"There is one which looks as if it has a crown on the top," said Germaine.
"It does look like a crown made of stone, and so it has been called the 'Crown of Normandy.' It is on the central tower of the church of St. Ouen."
The city began to unfold before them, with its long rows of quays lined with shops, hotels, and cafés on the one side, and ships from all parts of the world on the other.
Their barge soon deftly glided into what seemed a perfect tangle of barges of all kinds, and came to anchor next to a big Belgian coal-carrier, whose occupants, like themselves, were evidently bent on getting as much enjoyment out of their visit to Rouen as possible.
It was growing dark when our little party scrambled over the decks of several barges, and finally found themselves walking up the quay.
The lights were beginning to twinkle in all directions, and in a few minutes the river and city were ablaze. It seemed like fairyland to the children. The bridges were outlined with golden globes and festoons of tiny lamps of red, white, and blue. Wreaths of lights, in the shape of flowers of all colours, made innumerable arches of light across the streets. Everywhere were flags grouped about shields on which were the letters R. F., which stand for the words "Republic of France."
Walking in any direction was not easy. A mass of people swaying hither and thither blocked streets, bridges, and quays. Our little Les Andelys party did not attempt to stem the torrent. "We will just drift along," said Uncle Daboll, "and see what we can, and you children hold each other's hands and keep closely to us."
It was a motley and most good-natured crowd. Ladies in Parisian gowns mingled with country women in their fanciful white caps, kerchiefs, and short skirts. There were Breton fisherfolk and dark-skinned people from the far south; sailors and soldiers in their gay red and blue uniforms, and every now and then one would hear a clear English voice.
Vendors of toys for the little ones, and souvenirs for everybody, stood on every corner and did a flourishing trade, and high above the heads of every one floated masses of the small red, white, and blue balloons, held captive on a long string, without which no French fête is complete. On the sidewalk in front of the cafés, people were sitting at small tables sipping their coffee and the numberless sweet drinks of which the French are so fond, while at each café a band was playing for the amusement of its guests, but was also enjoyed by the passing throngs. It took the combined efforts of many natty policemen—"gendarmes," they are called—to keep an open pathway through the crowd.
A gendarme looks more like a soldier than a policeman, in his dark blue uniform and soldier-cap, a short sword by his side, and a cape over his shoulders, all of which gives him quite a military air.
Presently, at a corner, they were stopped by an even denser throng who were watching a gaily dressed crowd of people entering a brilliantly decorated and illuminated building.
"What is this?" asked Uncle Daboll of a man near him.
"It is the grand costume ball at the theatre, where every one is expected to dress in old Norman costume," was the answer.
"Oh," said Germaine, "that is why the ladies are wearing those funny tall head-dresses; look, Marie, there is one quite near us."
The costume was both pretty and odd. The lady had on a white head-dress made of embroidered muslin, very like a sunbonnet in shape, with a high crown, around which was tied a big bow of ribbon. A bright-coloured kerchief was about her neck, and she wore a square-necked cloth bodice neatly laced in front, with sleeves to the elbow; underneath this was a white chemisette, as it is called. Around the neck and sleeves of the bodice were bands of velvet. A very short skirt, gathered as full as possible about the waist, a dainty little apron of coloured silk with lace insertion, wooden sabots, prettily carved, and lace mitts on her hands, completed her unusual costume.
The gentleman with her was also in Norman dress. He had big baggy trousers, a high velvet waistcoat embroidered in bright colours, a short round jacket with gold buttons, a high white collar with a big red silk handkerchief tied in a bow around the neck, enormous sabots, and all topped off with a high silk hat, with a straight brim.
While the children were busy looking at the details of the costumes, a carriage halted so near Germaine that she could have put out her hand and touched its occupant, who was a young girl about her own age. Germaine was at once attracted to her. She had a sweet pretty face, bright rosy cheeks, and soft blue eyes; her waving, brown hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and across her white dress was draped a small silk flag which Germaine recognized as the British flag, known as the "Union Jack." She wore a wreath of red roses and carried in her hand a bunch of the same flowers in which were stuck two small silk flags—one French and the other British. Beside her sat a portly gentleman in a gorgeous robe of black and red trimmed with fur, while around his neck was a massive golden chain.
As Germaine was watching her, the little girl leaned eagerly out of the carriage window, and in so doing dropped her bouquet at Germaine's feet. "Oh, papa, I have lost my flowers," she cried. Meanwhile Germaine quickly picked them up, and handed them back to her; and not a moment too soon, for the carriage was moving on again and the bouquet would have been crushed under its wheels.
"Thank you so much," cried the little girl, looking back and waving her hand. Germaine did not understand the words, but knew she had been thanked in English.
Germaine had been so taken up with this little incident that she had not noticed that the crowd had separated her from her companions. Her heart gave a bound, and with a startled cry she realized that only strange faces were about her, and she stood motionless with fright. Her terror was fortunately short-lived, for through the crowd she saw Uncle Daboll making his way toward her, and rushing up to him thankfully clasped his hand, which he made her promise not to loose again until they were safe back on the barge.
