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SHAWL-STRAPS.
A Second Series
OF
AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
BY
LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF
'LITTLE WOMEN,' 'AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,' 'LITTLE MEN,'
'HOSPITAL SKETCHES.'
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY
_LIMITED_,
St. Dunstan's House,
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1895.
_All rights reserved._
_LOW'S STANDARD SERIES OF BOOKS BY POPULAR WRITERS._
Small crown 8vo. cloth gilt, 2_s._; gilt edges, 2_s._ 6_d._ each
1. ALCOTT, L. M. Little Men.
2. WHITNEY, Mrs. Hitherto.
3. SAMUELS. Forecastle to Cabin. Illustrated.
4. ROBINSON, P. In my Indian Garden.
5. ALCOTT, L. M. Little Women and Little Women Wedded.
6. WHITNEY, Mrs. We Girls.
7. ---- The other Girls: a Sequel.
8. ALDEN, W. L. Jimmy Brown.
9. ALCOTT, L. M. Under the Lilacs. Illustrated.
10. ---- Jimmy's Cruise.
11. ROBINSON, PHIL. Under the Punkah.
12. ALCOTT, L. M. An Old-Fashioned Girl.
13. ---- A Rose in Bloom.
14. ---- Eight Cousins. Illustrated.
15. ---- Jack and Jill.
16. ---- Lulu's Library. Illustrated.
17. ---- Silver Pitchers.
18. ---- Work and Beginning Again.
19. WHITNEY, Mrs. Leslie Goldthwaite.
20. ---- Faith Gartney's Girlhood.
21. ---- Real Folks.
22. STOWE, Mrs. Dred.
23. ---- My Wife and I.
24. DE WITT, Madame. An Only Sister.
25. ALCOTT, L. M. Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag.
26. ---- Shawl Straps.
27. STOWE, Mrs. Ghost in the Mill.
28. BUNYAN, JOHN. Pilgrim's Progress (Extra volume), gilt, 2_s._
29. STOWE, Mrs. We and Our Neighbours.
30. SAINTINE. Picciola.
31. HOLM, SAXE. Draxy Miller's Dowry.
32. SANDEAU, JULES. Seagull Rock.
33. WARNER, C. D. In the Wilderness.
34. ---- My Summer in a Garden.
35. ALCOTT, L. M. Spinning-wheel Stories.
36. ALDEN, W. L. Trying to find Europe.
37. WHITNEY, Mrs. The Gayworthys.
38. TOOLEY, Mrs. Life of Mrs. Stowe.
39. ROE, E. P. Nature's Serial Story.
40. ALCOTT. Recollections.
41. STOWE, H. B. Minister's Wooing.
* *
* A New Illustrated List of Books for Boys and Girls,
with Portraits of Celebrated Authors, sent post free on application.
London: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, LTD.,
St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C.
PREFACE.
There is a sort of fate about writing books of travel which it is
impossible to escape. It is vain to declare that no inducement will
bribe one to do it, that there is nothing new to tell, and that nobody
wants to read the worn-out story: sooner or later the deed is done, and
not till the book is safely shelved does peace descend upon the victim
of this mysterious doom.
The only way in which this affliction may be lightened to a
long-suffering public is to make the work as cheerful and as short as
possible. With this hope the undersigned bore has abstained from giving
the dimensions of any church, the population of any city, or description
of famous places, as far as in her lay; but confined herself to the
personal haps and mishaps, adventures and experiences, of her wanderers.
To explain the undue prominence given to Miss Lavinia, it should be
stated that she is an old and intimate friend of the compiler of this
frivolous work; and therefore her views on all subjects, though less
valuable, were easier to obtain than those of the younger and more
interesting shawl-strappists.
L. M. A.
_November 1872._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. OFF 1
II. BRITTANY 24
III. FRANCE 92
IV. SWITZERLAND 175
V. ITALY 205
VI. LONDON 265
SHAWL-STRAPS.
I.
_OFF._
'On the first day of February we three will sail from Boston for
Messina, in the little fruit-ship "Wasp." We shall probably be a month
going, unless we cross in a gale as I did, splitting sails every night,
and standing on our heads most of the way,' said Amanda, folding up her
maps with an air of calm decision.
'Hurrah! what fun!' cried Matilda, waving a half-finished dressing-case
over her head.
But Lavinia, with one sepulchral groan, fell flat upon her bed, and lay
there, dumb with the horrors of such a voyage.
'Just the thing for you, my poor old dear. Think of the balmy airs of
Sicily, the oranges, the flowers. Then a delicious month or two at
Sorrento, with no east winds, no slush, no spring cleaning. We shall be
as merry as grigs, and get as buxom as dairy-maids in a month,' said the
sprightly Amanda.
'You promised to go, and if you back out we are lost, for we _must_ have
a duenna. You can lie round in Europe just as well as here, and I have
no doubt it will do you a world of good,' added Matilda.
'I shall keep my word; but you will bury me in the Atlantic, so make up
your minds to it. Do you suppose that I, a poor, used-up old invalid,
who can't look at a sail-boat without a qualm, can survive thirty days
of standing on my head, and thirty nights of sail-splitting, as we go
slamming and lurching across two or three awful oceans?' demanded
Lavinia, with the energy of despair.
Before anyone could reply, Amanda's little Mercury appeared with a note.
'The "Wasp" will _not_ take passengers, and no other fruit-ship sails
this spring,' read Amanda.
'Oh dear!' sighed Matilda.
