The Project Gutenberg EBook of Our Little French Cousin, by Blanche McManus This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Our Little French Cousin Author: Blanche McManus Illustrator: Blanche McManus Release Date: September 28, 2013 [EBook #43831] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR LITTLE FRENCH COUSIN *** Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net cover 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 [i] [ii] 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. Little girl GERMAINE Our Little French Cousin By Blanche McManus Illustrated by The Author Boston The Page Company Publishers Copyright, 1905 By L. C. Page & Company (INCORPORATED) [iii] [iv] 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 [v] [vi] [vii] [viii] [ix] "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 [x] [xi] [xii] [xiii] 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 map 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 [xiv] [xv] [xvi] [1] [2] 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. 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 [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] farmyard THE FARM OF LA CHAUMIÈRE 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 [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] 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 [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] 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. CHAPTER II. TO ROUEN ON A BARGE Germaine and her parents, and her Uncle Daboll and his wife, and their little son Jean, just one year younger than Germaine, were all at the station long before the train was due. The two children were fairly prancing with glee, while Raton leaped about no less excited. They were very fond of Marie, as was every one who knew her, for she was a gentle, kind-hearted girl, and though several years older than Germaine, they were great companions. This was her first year away from home, and Germaine had missed her sadly. "There she is," cried Germaine, as the train pulled slowly in, and a young girl appeared at the window of one of the third-class carriages, waving her handkerchief, and throwing them kisses. Her father lifted her down, and every one kissed her twice, on either cheek, and amid much laughing and talking they walked toward Uncle Daboll's house, while Raton danced in circles about them as if he had gone mad. "Oh, Marie," cried Germaine and Jean in the same breath, "we have such a lovely surprise for you! You have heard, of course, of the grand 'Norman Fêtes,' which are to be held at Rouen next week! Well, just think, we are all going to see them, that is, you and Jean and me and uncle and aunt, and better still—how do you think we are going?" "Why, on the train, of course," laughed Marie, "and won't we have a good time." "No," spoke up Jean, quickly, "we are going a brand-new way. What do you say to going on a barge on the river?" "A barge," cried Marie, "but I thought no one was allowed to travel on the barges, except the people who ran them and lived on them." "That is true," said Germaine, "but uncle has fixed all that; you know he sends lots of brick to Rouen by the barges—one is being loaded up now at the quay, and he has arranged that we go on it to Rouen and stay on the barge while it is being unloaded, and see the fêtes. Then we will come back by train. Won't it be glorious?" "And," chimed in Jean, "papa is going to tell us all about the history of these fêtes after dinner." M. Daboll's home was a neat little cottage, with its upper part of black beams and white plaster, and a pretty red- tiled roof, the ground floor being of stone. M. Daboll owned a large brick-kiln, and was quite well-to-do. They all gathered for dinner about a round table in an arbour that overlooked the river. The arbour was ingeniously formed by training the branches of two trees and interlacing them as if they were vines, which gave complete shelter from the sun. Every one was eager to listen to Marie's account of her school life at the convent. It was a very old convent, with beautiful gardens surrounding it, built as usual around a courtyard, in the centre of which was a statue of St. Antoine, who is a favourite patron saint of schools, and considered the special guardian of children. He also, according to tradition, helps one find lost articles, and as we all know how school-children are always losing their belongings, this may be another reason for having the kind St. Antoine as a protector of school-children. At six the girls are up, and study an hour before the "little breakfast" of a roll and butter and chocolate or coffee. Lessons take up the time until noon, when they have their dinner of soup, meat, vegetable, and cider, with a gâteau, as they call a cake, on Sundays. After dinner they are taught plain sewing, and when the sewing hour is over they can play about the gardens until the study hour comes around again. A plain supper of bread and cheese, chocolate or milk, follows, and by nine o'clock every one is in bed. The children dress very simply,—plain cotton frocks, which indoors are always completely covered with a black apron or tablier. On Thursdays they have a half-holiday, and in the care of the Sisters go on little excursions or walks in the neighbourhood. A pleasant, simple life, and, as M. Lafond said, as he pinched Marie's cheek, "It seems to agree with you, my dear." "Now, papa, you promised to tell us about these Norman Fêtes," said Jean, when the