It was not until later, when they were sitting on the deck of the barge watching the fireworks on the heights around the city leave fiery streaks and showers of shining stars on the blackness of the summer sky, that Germaine had the opportunity of telling the family of her adventure with the "little girl of the roses," as she called her.
Aunt Daboll thought that probably she belonged to one of the parties of English visitors who had come to Rouen to take part in the Fêtes.
Very early the following morning they finished their coffee and rolls and began their round of sightseeing, all of which had to be crowded into the morning, as the afternoon was to be given over to the Water Tournament, to which the children were looking forward with great excitement.
Jean, especially, had been impressed with the posters which showed in brilliant colours men in unfamiliar dress, tumbling into the water and being fished out again, with, apparently, great unconcern as to the consequences.
"Well, what shall we see first?" asked Uncle Daboll.
"Oh, the big clock," said Jean, "and then let's climb the iron spire of the cathedral."
Germaine wanted to see where poor Jeanne d'Arc had been put to death; the others were ready for anything.
"Everywhere one sees the name of Jeanne d'Arc," said Marie. "This street is named after her, and last night we were in the Boulevard Jeanne d'Arc."
"And just at the top of this same street," said Uncle Daboll, "we shall see the Tower of Jeanne d'Arc, where the poor girl was imprisoned during her mock trial in the great castle, of which only this one tower is left standing."
They soon turned into a narrow street, and there was the great clock, built in a tower, under which runs the roadway itself.
Another turning brought them to the Palais de Justice, with its big dormer windows elaborately carved in stone.
A few steps more, and they were in the old market-place, and little Germaine with bated breath looked at the stone let into the pavement at her feet, which marks the spot where poor Jeanne bravely met her terrible death by fire. All about the place the market people were peddling their wares, bargaining and calling out the merits of their various vegetables and fruits and poultry, the scene not unlike what it may have been in those olden days when the Normans ruled.
Our party could not, however, linger very long over memories of the "Maid," for Uncle Daboll hurried them away to see the great church of St. Ouen, with such large windows that it seems to have walls of glass, and its curious Portal of the Marmosets, all over which are carved little animals which look like ferrets. They passed the little church of St. Maclou, set like a gem in a tangle of streets that were little more than alleys. As Jean said, the tall, old houses seemed to be leaning over toward one another as if they were trying to knock their heads together.
At one street corner there had been erected a triumphal arch which was surmounted by a facsimile of the statue of William the Conqueror, the original of which stands in the little Norman town of Falaise, where he was born.
All French children know the history of this great Norman, who was an unknown boy in an obscure little village, but who in time sailed across what is now known as the English Channel, conquered England, and made himself King of England as well as Duke of Normandy.
When they came to the cathedral, our party were glad to enter and rest awhile within the cool, lofty aisles and say a short prayer.
Marie remembered her favourite St. Antoine and dropped two sous in the box at the foot of his statue, for the poor.
While Uncle Daboll and Jean climbed up the iron spire, the rest of the party were taken by the "suisse" to see the chapels with their tombs and tapestries.
The suisse is an imposing person in gorgeous dress of black velvet and gold lace, a big three-cornered hat covered with gold braid, white silk stockings, shoes with big buckles, and he carries a tall gold-headed stock.
It is his duty to guard the church and, for a small fee, to show visitors the chapels and other parts of the church not generally open.
Marie and Germaine felt quite in awe of him at first. They had never seen anything so magnificent before, but seeing their great interest in all that he pointed out to them, he unbent, and when he showed Germaine the spot where was buried the heart of King Richard, and she told him that she lived near the great castle the king had built, at Les Andelys, he smiled in a most friendly way, and patted her on the head.
It was quite a change when, after Uncle Daboll and Jean joined them, they went out from the dark church into the square blazing with sunlight, and full of booths with all sorts of things to sell, toys, souvenirs, and picture post-cards galore.
Jean was full of his experiences in the tower: how they went up a little winding stairway to the very top, and they could see for miles around the city, and how the people looked like tiny black dots far below; and how, when coming down, he got a bit dizzy, and his father made him shut his eyes and sit still for a minute or two; but that was doing better than a grown man who was just behind them, and who had to go back just after they had started.
When Jean had finished telling his experiences, everybody found out that they were very hungry. Uncle Daboll laughed, and said he had never known them to be so much of one mind before.
"Well, follow me, little ones, and we shall find something," he said, and led the way down the street, gay with flags, wreaths, and flowers.
"Just one moment, uncle," cried Marie, "let us stop and buy some post-cards to send home."
"It will be better," said Uncle Daboll, "to get them after dinner, and while we are having our coffee at a café we can write them and send them off. If we stop now, we shall be late for dinner, for it is past noon."
