Lumière eagerly tore open his presents, as any young boy would do.
"I recognize this castle," I remarked to the Spirit of Christmas Past. "It belonged to one of my father's barons."
Lumière was young and lively without a care in the world. He enjoyed his presents, entirely oblivious to politics or the adult world.
"Go bring me some snow," his mother instructed, "and I'll make it into a dessert!"
The child eagerly ran outside with a large bowl. He methodically chose only the top layer of snow that had fallen on stumps or benches rather than that which had been trod upon the ground, choosing the purest white that dazzled in the sun so brightly that it nearly caused blindness.
Lumière's mother began mixing vanilla and sugar to sweeten the snow. To my surprise, the family then began to consume it.
"Did you have a good Christmas?" Lumière's father asked.
The boy nodded.
"Don't forget the most important part!"
As his son watched, the man hung mistletoe and kissed his wife.
Lumière winced. "That's disgusting! Do you have to do it in front of me?!"
His father chuckled. "When you become a man, you will not mind it so much! You will enjoy the kisses of young ladies your age!"
The Spirit of Christmas Past returned us to my parents' castle.
"What's troubling you?" Mrs. Potts queried.
"It's my first Christmas without mes parents," Lumière confessed. "I am lonely."
Mrs. Potts squeezed his hand lightly. "I know it's hard, especially since you weren't even supposed to be the prince's servant. Sometimes doing good deeds for others can be painful to ourselves."
He nodded.
Cogsworth cleared his throat. "If I were having my first Christmas without my parents, I would see how much I dared. I'm not suggesting you overindulge in wassail or eggnog, but it's your first holiday season as a grown man rather than a boy."
Lumière thought a moment. "Well, there is one thing I've been wanting to try!"
Without a moment's hesitation, he hung a sprig of mistletoe, and as soon as Babette stepped under it, he was ready.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm.
"It is Christmas, cherie!" Lumière exclaimed. "You would not want to break an honored tradition, would you?!"
I chuckled. Lumière never was one to waste time with the ladies, especially Babette.
The Spirit of Christmas Past then escorted me to my own castle. Lumière was the candelabra I had known for so many years.
"I feel bad for all this food going to waste!" he complained. "All the trouble we went through to make this elegant feast, and the master forbids Christmas because of what happened last year!"
Cogsworth sighed sadly. "Another holiday gone to the wolves!"
"I think you mean gone to the dogs, mon ami. Thrown to the wolves actually means…" Lumière's face brightened. "That's it! If the master wants to throw Christmas to the wolves, who are we to argue?!"
Before Cogsworth could stop him, Lumière was taking a tray of food to the castle gate. When Cogsworth realized what was happening, he ran after his impulsive friend, protesting all the way.
"If we feed them, they'll come to expect it!" he argued. "They'll lose their fear of man and become dangerous!"
"But it's Christmas!" Lumière remarked.
The enchanted plates made their way between the bars of the gate. It wasn't long before there was a distant bark, and in mere moments, a pack of wolves appeared and began gobbling down the food. Taking their enthusiasm as encouragement, Lumière began bringing out more food. When the other servants found out what he was doing, they were hesitant at first, but since it was Christmas, they were willing to risk fearless wolves and an angry Beast.
As the wolves ate, two of them stood back, not touching the slightest crumb until the others had eaten their fill. If the supply of food ran out, they would go hungry altogether rather than taking food from their friends' mouths. However, there was plenty for all to eat until they nearly suffered indigestion.
"Why do you suppose the master hates them so much?" Lumière asked rhetorically. "They seem like any other animal to me."
"It's a phobia, Lumière," Cogsworth replied. "He doesn't have to rationalize it. In fact, he couldn't do so if he wanted to."