CHAPTER XII. THE VILLAGE LIONESS However, when he had repaired the disorder of travel in his clothes and his horses accoutrements, when he was mounted upon gris and had ascertained the road to fourche, he reflected that there was no drawing back and that he must forget that night of excitement as a dangerous dream. He found Perlenard, in the doorway of his white house, sitting on a pretty wooden bench painted spinach green. There were six stone steps leading to the front door, showing that the house had a cellar. The wall between the garden and hemp field was roughcast with lime and pebbles. It was an attractive place. One might almost have taken it for the abode of a substantial bourgeois. Germain's prospective father-in-law came to meet him, and after five minutes spent in questioning him concerning his whole family, he added this phrase, invariably used to question courteously, those whom one meets as to the object of their journey. So you have come out this way for a little ride, eh? I came to see you," replied the plowman, and to offer you this little gift of game from my father-in-law, and to say, also from him, that you would know my purpose in coming. Ha-ha! laughed Perlenard, patting his round-punch. I see, I hear, I understood. And he added, with a wink, you'll not be alone in paying your respects, my young friend. There are three in the house already, dancing attendants like you. I don't turn anybody away, and I should be hard-put to it to decide against any one of them, for they're all good matches. However, on account of pimo-rice and the quality of your lands, I should prefer you. But my daughters of age and mistress of her own property, so she will do as she pleases. Go in and introduce yourself. I hope you may draw the lucky number. Pardon, excuse me," replied Germain, greatly surprised to find himself one of several, where he had expected to be alone. I didn't know that your daughter was already provided with suitors, and I didn't come to dispute for her with others. If you thought that because you were slow in coming, retorted Perlenard, with undiminished good humor, you would catch my daughter napping, you have made a very great mistake, my boy. Catherine has something to attract husbands with, and she'll only have too many to choose from. But go into the house, I tell you, and don't lose courage. She's a woman worth disputing for. And pushing Germain by the shoulders with rough good humor, here, Catherine, he cried, entering the house, here's one more. This jovial but vulgar manner of being introduced to the widow, in the presence of her other suitors, put the finishing touch to the plowman's confusion and annoyance. He felt ill at ease, and stood for some moments without venturing to turn his eyes on the fair one and her court. The widow Guérin was well made, and did not lack freshness. But the expression of her face and her costume repelled Germain at the first glance. She had a forward, self-sustained air, and her mob cap trimmed with a triple row of lace, her silk apron, and her black lace fichu were decidedly not in harmony with the idea he had conceived of a sedate, serious-minded widow. This elegance in dress and her free and easy manners made her appear old and ugly to him, although she was neither. He thought that such coquettish attire, and playful manners, would be well suited to the age and keen wit of Little Marie, but that such pleasantry on the widow's part was heavy and stale, and that there was no distinction in the way she wore her fine clothes. The three suitors were sitting at a table laden with food and wine, which were kept there for them through the whole of Sunday morning, for Père Lennard loved to exhibit his opulence, nor was the widow sorry to display her fine plate, and to keep open house like a woman of means. Germain, simple and trustful as he was, did not lack penetration in his observation of things, and for the first time in his life he stood on the defensive while drinking. Père Lennard had compelled him to take a seat with his rivals, and seating himself opposite him he treated him as handsomely as possible, and devoted himself to him with evident partiality. The gift of game, despite the breach Germain had made in it on his own account, was still considerable enough to produce an effect. The widow seemed to appreciate it, and the suitors eyed it disdainfully. Germain felt ill at ease in that company, and did not eat with any hardiness. Père Lennard rallied him about it. You seem very down in the mouth, he said, and you're sulking with your glass. You mustn't let love spoil your appetite, for a fasting lover can't find so many pretty things to say, as the man who has sharpened up his wits with a mouthful of wine. Germain was mortified that it should be assumed that he was in love, and the effected demeanor of the widow who lowered her eyes with a smile, like one who is sure of her game, made him long to protest against his alleged surrender, but he feared to seem discourteous, so he smiled and took patience. The widow's lovers seemed to him like three rustic clowns. They must have been rich, or she would not have listened to their suits. One of them was more than forty, and was about as stout as Père Lennard.  The third was young and not a bad-looking fellow, but he attempted to be witty, and said such insane things that one could but pity him.  Germain thought at first that she was in love with the young man, but he soon perceived that he was himself the recipient of marked encouragement, and that she wished him to yield more readily to her charms. That was to him a reason for feeling and appearing even colder and more solemn. The hour of mass arrived, and they left the table to attend in a body. They had to go to Mère, a good half-league away, and Germain was so tired that he would have been glad of an opportunity to take a nap first, but he was not in the habit of being absent from mass, and he started with the others. The roads were filled with people, and the widow walked proudly along, escorted by her three suitors, taking the arm of one, then of another, bridling up and carrying her head high. She would have been very glad to exhibit the fourth to the passers-by, but it seemed so ridiculous to be paraded thus in company by a petticoat in everybody's sight that he kept at a respectable distance, talking with Perlinard and finding a way to divert his thoughts and occupy his mind so that it did not seem to belong to the party. CHAPTER XIII THE MASTER When they reached the village, the widow stopped to wait for them. She was determined to make her entry with her whole suite, but Germain, refusing to afford her that satisfaction, left Perlinard, spoke with several people of his acquaintance, and entered the church by another door. The widow was vexed with him. After the mass she made her appearance in triumph on the Greensward, where dancing was in progress, and opened three successive dances with her three lovers. Germain watched her and concluded that she danced well, but with affectation. Well, said Lennard, clapping him on the shoulder, so you don't ask my daughter to dance, you are altogether too bashful. I don't dance since I lost my wife, the plowman replied. Oh! But when you're looking for another, morning's at an end in your heart as well as in your clothes. That's no argument, Perlinard. Besides, I feel too old. I don't care for dancing any more. Archie! rejoined Lennard, leading him apart. You took offense when you entered my house, because you found the citadel already surrounded by besiegers, and I see that you're very proud, but that isn't reasonable, my boy. My daughters used to be encorted, especially these last two years since her morning came to an end, and it isn't her place to make advances to you. Your daughter has been free to marry again for two years, you say, and hasn't made up her mind yet, said Germain. She doesn't choose to hurry, and she's right, although she has rather a lively way with her, and you may think she doesn't reflect much. She's a woman of great good sense, and one who knows very well what she's about. I don't see how that can be, said Germain ingeniously, for she has three gallons in her train, and if she knew what she wanted, at least two of them would seem to her to be in the way, and she would request them to stay at home. Why so? You don't know anything about it, Germain. She doesn't want either the old man, or the one-eyed one, or the young one. I'm almost certain of it, but if she should turn them away, people would say she's meant to remain a widow and no others would come. Ah, yes, they act as a signpost for her. As you say, where's the harm if they like it? Everyone to his taste, said Germain. That wouldn't be to your taste, I see, but come now. We can come to an understanding, supposing that she prefers you. The field could be left clear for you. Yes, supposing, and how long must I stand with my nose in the air before I can find out? That depends on yourself, I fancy, if you know how to talk and argue. So far my daughter has understood very clearly that the best part of her life would be the part that she passed in letting men court her, and she doesn't feel in any hurry to become one man's servant when she can give orders to several. And so, as long as the game pleases her, she can divert herself with it. But if you please her more than the game, the game may be stopped. All you have to do is not to be discouraged. Come every Sunday, ask her to dance, give her to understand that you're on the list, and if she finds you more likeable and better informed than the others, I don't doubt that she'll tell you so some fine day. Excuse me, Perelinard, your daughter is entitled to act as she pleases, and I have no right to blame her. I would act differently if I were in her place. I'd be more honest, and I wouldn't let men throw away their time who probably have something better to do than hang around a woman who laughs at them. But, after all, if that entertains her and makes her happy, it's none of my business. But I must tell you one thing that is a little embarrassing for me to confess since this morning, seeing that you began by making a mistake as to my intentions and didn't give me any time to reply, so that you believe something that isn't so. Pray understand that I didn't come here to ask for your daughter's hand, but to buy a pair of oxen that you intend to take to the fair next week, and that my father-in-law thinks will suit him. I understand, Jermaine, said Linnard, calmly. You changed your mind when you saw my daughter with her lovers. That's as you please. It seems that what attracts one repels another, and you have the right to withdraw as long as you haven't spoken yet. If you really want to buy my oxen, come and look at them in the pasture. We'll talk it over, and whether we strike a bargain or not, you'll come and take dinner with us before you go back. I don't want you to put yourself out, replied Jermaine. Perhaps you have business here. I'm a little tired of watching them dance and of doing nothing. I'll go to look at your cattle and join you later at your house. Thereupon Jermaine slipped away and walked towards the meadows, where Linnard had pointed out some of his beasts in the distance. It was true that Pam Maurice wanted to buy, and Jermaine thought that if he should take back a good yoke at a moderate price, he would be pardoned more readily for having voluntarily failed to accomplish the real object of his journey. He walked fast and was soon within a short distance of ormo. Thereupon he felt that he must go and kiss his son and see Little Meckie once more, although he had lost the hope and banished from his mind the thought of owing his happiness to her. All that he had seen and heard, the vain giddy woman, the father at once cunning and shallow, who encouraged his daughter in her pride and disingenuous habits, the imitation of city luxury which seemed to him an offence against the dignity of country manners, the time wasted in indolent, foolish conversation, that household so different from his own, and above all the profound discomfort that the husbandman feels when he lays aside his laborious habits, all the ennui and annoyance he had undergone within the last few hours made Jermaine long to be once more with his child and his little neighbor. Even if he had not been in love with the latter, he would have sought her nonetheless for distraction and to restore his mind to its accustomed channels. But he looked in vain in the neighboring fields. He saw neither Little Meckie nor Little Pierre, and yet it was the time when the shepherds are in the fields. There was a large flock in a pasture. He asked a young boy who was tending them if the sheep belonged to the farm of Ormaux. Yes, said the child. Are you the shepherd?  