'Saved!' cried Lavinia.
'Be calm: we shall go, sooner or later, if I buy a ship and sail her
myself;' with which indomitable remark Amanda went forth to grapple with
and conquer untoward circumstances.
A month of plans, vicissitudes, and suspense followed, during which
Amanda strove manfully; Matilda suffered agonies of hope and fear; and
Lavinia remained a passive shuttlecock, waiting to be tossed wherever
Fate's battledore chose to send her.
'Exactly two weeks from to-day, we sail with a party of friends in the
French steamer "Lafayette," from New York for Brest. Will you be ready?'
demanded Amanda, after a protracted wrestle with aforesaid adverse
circumstances.
'But that is exactly what we didn't mean to do. It's expensive and
fashionable; France and not Italy, north and not south.'
'That's because I'm in the party. If you take a Jonah nothing will go
well. Leave me behind, and you will have a charming trip,' said Lavinia,
who had an oyster-like objection to being torn from her bed.
'No matter, we are going, live or die, sink or swim; and I shall expect
to meet you, all booted and spurred and fit for the fight, April
first,' said the unwavering Amanda.
'A most appropriate day for three lone women to start off on a
wild-goose chase after health and pleasure,' groaned Lavinia from among
her pillows.
'Very well, then; I leave you now, and shall expect to meet on the
appointed day?'
'If I'm spared,' answered the sufferer.
'I'll bring her, never fear,' added the sanguine Mat, as she rattled the
trays out of an immense trunk.
How they ever did it no one knows; but in a week everything was ready,
and the sisters had nothing left to do but to sit and receive the
presents that showered upon them from all quarters. How kind everyone
was, to be sure! Six fine dressing-cases arrived, and were hung upon the
walls; four smelling-bottles--one for each nostril; bed-socks,
rigolettes, afghans, lunch-baskets, pocket-flasks, guide-books,
needle-cases, bouquets in stacks, and a great cake with their names on
top in red and blue letters three inches long.
Friendly fingers sewed for them; even the gentlemen of the house--and
there were eight--had a 'bee,' and hemmed handkerchiefs for Mat, marked
towels; and one noble being actually took off his coat and packed the
trunks in layers of mosaic-work wonderful to behold. A supper celebrated
the last evening; and even the doleful Lavinia, touched by such
kindness, emerged from her slough of despond and electrified the ball by
dancing a jig with great spirit and grace.
Devoted beings were up at dawn to share the early breakfast, lug trunks,
fly up and down with last messages, cheer heartily as the carriage
drove off, and then adjourn _en masse_ to the station, there to shake
hands all round once more, and wave and wring handkerchiefs as the train
at last bore the jocund Mat and the resigned Lavinia toward the
trysting-place and Amanda.
All along the route more friends kept bursting into the cars as they
stopped at different places; more gifts, more hand-shakes and kisses,
more good wishes and kind prophecies, till at last in a chaos of smiles,
tears, smelling-bottles, luncheon, cloaks, books, and foot-warmers, the
travellers left the last friendly face behind and steamed away to New
York.
'How de-licious this is!' cried the untravelled Matilda, as they stepped
upon the deck of the 'Lafayette,' and she sniffed the shippy fragrance
that caused Lavinia to gasp and answer darkly,--
'Wait till to-morrow.'
While Mat surveyed the steamer under the care of Devoted Being No. 10,
who appeared to see them off, Lavinia arranged the stateroom, stowing
away all useless gear and laying forth dressing-gowns, slippers,
pocket-handkerchiefs, with an anguished smile. _She_ had crossed the
ocean twice, and was a wiser, sadder woman for it. At eight she turned
in, and ten minutes later Amanda came aboard with a flock of gay
friends. But no temptations of the flesh could lure the wary spinster
from her den; for the night was rough and cold, and the steamer a Babel
of confusion.
'It's perfectly delightful! I wish you'd been there, Livy. We had
supper, and songs, and funny stories, and all sorts of larks. There are
quantities of nice people aboard, and we shall have a perfectly splendid
trip. I shall be up bright and early, put on my scarlet stockings, my
new boots, and pretty sea-suit, and go in for a jolly day,' said the
ardent Matilda, as she came skipping down at midnight and fell asleep
full of rosy visions of the joys of a
Life on the ocean wave.
'Deluded child!' sighed Lavinia, closing her dizzy eyes upon the swaying
garments on the wall, and feebly wishing she had hung herself along with
them.
In the gray dawn she was awakened by sounds of woe, and peering forth
beheld the festive Matilda with one red stocking on and one off, her
blonde locks wildly dishevelled, her face of a pale green, and her hands
clasping lemons, cologne, and salts, as she lay with her brow upon the
cool marble of the toilet-table.
'How do you like it, dear?' asked the unfeeling Lavinia.
'Oh, what is it? I feel as if I was dying. If somebody would only stop
the swing _one_ minute. Is it sea-sickness? It's awful, but it will do
me good. Oh, yes! I hope so. I've tried everything, and feel worse and
worse. Hold me! save me! Oh, I wish I hadn't come!'
'Shipmates ahoy! how are you, my loves?' and Amanda appeared, rosy,
calm, and gay, with her pea-jacket on, skirts close reefed, hat well to
windward, and everything taut and ship-shape; for she was a fine sailor,
and never missed a meal.
Wails greeted her, and faint inquiries as to the state of things in the
upper world.
'Blowing a gale; rain, hail, and snow,--very dirty weather; and we are
flying off the coast in fine style,' was the cheerful reply.
