"Laudate Dominum II"
More tales from the French countryside,
including a racy dinner table exchange...
by Bill Bonner
Poitou, France - "As we parted yesterday, we were describing a recent wedding. We continue our report on life in rural France… as rambling and inconsequential as a Karine Jean-Pierre press conference.
“Nobody wants to hear it… my daughter is appalled when I bring it up,” began a dinner companion, “but marriage still matters. To men and women. Marry well and you have someone to help you through life’s rough patches. Marry badly, and you get dragged down into a kind of hell on earth.”
It was nearly midnight. We were having dinner under the tent. The small talk had been drained away like the bottle of red wine in front of us. We knew the names and family circumstances of the three women around us. All were attractive, middle-aged… one was beautiful. All, like us, had lived in the same area of Paris and sent our children to the same school. Those children, now in their 20s and 30s, became the subject of conversation.
The woman to our right, the beautiful one, wasted no words. “I tell my daughter that she is delusional… but she won’t listen. She is with a woman. She says she’s not a lesbian; she just likes this woman. But I’ve met the woman. She isn’t even attractive. I tell my daughter that what she is doing is unnatural. I tell her she has to get serious about finding a husband and having a family. But now she says that she and her ‘partner’ are going to have a baby. I don’t even know how that is possible. I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I remember how hard it was…,” volunteered another member of our little group. “I had a husband. He didn’t help much around the house. But he was there when I needed him. And he earned enough money so I didn’t have to work. Even so, with the two of us, raising a family was still difficult. I can’t imagine trying to do it alone.”
The beautiful one: “Today, a lot of people don’t want to get married. They think the customs of the past – our customs – are stupid or unnecessary. They think they are so smart, they don’t need any help in life… or that the government will take care of them.”
But we need to back up.
Affairs of the Heart: When we left you yesterday, the bride was just walking down the aisle. Even before the church bells tolled, the wedding had already been underway for months. These are large affairs with many moving parts. There are caterers to be engaged… music (live or recorded)… a tent must be rented… cars must be parked… speeches prepared…and invitations sent out. The wedding is not just a union of two young people who thought it might be a good idea. It joins two families… two pools of DNA to be mixed together to produce a whole new strain. And each family has its own ‘culture.’ Are bride and groom well suited to each other? Just read the invitation...
The invitation typically includes each family’s bona fides. If there is a “de” in the name, you immediately know you are dealing either with an old, aristocratic family… or one that got jumped up during the 19th century. “De” means ‘of’ and it connects a person to a property, presumably one that has been in the family for a long time.
The names tell a story too… there are old French names… there are more modern names... and there are foreign names. Since the creation of the European Union it is common to see “mixed” marriages. The ceremony on Saturday brought together a family from Munich with a local family from France. The story of how they got together was complicated enough that we lost track of it. But the father of the bride gave a delightful speech in a German accent… and, after a few drinks, danced a heel-slapping jig in the Bavarian style.
Next weekend we will attend a marriage of a French boy to a ‘Spanish’ girl. But that is another feature of these marriages; they emphasize regional particularities. The girl is from the area around Barcelona, so the invitation is printed in bi-lingual edition, French and Catalan.
The invitation also provides other telling information. Grandparents and parents are included, with their honorifics. If a grandfather received the Legion of Honor, for example, it will be mentioned. Titles, too, are prominently displayed – the Count of this… Marquis of that… Barons…Viscounts – all the old distinctions, like dusty uniforms from the Napoleonic wars, are brought out of the closets.
Military men come to these events in full dress uniform, with all their medals displayed. The son of our friends has been in gendarmerie for many years – taking part in peace-keeping operations in several African and Middle-Eastern countries. His chest was so heavily bedecked we were afraid he might pitch over forward.
Lost in Translation: After the ceremony, the newly married couple drive off in an old car… followed by a hundred or so other cars. All head to the reception, usually held at the bride’s family pile. Typically, the father of the bride has been at work for months, preparing the lawn… the flowers… painting windows… repairing gates.
We were each handed a glass of punch on arrival. Then, we made our way to the garden. There was a 3-piece band in the corner. Tables were set up with drinks… and hors d’oeuvres. It was only after a very long time of standing around, drink in hand, chatting with other guests that we were ushered to the tent.
In Latin America, couples are always seated together. In France they never are, with one exception – newlyweds. The young married couple took their place at the center of a long table facing towards the entry to the tent. Everyone else sat at tables set perpendicular to it, with each place chosen by the hosts. If you are lucky, you are seated with interesting, jolly companions at your side. If not, the evening can be very long. You might find yourself next to a bitter scold who wants to check your vaccination card… and whose husband just ran off the maid.
The challenge of making polite conversation for hours on end is compounded for your editor; he doesn’t hear very well… and though he is no stranger to the French language, a large crowd, all talking at the same time, can make it hard to follow the gist of the discussion. So, he is likely to respond inappropriately.
She: “I lost my husband to cancer two years ago.”
He: “Well…there are plenty of pet stores.”
She: “No…I said, my ‘husband.’”
He: “What’s the matter; doesn’t he like dogs?”
She: “You are very amusing.”
He: “I had a cocker spaniel. He thought he was a chicken. Then, he got hit by a garbage truck.”
She: “I suppose your wife was very upset.”
He: “No, but she missed the eggs.”
No Differences, No Rules: Men and women are supposed to entertain each other, to flirt modestly and lament the state of the nation, until the speeches begin later in the evening. But at our table, after the introductions and warm-ups, the conversation turned serious.
“I tell my daughter to find a nice guy from our ‘group’… you know from a good family… that she can settle down with,” continued the blonde woman on our right. “She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t believe there are any ‘groups’… no differences… and no rules.”
The dark-haired woman in front of us had already told us that she had three daughters… all in their 20s… none of whom seemed eager to get married. “They don’t even have serious boyfriends. They don’t seem to believe in it. And when I meet one of their ‘amis’ I am sometimes shocked; they are nice enough, I guess, but not at all the sort of person you could build a life with.”
“Well, at least they’re men,” replied the blonde. “I don’t know what’s gotten into this generation. They think they can do whatever they want. If they’re a girl, they think they can be a boy. They don’t think they have to worry about their careers. Or about getting married. Or about having children. They don’t think there is anything that we would call ‘human nature.’ And no lessons from the past that might help us in the future. They must think that everybody who came before them – all their countless grandparents and ancestors, including us – were idiots.
My daughter tells me she is in love with this other girl. She even talks about getting married to her. I tell her, ‘You can love your cat. But you can’t marry your cat. Marriage is between men and women. It’s what makes the world go ‘round.’”
“I was just reading an account of the settling of America by the pilgrims at Plymouth Rock,” we edged into the conversation. “There was a young man who apparently liked animals so much, he had sex with them. A mare. A cow. A goat. The pilgrims thought this was an inexcusable sin. They slaughtered the animals, burnt them, and hung the young man.”
“I don’t know…” the blonde came back at us, “but that story does not make me feel better about my daughter.”
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