WHILE the steward, the bailiff, and the seneschal were experiencing
these little unpleasantnesses, of which they did not think it proper to
boast, preparations were being made for a great event at Kerver Castle,
namely, the marriage of Yvon and the fair-haired lady. Two days had
passed in these preparations, and all the friends of the family had
gathered together for twenty leagues round, when one fine morning Yvon
and his bride, with the Baron and Baroness Kerver, took their seats in a
great carriage adorned with flowers, and set out for the celebrated
church of St. Maclou.
A hundred knights, in full armor, mounted on horses decked with ribbons,
rode on each side of the betrothed couple, each with his visor raised
and his lance at rest in token of honor. By the side of each baron, a
squire, also on horseback, carried the seigniorial banner. At the head
of the procession rode the seneschal with a gilded staff in his hand.
Behind the carriage gravely walked the bailiff, followed by the vassals,
while the steward railed at the serfs, a noisy and curious rabble.
As they were crossing a brook a league from the castle, one of the
traces of the carriage broke, and they were forced to stop. The accident
repaired, the coachman cracked his whip, and the horses started with
such force that the new trace broke in three pieces. Six times this
provoking piece of wood was replaced, and six times it broke anew
without drawing the carriage from the hole where it was wedged.
Everyone had a word of advice to offer; even the peasants, as
wheelwrights and carpenters, were not the last to make a show of their
knowledge. This gave the steward courage; he approached the Baron, took
off his cap, and, scratching his head:
"My lord," said he, "in the house that you see shining yonder among the
trees there lives a woman who does things such as nobody else can do.
Only persuade her to lend you her tongs, and, in my humble opinion, they
will hold till morning."
The Baron made a sign, and ten peasants ran to the cottage of Finette,
who very obligingly lent them her gold tongs. They were put in the place
of the trace; the coachman cracked his whip, and off went the carriage
like a feather.
Everyone rejoiced, but the joy did not last long. A hundred steps
farther, lo! the bottom of the carriage gave way; little more and the
noble Kerver family would have sunk quite out of sight. The wheelwrights
and the carpenters set to work at once; they sawed planks, nailed them
down fast, and in the twinkling of an eye repaired the accident. The
coachman cracked his whip, and the horses started, when behold! half of
the carriage was left behind; the Baroness Kerver sat motionless by the
side of the bride, while Yvon and the Baron were carried off at full
gallop. Here was a new difficulty. Three times was the carriage mended;
three times it broke anew. There was every reason to believe that it was
enchanted.
Everyone had a word of advice to offer. This gave the bailiff courage.
He approached the Baron, and said in a low tone:
"My lord, in the house that you see shining yonder among the trees,
there lives a woman who does things such as nobody else can do. Only
persuade her to lend you her door for the bottom of the carriage, and,
in my opinion, it will hold till morning."
The Baron made a sign, and twenty peasants ran to the cottage of
Finette, who very obligingly lent them her gold door. They put it in the
bottom of the carriage where it fitted as if it had been made expressly
for it. The party took their seats in the carriage, the coachman cracked
his whip, the church was in sight, and all the troubles of the journey
seemed ended.
Not at all! Suddenly the horses stopped, and refused to draw. There were
four of them. Six, eight, ten, twenty-four more were put to the
carriage, but all in vain; it was impossible to stir them. The more they
were whipped the deeper the wheels sunk into the ground like the colter
of a plow.
What were they to do? To go on foot would have been a disgrace. To mount
a horse and ride to the church like simple peasants, was not the custom
of the Kervers. They tried to lift the carriage, they pushed the
wheels, they shook it, they pulled it, but all in vain. Meanwhile the
day was declining, and the hour for the marriage had passed.
Everyone had a word of advice to offer. This gave the seneschal courage.
He approached the Baron, alighted from his horse, raised his velvet cap,
and said:
"My lord, in the house that you see shining yonder among the trees,
there lives a woman who does things such as nobody else can do. Only
persuade her to lend you her cow to draw the carriage, and, in my
opinion, she will draw it till morning."
The Baron made a sign, and thirty peasants ran to the cottage of
Finette, who very obligingly lent them her golden-horned cow.
To go to church drawn by a cow was not, perhaps, what the ambitious
bride had dreamed of, but it was better than to remain unmarried in the
road. The heifer was harnessed therefore before the horses, and
everybody looked on anxiously to see what this boasted animal was
capable of doing.
But before the coachman had time to crack his whip, lo! the cow started
off as if she were about to go around the world anew. Horses, carriage,
Baron, betrothed, coachman, all were hurried away by the furious animal.
In vain the knights spurred their horses to follow the pair; in vain the
peasants ran at full speed, taking the crossroad and cutting across the
meadows. The carriage flew as if it had wings; a pigeon could not have
followed it.
On reaching the door of the church the party, a little disturbed by this
rapid journey, would not have been sorry to alight. Everything was ready
for the ceremony, and the bridal pair had long been expected; but,
instead of stopping, the cow redoubled her speed. Thirteen times she ran
round the church like lightning, then suddenly made her way in a
straight line across the fields to the castle with such force that the
whole party were almost shaken to pieces before their arrival.