"I saw people who were downcast, who can take no more, who are at the end of their tether. Even a revolt is beyond them."

Said Joël Boueilh, chairman of the winemaking co-operative federation, commenting on protesters who want the French government to help the wine industry.

Quoted in "French wine industry is withering on the vine as drinkers go dry/A collapse in demand — particularly for the heavy reds produced across southern France — coupled with climate change means the end of a way of life for many" (London Times).

Boueilh adds: "France was the land of the good life where people spent a lot of time drinking and eating. But today society is changing. People may have a drink in a bar but they don’t open a bottle of wine when they sit down to eat at the table."

Is it necessarily a loss in devotion to "the good life" or did people change their conception of the good? But he didn't say "good," did he? He would have said "douceur": "« La France était le pays de la douceur de vivre, celui où l’on prenait son temps pour manger et boire ensemble autour d’une table. »

There might be other ways of being "good," but are there other ways of being "sweet"? And more important, there is a tradition of experiencing the sweetness in a particular way, with a bottle of wine on the table at meals. 

Ah! That's for France to decide! Boueilh represents the wine industry. Of course, he's going to dramatize the centrality of wine. If I buy into that, I'm just an American accepting the most easily available stereotype.

That is, it's the stuff that belongs in the new Dictionary of Received Ideas: The French: They think the good life is sitting around drinking wine all day. 

ADDED: I wanted more depth of meaning for the word "douceur," and got excellent help from Grok. I am told that "douceur" is much more complex than the English “sweetness,” as explained by this chart:

I am told the world is "so emotionally charged for the French" because:

• It is the opposite of violence, brusquerie, vitesse, stress, âpreté — everything modern life is accused of bringing.
• It contains a nostalgic, almost maternal dimension: the douceur of childhood, of grandmother’s hands, of the light in the kitchen at 5 p.m. in winter.
• It is deeply tied to the body and the senses, never purely intellectual. You feel douceur on your skin, in your throat, in the air you breathe.
• Crucially, it almost always implies slowness. Something that is doux takes its time.

I am given these quotes:

Marcel Proust (Du côté de chez Swann):
« …la douceur d’une journée d’hiver où l’on reste auprès du feu »
→ Here douceur = softness + mildness + serene pleasure all at once.

Françoise Sagan:
« J’aime la douceur des matins trop courts »
→ A mixture of tenderness, mild climate, and melancholy joy.

1960s–70s slogan of the Loire Valley tourist board:
« La douceur de vivre »
→ Sold an entire region on the promise that life there is gentler, warmer, slower, more pleasurable.

Contemporary usage (2024–2025) in newspapers when speaking about the wine crisis:
« On est en train de perdre la douceur de vivre à la française »
→ They do not mean France is becoming less gourmet; they mean it is becoming harsher, faster, more anxious, less gentle.

I am told:

"When an older Frenchman says « On a perdu la douceur », he is not just saying life is less tasty or less fun. He is saying: 'Everything now feels sharper, colder, louder, more brutal; we have lost the gentle, warm, protective envelope that used to wrap daily existence.' That is why the word hurts so much when it is felt to be disappearing. It is not a luxury. For many French people, it is almost a human right."