Catherine's Coquetries: A Tale of French Country Life
9781465679284
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“Bravo, Sidonie!” “Ah, but he escapes her, the scamp!” Thus shout the spectators as they watch a poor young lame girl chase, with all her energy, a young fellow of two and twenty, who makes all possible effort to elude her. Sidonie’s right hand clasps an important adjunct of the homely game—a little cluster of red raspberries. In the absorbed ardor of pursuit the “Little Crook,” as they call her, holds it quite mechanically, and from her tightly clinched fingers trickle drops of the crimson juice as she runs. “Good, little one, good,” cries the little old man, who is highly amused at the endeavors of the unfortunate lame girl. Sidonie makes a fresh start—this time determined to catch the fugitive. The aspect of the afflicted girl as she hobbles about on limbs of unequal length does not engender among these peasants any particular feeling of compassion. None of her companions ever dreamed of offering her pity. She perfectly enjoys the game. She would be utterly astounded and piqued if any one manifested an open sympathy on account of her deformity. With that great endurance so natural among hardy peasants, and often so inexplicable to the city born and bred, she pursues the young man. After running in a straight line a short distance, he suddenly changes his tactics. A tree—several for that matter, but one in particular—stands near by. He runs behind it and awaits Sidonie, his hands clasping the trunk. Reaching the tree she fully expects to seize him. But he pretends to go to the right, and as she confidently advances he makes for another tree to the left, and so the game is prolonged. And the brave girl, always smiling, continues the pursuit, until at length Bruno, the young peasant, slips and falls upon the sward, and before he can recover himself, Sidonie holds him down and daubs his face over and over again with the juice of her crushed raspberries. Everybody approaches to congratulate “Little Crook,” who laughs in glee at her triumph. Her good-natured adversary joins in the ensuing merriment. What game are they playing? Indeed, it has no name as yet, for it has just been invented by Catherine, the wife of Madame le Hausseur’s gamekeeper; but its novelty has rendered it at once popular among the country lads and lasses.
