Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone: Notes, social, picturesque, and legendary, by the way. — John Shaqi
Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone: Notes, social, picturesque, and legendary, by the way.Reach, Angus B. (Angus Bethune)
General
Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone: Notes, social, picturesque, and legendary, by the way.
Reach, Angus B. (Angus Bethune)
Agriculture -- France; France -- Description and travel
vintagers announced that they were not going to be cheated, and that if
they could not cross the water, they could stay where they were.
Accordingly, a bivouac was soon formed. Creeping under the lee of a row
of casks, on the shingle of the bare beach, the women were placed
leaning against the somewhat hard and large pillows in question; the
children were nestled at their feet and in their laps; and the men
formed the outermost ranks. A supply of loaves was sent for and
obtained. The chief tore the bread up into huge hunks, which he
distributed to his dependents; and upon this supper the whole party
went coolly to sleep--more coolly, indeed, than agreeably; for a keen
north wind was whistling along the sedgy banks of the river, and the red
blaze of high-piled faggots was streaming from the houses across the
black, cold, turbid waters. At length, however, some arrangement was
come to; for, on visiting the spot a couple of hours afterwards, I found
the party rather more comfortably ensconced under the ample sails of the
barge which was to bear them the next morning to their destination.
The dinner-party formed every day, when the process of stripping the
vines is going on, is, particularly in the cases in which the people are
treated well by the proprietor, frequently a very pretty and very
picturesque spectacle. It always takes place in the open air, amongst
the bushes, or under some neighbouring walnut-tree. Sometimes long
tables are spread upon tressles; but in general no such formality
is deemed requisite. The guests fling themselves in groups upon the
ground--men and women picturesquely huddled together--the former bloused
and bearded personages--the latter showy, in their bright short
petticoats of home-spun and dyed cloth, with glaring handkerchiefs
twisted like turbans round their heads--each man and woman with a deep
plate in his or her lap. Then the people of the house bustle about,
distributing huge brown loaves, which are torn asunder, and the
fragments chucked from hand to hand. Next a vast cauldron of soup,
smoking like a volcano, is painfully lifted out from the kitchen, and
dealt about in mighty ladlefuls; while the founder of the feast takes
care that the tough, thready _bouilli_--like lumps of boiled-down
hemp--shall be fairly apportioned among his guests. _Piquette_ is the
general beverage. A barrel is set abroach, and every species of mug,
glass, cup, and jug about the establishment is called in to aid in its
consumption. A short rest, devoted to chatting, or very often sleeping
in the shade, over, the signal is given, and the work recommences.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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