Country life -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Love stories
"What are you doing?" cried Brulette. "I told you that I had no
heart to amuse myself, now that Joseph has left his mother and
friends for such a time, and as for you, you'll be in danger of a
fight if the other pipers should come this way and find you playing."
"Bah!" said Huriel, "we'll see about that; don't be troubled for
me,--you must dance, Brulette, or I shall think you are really in
love with an ungrateful fellow who has left you."
Whether it was that Brulette was too proud to let him think that, or
that the dancing mania was too strong for her, it is certain that the
bagpipe was no sooner fitted and filled and beginning to sound than
she held out no longer and let me carry her off for the first reel.
You would hardly believe, friends, what cries of satisfaction and
delight filled the marketplace at the resounding noise of that
bagpipe and the return of the muleteer, for every one thought him
gone. The dancing had flagged and the company were about to disperse
when he made his appearance once more on the piper's stone.
Instantly such a hubbub arose! no longer four to eight couples were
dancing, but sixteen to thirty-two, joining hands, skipping,
shouting, laughing, so that the good God himself couldn't have got a
word in edgewise. And presently every one in the market-place, old
and young, children who couldn't yet use their legs, grandfathers
tottering on theirs, old women jigging in the style of their youth,
awkward folk who couldn't get the time or the tune,--they all set to
spinning; and, indeed, it is a wonder the clock of the parish church
didn't spin too. Fancy! the finest music ever heard in our parts and
costing nothing! It seemed as if the devil had a finger in it, for
the piper never asked to rest, and tired out everybody except
himself. "I'm determined to be the last," he cried when they advised
him to rest. "The whole parish shall give in before me; I intend to
keep it up till sunrise, and you shall all cry me mercy!" So on we
went, he piping and we twirling like mad.
Mère Biaude, who kept the tavern, seeing there was profit in it,
brought out tables and benches and something to eat and drink; as to
the latter article, she couldn't furnish enough for so many stomachs
hungry by dancing, so folks living near brought out for their friends
and acquaintance the victuals they had laid in for the week. One
brought cheese, another a bag of nuts, another the quarter of a kid,
or a sucking pig, all of which were roasted and broiled at a fire
hastily built in the market-place. It was like a wedding to which
every one flocked. The children were not sent to bed, for no one had
time to think of them, and they fell asleep, like a heap of lambs, on
the piles of lumber which always lay about the market-place, to the
wild racket of the dance and the bagpipe, which never stopped except
it was to let the piper drink a jorum of the best wine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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