“The favorite way of transporting a pig.”
Troops of frisky calves are scattered about, and groups of blue blouses and red bérets are earnestly discussing the merits of the unsuspecting innocents. More rarely a fine cow, or a yoke of oxen, attracts a circle of connoisseurs; then the patois becomes more fluent, and the gestures more animated, and the fists of the interested parties are seen flourishing unpleasantly near the disdainful noses of the critics.
The prolonged and penetrating squeal of that pig in the Rue des Cultivateurs reminds me that this interesting animal figures largely in the scenes of market-day. Pork being an important article of peasant diet, Mr. Piggy is always abroad on Monday and contributes largely to the general éclat.
The favorite way of transporting a moderate sized pig is to put him about the neck, holding his hind feet with one hand and his forefeet with the other. This method, though attended with some disadvantages, such as the proximity of the squeal to the ear of the carrier, is, on the whole, less worrying than that of tying a string to one of the hind legs of his Porkship, this giving him a chance to pull his way with more or less effect, while the peasant is frantically jerking in the opposite direction.
Not infrequently a pig gets a ride home from market in the cart of his new owner. Then, true to his nature and principles, he resists the honor accorded him with the whole might of his legs and lungs; so that, with a man at his hind legs, a woman at his left ear, and a boy at his right fore leg, he is with difficulty assisted to his coach and is held there, en route, by that “eternal vigilance” which is, in more senses than one, “the price of liberty.”
On the Rue Porte Neuve and near the Halle Neuve, in the centre of the town, the venders of agricultural implements, kitchen hardware, locks and keys, secondhand books, handkerchiefs, collars, cuffs, hats, bracelets, rings, baskets, brooms, bottles, mouse-traps, and other miscellaneous articles, display their goods, and a sudden shower makes bad work in this busy community.
“A gray-haired spinner with her ancient distaff.”
By the Halle Neuve is the fruit and vegetable market also, and farther on, in the Rue de la Préfecture, we suddenly come upon a hollow square inclosed on three sides by ancient looking buildings, one of which is the Nieille Halle; and here are fish, poultry and game, and the queerest-looking market-people in the whole town, it seems to me.