[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
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Our Little French Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, $1.00
LIST OF TITLES
By COL. F. A. POSTNIKOV, ISAAC TAYLOR
HEADLAND, EDWARD C. BUTLER,
AND OTHERS
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Austrian Cousin=
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
=Our Little Bulgarian Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Great Northwest=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Maritime Provinces=
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
=Our Little Cossack Cousin=
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Czecho-Slovac Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
=Our Little English Cousin=
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little Finnish Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Jugoslav Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
=Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin=
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
=Our Little Quebec Cousin=
=Our Little Roumanian Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
=Our Little Servian Cousin=
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little South African (Boer) Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
=Our Little Ukrainian Cousin=
=Our Little Welsh Cousin=
=Our Little West Indian Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (Inc.)
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: GERMAINE]
Our Little
French Cousin
By
Blanche McManus
_Illustrated by_
The Author
[Illustration]
Boston
The Page Company
Publishers
_Copyright, 1905_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Made in U. S. A.
Published May, 1905
Fourth Impression, May, 1908
Fifth Impression, October, 1909
Sixth Impression, June, 1911
Seventh Impression, February, 1913
Eighth Impression, October, 1915
Ninth Impression, March, 1918
Tenth Impression, May, 1919
Eleventh Impression, February, 1922
Twelfth Impression, March, 1926
PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY
BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A.
INTRODUCTION
IF a little girl or boy helps another who is in trouble, they are sure
to be the best of friends. In the early days, before this country
became a great nation, when the Colonies were at war with England,
fighting for the independence and freedom which we now celebrate each
year on the Fourth of July, a French nobleman by the name of Lafayette
came across the sea to help us. We needed his help, and when the brave
Colonial soldiers at last won a great victory, and the Colonies became
one nation, we were very grateful to Lafayette for the help he had
given, and because he was a Frenchman, the people of France and the
people of the United States became fast friends.
This story was written to help us learn more about our wonderful French
cousins. Germaine, "Our Little French Cousin," happened to live in
Normandy, but her every-day life, her parents and her friends were just
like those of other French children. True, she travelled more than most
children, but if she had not, the story would not tell so much about
other parts of her native land.
It was in the early days of August, 1914, that the French people
learned that Germany, her conqueror in the Franco-Prussian war, had
again declared war, and was even then hammering at the forts of Belgium
so she could march her armies right into their beloved France.
The news stirred the French people, but while the brave little army of
Belgians halted the German troops, an army was gathered quickly under
the leadership of Joseph-Jacques-Cesaire Joffre, a man of humble birth
whom every one loved. We all know how the Prussian army defeated the
Belgians and how the French were forced to retreat until they reached
the River Marne, and then how they made a stand which resulted in such
a glorious victory for France.
During these bitter days Germaine, and thousands of other French
children, learned how to suffer and yet smile. She learned that her
beloved France could produce heroes as great as Bayard, Du Guesclin,
Ney, Henry of Navarre, Lafayette and Rochambeau. She never tired of
hearing stories of the great General Petain, a quiet, reserved man who
filled his troops with a new spirit which urged them on to another
great victory at Verdun.
When, in 1917, the American soldiers went to France to help the
French, the English, the Canadians, the Australians, the Belgians and
all the other Allies drive the Germans out of France and Belgium,
General Pershing, commander of the American Army, visited the tomb
of Lafayette. He placed a wreath upon the tomb and made the greatest
speech that was ever made in so few words. He said, "Lafayette, we're
here." So we repaid our debt to France.
Then General Ferdinand Foch was made Commander-in-chief of all the
armies that France and all the other nations had raised to show the
Germans that right is greater than might. Then Germaine became even
more proud of her native land when she was told of Georges Clemenceau,
the "Tiger" premier, who was so brave and so sure, always, of success,
and who played such a great part in making peace again throughout the
world.
As a reward for her many sacrifices during the four years of the most
cruel war the world has ever known, France regained her two lost
provinces, Alsace and Lorraine. In another volume, "Our Little Alsatian
Cousin," is told the story of the home life, the work and the play of
the little folks who live in these provinces which were long a part of
Germany, not because the people wanted it, but because Germany had won
the Franco-Prussian war.
Preface
"OUR Little French Cousin" is an attempt to tell, in plain, simple
language, something of the daily life of a little French girl, living
in a Norman village, in one of the most progressive and opulent
sections of France.
The old divisions, or ancient provinces, of France each had its special
characteristics and manners and customs, which to this day have endured
to a remarkable extent.
To American children, no less than to our English cousins, the memories
of the great names of history which have come down to us from ancient
Norman times are very numerous.