table had been cleared away, and the little coffee-cups brought out. "So I will, Jean, and first you bring me that big roll which you will find on the side-table in the dining-room." Jean was back with it directly, and Uncle Daboll unrolled a big poster, advertising the fêtes. It showed a fine, strong man in ancient armour, seated on a prancing horse, carrying on his arm a shield, emblazoned with two red lions, and holding aloft a spear. Below him on the river were to be seen three small boats, each with one sail, and also arranged so [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] that it could be rowed by hand. "This represents Rollo," went on M. Daboll, as the children clustered around him, "the leader of a great race of people whose home was in the cold, far-away North. Tall people they were, with golden hair, and great sailors, who sailed in tiny ships, like those you see in the picture, over the bleak, stormy sea which lies between their land and France, until they came to the river Seine, where it empties into the Atlantic Ocean. "They rowed up the river and camped where the fine city of Rouen now stands, and from these fair-haired Northmen are descended the present-day Normans. It has been many centuries since all this happened, so the good people of Rouen thought this a suitable time to celebrate the founding of their city, and of the great Norman race, at one time the most powerful in France." "And at Rouen we shall also see the spot where poor Jeanne d'Arc was burned," said Marie. "We have just been reading her history at the school." "Tell us her story again," said Jean. "She will on the barge. You will have plenty of time then," said M. Lafond; "but we must be getting home now. It is quite a walk, and our little Marie must be tired after her long day." It was about six o'clock in the morning of the next day when the gay little party found themselves on the barge bound for Rouen. "Now here comes our tow that we must tie up to," said the bargeman, as a tug with five barges in tow came puffing down the river; and taking a long pole with a hook in the end of it, he began pushing the barge away from the shore until it moved toward the middle of the river. Then the tugboat slowed down until the long line of barges was just creeping along; one could hardly see that they moved at all. Just as the last one passed that which carried our party, the man in the stern of it threw them a rope which was quickly caught and fastened to the forward end, and as it grew taut, the barge began to move and soon took its place at the tail-end of the long procession. The children at once began to make themselves at home in their new surroundings. "Did you ever see anything nicer?" said Germaine, as she dragged Marie into the little house under the big tiller, where the bargeman and his wife lived. "Does it not look like a doll's house?" said Marie, as they went down the ladder into the tiny living room. Everything was as neat as could be, and painted white, with lace curtains at each of the small windows. It was wonderful how much could be stowed away inside, and yet leave plenty of room. A sewing-machine stood in one corner; a bird-cage was hanging in the window, and a little stove, a table to dine on, and a couple of chairs completed the arrangements, save the pictures on the walls, the china in a neat little cupboard, and the beds which were built like shelves, one above the other, to allow all the floor space possible. On deck, one side of the house was given up to a shelf full of gay flowers in pots, and vines were trained up against the side of the house. There was also on deck a chest to hold the meat and vegetables, so as to keep them cool and fresh, and a small cask was made into a house for the dog. Every barge has its dog and cat, which usually get on together very well, considering their crowded quarters. Everything about the house end of the barge was painted white with green trimmings, and all was very clean and neat. Jean then came up to tell them that he had found out that every barge in the tow belonged to a different owner. This he had learned from the gaudy colours with which they were decorated. "You will see," said he, "that ours has a big white triangle with a smaller red triangle inside of that painted on the bow. The one next to us has a broad red band with two white circles, and there is another yellow with two big blue stars on either side. These are the distinguishing marks of the different companies to which they belong." They were now leaving behind them the great high cliffs of white chalk that shine like snow, through which the river runs almost all the way from Mantes to Rouen. Just here it wound through rich green meadows. Along the water's edge were clumps of willow-trees, whose long, pliable twigs are used by the country people to weave baskets. They trim off the branches, but leave the tree standing for more branches to grow, and so they never use up their basket material. The French take very good care of their trees, and when they cut one down, always plant another in its place. Often the barge passed other long tows, whose barge-people would shout greetings across to them. For most bargees are acquainted, at least by sight, and the dogs would bark "How do you do's" as well. Great coal barges from Belgium passed, having come laden many hundreds of miles across France; and others with hogsheads of wine from the south, which have been brought by sea to Rouen. A merry dinner was served on a table on deck under an