'Have we split any sails?' asked Lavinia, not daring to open her eyes.
'Dozens, I dare say. Shipping seas every five minutes. All the
passengers ill but me, and every prospect of a north-easter all the way
over,' continued the lively Amanda, lurching briskly about the passage
with her hands in her pockets.
Matilda dropped her lemons and her bottles to wring her hands, and
Lavinia softly murmured--
'Lord, what fools we mortals be,
That we ever go to sea!'
'Breakfast, ladies?' cried the pretty French stewardess, prancing in
with tea-cups, bowls of gruel, and piles of toast balanced in some
miraculous manner all over her arms.
'Oh, take it away! I shall never eat again,' moaned Matilda, clinging
frantically to the marble, as the water-pitcher went down the middle
with a hair-brush, and all the boots and shoes had a grand promenade
round the room.
'Don't speak to me; don't look at me; don't even _think_ of me for three
days at least. Go and enjoy yourself, and leave us to our doom;' with
which tragical remark Lavinia drew her curtains, and was seen no more.
Great heavens, what a week that was! Rain, wind, fog; creak, pitch,
toss; noise, smells, cold. Broken sleep by day, woe in every variety by
night; food and drink a delusion and a snare; society an affliction;
life a burden; death a far-off blessing not to be had at any price.
Slowly, slowly the victims emerge from the lower depths of gloom, feebly
smile, faintly joke, pick fearfully but wistfully at once-rejected
dishes; talk about getting up, but don't do it; read a little, look at
their sallow countenances in hand-glasses, and speculate upon the good
effects of travel upon the constitution. Then they suddenly become
daring, gay, and social; rise, adorn themselves, pervade the cabins,
sniff the odours of engine and kitchen without qualms, play games, go to
table; and, just as the voyage is over, begin to enjoy it.
Alas for poor Lavinia! no such resurrection was possible for her. Long
after Mat had bravely donned the scarlet hose, cocked up her beaver and
gone forth to festive scenes, her shipmate remained below in chrysalis
state, fed by faithful Marie, visited by the ever-cheerful Amanda, and
enlivened by notes and messages from fellow-sufferers in far-off cells.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walmars, jun., called, and had private theatricals in
the passage. Dried-ginger parties were held about the invalid's berth,
poems were composed, and conundrums circulated. A little newspaper was
concocted, replete with wit and spirit, by these secluded ladies, and
called the 'Sherald,' to distinguish it from the 'Herald,' got up by
sundry gentlemen whose shining hours were devoted to flirtation, cards,
and wine.
'Perfect gentlemen, I assure you, my dear; for, drunk or sober, they
wear yellow kids from morning till night, smoke the best cigars, and
dance divinely,' as Mrs. Twaddle said, sitting erect in the saloon,
shrouded in fur and velvet, with five diamond-rings well displayed, as
she recounted the diseases she had enjoyed, and did the honours of a
remarkable work-basket, containing eight different sorts of scissors.
'We shall be in to-morrow, so you'd better be digging up the treasures
you have buried, you old magpie,' said Mat, appearing to the pensive
Livy on the eleventh day.
'The sun is out; come on deck, and help us get up the last edition of
our paper. How will this do? Query--If steamers are named the "Asia,"
the "Russia," and the "Scotia," why not call one the "Nausea?"' added
Amanda, popping her head into the den. Lavinia threw a pillow at her,
but the undaunted joker continued--
'Also this: Financial--This being a feminine paper, gold is no longer at
Pa, but at Ma.'
'Good! Add this: Argument in favour of the Superiority of Women--The
sluggard was _not_ told to go to his uncle.'
'Thank you,' and Amanda departed to twine with her forty-third bosom
friend, while Lavinia disinterred, from holes and corners of her berth,
money, nuts, and raisins; books, biscuits, and literary efforts much the
worse for deluges of soap and daubs of butter.
The cry of 'Land!' on the morrow caused passengers unseen before to
appear like worms after a shower; all heroically did up their back hair,
put on their best suits, and walked forth with the delusive hope that no
one would know how ill they had been.
A French Marquis, with a sickly little son, whose diet of fried potatoes
and sour wine accounted for his having the temper of a young fiend,
appeared, and were made much of by dear, title-loving Americans.
A Spanish opera-singer, stout, saffron-coloured, and imperious, likewise
emerged from obscurity, with a meek little husband, who waited on her
like a servant, and a big bald parrot, who swore like a trooper.
Several nuns languished in corners of the saloon, surveying the
vanities of life with interest, and telling their beads devoutly when
they saw anyone looking at them.
A mysterious lady in green velvet with many diamonds, and a shabby,
speechless companion, sailed about the ship, regardless of the rumours
told of her--deserted husbands, stolen jewellery, lovers waiting on the
other side, and many equally pleasant little tales.
The gentlemen with orange gloves and copper-coloured noses got
themselves up in the most superb style, though few were going to land at
Brest, and took tender farewells of such ladies as did, each professing
desolation and despair at the termination of a twelve days' flirtation.
'I am not fond of dirt, but I could kneel down and kiss this mud, so
grateful am I to feel solid ground under my feet, after leading the
life of a fly for so long,' said Lavinia with emotion, as the three
trudged up the wharf at Brest into a sort of barn which served for a
custom-house.
'Now let each sit upon her luggage and clamour till some one comes and
examines it, else it will get whisked away heaven only knows where,'
ordered Amanda, who was the leader in right of her knowledge of tongues.
