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diff --git a/2196-0.txt b/2196-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70e50d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/2196-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6574 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Iceland Fisherman, by Pierre Loti + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: An Iceland Fisherman + +Author: Pierre Loti + +Release Date: March 25, 2006 [EBook #2196] +Last Updated: March 6, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ICELAND FISHERMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers + + + + + +AN ICELAND FISHERMAN + +By Pierre Loti + + +Translated by M. Jules Cambon + + + + +PIERRE LOTI + +The first appearance of Pierre Loti's works, twenty years ago, caused +a sensation throughout those circles wherein the creations of intellect +and imagination are felt, studied, and discussed. The author was one +who, with a power which no one had wielded before him, carried off his +readers into exotic lands, and whose art, in appearance most simple, +proved a genuine enchantment for the imagination. It was the time when +M. Zola and his school stood at the head of the literary movement. There +breathed forth from Loti's writings an all-penetrating fragrance +of poesy, which liberated French literary ideals from the heavy +and oppressive yoke of the Naturalistic school. Truth now soared on +unhampered pinions, and the reading world was completely won by the +unsurpassed intensity and faithful accuracy with which he depicted the +alluring charms of far-off scenes, and painted the naive soul of the +races that seem to endure in the isles of the Pacific as surviving +representatives of the world's infancy. + +It was then learned that this independent writer was named in real life +Louis Marie Julien Viaud, and that he was a naval officer. This very +fact, that he was not a writer by profession, added indeed to his +success. He actually had seen that which he was describing, he had lived +that which he was relating. What in any other man would have seemed +but research and oddity, remained natural in the case of a sailor who +returned each year with a manuscript in his hand. Africa, Asia, the +isles of the Pacific, were the usual scenes of his dramas. Finally +from France itself, and from the oldest provinces of France, he drew +subject-matter for two of his novels, _An Iceland Fisherman_ and +_Ramuntcho_. This proved a surprise. Our Breton sailors and our Basque +mountaineers were not less foreign to the Parisian drawing-room than +was Aziyade or the little Rahahu. One claimed to have a knowledge +of Brittany, or of the Pyrenees, because one had visited Dinard or +Biarritz; while in reality neither Tahiti nor the Isle of Paques could +have remained more completely unknown to us. + +The developments of human industry have brought the extremities of the +world nearer together; but the soul of each race continues to cloak +itself in its own individuality and to remain a mystery to the rest of +the world. One trait alone is common to all: the infinite sadness of +human destiny. This it was that Loti impressed so vividly on the reading +world. + +His success was great. Though a young man as yet, Loti saw his work +crowned with what in France may be considered the supreme sanction: he +was elected to membership in the French Academy. His name became coupled +with those of Bernardin de St. Pierre and of Chateaubriand. With the +sole exception of the author of _Paul and Virginia_ and of the writer of +_Atala_, he seemed to be one without predecessor and without a master. +It may be well here to inquire how much reason there is for this +assertion, and what novel features are presented in his work. + + + +It has become a trite saying that French genius lacks the sense of +Nature, that the French tongue is colourless, and therefore wants the +most striking feature of poetry. If we abandoned for one moment the +domain of letters and took a comprehensive view of the field of art, we +might be permitted to express astonishment at the passing of so summary +a judgment on the genius of a nation which has, in the real sense of the +term, produced two such painters of Nature as Claude Lorrain and Corot. +But even in the realm of letters it is easily seen that this mode of +thinking is due largely to insufficient knowledge of the language's +resources, and to a study of French literature which does not extend +beyond the seventeenth century. Without going back to the Duke of +Orleans and to Villon, one need only read a few of the poets of the +sixteenth century to be struck by the prominence given to Nature in +their writings. Nothing is more delightful than Ronsard's word-paintings +of his sweet country of Vendome. Until the day of Malherbe, the didactic +Regnier and the Calvinistic Marot are the only two who could be said to +give colour to the preconceived and prevalent notion as to the dryness +of French poetry. And even after Malherbe, in the seventeenth century, +we find that La Fontaine, the most truly French of French writers, was +a passionate lover of Nature. He who can see nothing in the latter's +fables beyond the little dramas which they unfold and the ordinary moral +which the poet draws therefrom, must confess that he fails to understand +him. His landscapes possess precision, accuracy, and life, while such is +the fragrance of his speech that it seems laden with the fresh perfume +of the fields and furrows. + +Racine himself, the most penetrating and the most psychological of +poets, is too well versed in the human soul not to have felt its +intimate union with Nature. His magnificent verse in Phedre, + +“Ah, que ne suis-je assise a l'ombre des forets!” + +is but the cry of despair, the appeal, filled with anguish, of a heart +that is troubled and which oft has sought peace and alleviation amid the +cold indifference of inanimate things. The small place given to Nature +in the French literature of the seventeenth century is not to be +ascribed to the language nor explained by a lack of sensibility on the +part of the race. The true cause is to be found in the spirit of that +period; for investigation will disclose that the very same condition +then characterized the literatures of England, of Spain, and of Italy. + +We must bear in mind that, owing to an almost unique combination of +circumstances, there never has been a period when man was more convinced +of the nobility and, I dare say it, of the sovereignty of man, or was +more inclined to look upon the latter as a being independent of the +external world. He did not suspect the intimately close bonds which +unite the creature to the medium in which it lives. A man of the world +in the seventeenth century was utterly without a notion of those truths +which in their ensemble constitute the natural sciences. He crossed +the threshold of life possessed of a deep classical instruction, and +all-imbued with stoical ideas of virtue. At the same time, he had +received the mould of a strong but narrow Christian education, in which +nothing figured save his relations with God. This twofold training +elevated his soul and fortified his will, but wrenched him violently +from all communion with Nature. This is the standpoint from which +we must view the heroes of Corneille, if we would understand those +extraordinary souls which, always at the highest degree of tension, deny +themselves, as a weakness, everything that resembles tenderness or pity. +Again, thus and thus alone can we explain how Descartes, and with him +all the philosophers of his century, ran counter to all common sense, +and refused to recognise that animals might possess a soul-like +principle which, however remotely, might link them to the human being. + +When, in the eighteenth century, minds became emancipated from the +narrow restrictions of religious discipline, and when method was +introduced into the study of scientific problems, Nature took her +revenge as well in literature as in all other fields of human thought. +Rousseau it was who inaugurated the movement in France, and the whole of +Europe followed in the wake of France. It may even be declared that the +reaction against the seventeenth century was in many respects excessive, +for the eighteenth century gave itself up to a species of sentimental +debauch. It is none the less a fact that the author of _La Nouvelle +Heloise_ was the first to blend the moral life of man with his exterior +surroundings. He felt the savage beauty and grandeur of the mountains +of Switzerland, the grace of the Savoy horizons, and the more familiar +elegance of the Parisian suburbs. We may say that he opened the eye +of humanity to the spectacle which the world offered it. In Germany, +Lessing, Goethe, Hegel, Schelling have proclaimed him their master; +while even in England, Byron, and George Eliot herself, have recognised +all that they owed to him. + +The first of Rosseau's disciples in France was Bernardin de St. Pierre, +whose name has frequently been recalled in connection with Loti. Indeed, +the charming masterpiece of _Paul and Virginia_ was the first example +of exoticism in literature; and thereby it excited the curiosity of +our fathers at the same time that it dazzled them by the wealth and +brilliancy of its descriptions. + +Then came Chateaubriand; but Nature with him was not a mere background. +He sought from it an accompaniment, in the musical sense of the term, to +the movements of his soul; and being somewhat prone to melancholy, his +taste seems to have favoured sombre landscapes, stormy and tragical. The +entire romantic school was born from him, Victor Hugo and George Sand, +Theophile Gautier who draws from the French tongue resources unequalled +in wealth and colour, and even M. Zola himself, whose naturalism, after +all, is but the last form and, as it were, the end of romanticism, since +it would be difficult to discover in him any characteristic that did not +exist, as a germ at least, in Balzac. + +I have just said that Chateaubriand sought in Nature an accompaniment to +the movements of his soul: this was the case with all the romanticists. +We do not find Rene, Manfred, Indiana, living in the midst of a tranquil +and monotonous Nature. The storms of heaven must respond to the storms +of their soul; and it is a fact that all these great writers, Byron as +well as Victor Hugo, have not so much contemplated and seen Nature as +they have interpreted it through the medium of their own passions; +and it is in this sense that the keen Amiel could justly remark that a +landscape is a condition or a state of the soul. + + + +M. Loti does not merely interpret a landscape; though perhaps, to begin +with, he is unconscious of doing more. With him, the human being is a +part of Nature, one of its very expressions, like animals and plants, +mountain forms and sky tints. His characters are what they are only +because they issue forth from the medium in which they live. They are +truly creatures, and not gods inhabiting the earth. Hence their profound +and striking reality. + +Hence also one of the peculiar characteristics of Loti's workers. He +loves to paint simple souls, hearts close to Nature, whose primitive +passions are singularly similar to those of animals. He is happy in the +isles of the Pacific or on the borders of Senegal; and when he shifts +his scenes into old Europe it is never with men and women of the world +that he entertains us. + +What we call a man of the world is the same everywhere; he is moulded +by the society of men, but Nature and the universe have no place in +his life and thought. M. Paul Bourget's heroes might live without +distinction in Newport or in Monte Carlo; they take root nowhere, but +live in the large cities, in winter resorts and in drawing-rooms as +transient visitors in temporary abiding-places. + +Loti seeks his heroes and his heroines among those antique races of +Europe which have survived all conquests, and which have preserved, +with their native tongue, the individuality of their character. He met +Ramuntcho in the Basque country, but dearer than all to him is Brittany: +here it was that he met his Iceland fishermen. + +The Breton soul bears an imprint of Armorica's primitive soil: it is +melancholy and noble. There is an undefinable charm about those arid +lands and those sod-flanked hills of granite, whose sole horizon is the +far-stretching sea. Europe ends here, and beyond remains only the broad +expanse of the ocean. The poor people who dwell here are silent and +tenacious: their heart is full of tenderness and of dreams. Yann, the +Iceland fisherman, and his sweetheart, Gaud of Paimpol, can only live +here, in the small houses of Brittany, where people huddle together in +a stand against the storms which come howling from the depths of the +Atlantic. + +Loti's novels are never complicated with a mass of incidents. The +characters are of humble station and their life is as simple as their +soul. _Aziyade_, _The Romance of a Spahi_, _An Iceland Fisherman_, +_Ramuntcho_, all present the story of a love and a separation. A +departure, or death itself, intervenes to put an end to the romance. +But the cause matters little; the separation is the same; the hearts are +broken; Nature survives; it covers over and absorbs the miserable ruins +which we leave behind us. No one better than Loti has ever brought out +the frailty of all things pertaining to us, for no one better than he +has made us realize the persistency of life and the indifference of +Nature. + +This circumstance imparts to the reading of M. Loti's works a character +of peculiar sadness. The trend of his novels is not one that incites +curiosity; his heroes are simple, and the atmosphere in which they +live is foreign to us. What saddens us is not their history, but the +undefinable impression that our pleasures are nothing and that we are +but an accident. This is a thought common to the degree of triteness +among moralists and theologians; but as they present it, it fails to +move us. It troubles us as presented by M. Loti, because he has known +how to give it all the force of a sensation. + +How has he accomplished this? + +He writes with extreme simplicity, and is not averse to the use of +vague and indefinite expressions. And yet the wealth and precision of +Gautier's and Hugo's language fail to endow their landscapes with the +striking charm and intense life which are to be found in those of Loti. +I can find no other reason for this than that which I have suggested +above: the landscape, in Hugo's and in Gautier's scenes, is a background +and nothing more; while Loti makes it the predominating figure of his +drama. Our sensibilities are necessarily aroused before this apparition +of Nature, blind, inaccessible, and all-powerful as the Fates of old. + + + +It may prove interesting to inquire how Loti contrived to sound such a +new note in art. + +He boasted, on the day of his reception into the French Academy, that +he had never read. Many protested, some smiled, and a large number of +persons refused to believe the assertion. Yet the statement was actually +quite credible, for the foundation and basis of M. Loti rest on a naive +simplicity which makes him very sensitive to the things of the outside +world, and gives him a perfect comprehension of simple souls. He is not +a reader, for he is not imbued with book notions of things; his ideas +of them are direct, and everything with him is not memory, but reflected +sensation. + +On the other hand, that sailor-life which had enabled him to see the +world, must have confirmed in him this mental attitude. The deck officer +who watches the vessel's course may do nothing which could distract his +attention; but while ever ready to act and always unoccupied, he thinks, +he dreams, he listens to the voices of the sea; and everything about him +is of interest to him, the shape of the clouds, the aspect of skies and +waters. He knows that a mere board's thickness is all that separates him +and defends him from death. Such is the habitual state of mind which M. +Loti has brought to the colouring of his books. + +He has related to us how, when still a little child, he first beheld +the sea. He had escaped from the parental home, allured by the brisk and +pungent air and by the “peculiar noise, at once feeble and great,” which +could be heard beyond little hills of sand to which led a certain path. +He recognised the sea; “before me something appeared, something sombre +and noisy, which had loomed up from all sides at once, and which seemed +to have no end; a moving expanse which struck me with mortal vertigo; +. . . above was stretched out full a sky all of one piece, of a dark gray +colour like a heavy mantle; very, very far away, in unmeasurable depths +of horizon, could be seen a break, an opening between sea and sky, +a long empty crack, of a light pale yellow.” He felt a sadness +unspeakable, a sense of desolate solitude, of abandonment, of exile. He +ran back in haste to unburden his soul upon his mother's bosom, and, +as he says, “to seek consolation with her for a thousand anticipated, +indescribable pangs, which had wrung my heart at the sight of that vast +green, deep expanse.” + +A poet of the sea had been born, and his genius still bears a trace of +the shudder of fear experienced that evening by Pierre Loti the little +child. + +Loti was born not far from the ocean, in Saintonge, of an old Huguenot +family which had numbered many sailors among its members. While yet +a mere child he thumbed the old Bible which formerly, in the days of +persecution, had been read only with cautious secrecy; and he perused +the vessel's ancient records wherein mariners long since gone had noted, +almost a century before, that “the weather was good,” that “the wind +was favourable,” and that “doradoes or gilt-heads were passing near the +ship.” + +He was passionately fond of music. He had few comrades, and his +imagination was of the exalted kind. His first ambition was to be a +minister, then a missionary; and finally he decided to become a sailor. +He wanted to see the world, he had the curiosity of things; he was +inclined to search for the strange and the unknown; he must seek that +sensation, delightful and fascinating to complex souls, of betaking +himself off, of withdrawing from his own world, of breaking with his own +mode of life, and of creating for himself voluntary regrets. + +He felt in the presence of Nature a species of disquietude, and +experienced therefrom sensations which might almost be expressed in +colours: his head, he himself states, “might be compared to a camera, +filled with sensitive plates.” This power of vision permitted him to +apprehend only the appearance of things, not their reality; he was +conscious of the nothingness of nothing, of the dust of dust. The +remnants of his religious education intensified still more this distaste +for the external world. + +He was wont to spend his summer vacation in the south of France, and he +preserved its warm sunny impressions. It was only later that he became +acquainted with Brittany. She inspired him at first with a feeling of +oppression and of sadness, and it was long before he learned to love +her. + +Thus was formed and developed, far from literary circles and from +Parisian coteries, one of the most original writers that had appeared +for a long time. He noted his impressions while touring the world; one +fine morning he published them, and from the very first the reading +public was won. He related his adventures and his own romance. The +question could then be raised whether his skill and art would prove as +consummate if he should deviate from his own personality to write what +might be termed impersonal poems; and it is precisely in this last +direction that he subsequently produced what are now considered his +masterpieces. + +A strange writer assuredly is this, at once logical and illusive, who +makes us feel at the same time the sensation of things and that of their +nothingness. Amid so many works wherein the luxuries of the Orient, the +quasi animal life of the Pacific, the burning passions of Africa, are +painted with a vigour of imagination never witnessed before his advent, +_An Iceland Fisherman_ shines forth with incomparable brilliancy. +Something of the pure soul of Brittany is to be found in these +melancholy pages, which, so long as the French tongue endures, must +evoke the admiration of artists, and must arouse the pity and stir the +emotions of men. + +JULES CAMBON. + + + +BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + +The real name of PIERRE LOTI is LOUIS MARIE JULIEN VIAUD. He was born +of Protestant parents, in the old city of Rochefort, on the 14th of +January, 1850. In one of his pleasant volumes of autobiography, +“Le Roman d'un Enfant,” he has given a very pleasing account of his +childhood, which was most tenderly cared for and surrounded with +indulgences. At a very early age he began to develop that extreme +sensitiveness to external influences which has distinguished him ever +since. He was first taught at a school in Rochefort, but at the age +of seventeen, being destined for the navy, he entered the great French +naval school, Le Borda, and has gradually risen in his profession. +His pseudonym is said to have had reference to his extreme shyness and +reserve in early life, which made his comrades call him after “le Loti,” + an Indian flower which loves to blush unseen. He was never given to +books or study (when he was received at the French Academy, he had +the courage to say, “Loti ne sait pas lire”), and it was not until his +thirtieth year that he was persuaded to write down and publish certain +curious experiences at Constantinople, in “Aziyade,” a book which, +like so many of Loti's, seems half a romance, half an autobiography. +He proceeded to the South Seas, and, on leaving Tahiti, published the +Polynesian idyl, originally called “Raharu,” which was reprinted as “Le +Mariage de Loti” (1880), and which first introduced to the wider public +an author of remarkable originality and charm. Loti now became extremely +prolific, and in a succession of volumes chronicled old exotic memories +or manipulated the journal of new travels. “Le Roman d'un Spahi,” a +record of the melancholy adventures of a soldier in Senegambia, belongs +to 1881. In 1882 Loti issued a collection of short studies under the +general title of “Fleurs d'Ennui.” In 1883 he achieved the widest +celebrity, for not only did he publish “Mon Frere Yves,” a novel +describing the life of a French bluejacket in all parts of the +world--perhaps, on the whole, to this day his most characteristic +production--but he was involved in a public discussion in a manner +which did him great credit. While taking part as a naval officer in +the Tonquin war, Loti had exposed in a Parisian newspaper a series of +scandals which succeeded on the capture of Hue, and, being recalled, he +was now suspended from the service for more than a year. He continued +for some time nearly silent, but in 1886, he published a novel of life +among the Breton fisher-folk, entitled “Pecheurs d'Islande”; this has +been the most popular of all his writings. In 1887 he brought out a +volume of extraordinary merit, which has never received the attention it +deserves; this is “Propos d'Exil,” a series of short studies of exotic +places, in Loti's peculiar semi-autobiographic style. The fantastic +romance of Japanese manners, “Madame Chrysantheme,” belongs to the same +year. Passing over one or two slighter productions, we come to 1890, +to “Au Maroc,” the record of a journey to Fez in company with a +French embassy. A collection of strangely confidential and sentimental +reminiscences, called “Le Livre de la Pitie et de la Mort,” belongs to +1891. Loti was on board his ship at the port of Algiers when news was +brought to him of his election, on the 21st of May, 1891, to the French +Academy. Since he has become an Immortal the literary activity of Pierre +Loti has somewhat declined. In 1892 he published “Fantome d'Orient,” + another dreamy study of life in Constantinople, a sort of continuation +of “Aziyade.” He has described a visit to the Holy Land in three +volumes, “Le Desert,” “Jerusalem,” “La Galilee” (1895-96), and he has +written one novel, “Ramentcho” (1897), a story of manners in the Basque +province, which is quite on a level with his best work. In 1898 he +collected his later essays as “Figures et Choses qui passaient.” In +1899-1900 Loti visited British India, and in the autumn of the latter +year China; and he has described what he saw there, after the seige, in +a charming volume, “Derniers Jours de Pekin,” 1902. + +E. G. + + + + + +AN ICELAND FISHERMAN + +by Pierre Loti + + + + +PART 1 -- ON THE ICY SEA + + + +CHAPTER I--THE FISHERMEN + +There they were, five huge, square-built seamen, drinking away together +in the dismal cabin, which reeked of fish-pickle and bilge-water. The +overhead beams came down too low for their tall statures, and rounded +off at one end so as to resemble a gull's breast, seen from within. +The whole rolled gently with a monotonous wail, inclining one slowly to +drowsiness. + +Outside, beyond doubt, lay the sea and the night; but one could not be +quite sure of that, for a single opening in the deck was closed by +its weather-hatch, and the only light came from an old hanging-lamp, +swinging to and fro. A fire shone in the stove, at which their saturated +clothes were drying, and giving out steam that mingled with the smoke +from their clay pipes. + +Their massive table, fitted exactly to its shape, occupied the whole +space; and there was just enough room for moving around and sitting upon +the narrow lockers fastened to the sides. Thick beams ran above them, +very nearly touching their heads, and behind them yawned the berths, +apparently hollowed out of the solid timbers, like recesses of a vault +wherein to place the dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn, +impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and polished by the continual +rubbings of their hands. + +They had been drinking wine and cider in their pannikins, and the sheer +enjoyment of life lit up their frank, honest faces. Now, they lingered +at table chatting, in Breton tongue, on women and marriage. A china +statuette of the Virgin Mary was fastened on a bracket against the +midship partition, in the place of honour. This patron saint of our +sailors was rather antiquated, and painted with very simple art; yet +these porcelain images live much longer than real men, and her red and +blue robe still seemed very fresh in the midst of the sombre greys of +the poor wooden box. She must have listened to many an ardent prayer in +deadly hours; at her feet were nailed two nosegays of artificial flowers +and a rosary. + +These half-dozen men were dressed alike; a thick blue woollen jersey +clung to the body, drawn in by the waist-belt; on the head was worn the +waterproof helmet, known as the sou'-wester. These men were of different +ages. The skipper might have been about forty; the three others between +twenty-five and thirty. The youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or +“Lurlu,” was only seventeen, yet already a man for height and strength; +a fine curly black beard covered his cheeks; still he had childlike +eyes, bluish-grey in hue, and sweet and tender in expression. + +Huddled against one another, for want of space, they seemed to feel +downright comfort, snugly packed in their dark home. + +Outside spread the ocean and night--the infinite solitude of dark +fathomless waters. A brass watch, hung on the wall, pointed to eleven +o'clock--doubtless eleven at night--and upon the deck pattered the +drizzling rain. + +Among themselves, they treated