Besides the great Norman William who conquered England, and Richard
the Lion-hearted, there are the lesser lights, such as Champlain, La
Salle, and Jean Denys,--the discoverer of Newfoundland; and before them
was the Northman ancestor of Rollo, Lief, the son of Eric, who was
perhaps the real discoverer of America. All these link Normandy with
the New World in a manner that is perhaps not at first remembered.
"Our Little French Cousin" lives in Normandy, simply because she must
live somewhere, and not because any attempt has been made to specialize
or localize the every-day life of Germaine, her parents, and her
friends. Indeed, for a little French girl, it may be thought that she
had remarkable opportunities for acquaintanceship with the outside
world.
But to-day even little French girls live in a progressive world, and
what with tourists and automobilists, to say nothing of a reasonably
large colony of English-speaking folk who had actually settled near her
home, it was but natural that her outlook was somewhat different from
what it might have been had she lived a hundred years ago.
So far as France in general goes, the great world of Paris, and much
that lay beyond, were also brought to her notice in, it is believed,
a perfectly rational and plausible fashion; and thus within the
restricted limits of this little book will be found many references
to the life and history of Old France which, in one way or another,
has linked itself with the early days in the history of America, in a
manner of which little American cousins are in no way ignorant.
Joliet, Champlain, La Salle, Père Marquette, and many others first
pointed the way and mapped out the civilization of America, when it was
but the home of the red man, now so nearly disappeared.
Later came Lafayette and Rochambeau, who were indeed good friends to
the then new nation, and lastly, if it is permissible to think of it
in that light, the great Statue of Liberty, in New York Harbour, is
another witness of the friendliness of the French nation for the people
of the United States. A reciprocal echo of this is found in the recent
erection, in Paris, of a statue of Washington.
To her cousins across the sea little Germaine, "Our Little French
Cousin," holds out a cordial hand of greeting.
_Les Andelys, Eure, January, 1905._
Contents
PAGE
I. AT THE FARM OF LA CHAUMIÈRE 1
II. TO ROUEN ON A BARGE 23
III. THE FÊTES AT ROUEN 41
IV. GOING HOME BY TRAIN 62
V. THE MARKET AT GRAND ANDELYS 71
VI. GERMAINE AND THE ARTIST 83
VII. THE FÊTE OF ST. SAUVEUR 92
VIII. AN AUTOMOBILE JOURNEY 108
List of Illustrations
PAGE
GERMAINE _Frontispiece_
THE FARM OF _LA CHAUMIÈRE_ 8
"THE CITY BEGAN TO UNFOLD BEFORE THEM" 40
THE MARKET-SQUARE 75
THE CIRCUS 100
CHÂTEAU GAILLARD 106
[Illustration]
Our Little French Cousin
CHAPTER I.
AT THE FARM OF LA CHAUMIÈRE
"OH, mamma!" cried little Germaine, as she jumped out of bed and ran to
the window, "how glad I am it is such a beautiful day."
Germaine was up bright and early on this sunshiny day, for many
pleasant things were going to happen. However, this was not her only
reason for early rising. French people always do so, and little French
children are not allowed to lie in bed and to be lazy.
At the first peep of daylight Germaine's papa and mamma were up, and
soon the "little breakfast," as it is called, was ready in the big
kitchen of the farmhouse. Even the well-to-do farmers, like Germaine's
papa, eat their meals in their kitchens, which are also used as a
general sitting-room.
Everything about a French house is very neat, but especially so is the
kitchen, whose bare wooden or stone floor is waxed and polished every
day until it shines like polished mahogany. On the mantelpiece of
the kitchen of Germaine's home, which was more than twice as tall as
Germaine herself, was a long row of brass candlesticks, a vase or two,
and a little statue of the Madonna with flowers before it.
The fireplace took up nearly all of one side of the room, and was so
large that it held a bench in either side where one could sit and keep
nice and warm in winter. Hanging in the centre, over the fire, was a
big crane,--a chain with a hook on the end of it on which to hang pots
and kettles to boil. There were beautiful blue tiles all around the
fireplace, and a ruffle of cloth along the edge of the mantel-shelf.
Not far from the fireplace was a good cooking-stove, for the better
class farmers do not cook much on the open fire, as do the peasants.
All about the walls were hung row after row of copper cooking utensils
of all kinds and shapes, all highly polished with "_eau de cuivre_."
Madame Lafond, Germaine's mamma, prided herself on having all her pots
and pans shine like mirrors.
"Be quick, my little one," said Madame Lafond, as Germaine seated
herself at the table in the centre of the room. "You have much to do,
for, as you know, we are to see M. Auguste before we go to meet Marie;
and we must finish our work here, so as to be off at an early hour."
