Part 9

It was quite a pretty sight as it wound up the hill: first the banner of blue silk with gold cords, which was held proudly aloft by two tall young fellows, then Francis walking between the curé and the Mayor, the Pompiers immediately behind them, then the Municipal Council, the usual escort of children that always turns out on such occasions bringing up the rear. We let the procession pass into the church and then took our places; a front pew was reserved for the family, but Francis and I sat on two arm-chairs inside the chancel, just behind the Pompiers.

The fine old church, which is rather large for such a small village, was crowded; they told me many people had come from the neighbouring hamlets. The Montigny people had done their best to beautify their church; there were a few plants and flowers and some banners and draperies--church property, which always figured upon any great occasion. They told us with pride that the school-master had arranged the music. I suppose the poor man did what he could with the material he had, but the result was something awful. The chorister, a very old man, a hundred I should think, played the harmonium, which was as old as he was. It groaned and wheezed and at times stopped altogether. He started the cantique with a thin quavering voice which was then taken up by the school-children, particularly the boys who roared with juvenile patriotism and energy each time they repeated the last line, "pour notre drapeau, pour notre patrie."

The sermon was very good--short and simple. It was preached by the Doyen of Neuilly--a tall, strong, broad-shouldered man who would have seemed more at home in a dragoon's uniform than in the soutane. But he knew his business well, had a fine voice and very good delivery; his peroration and appeal to the men to "remember always that the flag was the symbol of obedience, of loyalty, of devotion, to their country and their God," was really very fine. I almost expected to hear cheers. The French are very emotional, and respond instantly to any allusion to country or flag. The uniform (even the Pompier's) has an enormous prestige. Then came the benediction, the flag held high over the kneeling congregation, and the ceremony was ended.

We stopped a few moments after the service to let the procession pass out and also to thank the preacher and one or two curés who had assisted on the occasion; they did not come to the "vin d'honneur."

We walked down to the Mairie, where the Mayor and his Adjoint were waiting for us; they conducted us to a large room upstairs where there was a table with champagne bottles, glasses and a big brioche. As soon as we had taken our places at the top of the room, the Pompiers and Municipal Council trouped in and Francis made quite a pretty little speech. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak in public; he did it very well, was not at all shy. Then there was a pause--the Mayor filled a glass of champagne, handed it to me, took one himself and we "trinqué'd" solemnly. Still there seemed a little hitch, no one else took any and there was an air of expectancy. I made a sign to the school-master, who was also the Adjoint, and he explained to me in a low voice that he thought it would give great pleasure if I would shake hands and trinquer with all the Pompiers. So I asked to have all the glasses filled and made the round, shaking hands with every one.

Some of them were very shy, could hardly make up their minds to put out their big, rough hands; some of the old ones were very talkative: "C'est moi qui suis Jacques, Madame, j'ai nettoyé le premier fusil de M. Francis." Another in a great hurry to get to me: "C'est moi qui ai remassé le premier lièvre de M. Francis," etc. I remember the "premier lièvre" quite well; Francis carried it home himself and dashed into his father's study swinging the poor beast by its long ears, the blood dripping from a hole in its neck. It was difficult to scold, the child was so enchanted, even old Ferdinand did not grumble but came to the rescue at once with brushes and "savon noir."

The wine had loosened the tongues and made every one more at ease. I asked that Hubert (our coachman who had been in W.'s service for thirty-one years) should be invited to come up and have a glass of champagne. He knew everybody, having driven W. about in his dog-cart all over the country. He was delighted to take part in the fête and made his little speech, saying he had seen Monsieur Francis when he was only a few hours old, and that he had grown since--which joke was received with great applause.

Then some of the young men went off with Francis to look at the automobile, a great novelty at that time. We went out and talked to the women who were waiting in the street. Every one looked smiling and pleased to see us; the men all formed again in procession and escorted us to the end of the street, the whole village naturally following. They stopped at the foot of the hill, giving us a ringing cheer as we left.

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I never but once saw the whole neighbourhood assembled--when the only son of the Baron de L. married. The Baron and his wife were very good specimens of provincial noblesse. He was a tall, heavily-built man, square-shouldered, with the weather-beaten complexion of a man who spent all his days riding about his fields and woods; a pleasant, jovial manner, quite the type of the country gentleman.

They lived in a charming old Louis XV. château almost in the forest of Villers-Cotterets--their park touching the line of wood. They went rarely to Paris; lived almost all the year in the country and were devoted to their place. One just saw the pointed red roof of the château in the trees as one passed on the road. It stood high, a very steep road leading up to it. At the foot of the hill were market gardens, which made a very curious effect from a distance--the long rows of glass "cloches" making huge white spots. The vegetables always looked very tempting as we passed in the early summer. They were all "primeurs"--the gardens lying in full sun and were sent off to the Paris market. Half-way up the slope was a pretty little church almost hidden in the trees, and a tiny village struggled up the hill and along the road.