"Here is our place for dinner," he continued, as they entered a small square surrounded by old-time houses near the river. On one side was a modest little hotel called the "Three Merchants." Going up an outside stairway, they entered a small room with a low ceiling and a stone floor, with a long table down the centre.
It was a typical place for the farmers to come for their dinners when they brought their produce into the markets. Some of these farmers were now sitting at the table with blue or black blouses over their broadcloth suits, with their wives in black dresses and white caps, all talking and gesticulating away over their dinner.
There were two pleasant-faced curés in their long, tight black gowns closely buttoned up the front, the brims of their flat black hats caught up on either side with a cord, who had evidently come in from some country parish to see the fêtes. There was also a solitary bicyclist whose costume betrayed the fact that he was a Frenchman, for no other bicyclists in the world get themselves up in so juvenile a manner as do the French. A loose black alpaca coat, a broad waistband in which was sewed his purse, baggy knickerbockers of gray plaid, and socks with low shoes, leaving the leg bare to the knee, completed his marvellous costume.
You would think this a little boy's dress in America, would you not?
These were the guests to whom our party nodded, which is a polite and universal French custom when entering and leaving a room where others are, even though they may be unknown to you.
After a bountiful middle-class dinner, our party passed out into the crowded streets again, when the energetic Jean exclaimed: "Now for our post-cards!"
"Now for a place to rest a little while," cried uncle and aunt in the same breath.
"Here is a pleasant, cool-looking little café across the street; the one with the green shrubs in boxes before it. We will have our coffee there while you select your post-cards. You will find them in that corner shop."
In a few minutes the children were back with the cards. Jean had selected a view of the cathedral, because he wanted to show his uncle and aunt the great spire up which he had climbed; Marie sent several showing the decorations in the streets to various of her school friends, and Germaine did not forget her friend, M. Auguste, after sending one each to her father and mother.
Before two o'clock everybody was hurrying toward the river to see the water sports.
"Oh, aunty," cried Germaine, pulling her aunt by the sleeve, "look, there is my 'little girl of the roses,' see, walking this way with those ladies and gentlemen!"
Germaine was quite trembling with excitement as she saw the little girl recognized her, and came quickly toward them.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you," she cried. "I have wanted to see you again to thank you. Oh, but isn't it stupid of me?" she went on, with a sign of vexation. "Of course you don't know English, and I can't speak French, except to say merci and bon jour and bon soir, so how can we talk to each other?" Then she stopped and laughed, and Germaine laughed, too, and the two little girls stood smiling at one another, when the portly gentleman, whom Germaine had seen in the carriage, hurried up. "Ethel, my dear, why did you run off like this?"
"Oh, papa, this is the little girl who handed me back my roses, when they fell from the carriage last night. You know my special programme was tied with the flowers, and I would not have lost it for anything."
Just then some French people came up who also spoke English, and the little girl explained the situation. Germaine then learned that Ethel was the daughter of the mayor of the English town of Hastings, and he had been invited to represent England at the fêtes, for it was at Hastings that William the Conqueror had landed, and near there that the great battle of Hastings was fought, which gave England to the Normans.
That was so very long ago that everybody in England is now very proud of it, and the English cousins from Hastings were taking as much interest in the fêtes as the French themselves.
Germaine blushed while the gentleman was telling her all this, and Ethel took a little English flag that she had pinned on her dress and gave it to Germaine. When Ethel's papa heard where Germaine lived, he said he had been to Les Andelys, he had stayed at the Belle Étoile, and knew M. Auguste, and perhaps next year he would come there again and bring Ethel and her mother, and then they should all meet again.
After the French gentleman kindly made all this known to Germaine, the little girls shook hands and parted, for the Tournament had begun.
Two queer-looking craft, much like gondolas, took up their positions, one at either end of the course. The crew of one had a white costume with red sashes and red caps—the other was in similar dress, except that their caps and sashes were blue. These respective crews were known as the "Blues" and the "Reds."
On a raised platform at the end of his boat stood a "Red," with a long lance at rest; opposite was a "Blue" in the same position. At a given signal, the boats came toward one another, and one lance-man attempted to push the other off into the water.
Great was the excitement among their partisans on the banks, and cries of encouragement came from friends on either side. Jean had picked out the "Blue" as his choice, while Marie and Germaine hoped the "Red" would win. By this time the children were standing on their chairs, Jean waving his cap with great enthusiasm. Suddenly "Red" gave a stronger push, and down went poor "Blue," head foremost in the water. However, he did not seem to mind it, as he sat dripping in the rescue boat. Jean felt rather badly over the fall of his hero, but another man took his place, and this time Jean's man won, to his intense delight. So the fun went on until late in the afternoon. Another evening's walk through the illuminated city, and the children were quite ready for their beds on the barge,—for the men of the party slept on deck while the rest had the little house to themselves.
It was with real regret that our little friends parted from the good barge people and their floating home, as well as from the beautiful city of Rouen, where they had seen so much, and had such a good time.