Germaine's breakfast was a great bowl of hot milk, with coffee and a
slice from the big loaf lying on the bare table. The French have many
nice kinds of bread, and what they call household bread, made partly
of flour and partly of rye, is the kind generally eaten by the country
people. It is a little dark in colour, but very good.
It was to-day that Germaine was to go with Madame Lafond to the
station at Petit Andelys to meet her sister Marie, who had been away
at a convent school at Evreux, and who was coming home for the summer
holidays. On their way they were to stop at the Hôtel Belle Étoile,
for it was the birthday--the fête-day, as the French call it--of their
good friend the proprietor, M. Auguste, and Madame Lafond was taking
him a little present of some fine _white_ strawberries which are quite
a delicacy, and which are grown only round about. M. Lafond was to meet
them at the station, and all were to take dinner with her Uncle Daboll
at his house in the village, to celebrate Marie's home-coming.
So, as may be imagined, Germaine did not linger over her breakfast, but
set to work at her morning tasks with a will.
"Blanche, you want your breakfast, too," she said, as she stroked her
pet white turtledove, who had been walking over the table trying to
attract her attention with soft, deep "coos," "and you shall have it
here in the sunshine," and, putting her pet on the deep window-ledge,
she sprinkled before it a bountiful supply of crumbs. "That, now, must
last until I get back."
"Now, come, Raton," she called to their big dog. "We must feed the
rabbits," and, taking a basket of green stuff, she ran across the
courtyard into the garden.
In France the farm buildings are often built around an open square,
which is entered by a large gate. This is called a _closed_ farm. In
olden times there were also the fortified farms, which were built
strongly enough to withstand the assaults of marauders, and some of
these can still be seen in various parts of the country.
The gateway was rather a grand affair, with big stone pillars, on top
of which was a stone vase, and in the gate was a smaller one, which
could be used when there was no need to open the large one to allow a
carriage or wagon to enter.
On one side of the yard was the _laiterie_, where the cows were kept
and milked. There were a number of cows, for M. Lafond sold milk and
butter, carrying it into the market at Grand Andelys.
On another side was the stable, where were kept the big
farm-horses,--Norman horses as we know them, one of the three
celebrated breeds of horses in France. Near by were the wire-enclosed
houses for the chickens and geese and the ducks, which ran about the
yard at will and paddled in the little pond in one corner.
In the centre was the pigeon-house, a large, round, stone building,
such as will be seen on all the old farms like this of M. Lafond's. It
was an imposing structure, and looked as if it could shelter hundreds
of pigeon families. Under a low shed stood the farm-wagons and the
farming tools and implements.
_La Chaumière_, as the farm was known, took its name from the
thatch-covered cottage. Many of the houses in this part of the country
have roofs thatched with straw, as had the other buildings on the farm.
Germaine's home, however, had a red tile roof, though it was thatched
in the olden days, for it had been in M. Lafond's family for many
generations.
On the opposite side of the house was the garden, surrounded by a
high wall finished off with a sort of roof of red tiles. The square
beds of fine vegetables were bordered by flowers, for in France the
two are usually cultivated together in one garden. Against the wall
were trained peach, pear, and plum trees, as if they were vines;
this to ripen the fruit well. In a corner were piled up the glass
globes,--shaped like a bell or a beehive,--which are used to put over
the young and tender plants to protect them and hasten their growth.
[Illustration: THE FARM OF _LA CHAUMIÈRE_]
Against one corner of the wall were the hutches for the rabbits, built
in tiers, one above the other, and full of dozens of pretty "bunnies,"
white, black and white, and some quite black.
It was Germaine's duty to feed them night and morning, and she liked
nothing better than to give them crisp lettuce and cabbage leaves and
see them nibble them up, wriggling their funny little noses all the
time. "Well, bunnies, you will have to eat your breakfast alone this
morning; I cannot spare you much time," Germaine told them, as she
gave them the contents of her basket. Raton was leaping beside her and
barking, for he was a great pet, and more of a companion than most dogs
in French farms. They are usually kept strictly for watch purposes, the
poor things being tied up in the yard all of the time; but Germaine's
people were very kind to animals, and Raton did much as he pleased.
"I am ready, mamma," said Germaine, running into the kitchen.
"So am I, my dear," and Madame Lafond took from behind a copper
saucepan hanging on the wall a bag of money, from which she took some
coins and put the bag back again in this queer money-box. She then
placed the basket of strawberries on their bed of green leaves on her
arm, and she, Germaine, and Raton set off.
