On the day before that fixed for the marriage, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the musicians arrived, that is to say, the bagpipers and viol-players, with their instruments decorated with long floating ribbons, and playing a march written for the occasion, in a measure somewhat slow for the feet of any but natives, but perfectly adapted to the nature of the heavy ground and the hilly roads of that region.  Pistol-shots, fired by youths and children, announced the beginning of the ceremony.  The guests assembled one by one and danced on the greensward in front of the house, for practice.  When night had come, they began to make strange preparations:  they separated into two parties, and when it was quite dark, they proceeded to the ceremony of the livrees.

That ceremony was performed at the home of the fiancee, La Guillette’s cabin.  La Guillette took with her her daughter, a dozen or more young and pretty shepherdesses, her daughter’s friends or relations, two or three respectable matrons, neighbors with well-oiled tongues, quick at retort, and unyielding observers of the ancient customs.  Then she selected a dozen sturdy champions, her relations and friends; and, lastly, the old hemp-beater of the parish, a fine and fluent talker, if ever there was one.

The role played in Bretagne by the bazvalan, or village tailor, is assumed in our country districts by the hemp-beater or the wool-carder, the two professions being often united in a single person.  He attends all solemnities, sad or gay, because he is essentially erudite and a fine speaker, and on such occasions it is always his part to act as spokesman in order that certain formalities that have been observed from time immemorial may be worthily performed.  The wandering trades which take men into the bosoms of other families and do not permit them to concentrate their attention upon their own, are well calculated to make them loquacious, entertaining, good talkers, and good singers.

The hemp-beater is peculiarly sceptical.  He and another rustic functionary, of whom we shall speak anon, the grave-digger, are always the strong-minded men of the neighborhood.  They have talked so much about ghosts, and are so familiar with all the tricks of which those mischievous spirits are capable, that they fear them hardly at all.  Night is the time when all three, hemp-beaters, grave-diggers, and ghosts, principally exercise their callings.  At night, too, the hemp-beater tells his harrowing tales.  May I be pardoned for a slight digression.

When the hemp has reached the proper point, that is to say, when it has been sufficiently soaked in running water and half dried on the bank, it is carried to the yards of the different houses; there they stand it up in little sheaves, which, with their stalks spread apart at the bottom and their heads tied together in balls, greatly resemble, in the dark, a long procession of little white phantoms, planted on their slim legs and walking noiselessly along the walls.