these questions of marriage very merrily; +but without saying anything indecent. No, indeed, they only sketched +plans for those who were still bachelors, or related funny stories +happening at home at wedding-feasts. Sometimes with a happy laugh they +made some rather too free remarks about the fun in love-making. But +love-making, as these men understand it, is always a healthy sensation, +and for all its coarseness remains tolerably chaste. + +But Sylvestre was worried, because a mate called Jean (which Bretons +pronounce “Yann”) did not come down below. Where could Yann be, by the +way? was he lashed to his work on deck? Why did he not come below to +take his share in their feast? + +“It's close on midnight, hows'ever,” observed the captain; and drawing +himself up he raised the scuttle with his head, so as to call Yann that +way. + +Then a weird glimmer fell from above. + +“Yann! Yann! Look alive, matey!” + +“Matey” answered roughly from outside while through the half-opened +hatchway the faint light kept entering like that of dawn. Nearly +midnight, yet it looked like a peep of day, or the light of the starry +gloaming, sent from afar through mystic lenses of magicians. + +When the aperture closed, night reigned again, save for the small lamp, +“sended” now and again aside, which shed its yellow light. A man in +clogs was heard coming down the wooden steps. + +He entered bent in two like a big bear, for he was a giant. At first +he made a wry face, holding his nose, because of the acrid smell of the +souse. + +He exceeded a little too much the ordinary proportions of man, +especially in breadth, though he was straight as a poplar. When he faced +you the muscles of his shoulders, moulded under his blue jersey, stood +out like great globes at the tops of his arms. His large brown eyes were +very mobile, with a grand, wild expression. + +Sylvestre threw his arms round Yann, and drew him towards him tenderly, +after the fashion of children. Sylvestre was betrothed to Yann's sister, +and he treated him as an elder brother, of course. And Yann allowed +himself to be pulled about like a young lion, answering by a kind smile +that showed his white teeth. These were somewhat far apart, and appeared +quite small. His fair moustache was rather short, although never cut. +It was tightly curled in small rolls above his lips, which were most +exquisitely and delicately modelled, and then frizzed off at the ends on +either side of the deep corners of his mouth. The remainder of his beard +was shaven, and his highly coloured cheeks retained a fresh bloom like +that of fruit never yet handled. + +When Yann was seated, the mugs were filled up anew. + +The lighting of all the pipes was an excuse for the cabin boy to smoke +a few wiffs himself. He was a robust little fellow, with round cheeks--a +kind of little brother to them all, more or less related to one another +as they were; otherwise his work had been hard enough for the darling of +the crew. Yann let him drink out of his own glass before he was sent to +bed. Thereupon the important topic of marriage was revived. + +“But I say, Yann,” asked Sylvestre, “when are we going to celebrate your +wedding?” + +“You ought to be ashamed,” said the master; “a hulking chap like you, +twenty-seven years old and not yet spliced; ho, ho! What must the lasses +think of you when they see you roll by?” + +Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers with a contemptuous look for +the women folk. He had just worked off his five years' government naval +service; and it was as master-gunner of the fleet that he had learned to +speak good French and hold sceptical opinions. He hemmed and hawed +and then rattled off his latest love adventure, which had lasted a +fortnight. + +It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer for the heroine. One +evening, returning from the waterside, being slightly tipsy, he had +entered the music hall. At the door stood a woman selling big bouquets +at twenty francs apiece. He had bought one without quite knowing what +he should do with it, and before he was much more than in had thrown it +with great force at the vocalist upon the stage, striking her full in +the face, partly as a rough declaration of love, partly through disgust +for the painted doll that was too pink for his taste. The blow had +felled the woman to the boards, and--she worshipped him during the three +following weeks. + +“Why, bless ye, lads, when I left she made me this here present of a +real gold watch.” + +The better to show it them he threw it upon the table like a worthless +toy. + +This was told with coarse words and oratorical flourishes of his own. +Yet this commonplace of civilized life jarred sadly among such +simple men, with the grand solemnity of the ocean around them; in the +glimmering of midnight, falling from above, was an impression of the +fleeting summers of the far north country. + +These ways of Yann greatly pained and surprised Sylvestre. He was +a girlish boy, brought up in respect for holy things, by an old +grandmother, the widow of a fisherman in the village of Ploubazlanec. +As a tiny child he used to go every day with her to kneel and tell his +beads over his mother's grave. From the churchyard on the cliff the +grey waters of the Channel, wherein his father had disappeared in a +shipwreck, could be seen in the far distance. + +As his grandmother and himself were poor he had to take to fishing in +his early youth, and his childhood had been spent out on the open water. +Every night he said his prayers, and his eyes still wore their religious +purity. He was captivating though, and next to Yann the finest-built lad +of the crew. His voice was very soft, and its boyish tones contrasted +markedly with his tall height and black beard; as he had shot up very +rapidly he was almost puzzled to find himself grown suddenly so tall and +big. He expected to marry Yann's sister soon, but never yet had answered +any girl's love advances. + +There were only three sleeping bunks aboard, one being double-berthed, +so they “turned in” alternately. + +When they had finished their feast, celebrating the Assumption of their +patron saint, it was a little past midnight. Three of them crept away +to bed in the small dark recesses that resembled coffin-shelves; and +the three others went up on deck to get on with their often interrupted, +heavy labour of fish-catching; the latter were Yann, Sylvestre, and one +of their fellow-villagers known as Guillaume. + +It was daylight, the everlasting day of those regions--a pale, dim +light, resembling no other--bathing all things, like the gleams of a +setting sun. Around them stretched an immense colourless waste, and +excepting the planks of their ship, all seemed transparent, ethereal, +and fairy-like. The eye could not distinguish what the scene might be: +first it appeared as a quivering mirror that had no objects to reflect; +and in the distance it became a desert of vapour; and beyond that a +void, having neither horizon nor limits. + +The damp freshness of the air was more intensely penetrating than dry +frost; and when breathing it, one tasted the flavour of brine. All was +calm, and the rain had ceased; overhead the clouds, without form or +colour, seemed to conceal that latent light that could not be explained; +the eye could see clearly, yet one was still conscious of the night; +this dimness was all of an indefinable hue. + +The three men on deck had lived since their childhood upon the frigid +seas, in the very midst of their mists, which are vague and troubled +as the background of dreams. They were accustomed to see this varying +infinitude play about their paltry ark of planks, and their eyes were as +used to it as those of the great free ocean-birds. + +The boat rolled gently with its everlasting wail, as monotonous as a +Breton song moaned by a sleeper. Yann and Sylvestre had got their bait +and lines ready, while their mate opened a barrel of salt, and whetting +his long knife went and sat behind them, waiting. + +He did not have long to wait, or they either. They scarcely had thrown +their lines into the calm, cold water in fact, before they drew in huge +heavy fish, of a steel-grey sheen. And time after time the codfish let +themselves be hooked in a rapid and unceasing silent series. The third +man ripped them open with his long knife, spread them flat, salted +and counted them, and piled up the lot--which upon their return would +constitute their fortune--behind them, all still redly streaming and +still sweet and fresh. + +The hours passed monotonously, while in the immeasurably empty regions +beyond the light slowly changed till it grew less unreal. What at first +had appeared a livid gloaming, like a northern summer's eve, became +now, without any intervening “dark hour before dawn,” something like +a smiling morn, reflected by all the facets of the oceans in fading, +roseate-edged streaks. + +“You really ought to marry, Yann,” said Sylvestre, suddenly and very +seriously this time, still looking into the water. (He seemed to know +somebody in Brittany, who had allowed herself to be captivated by +the brown eyes of his “big brother,” but he felt shy upon so solemn a +subject.) + +“Me! Lor', yes, some day I will marry.” He smiled, did the always +contemptuous Yann, rolling his passionate eyes. “But I'll have none of +the lasses at home; no, I'll wed the sea, and I invite ye all in the +barkey now, to the ball I'll give at my wedding.” + +They kept on hauling in, for their time could not be lost in chatting; +they had an immense quantity of fish in a traveling shoal, which had not +ceased passing for the last two days. + +They had been up all night, and in thirty hours had caught more than a +thousand prime cods; so that even their strong arms were tired and they +were half asleep. But their bodies remained active and they continued +their toil, though occasionally their minds floated off into regions of +profound sleep. But the free air they breathed was as pure as that of +the first young days of the world, and so bracing, that notwithstanding +their weariness they felt their chests expand and their cheeks glow as +at arising. + +Morning, the true morning light, at length came; as in the days of +Genesis, it had “divided from the darkness,” which had settled upon the +horizon and rested there in great heavy masses; and by the clearness +of vision now, it was seen night had passed, and that that first vague +strange glimmer was only a forerunner. In the thickly-veiled heavens, +broke out rents here and there, like side skylights in a dome, through +which pierced glorious rays of light, silver and rosy. The lower-lying +clouds were grouped round in a belt of intense shadow, encircling the +waters and screening the far-off distance in darkness. They hinted as of +a space in a boundary; they were as curtains veiling the infinite, or +as draperies drawn to hide the too majestic mysteries, which would have +perturbed the imagination of mortals. + +On this special morning, around the small plank platform occupied by +Yann and Sylvestre, the shifting outer world had an appearance of +deep meditation, as though this were an altar recently raised; and the +sheaves of sun-rays, which darted like arrows under the sacred arch, +spread in a long glimmering stream over the motionless waves, as over +a marble floor. Then, slowly and more slowly yet loomed still another +wonder; a high, majestic, pink profile--it was a promontory of gloomy +Iceland. + +Yann's wedding with the sea? Sylvestre was still thinking of it--after +resuming his fishing without daring to say anything more. He had felt +quite sad when his big brother had so turned the holy sacrament of +marriage into ridicule; and it particularly had frightened him, as he +was superstitious. + +For so long, too, he had mused on Yann's marriage! He had thought that +it might take place with Gaud Mevel, a blonde lass from Paimpol; and +that he would have the happiness of being present at the marriage-feast +before starting for the navy, that long five years' exile, with +its dubious return, the thought of which already plucked at his +heart-strings. + +Four o'clock in the morning now. The watch below came up, all three, to +relieve the others. Still rather sleepy, drinking in chestfuls of the +fresh, chill air, they stepped up, drawing their long sea-boots higher, +and having to shut their eyes, dazzled at first by a light so pale, yet +in such abundance. + +Yann and Sylvestre took their breakfast of biscuits, which they had to +break with a mallet, and began to munch noisily, laughing at their being +so very hard. They had become quite merry again at the idea of going +down to sleep, snugly and warmly in their berths; and clasping +each other round the waist they danced up to the hatchway to an old +song-tune. + +Before disappearing through the aperture they stopped to play with +Turc, the ship's dog, a young Newfoundland with great clumsy paws. They +sparred at him, and he pretended to bite them like a young wolf, until +he bit too hard and hurt them, whereupon Yann, with a frown and anger +in his quick-changing eyes, pushed him aside with an impatient blow that +sent him flying and made him howl. Yann had a kind heart enough, but his +nature remained rather untamed, and when his physical being was touched, +a tender caress was often more like a manifestation of brutal violence. + + + +CHAPTER II--ICELANDERS + +Their smack was named _La Marie_, and her master was Captain Guermeur. +Every year she set sail for the big dangerous fisheries, in the frigid +regions where the summers have no night. She was a very old ship, as +old as the statuette of her patron saint itself. Her heavy, oaken planks +were rough and worn, impregnated with ooze and brine, but still strong +and stout, and smelling strongly of tar. At anchor she looked an old +unwieldy tub from her so massive build, but when blew the mighty western +gales, her lightness returned, like a sea-gull awakened by the wind. +Then she had her own style of tumbling over the rollers, and rebounding +more lightly than many newer ones, launched with all your new fangles. + +As for the crew of six men and the boy, they were “Icelanders,” the +valiant race of seafarers whose homes are at Paimpol and Treguier, and +who from father to son are destined for the cod fisheries. + +They hardly ever had seen a summer in France. At the end of each winter +they, with other fishers, received the parting blessing in the harbour +of Paimpol. And for that fete-day an altar, always the same, and +imitating a rocky grotto, was erected on the quay; and over it, in the +midst of anchors, oars and nets, was enthroned the Virgin Mary, calm, +and beaming with affection, the patroness of sailors; she would be +brought from her chapel for the occasion, and had looked upon generation +after generation with her same lifeless eyes, blessing the happy for +whom the season would be lucky, and the others who never more would +return. + +The Host, followed by a slow procession of wives, mothers, sweethearts, +and sisters, was borne round the harbour, where the boats bound for +Iceland, bedecked in all colours, saluted it on its way. The priest +halted before each, giving them his holy blessing; and then the fleet +started, leaving the country desolate of husbands, lovers, and sons; +and as the shores faded from their view, the crews sang together in low, +full voices, the hymns sacred to “the Star of the Ocean.” And every year +saw the same ceremonies, and heard the same good-byes. + +Then began the life out upon the open sea, in the solitude of three or +four rough companions, on the moving thin planks in the midst of the +seething waters of the northern seas. + +Until now _La Marie_ followed the custom of many Icelanders, which +is merely to touch at Paimpol, and then to sail down to the Gulf of +Gascony, where fish fetches high prices, or farther on to the Sandy +Isles, with their salty swamps, where they buy the salt for the next +expedition. The crews of lusty fellows stay a few days in the southern, +sun-kissed harbour-towns, intoxicated by the last rays of summer, by the +sweetness of the balmy air, and by the downright jollity of youth. + +With the mists of autumn they return home to Paimpol, or to the +scattered huts of the land of Goelo, to remain some time in their +families, in the midst of love, marriages, and births. Very often they +find unseen babies upon their return, waiting for godfathers ere they +can be baptized, for many children are needed to keep up this race of +fishermen, which the Icelandic Moloch devours. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE WOMEN AT HOME + +At Paimpol, one fine evening of this same year, upon a Sunday in June, +two women were deeply busy in writing a letter. This took place before +a large open window, with a row of flowerpots on its heavy old granite +sill. + +As well as could be seen from their bending over the table, both were +young. Once wore a very large old-fashioned cap; the other quite a small +one, in the new style adopted by the women of Paimpol. They might +have been taken for two loving lasses writing a tender missive to some +handsome Icelander. + +The one who dictated--the one with the large head-dress--drew up her +head, wool-gathering. Oh, she was old, very old, notwithstanding her +look from behind, in her small brown shawl--we mean downright old. +A sweet old granny, seventy at least. Very pretty, though, and still +fresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks some old people have. Her _coiffe_ +was drawn low upon the forehead and upon the top of the head, was +composed of two or three large rolls of muslin that seemed to telescope +out of one another, and fell on to the nape. Her venerable face, framed +in the pure white pleats, had almost a man's look, while her soft, +tender eyes wore a kindly expression. She had not the vestige of a tooth +left, and when she laughed she showed her round gums, which had still +the freshness of youth. + +Although her chin had become as pointed “as the toe of a _sabot_” (as +she was in the habit of saying), her profile was not spoiled by time; +and it was easily imagined that in her youth it had been regular and +pure, like the saints' adorning a church. + +She looked through the window, trying to think of news that might amuse +her grandson at sea. There existed not in the whole country of Paimpol +another dear old body like her, to invent such funny stories upon +everybody, and even upon nothing. Already in this letter there were +three or four merry tales, but without the slightest mischief, for she +had nothing ill-natured about her. + +The other woman, finding that the ideas were getting scarce, began to +write the address carefully: + +“TO MONSIEUR MOAN, SYLVESTRE, ABOARD THE _MARIE_, co CAPTAIN GUERMEUR, +IN THE SEA OF ICELAND, NEAR RYKAWYK.” + +Here she lifted her head to ask: “Is that all, Granny Moan?” + +The querist was young, adorably young, a girl of twenty in fact; very +fair--a rare complexion in this corner of Brittany, where the race runs +swarthy--very fair, we say, with great grey eyes between almost black +lashes; her brows, as fair as the hair, seemed as if they had a darker +streak in their midst, which gave a wonderful expression of strength and +will to the beautiful face. The rather short profile was very dignified, +the nose continuing the line of the brow with absolute rectitude, as +in a Greek statue. A deep dimple under the lower lip foiled it up +delightfully; and from time to time, when she was absorbed by a +particular idea, she bit this lower lip with her white upper teeth, +making the blood run in tiny red veins under the delicate skin. In her +supple form there was no little pride, with gravity also, which she +inherited from the bold Icelandic sailors, her ancestors. The expression +of her eyes was both steady and gentle. + +Her cap was in the shape of a cockle-shell, worn low on the brow, and +drawn back on either side, showing thick tresses of hair about the ears, +a head-dress that has remained from remote times and gives quite an +olden look to the women of Paimpol. + +One felt instinctively that she had been reared differently than the +poor old woman to whom she gave the name of grandmother, but who is +reality was but a distant great-aunt. + +She was the daughter of M. Mevel, a former Icelander, a bit of a +freebooter, who had made a fortune by bold undertakings out at sea. + +The fine room where the letter had been just written was hers; a new +bed, such as townspeople have, with muslin lace-edged curtains, and on +the stone walls a light-coloured paper, toning down the irregularities +of the granite; overhead a coating of whitewash covered the great beams +that revealed the antiquity of the abode; it was the home of well-to-do +folk, and the windows looked out upon the old gray market-place of +Paimpol, where the _pardons_ are held. + +“Is it done, Granny Yvonne? Have you nothing else to tell him?” + +“No, my lass, only I would like you to add a word of greeting to young +Gaos.” + +“Young Gaos” was otherwise called Yann. The proud beautiful girl had +blushed very red when she wrote those words. And as soon as they were +added at the bottom of the page, in a running hand, she rose and turned +her head aside as if to look at some very interesting object out on the +market-place. + +Standing, she was rather tall; her waist was modelled in a clinging +bodice, as perfectly fitting as that of a fashionable dame. In spite +of her cap, she looked like a real lady. Even her hands, without being +conventionally small, were white and delicate, never having touched +rough work. + +True, she had been at first little _Gaud_ (Daisy), paddling bare-footed +in the water, motherless, almost wholly neglected during the season +of the fisheries, which her father spent in Iceland; a pretty, +untidy, obstinate girl, but growing vigorous and strong in the bracing +sea-breeze. In those days she had been sheltered, during the fine +summers, by poor Granny Moan, who used to give her Sylvestre to mind +during her days of hard work in Paimpol. Gaud felt the adoration of +a young mother for the child confided to her tender care. She was his +elder by about eighteen months. He was as dark as she was fair, as +obedient and caressing as she was hasty and capricious. She well +remembered that part of her life; neither wealth nor town life had +altered it; and like a far-off dream of wild freedom it came back to +her, or as the remembrance of an undefined and mysterious previous +existence, where the sandy shores seemed longer, and the cliffs higher +and nobler. + +Towards the age of five or six, which seemed long ago to her, wealth had +befallen her father, who began to buy and sell the cargoes of ships. She +had been taken to Saint-Brieuc, and later to Paris. And from _la petite +Gaud_ she had become Mademoiselle Marguerite, tall and serious, with +earnest eyes. Always left to herself, in another kind of solitude than +that of the Breton coast, she still retained the obstinate nature of her +childhood. + +Living in large towns, her dress had become more modified than herself. +Although she still wore the _coiffe_ that Breton women discard so +seldom, she had learned to dress herself in another way. + +Every year she had returned to Brittany with her father--in the summer +only, like a fashionable, coming to bathe in the sea--and lived again in +the midst of old memories, delighted to hear herself called Gaud, rather +curious to see the Icelanders of whom so much was said, who were never +at home, and of whom, each year, some were missing; on all sides she +heard the name of Iceland, which appeared to her as a distant insatiable +abyss. And there, now, was the man she loved! + +One fine day she had returned to live in the midst of these fishers, +through a whim of her father, who had wished to end his days there, and +live like a landsman in the market-place of Paimpol. + +The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud with cordial thanks as soon +as the letter had been read again and the envelope closed. She lived +rather far away, at the other end of Ploubazlanec, in a hamlet on the +coast, in the same cottage where she first had seen the light of day, +and where her sons and grandsons had been born. In the town, as she +passed along, she answered many friendly nods; she was one of the oldest +inhabitants of the country, the last of a worthy and highly esteemed +family. + +With great care and good management she managed to appear pretty well +dressed, although her gowns were much darned, and hardly held together. +She always wore the tiny brown Paimpol shawl, which was for best, and +upon which the long muslin rolls of her white caps had fallen for past +sixty years; her own marriage shawl, formerly blue, had been dyed for +the wedding of her son Pierre, and since then worn only on Sundays, +looked quite nice. + +She still carried herself very straight, not at all like an old woman; +and, in spite of her pointed chin, her soft eyes and delicate +profile made all think her still very charming. She was held in great +respect--one could see that if only by the nods that people gave her. + +On her way she passed before the house of her gallant, the sweetheart of +former days, a carpenter by trade; now an octogenarian, who sat outside +his door all the livelong day, while the young ones, his sons, worked in +the shop. It was said that he never had consoled himself for her loss, +for neither in first or second marriage would she have him; but with +old age his feeling for her had become a sort of comical spite, half +friendly and half mischievous, and he always called out to her: + +“Aha, _la belle_, when must I call to take your measure?” + +But she declined with thanks; she had not yet quite decided to have that +dress made. The truth is, that the old man, with rather questionable +taste, spoke of the suit in deal planks, which is the last of all our +terrestrial garments. + +“Well, whenever you like; but don't be shy in asking for it, you know, +old lady.” + +He had made this joke several times; but, to-day, she could scarcely +take it good-naturedly. She felt more tired than ever of her +hard-working life, and her thoughts flew back to her dear grandson--the +last of them all, who, upon his return from Iceland, was to enter the +navy for five years! Perhaps he might have to go to China, to the war! +Would she still be about, upon his return? The thought alone was agony +to her. No, she was surely not so happy as she looked, poor old granny! + +And was it really possible and true, that her last darling was to be +torn from her? She, perhaps, might die alone, without seeing him again! +Certainly, some gentlemen of the town, whom she knew, had done all they +could to keep him from having to start, urging that he was the sole +support of an old and almost destitute grandmother, who could no longer +work. But they had not succeeded--because of Jean Moan, the deserter, an +elder brother of Sylvestre's, whom no one in the family ever mentioned +now, but who still lived somewhere over in America, thus depriving +his younger brother of the military exemption. Moreover, it had been +objected that she had her small pension, allowed to the widows of +sailors, and the Admiralty could not deem her poor enough. + +When she returned home, she said her prayers at length for all her dead +ones, sons and grandsons; then she prayed again with renewed strength +and confidence for her Sylvestre, and tried to sleep--thinking of the +“suit of wood,” her heart sadly aching at the thought of being so old, +when this new parting was imminent. + +Meanwhile, the other victim of separation, the girl, had remained seated +at her window, gazing upon the golden rays of the setting