No, I'm tending them today because the shepherdess has gone away. She was sick. But haven't you a new shepherdess who came this morning? Oh yes, she's gone too already. What? Gone? Didn't she have a child with her? Yes, a little boy, he cried. They both went away after they'd been here two hours. Where did they go? Where they came from, I suppose, I didn't ask them. But what did they go away for? said Jermaine with increasing anxiety. Why, how do I know? Didn't they agree about wages? But that must have been agreed on beforehand. I can't tell you anything about it. I saw them go in and come out, that's all. Jermaine went on to the farm and questioned the farm-hands. No one could explain what had happened, but all agreed that after talking with the farmer the girl had gone away without saying a word, taking with her the child who was weeping. Did they ill-treat my son? cried Jermaine, his eyes flashing fire. He was your son, was he? How did he come to be with that girl? Where are you from and what's your name? Jermaine, seeing that his questions were answered by other questions, according to the custom of the country, stamped his foot impatiently and asked to speak with the master. The master was not there. He was not in the habit of staying the whole day when he came to the farm. He had mounted his horse and ridden off to some other of his farms. But surely you can find out the reason of that young girl's going away, said Jermaine assailed by keen anxiety. The farm-hand exchanged a strange smile with his wife, then replied that he knew nothing about it, that it did not concern him. All that Jermaine could learn was that the girl and the child had gone in the direction of Fursch. He hurried to Fursch. The widow and her lovers had not returned, nor had Perlennard. The servant told him that a young girl and a child had come there and inquired for him, but that she, not knowing them, thought it best not to admit them and advised them to go to Mare. Why did you refuse to let them in, said Jermaine angrily? Are you so suspicious in these parts that you don't open your door to your neighbor? Oh bless me, the servant replied. In a rich house like this one has to keep a sharp look out. I am responsible for everything when the masters are away, and I can't open the door to everybody that comes. That's a vile custom, said Jermaine, and I'd rather be poor than live in fear like that. Adieu, girl. Adieu to your wretched country. He inquired at the neighboring houses. Everybody had seen the shepherdess and the child. As the little one had left Belair unexpectedly, without being dressed for the occasion, with a torn blouse and his little lamb's fleece over his shoulders, and as little Melchie was necessarily very shabbily dressed at all times, they had been taken for beggars. Someone had offered them bread. The girl had accepted a piece for the child who was hungry, then she had walked away very fast with him and had gone into the woods. Jermaine reflected for a moment, then asked if the farmer from Ormaux had not come to force. Yes, was the reply. He rode by on horseback a few minutes after the girl. Did he ride after her? Ah, you know him, do you? laughed the village innkeeper, to whom he had applied for information. Yes, to be sure, he's a devil of a fellow for running after the girls, but I don't believe he caught that one, although after all, if he had seen her. That's enough, thanks. And he flew, rather than ran, to Lennard's stable. He threw the saddle and greased his back, leaped upon her, and galloped away in the direction of the woods of Chantaloupe. His heart was beating fast with anxiety and wrath. The perspiration rolled down his forehead. He covered grease his side with blood, although the mayor, when she found that she was on the way to her stable, did not need to be urged to go at full speed. The Old Woman Jermaine soon found himself at the spot on the edge of the pool where he had passed the night.  Jermaine stopped to question her. She was deaf and misunderstood his questions. Yes, my boy, she said, this is the devil's pool. It's a bad place, and you mustn't come near it without throwing three stones in with your left hand and crossing yourself with your right. That drives away the spirits. Unless they do that, misfortune comes to those who walk around I didn't ask you about that, said Jermaine, drawing nearer to her and shouting at the top of his voice. Haven't you seen a girl and a young child going through the woods? Yes, said the Old Woman. There was a small child drowned there. Jermaine shivered from head to foot, but luckily the Old Woman added, that was a long, long while ago. They put up a beautiful cross, but on a fine, stormy night the evil spirits threw it into the water. You can still see one end of it. If anyone had the bad luck to stop here at night, he would be very sure not to be able to go away before dawn. It would do him no good to walk. Walk. He might travel two hundred leagues through the woods, and find himself still in the same place. The Plowman's imagination was impressed. Do what he would, by what he heard, and the idea of the misfortune which might follow, to justify the remainder of the Old Woman's assertions, took such complete possession of his brain that he felt cold all over his body. Despairing of obtaining any additional information, he mounted his horse and began to ride through the woods, calling Pierre at the top of his voice, whistling, cracking his whip, breaking off branches to fill the forest with the noise of his progress, then listening to see if any voice answered. But he heard not, but the bells on the cows scattered among the bushes and the fierce grunting of pigs fighting over the acorns. At last Germain heard behind him the footsteps of a horse following in his track, and a man of middle age, swarthy, robust, dressed like a semi-bourgeois, shouted to him to stop. Germain had never seen the farmer of Ormaux, but an angry instinct led him to determine at once that it was he. He turned, and eyeing him from head to foot waited to hear what he had to say to him. Haven't you seen a young girl of fifteen or sixteen with a little boy passed this way? said the farmer, affecting in a different manner though he was visibly moved. What do you want of her? demanded Germain, not seeking to disguise his indignation. I might tell you that that was none of your business, my friend, but as I have no reason to hide it, I will tell you that she's a shepherdess I hired for the year without knowing her. When she came to the farm she seemed to me too young, and not strong enough for the work. I thanked her, but I insisted on paying her what her little journey had cost, and she went off in a rage while my back was turned. She was in such a hurry that she even forgot part of her things, and her purse which hasn't very much in it to be sure, a few soo, I suppose. But as I had business in this direction I thought I might meet her, and give her what she forgot and what I owe her. Germain was too honest a soul not to hesitate when he heard that story, which was possible, at least, if not very probable. He fixed a piercing gaze on the farmer who bore his scrutiny with much impudence or else with perfect innocence. I want to have a clear conscience, said Germain to himself, and restraining his indignation he continued aloud. She's a girl from our neighborhood. I know her. She must be somewhere about here. Let us go on together. We shall find her, I've no doubt. You are right, said the farmer. Let's go on. But if we don't find her at the end of the path, I give it up. For I must take the Argonne road. Oh ho! thought the plowman. I won't leave you, even if I should have to twist around the devil's pool with you for twenty-four hours. Stay! said Germain suddenly, fixing his eyes on a clump of furs which was moving back and forth in a peculiar way. Ho la, ho la, petit Pierre, my child, is that you? The child, recognizing his father's voice, leaped out of the bushes like a kid. But when he saw that he was with the farmer, he stopped, as if in terror, and stood still, uncertain what to do. Come, my Pierre, come, it's me! cried the plowman, riding toward him and leaping down from his horse to take him in his arms. And where's little Marie? She's hiding there because she's afraid of that bad, black man. And so am I. Oh, don't you be afraid. I'm here. Marie, Marie, it's me. Marie came crawling out from the bushes, and as soon as she saw Germain, whom the farmer was following close, she ran and threw herself into his arms, and clinging to him like a daughter to her father, she exclaimed, Ah, my good Germain, you both defend me. I'm not afraid with you. Germain shuddered. He looked at Marie. She was pale. Her clothes were torn by the brambles through which she had run, seeking the thickest underbrush, like a doe with the hunters on her track. But there was neither despair nor shame on her face.  My master? She said proudly.   I want you to take me back with you. We'll work for you for nothing." The farmer had ridden forward, feigning some impatience. Ah, little one, he said, you forgot something which I have brought you. No, no, monsieur, replied little Marie. I didn't forget anything, and there's nothing I want to ask you for. Arqui, a minute, said the farmer. I have something to say to you. Come, don't be afraid, just two words. You can say them out loud. I have no secrets with you. Come and get your money, at least. My money? You don't owe me anything, thank God. I suspect it as much, said Germain, in an undertone. But never mind, Marie. Listen to what he has to say to you, for, for my part, I am curious to find out. You can tell me afterward. I have my reasons for that. Go, beside his horse, I won't lose sight of you. Marie took three steps toward the farmer, who said to her, leaning forward on the pommel of his saddle, and lowering his voice.  You won't say anything, understand? I'll say that I concluded you weren't strong enough for the work on my farm, and don't let anything more be said about it. I'll come and see you again one of these days, and if you haven't said anything, I'll give you something else. And then, if you're more reasonable, you'll only have to say the word. I will take you home with me. Or else come and talk with you in the pasture, at dusk. What present shall I bring you?  I thank you very much, and I beg you to let me know beforehand when you are coming our way. All the young men in my neighborhood will turn out to receive you, because our people are very fond of bourgeois who try to make love to poor girls. You'll see, they'll be on the lookout for you.  You'd like to make people believe what isn't true, but you won't get any money out of me, I know your kind. Marie had recoiled in terror, but your main darted to the farmer's horse's head, seized the rain, and shook it vigorously. I understand now, he said, and I see plenty enough what the trouble was. Dismount, my man, come down and let us have a talk. The farmer was by no means anxious to take a hand in the game. He spurred his horse in order to free himself, and tried to strike the plowman's hand with his stick and make him relax his hold. But Jermaine eluded the blow, and taking him by the leg unhorsed him, and brought him to the heather where he knocked him down. Although the farmer was soon upon his feet again and defended himself sturdily. Coward, said Jermaine when he had him beneath him, I could break every bone in your body if I chose, but I don't like to harm anybody, and besides, no punishment would mend your conscience. However, you shan't stir from this spot until you have asked this girl's pardon on your knees. The farmer, who was familiar with affairs of that sort, tried to turn it off as a joke. He claimed that his offense was not so very serious, as it consisted only in words, and said that he was willing to beg the girl's pardon, on condition that he might kiss her, and that they should all go and drink a pint of wine at the nearest inn and part good friends.  