Each perched accordingly on her one big trunk, and tried to 'clamour.'
But nothing came of it save loss of time and temper, for no one paid the
slightest heed to them; and it was maddening to see trunk after trunk
passed and sent off, followed by its rejoicing owner. Especially hard to
bear was the sight of the green-velvet sinner, who, with a smile or two,
won the sternest official to pass her five trunks without turning a
key, and sailed away with a scornful glance at the virtuous Three
planted on their property and feebly beckoning for help.
'I shall bear this no longer. Mat, sit there and guard the small things,
while you and I, Livy, charge boldly among these imbeciles and drag them
to their duty;' and Amanda marched away to clutch a cockaded victim by
the shoulder with an awe-inspiring countenance.
Lavinia picked out a feeble, gray officer, and dogged him like an
Indian, smiling affably, and pointing to her luggage with a persistent
mildness that nearly drove the poor man mad.
No matter where he went, or what he did; no matter how thick the crowd
about him, or how loud the din; still, like a relentless ghost, that
mild old lady was ever at his side, mutely pointing and affably
smiling. Of course he gave in, lifted one tray, saw much flannel, nearly
blew his venerable nose off sniffing at one suspicious bottle, and
slamming down the lid, scrawled a mysterious cross, bowed and fled.
Proudly returning to Amanda, the victorious one found her friend in a
high state of indignation; for no officer there would touch her trunk
because some American Express had put little leaden stamps here and
there for some unknown purpose. Not even in her best French could the
irate lady make the thick-headed men understand that it was not a high
crime against the nation to undo a strap till some superior officer
arrived to take the responsibility of so rash a step.
If they had comprehended the dire threats, the personal remarks, and
unmitigated scorn of those three fair travellers, the blue-coated
imbeciles would have been reduced to submission. Fortunately the great
man came in time to save them from utter rout; for the ladies were just
trying to decide whether to go and leave the luggage to its fate, or to
haul it forth and depart _vi et armis_, when a stout old party came,
saw, said, 'It is nothing; pass the trunk; a thousand pardons, Madame,'
and peace was restored.
Instantly the porters, who till then had stood back, eyeing the
innocent, black ark, as if it was an infernal machine liable to explode
at a touch, threw themselves upon it, bore it forth, and heaving it atop
of an omnibus, returned to demand vast sums for having waited so long.
Then was Amanda sublime; then did her comrades for the first time learn
the magnitude of her powers, and realise the treasure they possessed.
Stowing Matilda and the smaller traps in the bus, and saying to Lavinia,
'Stand by me,' this dauntless maid faced one dozen blue-bloused,
black-bearded, vociferous, demonstrative Frenchmen; and, calmly offering
the proper sum, refused to add one sou more.
Vainly the drivers perjured themselves in behalf of the porters; vainly
the guard looked on, with imposing uniforms, and impertinent
observations; vainly Mat cried imploringly, 'Pay anything, and let us
get off before there is a mob'--still the indomitable Amanda held forth
the honest franc; and, when no one would take it, laid it on the post,
and entering the omnibus, drove calmly away.
'What should we do without you?' sighed Lavinia, with fervent gratitude.
'Be cheated right and left, and never know it, dear,' responded Amanda,
preparing for another fight with the omnibus-driver.
And she had it; for, unwarned by the fate of the porters, this
short-sighted man insisted on carrying the ladies to a dirty little
hotel to dine, though expressly ordered to go at once to the station.
Nothing would induce them to alight, though the landlord came out in
person and begged them to do so; and, after a protracted struggle and a
drive all over the town, they finally reached the depôt.
Here another demand for double fare was promptly quenched by an appeal
to the _chef de station_, who, finding that Mademoiselle was wide awake,
crushed the driver and saw justice done.
Exhausted but triumphant, the three at length found themselves rolling
slowly towards Morlaix through a green and blooming country, so unlike
the New England they had left behind, that they rejoiced like
butterflies in the sunshine.
II.
_BRITTANY._
After a late dinner, at which their appetites were pretty effectually
taken away by seeing dishes of snails passed round and eaten like nuts,
with large pins to pick out the squirming meat; a night's rest somewhat
disturbed by the incessant clatter of _sabots_ in the market-place, and
a breakfast rendered merry by being served by a _garçon_ whom Dickens
would have immortalised, our travellers went on to Caulnes-Dinan.
Here began their adventures, properly speaking. They were obliged to
drive fourteen miles to Dinan in a ram-shackle carriage drawn by three
fierce little horses, with their tails done up in braided chignons, and
driven by a humpback. This elegant equipage was likewise occupied by a
sleepy old priest, who smoked his pipe without stopping the whole way;
also by a large, loquacious, beery man, who talked incessantly,
informing the company that he was a friend of Victor Hugo, a child of
nature aged sixty, and obliged to drink much ale because it went to his
head and gave him commercial ideas.
If it had given him no others it would have done well; but, after each
draught, and he took many, this child of nature became so friendly that
even the free and easy Americans were abashed. Matilda quailed before
the languishing glances he gave her, and tied her head up like a bundle
in a thick veil. The scandalised Lavinia, informing him that she did
not understand French, assumed the demeanour of a griffin, and glared
stonily into space, when she was not dislocating her neck trying to see
if the top-heavy luggage had not tumbled off behind.