sun, reflected +on the granite walls, and the black swallows wheeling across the sky +above. Paimpol was always quiet on these long May evenings, even on +Sundays; the lasses, who had not a single lad to make love to them, +sauntered along, in couples or three together, brooding of their lovers +in Iceland. + +“A word of greeting to young Gaos!” She had been greatly affected in +writing that sentence, and that name, which now she could not forget. +She often spent her evenings here at the window, like a grand lady. Her +father did not approve of her walking with the other girls of her age, +who had been her early playmates. And as he left the cafe, and walked up +and down, smoking his pipe with old seamen like himself, he was happy to +look up at his daughter among her flowers, in his grand house. + +“Young Gaos!” Against her will she gazed seaward; it could not be seen, +but she felt it was nigh, at the end of the tiny street crowded +with fishermen. And her thoughts travelled through a fascinating and +delightful infinite, far, far away to the northern seas, where “_La +Marie_, Captain Guermeur,” was sailing. A strange man was young Gaos! +retiring and almost incomprehensible now, after having come forward so +audaciously, yet so lovingly. + +In her long reverie, she remembered her return to Brittany, which had +taken place the year before. One December morning after a night of +travelling, the train from Paris had deposited her father and herself +at Guingamp. It was a damp, foggy morning, cold and almost dark. She +had been seized with a previously unknown feeling; she could scarcely +recognise the quaint little town, which she had only seen during the +summer--oh, that glad old time, the dear old times of the past! This +silence, after Paris! This quiet life of people, who seemed of another +world, going about their simple business in the misty morning. But the +sombre granite houses, with their dark, damp walls, and the Breton +charm upon all things, which fascinated her now that she loved Yann, had +seemed particularly saddening upon that morning. Early housewives were +already opening their doors, and as she passed she could glance into the +old-fashioned houses, with their tall chimney-pieces, where sat the +old grandmothers, in their white caps, quiet and dignified. As soon +as daylight had begun to appear, she had entered the church to say her +prayers, and the grand old aisle had appeared immense and shadowy to +her--quite different from all the Parisian churches--with its rough +pillars worn at the base by the chafing of centuries, and its damp, +earthy smell of age and saltpetre. + +In a damp recess, behind the columns, a taper was burning, before which +knelt a woman, making a vow; the dim flame seemed lost in the vagueness +of the arches. Gaud experienced there the feeling of a long-forgotten +impression: that kind of sadness and fear that she had felt when quite +young at being taken to mass at Paimpol Church on raw, wintry mornings. + +But she hardly regretted Paris, although there were many splendid and +amusing sights there. In the first place she felt almost cramped from +having the blood of the vikings in her veins. And then, in Paris, +she felt like a stranger and an intruder. The _Parisiennes_ were +tight-laced, artificial women, who had a peculiar way of walking; and +Gaud was too intelligent even to have attempted to imitate them. In her +head-dress, ordered every year from the maker in Paimpol, she felt +out of her element in the capital; and did not understand that if the +wayfarers turned round to look at her, it was only because she made a +very charming picture. + +Some of these Parisian ladies quite won her by their high-bred and +distinguished manners, but she knew them to be inaccessible to her, +while from others of a lower caste who would have been glad to make +friends with her, she kept proudly aloof, judging them unworthy of her +attention. Thus she had lived almost without friends, without other +society than her father's, who was engaged in business and often away. +So she did not regret that life of estrangement and solitude. + +But, none the less, on that day of arrival she had been painfully +surprised by the bitterness of this Brittany, seen in full winter. And +her heart sickened at the thought of having to travel another five or +six hours in a jolting car--to penetrate still farther into the blank, +desolate country to reach Paimpol. + +All through the afternoon of that same grisly day, her father and +herself had journeyed in a little old ramshackle vehicle, open to all +the winds; passing, with the falling night, through dull villages, under +ghostly trees, black-pearled with mist in drops. And ere long lanterns +had to be lit, and she could perceive nothing else but what seemed two +trails of green Bengal lights, running on each side before the horses, +and which were merely the beams that the two lanterns projected on the +never-ending hedges of the roadway. But how was it that trees were so +green in the month of December? Astonished at first, she bent to look +out, and then she remembered how the gorse, the evergreen gorse of the +paths and the cliffs, never fades in the country of Paimpol. At the same +time a warmer breeze began to blow, which she knew again and which smelt +of the sea. + +Towards the end of the journey she had been quite awakened and amused by +the new notion that struck her, namely: “As this is winter, I shall see +the famous fishermen of Iceland.” + +For in December they were to return, the brothers, cousins, and lovers +of whom all her friends, great and small, had spoken to her during the +long summer evening walks in her holiday trips. And the thought had +haunted her, though she felt chilled in the slow-going vehicle. + +Now she had seen them, and her heart had been captured by one of them +too. + + + +CHAPTER IV--FIRST LOVE + +The first day she had seen him, this Yann, was the day after his +arrival, at the “_Pardon des Islandais_,” which is on the eighth of +December, the fete-day of Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle, the patroness of +fishers--a little before the procession, with the gray streets, still +draped in white sheets, on which were strewn ivy and holly and wintry +blossoms with their leaves. + +At this _Pardon_ the rejoicing was heavy and wild under the sad sky. +Joy without merriment, composed chiefly of insouciance and contempt; of +physical strength and alcohol; above which floated, less disguised than +elsewhere, the universal warning of death. + +A great clamour in Paimpol; sounds of bells mingled with the chants +of the priests. Rough and monotonous songs in the taverns--old sailor +lullabies--songs of woe, arisen from the sea, drawn from the deep night +of bygone ages. Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zigzagging through the +streets, from their habit of rolling, and because they were half-drunk. +Groups of girls in their nun-like white caps. Old granite houses +sheltering these seething crowds; antiquated roofs telling of their +struggles, through many centuries, against the western winds, the mist, +and the rain; and relating, too, many stories of love and adventure that +had passed under their protection. + +And floating over all was a deep religious sentiment, a feeling of +bygone days, with respect for ancient veneration and the symbols that +protect it, and for the white, immaculate Virgin. Side by side with the +taverns rose the church, its deep sombre portals thrown open, and steps +strewn with flowers, with its perfume of incense, its lighted tapers, +and the votive offerings of sailors hung all over the sacred arch. And +side by side also with the happy girls were the sweethearts of dead +sailors, and the widows of the shipwrecked fishers, quitting the +chapel of the dead in their long mourning shawls and their smooth tiny +_coiffes_; with eyes downward bent, noiselessly they passed through the +midst of this clamouring life, like a sombre warning. And close to all +was the everlasting sea, the huge nurse and devourer of these vigorous +generations, become fierce and agitated as if to take part in the fete. + +Gaud had but a confused impression of all these things together. Excited +and merry, yet with her heart aching, she felt a sort of anguish seize +her at the idea that this country had now become her own again. On the +market-place, where there were games and acrobats, she walked up and +down with her friends, who named and pointed out to her from time +to time the young men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group of these +“Icelanders” were standing before the singers of “_complaintes_,” (songs +of woe) with their backs turned towards them. And directly Gaud was +struck with one of them, tall as a giant, with huge shoulders almost too +broad; but she had simply said, perhaps with a touch of mockery: “There +is one who is tall, to say the least!” And the sentence implied beneath +this was: “What an incumbrance he'll be to the woman he marries, a +husband of that size!” + +He had turned round as if he had heard her, and had given her a quick +glance from top to toe, seeming to say: “Who is this girl who wears +the _coiffe_ of Paimpol, who is so elegant, and whom I never have seen +before?” + +And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground for politeness' sake, and +had appeared to take a renewed interest in the singers, only showing the +back of his head and his black hair that fell in rather long curls upon +his neck. And although she had asked the names of several others, she +had not dared ask his. The fine profile, the grand half-savage look, +the brown, almost tawny pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opal of the +eyes; all this had impressed her and made her timid. + +And it just happened to be that “Fils Gaos,” of whom she had heard the +Moans speak as a great friend of Sylvestre's. On the evening of this +same _Pardon_, Sylvestre and he, walking arm-in-arm, had crossed her +father and herself, and had stopped to wish them good-day. + +And young Sylvestre had become again to her as a sort of brother. As +they were cousins they had continued to _tutoyer_ (using thou for you, a +sign of familiarity) each other; true, she had at first hesitated doing +so to this great boy of seventeen, who already wore a black beard, +but as his kind, soft, childish eyes had hardly changed at all, she +recognized him soon enough to imagine that she had never lost sight of +him. + +When he used to come into Paimpol, she kept him to dinner of an evening; +it was without consequence to her, and he always had a very good +appetite, being on rather short rations at home. + +To speak truly, Yann had not been very polite to her at this first +meeting, which took place at the corner of a tiny gray street, strewn +with green branches. He had raised his hat to her, with a noble though +timid gesture; and after having given her an ever-rapid glance, turned +his eyes away, as if he were vexed with this meeting and in a hurry to +go. A strong western breeze that had arisen during the procession, had +scattered branches of box everywhere and loaded the sky with dark gray +draperies. + +Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances, saw all this clearly again; the +sad gloaming falling upon the remains of the _Pardon_; the sheets strewn +with white flowers floating in the wind along the walls; the noisy +groups of Icelanders, other waifs of the gales and tempests flocking +into the taverns, singing to cheer themselves under the gloom of the +coming rain; and above all, Gaud remembered the giant standing in front +of her, turning aside as if annoyed, and troubled at having met her. + +What a wonderful change had come over her since then; and what a +difference there was between that hubbub and the present tranquility! +How quiet and empty Paimpol seemed to-night in the warm long twilight +of May, which kept her still at her window alone, lulled in her love's +young dream! + + + +CHAPTER V--THE SECOND MEETING + +Their second meeting was at a wedding-feast. Young Gaos had been chosen +to offer her his arm. At first she had been rather vexed, not liking +the idea of strolling through the streets with this tall fellow, whom +everybody would stare at, on account of his excessive height, and who, +most probably, would not know what to speak to her about. Besides, he +really frightened her with his wild, lofty look. + +At the appointed hour all were assembled for the wedding procession save +Yann, who had not appeared. Time passed, yet he did not come, and +they talked of giving up any further waiting for him. Then it was she +discovered that it was for his pleasure, and his alone, that she had +donned her best dress; with any other of the young men present at the +ball, the evening's enjoyment would be spoiled. + +At last he arrived, in his best clothes also, apologizing, without any +embarrassment, to the bride's party. The excuse was, that some important +shoals of fish, not at all expected, had been telegraphed from England, +as bound to pass that night a little off Aurigny; and so all the boats +of Ploubazlanec hastily had set sail. There was great excitement in the +villages, women rushing about to find their husbands and urging them to +put off quickly, and struggling hard themselves to hoist the sails +and help in the launching; in fact, a regular “turnout” throughout +the places, though in the midst of the company Yann related this very +simply; he had been obliged to look out for a substitute and warrant him +to the owner of the boat to which he belonged for the winter season. It +was this that had caused him to be late, and in order not to miss the +wedding, he had “turned up” (abandoned) his share in the profits of the +catch. His plea was perfectly well understood by his hearers, no one +thinking of blaming him; for well all know that, in this coast life, all +are more or less dependent upon the unforeseen events at sea, and the +mysterious migrations of the fishy regions. The other Icelandes present +were disappointed at not having been warned in time, like the fishers of +Ploubazlanec, of the fortune that was skirting their very shores. + +But it was too late now, worse luck! So they gave their arms to the +lasses, the violins began to play, and joyously they all tramped out. + +At first Yann had only paid her a few innocent compliments, such as fall +to a chance partner met at a wedding, and of whom one knows but little. +Amidst all the couples in the procession, they formed the only one of +strangers, the others were all relatives or sweethearts. + +But during the evening while the dancing was going on, the talk between +them had again turned to the subject of the fish, and looking her +straight in the eyes, he roughly said to her: + +“You are the only person about Paimpol, and even in the world, for whom +I would have missed a windfall; truly, for nobody else would I have come +back from my fishing, Mademoiselle Gaud.” + +At first she was rather astonished that this fisherman should dare so +to address her who had come to this ball rather like a young queen, but +then delighted, she had ended by answering: + +“Thank you, Monsieur Yann; and I, too, would rather be with you than +with anybody else.” + +That was all. But from that moment until the end of the dancing, they +kept on chatting in a different tone than before, low and soft-voiced. + +The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy-gurdy and violin, the same +couples almost always together. When Yann returned to invite her +again, after having danced with another girl for politeness' sake, +they exchanged a smile, like friends meeting anew, and continued their +interrupted conversation, which had become very close. Simply enough, +Yann spoke of his fisher life, its hardships, its wage, and of his +parents' difficulties in former years, when they had fourteen little +Gaoses to bring up, he being the eldest. Now, the old folks were out of +the reach of need, because of a wreck that their father had found in the +Channel, the sale of which had brought in 10,000 francs, omitting the +share claimed by the Treasury. With the money they built an upper story +to their house, which was situated at the point of Ploubazlanec, at the +very land's end, in the hamlet of Pors-Even, overlooking the sea, and +having a grand outlook. + +“It is mighty tough, though,” said he, “this here life of an Icelander, +having to start in February for such a country, where it is awful cold +and bleak, with a raging, foaming sea.” + +Gaud remembered every phrase of their conversation at the ball, as if it +had all happened yesterday, and details came regularly back to her mind, +as she looked upon the night falling over Paimpol. If Yann had had no +idea of marriage, why had he told her all the items of his existence, to +which she had listened, as only an engaged sweetheart would have done; +he did not seem a commonplace young man, prone to babbling his business +to everybody who came along. + +“The occupation is pretty good, nevertheless,” he said, “and I shall +never change my career. Some years we make eight hundred francs, and +others twelve hundred, which I get upon my return, and hand over to the +old lady.” + +“To your mother, Monsieur Yann, eh?” + +“Yes, every penny of it, always. It's the custom with us Icelanders, +Mademoiselle Gaud.” He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and natural +course. + +“Perhaps you'll hardly believe it, but I scarcely ever have any +pocket-money. Of a Sunday mother gives me a little when I come into +Paimpol. And so it goes all the time. Why, look 'ee here, this year my +father had these clothes made for me, without which treat I never could +have come to the wedding; certain sure, for I never should have dared +offer you my arm in my old duds of last year.” + +For one like her, accustomed to seeing Parisians, Yann's habiliments +were, perhaps, not very stylish; a short jacket open over the +old-fashioned waistcoat; but the build of their wearer was +irreproachably handsome, so that he had a noble look withal. + +Smiling, he looked at her straight in the depths of her eyes each time +he spoke to her, so as to divine her opinion. And how good and honest +was his look, as he told her all these short-comings, so that she might +well understand that he was not rich! + +And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full in the face; answering +seldom, but listening with her whole soul, more and more astonished and +more and more drawn towards him. What a mixture of untamed roughness +and caressing childishness he was! His earnest voice, short and blunt +towards others, became softer and more and more tender as he spoke +to her; and for her alone he knew how to make it trill with extreme +sweetness, like the music of a stringed instrument with the mute upon +it. + +What a singular and astonishing fact it was to see this man of brawn, +with his free air and forbidding aspect, always treated by his family +like a child, and deeming it quite natural; having travelled over all +the earth, met with all sorts of adventures, incurred all dangers, and +yet showing the same respectful and absolute obedience to his parents. + +She compared him to others, two or three dandies in Paris, clerks, +quill-drivers, or what not, who had pestered her with their attentions, +for the sake of her money. He seemed to be the best, as well as the most +handsome, man she had ever met. + +To put herself more on an equality with him she related how, in her own +home, she had not always been so well-off as at present; that her +father had begun life as a fisherman off Iceland, and always held the +Icelanders in great esteem; and that she herself could clearly remember +as a little child, having run barefooted upon the beach, after her poor +mother's death. + +Oh! the exquisite night of that ball, unique in her life! It seemed far +away now, for it dated back to December, and May had already returned. +All the sturdy partners of that evening were out fishing yonder now, +scattered over the far northern seas, in the clear pale sun, in intense +loneliness, while the dust thickened silently on the land of Brittany. + +Still Gaud remained at her window. The market-place of Paimpol, hedged +in on all sides by the old-fashioned houses, became sadder and sadder +with the darkling; everywhere reigned silence. Above the housetops the +still brilliant space of the heavens seemed to grow more hollow, to +raise itself up and finally separate itself from all terrestrial things: +these, in the last hour of day, were entirely blended into the single +dark outline of the gables of olden roofs. + +From time to time a window or door would be suddenly closed; some old +sailor, shaky upon his legs, would blunder out of the tavern and plunge +into the small dark streets; or girls passed by, returning home late +after their walk and carrying nosegays of May-flowers. One of them who +knew Gaud, calling out good-evening to her, held up a branch of hawthorn +high towards her as if to offer it her to smell; in the transparent +darkness she could distinguish the airy tufts of its white blossoms. +From the gardens and courts floated another soft perfume, that of the +flowering honeysuckle along the granite walls, mingled with a vague +smell of seaweed in the harbour. + +Bats flew silently through the air above, like hideous creatures in a +dream. + +Many and many an evening had Gaud passed at her window, gazing upon the +melancholy market-place, thinking of the Icelanders who were far away, +and always of that same ball. + +Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a young oak, moving with a +graceful yet dignified bearing, his head thrown well back, his brown, +curled locks falling upon his brow, and floating with the motion of the +dance. Gaud, who was rather tall herself, felt their contact upon her +cap, as he bent towards her to grasp her more tightly during the swift +movements. + +Now and then he pointed out to her his little sister Marie, dancing with +Sylvestre, who was her _fiance_. He smiled with a very tender look +at seeing them both so young and yet so reserved towards one another, +bowing gravely, and putting on very timid airs as they communed lowly, +on most amiable subjects, no doubt. + +Of course, Yann would never have allowed it to be otherwise; yet it +amused him, venturesome and bold as he was, to find them so coy; and +he and Gaud exchanged one of their confidential smiles, seeming to say: +“How pretty, but how funny _our_ little brother is!” + +Towards the close of the evening, all the girls received the breaking-up +kiss; cousins, betrothed, and lovers, all, in a good frank, honest way, +before everybody. But, of course, Yann had not kissed Gaud; none might +take that liberty with the daughter of M. Mevel; but he seemed to strain +her a little more tightly to him during the last waltzes, and she, +trusting him, did not resist, but yielded closer still, giving up her +whole soul, in the sudden, deep, and joyous attraction that bound her to +him. + +“Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she made at him?” queried two +or three girls, with their own eyes timidly bent under their golden or +black brows, though they had among the dancers one or two lovers, to say +the least. And truly Gaud did look at Yann very hard, only she had +the excuse that he was the first and only young man whom she ever had +noticed in her life. + +At dawn, when the party broke up and left in confusion, they had taken +leave of one another, like betrothed ones, who are sure to meet the +following day. To return home, she had crossed this same market-place +with her father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, happy to +breathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad dawn itself, so sweet and +enjoyable seemed bare life. + +The May night had long since fallen; nearly all the windows had closed +with a grating of their iron fittings, but Gaud remained at her place, +leaving hers open. The last passers-by, who could distinguish the white +cap in the darkness, might say to themselves, “That's surely some girl, +dreaming of her sweetheart.” It was true, for she was dreaming of hers, +with a wild desire to weep; her tiny teeth bit her lips and continually +opened and pursed up the deep dimple that outlined the under lip of +her fresh, pure mouth. Her eyes remained fixed on the darkness, seeing +nothing of tangible things. + +But, after the ball, why had he not returned? What change had come over +him? Meeting him by chance, he seemed to avoid her, turning aside his +look, which was always fleeting, by the way. She had often debated this +with Sylvestre, who could not understand either. + +“But still, he's the lad for you to marry, Gaud,” said Sylvestre, “if +your father allowed ye. In the whole country round you'd not find his +like. First, let me tell 'ee, he's a rare good one, though he mayn't +look it. He seldom gets tipsy. He sometimes is stubborn, but is very +pliable for all that. No, I can't tell 'ee how good he is! And such an +A.B. seaman! Every new fishing season the skippers regularly fight to +have him.” + +She was quite sure of her father's permission, for she never had been +thwarted in any of her whims. And it mattered little to her whether +Yann were rich or not. To begin with, a sailor like him would need but +a little money in advance to attend the classes of the coast navigation +school, and might shortly become a captain whom all shipowners would +gladly intrust with their vessels. It also mattered little to her that +he was such a giant; great strength may become a defect in a woman, but +in a man is not prejudicial to good looks. + +Without seeming to care much, she had questioned the girls of the +country round about, who knew all the love stories going; but he had +no recognized engagement with any one, he paid no more attention to one +than another, but roved from right to left, to Lezardrieux as well as to +Paimpol, to all the beauties who cared to receive his address. + +One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen him pass under her windows, +in company with one Jeannie Caroff, whom he tucked under his wing very +closely; she was pretty, certainly, but had a very bad reputation. This +had pained Gaud very much indeed. She had been told that he was very +quick-tempered: one night being rather tipsy in a tavern of Paimpol, +where the Icelanders held their revels, he had thrown a great marble +table through a door that they would not open to him. But she forgave +him all that; we all know what sailors are sometimes when the fit takes +them. But if his heart were good, why had he sought one out who never +had thought of him, to leave her afterward; what reason had he had to +look at her for a whole evening with his fair, open smile, and to use +his softest, tenderest voice to speak to her of his affairs as to a +betrothed? Now, it was impossible for her to become attached to another, +or to change. In this same country, when quite a child, she was used to +being scolded when naughty and called more stubborn than any other child +in her ideas; and she had not altered. Fine lady as she was now, +rather serious and proud in her ways, none had refashioned her, and she +remained always the same. + +After this ball, the past winter had been spent in waiting to see him +again, but he had not even come to say good-bye before his departure for +Iceland. Since he was no longer by, nothing else existed in her eyes; +slowly time seemed to drag until the return in autumn, when she had made +up her mind to put an end to her doubts. + +The town-hall clock struck eleven, with that peculiar resonance that +bells have during the quiet spring nights. At Paimpol eleven o'clock is +very