There, blush if you can, and you had better take the road of the Ephraim, too, when you come to our town. He picked up the farmer's holly-staff, broke it across his knee to show the strength of his wrists, and threw the pieces away with a contemptuous gesture. Then, taking his son's hand in one of his, and little Melchize in the other, he walked away, trembling with indignation. End of chapters 12 through 14 of The Devil's Pool. Chapters 15 through 17 of The Devil's Pool. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Devil's Pool by George Song. Translated by George B. Ives. Chapter 15. The Return to the Farm. Within a quarter of an hour they had crossed the Moors. They trod it along the high road, and Gris naded every familiar object. Petit Pierre told his father what had taken place, so far as he had been able to understand it. When we got there, he said, that man came and talked to my Marie in the sheepfold, where we went first to see the fine sheep. I'd got up into the crib to play, and that man didn't see me. Then he said, good day to my Marie, and then he kissed her.  I thought it was a compliment. A custom of the place for new arrivals, just as Grandma, at your house, kisses the girls who take service with her, to show that she adopts them and will be like a mother to them. And then, continued Petit Pierre, who was very proud to have a story to tell, that man said something naughty, something you told me not to say, and not to remember, so I forgot it right away. But if my papa wants me to tell him what it was, no, my Pierre, I don't want to hear it, and I don't want you to remember it ever. Then I'll forget it again, said the child. And then that man acted as if he was mad because Marie said she was going away. He told her he'd give her all she wanted, a hundred francs. And Maimouli got mad, too. Then he went at her just like he was going to hurt her. I was afraid, and I ran up to Maimouli and cried. Then that man said like this, what's that? Where did that child come from? And he put up his stick to beat me. But Maimouli stopped him, and she said like this, we will talk by and by, Monsieur. Now I must take this child to Fouche, and then I'll come back again. And as soon as he'd gone out of the sheepfold, Maimouli says to me like this, let's run away, my Pierre. We must go away right off, for that man's a bad man, and he would only hurt us. Then we went behind the barns, and crossed a little field, and went to Fouche to look for you. But you weren't there, and they wouldn't let us wait for you. And then that man came up behind us on his black horse, and we ran still farther away. And then we went and hid in the woods. Then he came too, and we hid when we heard him coming. And then, when he'd gone by, we began to run for ourselves so as to go home. And then at last you came and found us. And that's all there was. I didn't forget anything, did I, Maimouli? No, Pierre. And it's the truth. Now, Jermaine, you will bear witness for me, and tell everybody at home that it wasn't for lack of courage and being willing to work that I couldn't stay over yonder. And I will ask you, Maimouli, said Jermaine, to ask yourself the question whether, when it comes to defending a woman and punishing a nave, a man of twenty-eight isn't too old? I'd like to know if Bastien, or any other pretty boy who has the advantage of being ten years younger than I am, wouldn't have been crushed by that man, as Petit Pierre calls him. What do you think about it? I think, Jermaine, that you have done me a very great service, and that I shall thank you for it all my life. Is that all?  I didn't have time, but I'll tell her at home, and I'll tell Grandma, too. This promise on his child's part gave Jermaine abundant food for reflection. The problem now was how to explain his position to his family, and while setting forth his grievances against the widow Guerin to avoid telling them what other thoughts had predisposed him to be so keen-sighted and so harsh in his judgment. When one is happy and proud, the courage to make others accept one's happiness seems easily within reach. But to be rebuffed in one direction and blamed in another is not a very pleasant plight. Luckily Pierre was asleep when they reached the farm, and Jermaine put him down on his bed without waking him. Then he entered upon such explanations as he was able to give. Pamorese, sitting upon his three-legged stool in the doorway, listened gravely to him, and although he was ill-pleased with the result of the expedition. When Jermaine, after describing the widow's system of coca-tree, asked his father-in-law if he had time to go and pay court to her fifty-two Sundays in the year, with the chance of being dismissed at the end of the year, the old man replied, nodding his head in token of assent. You are not wrong, Jermaine, that couldn't be. And again, when Jermaine told how he had been compelled to bring little Mellie home again without loss of time to save her from the insults, perhaps from the violence of an unworthy master, Pamorese again nodded assent, saying, You are not wrong, Jermaine, that's as it should be. When Jermaine had finished his story and given all his reasons, his father-in-law and mother-in-law simultaneously uttered a heavy sigh of resignation as they exchanged glances. Then the head of the family rose, saying, Well, God's will be done. Affection isn't made to order. Come to supper, Jermaine, said the mother-in-law. It's a pity that couldn't be arranged better. However, it wasn't God's will, it seems. We must look somewhere else. Yes, the old man added, as my wife says, We must look somewhere else.  Jermaine tried to forget, too, by plunging into his work again, but he became so melancholy and so absent-minded that everybody noticed it. He did not speak to little Meli, he did not even look at her, and yet, if anyone had asked him in which pasture she was, or in what direction she had gone, there was not an hour in the day when he could not have told if he had chosen to reply. He had not dared ask his people to take her on at the farm during the winter, and yet he was well aware that she must be suffering from poverty. But she was not suffering, and Mary-Gilet could never understand why her little store of wood never grew less, and how her shed was always filled in the morning when she had left it almost empty the night before. It was the same with the wheat and potatoes. Someone came through the window in the loft and emptied a bag on the floor without waking anybody or leaving any tracks. The old woman was anxious and rejoiced at the same time. She bade her daughter not mention the matter, saying that if people knew what was happening in her house they would take her for a witch. She really believed that the devil had a hand in it. But she was by no means eager to fall out with him by calling upon the cure to exorcise him from her house. She said to herself that it would be time to do that when Satan came and demanded her soul in exchange for his benefactions. Little Macley had a clearer idea of the truth, but she dared not speak to Jermaine for fear that he would recur to his idea of marriage, and she pretended when with him to notice nothing. CHAPTER XVI. Mère Maurice One day Mère Maurice, being alone in the orchard with Jermaine, said to him affectionately, My poor son, I don't think you're well.  As anyone in the house, have we ourselves wounded you without meaning to do it or knowing that we have done it? No, mother, replied Jermaine. You have always been as kind to me as the mother who brought me into the world, and I should be an ungrateful fellow if I complained of you, or your husband, or anyone in the house. In that case, my child, it must be that your grief for your wife's death has come back. Instead of lessening with time your loneliness grows worse, and you absolutely must do what your father-in-law very wisely advised, you must marry again. Yes, mother, that would be my idea, too, but the women you advised me to seek don't suit me. When I see them, instead of forgetting Catherine, I think of her all the more. The trouble, apparently, is, Jermaine, that we haven't succeeded in divining your taste. So you must help us by telling us the truth. Doubtless there's a woman somewhere who was made for you, for the good Lord doesn't make anybody without putting by his happiness for him and somebody else. So if you know where to go for the wife you need, go and get her, whether she's pretty or ugly, young or old, rich or poor, we have made up our minds, my old man and I, to give our consent. For we're tired of seeing you so sad, and we can't live at peace if you are not. You are as good as the good Lord, mother, and so is father," replied Jermaine. But your compassion can't cure my trouble, the girl I would like won't have me. Is it because she's too young? It's unwise for you to put your thoughts on a young girl. Well, yes, mother, I am foolish enough to have become attached to a young girl, and I blame myself for it. I do all I can not to think of her, but whether I am at work or resting, whether I am at mass or in my bed, with my children or with you, I think of her all the time, and can't think of anything else. Why, it's as if there'd been a spellcast on you, Jermaine, isn't it? There's only one cure for it, and that is to make the girl change her mind and listen to you. So I must take a hand in it and see if it can't be done. You tell me where she lives and what her name is. Alas, my dear mother, I don't dare, said Jermaine, for you'll laugh at me. No, I won't laugh at you, Jermaine, because you're in trouble, and I don't want to make it any worse for you. Can it be Fanchette? No, mother, not her. Or Rosette. No. Tell me then, for I won't stop if I have to name all the girls in the province. Jermaine hung his head and could not make up his mind to reply. Well, said Mayor Maurice, I leave you in peace for today, Jermaine. Perhaps tomorrow you will feel more like trusting me, or your sister-in-law will show more skill in questioning you. And she picked up her basket to go and stretch her linen on the bushes. Jermaine acted like children who make up their minds when they see that you have ceased to pay any attention to them. He followed his mother-in-law, and at last gave her the name in fear and trembling, La Guillet's Little Mary. Great was Mayor Maurice's surprise. She was the last one of whom she would have thought. But she had the delicacy not to cry out at it, and to make her comments mentally. Then seeing that her silence was oppressive to Jermaine, she held out her basket to him, saying, Well, is that any reason why you shouldn't help me in my work? Carry this load, and come and talk with me. Have you reflected Jermaine? Have you made up your mind? Alas, dear mother, that's not the way you must talk. My mind would be made up if I could succeed, but as I shouldn't be listened to, I have made up my mind simply to cure myself if I can. And if you can't? Everything in its time, memories. When the horse is overloaded, he falls, and when the ox has nothing to eat, he dies.  God forbid, Jermaine. I don't like to hear a man like you say such things as that, because when he says them, he thinks them. You're a very brave man, and weakness is a dangerous thing in strong men. Come, take hope.  