Poor Amanda was thus left a prey to the beery one; for, having at first
courteously responded to his paternal remarks and expressed an interest
in the state of France, she could not drop the conversation all at once,
even when the friend of Victor Hugo became so disagreeable that it is to
be hoped the poet has not many such. He recited poems, he sung songs, he
made tender confidences, and finished by pressing the hand of
Mademoiselle to his lips. On being told that such demonstrations were
not permitted to strangers in America, he beat his breast and cried
out, 'My God, so beautiful and so cold! You do not comprehend that I am
but a child. Pardon, and smile again I conjure you.'
But Mademoiselle would not smile; and, folding her hands in her cloak,
appeared to slumber. Whereat the gray-headed infant groaned
pathetically, cast his eyes heavenward, and drank more ale, muttering to
himself, and shaking his head as if his emotions could not be entirely
suppressed.
These proceedings caused Lavinia to keep her eye on him, being prepared
for any outbreak, from a bullet all round to proposals to both her
charges at once.
With this smouldering bomb-shell inside, and the firm conviction that
one if not all the trunks were lying in the dust some miles behind, it
may be inferred that duenna Livy did not enjoy that break-neck drive,
lurching and bumping up hill and down, with nothing between them and
destruction apparently but the little humpback, who drove recklessly.
In this style they rattled up to the Porte de Brest, feeling that they
had reached Dinan 'only by the grace of God,' as the beery man expressed
it, when he bowed and vanished, still oppressed with the gloomy
discovery that American women did not appreciate him.
While Amanda made inquiries at an office, and Matilda had raptures over
the massive archway crowned with yellow flowers, Lavinia was edified by
a new example of woman's right to labour.
Close by was a clean, rosy old woman, whose unusual occupation attracted
our spinster's attention. Whisking off the wheels of a _diligence_, the
old lady greased them one by one, and put them on again with the skill
and speed of a regular blacksmith, and then began to pile many parcels
into a _char_ apparently waiting for them.
She was a brisk, cheery old soul, with the colour of a winter-apple in
her face, plenty of fire in her quick black eyes, and a mouthful of fine
teeth, though she must have been sixty. She was dressed in the costume
of the place: a linen cap with several sharp gables to it, a gay
kerchief over her shoulders, a blue woollen gown short enough to display
a pair of sturdy feet and legs in neat shoes with bunches of ribbons on
the instep and black hose. A gray apron, with pockets and a bib,
finished her off; making a very sensible as well as picturesque costume.
She was still hard at it when a big boy appeared, and began to heave the
trunks into another _char_; but gave out at the second, which was
large. Instantly the brisk old woman put him aside, hoisted in the big
boxes without help, and, catching up the shafts of the heavily laden
cart, trotted away with it at a pace which caused the Americans (who
prided themselves on their muscle) to stare after her in blank
amazement.
When next seen she was toiling up a steep street, still ahead of the
lazy boy, who slowly followed with the lighter load. It did not suit
Lavinia's ideas of the fitness of things to have an old woman trundle
three heavy trunks while she herself carried nothing but a parasol, and
she would certainly have lent a hand if the vigorous creature had not
gone at such a pace that it was impossible to overtake her till she
backed her cart up before a door in most scientific style, and with a
bow, a smile, and a courteous wave of the hand, informed them that
'here the ladies would behold the excellent Madame C.'
They did behold and also receive a most cordial welcome from the good
lady, who not only embraced them with effusion, but turned her house
upside down for their accommodation, merely because they came
recommended to her hospitality by a former lodger who had won her kind
old heart.
While she purred over them, the luggage was being bumped upstairs, the
old woman shouldering trunk after trunk, and trudging up two steep
flights in the most marvellous way. But best of all was her surprise and
gratitude on receiving a larger fee than usual, for the ladies were much
interested in this dear old Hercules in a cap of seven gables.
When she had blessed them all round, and trotted briskly away with her
carts, Madame C. informed the new-comers that the worthy soul was a
widow with many children, whom she brought up excellently, supporting
them by acting as porter at the hotel. Her strength was wonderful, and
she was very proud of it--finding no work too hard, yet always neat,
cheery, and active; asking no help, and literally earning her daily
bread by the sweat of her brow. The ladies often saw her afterward,
always trotting and tugging, smiling and content, as if some unseen
hands kept well greased the wheels of her own diligence, which carried
such a heavy load and never broke down.
Miss Lavinia being interested in Woman's Rights and Wrongs, was much
impressed by the new revelations of the capabilities of her sex, and
soon ceased to be surprised at any demonstration of feminine strength,
skill, and independence, for everywhere the women took the lead.
They not only kept house, reared children, and knit every imaginable
garment the human frame can wear, but kept the shops and the markets,
tilled the gardens, cleaned the streets, and bought and sold cattle,
leaving the men free to enjoy the only pursuits they seemed inclined to
follow--breaking horses, mending roads, and getting drunk.
The markets seemed entirely in the hands of the women, and lively scenes
they presented to unaccustomed eyes, especially the pig-market, held
every week, in the square before Madame C.'s house. At dawn the
squealing began, and was kept up till sunset. The carts came in from all
the neighbouring hamlets, with tubs full of infant pigs, over which the
women watched with maternal care till they were safely deposited among
the rows of tubs that stood along the walk facing Anne of Bretaigne's
grey old tower, and the pleasant promenade which was once the _fosse_
about the city walls.