Madame Lafond had on a neat black dress, very short, and gathered full
around the waist, and a blue apron. Her hair was brushed back under
her white cap, and on her feet she wore _sabots_, the wooden shoes all
the working people in the country wear.
Germaine's dress was her mother's in miniature, and her little _sabots_
clacked as she ran down the road, carrying in her hand a pot holding a
flower, carefully wrapped about with white paper for M. Auguste. It was
a beautiful walk through the fields and apple orchards, into the road,
shaded by old trees that led to the top of the hill, and then down the
hillside past the old Château Gaillard; that wonderful castle whose
history Germaine never wearied of hearing.
It seemed to her like a fairy-tale that such things could have happened
so near her papa's farm, though it all took place many hundreds of
years ago, when there was nothing but wild woods where now stands their
farm and those of their neighbours.
The château was built by the great Norman who became an English king.
He was known as Richard the Lion-hearted, because he was so brave and
fearless. Perhaps our little English cousins will remember him best by
this romantic story. Once King Richard was imprisoned by his enemies,
no one knew where; his friends had given him up for lost--all but his
faithful court musician Blondel, who went from castle to castle, the
length and breadth of Europe, singing the favourite songs that he and
his royal master had sung together. One day his devotion was rewarded,
for, while singing under the windows of a castle in Austria, he heard a
voice join with his, and he knew he had found his master.
At that time France was not the big country it is now. Normandy
belonged to the English Crown, and the Kings of France were always
trying to conquer it for their own.
So Richard built this strong fortress on the river Seine, at the most
important point where the dominion of France joined that of Normandy.
He planned it all himself, and, it is said, even helped to put up the
stones with his own hands. It was begun and finished in one year, and
when the last stone was placed in the big central tower, King Richard
cried out: "Behold my beautiful daughter of a year." Then he named it
Château Gaillard, which is the French for "Saucy Castle," and stood on
its high walls and defied the French king, Philippe-Auguste, who was
encamped across the river, to come and take it from him,--just as a
naughty boy puts a chip on his shoulder and dares another boy to knock
it off. Well, the French king took his dare, but he also took care to
wait until the great, brave Richard had been killed by an arrow in
warfare. Then for five months he and his army besieged the castle, and
a desperate fight it was on both sides. At last the French forced an
entrance. After that, for several hundred years, its story was one of
bloody deeds and fierce fights, until another French king, Henri IV.,
practically destroyed it, in order to show his power over the Norman
barons whom he feared; and so it stands to-day only a big ruin--but one
of the most splendid in France.
Germaine often wondered why it was called "Saucy," for it did not look
so to her now. The big central tower with its broken windows seemed
to her like an old face, with half-shut eyes and great yawning mouth,
weary with its struggles, leaning with a tired air against the few
jagged walls that still stood around it.
But it looked very grand for all that, and Germaine was fond of it,
and she with her cousin Jean often played about its crumbling walls.
Jean would stand in the great broken window and play he was one of the
archers of King Richard's time, with a big bow six feet long in his
hand, and arrows at his belt, and that he was watching for the enemy
who always travelled by the river, for in those days there were few
roads, and journeying by boat on the river was the most convenient way
to come and go.
There is no finer outlook in all France than from King Richard's castle
at Petit Andelys, for one can look ten miles up the river on one side
and ten miles down on the other. Thus no one could go from France
into Normandy without being seen by the watchman on the tower of the
Château Gaillard. Three hundred feet below is the tiny village of Petit
Andelys, looking like a lot of toy houses.
As they entered the main street of the village, Madame Lafond stopped
at the _Octroi_, to pay the tax on her strawberries. All towns in
France put a tax on all produce brought into the town, and for this
purpose there is a small building at each entrance to the town where
every one must stop and declare what they have, and pay the small tax
accordingly.
"I hear the '_Appariteur_,'" said Germaine, as they walked down the
narrow cobble-paved street, "I wonder what he is calling out." The
"_Appariteur_" is a sort of town-crier, who makes the announcements of
interest to the neighbourhood by going along the streets beating a drum
and crying out his news, while the people run to the windows and doors
to listen. It takes the place of a daily newspaper to some extent, and
costs nothing to the public.
They were soon at the Hôtel Belle Étoile, and found stout, good-natured
M. Auguste at the entrance, seeing some of his guests off. He was
delighted with the strawberries, and when Germaine gave him the bouquet
of flowers, with a pretty little speech of congratulation for his
birthday, he kissed her, French fashion, on both cheeks, and took them
into the café, where he gave them a sweet fruit-syrup to drink. It
is always the custom among our French cousins to offer some kind of
refreshment on every possible occasion, and especially on a visit of
ceremony such as this. So when M. Auguste asked Madame Lafond what she
would take, she and Germaine chose a "_Sirop de Groseilles_," which
is made of the juice of gooseberries and sweetened. A few spoonfuls
of this in a glass of soda-water makes a delightful cool drink in hot
weather, and one of which French children are very fond. There are also
syrups made in the same way from strawberries, raspberries, peaches,
etc., but this is one of the best liked.