Germaine, who had not been before in a big railway station, was somewhat bewildered at the confusion about her, while Jean, who had been once to Mantes, was proud to be able to explain things to her. The tall man in a blue uniform was the station-master, and one could always tell him from the other blue-uniformed officials, because he wore a white cap. It was his duty to send off the trains, which he does by blowing a small whistle, after which some one rings a hand-bell that sounds like a dinner-bell, and off goes the train.
The men who were pushing luggage around on small hand-trucks were the porters, in blue blouses like any French working man, except they were belted in at the waist by a broad band of red and black stripes.
Presently the station-master whistled off their train. "Keep a sharp lookout," said Uncle Daboll, "and, as soon as we leave this tunnel we are now going through, look out on the right side and you will have a fine view of the city."
Sure enough, in a few minutes they were on the bridge, crossing the river, and before them stretched out a panorama of Rouen, with a jumble of factory chimneys and church spires, and rising above all the grand three-towered cathedral.
Perhaps American children might like to know what French trains are like; they are so different from theirs in every way. To begin with, there are first, second and third class cars,—carriages, they are called,—and each carriage is divided into compartments, each compartment holding six persons in the first class, three on each side, and eight persons in the second, and in the third class, five on a side—ten in all. There is a door and two small windows in each end of a compartment.
The first and second classes have cushioned seats, but there are only wooden benches in the third. In many of the third class the divisions between the compartments are not carried up to the roof, and one can look over and see who his neighbours may be. The people who travel third class on French railways are a very sociable lot, and every one soon gets to talking. A French third class carriage under these conditions is the liveliest place you were ever in, especially when the train stops at a town on market-day and many people are about, as they were on this occasion.
Well! Such a hubbub, and such a time as they had getting all their various baskets and belongings in with them.
The big ruddy-faced women pulled themselves in with great difficulty, for these trains are high from the ground and hard to get into, especially when one has huge baskets on one's arm, and innumerable boxes and bundles are being pushed in after one by friends.
The men come with farming tools, bags of potatoes, and their big sabots, all taking up a lot of room.
One tall stout woman, with a basket in either hand, got stuck in the doorway until Uncle Daboll gave her a helping hand and her friends pushed her from the outside. She finally plumped down on a seat quite out of breath, when from under the cover of one basket two ducks' heads appeared with a loud "quack, quack, quack." "Ah, my beauties, get back," and she tapped them playfully and shut the lid down, but out popped their heads again with another series of "quacks," just like a double jack-in-the-box. How the children laughed, and that made them all friends at once.
Germaine offered to hold one of her baskets, for there was not a bit of room in the overhead racks, or anywhere else. When she took it on her knee, she thought she saw a gleam of bright eyes through the cracks, and sure enough it was full of little white rabbits. The old woman, seeing her interest, let her stroke their sensitive little ears, while she told how she had bought them at a bon marché, a good bargain, and was taking them home to her grandchild, just Germaine's age.
Next to her were two women who were evidently carrying on some dispute that had begun early in the day, and each was bent on having the last word. So their talk went on, an endless stream, while the fat woman sat by and laughed at them both. Perhaps no wonder one of them was cross. She looked every little while at a big basket of eggs she carried, some of which were broken, and with small wonder, it would seem to inexperienced eyes, for they were packed in the basket without anything between them. When she found one badly broken, she swallowed it, as much as to say, "That is safe anyway," and then she would talk faster than ever.
Uncle Daboll talked to the man next him about market prices, and the cider crop, and what a fine fruit year it was. One had only to look out at the orchards they were passing to see the truth of this, for the apple-trees were so full of fruit that branches had to be propped up with poles to keep them from breaking down.
In the next compartment a party of four were playing dominoes, one of the women who was with them having spread out her apron for a table.
Another party was evidently making up for a meal they had lost, while doing business. The mother took from a basket a part of a big loaf, from which she cut slices and distributed them, with a bit of cheese, to her party, at the same time passing around a jug of cider.
There was an exciting time when one of the chickens escaped from a market-basket and had to be chased all over the carriage. Such a clattering of tongues, flapping of wings, and distressful clucks from the poor fowl, which was at last caught just as she was about to fly out of a window, were never heard before.
The chattering was increased by elaborate good-byes, as one by one the passengers dropped off at the small stations. No one grumbled at having to help sort out the luggage each time, but cheerfully and politely helped disentangle the belongings of the departing ones, and carefully helped to lift the baskets on to the platform, amid profuse thanks, where more friends and relations met them, and there was as much kissing on both cheeks as if they had been on a long journey instead of merely to market.
At one of the stops Germaine noticed a woman, holding a horn and a small red flag, standing by the sliding gates, where the road crossed the railway. She had seen these women before along the line, and her uncle explained that the railway is fenced in on either side by hedges or wire fencing, and wherever a road or street crossed, there are gates, which must be kept closed while trains are passing. Not only must the gatekeeper, who is generally a woman, have the gates tight shut, but she must also stand beside them like a soldier at his post, with her brass horn in one hand and a red flag, rolled up, in the other, showing that she is prepared for any emergency. If she were not there, the engineer of the passing train would report it to headquarters, and she would doubtless be dismissed. The gatekeeper lives in a neat cottage adjoining, and some minutes before each train is due she takes the horn and flag from where they hang on the wall, and is at her post.