It's the truth, though. She does refuse me. What reasons does she give you? That you have always been kind to her, that her family owes a great deal to yours, and that she doesn't want to displease you by turning me away from a wealthy marriage. If she says that, she shows good feeling, and it's very honest on her part, but when she tells you that, Jermaine, she doesn't cure you, for she tells you she loves you, I don't doubt, and that she'd marry you if you were willing. That's the worst of it. She says that her heart isn't drawn toward me. If she says what she doesn't mean, the better to keep you away from her. She's a child who deserves to have us love her, and to have us overlook her youth, because of her great common sense. Yes, said Jermaine, struck with a hope he had not before conceived. It would be very good and very comial-full on her part, but if she's so sensible, I'm very much afraid it's because she doesn't like me. Jermaine, said Mayor Maurice, you must promise to keep quiet the whole week, and not worry, but eat and sleep and be gay as you used to be. I'll speak to my old man, and if I bring him round, then you can find out the girl's real feeling with regard to you. Jermaine promised, and the week passed without Mayor Maurice saying a word to him in private, or giving any sign that he suspected anything. The plowmen tried hard to seem tranquil, but he was paler and more perturbed than ever. CHAPTER XVII. LITTLE MAGGI. At last, on Sunday morning, as they came out for a mass, his mother-in-law asked him what he had obtained from his sweetheart since their interview in the orchard. Why, nothing at all, he replied, I haven't spoken to her. How do you expect to persuade her, pray, if you don't speak to her? I have never spoken to her, but once, said Jermaine, that was when we went to force together, and since then I haven't said a single word to her. Her refusal hurt me so that I prefer not to hear her tell me again that she doesn't love me. Well, my son, you must speak to her now. Your father-in-law authorizes you to do it. Come, make up your mind. I tell you to do it, and if necessary I insist on it, for you can't remain in this state of doubt. Jermaine obeyed. He went to Mayor Guiliers with downcast eyes and an air of profound depression. Little Maggi was alone in the chimney-corner, musing so deeply that she did not hear Jermaine come in. When she saw him before her, she leaped from her chair in surprise, and her face flushed. Little Maggi, he said, sitting beside her, I have pained you and wearyed you. I know. But the man and the woman at our house, so designating the heads of the family in accordance with custom, want me to speak to you and ask you to marry me. You won't be willing to do it. I expect that.  That offends you, I know, but it isn't my fault. If you could change your mind, I would be too happy, and I suppose I don't deserve to have it so. Come, look at me, Maggi, am I so very frightful? No, Jermaine, she replied with a smile. You're better looking than I am. Don't laugh at me. Look at me indulgently. I haven't lost a hair or a tooth yet. My eyes tell you that I love you. Look into my eyes. It's written there, and every girl knows how to read that writing. Mary looked into Jermaine's eyes with an air of playful assurance. Then she suddenly turned her head away and began to tremble. Ah, mon Dieu, I frighten you, said Jermaine. You look at me as if I were the farmer of our moe. Don't be afraid of me. I beg of you. That hurts me too much. I won't say bad words to you. I won't kiss you against your will. And when you want me to go away, you have only to show me the door. Tell me, must I go out so that you stop trembling? Meli held out her hand to the plowmen, but without turning her head, which was bent toward the fireplace and without speaking. I understand, said Jermaine.  You are sorry to make me unhappy, but still you can't love me, can you? Why do you say such things to me, Jermaine? Little Meli replied at last.     But I should have died of shame rather than ask you for a kiss. And I suffered as much that night as a man roasting over a slow fire. Since then I've dreamed of you every night. Ah! How I have kissed you, Meli. But you slept without dreaming all the time. And now do you know what I think? That if you should turn and look at me with such eyes as I have for you, and if you should put your face to mine, I believe I should fall dead with joy.  Jermaine talked as if he were dreaming and did not know what he said. Little Meli was still trembling. But as he was trembling even more than she, he did not notice it. Suddenly she turned. She was all in tears and looked at him with a reproachful expression. The poor plowman thought that that was the last stroke and rose to go without awaiting his sentence. But the girl detained him by throwing her arms about him and hit her face against his breast. Ah! Jermaine! she said sobbing. Haven't you guessed that I love you? Jermaine would have gone mad had not his son, who was looking for him, and who entered the cottage galloping on a stick with his little sister uncrew. Lashing the imaginary steed with a willow switch recalled him to himself. He lifted him up and said as he put him in his fiance's arms. You have made more than one person happy by loving me. End of chapters 15, 16, and 17 of The Devil's Pool. Parts 1 and 2 of The Appendix to The Devil's Pool. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Devil's Pool by George Song. Translated by George B. Ives. Appendix. Part 1. The Country Wedding. Here ends the story of Jermaine's courtship, as he told it to me himself, cunning ploughman that he is. I ask your pardon, dear reader, for having been unable to translate it better, for the old-fashioned artless language of the peasants of the district that I sing, as they used to say, really has to be translated. Those people speak too much French for us, and the development of the language since Rabilet and Montaigne has deprived us of much of the old wealth. It is so with all progress, and we must make up our minds to it. But it is pleasant still to hear those picturesque idioms in general use on the old soil of the center of France, especially as they are the genuine expressions of the mockingly tranquil and pleasantly loquacious character of the people who use them. Terrain has preserved a considerable number of precious patriarchal locutions, but Terrain has progressed rapidly in civilization during and since the Renaissance. It is covered with chateaux, roads, activity, and foreigners. Berry has remained stationary, and I think that, next to Bretagne and some provinces in the extreme south of France, it is the most conservative province to be found at the present moment. Certain customs are so strange, so curious, that I hope to be able to entertain you a moment longer, dear reader, if you will permit me to describe in detail a country wedding. Germains, for instance, which I had the pleasure of attending a few years ago. For everything passes away, alas. In the short time that I have lived there has been more change in the ideas and customs of my village than there was for centuries before the revolution. Half of the Celtic, pagan, or middle-aged ceremonials that I saw in full vigor in my childhood have already been done away with. Another year or two, perhaps, and the railroads were one their levels through our deep valleys, carrying away with the swiftness of lightning our ancient traditions and our wonderful legends. It was in winter, not far from the carnival, the time of year when it is considered becoming and proper among us to be married. In the summer we hardly have time, and the work on a farm cannot be postponed three days to say nothing of the extra days required for the more or less laborious digestion attending the moral and physical intoxication that follows such a festivity. I was sitting under the huge mantelpiece of an old-fashioned kitchen fireplace, when pistol shots, the howling of dogs, and the shrill notes of the bagpipe announced the approach of the fiancés. Soon Père and Mère Maurice, Germain, and Little Merlie, followed by Jacques and his wife, the nearest relations of the bride and groom, and their godfathers and godmothers, entered the courtyard. Little Merlie, not having as yet received the wedding gifts, called Livret, was dressed in the best that her modest wardrobe afforded, a dress of dark-gray cloth, a white fishu with large bright-colored flowers, an apron of the color called Incarnat, an Indian red then much in vogue, but despised today, a cap of snow-white muslin and of the shape fortunately preserved, which recalls the headdress of Anne Boleyn and Agnes Sorrell. She was fresh and smiling, and not at all proud, although she had good reason to be. Germain was beside her, grave and deeply moved, like the youthful Jacob saluting Rachel at Labine's Well. Any other girl would have assumed an air of importance in a triumphant bearing, for in all ranks of life it counts for something to be married for one's beau-eux. But the girl's eyes were moist and beaming with love. You could see that she was deeply smitten, and that she had no time to think about the opinions of other people. She had not lost her little determined manner, but she was all sincerity and good nature. There was nothing impertinent in her success, nothing personal in her consciousness of her strength. I never saw such a sweet fiancee as she, when she quickly answered some of her young friends, who asked her if she was content. Bless me indeed I am, I don't complain of the good Lord. Per Maurice was the spokesman. He had come to offer the customary compliments and invitations. He began by fastening a laurel branch adorned with ribbons to the mantelpiece. That is called the exploit, that is to say, the invitation. Then he gave to each of the guests a little cross made of a bit of blue ribbon, crossed by another bit of pink ribbon, the pink for the bride, the blue for the groom, and the guests were expected to keep that token to wear on the wedding day, the women in their caps, the men in their buttonholes. It was the ticket of admission. Then Per Maurice delivered his speech. He invited the master of the house and all his company, that is to say, all his children, all his relations, all his friends, all his servants, to the marriage ceremony, to the feast, to the sports, to the dancing, and to everything that comes after. He did not fail to say, I come to do you the honor to invite you, a very proper locution, although it seems a misuse of words to us, as it expresses the idea of rendering honor to those who are deemed worthy thereof. Despite the general invitation carried thus from house to house throughout the parish, good breeding, which is extremely conservative among the peasantry, requires that only two persons in each family should take advantage of it, one of the heads of the family to represent the household, one of their children to represent the other members. The invitations being delivered, the fiancés and their relations went to the farm and dined together. Little Mellie tended her three sheep on the common land, and Germain turned up the ground as if there were nothing in the air. On the day before that fixed for the marriage, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the musicians arrived. That is to say, the bagpipers and veal players, with their instruments decorated with long floating ribbons, and playing a march written for the occasion, in a measure somewhat slow for the feet of any but natives, but perfectly adapted to the nature of the heavy ground and the hilly roads of that region. Pistol shots, fired by youths and children, announced the beginning of the ceremony. The guests assembled one by one and danced on the green suede in front of the house for practice. When night had come, they began to make strange preparations. They separated into two parties, and when it was quite dark, they proceeded to the ceremony of the livret. That ceremony was performed at the home of the fiancée, la guillet's cabin. La guillet took with her her daughter, a dozen or more young and pretty shepherdesses, her daughter's friends or relations, two or three respectable matrons, neighbors with well-oiled tongues, quick at retort, and unyielding observers of the ancient customs. Then she selected a dozen sturdy champions, her relations and friends, and lastly, the old hemp beater of the parish, a fine and fluent talker, if ever there was one. The role played in Britannia by the Bazvalon, or village tailor, is assumed in our country districts by the hemp beater, or the wool carter, the two professions being often united in a single person. He attends all solemnities, sad or gay, because he is essentially erudite and a fine speaker, and on such occasions it is always his part to act as