late; so Gaud closed her window and lit her lamp, to go to bed. + +Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after all, or was it because, being +proud also, he was afraid of a refusal, as she was so rich? She wanted +to ask him this herself straightforwardly, but Sylvestre thought that +it would not be the right thing, and it would not look well for her +to appear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners and dress were +sufficiently criticised. + +She undressed slowly as if in a dream; first her muslin cap, then her +town-cut dress, which she threw carelessly on a chair. The little lamp, +alone to burn at this late hour, bathed her shoulders and bosom in its +mysterious light, her perfect form, which no eye ever had contemplated, +and never could contemplate if Yann did not marry her. She knew her face +was beautiful, but she was unconscious of the beauty of her figure. In +this remote land, among daughters of fishers, beauty of shape is almost +part of the race; it is scarcely ever noticed, and even the least +respectable women are ashamed to parade it. + +Gaud began to unbraid her tresses, coiled in the shape of a snail-shell +and rolled round her ears, and two plaits fell upon her shoulders +like weighty serpents. She drew them up into a crown on the top of +her head--this was comfortable for sleeping--so that, by reason of her +straight profile, she looked like a Roman vestal. + +She still held up her arms, and biting her lip, she slowly ran her +fingers through the golden mass, like a child playing with a toy, while +thinking of something else; and again letting it fall, she quickly +unplaited it to spread it out; soon she was covered with her own locks, +which fell to her knees, looking like some Druidess. + +And sleep having come, notwithstanding love and an impulse to weep, she +threw herself roughly in her bed, hiding her face in the silken masses +floating round her outspread like a veil. + +In her hut in Ploubazlanec, Granny Moan, who was on the other and darker +side of her life, had also fallen to sleep--the frozen sleep of old +age--dreaming of her grandson and of death. + +And at this same hour, on board the _Marie_, on the Northern Sea, which +was very heavy on this particular evening, Yann and Sylvestre--the two +longed-for rovers--sang ditties to one another, and went on gaily with +their fishing in the everlasting daylight. + + + +CHAPTER VI--NEWS FROM HOME + +About a month later, around Iceland, the weather was of that rare kind +that the sailors call a dead calm; in other words, in the air nothing +moved, as if all the breezes were exhausted and their task done. + +The sky was covered with a white veil, which darkened towards its lower +border near the horizon, and gradually passed into dull gray leaden +tints; over this the still waters threw a pale light, which fatigued +the eyes and chilled the gazer through and through. All at once, liquid +designs played over the surface, such light evanescent rings as one +forms by breathing on a mirror. The sheen of the waters seemed covered +with a net of faint patterns, which intermingled and reformed, rapidly +disappearing. Everlasting night or everlasting day, one could scarcely +say what it was; the sun, which pointed to no special hour, remained +fixed, as if presiding over the fading glory of dead things; it appeared +but as a mere ring, being almost without substance, and magnified +enormously by a shifting halo. + +Yann and Sylvestre, leaning against one another, sang “Jean-Francois de +Nantes,” the song without an end; amused by its very monotony, looking +at one another from the corner of their eyes as if laughing at the +childish fun, with which they began the verses over and over again, +trying to put fresh spirit into them each time. Their cheeks were rosy +under the sharp freshness of the morning: the pure air they breathed was +strengthening, and they inhaled it deep down in their chests, the +very fountain of all vigorous existence. And yet, around them, was +a semblance of non-existence, of a world either finished or not yet +created; the light itself had no warmth; all things seemed without +motion, and as if chilled for eternity under the great ghostly eye that +represented the sun. + +The _Marie_ projected over the sea a shadow long and black as night, or +rather appearing deep green in the midst of the polished surface, which +reflected all the purity of the heavens; in this shadowed part, which +had no glitter, could be plainly distinguished through the transparency, +myriads upon myriads of fish, all alike, gliding slowly in the same +direction, as if bent towards the goal of their perpetual travels. They +were cod, performing their evolutions all as parts of a single body, +stretched full length in the same direction, exactly parallel, offering +the effect of gray streaks, unceasingly agitated by a quick motion that +gave a look of fluidity to the mass of dumb lives. Sometimes, with a +sudden quick movement of the tail, all turned round at the same time, +showing the sheen of their silvered sides; and the same movement was +repeated throughout the entire shoal by slow undulations, as if a +thousand metal blades had each thrown a tiny flash of lightning from +under the surface. + +The sun, already very low, lowered further; so night had decidedly come. +As the great ball of flame descended into the leaden-coloured zones that +surrounded the sea, it grew yellow, and its outer rim became more clear +and solid. Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were but +the moon. Yet it still gave out light and looked quite near in the +immensity; it seemed that by going in a ship, only so far as the edge of +the horizon, one might collide with the great mournful globe, floating +in the air just a few yards above the water. + +Fishing was going on well; looking into the calm water, one could see +exactly what took place; how the cod came to bite, with a greedy +spring; then, feeling themselves hooked, wriggled about, as if to +hook themselves still firmer. And every moment, with rapid action, the +fishermen hauled in their lines, hand overhand, throwing the fish to the +man who was to clean them and flatten them out. + +The Paimpol fleet were scattered over the quiet mirror, animating the +desert. Here and there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere form's +sake, considering there was no breeze. They were like clear white +outlines upon the greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing off +Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade that ladies' yachting was no +name for it. + +“Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!” + +So they sang, like a couple of children. + +Yann little troubled whether or no he was handsome and good-looking. He +was boyish only with Sylvestre, it is true, and sang and joked with no +other; on the contrary, he was rather distant with the others and proud +and disdainful--very willing though, when his help was required, and +always kind and obliging when not irritated. + +So the twain went on singing their song, with two others, a few steps +off, singing another, a dirge--a clashing of sleepiness, health, and +vague melancholy. But they did not feel dull, and the hours flew by. + +Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in the iron range, and the +hatch was kept shut, so as to give the appearance of night there for +those who needed sleep. They required but little air to sleep; indeed, +less robust fellows, brought up in towns, would have wanted more. They +used to go to bed after the watch at irregular times, just when they +felt inclined, hours counting for little in this never-fading light. +And they always slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness or bad +dreams. + +“Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!” + +They looked attentively at some almost imperceptible object, far off on +the horizon, some faint smoke rising from the waters like a tiny jot of +another gray tint slightly darker than the sky's. Their eyes were used +to plumbing depths, and they had seen it. + +“A sail, a sail, thereaway!” + +“I have an idea,” said the skipper, staring attentively, “that it's a +government cruiser coming on her inspection-round.” + +This faint smoke brought news of home to the sailors, and among others, +a letter we wrote of, from an old grandam, written by the hand of a +beautiful girl. Slowly the steamer approached till they perceived her +black hull. Yes, it was the cruiser, making the inspection in these +western fjords. + +At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up, fresher yet to inhale, and +began to tarnish the surface of the still waters in patches; it traced +designs in a bluish green tint over the shining mirror, and scattering +in trails, these fanned out or branched off like a coral tree; all very +rapidly with a low murmur; it was like a signal of awakening foretelling +the end of this intense torpor. The sky, its veil being rent asunder, +grew clear; the vapours fell down on the horizon, massing in heaps like +slate-coloured wadding, as if to form a soft bank to the sea. The two +ever-during mirrors between which the fishermen lived, the one on high +and the one beneath, recovered their deep lucidity, as if the mists +tarnishing them had been brushed away. + +The weather was changing in a rapid way that foretold no good. Smacks +began to arrive from all points of the immense plane; first, all the +French smacks in the vicinity, from Brittany, Normandy, Boulogne, +or Dunkirk. Like birds flocking to a call, they assembled round the +cruiser; from the apparently empty corners of the horizon, others +appeared on every side; their tiny gray wings were seen till they +peopled the pallid waste. + +No longer slowly drifting, for they had spread out their sails to the +new and cool breeze, and cracked on all to approach. + +Far-off Iceland also reappeared, as if she would fain come near them +also; showing her great mountains of bare stones more distinctly than +ever. + +And there arose a new Iceland of similar colour, which little by little +took a more definite form, and none the less was purely illusive, its +gigantic mountains merely a condensation of mists. The sun, sinking low, +seemed incapable of ever rising over all things, though glowing through +this phantom island so tangible that it seemed placed in front of it. +Incomprehensible sight! no longer was it surrounded by a halo, but its +disc had become firmly spread, rather like some faded yellow planet +slowly decaying and suddenly checked there in the heart of chaos. + +The cruiser, which had stopped, was fully surrounded by the fleet of +Icelanders. From all boats were lowered, like so many nut-shells, and +conveyed their strong, long-bearded men, in barbaric-looking dresses, to +the steamer. + +Like children, all had something to beg for; remedies for petty +ailments, materials for repairs, change of diet, and home letters. +Others came, sent by their captains, to be clapped in irons, to expiate +some fault; as they had all been in the navy, they took this as a matter +of course. When the narrow deck of the cruiser was blocked-up by four +or five of these hulking fellows, stretched out with the bilboes round +their feet, the old sailor who had just chained them up called out to +them, “Roll o' one side, my lads, to let us work, d'ye hear?” which they +obediently did with a grin. + +There were a great many letters this time for the Iceland fleet. Among +the rest, two for “_La Marie_, Captain Guermeur”; one addressed to +“Monsieur Gaos, Yann,” the other to “Monsieur Moan, Sylvestre.” The +latter had come by way of Rykavyk, where the cruiser had taken it on. + +The purser, diving into his post-bags of sailcloth, distributed them +all round, often finding it hard to read the addresses, which were not +always written very skilfully, while the captain kept on saying: “Look +alive there, look alive! the barometer is falling.” + +He was rather anxious to see all the tiny yawls afloat, and so many +vessels assembled in that dangerous region. + +Yann and Sylvestre used to read their letters together. This time they +read them by the light of the midnight sun, shining above the horizon, +still like a dead luminary. Sitting together, a little to one side, in a +retired nook of the deck, their arms about each other's shoulders, they +very slowly read, as if to enjoy more thoroughly the news sent them from +home. + +In Yann's letter Sylvestre got news of Marie Gaos, his little +sweetheart; in Sylvestre's, Yann read all Granny Moan's funny stories, +for she had not her like for amusing the absent ones you will remember; +and the last paragraph concerning him came up: the “word of greeting to +young Gaos.” + +When the letters were got through, Sylvestre timidly showed his to his +big friend, to try and make him admire the writing of it. + +“Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann?” + +But Yann, who knew very well whose hand had traced it, turned aside, +shrugging his shoulders, as much as to say that he was worried too often +about this Gaud girl. + +So Sylvestre carefully folded up the poor, rejected paper, put it into +its envelope and all in his jersey, next his breast, saying to himself +sadly: “For sure, they'll never marry. But what on earth can he have to +say against her?” + +Midnight was struck on the cruiser's bell. And yet our couple remained +sitting there, thinking of home, the absent ones, a thousand things in +reverie. At this same moment the everlasting sun, which had dipped its +lower edge into the waters, began slowly to reascend, and lo! this was +morning. + + + + +PART II -- IN THE BRETON LAND + + + +CHAPTER I--THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM + +The Northern sun had taken another aspect and changed its colour, +opening the new day by a sinister morn. Completely free from its veil, +it gave forth its grand rays, crossing the sky in fitful flashes, +foretelling nasty weather. During the past few days it had been too fine +to last. The winds blew upon that swarm of boats, as if to clear the sea +of them; and they began to disperse and flee, like an army put to rout, +before the warning written in the air, beyond possibility to misread. +Harder and harder it blew, making men and ships quake alike. + +And the still tiny waves began to run one after another and to melt +together; at first they were frosted over with white foam spread out +in patches; and then, with a whizzing sound, arose smoke as though +they burned and scorched, and the whistling grew louder every moment. +Fish-catching was no longer thought of; it was their work on deck. The +fishing lines had been drawn in, and all hurried to make sail and some +to seek for shelter in the fjords, while yet others preferred to round +the southern point of Iceland, finding it safer to stand for the open +sea, with the free space about them, and run before the stern wind. They +could still see each other a while: here and there, above the trough of +the sea, sails wagged as poor wearied birds fleeing; the masts tipped, +but ever and anon righted, like the weighted pith figures that similarly +resume an erect attitude when released after being blown down. + +The illimitable cloudy roof, erstwhile compacted towards the western +horizon, in an island form, began to break up on high and send its +fragments over the surface. It seemed indestructible, for vainly did +the winds stretch it, pull and toss it asunder, continually tearing +away dark strips, which they waved over the pale yellow sky, gradually +becoming intensely and icily livid. Ever more strongly grew the wind +that threw all things in turmoil. + +The cruiser had departed for shelter at Iceland; some fishers alone +remained upon the seething sea, which now took an ill-boding look and a +dreadful colour. All hastily made preparations for bad weather. Between +one and another the distance grew greater, till some were lost sight of. + +The waves, curling up in scrolls, continued to run after each other, +to reassemble and climb on one another, and between them the hollows +deepened. + +In a few hours, everything was belaboured and overthrown in these +regions that had been so calm the day before, and instead of the +past silence, the uproar was deafening. The present agitation was a +dissolving view, unconscientious and useless, and quickly accomplished. +What was the object of it all? What a mystery of blind destruction it +was! + +The clouds continued to stream out on high, out of the west continually, +racing and darkening all. A few yellow clefts remained, through which +the sun shot its rays in volleys. And the now greenish water was striped +more thickly with snowy froth. + +By midday the _Marie_ was made completely snug for dirty weather: her +hatches battened down, and her sails storm-reefed; she bounded lightly +and elastic; for all the horrid confusion, she seemed to be playing like +the porpoises, also amused in storms. With her foresail taken in, she +simply scudded before the wind. + +It had become quite dark overhead, where stretched the heavily crushing +vault. Studded with shapeless gloomy spots, it appeared a set dome, +unless a steadier gaze ascertained that everything was in the full rush +of motion; endless gray veils were drawn along, unceasingly followed by +others, from the profundities of the sky-line--draperies of darkness, +pulled from a never-ending roll. + +The _Marie_ fled faster and faster before the wind; and time fled +also--before some invisible and mysterious power. The gale, the sea, the +_Marie_, and the clouds were all lashed into one great madness of hasty +flight towards the same point. The fastest of all was the wind; then the +huge seething billows, heavier and slower, toiling after; and, lastly, +the smack, dragged into the general whirl. The waves tracked her down +with their white crests, tumbling onward in continual motion, and +she--though always being caught up to and outrun--still managed to elude +them by means of the eddying waters she spurned in her wake, upon which +they vented their fury. In this similitude of flight the sensation +particularly experienced was of buoyancy, the delight of being carried +along without effort or trouble, in a springy sort of way. The _Marie_ +mounted over the waves without any shaking, as if the wind had lifted +her clean up; and her subsequent descent was a slide. She almost slid +backward, though, at times, the mountains lowering before her as if +continuing to run, and then she suddenly found herself dropped into +one of the measureless hollows that evaded her also; without injury she +sounded its horrible depths, amid a loud splashing of water, which did +not even sprinkle her decks, but was blown on and on like everything +else, evaporating in finer and finer spray until it was thinned away to +nothing. In the trough it was darker, and when each wave had passed the +men looked behind them to see if the next to appear were higher; it +came upon them with furious contortions, and curling crests, over its +transparent emerald body, seeming to shriek: “Only let me catch you, and +I'll swallow you whole!” + +But this never came to pass, for, as a feather, the billows softly bore +them up and then down so gently; they felt it pass under them, with all +its boiling surf and thunderous roar. And so on continually, but the sea +getting heavier and heavier. One after another rushed the waves, more +and more gigantic, like a long chain of mountains, with yawning valleys. +And the madness of all this movement, under the ever-darkening sky, +accelerated the height of the intolerable clamour. + +Yann and Sylvestre stood at the helm, still singing, “Jean Francois de +Nantes”; intoxicated with the quiver of speed, they sang out loudly, +laughing at their inability to hear themselves in this prodigious wrath +of the wind. + +“I say, lads, does it smell musty up here too?” called out Guermeur to +them, passing his bearded face up through the half-open hatchway, like +Jack-in-the-box. + +Oh, no! it certainly did not smell musty on deck. They were not at all +frightened, being quite conscious of what men can cope with, having +faith in the strength of their barkey and their arms. And they +furthermore relied upon the protection of that china Virgin, which had +voyaged forty years to Iceland, and so often had danced the dance +of this day, smiling perpetually between her branches of artificial +flowers. + +Generally speaking, they could not see far around them; a few hundred +yards off, all seemed entombed in the fearfully big billows, with their +frothing crests shutting out the view. They felt as if in an enclosure, +continually altering shape; and, besides, all things seemed drowned in +the aqueous smoke, which fled before them like a cloud with the greatest +rapidity over the heaving surface. But from time to time a gleam of +sunlight pierced through the north-west sky, through which a squall +threatened; a shuddering light would appear from above, a rather +spun-out dimness, making the dome of the heavens denser than before, and +feebly lighting up the surge. This new light was sad to behold; far-off +glimpses as they were, that gave too strong an understanding that the +same chaos and the same fury lay on all sides, even far, far behind the +seemingly void horizon; there was no limit to its expanse of storm, and +they stood alone in its midst! + +A tremendous tumult arose all about, like the prelude of an apocalypse, +spreading the terror of the ultimate end of the earth. And amidst it +thousands of voices could be heard above, shrieking, bellowing, calling, +as from a great distance. It was only the wind, the great motive breath +of all this disorder, the voice of the invisible power ruling all. Then +came other voices, nearer and less indefinite, threatening destruction, +and making the water shudder and hiss as if on burning coals; the +disturbance increased in terror. + +Notwithstanding their flight, the sea began to gain on them, to “bury +them up,” as they phrased it: first the spray fell down on them from +behind, and masses of water thrown with such violence as to break +everything in their course. The waves were ever increasing, and the +tempest tore off their ridges and hurled them, too, upon the poop, like +a demon's game of snowballing, till dashed to atoms on the bulwarks. +Heavier masses fell on the planks with a hammering sound, till +the _Marie_ shivered throughout, as if in pain. Nothing could be +distinguished over the side, because of the screen of creamy foam; +and when the winds soughed more loudly, this foam formed into whirling +spouts, like the dust of the way in summer time. At length a heavy +rain fell crossways, and soon straight up and down, and how all these +elements of destruction yelled together, clashed and interlocked, no +tongue can tell. + +Yann and Sylvestre stuck staunchly to the helm, covered with their +waterproofs, hard and shiny as sharkskin; they had firmly secured them +at the throat by tarred strings, and likewise at wrists and ankles to +prevent the water from running in, and the rain only poured off them; +when it fell too heavily, they arched their backs, and held all the more +stoutly, not to be thrown over the board. Their cheeks burned, and every +minute their breath was beaten out or stopped. + +After each sea was shipped and rushed over, they exchanged glances, +grinning at the crust of salt settled in their beards. + +In the long run though, this became tiresome, an unceasing fury, which +always promised a worse visitation. The fury of men and beasts soon +falls and dies away; but the fury of lifeless things, without cause or +object, is as mysterious as life and death, and has to be borne for very +long. + +“Jean Francois de Nantes; + +Jean Francois, + +Jean Francois!” + +Through their pale lips still came the refrain of the old song, but as +from a speaking automaton, unconsciously taken up from time to time. The +excess of motion and uproar had made them dumb, and despite their youth +their smiles were insincere, and their teeth chattered with cold; their +eyes, half-closed under their raw, throbbing eyelids, remained glazed +in terror. Lashed to the helm, like marble caryatides, they only moved +their numbed blue hands, almost without thinking, by sheer muscular +habit. With their hair streaming and mouths contracted, they had become +changed, all the primitive wildness in man appearing again. They could +not see one another truly, but still were aware of being companioned. +In the instants of greatest danger, each time that a fresh mountain +of water rose behind them, came to overtower them, and crash horribly +against their boat, one of their hands would move as if involuntarily, +to form the sign of the cross. They no more thought of Gaud than of any +other woman, or any marrying. The travail was lasting too long, and +they had no thoughts left. The intoxication of noise, cold, and fatigue +drowned all in their brain. They were merely two pillars of stiffened +human flesh, held up by the helm; two strong beasts, cowering, but +determined they would not be overwhelmed. + + + +CHAPTER II--A PARDONABLE RUSE + +In Brittany, towards the end of September, on an already chilly day, +Gaud was walking alone across the common of Ploubazlanec, in the +direction of Pors-Even. + +The Icelanders had returned a month back, except two, which had perished +in that June gale. But the _Marie_ had held her own, and Yann and all +her crew were peacefully at home. + +Gaud felt very troubled at the idea of going to Yann's house. She had +seen him once since the return from Iceland, when they had all gone +together to see poor little Sylvestre off to the navy. They accompanied +him to the coaching-house, he blubbering a little and his grandmother +weeping, and he had started to join the fleet at Brest. + +Yann, who had come also to bid good-bye to his little friend, had +feigned to look aside when Gaud looked at him, and as there were +many people round the coach to see the other sailors off, and parents +assembled to say good-bye, the pair had not a chance to speak. So, at +last, she had formed a strong resolution, and rather timidly wended her +way towards the Gaos's home. + +Her father had formerly had mutual interests with Yann's father +(complicated business, which, with peasants and fishers alike, seems to +be endless), and owed him a hundred francs for the sale of a boat, which +had just taken place in a raffle. + +“You ought to let me carry the money to him, father,” she had said. +“I shall be pleased to see Marie Gaos. I never have been so far in +Ploubazlanec, either, and I shall enjoy the long walk.” + +To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious to know Yann's family, +which she might some day enter; and she also wanted to see the house and +village. + +In one of their last chats, before his departure, Sylvestre had +explained to her, in his own way, his friend's shyness. + +“D'ye see, Gaud, he's like this, he won't marry anybody, that's his +idea; he only loves the sea, and one day even, in fun, he said he had +promised to be wedded to it.” + +Whereupon, she forgave him all his peculiar ways, and remembered only +his beautiful open smile on the night of the ball, and she hoped on and +on. + +If she were to meet him in his home, of course she would say nothing; +she had no intention of being so bold. But if he saw her closely again, +perhaps he might speak. + + + +CHAPTER III--OF SINISTER PORTENT + +She had been walking for the last hour, lightly yet oppressed, inhaling +the healthy open breeze whistling up the roads to where they crossed and +_Calvaires_ were erected, ghastly highway ornaments of our Saviour on +His cross, to which Bretons are given. + +From time to time she passed through small fishing villages, which are +beaten about by the winds the whole year through till of the colour +of the rocks. In one of these hamlets, where the path narrows suddenly +between dark walls, and between the whitewashed roofs, high and pointed +like Celtic huts, a tavern sign-board made her smile. It was “The +Chinese Cider Cellars.” On it were painted two grotesque figures, +dressed in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking cider. No doubt +the whim of some old sailor who had been in China. She saw all on her +way; people who are greatly engrossed in the object of a journey always +find more amusement than others in its thousand details. + +The tiny village was far behind her now, and as she advanced in this +last promontory of the Breton land, the trees around her became more +scarce, and the country more mournful. + +The ground was undulating and rocky, and from all the heights the open +sea could be seen. No more trees now; nothing but the shorn heaths with +their green reeds, and here and there the consecrated crosses rose, +their outstretched arms outlined against the sky, giving the whole +country the aspect of a cemetery. + +At one of the cross-ways, guarded by a colossal image of Christ, she +hesitated between two roads running among thorny slopes. + +A child happening to pass, came to her rescue: “Good-day, Mademoiselle +Gaud!” + +It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann's wee sisters. Gaud kissed +her and asked her if her parents were at home. + +“Father and mother are, yes. But brother Yann,” said the little one, +without intent, of course, “has gone to Loguivy; but I don't think he'll +be very late home again.” + +So he was not there? Again destiny was between them, everywhere and +always. She thought at first of putting off her visit to another day. +But the little lass who had met her might mention the fact. What would +they think at Pors-Even? So she decided to go on, but loitering so as to +give Yann time to return. + +As she neared his village, in this lost country, all things seemed +rougher and more desolate. Sea breezes that made men stronger, made +shorter and more stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds were scattered +over the paths, leaves from growths in another element, proving the +existence of a neighbouring world; their briny odour mingled with the +perfume of the heather. + +Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk, who could be seen a long +way off, over the bare country, outlined and magnified against the high +sea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the great sea, in passing +her wished her good-day. Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs, manly and +determined under their easy caps. + +Time did not go quickly enough, and she really did not know what to do +to lengthen the way; these people seemed surprised at seeing her walk so +slowly. + +What could Yann be doing at Loguivy? Courting the girls, perhaps. + +Ah! if she only had known how little he troubled his head about them! He +had simply gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket-maker, who was +the only one in the country knowing how to weave lobster pots. His mind +was very free from love just now. + +She passed a chapel, at such a height it could be seen remotely. It was +a little gray old chapel in the midst of the barren. A clump of trees, +gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to it, pushed by some +invisible hand all on one side. + +It was that same hand that had wrecked the fishers' boats, the eternal +hand of the western winds, and had twisted all the branches of the coast +trees in the direction of the waves and of the off-sea breezes. The +old trees had grown awry and dishevelled, bending their backs under the +time-honoured strength of that hand. + +Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as the chapel in sight was that +of Pors-Even; so she stopped there to win a little more time. + +A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclosure containing tombstones. +Everything was of the same colour, chapel, trees, and graves; the whole +spot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind; the stones, the +knotty branches, and the granite saints, placed in the wall niches, were +covered by the same grayish lichen, splashed pale yellow. + +On one of the wooden crosses this name was written in large letters: + +“GAOS.--GAOS, JOEL, 80 years.” + +Yes, this was the old grandfather--she knew that--for the sea had not +wanted this old sailor. And many of Yann's relatives, besides, slept +here; it was only natural, and she might have expected it; nevertheless, +the name upon the tomb had made a sad impression. + +To waste a little more time, she entered to say a prayer under the old +cramped porch, worn away and daubed over with whitewash. But she stopped +again with a sharp pain at her heart. “Gaos”--again that name, engraved +upon one of the slabs erected in memory of those who die at sea. + +She read this inscription: + +“To the Memory of GAOS, JEAN-LOUIS, Aged 24 years; seaman on board the +_Marguerite_. Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877. May he rest in +peace!” + +Iceland--always Iceland! All over the porch were wooden slabs bearing +the names of dead sailors. It was the place reserved for the shipwrecked +of Pors-Even. Filled with a dark foreboding she was sorry to have gone +there. + +In Paimpol church she had seen many such inscriptions; but in this +village the empty tomb of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad because so +lone and humble. On each side of the doorway was a granite seat for +the widows and mothers; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like a +grotto, was guarded by an old image of the Virgin, coloured red, with +large staring eyes, looking most like Cybele--the first goddess of the +earth. + +“Gaos!” Again! + +“To the Memory of GAOS, FRANCOIS, Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster, +Captain on board the _Paimpolais_, Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and +3d of May, 1877, With the twenty-three men of his crew. May they rest in +peace!” + +And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black skull with green +eyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism of +a bygone age. + +“Gaos, Gaos!” The name was everywhere. As she read, thrills of sweet +tenderness came over her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a +feeling of hopelessness. Nay, he would never be hers! How could she tear +him from the sea where so many other Gaoses had gone down, ancestors and +brothers, who must have loved the sea like he! She entered the chapel. +It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy frames. And +there, her heart full of tears that would better have fallen, she +knelt to pray before the colossal saints, surrounded by common flowers, +touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads. Outside, the rising +wind began to sob as if it brought the death-gasps of the drowned men +back to their Fatherland. + +Night drew near; she rose and went on her way. After having asked in +the village, she found the home of the Gaos family, which was built up +against a high cliff. A dozen granite steps led up to it. Trembling a +little at the thought that Yann might have returned, she crossed the +small garden where chrysanthemums and veronicas grew. + +When she was indoors, she explained she had come to bring the money for +the boat, and they very politely asked her to sit down, to await the +father's return, as he was the one to sign the receipt for her. Amidst +all, her eyes searched for Yann--but did not see him. + +They were very busy in the home. Already they were cutting out the new +waterproof cloth on the clean white table, and getting it ready for the +approaching Iceland season. + +“You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it's like this: every man wants two new +suits.” + +They explained to her how they set to work to make them, and to render +their seams waterproof with tar, for they were for wet weather wear. +And while they worked, Gaud looked attentively around the home of these +Gaoses. + +It was furnished after the traditional manner of all Breton cottages; +an immense chimney-place took up one whole end, and on the sides of the +walls the Breton beds, bunks, as on shipboard, were placed one above +another. But it was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of other +peasants, which are generally half-hidden by the wayside; it was all +fresh and clean, as the homes of seamen usually are. Several little +Gaoses were there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of Yann; +without counting two big ones, who were already out at sea. And, +besides, there was a little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others. + +“We adopted her last year,” explained the mother; “we had enough +children as it was, of course, but what else could we do, Mademoiselle +Gaud, for her daddy belonged to the _Maria-Dieu-t'aime_, lost last +season off Iceland, as you know; so the neighbours divided the little +ones between them, and this one fell to our lot.” + +Hearing herself spoken of, the adopted child hung her pretty head and +smiled, hiding herself behind little Laumec Gaos, her favourite. + +There was a look of comfort all over the place, and radiant health +bloomed on all the children's rosy cheeks. + +They received Gaud very profusely, like a great lady whose visit was an +honour to the family. She was taken upstairs, up a newly-built wooden +staircase, to see the room above, which was the glory of the home. She +remembered the history of its construction; it was after the finding of +a derelict vessel in the channel, which luck had befallen Yann's father +and his cousin the pilot. + +The room was very gay and pretty in its whiteness; there were two town +beds in it, with pink chintz curtains, and a large table in the +middle. Through the window the whole of Paimpol could be seen, with +the Icelanders at anchor off shore, and the channel through which they +passed. + +She did not dare question, but she would have liked to have known where +Yann slept; probably as a child he had slept downstairs in one of +the antique cupboard-beds. But perhaps now he slept under those pink +draperies. She would have loved to have known all the details of his +life, especially what he did in the long winter evenings. + +A heavy footstep on the stairs made her tremble. But it was not Yann, +though a man much like him; notwithstanding his white hair, as tall and +as straight. It was old father Gaos returning from fishing. + +After he had saluted her and asked her the object of her visit, he +signed her receipt for her which was rather a long operation, as his +hand was not very steady, he explained. + +But he would not accept the hundred francs as a final payment, but only +as an instalment; he would speak to M. Mevel again about it. Whereupon +Gaud, to whom money was nothing, smiled imperceptibly; she had fancied +the business was not quite terminated, and this just suited her. + +They made something like excuses for Yann's absence; as if they found it +more orthodox for the whole family to assemble to receive her. Perhaps +the father had guessed, with the shrewdness of an old salt, that his son +was not indifferent to this beautiful heiress; for he rather insisted +upon talking about him. + +“It's very queer,” said he, “the boy's never so late out. He went over +to Loguivy, Mademoiselle Gaud, to buy some lobster baskets; as you know, +lobster-catching is our main winter fishery.” + +She dreamily lengthened out her call, although conscious that it was too +long already, and feeling a tug at her heart at the idea that she would +not see him after all. + +“A well-conducted young man like Yann--what can he be doing? Surely he's +not at the inn. We don't fear that for our lad. I don't say that now and +then, of a Sunday, with his mates----You know, Mademoiselle Gaud, what +them sailors are. Eh! ye know, he's but a young chap, and must have some +liberty now and again. But it's very rare with him to break out, for +he's a straight-goer; we can say that.” + +But night was falling, and the work had been folded up. The little ones +on the benches around drew closer to one another, saddened by the grey +dismal gloaming, and eyed Gaud hard, seeming to say-- + +“Why doesn't she go now?” + +On the hearth, the flames burned redder in the midst of the falling +shadows. + +“You ought to stay and have a bit o' supper with us, Mademoiselle Gaud.” + +“Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!” The blood rushed to her face at the +idea of having remained so late. She got up and took her leave. + +Yann's father also rose to accompany her part of the way, anyhow as far +as a lonely nook where the old trees make a dark lane. + +As they walked along together, she felt a sudden sympathy of respect +and tenderness towards him; she would have liked to have spoken as to a +father in the sudden gushes of feeling that came over her; but the words +were stifled in her throat, and she said not a word. + +And so they went their way, in the cold evening wind, full of the odour +of the sea, passing here and there, on the barren heath, some poor +hovels, where beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed themselves up +for the night; dark and neglected they looked under the weather-beaten +roofs; these crosses, clumps of reeds, and boulders they left behind. + +What a great way off Pors-Even was, and what a time she had remained! + +Now and then they met folks returning from Paimpol or Loguivy; and as +she watched the shadows approach, each time she thought it was Yann; +but it was easy to recognise him at a good distance off, and so she was +quickly undeceived. Every moment her feet caught in the brown trailing +plants, tangled like hair, which were sea-weeds littering the pathway. + +At the Cross of Plouezoc'h she bade good-bye to the old man, and begged +him to return. The lights of Paimpol were already in view, and there was +no more occasion to be afraid. + +So hope was over for this time. Who could tell her when she might see +Yann again? + +An excuse to return to Pors-Even would have been easy; but it would +really look too bad to begin her quest all over again. She would have to +be braver and prouder than that. If only her little confidant Sylvestre +had been there, she might have asked him to go and fetch Yann, so that +there could be some explanation. But he was gone now, and for how many +years? + + + +CHAPTER IV--HIS RELUCTANCE + +“Me get married?” said Yann to his parents that same evening. “Me get +married? Good heavens, why should I? Shall I ever be as happy as here +with ye? no troubles, no tiffs with any one, and warm soup ready for me +every night when I come home from sea. Oh! I quite understand that you +mean the girl that came here to-day, but what's such a rich girl to do +with us? 'Tisn't clear to my thinking. And it'll be neither her, nor any +other. It's all settled, I won't marry--it ain't to my liking.” + +The two old Gaoses looked at one another in silence, deeply +disappointed, for, after having talked it over together, they were +pretty well sure that this young lady would not refuse their handsome +Yann. But they did not try to argue, knowing how useless that would be. +The mother lowered her head, and said no more; she respected the will +of her son, her eldest born, who was all but the head of the family; +although he was always tender and gentle with her, more obedient than +a child in the petty things of life, he long ago had been her absolute +master for the great ones, eluding all restraint with a quiet though +savage independence. He never sat up late, being in the habit, like +other fishermen, of rising before break of day. And after supper at +eight o'clock, he had given another satisfactory look to his baskets and +new nets from Loguivy, and began to undress--calm to all appearances, +and went up to sleep in the pink-curtained bed, which he shared with his +little brother Laumec. + + + +CHAPTER V--SAILORS AT THE PLAY + +For the last fortnight Gaud's little confidant, Sylvestre, had been +quartered in Brest; very much out of his element, but very quiet +and obedient to discipline. He wore his open blue sailor-collar and +red-balled, flat, woollen cap, with a frank, fearless look, and was +noble and dignified in his sailor garb, with his free step and tall +figure, but at the bottom of his heart he was still the same innocent +boy as ever, and thinking of his dear old grandam. + +One evening he had got tipsy together with some lads from his parts, +simply because it is the custom; and they had all returned to the +barracks together arm-in-arm, singing out as lustily as they could. + +And one Sunday, too, they had all gone to the theatre, in the upper +galleries. A melodrama was being played, and the sailors, exasperated +against the villain, greeted him with a howl, which they all roared +together, like a blast of the Atlantic cyclones. + + + +CHAPTER VI--ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE + +One day Sylvestre was summoned before the officer of his company; and +they told him he was among those ordered out to China--in the squadron +for Formosa. He had been pretty well expecting it for some time, as he +had heard those who read the papers say that out there the war seemed +never-ending. + +And because of the urgency of the departure, he was informed at the same +time that he would not be able to have the customary leave for his home +farewells; in five days' time he would have to pack up and be off. + +Then a bitter pain came over him; though charmed at the idea of far-off +travels amid the unknown and of the war. There also was agony at the +thought of leaving all he knew and loved, with the vague apprehension +that he might never more return. + +A thousand noises rang in his head. Around was the bustle of the +barrack-rooms, where hundreds of others were called up, like himself, +chosen for the Chinese squadron. And rapidly he wrote to his old +grandmother, with a stump of pencil, crouching on the floor, alone in +his own feverish dream, though in the thick of the continual hurry and +hubbub amidst all the young sailors hurried away like himself. + + + +CHAPTER VII--MOAN'S SWEETHEART + +“His sweetheart's a trifle old!” said the others, a couple of days +later, as they laughed after Sylvestre and his grandmother, “but they +seem to get on fine together all the same.” + +It amused them to see the boy, for the first time, walk through the +streets of Recouvrance, with a woman at his side, like the rest of them; +and, bending towards her with a tender look, whisper what seemed to be +very soft nothings. + +She was a very quick, diminutive person seen from behind, with rather +short skirts for the fashion of the day; and a scanty brown shawl, and a +high Paimpol _coiffe_. She, too, hanging on his arm, turned towards him +with an affectionate glance. + +“A trifle old was his sweetheart!” + +That's what the others called after him, we say, but without spite, for +any one could see that she was his old granny, come up from the country. +She had come, too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified at the news of his +sudden departure; for this Chinese war had already cost Paimpol many +sailors. So she had scraped together all her poor little savings, put +her best Sunday dress and a fresh clean _coiffe_ in a box, and had set +out to kiss him once again. + +She had gone straight to the barracks to ask for him; at first his +adjutant had refused to let him go out. + +“If you've anything to say, my good woman, go and speak to the captain +yourself. There he is, passing.” + +So she calmly walked up to him, and he allowed himself to be won over. + +“Send Moan to change his clothes, to go out,” said he. + +All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in his best attire, while the +good old lady, to make him laugh, of course, made a most inimitably +droll face and a mock curtsey at the adjutant behind his back. + +But when the grandson appeared in his full uniform, with the inevitable +turned-down collar, leaving his throat bare, she was quite struck with +his beauty; his black beard was cut into a seamanly fashionable point by +the barber, and his cap was decked out with long floating ribbons, with +a golden anchor at each end. For the moment she almost saw in him her +son Pierre, who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor in the +navy, and the remembrance of the far past, with all its dead, stealthily +shadowed the present hour. + +But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in-arm they strolled on, happy to +be together; and it was then that the others had pretended to see in her +his sweetheart, and voted her “a trifle old.” + +She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an inn kept by some people +from Paimpol, which had been recommended to her as rather cheap. And +then, still arm-in-arm, they had sauntered through Brest, looking at the +shop-windows. There never were such funny stories told as those she told +her grandson to make him laugh; of course all in Paimpol Breton, so that +the passers-by might not understand. + + + +CHAPTER VIII--OLD AND YOUNG + +She stayed three days with him, three happy days, though over them hung +a dark and ominous forecast; one might as well call them three days of +respite. + +At last she was forced to return to Ploubazlanec, for she had come +to the end of her little savings, and Sylvestre was to embark the day +afterward. The sailors are always inexorably kept in barracks the day +before foreign cruises (a custom that seems rather barbarous at first, +but which is a necessary precaution against the “flings” they would have +before leaving definitely). + +Oh that last day! She had done her very best to hatch up some more funny +stories in her head, to tell her boy just at the parting; but she had +remembered nothing--no; only tears had welled up, and at every moment +sobs choked her. Hanging on his arm, she reminded him of a thousand +things he was not to forget to do, and he also tried hard to repress +his tears. They had ended by going into a church to say their prayers +together. + +It was by the night train that she went. To save a few pence, they had +gone on foot to the station; he carrying her box, and holding her on his +strong arm, upon which she weighed heavily. + +She was so very, very tired--poor old lady! She had scarcely any +strength left after the exertion of the last three or four days. Her +shoulders were bent under her brown shawl, and she had no force to bear +herself up; her youngish look was gone, and she felt the weight of her +seventy-six years. + +Oh! how her heart ached at the thought that it was all over, and that +in a few moments she must leave him! Was he really to go out so far, +to China, perhaps to slaughter. She still had him there with her, quite +close, her poor hands could yet grasp him--and yet he must go; all the +strength of her will, all her tears, and all her great heartrending +despair--all! would nothing be of avail to keep him back? + +With her ticket, and her lunch-basket, and her mittens in her grasp, +agitated, she gave him her last blessing and advice, and he answered +her with an obedient “Ay, ay,” bending his head tenderly towards her and +gazing lovingly at her, in his soft childish way. + +“Now then, old lady, you must make up your mind plaguey quick if you +want to go by this train!” + +The engine whistled. Suddenly terrified at the idea of losing the train, +she bore her box from Sylvestre's grasp, and flinging it down, threw her +arms round his neck in a last and supreme embrace. + +Many people on the platform stared at them, but not one smiled. Hustled +about by the porters, worn out and full of pain, she pressed into +the first carriage near; the door was banged quickly upon her, while +Sylvestre, with all the speed of a young sailor, rushed out of the +station to the rails beside the line to see the train pass. + +A shrill screeching whistle, a noisy grinding of the wheels, and his +grandmother passed away, leaving him leaning against the gate and +swinging up his cap with its flying ribbons, while she, hanging out of +the window of her third-class carriage, made an answering signal with +her handkerchief; and for as long as she could see the dark blue-clad +figure, that was her child, followed him with her eyes, throwing her +whole soul into that “good-bye!” kept back to the last, and always +uncertain of realization when sailors are concerned. + +Look long at your little Sylvestre, poor old woman; until the very +latest moment, do not lose sight of his fleeting shadow, which is fading +away for ever. + +When she could see him no longer, she fell back, completely crushing +her still clean unrumpled cap, weeping and sobbing in the agony of death +itself. + +He had turned away slowly, with his head bent, and big tears falling +down his cheeks. The autumn night had closed in; everywhere the gas was +flaring, and the sailors' riotous feasts had begun anew. Paying no heed +to anything about him, he passed through Brest and over the Recouvrance +Bridge, to the barracks. + +“Whist! here, you darling boy!” called out some nocturnal prowlers to +him; but he passed on, and entering the barracks, flung himself down in +his hammock, weeping, all alone, and hardly sleeping until dawn. + + + +CHAPTER IX--THE EASTERN VOYAGE + +Sylvestre was soon out on the ocean, rapidly whisked away over the +unknown seas, far more blue than Iceland's. The ship that carried him +off to the confines of Asia was ordered to go at full speed and stop +nowhere. Ere long he felt that he was far away, for the speed was +unceasing, and even without a care for the sea or the wind. As he was +a topman, he lived perched aloft, like a bird, avoiding the soldiers +crowded upon the deck. + +Twice they stopped, however, on the coast of Tunis, to take up more +Zouaves and mules; from afar he had perceived the white cities amid +sands and arid hills. He had even come down from his top to look at the +dark-brown men draped in their white robes who came off in small boats +to peddle fruit; his mates told him that these were Bedouins. + +The heat and the sun, which were unlessened by the autumn season, made +him feel out of his element. + +One day they touched at Port Said. All the flags of Europe waved +overhead from long staves, which gave it an aspect of Babel on a +feast-day, and the glistening sands surrounded the town like a moving +sea. + +They had stopped there, touching the quays, almost in the midst of the +long streets full of wooden shanties. Since his departure, Sylvestre +never had seen the outside world so closely, and the movement and +numbers of boats excited and amused him. + +With never-ending screeching from their escape-pipes, all these boats +crowded up in the long canal, as narrow as a ditch, which wound itself +in a silvery line through the infinite sands. From his post on high he +could see them as in a procession under a window, till disappearing in +the plain. + +On the canal all kinds of costumes could be seen; men in many-coloured +attire, busy and shouting like thunder. And at night the clamour of +confused bands of music mingled with the diabolical screams of the +locomotives, playing noisy tunes, as if to drown the heart-breaking +sorrow of the exiles who for ever passed onward. + +The next day, at sunrise, they, too, glided into the narrow ribbon of +water between the sands. For two days the steaming in the long file +through the desert lasted, then another sea opened before them, and they +were once again upon the open. They still ran at full speed through this +warmer expanse, stained like red marble, with their boiling wake like +blood. Sylvestre remained all the time up in his top, where he would +hum his old song of “Jean-Francois de Nantes,” to remind him of his dear +brother Yann, of Iceland, and the good old bygone days. + +Sometimes, in the depths of the shadowy distance, some wonderfully +tinted mountain would arise. Notwithstanding the distance and the +dimness around, the names of those projected capes of countries appeared +as the eternal landmarks on the great roadways of the earth to the +steersmen of this vessel; but a topman is carried on like an inanimate +thing, knowing nothing, and unconscious of the distance over the +everlasting, endless waves. + +All he felt was a terrible estrangement from the things of this world, +which grew greater and greater; and the feeling was very defined and +exact as he looked upon the seething foam behind, and tried to remember +how long had lasted this pace that never slackened night or day. Down on +deck, the crowd of men, huddled together in the shadow of the awnings, +panted with weariness. The water and the air, even the very light above, +had a dull, crushing splendour; and the fadeless glory of those elements +were as a very mockery of the human beings whose physical lives are so +ephemeral. + +Once, up in his crow's nest, he was gladdened by the sight of flocks +of tiny birds, of an unknown species, which fell upon the ship like a +whirlwind of coal dust. They allowed themselves to be taken and stroked, +being worn out with fatigue. All the sailors had them as pets upon their +shoulders. But soon the most exhausted among them began to die, and +before long they died by thousands on the rigging, yards, ports, and +sails--poor little things!