The Saint-Matthieu Yesteryear
This is a story that takes place
Vicdessos the beautiful in the year of God
One thousand nine hundred and thirty-two
The time of fairs is over
The world has entered
Into a new millennium
In those days in the countryside, distractions were very rare,
The fair of Vicdessos, on the 1st Thursday of the month presented a particular attraction,
But that of St Matthew on September 21st at the sale of consecrated livestock
Brought to the fairground a considerable crowd from all the villages of the canton.
The day before, a great commotion animated the household of the old farm,
The mother, prepared the cold meal, ham and family sausage, roast chicken and cheese,
This famous cheese, soft as butter, veined with green mold,
The father chose the oldest ewes and sheep, as well as the lambs of the year.
Up before dawn, on their way to Vicdessos in their hooded black cape,
Guiding the animals, a stick in one hand and a candle lantern in the other,
The recalcitrant animals and the slower lambs were watched over by cousins and friends.
At 7 o'clock, the Vicdessos fairground echoed with the bleating of all these gathered sheep,
No barriers but each breeder had his traditional place on the market,
Each farmer had his usual customers, traders from the plain, from Roussillon and elsewhere,
Very early began the "barker" session bringing in a crowd of spectators.
Facing the horse dealers in large blue coats, they seized the most beautiful beasts by the horns,
Immediately began a brilliant promotion of the cut of the beast to its fleece,
Extolling its opulent spine, scrutinizing the dentition and in conclusion, expressing their admiration,
Impassive spectator after this dithyramb, suddenly a price flew from the horse dealer.
Thunderous exclamations from the seller showing his disapproval of the buyer,
What palaver, what tricks deployed, what false and real anger, what gestures in vain,
No agreement, with an angry gesture the beast set off again in the middle of the herd with ardor,
Moving away then returning, the last price was concluded with an energetic slap on the hand.
Once the deals were done, everyone had a bite to eat while watching their animals,
Until the buyers gave the order to take them to their trucks,
The shepherds traded to see who had gotten the best price per head,
Some who had not sold everything would return for St. Michael's Day, September 29 in Tarascon.
The day had been tough, but fruitful, it was fitting to end it in a cheerful way,
At the innkeeper's in Vicdessos, magnificent slices of roasted and parsleyed veal
Did make family and friends happy, wine and lemonade flowed freely,
Juicy grapes, fragrant peaches and purple figs, unknown in the mountains, delighted us.
On the way back, for the approaching start of the school year, Mom did her shopping,
School aprons, varnished wooden clogs, notebooks, pencils and other accessories,
In the meadows, the purple colchicums recalled the end of the long vacation in despair,
The paternal grandmother, who had stayed at home, watched for our return with her cat.
On the kitchen table, the father counted the bundle of notes filling his wallet,
They were the source of income for a whole year of work, hard and full of pitfalls,
Stored in the bedroom, they would cover the family's expenses for twelve months,
This is how the Saint-Matthieu Fair took place, in our beautiful Ariège country of yesteryear.
"« Qui va à la heiro sens argent, lebo lé nas et tourno-t-en ! »"
He who goes to the fair without money, raise his nose and go back!
Quatrains of Guy l’ARIÉ…..JOIE
inspired by a story by Jean-Jacques Billeau
From « Il était une « Foix » en Ariège »