At the station were M. and Madame Lafond to welcome them home, and you can imagine how everybody talked at once, and how much there was to tell. The fête at Rouen was the topic of conversation until its glories paled before Petit Andelys' own special fête, which was held some weeks after, and which our little friends, with true French patriotism, thought the finest in the world, not excepting the more elaborate affair at Rouen.
There was always much noise and activity in the farmyard of La Chaumière on Mondays, for that was market-day at Grand Andelys,—the important event in a country neighbourhood in France.
For miles about, from the farms and small villages, every one meets in the market-place in the centre of the old town; not only to buy and sell, but to talk and be sociable, to hear news and tell it.
The French folk are very industrious, and they do not take much time for idle gossip unless there is some profit connected with it; but on market-day they combine business with pleasure, and make good bargains and hear all the happenings of the countryside at the same time.
"Come, Germaine," called out Marie, after dinner on this particular Monday, "let us see them put the little calves in the cart. Papa is going to take four of them to market."
"I know it, but I felt so sorry I did not want to see them go," said Germaine, for she was very tender-hearted. Rather reluctantly she followed Marie into the farmyard. Marie was also very fond of the farm animals, but, having been away at school, had naturally not made such pets of them as had Germaine, who petted everything, from the big plough-horses to the tiny chickens just out of the shell. They were to her like friends, and it was really a grief to her when any of them were taken away to the market. But she tried to conquer the feeling, for it was part of her papa's business to sell cattle in the market, and he did so to provide for his two little daughters. All French parents, of whatever position, will stint and save in order to accumulate a "dot," as it is called, for their children, and will make any reasonable sacrifice to start them well in life.
The four little calves had been tied in the cart with many bleatings, and much protesting on the part of their mothers. "Papa is going to take them to market, and mamma is to drive you and me," said Marie.
Madame Lafond and the two girls climbed into the cart hung high above its two great wheels. All three sat together on the one seat, which was quite wide. These country carts are almost square and also rather pretty. They are built of small panels of wood arranged in more or less ornamental patterns, and are usually painted in bright colours, and have, also, a big hood which can be put up as a protection from the rain.
The back of the cart was filled with baskets of eggs, from a specially famous variety of fowl, for which the farm was noted.
The road to Les Andelys was crowded with their neighbours and friends bound in the same direction, and all in the same style of high carts, drawn by a single horse.
They drove beside the river that flows through the two villages, along which the washerwomen gathered when they washed their clothes. They knelt by a long plank and gossiped as they beat out the dirt with a paddle, rinsing the clothes afterward in the running water of the stream itself.
At the town they drove into the courtyard of the hotel of the "Bon Laboureur," where there were dozens of country carts like their own, from which the horses had already been taken. They left the stableman to take charge of theirs, and walked across to the market-square.
Booths, with awnings, held everything that could be imagined, from old cast-off pieces of iron, locks, keys and the like, to the newest kinds of clothing; for everything under the sun is sold at these markets, and it is here that the people do most of their shopping rather than in the shops. Laces, crockery, imitation jewelry and furniture, and most things useful to man or beast are sold here.
Big umbrellas were stuck up for protection against sun and rain. Some of them were of brilliant colours, reds, blues, and greens, some were faded to neutral tints by the weathers of many market-days—looking like a field of big mushrooms.
On one side of the square was the vegetable and fruit market, where the women in their neat cotton dresses and white caps sat under their umbrellas, with heaped up baskets of peas, beans, cauliflower, melons, and crisp green stuff for salads around them. These vegetable and fruit sellers are known as the "Merchants of the four seasons," because they sell, at various times, the products of the four seasons of the year.
Near by were the geese, ducks, and chickens packed in big basket-crates, piled one on top of the other, and all clucking and restless. Quantities of little rabbits were also there, and when a buyer wished to know if the rabbit were in prime condition, he would lift it up by the back of its neck just as one does a kitten, and feel its backbone. One does not know whether the poor rabbits like it or not, but they look very frightened, and seem glad when it is over.
Madame Lafond made her way toward the egg-market, where the eggs are displayed piled up in great baskets, stopping to speak to a friend or an acquaintance by the way. She was soon in her accustomed place, and had opened up her eggs for her customers, for eggs from La Chaumière never went begging.