awning. The wife of the bargeman had cooked a good meal on the little stove which stood on one of the hatches right out in the open. They had a favourite country soup first, beef and cabbage soup with a crust of bread in it. (French soups are usually called potage, though the real country soup is often known by the name we call it ourselves—soupe.) Then there was a crisp green salad, big jugs of Normandy cider, which is a beautiful golden colour, blanquette de veau, which is veal with a nice white egg sauce over it. Lapin garnne followed, which is nothing more than stewed rabbit, and a dish of which all French people are very fond, and have nearly every day when it is in season. Fresh Normandy cream cheese and cherries and little cakes finished the meal, with the usual coffee and calvados for the older people. [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] "We will soon see Pont de l'Arche," said the bargeman, and they had barely finished dinner when the picturesque church of the town was seen rising above the trees. "It has no spire nor towers; it looks like half of a church," said Jean. "Which is true, but it is quite a famous church, nevertheless," said his father. "It is probably the only church in the world which is dedicated to 'Art and to the Artists.'" "Our Lady of the Arts" it is called. Artists are beginning to visit it more from year to year, and it is a veritable place of pilgrimage now. The barge soon passed under the old bridge at Pont de l'Arche, and left behind the church, standing high above the town, a landmark for miles along the river. Marie had promised to tell the children the story of Jeanne d'Arc, as they wanted to have it fresh in their minds when they visited Rouen, for every part of this old city is full of memories of this wonderful little peasant girl who saved her country, and, by so doing, made possible the existence of the great French nation of to-day. Sitting under the awning, as the barge glided along, Marie told the story of the little peasant girl, only sixteen years old, who lived in the far-away village of Domremy. Believing that Heaven had chosen her to save her country from the hands of the English, she made her way to the court of Charles VII., then King of France. It was at Chinon in the valley of the Loire—that other great river of France—that she finally reached her king, and in one of the great castles, whose ruins still crown the heights above the city, eloquently pleaded her cause. Visitors there to-day can see the room with its great fireplace in which this famous meeting took place. Her plea convinced the king, and she was made commander-in-chief of the army, which she led on to Orleans, raised the siege of that city, and drove the English off. There is to-day no city in France as proud of the "Maid" as is Orleans; indeed she is known as the "Maid of Orleans." The house she is supposed to have stayed in is now preserved as a museum, and every May, on the anniversary of the day on which the siege was raised, a great celebration takes place in front of the cathedral, and a procession of priests and people carrying banners marches around the town chanting hymns in her praise. Jeanne d'Arc did break the power of the English in France, true to her promise, and finally brought King Charles to the magnificent cathedral at Reims, where the French kings were always crowned, and herself, amid great rejoicing, placed the crown upon his head. But the king forgot what the "Maid" had done for him and for his country, apparently, and finally she was betrayed into the hands of her enemies, who took her to Rouen, and, after a mock trial, poor Jeanne was sentenced to death, and burnt in the market-place at Rouen. In later years the French nation recognized the great good she had done, and the memory of the little peasant girl of Domremy is loved and venerated throughout the land. There is scarcely a city in France that has not honoured her in some way, either by erecting a statue to her, or naming a place or street in her honour. The children were so much interested in the wonderful story of Jeanne d'Arc that they had not realized how time was flying. They were drawing near Rouen, for over the flat fields of the river valley on the left rose the tall chimneys of the cotton factories at Oissel and Elbeuf. There is much cotton cloth made in the vicinity of Rouen, and shipped all over France. On the quays there may be seen the bales of cotton that is grown on the plantations in the Southern States of America, and shipped from New Orleans direct to Rouen. Just here the bargeman pointed out to them the tiny church of St. Adrien. The "Rock Church," as it is known, is cut out of the chalk cliff, hanging high above the river. It looks like a bird's house perched up so high, with its four small windows and tiny bell-tower. Presently Uncle Daboll said, "Look way down the river, children, and tell me what you see." "Oh," cried Jean, "I see three church spires." "More than that," said Germaine. "I can count seven." "Both of you are right," said Uncle Daboll. "The three spires are those of three of the most beautiful churches in France. That tall, needle-like one belongs to the Cathedral of Notre Dame." [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] long line of boats "THE CITY BEGAN TO UNFOLD BEFORE THEM" "There is one which looks as if it has a crown on the top," said Germaine. "It does look like a crown made of stone, and so it has been called the 'Crown of Normandy.' It is on the central tower of the