Here Madame would seat herself and knit briskly till a purchaser
applied, when she would drop her work, dive among the pink innocents,
and hold one up by its unhappy leg, undisturbed by its doleful cries,
while she settled its price with a blue-gowned, white-capped neighbour
as sharp-witted and shrill-tongued as herself. If the bargain was
struck, they slapped their hands together in a peculiar way, and the new
owner clapped her purchase into a meal-bag, slung it over her shoulder,
and departed with her squirming, squealing treasure as calmly as a
Boston lady with a satchel full of ribbons and gloves.
More mature pigs came to market on their own legs, and very long,
feeble legs they were, for a more unsightly beast than a Breton pig was
never seen out of a toy Noah's ark. Tall, thin, high-backed, and
sharp-nosed, these porcine victims tottered to their doom, with dismal
wailings, and not a vestige of spirit till the trials and excitement of
the day goaded them to rebellion, when their antics furnished fun for
the public. Miss Livy observed that the women could manage the pigs when
men failed entirely. The latter hustled, lugged, or lashed, unmercifully
and unsuccessfully; the former, with that fine tact which helps them to
lead nobler animals than pigs, would soothe, sympathise, coax, and
gently beguile the poor beasts, or devise ways of mitigating their
bewilderment and woe, which did honour to the sex, and triumphantly
illustrated the power of moral suasion.
One amiable lady, who had purchased two small pigs and a coop full of
fowls, attempted to carry them all on one donkey. But the piggies
rebelled lustily in the bags, the ducks remonstrated against their
unquiet neighbours, and the donkey indignantly refused to stir a step
till the unseemly uproar was calmed. But the Bretonne was equal to the
occasion; for, after a pause of meditation, she solved the problem by
tying the bags round the necks of the pigs, so that they could enjoy the
prospect. This appeased them at once, and produced a general lull; for
when the pigs stopped squealing, the ducks stopped quacking, the donkey
ceased his bray, and the party moved on in dignified silence, with the
youthful pigs, one black, one white, serenely regarding life from their
bags.
Another time, a woman leading a newly-bought cow came through the
square, where the noise alarmed the beast so much that she became
unruly, and pranced in a most dangerous manner. Miss Livy hung out of
the window, breathless with interest, and ready to fly with brandy and
bandages at a minute's notice, for it seemed inevitable that the woman
would be tossed up among the lindens before the cow was conquered. The
few men who were lounging about stood with their hands in their pockets,
watching the struggle without offering to help, till the cow scooped the
lady up on her horns, ready for a toss. Livy shrieked, but Madame just
held on, kicking so vigorously that the cow was glad to set her down,
when, instead of fainting, she coolly informed the men, who, seeing her
danger, had approached, that she 'could arrange her cow for herself, and
did not want any help,' which she proved by tying a big blue
handkerchief over the animal's eyes, producing instant docility, and
then she was led away by her flushed but triumphant mistress, who calmly
settled her cap, and took a pinch of snuff to refresh herself, after a
scuffle which would have annihilated most women.
When Madame C.'s wood was put in, the new-comers were interested in
watching the job, for it was done in a truly Bretonesque manner. It
arrived in several odd carts, each drawn by four great horses, with two
men to each team; and as the carts were clumsy, the horses wild, and the
men stupid, the square presented a lively spectacle. At one time there
were three carts, twelve horses, and six men, all in a snarl, while a
dozen women stood at their doors and gave advice. One was washing a
lettuce, another dressing her baby, a third twirling her distaff, and a
fourth with her little bowl of soup, which she ate in public while
gesticulating so frantically that her _sabots_ clattered on the stones.
The horses had a free fight, and the men swore and shouted in vain, till
the lady with the baby suddenly went to the rescue. Planting the naked
cherub on the door-step, this energetic matron charged in among the
rampant animals, and by some magic touch untangled the teams, quieted
the most fractious, a big grey brute, prancing like a mad elephant; then
returned to her baby, who was placidly eating dirt, and with a polite
'_Voilà, messieurs!_' she whipped little Jean into his shirt, while the
men sat down to smoke.
It took two deliberate men nearly a week to split the gnarled logs, and
one brisk woman carried them into the cellar and piled them neatly. The
men stopped about once an hour to smoke, drink cider, or rest. The
woman worked steadily from morning till night, only pausing at noon for
a bit of bread and the soup good Coste sent out to her. The men got two
francs a day, the woman half a franc; and as nothing was taken out of it
for wine or tobacco, her ten cents probably went further than their
forty.
This same capable lady used to come to market with a baby on one arm, a
basket of fruit on the other, leading a pig, driving a donkey, and
surrounded by sheep, while her head bore a pannier of vegetables, and
her hands spun busily with a distaff. How she ever got on with these
trifling incumbrances was a mystery; but there she was, busy, placid,
and smiling, in the midst of the crowd, and at night went home with her
shopping well content.
The washerwomen were among the happiest of these happy souls, and
nowhere were seen prettier pictures than they made, clustered round the
fountains or tanks by the way, scrubbing, slapping, singing, and
gossiping, as they washed or spread their linen on the green hedges and
daisied grass in the bright spring weather. One envied the cheery faces
under the queer caps, the stout arms that scrubbed all day, and were not
too tired to carry home some chubby Jean or little Marie when night
came; and, most of all, the contented hearts in the broad bosoms under
the white kerchiefs, for no complaint did one hear from these
hard-working, happy women. The same brave spirit seems to possess them
now as that which carried them heroically to their fate in the
Revolution, when hundreds of mothers and children were shot at Nantes
and died without a murmur.