The two little children of the wagon-maker joined Marie and Germaine, and the four amused themselves looking at the booths, and planning what they would buy if they had the money, or amused themselves watching the crowd that quite filled the big market-place. "There are the English," some one said, and, turning, Germaine saw her friend Mr. Carter, and his wife, the Americans who were spending the summer at the Belle Étoile, standing at one of the booths, buying a baton Normand, a rough stick of native wood, with a head of plaited leather, and a leather loop to hold it on the arm, for they are used by the peasants in driving cattle, and they frequently want to have their hands otherwise quite free. "This will make me a good walking-stick," said Mr. Carter, coming up to the little girls and shaking hands with them. "This is your sister back from school, eh? Well, when are you two going to take that ride with me?"
It had been a promise of long standing that when Marie was at home, they were to go for a day's trip in Mr. Carter's big automobile. "Well, I must fix on a day, and let M. Auguste send word to your mamma so that you and Marie can come to the Belle Étoile, and we can start from there."
"Won't it be lovely?" said Marie; "we shall feel as fine as M. Lecoq, the rich farmer who comes to market in his great auto, wearing his fur coat over his blouse, with his sabots on just as if he was in the farm wagon, riding behind his four white oxen."
All French working men wear the blouse. It is almost like a uniform, and by the colour of his blouse one can generally guess a man's trade. Painters, masons, grocers, and bakers wear the white blouse; mechanics and the better class of farmers seem to prefer black, and the ordinary peasants and labourers wear blue.
The blouse is made like a big full shirt, and reaches nearly to the knees. You will see men well dressed in black broadcloth, white shirts and neat ties, and over all the blouse. It is really worn now to protect the clothes, but is a survival of the olden times when all trades wore a livery.
At the market at Grand Andelys one could but notice the neatly dressed hair of the women folk.
All Frenchwomen, of whatsoever class, always dress their hair neatly and prettily: and as the young girls seldom wear a hat or a bonnet, it shows off to so much better advantage. This is all very well in summer, but one wonders that they do not take cold in winter. The women wear felt slippers, and thrust their feet into their sabots, when they go out, which are not so clumsy as those of the men, dropping them at the door when they come into the house. You will always see several pairs of sabots around the entrance to the home of a French working man.
The children by this time had got to where the calves stood in their little fenced-in enclosure. They were not put in the market by the church with the big cattle, and Germaine felt much happier when she heard that they had been sold for farm purposes, and not for veal to the big butcher in his long white apron, who stood by, jingling his long knives that hung at his side from a chain around his waist.
As they were near the bakers', Marie suggested they buy a brioche, and take it home to eat with their chocolate. Brioche is a very delicate bread made with eggs and milk, and is esteemed as a great delicacy. The bakery looked very tempting filled with bread of all kinds and shapes,—sticks of bread a yard long, loaves like a big ring with a hole in the middle, big flat loaves which would nearly cover a small table, twisted loaves and square loaves.
When they had made their purchases and rejoined their mother, they found her with Madame Daboll, who told them that poor M. Masson, the wealthy mill-owner, who had been ill so long, was dead, and there was to be a grand funeral at the church of St. Sauveur the next day.
In France great respect is paid to the dead, and funerals are conducted with as much pomp as one's circumstances permit.
M. Masson was connected, in one way or another, with nearly every one in the neighbourhood, and the little church of St. Sauveur was crowded with the friends and relatives all in deep black, the men wearing a band of crape on the arm. Over the church door was a sort of black lambrequin with the letter M. embroidered in silver. As the funeral passed through the streets, the "suisse," the clergy, and the mourners, following the hearse on foot, made an impressive and solemn sight. As the cortège passed, all who met it bowed their heads or removed their hats, as is the custom all over Europe.
The only thing out of place seemed to be the ugly wreaths made of black, white, and purple beads, with which the hearse was covered. To our taste they seem hideous, but Germaine thought the white bead lilies with black jet leaves very beautiful, for she was used to seeing the graves in the small cemetery covered with such tributes.
All artists are fond of painting French country life, and there is no part that they like better than the picturesque old villages, farms, and apple-orchards of Normandy, while perhaps Les Andelys is one of their favourite stopping-places.
Germaine had made many friends among them, for they often came to draw or paint the quaint jumble of old buildings at La Chaumière.
Germaine and the English artist who was staying at the Belle Étoile were great friends. He was painting near the farm, and he often dropped in to sit in their garden and drink a glass of cider.
This warm bright morning Germaine could see his white umbrella under the apple-trees, whereupon she ran into the laiterie where her mamma was putting away butter in stone jars for winter use.
"Mamma, I see that Mr. Thomson is painting again in the field. It is so hot. May I not take him a glass of cider?"
"Yes, truly, my little one, but do not stay too long, for I shall need you later to help me." Madame Lafond knew that when her little daughter was watching the painting of a picture, she would forget all about how time flies.
Germaine went into the dark cellar where the large casks of cider were kept cool, and drawing off a jug full, took a glass, and holding an umbrella over her, carefully carried it down the hillside to Mr. Thomson, who was lying full length on the grass, smoking vigorously and scowling at his picture.
"Oh, Germaine," he called out, when he caught sight of her, "you are a jewel, a good little girl to bring me a cold drink. It was just what I wanted, and I was too lazy to walk up to the farm and ask for it. I am stuck and can't do a bit of work. I don't believe this picture is good for anything, after all."
