It’s wedding season in France again…Felicità!

| Saturday, July 18, 2020

Guitarist playing in the Grand Salon of the Chateau, shot by Philip Stephenson

“Il n’y a qu’un bonheur dans la vie, c’est d’aimer et d’être aimé.”

— George Sand

Dear Friend,

Obelisk in the woodlands beyond the Chateau bathing in the morning sun, shot by Philip Stephenson

My son, Henry kindly cycled up to the village of Courtomer and came back with a newspaper and our favorites: brioche au sucre for me and chausson au pomme for him. We’re dallying over a late breakfast in the glorious sun of the Normandy summer, looking out over the green swathe of the lawn to the woods. Shadows play on the stone obelisk amid the trees. 

Henry’s been going to weddings this summer. A two-hour mass, cocktails, and dinner followed by a waltz and a bit of swing is enough for my husband and me. But Henry and his comrades dance le rock français until the wee hours. This requires physical stamina, agility, a strong sense of geometry, and computational ability – all needed to execute intricate figures amid throngs of dancers energized by freely-flowing champagne. It also requires serious down time in the days that follow. Plus a good pair of sunglasses with which to greet the morning light.

These are happy times!

Second only to the bride and groom, their fathers and mothers look their festive best. Children are polished up to be enfants d’honneur. The bride’s sisters and friends teach them to toss rose petals – and not to step on the bride’s train. The priest bustles in and ruffles through the pages of his homelie – usually a recognition that the road ahead is bumpy as well as full of joy, well-peppered with biblical injunctions to go forth, multiply, and stand by your better half.

A choir of friends will sing Mozart’s Ave verum corpus or another sacred chant, mostly audibly and sometimes on tune. They practice up to the last minute, all the while adjusting each other’s hair and straightening neckties. The assembled body embraces old friends, politely greets unknown guests, rustles, soothes babies, and waits.

Bride in the warmth of the Chateau looking out onto the sunny Park on the big day, shot by Courtney Kagan

After acclaiming the newly married pair at the sortie de l’église or wherever the ceremony is held, it’s time to assemble on a lawn, under the shade of tents or tall trees. Naturally, a venue like the Chateau de Courtomer is ideal! Streaming in from the solemnities, guests are ready for cold drinks and champagne. One jealously eyes the mounds of fresh oysters on ice and the foie gras sizzling on the plancha during the cocktail reception – these delicacies can vanish fast. Sometimes a daring member of the groom’s party will take a swipe with a sabre, striking right through the necks of waiting champagne bottles – which then spill, fizz, and bubble into triads of champagne flutes! The light begins to dim, shadows lengthen on the lawn…and the Happy Few as the French like to call the inner circle, look for their names on cards – directing them to their tablée of guests.

Ah, et le dîner! The father of the bride gives a speech, funny and wry, solemn and a bit sad, or merely dull – as long or as short as his talents and family will allow. Friends give cryptic toasts punctuated by giggles and le fou rire – that’s wild, uncontrolled laughter -- from insiders. Les cousins – for French families encourage close relationships at each generation – perform silly skits.

The listeners strain to follow forgotten pranks and childhood idiosyncrasies. The bridal party leads a conga line while the deejee spins a vintage tube like “Felicità.” (So années 80! As one married when this hit the discos of Europe, I dab away furtive tears.) Young men and women leap up on chairs and wave handkerchiefs. And distant relations and old family friends get to know each other over a meal as delectable as the family can imagine. Because, of course, the whole idea is to faire plaisir for family and friends, to create the warmest, happiest, and most unforgettable evening ever.

I shook off my reverie and was about to offer Henry another cup of café au lait. He’s fallen asleep. I pick up the paper. I’m not really sure why, but Ouest France is offering me three special features on three great French bank robbers. I suppose it’s a way to escape from all the peace and quiet of the Normandy countryside…

A très bientôt, au Chateau !