--under the blasting sun of the Red Sea. +They had come to destruction, off the Great Desert, fleeing before +a sandstorm. And through fear of falling into the blue waters that +stretched on all sides, they had ended their last feeble flight upon +the passing ship. Over yonder, in some distant region of Libya, they had +been fledged in masses. Indeed, there were so many of them, that +their blind and unkind mother, Nature, had driven away before her +this surplus, as unmoved as if they had been superabundant men. On the +scorching funnels and ironwork of the ship they died away; the deck was +strewn with their puny forms, only yesterday so full of life, songs, and +love. Now, poor little black dots, Sylvestre and the others picked them +up, spreading out their delicate blue wings, with a look of pity, and +swept them overboard into the abysmal sea. + +Next came hosts of locusts, the spawn of those conjured up by Moses, +and the ship was covered with them. At length, though, it surged on a +lifeless blue sea, where they saw no things around them, except from +time to time the flying fish skimming along the level water. + + + +CHAPTER X--THE ORIENT + +Rain in torrents, under a heavy black sky. This was India. Sylvestre had +just set foot upon land, chance selecting him to complete the crew of a +whale boat. He felt the warm shower upon him through the thick foliage, +and looked around, surprised at the novel sight. All was magnificently +green; the leaves of the trees waved like gigantic feathers, and the +people walking beneath them had large velvety eyes, which seemed to +close under the weight of their lashes. The very wind that brought the +rain had the odour of musk and flowers. + +At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to come to them. Some happy +strain they sang, like the “Whist! here, you darling boy!” so often +heard at Brest. But seductive as was their country, their call was +imperious and exasperating, making his very flesh shudder. Their perfect +bosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin, in which they were solely +draped; they were glowing and polished as in bronze statues. Hesitating, +fascinated by them, he wavered about, following them; but the +boatswain's sharp shrill whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, +summoning him hurriedly back to his boat, about to push off. + +He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's beauties. + +After a second week of the blue sea, they paused off another land of +dewy verdure. A crowd of yellow men appeared, yelling out and pressing +on deck, bringing coal in baskets. + +“Already in China?” asked Sylvestre, at the sight of those grotesque +figures in pigtails. + +“Bless you, no, not yet,” they told him; “have a little more patience.” + +It was only Singapore. He went up into his mast-top again, to avoid the +black dust tossed about by the breeze, while the coal was feverishly +heaped up in the bunkers from little baskets. + +One day, at length, they arrived off a land called Tourane, where the +_Circe_ was anchored, to blockade the port. This was the ship to which +Sylvestre had been long ago assigned, and he was left there with his +bag. + +On board he met with two mates from home, Icelanders, who were captains +of guns for the time being. Through the long, hot, still evenings, when +there was no work to be done, they clustered on deck apart from the +others, to form together a little Brittany of remembrances. + +Five months he passed there in inaction and exile, locked up in the +cheerless bay, with the feverish desire to go out and fight and slay, +for change's sake. + + + +CHAPTER XI--A CURIOUS RENCONTRE + +In Paimpol again, on the last day of February, before the setting-out +for Iceland. Gaud was standing up against her room door, pale and still. +For Yann was below, chatting to her father. She had seen him come in, +and indistinctly heard his voice. + +All through the winter they never had met, as if some invincible fate +always had kept them apart. + +After the failure to find him in her walk to Pors-Even, she had placed +some hope on the _Pardon des Islandais_ where there would be many +chances for them to see and talk to one another, in the market-place at +dusk, among the crowd. + +But on the very morning of the holiday, though the streets were already +draped in white and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had fallen +in torrents, brought from the west by a soughing wind; never had so +black a sky shadowed Paimpol. “What a pity! the boys won't come over +from Ploubazlanec now,” had moaned the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt +there. And they did not come, or else had gone straight into the taverns +to drink together. + +There had been no processions or strolls, and she, with her heart aching +more than ever, had remained at her window the whole evening listening +to the water streaming over the roofs, and the fishers' noisy songs +rising and falling out of the depths of the taverns. + +For the last few days she had been expecting this visit, surmising truly +that old Gaos would send his son to terminate the business concerning +the sale of the boat, as he did not care to come into Paimpol himself. +She determined then that she would go straight to him, and, unlike other +girls, speak out frankly, to have her conscience clear on the subject. +She would reproach him with having sought her out and having abandoned +her like a man without honour. If it were only stubbornness, timidity, +his great love for his sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, as +Sylvestre had hinted, why, all these objections would disappear, after +a frank, fair understanding between them. His fond smile might return, +which had charmed and won her the winter before, and all would be +settled. This hope gave her strength and courage, and sweetened her +impatience. From afar, things always appear so easy and simple to say +and to do. + +This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a convenient hour. She was sure +that her father, who was sitting and smoking, would not get up to walk +part of the way with him; so in the empty passage she might have her +explanation out with him. + +But now that the time had come, such boldness seemed extreme. The bare +idea of looking him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made her +tremble; and her heart beat as if it would break. At any moment the door +below might open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let him out! + +“No, no, she never would dare; rather would she die of longing and +sorrow, than attempt such an act.” She already made a few return steps +towards the back of her room, to regain her seat and work. But she +stopped again, hesitating and afraid, remembering that to-morrow was the +sailing day for Iceland, and that this occasion stood alone. If she +let it slip by, she would have to wait through months upon months of +solitude and despair, languishing for his return--losing another whole +summer of her life. + +Below, the door opened--Yann was coming out! + +Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and tremblingly stood before +him. + +“Monsieur Yann, I--I wish to speak to you, please.” + +“To me, Mademoiselle Gaud?” queried he, lowering his voice and snatching +off his hat. + +He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expression in his flashing eyes, +and his head thrown back, seeming even to wonder if he ought to stop +for her at all. With one foot ready to start away, he stood straight up +against the wall, as if to be as far apart from her as possible, in the +narrow passage, where he felt imprisoned. + +Paralyzed, she could remember nothing of what she had wished to say; she +had not thought he would try and pass on without listening to her. What +an affront! + +“Does our house frighten you, Monsieur Yann?” she asked, in a dry, odd +tone--not at all the one she wished to use. + +He turned his eyes away, looking outside; his cheeks blazed red, a rush +of blood burned all his face, and his quivering nostrils dilated with +every breath, keeping time with the heavings of his chest, like a young +bull's. + +“The night of the ball,” she tried to continue, “when we were together, +you bade me good-bye, not as a man speaks to an indifferent person. +Monsieur Yann, have you no memory? What have I done to vex you?” + +The nasty western breeze blowing in from the street ruffled his hair +and the frills of Gaud's _coiffe_, and behind them a door was banged +furiously. The passage was not meet for talking of serious matters in. +After these first phrases, choking, Gaud remained speechless, feeling +her head spin, and without ideas. They still advanced towards the street +door; he seemed so anxious to get away, and she was so determined not to +be shaken off. + +Outside the wind blew noisily and the sky was black. A sad livid light +fell upon their faces through the open door. And an opposite neighbour +looked at them: what could the pair be saying to one another in that +passage together, looking so troubled? What was wrong over at the +Mevel's? + +“Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud,” he answered at last, turning away with the +powerful grace of a young lion, “I've heard folks talk about us quite +enough already! Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, for, you see, you are rich, and +we are not people of the same class. I am not the fellow to come after a +'swell' lady.” + +He went forth on his way. So now all was over for ever and ever. She had +not even said what she wished in that interview, which had only made her +seem a very bold girl in his sight. What kind of a fellow was this Yann, +with his contempt for women, his scorn for money, and all desirable +things? + +At first she remained fixed to the spot, sick with giddiness, as things +swam around her. One intolerably painful thought suddenly struck her +like a flash of lightning--Yann's comrades, the Icelanders, were waiting +for him below in the market-place. What if he were to tell them this +as a good joke--what a still more odious affront upon her! She quickly +returned to her room to watch them through her window-curtains. + +Before the house, indeed, she saw the men assembled, but they were +simply contemplating the weather, which was becoming worse and worse, +and discussed the threatening rain. + +“It'll only be a shower. Let's go in and drink away the time, till it +passes.” + +They poked jokes and laughed loudly over Jeannie Caroff and other +beauties; but not even one of them looked up at _her_ window. They were +all joyful, except Yann, who said nothing, and remained grave and sad. +He did not go in to drink with them; and without noticing either them +or the rain, which had begun to fall, he slowly walked away under +the shower, as if absorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-place +towards Ploubazlanec. + +Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of hopeless tenderness for him +came, instead of the bitter disappointment that previously had filled +her heart. She sat down and held her head between her hands. What could +she do now? + +Oh! if he had listened only a moment to her, or if he could come into +that room, where they might speak together alone, perhaps all might yet +be arranged. She loved him enough to tell him so to his face. She would +say to him: “You sought me out when I asked you for nothing; now I am +yours with my whole soul, if you will have me. I don't mind a bit being +the wife of a fisherman, and yet, if I liked, I need but choose +among all the young men of Paimpol; but I do love you, because, +notwithstanding all, I believe you to be better than others. I'm +tolerably well-to-do, and I know I am pretty; although I have lived +in towns, I am sure that I am not a spoiled girl, as I never have done +anything wrong; then, if I love you so, why shouldn't you take me?” + +But all this never would be said except in dreams; it was too late! Yann +would not hear her. Try and talk to him a second time? Oh, no! what kind +of a creature would he take her then to be? She would rather die. + +Yet to-morrow they would all start for Iceland. The whitish February +daylight streamed into her fine room. Chill and lonely she fell upon +one of the chairs along the wall. It seemed to her as if the whole world +were crashing and falling in around her. All things past and present +were as if buried in a fearful abyss, which yawned on all sides of her. +She wished her life would end, and that she were lying calm beneath some +cold tombstone, where no more pain might touch her. + +But she had sincerely forgiven him, and no hatred mingled with her +desperate love. + + + +CHAPTER XII--STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN + +The sea, the gray sea once more, where Yann was gently gliding along its +broad, trackless road, that leads the fishermen every year to the Land +of Ice. + +The day before, when they all had set off to the music of the old hymns, +there blew a brisk breeze from the south, and all the ships with their +outspread sails had dispersed like so many gulls; but that breeze had +suddenly subsided, and speed had diminished; great fog-banks covered the +watery surface. + +Yann was perhaps quieter than usual. He said that the weather was too +calm, and appeared to excite himself, as if he would drive away some +care that weighed upon him. But he had nothing to do but be carried +serenely in the midst of serene things; only to breathe and let himself +live. On looking out, only the deep gray masses around could be seen; on +listening, only silence. + +Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible rumbling, which came from +below, accompanied by a grinding sensation, as when a brake comes hard +down on carriage wheels. The _Marie_ ceased all movement. They had +struck. Where, and on what? Some bank off the English coast probably. +For since overnight they had been able to see nothing, with those +curtains of mist. + +The men ran and rushed about, their bustle contrasting strongly with +the sudden rigidity of their ship. How had the _Marie_ come to a stop in +that spot? In the midst of that immensity of fluid in this dull weather, +seeming to be almost without consistence, she had been seized by some +resistless immovable power hidden beneath the waves; she was tight in +its grasp, and might perish there. + +Who has not seen poor birds caught by their feet in the lime? At first +they can scarcely believe they are caught; it changes nothing in their +aspect; but they soon are sure that they are held fast, and in danger +of never getting free again. And when they struggle to get free, and +the sticky stuff soils their wings and heads, they gradually assume that +pitiful look of a dumb creature in distress, about to die. Such was the +case with the _Marie_. At first it did not seem much to be concerned +about; she certainly was careened a little on one side, but it was broad +morning, and the weather was fair and calm; one had to know such things +by experience to become uneasy, and understand that it was a serious +matter. + +The captain was to be pitied. It was his fault, as he had not understood +exactly where they were. He wrung his hands, saying: “God help us! God +help us!” in a voice of despair. + +Close to them, during a lifting of the fog, they could distinguish a +headland, but not recognize it. But the mists covered it anew, and they +saw it no longer. + +There was no sail or smoke in sight. They all jostled about, hurrying +and knocking the deck lumber over. Their dog Turc, who did not usually +mind the movement of the sea, was greatly affected too by this incident, +these sounds from down below, these heavy wallowings when the low +swell passed under, and the sudden calm that afterwards followed; he +understood that all this was unusual, and hid himself away in corners, +with his tail between his legs. They got out the boats to carry the +kedges and set them firm, and tried to row her out of it by uniting all +their forces together upon the tow-lines--a heavy piece of work this, +which lasted ten successive hours. So, when evening came, the poor +bark, which had only that morning been so fresh and light, looked almost +swamped, fouled, and good for nothing. She had fought hard, floundered +about on all sides, but still remained there, fixed as in a dock. + +Night was overtaking them; the wind and the waves were rising; things +were growing worse, when, all of a sudden, towards six o'clock, +they were let go clear, and could be off again, tearing asunder the +tow-lines, which they had left to keep her head steady. The men wept, +rushing about like madmen, cheering from stem to stern--“We're afloat, +boys!” + +They were afloat, with a joy that cannot be described; what it was to +feel themselves going forwards on a buoyant craft again, instead of on +the semi-wreck it was before, none but a seaman feels, and few of them +can tell. + +Yann's sadness had disappeared too. Like his ship, he became lively once +more, cured by the healthy manual labour; he had found his reckless look +again, and had thrown off his glum thoughts. + +Next morning, when the kedges were fished up, the _Marie_ went on her +way to Iceland, and Yann's heart, to all appearance, was as free as in +his early years. + + + +CHAPTER XIII--HOME NEWS + +The home letters were being distributed on board the _Circe_, at anchor +at Ha-Long, over on the other side of the earth. In the midst of a group +of sailors, the purser called out, in a loud voice, the names of the +fortunate men who had letters to receive. This went on at evening, on +the ship's side, all crushing round a funnel. + +“Moan, Sylvestre!” There was one for him, postmarked “Paimpol,” but it +was not Gaud's writing. What did that mean? from whom did it come else? + +After having turned and flourished it about, he opened it fearingly, and +read: + +“PLOUBAZLANEC, March 5th, 1884. + +“MY DEAR GRANDSON:” + +So, it was from his dear old granny. He breathed free again. At the +bottom of the letter she even had placed her signature, learned by +heart, but trembling like a school-girl's scribble: “Widow Moan.” + +“Widow Moan!” With a quick spontaneous movement he carried the paper to +his lips and kissed the poor name, as a sacred relic. For this letter +arrived at a critical moment of his life; to-morrow at dawn, he was to +set out for the battlefield. + +It was in the middle of April; Bac-Ninh and Hong-Hoa had just been +taken. There was no great warfare going on in Tonquin, yet the +reinforcements arriving were not sufficient; sailors were taken from +all the ships to make up the deficit in the corps already disembarked. +Sylvestre, who had languished so long in the midst of cruises and +blockades, had just been selected with some others to fill up the +vacancies. + +It is true that now peace was spoken of, but something told them that +they yet would disembarck in good time to fight a bit. They packed their +bags, made all their other preparations, and said good-bye, and all the +evening through they strolled about with their unfortunate mates who had +to remain, feeling much grander and prouder than they. Each in his +own way showed his impression at this departure--some were grave and +serious, others exuberant and talkative. + +Sylvestre was very quiet and thoughtful, though impatient; only, when +they looked at him, his smile seemed to say, “Yes, I'm one of the +fighting party, and huzza! the action is for to-morrow morning!” + +Of gunshots and battle he formed but an incomplete idea as yet; but they +fascinated him, for he came of a valiant race. + +The strange writing of his letter made him anxious about Gaud, and he +drew near a porthole to read the epistle through. It was difficult amid +all those half-naked men pressing round, in the unbearable heat of the +gundeck. + +As he thought she would do, in the beginning of her letter Granny Moan +explained why she had had to take recourse to the inexperienced hand of +an old neighbour: + +“My dear child, I don't ask your cousin to write for me to-day, as she +is in great trouble. Her father died suddenly two days ago. It appears +that his whole fortune has been lost through unlucky gambling last +winter in Paris. So his house and furniture will have to be sold. Nobody +in the place was expecting this. I think, dear child, that this will +pain you as much as it does me. + +“Gaos, the son, sends you his kind remembrance; he has renewed his +articles with Captain Guermeur of the _Marie_, and the departure for +Iceland was rather early this year, for they set sail on the first of +the month, two days before our poor Gaud's trouble, and he don't know of +it yet. + +“But you can easily imagine that we shall not get them wed now, for she +will be obliged to work for her daily bread.” + +Sylvestre dwelt stupor-stricken; this bad news quite spoiled his glee at +going out to fight. + + + + +PART III -- IN THE SHADOW + + + +CHAPTER I--THE SKIRMISH + +Hark! a bullet hurtles through the air! + +Sylvestre stops short to listen! + +He is upon an infinite meadow, green with the soft velvet carpet of +spring. The sky is gray, lowering, as if to weigh upon one's very +shoulders. + +They are six sailors reconnoitring among the fresh rice-fields, in a +muddy pathway. + +Hist! again the whizz, breaking the silence of the air--a shrill, +continuous sound, a kind of prolonged _zing_, giving one a strong +impression that the pellets buzzing by might have stung fatally. + +For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears that music. The bullets +coming towards a man have a different sound from those fired by himself: +the far-off report is attenuated, or not heard at all, so it is easier +to distinguish the sharp rush of metal as it swiftly passes by, almost +grazing one's ears. + +Crack! whizz! ping! again and yet again! The balls fall in regular +showers now. Close by the sailors they stop short, and are buried in +the flooded soil of the rice-fields, accompanied by a faint splash, like +hail falling sharp and swift in a puddle of water. + +The marines looked at one another as if it was all a piece of odd fun, +and said: + +“Only John Chinaman! pish!” + +To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or “Black Flags” are all of the +same Chinese family. It is difficult to show their contempt and mocking +rancour, as well as eagerness for “bowling over the beggars,” when they +speak of “the Chinese.” + +Two or three bullets are still flying about, more closely grazing; they +can be seen bouncing like grasshoppers in the green. The slight shower +of lead did not last long. + +Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant plain, and nowhere can +anything be seen moving. The same six are still there, standing on the +watch, scenting the breeze, and trying to discover whence the volley +came. Surely from over yonder, by that clump of bamboos, which looks +like an island of feathers in the plain; behind it several pointed roofs +appear half hidden. So they all made for it, their feet slipping or +sinking into the soaked soil. Sylvestre runs foremost, on his longer, +more nimble legs. + +No more buzz of bullets; they might have thought they were dreaming. + +As in all the countries of the world, some features are the same; the +cloudy gray skies and the fresh tints of fields in spring-time, for +example; one could imagine this upon French meadows, and these young +fellows, running merrily over them, playing a very different sport from +this game of death. + +But as they approach, the bamboos show the exotic delicacy of their +foliage, and the village roofs grow sharper in the singularity of their +curves, and yellow men hidden behind advance to reconnoitre; their flat +faces are contracted by fear and spitefulness. Then suddenly they rush +out screaming, and deploy into a long line, trembling, but decided and +dangerous. + +“The Chinese!” shout the sailors again, with their same brave smile. + +But this time they find that there are a good many--too many; and one of +them turning round perceives other Chinese coming from behind, springing +up from the long tall grass. + +At this moment, young Sylvestre came out grand; his old granny would +have been proud to see him such a warrior. Since the last few days he +had altered. His face was bronzed, and his voice strengthened. He was in +his own element here. + +In a moment of supreme indecision the sailors hit by the bullets almost +yielded to an impulse of retreat, which would certainly have been death +to them all; but Sylvestre continued to advance, clubbing his rifle, and +fighting a whole band, knocking them down right and left with smashing +blows from the butt-end. Thanks to him the situation was reversed; +that panic or madness that blindly deceives all in these leaderless +skirmishes had now passed over to the Chinese side, and it was they who +began to retreat. + +It was soon all over; they were fairly taking to their heels. The six +sailors, reloading their repeating rifles, shot them down easily; upon +the grass lay dead bodies by red pools, and skulls were emptying their +brains into the river. + +They fled, cowering like leopards. Sylvestre ran after them, although he +had two wounds--a lance-thrust in the thigh and a deep gash in his arm; +but feeling nothing save the intoxication of battle, that unreasoning +fever that comes of vigorous blood, gives lofty courage to simple souls, +and made the heroes of antiquity. + +One whom he was pursuing turned round, and with a spasm of desperate +terror took a deliberate aim at him. Sylvestre stopped short, smiling +scornfully, sublime, to let him fire, and seeing the direction of the +aim, only shifted a little to the left. But with the pressure upon the +trigger the barrel of the Chinese jingal deviated slightly in the same +direction. He suddenly felt a smart rap upon his breast, and in a flash +of thought understood what it was, even before feeling any pain; he +turned towards the others following, and tried to cry out to them the +traditional