But when they come to pass through the gate, and again when they try to enter the bridegroom’s yard, an imaginary obstacle bars the passage.  The bearers of the barrow stumble, utter loud exclamations, step back, go forward again, and, as if they were driven back by an invisible force, seem to succumb under the burden.  Meanwhile, the rest of the party laugh heartily and urge on and soothe the human team.  “Softly! softly, boy!  Come, courage!  Look out!  Patience!  Stoop!  The gate is too low!  Close up, it’s too narrow! a little to the left; now to the right!  Come, take heart, there you are!”

So it sometimes happens that, in years of abundant crops, the ox-cart, laden beyond measure with fodder or grain, is too broad or too high to enter the barndoor.  And such exclamations are shouted at the powerful cattle to restrain or excite them; and with skilful handling and vigorous efforts the mountain of wealth is made to pass, without mishap, beneath the rustic triumphal arch.  Especially with the last load, called the gerbaude, are these precautions required; for that is made the occasion of a rustic festival, and the last sheaf gathered from the last furrow is placed on top of the load, decorated with ribbons and flowers, as are the heads of the oxen and the driver’s goad.  Thus the triumphal, laborious entry of the cabbage into the house is an emblem of the prosperity and fruitfulness it represents.

Arrived in the bridegroom’s yard, the cabbage is taken to the highest point of the house or the barn.  If there is a chimney, a gable end, a dove-cote higher than the other elevated portions, the burden must, at any risk, be taken to that culminating point.  The paien accompanies it thither, fixes it in place, and waters it from a huge jug of wine, while a salvo of pistol-shots and the joyful contortions of the paienne announce its inauguration.

The same ceremony is immediately repeated.  Another cabbage is dug up in the bridegroom’s garden and borne with the same formalities to the roof that his wife has abandoned to go with him.  The trophies remain in place until the rain and wind destroy the baskets and carry off the cabbages.  But they live long enough to offer some chance of fulfilment of the prophecy that the old men and matrons utter as they salute them.  “Beautiful cabbage,” they say, “live and flourish, so that our young bride may have a fine little baby before the end of the year; for if you die too quickly, it will be a sign of sterility, and you will be stuck up there on top of the house like an evil omen.”

The day is far advanced before all these performances are at an end.  It only remains to escort the husband and wife to the godfathers and godmothers.  When these putative parents live at a distance, they are escorted by the musicians and all the wedding-party to the limits of the parish.  There, there is more dancing by the roadside, and they kiss the bride and groom when they take leave of them.  The paien and his wife are then washed and dressed in clean clothes, when they are not so fatigued by their roles that they have had to take a nap.