established their ball-room here, to the
infinite discomfiture of the bustling
landlady, who was wringing her hands in
despair at the impracticability of serving
supper to a party of strangers just arrived.
Nothing could be done; the custom of the
fête was not to be interfered with; and the
distressed mistress of the house was left to
lament the want of caution in leaving open
the street-door, and to scold the waiters for
a neglect which they evidently had not
unadvisedly fallen into. Round and round the
dining-table did these circling votaries of the
tour-making goddess, Diana, go, singing
vociferously, and grasping each other's hands, so
as to form a strong unbroken chain. Suddenly,
when at its height, the noise and tumult
ceased, the party rushed out of the still open
door of the hotel—which was closed in a
moment on them—and it seems directed
their steps to another domicile, there to
renew their feats. But, as the clock struck
the hour of ten, as if by magic every voice
was silent, every light was extinguished, and
the quiet town of Dinant had returned to its
propriety.

As the moon happened to be very bright
that night, and I wished to see its effect
on the river and the rocks, I accepted
the offer of one of the waiters to let me
through a series of unoccupied rooms in the
hotel to the back, where rose the sheer cliff
like a wall, in which steps had been cut
leading to terrace gardens hanging along its
surface. Here, at the utmost elevation,
besides a summer-house covered with grape
vine, I found a large cavern half concealed by
shrubs. As this retains the name of the
Oracle, it was clear to my mind that I was
at that moment standing on a spot sacred to
the sibyl, where she, hidden in this exalted
seclusion, delivered her enigmas to her
votaries, who, in the days of her power, danced
then, as now, at the foot of the mountain on
which her temple was perched. When other
rites drove forth the pagan, the priests of the
new faith, willing to reform by degrees and
humouring the tastes of the people, permitted
some part of former religious ceremonies
to be retained. In this way it was that for
several centuries the dance appeared in a
sort of semi-solemn form, as when the abbot
led a holy band of priestly attendants with
steps in measured cadence up the aisles of
his cathedral. By degrees priests gave up
this somewhat incongruous privilege to
magistrates, on whom it sat with scarcely more
gravity when those worthies capered through
both streets and halls on great occasions.
When such grave personages declined to carry
on the custom, the church again came to the
rescue, and at many a village wedding or
christening, until within comparatively few
years, the curé had the right to lead off the
ball with the bride or the mother of the
infant. It required, in some distant villages,
the tornado of the great French revolution
to overturn a custom so deeply rooted
amongst the peasantry. Now, however,
neither abbés nor magistrates interfere except
to see that all finishes at ten o'clock.

I remember once, in the Vosges, being
witness to a village dance, in which there
seemed something of a religious
character. It is called Les Faschenottes or
Danse des Bures, and takes place on
Quadragésime Sunday, after vespers. Near the
village church was an open place called La
Bure, where, directly after leaving the service,
the young men and maidens assembled, but
separated into groups; all the girls together,
and all the men together.

The two parties then formed a chain and
began wheeling round; at every three turns
they all together raised a song, the burthen
of which was, Whom shall we Marry? The
first reply came from the female circle, who,
with much clamour, called out the name of one
of their number, who was straightway placed
in the centre of their circle. Round went both
parties again three times, and, pausing at the
mystic number, the elected damsel sang out
in patois, "I will love him who loves me."
The same thing was meantime going on with
the men, and, after a youth had been duly
elected, the pair were introduced, commanded
to embrace, and then were admitted to
join the whirling chain. Another and
another succeeded, until there being no more
couples, the chain was completed, and the
round went on till everyone was tired. But
the most remarkable part of this dance is,
that at a signal each girl receives a torch
brought from the church, and quits for a
moment the hand of her partner, while she
does her part in setting fire to a pile of wood
in the middle of the place. After it is lighted
they resume their round, and when the fire
is nearly extinct, there ensues a scramble for
the brands by each couple. Those who succeed
in getting one carry it off in triumph to the
girl's house; her relations being at their
doors watching the ceremony. These couples
are generally understood to be engaged, and
probably, if there is no wish on the part of
the gallant to make the affair serious, he
hedges out before the end of the solemnity.
Although as clear as possible to the eyes of
a learned Theban, what all this is derived
from, it is unlikely that the lively pairs who
have been exerting themselves so well and
long, have reflected on the fact of their being
priests and priestesses of the goddess Diana,
and that they have been performing a
sorcerer's charm; neither do they pause to
consider the meaning of their patois word,
fashinotte, and twist it back into fascinatis,
which tells the whole tale.