phrase of the old soldier, “I think it's all up with me!” In +the great breath that he inhaled after having run, to refill his lungs +with air, he felt the air rush in also by a hole in his right breast, +with a horrible gurgling, like the blast in a broken bellows. In that +same time his mouth filled with blood, and a sharp pain shot through +his side, which rapidly grew worse, until it became atrocious and +unspeakable. He whirled round two or three times, his brain swimming +too; and gasping for breath through the rising red tide that choked him, +fell heavily in the mud. + + + +CHAPTER II--“OUT, BRIEF CANDLE!” + +About a fortnight later, as the sky was darkening at the approach of the +rains, and the heat more heavily weighed over yellow Tonquin, +Sylvestre brought to Hanoi, was sent to Ha-Long, and placed on board a +hospital-ship about to return to France. + +He had been carried about for some time on different stretchers, with +intervals of rest at the ambulances. They had done all they could for +him; but under the insufficient conditions, his chest had filled with +water on the pierced side, and the gurgling air entered through the +wound, which would not close up. + +He had received the military medal, which gave him a moment's joy. But +he was no longer the warrior of old--resolute of gait, and steady in his +resounding voice. All that had vanished before the long-suffering and +weakening fever. He had become a home-sick boy again; he hardly spoke +except in answering occasional questions, in a feeble and almost +inaudible voice. To feel oneself so sick and so far away; to think that +it wanted so many days before he could reach home! Would he ever live +until then, with his strength ebbing away? Such a terrifying feeling +of distance continually haunted him and weighed at every wakening; and +when, after a few hours' stupor, he awoke from the sickening pain of his +wounds, with feverish heat and the whistling sound in his pierced bosom, +he implored them to put him on board, in spite of everything. He was +very heavy to carry into his ward, and without intending it, they gave +him some cruel jolts on the way. + +They laid him on one of the iron camp bedsteads placed in rows, hospital +fashion, and then he set out in an inverse direction, on his long +journey through the seas. Instead of living like a bird in the full +wind of the tops, he remained below deck, in the midst of the bad air of +medicines, wounds, and misery. + +During the first days the joy of being homeward bound made him feel a +little better. He could even bear being propped up in bed with pillows, +and at times he asked for his box. His seaman's chest was a deal box, +bought in Paimpol, to keep all his loved treasures in; inside were +letters from Granny Yvonne, and also from Yann and Gaud, a copy-book +into which he had copied some sea-songs, and one of the works of +Confucius in Chinese, caught up at random during pillage; on the blank +sides of its leaves he had written the simple account of his campaign. + +Nevertheless he got no better, and after the first week, the doctors +decided that death was imminent. They were near the Line now, in the +stifling heat of storms. The troop-ship kept on her course, shaking her +beds, the wounded and the dying; quicker and quicker she sped over the +tossing sea, troubled still as during the sway of the monsoons. + +Since leaving Ha-Long more than one patient died, and was consigned to +the deep water on the high road to France; many of the narrow beds no +longer bore their suffering burdens. + +Upon this particular day it was very gloomy in the travelling hospital; +on account of the high seas it had been necessary to close the iron +port-lids, which made the stifling sick-room more unbearable. Sylvestre +was worse; the end was nigh. Lying always upon his wounded side, he +pressed upon it with both hands with all his remaining strength, to try +and allay the watery decomposition that rose in his right lung, and to +breathe with the other lung only. But by degrees the other was affected +and the ultimate agony had begun. + +Dreams and visions of home haunted his brain; in the hot darkness, +beloved or horrible faces bent over him; he was in a never-ending +hallucination, through which floated apparitions of Brittany and +Iceland. In the morning was called in the priest, and the old man, who +was used to seeing sailors die, was astonished to find so pure a soul in +so strong and manly a body. + +He cried out for air, air! but there was none anywhere; the ventilators +no long gave any; the attendant, who was fanning him with a Chinese +fan, only moved unhealthy vapours over him of sickening staleness, which +revolted all lungs. Sometimes fierce, desperate fits came over him; he +wished to tear himself away from that bed, where he felt death would +come to seize him, and rush above into the full fresh wind and try to +live again. Oh! to be like those others, scrambling about among the +rigging, and living among the masts. But his extreme effort only +ended in the feeble lifting of his weakened head; something like the +incompleted movement of a sleeper. He could not manage it, but fell back +in the hollow of his crumpled bed, partly chained there by death; and +each time, after the fatigue of a like shock, he lost all consciousness. + +To please him they opened a port at last, although it was dangerous, the +sea being very rough. It was going on for six in the evening. When the +disk was swung back, a red light entered, glorious and radiant. The +dying sun appeared upon the horizon in dazzling splendour, through a +torn rift in a gloomy sky; its blinding light glanced over the waves, +and lit up the floating hospital, like a waving torch. + +But no air rushed in; the little there was outside, was powerless to +enter and drive before it the fevered atmosphere. Over all sides of that +boundless equatorial sea, floated a warm and heavy moisture, unfit for +respiration. No air on any side, not even for the poor gasping fellows +on their deathbeds. + +One vision disturbed him greatly; it was of his old grandmother, walking +quickly along a road, with a heartrending look of alarm; from low-lying +funereal clouds above her, fell the drizzling rain; she was on her way +to Paimpol, summoned thither to be informed of his death. + +He was struggling now, with the death-rattle in his throat. From the +corners of his mouth they sponged away the water and blood, which had +welled up in quantities from his chest in writhing agony. Still the +grand, glorious sun lit up all, like a conflagration of the whole world, +with blood-laden clouds; through the aperture of the port-hole, a wide +streak of crimson fire blazed in, and, spreading over Sylvestre's bed, +formed a halo around him. + + + +At that very moment that same sun was to be seen in Brittany, where +midday was about to strike. It was, indeed, the same sun, beheld at the +precise moment of its never-ending round; but here it kept quite another +hue. Higher up in the bluish sky, it kept shedding a soft white light on +grandmother Yvonne, sitting out at her door, sewing. + + +In Iceland, too, where it was morning, it was shining at that same +moment of death. Much paler there, it seemed as if it only showed its +face by some miracle. Sadly it shed its rays over the fjord where _La +Marie_ floated; and now its sky was lit up by a pure northern light, +which always gives the idea of a frozen planet's reflection, without an +atmosphere. With a cold accuracy, it outlined all the essentials of that +stony chaos that is Iceland; the whole of the country as seen from _La +Marie_ seemed fixed in one same perspective and held upright. Yann was +there, lit up by a strange light, fishing, as usual, in the midst of +this lunar-like scenery. + + + +As the beam of fiery flame that came through the port-hole faded, and +the sun disappeared completely under the gilded billows, the eyes of the +grandson rolled inward toward his brow as if to fall back into his head. + +They closed his eyelids with their own long lashes, and Sylvestre +became calm and beautiful again, like a reclining marble statue of manly +repose. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE GRAVE ABROAD + +I cannot refrain from telling you about Sylvestre's funeral, which I +conducted myself in Singapore. We had thrown enough other dead into the +Sea of China, during the early days of the home voyage; and as the Malay +land was quite near, we decided to keep his remains a few hours longer; +to bury him fittingly. + +It was very early in the morning, on account of the terrible sun. In the +boat that carried him ashore, his corpse was shrouded in the national +flag. The city was in sleep as we landed. A wagonette, sent by the +French Consul, was waiting on the quay; we laid Sylvestre upon it, +with a wooden cross made on board--the paint still wet upon it, for the +carpenter had to hurry over it, and the white letters of his name ran +into the black ground. + +We crossed that Babel in the rising sun. And then it was such an emotion +to find the serene calm of an European place of worship in the midst +of the distasteful turmoil of the Chinese country. Under the high white +arch, where I stood alone with my sailors, the “_Dies Iroe_,” chanted +by a missionary priest, sounded like a soft magical incantation. Through +the open doors we could see sights that resembled enchanted gardens, +exquisite verdure and immense palm-trees, the wind shook the large +flowering shrubs and their perfumed crimson petals fell like rain, +almost to the church itself. Thence we marched to the ceremony, very far +off. Our little procession of sailors was very unpretentious, but the +coffin remained conspicuously wrapped in the flag of France. We had to +traverse the Chinese quarter, through seething crowds of yellow men; +and then the Malay and Indian suburbs, where all types of Asiatic faces +looked upon us with astonishment. + +Then came the open country already heated; through shady groves where +exquisite butterflies, on velvety blue wings, flitted in masses. On +either side, waved tall luxuriant palms, and quantities of flowers in +splendid profusion. At last we came to the cemetery, with mandarins' +tombs and many-coloured inscriptions, adorned with paintings of +dragons and other monsters; amid astounding foliage and plants growing +everywhere. The spot where we laid him down to rest resembled a nook in +the gardens of Indra. Into the earth we drove the little wooden cross, +lettered: + +SYLVESTRE MOAN, AGED 19. + +And we left him, forced to go because of the hot rising sun; we turned +back once more to look at him under those marvellous trees and huge +nodding flowers. + + + +CHAPTER IV--TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS + +The trooper continued its course through the Indian Ocean. Down below +in the floating hospital other death-scenes went on. On deck there was +carelessness of health and youth. Round about, over the sea, was a very +feast of pure sun and air. + +In this fine trade-wind weather, the sailors, stretched in the shade +of the sails, were playing with little pet parrots and making them run +races. In this Singapore, which they had just left, the sailors buy all +kinds of tame animals. They had all chosen baby parrots, with childish +looks upon their hooknose faces; they had no tails yet; they were green, +of a wonderful shade. As they went running over the clean white planks, +they looked like fresh young leaves, fallen from tropical trees. + +Sometimes the sailors gathered them all together in one lot, when they +inspected one another funnily; twisting about their throats, to be +seen under all aspects. They comically waddled about like so many +lame people, or suddenly started off in a great hurry for some unknown +destination; and some fell down in their excitement. And there were +monkeys, learning tricks of all kinds, another source of amusement. Some +were most tenderly loved and even kissed extravagantly, as they nestled +against the callous bosoms of their masters, gazing fondly at them with +womanish eyes, half-grotesque and half-touching. + +Upon the stroke of three o'clock, the quartermasters brought on deck two +canvas bags, sealed with huge red seals, bearing Sylvestre's name; for +by order of the regulations in regard to the dead, all his clothes and +personal worldly belongings were to be sold by auction. The sailors +gaily grouped themselves around the pile; for, on board a hospital ship, +too many of these sales of effects are seen to excite any particular +emotion. Besides, Sylvestre had been but little known upon that ship. + +His jackets and shirts and blue-striped jerseys were fingered and turned +over and then bought up at different prices, the buyers forcing the +bidding just to amuse themselves. + +Then came the turn of the small treasure-box, which was sold for fifty +sous. The letters and military medal had been taken out of it, to be +sent back to the family; but not the book of songs and the work of +Confucious, with the needles, cotton, and buttons, and all the petty +requisites placed there by the forethought of Granny Moan for sewing and +mending. + +Then the quartermaster who held up the things to be sold drew out two +small buddhas, taken in some pagoda to give to Gaud, and so funny were +they that they were greeted with a general burst of laughter, when +they appeared as the last lot. But the sailors laughed, not for want of +heart, but only through thoughtlessness. + +To conclude, the bags were sold, and the buyer immediately struck out +the name on them to substitute his own. + +A careful sweep of the broom was afterward given to clear the +scrupulously clean deck of the dust and odds and ends, while the sailors +returned merrily to play with their parrots and monkeys. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE DEATH-BLOW + +One day, in the first fortnight of June, as old Yvonne was returning +home, some neighbours told her that she had been sent for by the +Commissioner from the Naval Registry Office. Of course it concerned her +grandson, but that did not frighten her in the least. The families of +seafarers are used to the Naval Registry, and she, the daughter, wife, +mother, and grandmother of seamen, had known that office for the past +sixty years. + +Doubtless it had to do with his “delegation”; or perhaps there was a +small prize-money account from _La Circe_ to take through her proxy. As +she knew what respect was due to “_Monsieur le Commissaire_,” she put on +her best gown and a clean white cap, and set out about two o'clock. + +Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of the cliff, she neared Paimpol; +and musing upon these two months without letters, she grew a bit +anxious. + +She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his door. He had greatly aged +since the appearance of the winter cold. + +“Eh, eh! When you're ready, you know, don't make any ceremony, my +beauty!” That “suit of deal” still haunted his mind. + +The joyous brightness of June smiled around her. On the rocky heights +there still grew the stunted reeds with their yellow blossoms; but +passing into the hollow nooks sheltered against the bitter sea winds, +one met with high sweet-smelling grass. But the poor old woman did not +see all this, over whose head so many rapid seasons had passed, which +now seemed as short as days. + +Around the crumbling hamlet with its gloomy walls grew roses, pinks, +and stocks; and even up on the tops of the whitewashed and mossy roofs, +sprang the flowerets that attracted the first “miller” butterflies of +the season. + +This spring-time was almost without love in the land of Icelanders, +and the beautiful lasses of proud race, who sat out dreaming on their +doorsteps, seemed to look far beyond the visible things with their blue +or brown eyes. The young men, who were the objects of their melancholy +and desires, were remote, fishing on the northern seas. + +But it was a spring-time for all that--warm, sweet, and troubling, with +its buzzing of flies and perfume of young plants. + +And all this soulless freshness smiled upon the poor old grandmother, +who was quickly walking along to hear of the death of her last-born +grandson. She neared the awful moment when this event, which had taken +place in the so distant Chinese seas, was to be told to her; she +was taking that sinister walk that Sylvestre had divined at his +death-hour--the sight of that had torn his last agonized tears from him; +his darling old granny summoned to Paimpol to be told that he was dead! +Clearly he had seen her pass along that road, running straight on, +with her tiny brown shawl, her umbrella, and large head-dress. And that +apparition had made him toss and writhe in fearful anguish, while the +huge, red sun of the Equator, disappearing in its glory, peered through +the port-hole of the hospital to watch him die. But he, in his last +hallucination, had seen his old granny moving under a rain-laden sky, +and on the contrary a joyous laughing spring-time mocked her on all +sides. + +Nearing Paimpol, she became more and more uneasy, and improved her +speed. Now she is in the gray town with its narrow granite streets, +where the sun falls, bidding good-day to some other old women, her +contemporaries, sitting at their windows. Astonished to see her; they +said: “Wherever is she going so quickly, in her Sunday gown, on a +week-day?” + +“Monsieur le Commissaire” of the Naval Enlistment Office was not in just +then. One ugly little creature, about fifteen years old, who was his +clerk, sat at his desk. As he was too puny to be a fisher, he had +received some education and passed his time in that same chair, in his +black linen dust-sleeves, scratching away at paper. + +With a look of importance, when she had said her name, he got up to get +the official documents from off a shelf. + +There were a great many papers--what did it all mean? Parchments, sealed +papers, a sailor's record-book, grown yellow on the sea, and over all +floated an odour of death. He spread them all out before the poor old +woman, who began to tremble and feel dizzy. She had just recognized two +of the letters which Gaud used to write for her to her grandson, and +which were now returned to her never unsealed. The same thing had +happened twenty years ago at the death of her son Pierre; the letters +had been sent back from China to “Monsieur le Commissaire,” who had +given them to her thus. + +Now he was reading out in a consequential voice: “Moan, +Jean-Marie-Sylvestre, registered at Paimpol, folio 213, number 2091, +died on board the _Bien Hoa_, on the 14th of ----.” + +“What--what has happened to him, my good sir?” + +“Discharged--dead,” he answered. + +It wasn't because this clerk was unkind, but if he spoke in that brutal +way, it was through want of judgment, and from lack of intelligence in +the little incomplete being. + +As he saw that she did not understand that technical expression, he said +in Breton: + +“_Marw eo_!” + +“_Marw eo_!” (He is dead.) + +She repeated the words after him, in her aged tremulous voice, as a poor +cracked echo would send back some indifferent phrase. So what she had +partly foreseen was true; but it only made her tremble; now that it was +certain, it seemed to affect her no more. To begin with, her faculty +to suffer was slightly dulled by old age, especially since this last +winter. Pain did not strike her immediately. Something seemed to fall +upside down in her brain, and somehow or another she mixed this death up +with others. She had lost so many of them before. She needed a moment +to grasp that this was her very last one, her darling, the object of +all her prayers, life, and waiting, and of all her thoughts, already +darkened by the sombre approach of second childhood. + +She felt a sort of shame at showing her despair before this little +gentleman who horrified her. Was that the way to tell a grandmother of +her darling's death? She remained standing before the desk, stiffened, +and tearing the fringes of her brown shawl with her poor aged hands, +sore and chapped with washing. + +How far away she felt from home! Goodness! what a long walk back to be +gone through, and steadily, too, before nearing the whitewashed hut in +which she longed to shut herself up, like a wounded beast who hides +in its hole to die. And so she tried not to think too much and not to +understand yet, frightened above all at the long home-journey. + +They gave her an order to go and take, as the heiress, the thirty francs +that came from the sale of Sylvestre's bag; and then the letters, the +certificates, and the box containing the military medal. + +She took the whole parcel awkwardly with open fingers, unable to find +pockets to put them in. + +She went straight through Paimpol, looking at no one, her body bent +slightly like one about to fall, with a rushing of blood in her ears; +pressing and hurrying along like some poor old machine, which could not +be wound up, at a great pressure, for the last time, without fear of +breaking its springs. + +At the third mile she went along quite bent in two and exhausted; from +time to time her foot struck against the stones, giving her a painful +shock up to the very head. She hurried to bury herself in her home, for +fear of falling and having to be carried there. + + + +CHAPTER VI--A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION + +“Old Yvonne's tipsy!” was the cry. + +She had fallen, and the street children ran after her. It was just at +the boundary of the parish of Ploubazlanec, where many houses straggle +along the roadside. But she had the strength to rise and hobble along on +her stick. + +“Old Yvonne's tipsy!” + +The bold little creatures stared her full in the face, laughing. Her +_coiffe_ was all awry. Some of these little ones were not really wicked, +and these, when they scanned her closer and saw the senile grimace of +bitter despair, turned aside, surprised and saddened, daring to say +nothing more. + +At home, with the door tightly closed, she gave vent to the deep scream +of despair that choked her, and fell down in a corner, her head against +the wall. Her cap had fallen over her eyes; she threw off roughly what +formerly had been so well taken care of. Her Sunday dress was soiled, +and a thin mesh of yellowish white hair strayed from beneath her cap, +completing her pitiful, poverty-stricken disorder. + + + +CHAPTER VII--THE COMFORTER + +Thus did Gaud, coming in for news in the evening, find her; her hair +dishevelled, her arms hanging down, and her head resting against the +stone wall, with a falling jaw grinning, and the plaintive whimper of +a little child; she scarcely could weep any more; these grandmothers, +grown too old, have no tears left in their dried-up eyes. + +“My grandson is dead!” She threw the letters, papers, and medal into her +caller's lap. + +Gaud quickly scanned the whole, saw the news was true, and fell on +her knees to pray. The two women remained there together almost dumb, +through the June gloaming, which in Brittany is long but in Iceland is +never-ending. On the hearth the cricket that brings joy was chirping his +shrill music. + +The dim dusk entered through the narrow window into the dwelling of +those Moans, who had all been devoured by the sea, and whose family was +now extinguished. + +At last Gaud said: “_I'll_ come to you, good granny, to live with you; +I'll bring my bed that they've left me, and I'll take care of you and +nurse you--you shan't be all alone.” + +She wept, too, for her little friend Sylvestre, but in her sorrow she +was led involuntarily to think of another--he who had gone back to the +deep-sea fishery. + +They would have to write to Yann and tell him Sylvestre was dead; it was +just now that the fishers were starting. Would he, too, weep for him? +Mayhap he would, for he had loved him dearly. In the midst of her own +tears, Gaud thought a great deal of him; now and again waxing wroth +against the hard-hearted fellow, and then pitying him at the thought +of that pain which would strike him also, and which would be as a link +between them both--one way and another, her heart was full of him. + + + +CHAPTER VIII--THE BROTHER'S GRIEF + +One pale August evening, the letter that announced Yann's brother's +death, at length arrived on board the _Marie_, upon the Iceland seas; +it was after a day of hard work and excessive fatigue, just as they were +going down to sup and to rest. With eyes heavy with sleep, he read it in +their dark nook below deck, lit by the yellow beam of the small lamp; at +the first moment he became stunned and giddy, like one dazed out of +fair understanding. Very proud and reticent in all things concerning the +feelings was Yann, and he hid the letter in his blue jersey, next his +breast, without saying anything, as sailors do. But he did not feel the +courage to sit down with the others to supper, and disdaining even to +explain why, he threw himself into his berth and fell asleep. Soon he +dreamed of Sylvestre dead, and of his funeral going by. + +Towards midnight, being in that state of mind that is peculiar to seaman +who are conscious of the time of day in their slumber, and quite +clearly see the hour draw night when to awaken for the watch--he saw the +funeral, and said to himself: “I am dreaming; luckily the mate will come +and wake me up, and the vision will pass away.” + +But when a heavy hand was laid upon him and a voice cried out: “Tumble +out, Gaos! watch, boy!” he heard the slight rustling of paper at his +breast, a fine ghastly music that affirmed the fact of the death. Yes, +the letter! It was true, then? The more cruel, heartrending impression +deepened, and he jumped up so quickly in his sudden start, that he +struck his forehead against the overhead beam. He dressed and opened the +hatchway to go up mechanically and take his place in the fishing. + + + +CHAPTER IX--WORK CURES SORROW + +When Yann was on deck, he looked around him with sleep-laden eyes, over +the familiar circle of the sea. That night the illimitable immensity +showed itself in its most astonishingly simple aspects, in neutral +tints, giving only the impression of depth. This horizon, which +indicated no recognisable region of the earth, or even any geological +age, must have looked so many times the same since the origin of time, +that, gazing upon it, one saw nothing save the eternity of things that +exist and cannot help existing. + +It was not the dead of night, for a patch of light, which seemed to ooze +from no particular point, dimly lit up the scene. The wind sobbed as +usual its aimless wail. All was gray, a fickle gray, which faded before +the fixed gaze. The sea, during its mysterious rest, hid itself under +feeble tints without a name. + +Above floated scattered clouds; they had assumed various shapes, for, +without form, things cannot exist; in the darkness they had blended +together, so as to form one single vast veiling. + +But in one particular spot of the sky, low down on the waters, they +seemed a dark-veined marble, the streaks clearly defined although very +distant; a tender drawing, as if traced by some dreamy hand--some chance +effect, not meant to be viewed for long, and indeed hastening to die +away. Even that alone, in the midst of this broad grandeur, appeared to +mean something; one might think that the sad, undefined thought of +the nothingness around was written there; and the sight involuntarily +remained fixed upon it. + +Yann's dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the outside darkness, and gazed +more and more steadily upon that veining in the sky; it had now taken +the shape of a kneeling figure with arms outstretched. He began to look +upon it as a human shadow rendered gigantic by the distance itself. + +In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and