"There is Madeleine making signs to you outside the door. Run and see
what she wants, my little one," said M. Auguste. "I can guess," he
said, laughingly, as Germaine ran to greet the waitress of the hotel,
who always looked so neat and pretty in her white country cap, her
coloured apron over a black dress, and a coloured handkerchief around
her neck, with neat black slippers on her feet.
"Let me show you how we are going to celebrate the fête-day of M.
Auguste," said she, smiling, and, opening a box, she showed Germaine
the sticks of powder, which they would burn when night came, and make
the beautiful red and green light such as all children and many grown
folks like. The first of these sticks was to be burnt at the very
entrance door, that all the village might know that it was M. Auguste's
birthday. Madeleine and the cook and the housemaid and the washerwoman
and the boy that blacked the guests' boots had each given a few
centimes (or cents) to buy these, as well as other things that wriggled
along the ground and went off with a bang, as a surprise for M.
Auguste. Also the American and English visitors at the hotel had bought
"Roman candles" and some "catharine-wheels," which were to be let off
in front of the Belle Étoile; so the hotel would be very gay that night.
M. Auguste's name-day had also been celebrated in another way some time
before. On the fête of St. Auguste it was the custom to carry around a
big anvil and stop with it in front of the house of every one who is
named Auguste or Augustine. A cartridge was placed on the anvil and hit
sharply with a hammer, when of course it made a frightful noise; and
for some unknown reason this was supposed to please good St. Auguste as
well as those who bore his name. Then the person who had this little
attention paid him or her would come out and ask every one into their
house to have a glass of _calvados_, which is a favourite drink in this
part of France, and is made from apples.
The Belle Étoile, like most of the hotels of France, was built with a
courtyard in the centre, and around this were galleries or verandas, on
which the sleeping-rooms opened. Carriages passed through an archway
into this courtyard, on the one side of which were stables, on another
the kitchen and servants' quarters, and the entrance to the big cellar
where were kept the great barrels of cider.
Most of the courtyard was given up to a beautiful garden, set about
with shrubs and flowers. At little tables under big, gay, striped
garden-umbrellas, the guests of the Belle Étoile ate their meals. In
the country, every one who can dines in the garden during the summer
months, which is another pleasant custom of this people.
M. Auguste was very fond of little Germaine, and often told her of
his boyhood days in the gay little city of Tours, where the purest
French is spoken, with its fine old cathedral and the lovely country
thereabouts all covered with grape-vines; and how in the bright autumn
days the vineyards are full of workers filling the baskets on their
backs with the green and purple grapes; how late in the evening the
big wagons, full of men, women, and children, come rolling home, piled
up with grapes, the pickers all singing and joyous, with great bunches
of wild flowers tied on the front of each wagon. "A very happy, gay
people, my dear," would remark M. Auguste, "not like these cold, stolid
Normans." But to us foreigners all the French people seem as gay as
these good folk of Touraine, the land of vineyards and beautiful white
châteaux.
M. Auguste had also been a great traveller, for his father was
well-to-do, and he thought that his boy should see something of his
own country--though French people as a rule are not great travellers.
They are the most home-loving people in the world, and their greatest
ambition is to have a little house and a garden in which to spend their
days.
So M. Auguste had seen much. He had been to the bustling city of Lyons,
where the finest silks and velvets in the world are made. He had
journeyed along the beautiful coast of France where it borders on the
blue Mediterranean, where palms and oranges and such lovely flowers
grow, especially the sweet purple violets from which the perfumes are
made. From here also come the candied rose-petals and violets, that the
confectioners sell you as the latest thing in sweetmeats.
He had visited the great port of Marseilles, the most important in
France, where are to be seen ships from all over the world, and there
he learned to make their famous dish, the _bouillabaisse_, which is a
luscious stew of all kinds of fish--for M. Auguste prides himself on
the special dishes that he cooks for his guests, and Germaine is often
asked to try them. He had been also to the rich city of Bordeaux,
where the fine wines come from. Oh, M. Auguste is a great traveller,
thought Germaine, as they sat together in the kitchen of the Belle
Étoile, while M. Auguste talked with Mimi, the white cat, sitting on
his shoulder, while Fifine, the black one, was on his knee. They were
great pets of M. Auguste, and as well known and liked as himself by the
guests at the Belle Étoile.