But of all the friends the strangers made among them they liked old
Mère Oudon best--a shrivelled leaf of a woman, who at ninety-two still
supported her old husband of ninety-eight. He was nearly helpless, and
lay in bed most of the time, smoking, while she peeled willows at a sou
a day, trudged up and down with herbs, cresses, or any little thing she
could find to sell. Very proud was she of her 'master,' his great age,
his senses still quite perfect, and most of all his strength, for now
and then the old tyrant left his bed to beat her, which token of
conjugal regard she seemed to enjoy as a relic of early days, and a
proof that he would long be spared to her.
She kept him exquisitely neat, and if anyone gave her a plate of food, a
little snuff, or any small comfort for her patient old age, she took it
straight to the 'master,' and found a double happiness in giving and
seeing him enjoy it.
She had but one eye, her amiable husband having put out the other once
on a time as she was leading him home tipsy from market. The kind soul
bore no malice, and always made light of it when forced to tell how the
affliction befell her.
'My Yvon was so gay in his young days, truly, yes, a fine man, and now
most beautiful to see in his clean bed, with the new pipe that
Mademoiselle sent him. Come, then, and behold him, my superb master, who
at ninety-eight has still this strength so wonderful.'
The ladies never cared to see him more than once, but often met the
truly beautiful old wife as she toiled to and fro, finding her faithful
love more wonderful than his strength, and feeling sure that when she
lies at last on her 'clean bed,' some good angel will repay these
ninety-two hard years with the youth and beauty, happiness and rest,
which nothing can destroy.
Not only did the women manage the affairs of this world, but had more
influence than men with the good powers of heaven. A long drought
parched France that year, and even fertile Brittany suffered. More than
once processions of women, led by priests, poured through the gates to
go to the Croix du Saint Esprit and pray for rain.
'Why don't the men go also?' Miss Livy asked.
'Ah! they pray to the Virgin, and she listens best to women,' was the
answer.
She certainly seemed to do so, for gracious showers soon fell, and the
little gardens bloomed freshly where the mothers' hard hands had planted
cabbages, onions, and potatoes to feed the children through the long
winter.
Nor were these the only tasks the women did. The good ladies had a
hospital, and a neater, cheerier place was never seen; few invalids, but
many old people sitting in the sunny gardens, or at work in the clean
rooms. La Garaye is in ruins now, but the memory of its gentle lady
still lives, and is preserved in this benevolent institution for the
sick, the old, and poor.
A school for girls was kept by the good nuns, and the streets at certain
hours were full of little damsels, with round caps on their braided
hair, queer long gowns of blue, white aprons and handkerchiefs, who went
clattering by in their wooden shoes, bobbing little curtsies to their
friends, and readily answering any questions inquisitive strangers asked
them. They learned to read, write, sew, and say the catechism. Also to
sing; for, often as the ladies passed the little chapel of Our Lady, a
chorus of sweet young voices came to us, making the flowery garden
behind the church of St. Sauveur a favourite resting-place.
In endeavouring to account for the freedom of the women here, it was
decided that it was owing to Anne of Brittany, the 'gentle and generous
Duchesse,' to whom her husband Louis XII. allowed the uncontrolled
government of the duchy. Relics of the '_fière Bretonne_,' as Louis
called her, are still treasured everywhere, and it was pleasant to know
not only that she was an accomplished woman, writing tender letters in
Latin verse to her husband, but also a wise and just Princess to her
people, 'showing herself by spirit and independence to be the most
worthy of all her race to wear the ducal crown.' So three cheers for
good Duchesse Anne, and long life to the hardy, happy women of Brittany!
While Miss Lavinia was making these observations and moralizing upon
them, the younger ladies were enjoying discoveries and experiences more
to their tastes.
They had not been in the house half a day before Madame C. informed them
that 'Mademoiselle, the so charming miss whom they beheld at dinner, was
to be married very soon; and they should have the rapture of witnessing
a wedding the most beautiful.'
They welcomed the prospect with pleasure, for Dinan is not a whirl of
gaiety at the best of times: and that spring the drought, rumours of
war, and fears of small-pox, cast a shadow upon the sunny little town.
So they surveyed Mademoiselle Pelagie with interest, and longed to
behold the happy man who was to be blessed with the hand of this little,
yellow-faced girl, with red eyes, dirty hands, and a frizzled crop, so
like a wig they never could make up their minds that it was not.
Madame, the mamma, a buxom, comely widow, who breakfasted in black
moire, with a diadem of glossy braids on her sleek head, and many jet
ornaments rattling and glistening about her person, informed them, with
voluble affability, of the whole affair.
'My brother, M. le Président, had arranged the marriage. Pelagie was
twenty, and beautiful, as you behold. It was time to establish her. _Mon
Dieu!_ yes; though my heart is lacerated to lose my angel, I consent. I
conduct her to a ball, that she may be seen by the young man whose
parents desire that he should espouse my infant. He beholds her. He
says: "Great heavens, I adore her! My father, I consent." He is
presented to me; we converse. She regards him with the angelic modesty
of a young girl, but speaks not. I approve, the parents meet, it is
arranged, and Jules is betrothed to my Pelagie. They have not met since;
but next week he comes for the marriage, and he will be permitted to
address her in my presence. Ah, yes! your customs are not as ours, and
to us seem of a deplorable freedom. Pardon that I say it.'