spokesman in order that certain formalities that have been observed from time immemorial may be worthily performed. The wandering trades which take men into the bosoms of other families, and do not permit them to concentrate their attention upon their own, are well calculated to make them loquacious, entertaining, good talkers, and good singers. The hemp beater is peculiarly skeptical. He and another rustic functionary of whom we shall speak anon, the gravedigger, are always the strong-minded men of the neighborhood. They have talked so much about ghosts, and are so familiar with all the tricks of which those mischievous spirits are capable, that they fear them hardly at all. Night is the time when all three, hemp beaters, gravediggers, and ghosts principally exercise their callings. At night too, the hemp beater tells his harrowing tales. May I be pardoned for a slight digression. When the hemp has reached the proper point, that is to say, when it has been sufficiently soaked in running water and half-dried on the bank, it is carried to the yards of the different houses. There they stand it up in little sheaves, which, with their stalks spread apart at the bottom, and their heads tied together in balls, greatly resemble, in the dark, a long procession of little white phantoms, planted on their slim legs, and walking noiselessly along the walls. At the end of September, when the nights are still warm, they begin the process of beating by the pale moonlight. During the day, the hemp has been heated in the oven. It is taken out at night to be beaten hot. For that purpose, they use a sort of wooden horse, surmounted by a wooden lever, which, falling upon the grooves, breaks the plant without cutting it. Then it is that you hear at night, in the country, the sharp, clean-cut sound of three blows struck in rapid succession. Then there is silence for a moment. That means that the arm is moving the handful of hemp in order to break it in another place. And the three blows are repeated. It is the other arm acting on the lever, and so it goes on until the moon is dimmed by the first rays of dawn. As this work is done only a few days in the year, the dogs do not become accustomed to it, and how plaintively at every point of the compass. It is the time for unusual and mysterious noises in the country. The migrating cranes fly southward at such a height that the eye can hardly distinguish them in broad daylight. At night you can only hear them, and their horse complaining voices lost among the clouds seem like the salutation and the farewell of souls in torment, striving to find the road to heaven and compelled by an irresistible fatality to hover about the abodes of men not far from the earth. For these migratory birds exhibit strange uncertainty and mysterious anxiety in their aerial wanderings. It sometimes happens that they lose the wind when fitful breezes struggle for the mastery or succeed one another in the upper regions. Thereupon, when one of those reverses happens during the day, we see the leader of the lines soar at random through the air, then turn sharply about, fly back, and take his place at the rear of the triangular phalanx. While a skillful maneuver on the part of his companions soon brings them into line behind him. Often, after vain efforts, the exhausted leader abandons the command of the caravan. Another comes forward, takes his turn at the task, and gives place to a third who finds the current and leads the host forward in triumph. But what shrieks, what reproaches, what remonstrances, what fierce maledictions or anxious questions are exchanged by those winged pilgrims in an unfamiliar tongue. In the resident darkness you hear the dismal uproar circling above the houses, sometimes for a long while, and as you can see nothing, you feel in spite of yourself a sort of dread and a sympathetic uneasiness until the sobbing flock has passed out of hearing in space. There are other sounds that are peculiar to that time of year, and are heard principally in the orchards. The fruit is not yet gathered, and a thousand unaccustomed snappings and crackings make the trees resemble animate beings. A branch creaks as it bends under a weight that has suddenly reached the last stage of development, or an apple detaches itself and falls at your feet with a dull thud on the tamp ground. Then you hear a creature whom you cannot see, brushing against the branches and bushes as he runs away. It is the peasant's dog, the restless inquisitive prowler, impudent and cowardly as well, who insinuates himself everywhere, never sleeps, is always hunting for nobody knows what, watches you from his hiding place in the bushes, and runs away at the noise made by a falling apple, thinking that you are throwing a stone at him. On such nights as those gray, cloudy nights, the hemp beater narrates his strange adventures with will of the wists and white hairs, souls in torment and witches transformed into wolves, the witches dance at the crossroads and prophetic night owls in the graveyard. I remember passing the early hours of the night thus around the moving flails, whose pityless blow, interrupting the beater's tail at the most exciting point, caused a cold shiver to run through our veins. Often too the good man went on talking as he worked, and four or five words would be lost, awful words, of course, which we dared not ask him to repeat, and the omission of which imparted a more awe-inspiring mystery to the mysteries, sufficiently harrowing before of his narrative. In vain did the servants warn us that it was very late to remain out of doors, and that the hour for slumber had long since struck for us. They themselves were dying with longing to hear more, and with what terror did we afterward walk through the hamlet on our homewood way? How deep the church porch seemed, and how dense and black the shadow of the old trees? As for the graveyard, that we did not see, we closed our eyes as we passed it. But the hemp-beater does not devote himself exclusively to frightening his hearers any more than the sacristin does. He likes to make them laugh. He is jacos and sentimental at need. When love and marriage are to be sung, he it is who collects and retains in his memory the most ancient ballads, and transmits them to posterity. He it is, therefore, who, at wedding festivals, is entrusted with the character which we are to see him enact at the presentation of the livret to Little Marie. Part 2 The Livret When everybody was assembled in the house, the doors and windows were closed and fastened with the greatest care. They even barricaded the loophole in the attic. They placed boards, trestles, stumps, and tables across all the issues as if they were preparing to sustain a siege, and there was the solemn silence of suspense in that fortified interior until they heard in the distance singing and laughing and the notes of the rustic instruments. It was the bridegroom's contingent, germane at the head, accompanied by his stoutest comrades, by his relations, friends, and servants, and the grave-digger, a substantial, joyous procession. But as they approached the house, they slackened their pace, took council together, and became silent. The maidens, shut up in the house, had arranged little cracks at the windows, through which they watched them march up and form in battle array. A fine cold rain was falling, and added to the interest of the occasion, while a huge fire was crackling on the hearth inside. Marie would have liked to abridge the inevitable, tedious length of this formal siege. She did not like to see her lover catching cold, but she had no voice in the council under the circumstances, and indeed she was expected to join ostensibly in the mischievous cruelty of her companions. When the two camps were thus confronted, a discharge of firearms without created great excitement among all the dogs in the neighborhood. Those of the household rushed to the door, barking vociferously, thinking that a real attack was in progress, and the small children, whom their mothers tried in vain to reassure, began to tremble and cry. The whole scene was so well played that a stranger might well have been deceived by it, and have considered the advisability of preparing to defend himself against the band of brigands. Thereupon the grave-digger, the brygroom's bard and orator, took his place in front of the door, and in a legubrious voice began the following dialogue with the hemp-beater, who was stationed at the small round window above the same door. The grave-digger, alas, my good people, my dear parishioners, for the love of God opened the door. The hemp-beater, who are you pray, and why do you presume to call us your dear parishioners? We do not know you. The grave-digger, we are honest folk in sore distress. Be not afraid of us, my friends, receive us hospitably. The rain freezes as it falls, our poor feet are frozen, and we have come such a long distance that our shoes are split. The hemp-beater, if your shoes are split, you can look on the ground. You will surely find Ossier wise to make arseillettes. Little strips of iron in the shape of bows, with which shoes wouldn't were mended. The grave-digger, Ossier arseillettes are not very strong. You are making sport of us, good people, and you would do better to open the door to us.  Open then to poor pilgrims, who will die at your door if you do not have mercy on them. The hemp-beater, ah-ha, you are pilgrims? You did not tell us that. From what pilgrimage are you returning by your leave? The grave-digger, we will tell you that when you have opened the door, for we come from so far away that you would not believe it. The hemp-beater, open the door to you? Indeed, we should not dare trust you. Let us see. Are you from Saint-Sylvan de Pouligny? The grave-digger, we have been to Saint-Sylvan de Pouligny, but we have been farther than that. The hemp-beater, then you have been as far as Saint-Sylvan? The grave-digger, we have been to Saint-Sylvan de Pouligny, but we have been farther still. The hemp-beater, you lie, you have never been as far as Saint-Sylvan. The grave-digger, we have been farther, for we have just returned from Saint-Jacques de Compto-Stelle. The hemp-beater, what foolish tale are you telling us? We don't know that parish.   We are on our guard and you won't get in here. The grave-digger, alas, my dear man, have pity on us. We are not pilgrims as you have rightly guessed, but we are unfortunate poachers pursued by the keepers. The gendarm are after us too, and if you don't let us hide in your hayloft, we shall be caught and taken to prison. The hemp-beater, but what proof have we this time that you are what you say? For here is one falsehood already that you could not follow up. The grave-digger, if you will open the door we will show you a fine piece of game we have killed. The hemp-beater, show it now for we are suspicious. The grave-digger, well, open a door or a window so that we can pass in the creature. The hemp-beater, oh, nay-nay, not such fools. I'm looking at you through a little hole, and I see neither hunters nor game. At that point, a drover's boy, a thick-set use of Herculane strength, came forth from the group in which he had been standing unnoticed, and held up toward the window a goose, all plucked and impaled, on a stout-iron spit, decorated with bunches of straw and ribbons. Oidy-toidy cried the hemp-beater after he had cautiously put out an arm to feel the bird. That's not a quail or a partridge, a hare or a rabbit. It looks like a goose or a turkey. Upon my word, you are noble hunters, and that game did not make you ride very fast. Go elsewhere, my naves. All your falsehoods are detected, and you may as well go home and cook your supper. You won't eat ours. The gravedigger, alas, mon dieu, where shall we go to have our game cooked? It's very little among so many of us, and besides, we have no fire nor place to go to. At this time of night every door is closed, everybody has gone to bed. You are the only ones who are having a wedding feast in your house, and you must be very hard-hearted to leave us to freeze outside. Once more good people let us in. We won't cause you any expense.  