My First Years as a Frenchwoman, 1876-1879Waddington, Mary King
History
My First Years as a Frenchwoman, 1876-1879
Waddington, Mary King
France -- History -- Third Republic, 1870-1940; France -- Social life and customs
All the autumn of '79 was very agitated. We were obliged to curtail our
stay at Bourneville, our country home. Even though the Chambers were not
sitting, every description of political intrigue was going on. Every day
W. had an immense courrier and every second day a secretary came down
from the Quai d'Orsay with despatches and papers to sign. Telegrams came
all day long. W. had one or two shooting breakfasts and the long tramps
in the woods rested him. The guests were generally the notabilities of
the small towns and villages of his circumscription,--mayors, farmers,
and small landowners. They all talked politics and W. was surprised to
see how in this quiet agricultural district the fever of democracy had
mounted. Usually the well-to-do farmer is very conservative, looks
askance at the very advanced opinions of the young radicals, but a
complete change had come over them. They seemed to think the Republic,
founded at last upon a solid basis, supported by honest Republicans,
would bring untold prosperity not only to the country, but to each
individual, and many very modest, unpretending citizens of the small
towns saw themselves conseilleurs généraux, deputies, perhaps even
ministers. It was a curious change. However, on the whole, the people in
our part of the world were reasonable. I was sorry to go back to town. I
liked the last beautiful days of September in the country. The trees
were just beginning to turn, and the rides in the woods were delightful,
the roads so soft and springy. The horses seemed to like the brisk
canter as much as we did. We disturbed all the forest life as we
galloped along--hares and rabbits scuttled away--we saw their white
tails disappearing into holes, and when we crossed a bit of plain,
partridges a long distance off would rise and take their crooked flight
across the fields. It was so still, always is in the woods, that the
horses' feet could be heard a long way off. It was getting colder (all
the country folk predicted a very cold winter) and the wood-fire looked
very cheerful and comfortable in my little salon when we came in.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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