Germaine could not believe this, for had she not heard Mr. Carter tell of pictures that Mr. Thomson had sold for so many thousands of francs that it took away her breath. Besides, did it not look just like her papa's wheat-field, with a bit of the river showing between the trees?
She shook her head. "I think it is a most beautiful picture," she said as she looked at it admiringly.
"Oh! if all the folk who buy pictures had your good taste, Germaine, how lucky we artist chaps would be," he said, draining the cider jug. "I feel much refreshed and must get to work again, for the light is changing fast. Sit there in the shade, child, and tell me what you are going to do at the fête of St. Sauveur next week."
There was nothing Germaine liked better than to watch the picture grow under the quickly moving brushes; and Mr. Thomson talked to her so pleasantly in his queer French that it amused her. Germaine never smiled, even when he made mistakes in grammar that a French child of eight would not have made.
The French are a proverbially polite people, and at no time is their politeness so apparent as when a foreigner is speaking their language. They never laugh nor take the slightest notice of the worst blunders, but with the greatest pains try to understand them, and even go out of their way to set them right.
But to-day it was not the fête that Germaine wanted to talk about. "Tell me more about Paris," she said, shyly.
"Oh, Germaine, you are just like all the world—wild about Paris," laughed Mr. Thomson. He lived in Paris during the winter, and his big studio looked out on the fine old gardens of the Luxembourg, and from the windows could be seen the gilded dome of the Hôtel des Invalides, under which is the tomb of the great Napoleon.
It was the dream of Germaine's life to see this wonderful city of Paris that she had heard so much about. So she listened eagerly when Mr. Thomson told her of the broad boulevards shaded by chestnut-trees, with fine shops on either side, and the great avenue of the Champs Élysées, at the end of which stands the Arch of Triumph, erected by Napoleon in memory of his victories.
Along this avenue passes the gay world of Paris in carriages, automobiles, and on foot, bound for the Bois de Boulogne. A part of this great park is set aside for the special use of the children. No noisy automobile is allowed in this special enclosure, and carriages can only drive at a moderate pace. Here the Parisian mothers bring their children for a good time. They can romp over the grass and play among the pretty flower-beds; have games of tennis, croquet, or battledore and shuttlecock (which is a favourite game with them), while their older relatives sit around on little camp-stools, which every one carries with them to the parks, and talk or do fancy work.
There are ornamental refreshment houses where cakes and milk and sweet drinks can be had: thus it is a veritable children's paradise!
"But there is even more fun to be had in the gardens of the Tuileries; there is where I would like to take you, Germaine," said Mr. Thomson.
"There among bright flower-beds and shady alleys the little children play games around the feet of the marble statues; roll their hoops; run after their toy balloons; and trundle their dolls about, or sail toy boats with red, blue, or white sails, on the little pond, while their bonnes, or nurses we would call them, in their long cloaks and big caps with streamers of bright ribbons, sit gossiping on the benches.
"We would walk along until we found Guignol, which English and American girls and boys call 'Punch and Judy;' but they would enjoy it just as much as do the French children, for even though Mr. Punch and Mrs. Judy speak French, the show is just the same.
"And then we would go on a little farther and join the crowd standing around a man with birds flying all about him. He is the 'bird charmer,' who seems to draw the birds to him by some magic. He whistles, and they perch on his head, shoulders, and hands, eat out of his mouth, and perform tricks on the stick he holds in his hand. This greatly amuses the children, and they are always ready to give the man a few sous, so it is a profit to him as well as an amusement."
Then there is the great Cathedral of Notre Dame, which is probably the best known church in all the world. It stands on the river bank, for Paris is built on either side of that same Seine that Germaine sees through the trees in the distance as she sits under the apple-trees on her father's farm.
Mr. Thomson tells her also of the new Palace of Art, where, among many thousands of others, he hopes to exhibit this picture he is now painting; and of the beautiful Alexander III. bridge near it, with its lofty white columns crowned by the great golden-winged horses, named after a Czar of Russia, for the French and Russian people are very friendly.
"Ah, yes! Paris is a great city," Mr. Thomson would always say when he had finished.
"Papa said when I was older perhaps he would take Marie and me there," said Germaine. "But now I must go," she added, jumping up; "mamma will be waiting for me to help her with the chickens," and saying good-bye to her friend, Germaine ran toward the farmyard gate.
St. Sauveur is the patron saint of Petit Andelys, and its little church is the church of St. Sauveur.
Each year Petit Andelys, as do most of the towns of France, celebrates the fête-day of its patron, and does it so well that the lustre of the fête has spread far and wide, bringing many visitors, which pleases the good folk of the little town, for they are proud of it and everything connected therewith.
