A Sunday Engagement

Charles the gardener invited me to the engagement celebration of his eldest son, Charles POINTEZ, and Miss Catherine CHOVAUX on this Sunday, the 20th of July 1856. As tradition dictates, the event is being held at the home of Charles and Geneviève, the groom’s parents. Present will be Charles and Marie-Anne CHOVAUX, the bride’s parents, along with the godfathers and godmothers.

A storm surprised us early this afternoon. Zeus himself seemed to have taken possession of both sky and earth. With his sceptre, he hurled flashes of lightning across a sky turned midnight blue. The apocalyptic rumble of thunder frightened both people and animals alike. Torrents of rain poured through the streets, gardens, and vegetable plots. Sticky, slippery mud spread over everything in its path. Chaos followed, everyone searching desperately for shelter.

I myself was safe inside a cabriolet carriage. The coachman helped me down. I gathered the folds of my skirt and protected them as best I could. Geneviève opened the door for me ; I slipped beneath the arm she held against it, and she shut it quickly behind me. Charles introduced me to the assembled guests. I offered the bride-to-be several metres of finely embroidered lace so that she might adorn her wedding gown with it. A smile instantly illuminated her face.

“Do not worry, my dear child. Zeus may be angry, but Hera watches over the two of you.”

The conversation was lively. The parents discussed the wedding arrangements, each with their own opinions. Where should the ceremony take place? Under the shelter beside Uncle Henri’s farm? A good idea perhaps, but the farm lies more than ten kilometres away — and what of the elderly guests? No problem, Antoine’s cart would do perfectly well. A few buckets of water, some soap, a pair of willing arms, and it would shine like new.

Whom should they invite? The guest list was made and remade according to old disagreements and family reconciliations. And then, of course, there was money — always the true heart of the matter. The parents reserved the right to discuss finances privately amongst themselves. Yet if one or another relative wished to contribute money or food supplies, all assistance would be welcomed.

I slipped away for a while with the engaged couple. Charles and Catherine explained that they had met at the factory. Charles worked as a “remonteur”* while Catherine was a “wheeleuse”*. They had known one another for several years and had courted quietly, yet each had promised their respective parents not to marry until their departure from the family home would not plunge the household into poverty.

They were serious young people : a few kisses exchanged, a few gentle caresses, but nothing more. They were saving themselves for their wedding night.

They spoke softly to one another, their eyes never leaving the other’s face. Their hands met and lingered together. Catherine almost rested her head upon Charles’s shoulder. They were deeply touching to watch.

Like everyone else, they dreamed of a home and children. Catherine would continue working, though from home ; she could become an écailleuse, an effileuse, or a lace mender. Charles hoped to become a tulliste, paid by the piece. The more lace he produced, the more he would earn. But first, he needed to learn the trade. Every evening after work, he joined an experienced tulliste who taught him the rudiments of the craft.

I left them to their dreams of the future and returned to the kitchen, where Geneviève and I spoke together for quite some time. The approaching departure of her eldest daughter broke her heart, yet she knew the worth of her future son-in-law and found comfort in that knowledge.

I was about to leave them to their family gathering when the coachman arrived to collect me within half an hour. I had just enough time to say my farewells. Charles, Catherine’s father, who worked as a house painter, offered to repaint my building at a far lower cost than his competitors. Marie-Anne immediately nudged him sharply in the ribs.

“You exaggerate,” she whispered, her brows furrowed in embarrassment.

Politely, I asked for time to consider the offer. A knock at the door announced that my carriage was waiting. More hands were shaken, more embraces exchanged, and I stepped outside.

Zeus had calmed himself. Heavy clouds still crossed the sky, though now merely passing through. Daylight had regained its strength, though the sun still hesitated to reveal itself, allowing only the briefest ray to escape before being swallowed once more by the clouds. The townspeople had emerged carrying buckets and shovels, cleaning the streets together. Charles POINTEZ stepped outside, but his neighbours sent him back to his guests.

“Thank you, lads! I owe you one!”

The coachman cracked his whip, and the horse lunged forward, splashing muddy water onto the nearby residents. Rue de l’Égalité, Rue Lafayette, Rue Gambetta… I leaned out of the carriage window and called to the driver :

“A few extra coins if you would take me to the beach and wait there for a quarter of an hour — less if it begins raining again.”

“No problem at all, my little lady.”

When the sky remains sullen after a storm, the sea turns colours of ink, indigo, slate-grey, and pale linen. Churned by the swell, those colours dissolve themselves upon the sand. The wind, momentarily subdued, rose again and cooled the air. One last glance towards the horizon, and I returned to the carriage. A few hundred metres later, I was home.

Large drops of rain began falling once more. I had just enough time to pay my driver and hurry inside the entrance hall before the storm returned in full force.

Charles and Catherine were married on the 30th of June 1857.