The invitations being concluded, the betrothed couple and their relatives repaired to dinner together at the farmhouse, after which Marie tended her three sheep on the common, and Germain went to work in the fields, as if nothing had happened.
The day before that appointed for the wedding, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the band of music arrived—that is to say, the bagpipe, and the man with the triangle,—their instruments ornamented with long floating ribbons, and playing a march for the occasion, somewhat slow, indeed, for feet not indigenous to the country, but in perfect harmony with the character of the soil and the up-and-down nature of the roads in those parts. Some pistol-shots, fired by the young folks and children, announced the commencement of the nuptials. The company gradually assembled, and a dance was struck up on the grass-plot before the house. At nightfall, strange preparations were begun, the party separating into two bands; and when darkness closed in, they proceeded to the ceremony of the livrées, or present-making.
This took place at the house of the bride—Mrs Guillette's cottage. The good woman took with her her daughter; a dozen young and pretty pastourelles, Marie's friends and relatives; two or three respectable matrons, her neighbours, loquacious, quick of reply, and rigid guardians of ancient usages; then she selected a dozen vigorous champions from her kinsmen and friends; and lastly, the old chauvreur or flaxdresser of the parish, a man of eloquence and address if ever there was one.
The part that in Brittany is played by the bazvalan or village tailor, is in our part of the country acted by the flaxdresser or woolcomber—two professions which are often united. He is present at all solemnities, gay or grave, being essentially a man of erudition and a good speaker; and on these occasions he has always to act as spokesman, and to execute well and worthily certain formularies of speech, in use from time immemorial. His wandering profession, which introduces the man into so many family circles, without allowing him to fix himself in his own, naturally serves to render him talkative and amusing, a ready story-teller, and an able man of song.
The flaxdresser is particularly sceptical. He and another rustic functionary, of whom we shall speak presently, the grave-digger, are always the esprits forts of the place. They are so much in the habit of talking of ghosts, and are so well acquainted with all the tricks of which these evil spirits are capable, that they scarcely fear them at all. It is especially in the night that all these worthies, grave-diggers, flaxdressers, and ghosts, exercise their industry. It is in the night also the flaxdresser relates his lamentable stories. But he is no more than the sacristan addicted exclusively to the pleasure of inspiring his auditors with fear; he delights in raising a laugh; and is jocose and sentimental by turns, when he comes to speak of love and Hymen. He is the man to collect and store up in memory the most ancient songs, and to hand them down to posterity; and, as usual, he was in the present instance the person charged with the presentation of the wedding-gifts at the nuptials of Marie.
As soon as all were assembled in the house, the doors and windows were closed with the greatest care; the very leucomb shutter of the granary was barricaded; planks, trussels, and tables were put up across all the points of egress, as if one was preparing to sustain a siege; and within this fortification reigned a solemn silence of expectation, until from a distance were heard singing, laughter, and the sound of rustic instruments. These were the bridegroom's band, Germain at its head, accompanied by his stoutest companions, the grave-digger, kinsfolk, friends, and servants, who formed a joyous and solid cortège.
As they approached the house, however, they slackened their pace, consulted together, and were silent. The young girls, shut up in the house, had contrived to find little slits in the windows, through which they watched the procession as it arrived, and formed in order of battle. A fine chilly rain fell, which added to the excitement of the situation, whilst a large fire crackled and blazed on the hearth within doors. Marie would gladly have shortened the inevitable slowness of this state of siege: she did not at all like to see her betrothed dawdling about in the wet and cold; but she had no voice in the affair—nay, she had even to share ostensibly in the cruelty of her companions.
When the two camps were thus pitched in face of one another, a discharge of firearms from the party without doors set all the dogs in the neighbourhood in commotion: those belonging to the house flew to the gate, barking loudly; and the little children, whom their mothers vainly endeavoured to quiet, fell to crying and trembling with fear. The grave-digger, the bard and orator of the bridegroom, now stationed himself before the door, and in a pitiable voice began a dialogue with the flaxdresser, who was at the garret-window over the same door.
Grave-digger. Hollo! my good folks, my dear neighbours, for mercy's sake open the door.
Flaxdresser. Pray who may you be; and how come you to take the liberty of calling us your dear neighbours? We don't know you.