Chateau and Country Life in France | Page 8

something to drink and some tobacco, didn't care very much for the
water, which was all that Mme. Antoine had to give them, but thanked
her civilly enough for the bread and sous.

The park wall was a good vantage-ground to see all (and that wasn't
much) that went on on the highroad. The diligence to Meaux passed
twice a day, with a fine rattle of old wheels and chains, and cracking of
whips. It went down the steep hill well enough, but coming up was
quite another affair. All the passengers and the driver got out always,
and even then it was difficult to get the heavy, cumbersome vehicle up
the hill, in winter particularly, when the roads were muddy and slippery.
The driver knew us all well, and was much interested in all that went
on at the château. He often brought parcels, and occasionally people
from the village who wanted to see W.--sometimes a blind piano-tuner
who came from Villers-Cotterets. He was very kind to the poor blind
man, helped him down most carefully from the diligence, and always
brought him through the park gates to the lodge, where he delivered
him over to Antoine. It was curious to see the blind man at work. Once
he had been led through the rooms, he was quite at home, found the
pianos, fussed over the keys and the strings, exactly as if he saw
everything. He tuned all the pianos in the country, and was much
pleased to put his hands on one that wasn't fifty years old. I had brought
down my new Erard.
Sometimes a country wedding passed, and that was always a pretty
sight. A marriage is always an important affair in France in every class
of life. There are long discussions with all the members of the two
families. The curé, the notary, the patron (if the young man is a
workman), are all consulted, and there are as many negotiations and
agreements in the most humble families as in the grand monde of the
Faubourg St. Germain. Almost all French parents give a dot of some
kind to their children, and whatever the sum is, either five hundred
francs or two thousand, it is always scrupulously paid over to the
notary. The wedding-day is a long one. After the religious ceremony in
the church, all the wedding party--members of the two families and a
certain number of friends--adjourn to the hotel of the little town for a
breakfast, which is long and most abundant. Then comes the crowning
glory of the day--a country walk along the dusty highroad to some
wood or meadow where they can spend the whole afternoon. It is pretty
to see the little procession trudging along--the bride in all her wedding
garments, white dress, white shoes, wreath, and veil; the groom in a

dress coat, top-hat, white cravat and waistcoat, with a white ribbon bow
on his sleeve. Almost all the girls and young women are dressed in
white or light colours; the mothers and grandmothers (the whole family
turns out) in black with flowers in their bonnets. There is usually a
fiddler walking ahead making most remarkable sounds on his old
cracked instrument, and the younger members of the party take an
occasional gallop along the road. They are generally very gay; there is
much laughing, and from time to time a burst of song. It is always a
mystery to me how the bride keeps her dress and petticoat so clean, but
she does, with that extraordinary knack all Frenchwomen seem to have
of holding up their skirts. They passed often under the wall of the
château, for a favourite resting-place was in our woods at the entrance
of the allée verte, where it widens out a little; the moss makes a
beautiful soft carpet, and the big trees give perfect shade. We heard
sounds of merriment one day when we were passing and we stopped to
look on, from behind the bushes, where we couldn't be seen. There was
quite a party assembled. The fiddler was playing some sort of
country-dance and all the company, except the very old people, were
dancing and singing, some of the men indulging in most wonderful
steps and capers. The children were playing and running under the trees.
One stout man was asleep, stretched out full length on the side of the
road. I fancy his piquette, as they call the ordinary white wine of the
country, had been too much for him. The bride and groom were
strolling about a little apart from the others, quite happy and lover-like,
his arm around her waist, she blushing and giggling.
The gendarmes passed also very regularly. They always stopped and
talked, had a drink with Antoine, and gave all the local news--how
many