The bride, dressed in white--a slight girlish figure--was standing near her mother-in-law and had a pretty smile of welcome for all the guests. It was rather an ordeal for her, as she was a stranger in the country (she came from the south of France) and every one was looking at the newcomer.

It was in the first year of my marriage, my first appearance in the country, and I was rather puzzled about my dress for the occasion. We were asked to dinner at seven o'clock. My first idea was to wear full dress--light-blue satin and diamonds--but a niece of Mme. A.'s, who was staying with us and who had been to some entertainments in that part of the country, advised me strongly to dress more simply. "They would not understand that sort of toilette and I would be overdressed and probably uncomfortable." So I compromised with a high white dress, no diamonds and one string of pearls.

We had a short hour's drive. It was a clear, cold night and we saw the château from a great distance. It was brilliantly lighted. The lights twinkling through the trees looked like huge fireflies. As we drove into the rather small court-yard there was quite a stir of carriages arriving and backing out. The hall doors were wide open; a flood of light streaming out over the steps--Baron de L. and his son at the door. There was a hum of voices in the drawing-room and there seemed to be a great many people. The rooms were handsome--plenty of light, the old tapestry furniture looked very well, standing straight and stiff against the wall, and the number of people took away the bare unused look they generally had.

All the châteaux of the neighbourhood were represented: The Comte de Lubersac and his sister had come over from their fine place, Maucreux. He was a very handsome young man--a great hunter and master of hounds of the stag hunting in the forest of Villers-Cotterets; his sister, Mlle. de Lubersac, most attractive, with the face of a saint. She was very simply dressed in a high black dress. She lived almost the life of a Sister of Charity--going about all day among the sick and poor, but she had promised her father, who was a great invalid, almost crippled with gout, to remain with him as long as he lived. It was only after his death that she took the vows and entered one of the strictest orders (Carmelites) in France.

There were also the châtelaines of Thury en Valois--a fine château and estate, not very far from us in the other direction. They had splendid gardens and their fruit and vegetables were famous all over the country. Mme. de Thury was a compatriot--the daughter of an American general; the young Comte de Melun from Brumetz--very delicate looking, with a refined student's face. His father was a great friend of the Maréchal MacMahon and one of the leaders of the Catholic clerical party, and the young man was very religious. Their woods touched ours and once or twice when we were riding late, we saw him kneeling at a little old shrine, "the White Lady," which was almost hidden under the big trees--so little left that the ordinary passer-by would have seen nothing. There were also the owners of Colinance--rather an ugly square house standing low, surrounded by a marsh, but a good property--and three or four men I did not know--the bride's brother and one or two of her relations.

There was hardly time to introduce every one, as dinner was announced almost immediately. We were a large party, about twenty. All the women, except the bride and me, were dressed in black, high or a very little open--no lace, nor jewels. Henriette was right. I would have looked absurd if I had worn a low dress. The dinner was very good, very abundant and very long. The men said the wines were excellent. The talk was animated enough--it was principally the men who talked. I didn't think the women said much. I listened only, as I was too new in the country to be at all up in local topics.

After coffee the men went off to smoke and we women remained alone for some time. I wasn't sorry, as one had so few opportunities of seeing the neighbours, particularly the women, who rarely went out of their own places. One met the men hunting, or in the train, or at the notary's.

The notary is a most important person in all small country towns in France. Everybody consults him, from the big landowner when he has discussions with his neighbour over right of way, to the peasant who buys a few metres of land as soon as he has any surplus funds. We were constantly having rows with one of our neighbours over a little strip of wood that ran up into ours. Whenever he was angry with us, which happened quite often (we never knew why), he had a deep, ugly ditch made just across the road which we always took when we were riding around the property. The woods were so thick and low, with plenty of thorns, that we could not get along by keeping on one side and were obliged to go back and make quite a long détour. The notary did his best to buy it for us, but the man would never sell--rather enjoyed, I think, having the power to annoy us.

Mme. de Thury and I fraternised a little and I should have liked to see more of her, but soon after that evening they had great trouble. They had a great deal of illness and lost a son. I never saw Thury till after both of them were dead. The château had been sold, most of the furniture taken away and the whole place had a deserted, neglected look that made one feel quite miserable. The big drawing-room was piled up with straw, over the doors were still two charming dessus-de-porte, the colours quite fresh--not at all faded--chickens were walking about in another room, and upstairs in a pretty corner room, with a lovely view over woods and park, was a collection of photographs, engravings (one the mother of the late owner), a piece of unfinished tapestry, samplers, china vases, books, papers, two or three knots of faded ribbon, all tossed in a corner like a heap of rubbish. The things had evidently been forgotten in the big move, but it looked melancholy.