The hemp-beater, do you think that we have any too much room, and that would cost nothing? The gravedigger, we have a little bundle of straw to make fire with. We will be satisfied with it. Only give us leave to place the spit across your fireplace. The hemp-beater, we will not do it. You arouse disgust, not pity in us. It's my opinion that you are drank, that you need nothing, and that you simply want to get into our house to steal our fire and our daughters. The gravedigger, as you refuse to listen to any good reason, we propose to force our way into your house. The hemp-beater, try it if you choose. We are so well protected that we need not fear you, you are insolent-naves too, and we won't answer you any more. Thereupon the hemp-beater closed the window-shutter with a great noise, and went down to the lower room by a ladder. Then he took the bride by the hand, the young people of both sexes joined them, and they all began to dance and utter joyous exclamations, while the matron sang in piercing tones, and indulged in loud peals of laughter in token of their scorn and defiance of those who were attempting an assault without. The besiegers, on their side, raged furiously together. They discharged their pistols against the doors, made the dogs growl, pounded on the walls, rattled the shutters, and uttered terror-inspiring yells. In short, there was such an uproar that you could not hear yourself talk, such a dust and smoke that you could not see yourself. The attack was a mere pretense, however. The moment had not come to violate the laws of etiquette. If they could succeed by prowling about the house in finding an unguarded passage, any opening whatsoever, they could try to gain an entrance by surprise. And then, if the bearer of the spit succeeded in placing his bird in front of the fire, that constituted a taking possession of the hearthstone. The comedy was at an end, and the bridegroom was victor. But the entrances to the house were not so numerous that they were likely to have neglected the usual precautions, and no one could have assumed the right to employ violence before the moment fixed for the conflict. When they were weary of jumping about and shouting, the hand-beater meditated a capitulation. He went back to his window, opened it cautiously, and hailed the discomfited procedures with a roar of laughter. Well, my boys, he said, you're pretty sheepish, aren't you? You thought that nothing would be easier than to break in here. You have discovered that our defences are strong, but we are beginning to have pity on you if you choose to submit and accept our conditions. The Gravedigger Speak, my good friends, tell us what we must do to be admitted to your fireside. The hand-beater, you must sing, my friends, but sing some song that we don't know, and that we can't answer with a better one. Never you fear, replied the gravedigger, and he sang in a powerful voice, to his six months since the springtime. When I walked upon the springing grass, replied the hand-beater, in a somewhat hoarse, but awe-inspiring voice.  You see that we stopped you at the first word. It was the prince's daughter. And she would married be, replied the hand-beater.  We know that a little too well. The Gravedigger What do you say to this? When from nonts I was returning. The hand-beater, I was weary, do you know. Oh, so weary! That's a song of my grandmother's day. Give us another one. The Gravedigger The other day, as I was walking. The hand-beater. Along by yonder charming wood. That's a silly one. Our grandchildren wouldn't take the trouble to answer you. What, are those all you know? The Gravedigger. Oh, we'll sing you so many of them that you will end by stopping short. Fully an hour was passed in this contest. As the two combatants were the most learned men in the province in the matter of ballads, and as their repertory seemed inexhaustible it might well have lasted all night, especially as the hand-beater seemed to take malicious pleasure in allowing his opponent to sing certain laments in ten, twenty, or thirty stanzas, pretending by his silence to admit that he was defeated. Thereupon there was triumph in the bridegroom's camp. They sang in chorus at the top of their voices, and everyone believed that the adverse party would make default. But when the final stanza was half-finished, the old hand-beater's harsh, coarse voice would bell out the last words, whereupon he would shout, You don't need to tire yourselves out by singing such long ones, my children. We have them at our fingers' ends. Once or twice, however, the hand-beater made a wry face, drew his eyebrows together, and turned with a disappointed air toward the observant matrons. The grave-digger was singing something so old that his adversary had forgotten it, or perhaps had never known it. But the good dames instantly sang the victorious refrain through their noses, in tones as shrill as those of the seagull, and the grave-digger, summoned to surrender, passed to something else. It would have been too long to wait until one side or the other won the victory. The bride's party announced that they would show mercy on condition that the other should offer her a gift worthy of her. Thereupon the song of the livray began, to an air as solemn as a church chant. The men outside sang in unison, Ouvrez la porte, ouvrez, merqui mon mignon. Au jaune de beau cadeau à vous présenter. Hélas, mami, laissez-nous l'entrée. To which the women replied from the interior in falsetto, in dull full tones. Mon père est en chagrine, ma mère est grande tritesse, et moi je suis fier de trop grande merci pour ouvrir ma porte à cet air, ici. The men repeated the first stanza down to the fourth line, which they modified thus. But the women replied in the name of the bride, in the same words as before. Through twenty stanzas at least, the men enumerated all the gifts in the livray, always mentioning a new article in the last verse. A beautiful divanto, apron, lovely ribbons, a cloth dress, lace, a gold cross, even to a hundred pins to complete the bride's modest outfit. The matrons invariably refused, but at last the young men decided to mention a handsome husband to offer, and they replied by addressing the bride, and singing to her with the men, ouvrez la porte, ouvrez, merci, mon mignon, c'est un beau man qui vient vous chercher. Allons, mami, les enlés, entrez. End of Parts I and II of the appendix of the Devil's Pool. Parts III and IV of the appendix to the Devil's Pool. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Devil's Pool by Georges Sainte. Translated by George B. Ives. Appendix. Part III The Wedding The hemp beater at once drew the wooden latch by which the door was fastened on the inside. At that time it was still the only lock known in most of the houses in our village. The bridegroom's party invaded the bride's dwelling, but not without a combat. For the boys stationed inside the house and even the old hemp beater and the old women made it their duty to defend the hearthstone. The bearer of the spit supported by his adherence was bound to succeed in bestowing his bird in the fireplace. It was a genuine battle, although they abstained from striking one another and there was no anger in it. But they pushed and squeezed one another with such violence and there was so much self-esteem at stake in that conflict of muscular strength that the results might be more serious than they seem to be amid the laughter and the singing. The poor old hemp beater who fought like a lion was pressed against the wall and squeezed until he lost his breath. More than one champion was floored and unintentionally trodden underfoot. More than one hand that grasped at the spit was covered with blood. Those sports are dangerous and the accidents were so serious in later years that the peasants determined to allow the ceremony of the Livret to fall into desitude. I believe that we saw the last of it at François-Mélan's wedding and still it was only a mock battle. The contest was animated enough at Germaine's wedding. It was a point of honor on one side and the other to attack and to defend La Guillet's fireside. The huge spit was twisted like a screw in the powerful hands that struggled for possession of it. A pistol shot set fire to a small store of hemp in skeins that light on a shelf suspended from the ceiling. That incident created a diversion and while some hastened to smother the germ of a conflagration the gravedigger who had climbed to the attic unperceived came down the chimney and seized the spit just as the drover who was defending it near the hearth raced it above his head to prevent its being snatched from him. Sometime before the assault the matrons had taken care to put out the fire fearing that someone might fall in and be burned while they were struggling close beside it. The facetious gravedigger in concert with the drover possessed himself of the trophy without difficulty therefore and threw it across the fire dogs. It was done. No one was allowed to touch it after that. He leaped into the room and lighted a bit of straw which surrounded the spit to make a pretense of cooking the goose which was torn to pieces and its limbs strewn over the floor. Thereupon there was much laughter and burlesque discussion. Everyone showed the bruises he had received and as it was often the hand of a friend that had dealt the blow there was no complaining or quarreling. The hemp beater who was half flattened out rubbed his sides saying that he cared very little for that but that he did protest against the stratagem of his good friend the gravedigger. And that if he had not been half-dead the hearth would not have been conquered so easily. The matrons swept the floor and order was restored. The table was covered with jugs of new wine. When they had drank together and recovered their breath the bridegroom was led into the center of the room and being armed with a staff was obliged to submit to a new test. During the contest the bride had been concealed with three of her friends by her mother her godmother and aunts who had seated the four girls on a bench in the farthest corner of the room and covered them over with a great white sheet. They had selected three of Mary's friends who were of the same height as she and wore caps of exactly the same height so that as the sheet covered their heads and descended to their feet it was impossible to distinguish them from each other. The bridegroom was not allowed to touch them except with the end of his wand and only to point out the one whom he judged to be his wife. They gave him time to examine them but only with his eyes and the matrons who stood by his side watched closely to see that there was no cheating. If he made a mistake he could not dance with his betrothed during the evening but only with her whom he had chosen by mistake. Germain finding himself in the presence of those phantoms enveloped in the same winding sheet was terribly afraid of making a mistake and as a matter of fact that had happened to many others for the precautions were always taken with scrupulous care. His heart beat fast. Little Melly tried to breathe hard and make the sheet move but her mischievous rivals did the same pushed out the cloth with their fingers and there were as many mysterious signs as there were girls under the veil. The square caps kept the veil so perfectly level that it was impossible to distinguish the shape of a head beneath its folds. Germain after ten minutes of hesitation closed his eyes commended his soul to God and stuck his staff out at random. He touched Little Melly's forehead and she threw the sheet aside with a cry of triumph. He obtained Lee of then to kiss her and taking her in his strong arms he carried her to the middle of the room and with her opened the ball which lasted until two o'clock in the morning. Then they separated to meet again at eight o'clock. As there was a considerable number of young people from the neighboring towns and as there were not beds enough for everybody each invited guest among the women of the village shared her bed with two or three friends while the young men lay pale mail on the hay in the loft at the farm. You can imagine that there was not much sleep there for they thought of nothing but teasing and playing tricks on one another and telling amusing