The Devil's Pool Part 13

II -- The Wedding Favors

WHEN all the guests were met together in the house, the doors and windows were closed with the utmost care; even the garret window was barricaded; boards and benches, logs and tables were placed behind every entrance, just as if the inhabitants were making ready to sustain a siege; and within these fortifications solemn stillness prevailed until at a distance were heard songs and laughter and the sounds of rustic music. It was the band of the bridegroom, Germain at the head, followed by his most trusty companions and by the grave-digger, relatives, friends, and servants, who formed a compact and merry train. Meanwhile, as they came nearer the house they slackened their pace, held a council of war, and became silent. The girls, shut up in the house, had arranged little loop-holes at the windows by which they could see the enemy approach and deploy in battle array. A fine, cold rain was falling, which added zest to the situation, while a great tire blazed on the hearth within. Marie wished to cut short the inevitable slowness of this well-ordered siege; she had no desire to see her lover catch cold, but not being in authority she had to take an ostensible share in the mischievous cruelty of her companions.

When the two armies met, a discharge of firearms on the part of the besiegers set all the dogs in the neighborhood to barking. Those within the house dashed at the door with loud yelps, thinking that the attack was in earnest, and the children, little rea.s.sured by the efforts of their mothers, began to weep and to tremble. The whole scene was played so well that a stranger would have been deceived, and would have made his preparations to tight a band of brigands. Then the grave-digger, bard and orator of the groom, took his stand before the door, and with a rueful voice, exchanged the following dialogue with the hemp-dresser, who was stationed above the same door:

_The Grave-digger_: "Ah, my good people, my fellow-townsmen, for the love of Heaven, open the door."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Who are you, and what right have you to call us your dear fellow-townsmen? We don't know you."

_The Grave-digger_: "We are worthy folk in great distress. Don't be afraid of us, my friends. Extend us your hospitality. Sleet is falling; our poor feet are frozen, and our journey home has been so long that our sabots are split."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "If your sabots are split, you can look on the ground; you will find very soon a sprig of willow to make some _arcelets_ [small curved blades of iron which are fastened on split sabots to hold them together]."

_The Grave-digger_: "Willow _arcelets_ are scarcely strong enough. You are making fun of us, good people, and you would do better to open your doors. We can see a splendid fire blazing in your dwelling. The spit must be turning, and we can make merry with you, heart and belly. So open your doors to poor pilgrims who will die on the threshold if you are not merciful."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Ah ha! so you are pilgrims? You never told us that.

And what pilgrimage do you come from, may I ask?"

_The Grave-digger_: "We shall tell you that when you open the door, for we come from so far that you would never believe it."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Open the door to you? I rather think not. We can't trust you. Tell us, is it from Saint Sylvain of Pouligny that you come?"

_The Grave-digger_: "We have been at Saint Sylvain of Pouligny, but we have been farther still."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Then you have been as far as Saint Solange?"

_The Grave-digger_: "At Saint Solange we have been, sure enough, but we have been farther yet."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "You are lying. You have never been as far as Saint Solange."

_The Grave-digger_: "We have been farther, for now we are come from Saint Jacques of Compostelle."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "What absurdity are you telling us? We don't know that parish. We can easily see that you are bad people, brigands, n.o.bodies, and liars. Go away with your nonsense. We are on our guard.

You can't come in."

_The Grave-digger_: "Ah, my poor fellow, take pity on us. We are not pilgrims, as you have guessed, but we are unlucky poachers pursued by the keepers. Even the police are after us, and if you don't hide us in your hay-loft, we shall be taken and led off to prison."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "And who will prove you are what you say you are, this time? For you have told us one lie already that you can't maintain."

_The Grave-digger_: "If you will let us in, we shall show you a pretty piece of game we have killed."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Show it right away, for we have our suspicions."

_The Grave-digger_: "All right, open the door or a window to let us pa.s.s the creature in."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Oh, no, not quite so foolish. I am looking at you through a little c.h.i.n.k, and I can see neither hunters nor game amongst you."