The château must have been charming when it was furnished and lived in. Quantities of rooms, a long gallery with small rooms on one side, the "garçonnière" or bachelors' quarters, led directly into the church, where many Thurys are sleeping their last sleep. The park was beautiful and there was capital shooting. W. had often shot there in the old days when their shooting parties were famous.

We ended our evening with music, the bride playing extremely well. Mme. de Thury also sang very well. She had learnt in Italy and sang in quite bravura style. The evening didn't last very long after the men came in. Everybody was anxious to get the long, cold drive over.

I enjoyed myself very much. It was my first experience of a French country entertainment and it was very different from what I had expected. Not at all stiff and a most cordial welcome. I thought--rather naïvely perhaps--that it was the beginning of many entertainments of the same kind, but I never dined out again in the country. It is only fair to say that we never asked any one to dine either. It was not the habit of the house, and I naturally fell into their ways. Luncheon was what people liked best, so as not to be too late on the road or to cross the forest after nightfall, when the darkness was sometimes impenetrable. Some of the châtelaines received once a week. On that day a handsome and plentiful luncheon was provided and people came from the neighbouring châteaux, and even from Paris, when the distance was not too great and the trains suited.

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We had quite an excitement one day at the château. Francis was riding with the groom one morning about the end of August, and had hardly got out of the gates, when he came racing back to tell us that the manoeuvres were to take place very near us, small detachments of troops already arriving; and the village people had told him that quite a large contingent, men and horses, were to be quartered at the château. W. sent him straight off again to the mayor of Marolles--our big village--to know if his information was correct, and how many people we must provide for. Francis met the mayor on the road on his way to us, very busy and bustled with so many people to settle. He was billeting men and horses in the little hamlet, and at all the farms. He told us we were to have thirty men and horses--six officers, twenty-four men; and they would arrive at sundown, in time to cook their dinner. Hubert, the coachman, was quite bewildered at first how to provide for so many, but fortunately the stables and dependencies were very large, and it was quite extraordinary how quickly and comfortably everything was arranged. Men from the farm brought in large bundles of straw, and everybody lent a willing hand--they love soldiers in France, and are always proud and happy to receive them.

About 4.30, when we had just moved out to the tennis ground for tea, we saw an officer with his orderly riding up the avenue. He dismounted as soon as he caught sight of us sitting on the lawn, and introduced himself, said he was sent on ahead to see about lodging for himself, his brother-officers, and his men. They were part of a cavalry regiment, chasseurs, stationed at a small town in the neighbourhood. He asked W. if he might see the soldiers' quarters, said they brought their own food and would cook their dinner; asked if there was a room in the château where the sous-officiers could dine, as they never eat with their men. He, with W. and Francis, went off to inspect the arrangements and give the necessary orders. We had already seen to the officers' rooms, but hadn't thought of a separate dining-room for the sous-officiers; however, it was easily managed. We gave them the children's dining-room, in the wing near the kitchen and offices.

When W. came in he told us the whole party had arrived, and we started off to the communs to see what was going on. The stable-yard, which is very large, with some fine trees and outbuildings all around it, was filled with blue-coated soldiers and small chestnut horses--some were drinking out of the troughs; some, tied to the trees, and rings on the wall, were being rubbed down--the men walking about with the officers' valises and their own kits, undoing blankets, tin plates, and cups; and I should think every man and boy on our place and in the small hamlet standing about anxious to do something. Our little fox-terriers were mad with excitement; even the donkey seemed to feel there was something different in the air. He brayed noisily, and gave little vicious kicks occasionally when some of the horses passed too near. A group of officers was standing at the door of the stables talking to Hubert, who had managed very well, putting all the officers' horses into a second stable, which was always kept for guests, and the others in the various sheds and outhouses, all under cover.

W. introduced the officers--a nice-looking lot, chasseurs, in the light-blue uniform, which is so smart. He had asked permission for the men to dine at the château. They had their own meat and bread, but our chef was most anxious to cook it for them, and make them another substantial dish; so it was agreed that they should dine at six in the servants' hall. They all marched up in procession, headed by their sergeants; the blue tunics and red trousers looked very pretty as they came along the big avenue. The commandant asked W. if he would go and say a few words to them when they were having their coffee. They were very quiet; one hardly heard anything, though all the windows were open. W. said it was quite interesting to see all the young faces smiling and listening hard when he made his little speech. He asked them if they had had a good dinner; he hoped his man knew how to cook for soldiers. They all nodded and smiled at the chef, who was standing at the door looking very hot and very pleased. He had produced a sweet dish--I don't know what with, as he didn't habitually have thirty extra people to dinner--but I have always seen that when people want to do anything it is usually accomplished.