He walks about arm-in-arm
with her, singing and dancing, until a fresh attack of intoxication
sends him headlong to the ground once more: and with that his wife's
lamentations recommence, her discouragement, her pretended misconduct,
the husband's jealousy, the intervention of the bystanders, and the
reconciliation. There is in all this an ingenuous, even commonplace,
lesson, which savors strongly of its origin in the Middle Ages, but
which always makes an impression, if not upon the bride and groom,--who
are too much in love and too sensible to-day to need it,--at all
events, upon the children and young girls and boys. The _paien_ so
terrifies and disgusts the girls, by running after them and pretending
to want to kiss them, that they fly from him with an emotion in which
there is nothing artificial. His besmeared face and his great
stick--perfectly harmless, by the way--makes the youngsters shriek with
fear. It is the comedy of manners in its most elementary but most
impressive state.
When this farce is well under way, they prepare to go in search of the
cabbage. They bring a hand-barrow, on which the _paien_ is placed, armed
with a spade, a rope, and a great basket. Four strong men carry him on
their shoulders. His wife follows him on foot, the _ancients_ come in a
group behind, with grave and pensive mien; then the wedding-party falls
in two by two, keeping time to the music.
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