church of St. Ouen." The city began to unfold before them, with its long rows of quays lined with shops, hotels, and cafés on the one side, and ships from all parts of the world on the other. Their barge soon deftly glided into what seemed a perfect tangle of barges of all kinds, and came to anchor next to a big Belgian coal-carrier, whose occupants, like themselves, were evidently bent on getting as much enjoyment out of their visit to Rouen as possible. CHAPTER III. THE FÊTES AT ROUEN It was growing dark when our little party scrambled over the decks of several barges, and finally found themselves walking up the quay. The lights were beginning to twinkle in all directions, and in a few minutes the river and city were ablaze. It seemed like fairyland to the children. The bridges were outlined with golden globes and festoons of tiny lamps of red, white, and blue. Wreaths of lights, in the shape of flowers of all colours, made innumerable arches of light across the streets. Everywhere were flags grouped about shields on which were the letters R. F., which stand for the words "Republic of France." Walking in any direction was not easy. A mass of people swaying hither and thither blocked streets, bridges, and quays. Our little Les Andelys party did not attempt to stem the torrent. "We will just drift along," said Uncle Daboll, "and see what we can, and you children hold each other's hands and keep closely to us." It was a motley and most good-natured crowd. Ladies in Parisian gowns mingled with country women in their fanciful white caps, kerchiefs, and short skirts. There were Breton fisherfolk and dark-skinned people from the far south; sailors and soldiers in their gay red and blue uniforms, and every now and then one would hear a clear English voice. Vendors of toys for the little ones, and souvenirs for everybody, stood on every corner and did a flourishing trade, and high above the heads of every one floated masses of the small red, white, and blue balloons, held captive on a long string, without which no French fête is complete. On the sidewalk in front of the cafés, people were sitting at small tables sipping their coffee and the numberless sweet drinks of which the French are so fond, while at each café a band was playing for the amusement of its guests, but was also enjoyed by the passing throngs. It took the combined efforts [41] [42] [43] of many natty policemen—"gendarmes," they are called—to keep an open pathway through the crowd. A gendarme looks more like a soldier than a policeman, in his dark blue uniform and soldier-cap, a short sword by his side, and a cape over his shoulders, all of which gives him quite a military air. Presently, at a corner, they were stopped by an even denser throng who were watching a gaily dressed crowd of people entering a brilliantly decorated and illuminated building. "What is this?" asked Uncle Daboll of a man near him. "It is the grand costume ball at the theatre, where every one is expected to dress in old Norman costume," was the answer. "Oh," said Germaine, "that is why the ladies are wearing those funny tall head-dresses; look, Marie, there is one quite near us." The costume was both pretty and odd. The lady had on a white head-dress made of embroidered muslin, very like a sunbonnet in shape, with a high crown, around which was tied a big bow of ribbon. A bright-coloured kerchief was about her neck, and she wore a square-necked cloth bodice neatly laced in front, with sleeves to the elbow; underneath this was a white chemisette, as it is called. Around the neck and sleeves of the bodice were bands of velvet. A very short skirt, gathered as full as possible about the waist, a dainty little apron of coloured silk with lace insertion, wooden sabots, prettily carved, and lace mitts on her hands, completed her unusual costume. The gentleman with her was also in Norman dress. He had big baggy trousers, a high velvet waistcoat embroidered in bright colours, a short round jacket with gold buttons, a high white collar with a big red silk handkerchief tied in a bow around the neck, enormous sabots, and all topped off with a high silk hat, with a straight brim. While the children were busy looking at the details of the costumes, a carriage halted so near Germaine that she could have put out her hand and touched its occupant, who was a young girl about her own age. Germaine was at once attracted to her. She had a sweet pretty face, bright rosy cheeks, and soft blue eyes; her waving, brown hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and across her white dress was draped a small silk flag which Germaine recognized as the British flag, known as the "Union Jack." She wore a wreath of red roses and carried in her hand a bunch of the same flowers in which were stuck two small silk flags—one French and the other British. Beside her sat a portly gentleman in a gorgeous robe of black and red trimmed with fur, while around his neck was a massive golden chain. As Germaine was watching her, the little girl leaned eagerly out of the carriage window, and in so doing dropped her bouquet at Germaine's feet. "Oh, papa, I have lost my flowers," she cried. Meanwhile Germaine quickly picked them up, and handed them back to her; and not a moment too soon, for the carriage was moving on again and the bouquet would have been crushed under its wheels. "Thank you so much," cried the little girl, looking back and waving her hand. Germaine did not understand the words, but knew she had been thanked in English. Germaine had b...