Here an ox-driver, a thick-set fellow of herculean strength, detached himself from a group where he had stood unperceived, and raised toward the window a plucked goose, spitted on a strong iron bar decorated with tufts of straw and ribbons.

"Ho, ho!" cried the hemp-dresser, after cautiously extending an arm to feel the roast. "That is n't a quail nor a partridge; it is n't a hare nor a rabbit; it 's something like a goose or a turkey. Upon my word, you 're clever hunters, and that game did n't make you run very far.

Move on, you rogues; we know all your lies, and you had best go home and cook your supper. You are not going to eat ours."

_The Grave-digger_: "O Heavens, where can we go to cook our game? It is very little for so many as we, and, besides, we have neither place nor fire. At this time every door is closed, and every soul asleep. You are the only people who are celebrating a wedding at home, and you must he hardhearted indeed to let us freeze outside. Once again, good people, open the door; we shall not cost you anything. You can see that we bring our own meat; only a little room at your hearth, a little blaze to cook with, and we shall go on our way rejoicing."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Do you suppose that we have too much room here, and that wood is bought tor nothing?"

_The Grave-digger_: "We have here a small bundle of hay to make the fire. We shall be satisfied with that; only grant us leave to place the spit across your fireplace."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "That will never do. We are disgusted, and don't pity you at all. It is my opinion that you are drunk, that you need nothing, and that you only wish to come in and steal away our fire and our daughters."

_The Grave-digger_: "Since you won't listen to reason, we shall make our way in by force."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "Try, if you want; we are shut in well enough to have no fear of you, and since you are impudent fellows, we shall not answer you again."

Thereupon the hemp-dresser shut the garret window with a bang, and came down into the room below by a step-ladder. Then he took the bride by the hand, the young people of both s.e.xes followed, and they all began to sing and chatter merrily, while the matrons sang in piercing voices, and shrieked with laughter in derision and bravado at those without who were attempting an attack.

The besiegers, on their side, made a great hubbub. They discharged their pistols at the doors, made the dogs growl, whacked the walls, shook the blinds, and uttered frightful shrieks. In short, there was such a pandemonium that n.o.body could hear, and such a cloud of dust that n.o.body could see.

And yet this attack was all a sham. The time had not come for breaking through the etiquette. If, in prowling about, anybody were to find an unguarded aperture, or any opening whatsoever, he might try to slip in un.o.bserved, and then, if the carrier of the spit succeeded in placing his roast before the fire, and thus prove the capture of the hearth, the comedy was over and the bridegroom had conquered.

The entrances of the house, however, were not numerous enough for any to be neglected in the customary precautions, and n.o.body might use violence before the moment fixed for the struggle.

When they were weary of dancing and screams, the hemp-dresser began to think of capitulation. He went up to his window, opened it with precaution, and greeted the baffled a.s.sailants with a burst of laughter.

"Well, my boys," said he, "you look very sheep-faced. You thought there was nothing easier than to come in, and you see that our defense is good. But we are beginning to have pity on you, if you will submit and accept our conditions."

_The Grave-digger_: "Speak, good people. Tell us what we must do to approach your hearth."

_The Hemp-dresser_: "You must sing, my friends; but sing a song we don't know,--one that we can't answer by a better."

"That 's not hard to do," answered the grave-digger, and he thundered in a powerful voice: "'Six months ago, 'twas in the spring...'"

"'I wandered through the sprouting gra.s.s,'" answered the hemp-dresser in a slightly hoa.r.s.e but terrible voice. "You must be jesting, my poor friends, singing us such time-worn songs. You see very well that we can stop you at the first word."

"'She was a prince's daughter...'"

"'Right gladly would she wed,'" answered the hemp-dresser. "Come, move on to the next; we know that a little too well."

_The Grave-digger_: "How do you like this one?--

"'As I was journeying home from Nantes.'"

_The Hemp-dresser_:

"'Weary, oh, weary, was I, was I.'"

"That dates from my grandmother's time. Let's have another."

_The Grave-digger_: