggest, fattest two chickens. I handed the poulterer the coins.
“Eight denier, boy. You have six here.”
“You are a fine man, a good man to your family and to all Parisians.”
“Boy, I need two more deniers.”
“Madame Bernard is very beautiful. Your children are very handsome. Mr. Bernard, you are a very lucky man to have a wonderful family and a very good business. Your patience and obedience will be rewarded to you in heaven. You are a patriot of France.”
“Yes, that is very nice of you to say young Hugo, but my chickens are four deniers and you owe me two more denier and I am here on earth and not yet in heaven and chickens are four deniers on earth.”
“Would a kind, honest, Christian believer, who would follow the Crusaders to battle with all the courage in this heart, deprive a new baby and his tender family the infinite joy of two chickens for a feast once in a lifetime, kind and heaven bound man?”
There was silence.
“Take those two chickens and get out of here,” said the poulterer. The poulterer shook his head, shrugged and smiled with his eyes.
I stopped at the baker and he too was kind enough to give me a discount on two rounds after discussing the fineness of his family. I rushed home with the bread and chickens and then I remembered about the wine. Close to home was the wine cellar—and I got the wine after several minutes talking to the proprietor and now I was ready for home. We had a grand feast and the chickens and bread and wine and Jean all turned out all very well—“tres bon, Hugo, tres bon,” father said to me many times this evening.