stories. At all weddings there are three sleepless nights which no one regrets. At the hour pointed for setting out after they had eaten their soup au lait seasoned with a strong dose of pepper to give them an appetite for the wedding banquet bade fair to be abundant they assembled in the farm yard our parish church being suppressed they were obliged to go half a league away to receive the nuptial benediction it was a lovely cool day but as the roads were very bad every man had provided himself with a horse and took uncrew a female companion young or old germane was mounted upon gris who being well groomed newly shod and decked out in ribbons pranced and capered and breathed fire through her nostrils he went to the cabin for his fiance accompanied by his brother-in-law Jacques who was mounted on old gris and took marquillet and croup while germane returned triumphantly to the farm yard with his dear little wife then the merry cavalcade set forth escorted by children on foot who fired pistols as they ran and made the horses jump ma'am Maurice was riding in a small cart with germane's three children and the fiddlers they opened the march to the sound of the instruments Petit Pierre was so handsome that the old grandmother was immensely proud but the impulsive child did not stay long beside her he took advantage of a halt they were obliged to make when they had gone half the distance in order to pass a difficult ford to slip down and ask his father to take him up on gris in front of him no no said germane that will make people say unkind things about us you mustn't do it I care very little what the people of Saint Chartier say said little merry take him germane I beg you I shall be prouder of him than of my wedding dress germane yielded the point and the handsome trio dashed forward at gris's proudest gallop and in fact the people of Saint Chartier although very satirical and a little inclined to be disagreeable in their intercourse with the neighboring parishes which had been combined with theirs did not think of laughing when they saw such a handsome bridegroom and lovely bride and a child that a king's wife would have envied Petit Pierre had a full coat of blue bottle-colored cloth and a cunning little red waistcoat so short that it hardly came below his chin the village tailor had made the sleeve so tight that he could not put his little arms together and how proud he was he had a round hat with a black and gold buckle and a peacock's feather protruding jauntily from a tuft of guinea hens feathers a bunch of flowers larger than his head covered his shoulder and ribbons floated down to his feet the hemp beater who was also the village barber and wig maker had cut his hair in a circle covering his head with a bowl and cutting off all that protruded an infallible method of guiding the scissors accurately thus accoutred he was less picturesque surely than with his long hair flying in the wind and his lamb's fleece a la saint john the baptist but he had no such idea and everybody admired him saying that he looked like a little man his beauty triumphed over everything and ensued over what would not the incomparable beauty of childhood triumph his little sister solange had for the first time in her life a real cap instead of the little child's cap of indian muslin that little girls wear up to the age of two or three years and such a cap higher and broader than the poor little creature's whole body and how lovely she considered herself she dared not turn her head and sat perfectly straight and stiff thinking that people would take her for the bride as for little sylvain he was still in long dresses and lay asleep on his grandmother's knees with no very clear idea of what a wedding might be germain gazed affectionately at his children and said to his fiance as they arrived at the mayor's office do you know meli i ride up to this tour a little happier than i was the day i brought you home from the woods of shantaloupe thinking that you would never love me i took you in my arms to put you on the ground just as i do now but i didn't think we should ever be together again on good greece with this child on our knees i love you so much you see i love those dear little ones so much i am so happy because you love me and love them and because my people love you and i love my mother and my friends and everybody so much today that i wish i had three or four hearts to hold it all really one is too small to hold so much love and so much happiness i have something like a pain in my stomach there was a crowd at the mayor's door and at the church to see the pretty bride why should we not describe her costume it became her so well her cap of white embroidered muslin had flaps trimmed with lace in those days peasant women did not allow themselves to show a single hair and although their caps conceal magnificent masses of hair rolled in bands of white thread to keep the headdress in place even in these days it would be considered an immodest and shameful action to appear before men bareheaded they do allow themselves now however to wear a narrow band across the forehead which improves their appearance very much but i regret the classic headdress of my time the white lace against the skin had a suggestion of old-fashioned chastity which seemed to me more solemn and when the face was beautiful under those circumstances it was a beauty whose artless charm and majesty no words can describe little malry still wore that headdress and her forehead was so white and so pure that it defied the white of the linen to cast a shadow upon it although she had not closed her eyes during the night the morning air and above all things the inward joy of a soul as spotless as the sky and a little hidden fire held in check by the modesty of hues sent to her cheeks a flush as delicate as the peach blossom in the early days of April her white fissue chastly crossed over her bosom showed only the graceful contour of a neck as full and round as a turtle doves her morning dress a fine myrtle green cloth marked the shape of her slender waist which seemed perfect but was likely to grow and develop for she was only 17 she wore an apron of violet silk with the pinafore which our village women have made a great mistake in abolishing and which imparted so much modesty and refinement to the chest today they spread out their fissues more proudly but there is no longer that sweet flower of old-fashioned bodicity in their costume that made them resemble Holbein's virgins they are more coquettish more graceful the correct style in the old days was a sort of unbending stiffness which made their infrequent smiles more profound and more ideal at the oratory germane according to the usual custom place the trezon that is to say 13 pieces of silver in his fiancee's hand he placed on her finger a silver ring of a shape that remained invariable for centuries but has since been replaced by the band of gold as they left the church melry whispered is it the ring i wanted the one i asked you for germane yes he replied the one my Catherine had on her finger when she died the same ring for both my marriages thank you germane said the young wife in a serious tone and with deep feeling i shall die with it and if i die before you you must keep it for your little salange part four the cabbage they remounted their horses and rode rapidly back to bel-air the banquet was a sumptuous affair and lasted intermingled with dancing and singing until midnight the old people did not leave the table for 14 hours the grave digger did the cooking and did it very well he was renowned for that and he left his ovens to come and dance and sing between every two courses and yet he was epileptic was perebon-ton who would have suspected it he was as fresh and vigorous and gay as a young man one day we found him lying like a dead man in a ditch all distorted by his malady just at nightfall we carried him to our house in a wheelbarrow and passed the night taking care of him three days later he was at a wedding singing like a thresh leaping like a kid and frisking about in the old-fashioned way on leaving a marriage feast he would go and dig a grave and nail up a coffin he performed those duties devoutly and although they seemed to have no effect on his merry humor he retained a melancholy impression which hastened the return of his attacks his wife a paralytic had not left her chair for 20 years his mother is a hundred and forty years old and is still alive but he poor man so jovial and kind-hearted and amusing was killed last year by falling from his loft to the pavement doubtless he was suddenly attacked by his malady and had hidden himself in the hay as he was accustomed to do in order not to frighten and distress his family thus ended in a tragic way a life as strange as himself a mixture of gloom and folly of horror and hilarity amid which his heart remained always kind in his character lovable but we are coming to the third day of the wedding feast which is the most interesting of all and has been retained in full vigor down to our own day we will say nothing of the slice of toast that is carried to the nuptial bed that is an absurd custom which offends the modesty of the bride and tends to destroy that of the young girls who are present moreover I think that it is a custom which obtains in all the provinces and has no peculiar features as practiced among us just as a ceremony of the livret is the symbol of the taking possession of the bride's heart and home that of the cabbage is the symbol of the fruitfulness of the union after breakfast on the day following the marriage ceremony comes this strange performance which is of Golic origin but as it passed through the hands of the primitive Christians gradually became a sort of mystery or burlesque morality play of the middle ages to use the merriest and most energetic of the party disappear during the breakfast don their costumes and return escorted by the musicians dogs children and pistol shots they represent a couple of beggars husband and wife covered with the vilest rags the husband is the dirtier of the two it is vice that has degraded him the woman is unhappy simply and debased by her husband's evil ways they are called the gardener and the gardener's wife and claim to be fitted to watch and cultivate the sacred cabbage but the husband is known by several appellations all of which have a meaning he is called indifferently that because he wears a wig made of straw or hemp and to hide his nakedness which is ill protected by his rags he surrounds his legs and a part of his body with straw he also provides himself with a huge belly or a hump by stuffing straw or hay under his blouse the because he is covered with rags and lassi the peyenne he then which is the most significant of all because he is supposed by his cynicism and his debauched life to represent in himself the antipodes of all the christian virtues he arrives with his face dogged with grease and wine leaves sometimes swallowed up in a grotesque mask a wretched cracked earthen cup or an old wooden shoe hanging by a string to his belt he uses to ask alms in the shape of wine no one refuses him and he pretends to drink then pours the wine on the ground by way of libation at every step he falls and rolls in the mud he pretends to be most disgustingly drunk his poor wife runs after him picks him up calls for help tears out the hemp and hair that protrudes in springy locks from beneath her soiled cap weeps over her husband's degradation and reproaches him pathetically you wretch she says see what your bad conduct has reduced us to it's no use for me to spin to work for you to mend your clothes you never stop tearing and soiling them you have run through my little property our six children are in the gutter we live in a stable with the beast here we are reduced to asking alms and you're so ugly so revolting so despised that soon they will toss bread to us as they do to the dogs alas my poor moan take pity on us take pity on me i don't deserve my fate and no woman ever had a filthier more detestable husband help me to pick him up or else the wagons will crush him like an old broken bottle and i shall be a widow which would kill me with grief although everybody says it would be a