On inquiring how Pelagie regarded her future lord, they found that she
thought very little about him, but was absorbed in her _trousseau_,
which she proudly displayed. To those accustomed to see and hear of
American outfits, with their lavish profusion and extravagant elegance,
poor little Pelagie's modest stores were not at all imposing. Half a
dozen pretty dresses from Paris; several amazing hats, all rosebuds,
lace, and blue ribbon; a good deal of embroidery; and a few prophetic
caps,--completed the outfit.
One treasure, however, she was never tired of displaying,--a gift from
Jules,--a camels'-hair shawl, in a black walnut case, on which was
carved the Clomadoc arms. A set of pearls were also from the bridegroom;
but the shawl was her pride, for married women alone could wear such,
and she seemed to think this right of more importance than any the
wedding-ring could confer upon her.
To the young ladies, both of whom had known many of the romantic
experiences which befall comely American girls, the idea of marrying a
man whom they had only seen twice seemed horrible; and to have but one
week of courtship, and that in Mamma's presence, was simply an insult
and a wrong which they would not bear to think of.
But Pelagie seemed quite content, and brooded over her finery like a
true Frenchwoman, showing very little interest in her Jules, and only
anxious for the time to come when she could wear her shawl and be
addressed as Madame.
While waiting for the grand event, the girls amused themselves with
Gaston, the brother of the bride-elect. He was a languid, good-looking
youth of three-and-twenty, who assumed _blasé_ airs and attitudinized
for their benefit. Sometimes he was lost in fits of Byronic gloom, when
he frowned over his coffee, sighed gustily, and clutched his brow,
regardless of the curls, usually in ambrosial order. The damsels,
instead of being impressed by this display of inward agony, only laughed
at him, and soon rallied him out of his heroics. Then he would try
another plan, and become all devotion, presenting green tulips, ancient
coins, early fruit, or sketches of his own, so very small that the
design was quite obscure. If these delicate attentions failed to touch
the stony hearts of the blonde Americans, he would air his entire
wardrobe, appearing before them one day in full Breton costume of white
cloth, embroidered in gay silks, buckled shoes, and hat adorned with
streaming ribbons and flowers. Quite Arcadian was Gaston in this attire;
and very effective on the croquet ground, where sundry English families
disported themselves on certain afternoons. Another time he would get
himself up like a Parisian dandy bound for a ride in the Bois de
Boulogne; and, mounting with much difficulty a rampant horse, he would
caracole about the Place St. Louis, to the great delight of the natives.
But this proved a failure; for one of the fair but cruel strangers
donned hat and habit, and entirely eclipsed his glories by galloping
about the country like an Amazon. The only time Gaston played escort she
was nearly the death of him, for he seldom did more than amble a mile or
two, and a hard trot of some six or eight miles reduced our Adonis to
such a state of exhaustion that he fell into his mother's arms on
dismounting, and was borne away to bed with much lamentation.
After that he contented himself with coming to show himself in full
dress whenever he went to a party; and, as that was nearly every other
evening, they soon got accustomed to hearing a tap at their door, and
beholding the comely youth in all the bravery of glossy broadcloth, a
lavish shirt-bosom, miraculous tie, primrose gloves, varnished shoes,
and curls and moustache anointed and perfumed in the most exquisite
style. He would bow and say '_Bon soir_,' then stand to be admired, with
the artless satisfaction of a child; after which he would smile
complacently, wave his crush hat, and depart with a flourish.
Dear, dandified, vain Gaston! His great desire was to go to Paris, and
when the war came he had his wish; but found sterner work to do than to
dress and dance and languish at the feet of ladies. I hope it made a man
of him, and fancy it did; for the French fight well and suffer bravely
for the country they love in their melodramatic fashion.
As the day approached for the advent of the bridegroom, great excitement
prevailed in the quiet household. Madame C. and her handmaid, dear old
Marie, cackled and bustled like a pair of important hens. Madame F., the
widow, lived at the milliner's, so to speak, and had several dress
rehearsals for her own satisfaction. Gaston mounted guard over his
sister, lest some enamoured man should rend her from them ere her Jules
could secure the prize. And Pelagie placidly ate and slept, kept her
hair in crimping-pins from morning till night, wore out her old clothes,
and whiled away the time munching _bonbons_ and displaying her shawl.
'Mercy on us! I should feel like a lamb being fattened for the sacrifice
if I were in her place,' cried one of the freeborn American
citizenesses, with an air of unmitigated scorn for French ways of
conducting this interesting ceremony.
'I should feel like a galley-slave,' said the other. 'For she can't go
anywhere without Gaston or Mamma at her elbow. Only yesterday she went
into a shop alone, while Gaston waited at the door. And when she told it
at home as a great exploit all the ladies shrieked with horror at the
idea, and Mamma said, wringing her hands: "_Mon Dieu!_ but they will
think thou art a married woman, for it is inconceivable that any girl
should do so bold a thing." And Pelagie wept, and implored them not to
tell Jules, lest he should discard her.'
Here the Americans all groaned over the pathetic absurdity of the whole
affair, and wondered with unrighteous glee what the decorous ladies
below would say to some of their pranks at home. But, fearing that M. le
Président might feel it his duty to eject them from the town as
dangerous persons, they shrouded their past sins in the most discreet
silence, and assumed their primmest demeanour in public.
'He has come! Look quick, girls!' cried Lavinia, as a carriage stopped
at the door, and a rushing sound, as of many agitated skirts, was heard
in the hall. Three heads peeped from the window of the blue parlour, and
three pairs of curious eyes were rewarded by a sight of the bridegroom,
as he alighted.