The fête-day of St. Sauveur has no connection whatever with Petit Andelys' big twin town of Grand Andelys, which has its own fête, but nothing like so grand. There is some little jealousy between the two Andelys. The size and importance of Grand Andelys throws the other quite in the shade, but Petit Andelys has the river, and the people of Grand Andelys have to walk a dusty mile before they reach it, and that is one reason that visitors like the Belle Étoile.
So Petit Andelys arranges its own fête. The mayor and its leading citizens organize committees, and great preparations go on for weeks beforehand.
One day the children running out of school at the noon hour saw, in the square in front of the church, many wagons with poles, and flapping canvas strewn about. These were the booths for the fair, which were being put up.
The great attraction of every fête is its fair, and these foires, as the French also call them, move about the country from town to town in wagons like an old-fashioned circus, planning to reach an important town for some special occasion—such as its fête-day.
The participants in these fairs live in their lumbering wagons very much as do gipsies, selling all sorts of knickknacks, and performing little plays, or feats of agility or strength.
In a few days the little town was dressed out with flags and wreaths, gay streamers and paper lanterns.
Marie and Germaine, who were staying at their Uncle Daboll's for the fête, were awakened at five o'clock on the opening day by a succession of terrific noises, which were set forth on the official programme as a "Salvo of Artillery."
They were soon dressed and out, but even at that early hour the whole town was astir. Later on the booths in the square opened up for business.
There was a merry-go-round, "flying horses" the children call them, with big pink pigs to ride on, and swings in the shape of boats, and a marvellous "wheel of fortune" for those who wanted to try their luck.
Germaine never tired of admiring what seemed to her the most beautiful things set out for sale.
Jean's great ambition was to hit some of the pipes in the shooting-gallery, and win a wonderful knife that contained everything from a corkscrew to a file.
The real gaiety, however, only began in the evening, when a torchlight procession marched up and down the main streets.
First came the "Salvo of Artillery" again, which, after all, was a very simple affair. A cartridge was placed on a paving-stone and struck with a big hammer. It made a tremendous noise, however, and everybody jumped, and Germaine put her fingers in her ears when she saw the hammer coming down.
Behind came men and boys carrying lighted paper lanterns, and then the band of the pompiers (the village fire department), and then more people, while all along the route was burned red and green fire. Lanterns and fairy lamps in front of the houses and around the square were lighted, and the band played on a platform near the booths for the young people to dance.
Jean rode on one of the pink pigs on the merry-go-round, but Marie and Germaine preferred the chairs shaped like swans, for they were afraid of slipping off the round pigs. The only trouble was that the man who had charge of these wonderful beasts cut the rides rather short.
Uncle Daboll and M. Lafond broke several of the pipes in the shooting-gallery, and Germaine's papa even hit one of the funny paper ducks that kept bobbing up, and got a walking-stick for his pains, but no one succeeded in hitting the white ball that swung at the end of a string.
Germaine's mamma bought her a little toy laiterie, which looked just like the one at their farm. There was a little cow on one side, and in the other the milk-pans and churn—all true to life.
Perhaps the booth which had the most custom was the one with the gingerbread, which is a very popular variety of cake throughout France. Our little friends were soon there buying quite a menagerie of animals made of gingerbread. Jean chose a horse, Marie an elephant, and Germaine a cat, which, strange to say, was as big as Marie's elephant.
Then they all crowded into the little theatre; the funniest one you ever saw. The stage was made up out of a wagon, and the audience sat under an awning in front. There was no scenery, but a piece of cloth with a queer-looking picture painted on it, and the actors never changed their costumes once, but every one laughed and enjoyed it as much as if it had been the big theatre in Grand Andelys.
It was late when everybody got home, that is, it was ten o'clock, which is a very late hour for a French village, where every one is usually sound asleep by half-past eight or nine. The fête was to last a week, and every day had something new to offer.
The next day Jean announced, "There is a circus down on the quay," as he burst into the kitchen where the family were gathered for breakfast. "The baker's boy told me he could see them from the bakery. They came late last night, and are waiting to get permission from the mayor to put up their tents in the town."
"Oh, let's go and see them at once!" said Marie and Germaine in the same breath. Jean quickly disposed of his breakfast by taking a slice of bread and eating it as he went.
The quay presented a lively appearance indeed. There were nearly a dozen gaudily painted wagons, while near by were tethered the horses. The women were preparing the morning meal outside the wagons, which served for houses, while the men fed the horses or fished in the river, and the children played about, or followed the visitors with outstretched hands asking for pennies.
"I should like to give them something," said Marie, "but you know they are not allowed to beg while they are in the village, and we should not encourage them to break the law. I will go back, though, and ask aunty to give me some cakes for them," and the kind-hearted girl ran back to Madame Daboll's.
Meanwhile Jean was wondering what was inside the wagons with CIRQUE painted in big black letters on their sides. Near a bright yellow van were tethered two goats which were carried for their milk. Goat's milk is much used in France among the poorer classes, especially in the southern part of the country, and the white goat's milk cheeses are rather good, when one gets used to the peculiar flavour.