Here ends the story of Germain's courtship, as he told it to me himself,
cunning ploughman that he is! I ask your pardon, dear reader, for having
been unable to translate it better; for the old-fashioned, artless
language of the peasants of the district that _I sing_--as they used to
say--really has to be translated. Those people speak too much French for
us, and the development of the language since Rabelais and Montaigne has
deprived us of much of the old wealth. It is so with all progress, and
we must make up our minds to it. But it is pleasant still to hear those
picturesque idioms in general use on the old soil of the centre of
France; especially as they are the genuine expressions of the mockingly
tranquil and pleasantly loquacious character of the people who use them.
Touraine has preserved a considerable number of precious patriarchal
locutions. But Touraine has progressed rapidly in civilization during
and since the Renaissance. It is covered with châteaux, roads,
activity, and foreigners. Berry has remained stationary, and I think
that, next to Bretagne and some provinces in the extreme south of
France, it is the most _conservative_ province to be found at the
present moment. Certain customs are so strange, so curious, that I hope
to be able to entertain you a moment longer, dear reader, if you will
permit me to describe in detail a country wedding, Germain's for
instance, which I had the pleasure of attending a few years ago.

For everything passes away, alas! In the short time that I have lived,
there has been more change in the ideas and customs of my village than
there was for centuries before the Revolution. Half of the Celtic,
pagan, or Middle-Age ceremonials that I saw in full vigor in my
childhood, have already been done away with. Another year or two,
perhaps, and the railroads will run their levels through our deep
valleys, carrying away, with the swiftness of lightning, our ancient
traditions and our wonderful legends.