great good fortune for me such is the role of the gardener's wife and her constant lamentation throughout the play for it is a genuine spontaneous improvised comedy played in the open air on the highways among the fields seasoned by all the incidents that happen to occur and in it everybody takes apart wedding guests and outsiders occupants of the houses and passersby for three or four hours in the day as we shall see the theme is always the same but it is treated in an infinite variety of ways and therein we see the instinct of mimicry the abundance of grotesque ideas the fluency the quickness at repartee and even the natural eloquence of our peasants the part of the gardener's wife is ordinarily entrusted to a slender beardless man with a fresh complexion who is able to give great verisimilitude to the character he assumes and to represent burlesque despair so naturally that the spectators may be amused and saddened at the same time as by the genuine article such thin beardless men are not rare in our country districts and strangely enough they are sometimes the most remarkable for muscular strength after the wife's wretched plight is made evident the younger wedding guests urge her to leave her sought of a husband and divert herself with them they offer her their arms and lead her away gradually she yields becomes animated and runs about now with one now with another behaving in a scandalous way a new moral lesson the husband's misconduct incites and causes misconduct on the part of his wife the peyenne thereupon awakens from his drunken stupor he looks about for his companion provides himself with a rope and a stick and runs after her they lead him along chase they hide from him they pass the woman from one to another they try to keep her amused and to deceive her jealous mate his friends try hard to intoxicate him at last he overtakes his faithless spouse and attempts to beat her the most realistic shrewdest touch in this parody of the miseries of conjugal life is that the jealous husband never attacks those who take his wife away from him he is very polite and prudent with them he does not choose to vent his wrath on anyone but the guilty wife because she is supposed to be unable to resist him but just as he raises his stick and prepares his rope to bind the culprit all the men in the wedding party interpose and throw themselves between the two don't strike her never strike your wife is the formula that is repeated to seity in these scenes they disarm the husband they force him to pardon his wife and embrace her and soon he pretends to love her more dearly than ever he walks about arm in arm with her singing and dancing until a fresh attack of intoxication sends him headlong to the ground once more and with that his wife's lamentations recommence her discouragement her pretended misconduct the husband's jealousy the intervention of the bystanders and the reconciliation there is in all this an ingenious even commonplace lesson which savers strongly of its origin in the middle ages but which always makes an impression if not upon the bride in groom who are too much in love and too sensible today to need it at all events upon the children and young girls and boys the pian so terrifies and disgusts the girls by running after them and pretending to want to kiss them that they fly from him with an emotion in which there is nothing artificial his besmeared face and his great stick perfectly harmless by the way makes the youngsters shriek with fear it is the comedy of manners in its most elementary but most impressive state when this farce is well underway they prepare to go in search of the cabbage they bring a handbarrow on which the peyenne is placed armed with a spade a rope and a great basket four strong men carry him on their shoulders his wife follows him on foot the ancients come in a group behind with grave and pensive mean then the wedding party falls in two by two keeping time to the music the pistol shots begin again the dogs howl louder than ever at sight of the unclean peyenne thus born in triumph the children salute him derisively with wooden clogs tied at the ends of strings but why this ovation to such a revolting personage they are marching to the conquest of the sacred cabbage the emblem of matrimonial fecundity and this besotted drunkard is the only man who can put his hand upon the symbolic plant there in doubtless is a mystery anterior to christianity a mystery that reminds one of the festival of the Saturnalia or some ancient bacchanalean revel perhaps this peyenne who is at the same time the gardener par excellence is nothing less than priapis in person the god of gardens and the mortuary a divinity probably chast and serious in his origin however like the mystery of reproduction but insensibly degraded by licentiousness of manners and disordered ideas however that may be the triumphal procession arrives at the bride's house and marches into her garden there they select the finest cabbage which is not quickly done for the ancients hold the council and discuss the matter at intermarible length each pleading for the cabbage which seems to him the best adapted for the occasion the question is put to a vote and when the choice is made the gardener fastens his rope around the stalk and goes as far away as the size of the garden permits the gardener's wife looks out to see that the sacred vegetable is not injured in its fall the gestures of the wedding party the hemp beater the grave digger the carpenter or the cobbler in a word all those who do not work on the land and who as they pass their lives and other people's houses are reputed to have and do really have more wit in a readier tongue than the simple agricultural laborers take their places around the cabbage one digs a trench with the spade so deep that you would say he was preparing to dig up an oak tree another puts on his nose a trogue made of wood or paste board an imitation of a pair of spectacles he performs the duties of engineer comes forward walks away prepares a plan overlooks the workman draws lines plays the pedant cries out that they are spoiling the whole thing orders the work to be abandoned and resumed according to his fancy and makes the performance as long and as absurd as he can is this in addition to the former program of the ceremony in mockery of theorists in general for whom the ordinary peasant has the most sovereign contempt or in detestation of land surveyors who control the register of lands and assess the taxes or of the employees of the departments of roads and bridges who convert common lands into highways and cause the suppression of time-worn abuses dear to the peasant heart certain it is that this character in the comedy is called the geometrician and that he does his utmost to make himself unbearable to those who handle the pick and shovel at last after quarter of an hour of memory and remonstrances so that the roots of the cabbage may not be cut and it can be transplanted without injury while spadefuls of earth are thrown into the faces of the bystanders woe to him who does not step aside quickly enough though he were a bishop or a prince he must receive the baptism of earth the peyenne pulls the rope the peyenne holds her apron and the cabbage falls majestically amid the cheers of the spectators then the basket is brought and the pig and couple proceed to plant the cabbage therein with all imaginable care and precautions they pack it in fresh soil they prop it up with sticks and strings as city florists do their superb potted camellias they plant red apples stuck on twigs branches of time sage and laurel all about it they deck the hole with ribbons and streamers they place the trophy on the handbarrow with the peyenne who is expected to maintain its equilibrium and keep it from accident and at last they leave the garden in good order to the music of a march but when they come to pass through the gate and again when they try to enter the bridegroom's yard an imaginary obstacle bars the passage the bearers of the barrel stumble utter loud exclamations step back go forward again and as if they were driven back by an invisible force seem to succumb under the burden meanwhile the rest of the party laugh heartily and urge on ensues the human team softly softly boy come courage look out patience stoop the gate is too low close up it's too narrow a little to the left now to the right come take heart there you are so it sometimes happens that in years of abundant crops the ox cart laden beyond measure with fodder or grain is too broad or too high to enter the barn door and such exclamations are shouted at the powerful cattle to restrain or excite them and with skillful handling and vigorous efforts the mountain of wealth is made to pass without mishap beneath the rustic triumphal arch especially with the last load called the gear boat are these precautions required for that is made the occasion of a rustic festival and the last sheaf gathered from the last furrow is placed on top of the load decorated with ribbons and flowers as are the heads of the oxen and the driver's goat thus the triumphal laborious entry of the cabbage into the house is an emblem of the prosperity and fruitfulness it represents arrived in the bridegroom's yard the cabbage is taken to the highest point of the house or the barn if there is a chimney a gable and a dove coat higher than the elevated portions the burden must at any risk be taken to that culminating point the peyenne accompanies it thither fixes it in place and waters it from a huge jug of wine while a salvo of pistol shots and the joyful contortions of the peyenne announces inauguration the same ceremony is immediately repeated another cabbage is dug up in the bridegroom's garden and born the same formalities to the roof that his wife has abandoned to go with him the trophies remain in place until the rain and wind destroy the baskets and carry off the cabbages but they live long enough to offer some chance of fulfillment of the prophecy that the old men and matrons utter as they salute them beautiful cabbage they say live and flourish so that our young bride may have a fine little baby before the end of the year for if you die too quickly it will be a sign of sterility and you will be stuck up there on top of the house like an evil omen the day is far advanced before all these performances are at an end it only remains to escort the husband and wife to the godfathers and godmothers when these putative parents live at a distance they are escorted by the musicians and all the wedding party to the limits of the parish there there is more dancing by the roadside and they kiss the bride and groom when they take leave of them the peyenne and his wife are then washed and dressed in clean clothes when they are not so fatigued by their roles that they have had to take a nap they were still dancing and singing and eating at the farmhouse at Belair at midnight on the third day of the festivities attending germain's wedding the old men were seated at the table unable to leave it and for good reason they did not recover their legs and their wits until the next day at dawn at that time while they sought their homes in silence and with uncertain steps germain proud and well content went out to yoke his cattle leaving his young wife to sleep until sunrise the lark singing as he flew upward to the sky seemed to him to be the voice of his heart giving thanks to providence the whore frost glistening on the bare bushes seemed to him the white april blossoms that precede the appearance of the leaves all nature was serene and smiling in his eyes little pier had laughed and jumped about so much the day before that he did not come to help him to drive his oxen but germain was content to be alone he fell on his knees in the furrow through which he was about to run his plow once more and repeated the morning prayer with such emotion that the tears rolled down his cheeks still moist with perspiration in the distance could be heard the songs of the youths from the adjoining parishes just starting for home and repeating in voices somewhat the worst for wear the merry refrains of the preceding night end of parts three and four of the appendix to the devil's pool end of the devil's pool