primitive beliefs still +lingered, the ominous shadow, crushed beneath the gloomy sky, slowly +coalesced with the thought of his dead brother, as if it were a last +token from him. + +He was used to such strange associations of ideas, that thrive in +the minds of children. But words, vague as they may be, are still +too precise to express those feelings; one would need that uncertain +language that comes in dreams, of which upon awakening, one retains +merely enigmatical, senseless fragments. + +Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep anguish, full of unknown mystery, +that froze his very soul; he understood full well now that his poor +little brother would never more be seen; sorrow, which had been some +time penetrating the hard, rough rind of his heart, now gushed in and +brimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre again with his soft childish eyes; +at the thought of embracing him no more, a veil fell between his eyelids +and his eyes, against his will; and, at first, he could not rightly +understand what it was--never having wept in all his manhood. But the +tears began to fall heavily and swiftly down his cheeks, and then sobs +rent his deep chest. + +He went on with his fishing, losing no time and speaking to no one, and +his two mates, though hearing him in the deep silence, pretended not +to do so, for fear of irritating him, knowing him to be so haughty and +reserved. + +In his opinion death was the end of it all. Out of respect he often +joined in the family prayers for the dead, but he believed in no +after-life of the soul. Between themselves, in their long talks, the +sailors all said the same, in a blunt taken-for-granted way, as a +well-known fact; but it did not stop them from believing in ghosts, +having a vague fear of graveyards, and an unlimited confidence in +protecting saints and images, and above all a deep respect for the +consecrated earth around the churches. + +So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up by the sea, as if it would +annihilate him, and the thought of Sylvestre, so far away on the other +side of the earth, made his sorrow more dark and desperate. With his +contempt for his fellows, he had no shame or constraint in weeping, no +more than if he were alone. + +Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, although it was only two o'clock, +and at the same time it appeared to spread farther, hollowing in a +fearful manner. With that kind of rising dawn, eyes opened wider, and +the awakened mind could conceive better the immensity of distance, as +the boundaries of visible space receded and widened away. + +The pale aurora increased, seeming to come in tiny jets with slight +shocks; eternal things seemed to light up by sheer transparency, as if +white-flamed lamps had slowly been raised up behind the shapeless gray +clouds, and held there with mysterious care, for fear of disturbing the +calm, even rest of the sea. Below the horizon that colossal white lamp +was the sun, which dragged itself along without strength, before taking +its leisurely ascent, which began in the dawn's eye above the ocean. + +On this day, the usual rosy tints were not seen; all remained pale and +mournful. On board the gray ship, Yann wept alone. The tears of the +fierce elder brother, together with the melancholy of this surrounding +waste, were as mourning, worn in honour of the poor, obscure, young +hero, upon these seas of Iceland, where half his life had been passed. + +When the full light of day appeared, Yann abruptly wiped his eyes +with his sleeve and ceased weeping. That grief was over now. He seemed +completely absorbed by the work of the fishery, and by the monotonous +routine of substantial deeds, as if he never had thought of anything +else. + +The catching went on apace, and there were scant hands for the work. +Around about the fishers, in the immense depths, a transformation scene +was taking place. The grand opening out of the infinitude, that great +wonder of the morning, had finished, and the distance seemed to diminish +and close in around them. How was it that before the sea had seemed so +boundless! + +The horizon was quite clear now, and more space seemed necessary. The +void filled in with flecks and streamers that floated above, some vague +as mist, others with visibly jagged edges. They fell softly amid an +utter silence, like snowy gauze, but fell on all sides together, so that +below them suffocation set in swiftly; it took away the breath to see +the air so thickened. + +It was the first of the August fogs that was rising. In a few moments +the winding-sheet became universally dense; all around the _Marie_ +a white damp lay under the light, and in it the mast faded and +disappeared. + +“Here's the cursed fog now, for sure,” grumbled the men. They had long +ago made the acquaintance of that compulsory companion of the second +part of the fishing season; but it also announced its end and the time +for returning to Brittany. + +It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their beards, and shone upon +their weather-beaten faces. Looking athwart ship to one another, they +appeared dim as ghosts; and by comparison, nearer objects were seen more +clearly under the colourless light. They took care not to inhale the air +too deeply, for a feeling of chill and wet penetrated the lungs. + +But the fishing was going on briskly, so that they had no time left to +chatter, and they only thought of their lines. Every moment big heavy +fish were drawn in on deck, and slapped down with a smack like a +whip-crack; there they wriggled about angrily, flapping their tails on +the deck, scattering plenty of sea-water about, and silvery scales too, +in the course of their death-struggle. The sailor who split them open +with his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in his haste, so +that his warm blood mingled with the brine. + + + +CHAPTER X--THE WHITE FOG + +Caught in the fog, they remained ten days in succession without being +able to see anything. The fishing went on handsomely the while, and with +so much to do there was no time for weariness. At regular intervals one +of them blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound like the howling of +a wild beast. + +Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, another bellowing answered +their call. Then a sharper watch was kept. If the blasts were +approaching, all ears were turned in the direction of that unknown +neighbour, whom they might perhaps never see, but whose presence was +nevertheless a danger. Conjectures were made about the strange vessel; +it became a subject of conversation, a sort of company for them; all +longing to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts to pierce those +impalpable white shrouds. + +Then the mysterious consort would depart, the bellowing of her trumpet +fading away in the distance, and they would remain again in the deep +hush, amid the infinity of stagnant vapour. Everything was drenched +with salt water; the cold became more penetrating; each day the sun took +longer to sink below the horizon; there were now real nights one or two +hours long, and their gray gloaming was chilly and weird. + +Every morning they heaved the lead, through fear that the _Marie_ might +have run too near the Icelandic coast. But all the lines on board, +fastened end to end, were paid out in vain--the bottom could not be +touched. So they knew that they were well out in blue water. + +Life on board was rough and wholesome; the comfort in the snug strong +oaken cabin below was enhanced by the impression of the piercing cold +outside, when they went down to supper or for rest. + +In the daytime, these men, who were as secluded as monks, spoke but +little among themselves. Each held his line, remaining for hours and +hours in the same immovable position. They were separated by some three +yards of space, but it ended in not even seeing one another. + +The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fishing so lonely, they hummed +home songs, so as not to scare the fish away. Ideas came more slowly +and seldom; they seemed to expand, filling in the space of time, without +leaving any vacuum. They dreamed of incoherent and mysterious things, as +if in slumber, and the woof of their dreams was as airy as fog itself. + +This misty month of August usually terminated the Iceland season, in +a quiet, mournful way. Otherwise the full physical life was the same, +filling the sailors' lungs with rustling air and hardening their already +strong muscles. + +Yann's usual manner had returned, as if his great grief had not +continued; watchful and active, quick at his fishing work, a +happy-go-lucky temper, like one who had no troubles; communicative at +times, but very rarely--and always carrying his head up high, with his +old indifferent, domineering look. + +At supper in the rough retreat, when they were all seated at table, with +their knives busy on their hot plates, he occasionally laughed out as he +used to do at droll remarks of his mates. In his inner self he perhaps +thought of Gaud, to whom, doubtless, Sylvestre had plighted him in his +last hours; and she had become a poor girl now, alone in the world. And +above all, perhaps, the mourning for his beloved brother still preyed +upon his heart. But this heart of his was a virgin wilderness, difficult +to explore and little known, where many things took place unrevealed on +the exterior. + + + +CHAPTER XI--THE SPECTRE SHIP + +One morning, going on three o'clock, while all were dreaming quietly +under their winding-sheet of fog, they heard something like a clamour of +voices--voices whose tones seemed strange and unfamiliar. Those on deck +looked at each other questioningly. + +“Who's that talking?” + +Nobody. Nobody had said anything. For that matter, the sounds had +seemed to come from the outer void. Then the man who had charge of the +fog-horn, but had been neglecting his duty since overnight, rushed for +it, and inflating his lungs to their utmost, sounded with all his might +the long bellow of alarm. It was enough to make a man of iron start, in +such a silence. + +As if a spectre had been evoked by that thrilling, though deep-toned +roar, a huge unforeseen gray form suddenly arose very loftily and +towered threateningly right beside them; masts, spars, rigging, all +like a ship that had taken sudden shape in the air instantly, just as a +single beam of electric light evokes phantasmagoria on the screen of a +magic lantern. + +Men appeared, almost close enough to touch them, leaning over the +bulwarks, staring at them with eyes distended in the awakening of +surprise and dread. + +The _Marie's_ men rushed for oars, spars, boat-hooks, anything they +could lay their hands on for fenders, and held them out to shove +off that grisly thing and its impending visitors. Lo! these others, +terrified also, put out large beams to repel them likewise. + +But there came only a very faint creaking in the topmasts, as both +standing gears momentarily entangled became disentangled without the +least damage; the shock, very gentle in such a calm had been almost +wholly deadened; indeed, it was so feeble that it really seemed as if +the other ship had no substance, that it was a mere pulp, almost without +weight. + +When the fright was over, the men began to laugh; they had recognised +each other. + +“_La Marie_, ahoy! how are ye, lads?” + +“Halloa! Gaos, Laumec, Guermeur!” + +The spectre ship was the _Reine-Berthe_, also of Paimpol, and so the +sailors were from neighbouring villages; that thick, tall fellow with +the huge, black beard, showing his teeth when he laughed, was Kerjegou, +one of the Ploudaniel boys, the others were from Plounes or Plounerin. + +“Why didn't you blow your fog-horn, and be blowed to you, you herd of +savages?” challenged Larvoer of the _Reine-Berthe_. + +“If it comes to that, why didn't you blow yours, you crew of +pirates--you rank mess of toad-fish?” + +“Oh, no! with us, d'ye see, the sea-law differs. _We're forbidden to +make any noise!_” + +He made this reply with the air of giving a dark hint, and a queer +smile, which afterward came back to the memory of the men of the +_Marie_, and caused them a great deal of thinking. Then, as if he +thought he had said too much, he concluded with a joke: + +“Our fog-horn, d'ye see, was burst by this rogue here a-blowing too hard +into it.” He pointed to a sailor with a face like a Triton, a man all +bull-neck and chest, extravagantly broad-shouldered, low-set upon +his legs, with something unspeakably grotesque and unpleasant in the +deformity of strength. + +While they were looking at each other, waiting for breeze or +undercurrent to move one vessel faster than the other and separate them, +a general palaver began. Leaning over the side, but holding each +other off at a respectable distance with their long wooden props, like +besieged pikemen repelling an assault, they began to chat about home, +the last letters received, and sweethearts and wives. + +“I say! my old woman,” said Kerjegou, “tells me she's had the little boy +we were looking for; that makes half-score-two now!” + +Another had found himself the father of twins; and a third announced +the marriage of pretty Jenny Caroff, a girl well known to all the +Icelanders, with some rich and infirm old resident of the Commune of +Plourivo. As they were eyeing each other as if through white gauze, this +also appeared to alter the sound of the voices, which came as if muffled +and from far away. + +Meanwhile Yann could not take his eyes off one of those brother +fishermen, a little grizzled fellow, whom he was quite sure he never had +seen before, but who had, nevertheless, straightway said to him, “How +d'o, long Yann?” with all the familiarity of bosom acquaintance. He wore +the provoking ugliness of a monkey, with an apish twinkling of mischief +too in his piercing eyes. + +“As for me,” said Larvoer, of the _Reine-Berthe_, “I've been told of +the death of the grandson of old Yvonne Moan, of Ploubazlanec--who was +serving his time in the navy, you know, in the Chinese squadron--a very +great pity.” + +On hearing this, all the men of _La Marie_ turned towards Yann to learn +if he already knew anything of the sad news. + +“Ay,” he answered in a low voice, but with an indifferent and haughty +air, “it was told me in the last letter my father sent me.” They still +kept on looking at him, curious at finding out the secret of his grief, +and it made him angry. + +These questions and answers were rapidly exchanged through the pallid +mists, so the moments of this peculiar colloquy skipped swiftly by. + +“My wife wrote me at the same time,” continued Larvoer, “that Monsieur +Mevel's daughter has left the town to live at Ploubazlanec and take care +of her old grand-aunt--Granny Moan. She goes out to needlework by the +day now--to earn her living. Anyhow, I always thought, I did, that +she was a good, brave girl, in spite of her fine-lady airs and her +furbelows.” + +Then again they all stared at Yann, which made him still more angry; a +red flush mounted to his cheeks, under their tawny tan. + +With Larvoer's expression of opinion about Gaud ended this parley with +the crew of the _Reine-Berthe_, none of whom were ever again to be seen +by human eyes. For a moment their faces became more dim, their vessel +being already farther away; and then, all at once, the men of the +_Marie_ found they had nothing to push against, nothing at the end of +their poles--all spars, oars, odds and ends of deck-lumber, were groping +and quivering in emptiness, till they fell heavily, one after the other, +down into the sea, like their own arms, lopped off and inert. + +They pulled all the useless defences on board. The _Reine-Berthe_, +melting away into the thick fog, had disappeared as suddenly as a +painted ship in a dissolving view. They tried to hail her, but the only +response was a sort of mocking clamour--as of many voices--ending in a +moan, that made them all stare at each other in surprise. + +This _Reine-Berthe_ did not come back with the other Icelandic fishers; +and as the men of the _Samuel-Azenide_ afterward picked up in some fjord +an unmistakable waif (part of her taffrail with a bit of her keel), all +ceased to hope; in the month of October the names of all her crew were +inscribed upon black slabs in the church. + +From the very time of that apparition--the date of which was well +remembered by the men of the _Marie_--until the time of their return, +there had been no really dangerous weather on the Icelandic seas, but a +great storm from the west had, three weeks before, swept several sailors +overboard, and swallowed up two vessels. The men remembered Larvoer's +peculiar smile, and putting things together many strange conjectures +were made. In the dead of night, Yann, more than once, dreamed that he +again saw the sailor who blinked like an ape, and some of the men of +the _Marie_ wondered if, on that remembered morning, they had not been +talking with ghosts. + + + +CHAPTER XII--THE STRANGE COUPLE + +Summer advanced, and, at the end of August, with the first autumnal +mists, the Icelanders came home. + +For the last three months the two lone women had lived together at +Ploubazlanec in the Moan's cottage. Gaud filled a daughter's place in +the poor birthplace of so many dead sailors. She had sent hither all +that remained from the sale of her father's house; her grand bed in the +town fashion, and her fine, different coloured dresses. She had made +herself a plainer black dress, and like old Yvonne, wore a mourning cap, +of thick white muslin, adorned merely with simple plaits. Every day +she went out sewing at the houses of the rich people in the town, and +returned every evening without being detained on her way home by any +sweetheart. She had remained as proud as ever, and was still respected +as a fine lady; and as the lads bade her good-night, they always raised +a hand to their caps. + +Through the sweet evening twilight, she walked home from Paimpol, all +along the cliff road inhaling the fresh, comforting sea air. Constant +sitting at needlework had not deformed her like many others, who are +always bent in two over their work--and she drew up her beautiful supple +form perfectly erect in looking over the sea, fairly across to where +Yann was it seemed. + +The same road led to his home. Had she walked on much farther, towards +a well-known rocky windswept nook, she would come to that hamlet of +Pors-Even, where the trees, covered with gray moss, grew crampedly +between the stones, and are slanted over lowly by the western gales. +Perhaps she might never more return there, although it was only a league +away; but once in her lifetime she had been there, and that was enough +to cast a charm over the whole road; and, besides, Yann would certainly +often pass that way, and she could fancy seeing him upon the bare moor, +stepping between the stumpy reeds. + +She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec, and was almost happy that +fate had driven her there; she never could have become resigned to live +in any other place. + +Towards this end of August, a southern warmth, diffusing languor, rises +and spreads towards the north, with luminous afterglows and stray rays +from a distant sun, which float over the Breton seas. Often the air is +calm and pellucid, without a single cloud on high. + +At the hour of Gaud's return journey, all things had already begun to +fade in the nightfall, and become fused into close, compact groups. Here +and there a clump of reeds strove to make way between stones, like a +battle-torn flag; in a hollow, a cluster of gnarled trees formed a +dark mass, or else some straw-thatched hamlet indented the moor. At +the cross-roads the images of Christ on the cross, which watch over and +protect the country, stretched out their black arms on their supports +like real men in torture; in the distance the Channel appeared fair +and calm, one vast golden mirror, under the already darkened sky and +shade-laden horizon. + +In this country even the calm fine weather was a melancholy thing; +notwithstanding, a vague uneasiness seemed to hover about; a palpable +dread emanating from the sea to which so many lives are intrusted, and +whose everlasting threat only slumbered. + +Gaud sauntered along as in a dream, and never found the way long enough. +The briny smell of the shore, and a sweet odour of flowerets growing +along the cliffs amid thorny bushes, perfumed the air. Had it not been +for Granny Yvonne waiting for her at home, she would have loitered along +the reed-strewn paths, like the beautiful ladies in stories, who dream +away the summer evenings in their fine parks. + +Many thoughts of her early childhood came back to her as she passed +through the country; but they seemed so effaced and far away now, +eclipsed by her love looming up between. + +In spite of all, she went on thinking of Yann as engaged in a degree--a +restless, scornful betrothed, whom she never would really have, but to +whom she persisted in being faithful in mind, without speaking about it +to any one. For the time, she was happy to know that he was off +Iceland; for there, at least, the sea would keep him lonely in her deep +cloisters, and he would belong to no other woman. + +True, he would return one of these days, but she looked upon that return +more calmly than before. She instinctively understood that her poverty +would not be a reason for him to despise her; for he was not as other +men. Moreover, the death of poor Sylvestre would draw them closer +together. Upon his return, he could not do otherwise than come to see +his friend's old granny; and Gaud had decided to be present at that +visit; for it did not seem to her that it would be undignified. +Appearing to remember nothing, she would talk to him as to a long-known +friend; she would even speak with affection, as was due to Sylvestre's +brother, and try to seem easy and natural. And who knows? Perhaps it +would not be impossible to be as a sister to him, now that she was so +lonely in the world; to rely upon his friendship, even to ask it as a +support, with enough preliminary explanation for him not to accuse her +of any after-thought of marriage. + +She judged him to be untamed and stubborn in his independent ideas, yet +tender and loyal, and capable of understanding the goodness that comes +straight from the heart. + +How would he feel when he met her again, in her poor ruined home? Very, +very poor she was--for Granny Moan was not strong enough now to go out +washing, and only had her small widow's pension left; granted, she ate +but little, and the two could still manage to live, not dependent upon +others. + +Night was always fallen when she arrived home; before she could enter +she had to go down a little over the worn rocks, for the cottage +was placed on an incline towards the beach, below the level of the +Ploubazlanec roadside. It was almost hidden under its thick brown straw +thatch, and looked like the back of some huge beast, shrunk down under +its bristling fur. Its walls were sombre and rough like the rocks, but +with tiny tufts of green moss and lichens over them. There were three +uneven steps before the threshold, and the inside latch was opened by a +length of rope-yarn run through a hole. Upon entering, the first thing +to be seen was the window, hollowed out through the wall as in the +substance of a rampart, and giving view of the sea, whence inflowed +a dying yellow light. On the hearth burned brightly the sweet-scented +branches of pine and beechwood that old Yvonne used to pick up along the +way, and she herself was sitting there, seeing to their bit of supper; +indoors she wore a kerchief over her head to save her cap. Her still +beautiful profile was outlined in the red flame of her fire. She looked +up at Gaud. Her eyes, which formerly were brown, had taken a faded +look, and almost appeared blue; they seemed no longer to see, and were +troubled and uncertain with old age. Each day she greeted Gaud with the +same words: + +“Oh, dear me! my good lass, how late you are to-night!” + +“No, Granny,” answered Gaud, who was used to it. “This is the same time +as other days.” + +“Eh? It seemed to me, dear, later than usual.” + +They sat down to supper at their table, which had almost become +shapeless from constant use, but was still as thick as the generous +slice of a huge oak. The cricket began its silver-toned music again. + +One of the sides of the cottage was filled up by roughly sculptured, +worm-eaten woodwork, which had an opening wherein were set the sleeping +bunks, where generations of fishers had been born, and where their aged +mothers had died. + +Quaint old kitchen utensils hung from the black beams, as well as +bunches of sweet herbs, wooden spoons, and smoked bacon; fishing-nets, +which had been left there since the shipwreck of the last Moans, their +meshes nightly bitten by the rats. + +Gaud's bed stood in an angle under its white muslin draperies; it seemed +like a very fresh and elegant modern invention brought into the hut of a +Celt. + +On the granite wall hung a photograph of Sylvestre in his sailor +clothes. His grandmother had fixed his military medal to it, with his +own pair of those red cloth anchors that French men-of-wars-men wear on +their right sleeve; Gaud had also brought one of those funereal crowns, +of black and white beads, placed round the portraits of the dead in +Brittany. This represented Sylvestre's mausoleum, and was all that +remained to consecrate his memory in his own land. + +On summer evenings they did not sit up late, to save the lights; when +the weather was fine, they sat out a while on a stone bench before the +door, and looked at passers-by in the road, a little over their heads. +Then old Yvonne would lie down on her cupboard shelf; and Gaud on her +fine bed, would fall asleep pretty soon, being tired out with her day's +work, and walking, and dreaming of the return of the Icelanders. Like a +wise, resolute girl, she was not too greatly apprehensive. + + + +CHAPTER XIII--RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT + +But one day in Paimpol, hearing that _La Marie_ had just got in, +Gaud felt possessed with a kind of fever. All her quiet composure +disappeared; she abruptly finished up her work, without quite knowing +why, and set off home sooner than usual. + +Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recognised _him_, at some distance +off, coming towards her. She trembled and felt her strength giving way. +He was now quite close, only about twenty steps off, his head erect and +his hair curling out from beneath his fisher's cap. She was so taken by +surprise at this meeting, that she was afraid she might fall, and then +he would understand all; she would die of very shame at it. She thought, +too, she was not looking well, but wearied by the hurried work. She +would have done anything to be hidden away under the reeds or in one of +the ferret-holes. + +He also had taken a backward step, as if to turn in another direction. +But it was too late now. Both met in the narrow path. Not to touch her, +he drew up against the bank, with a side swerve like a skittish horse, +looking at her in a wild, stealthy way. + +She, too, for one half second looked up, and in spite of herself mutely +implored him, with an agonized prayer. In that involuntary meeting of +their eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, these gray pupils of hers had +appeared to dilate and light up with some grand noble thought, which +flashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood rushed crimson even to +her temples beneath her golden tresses. + +As he touched his cap he faltered. “Wish you good-day, Mademoiselle +Gaud.” + +“Good-day, Monsieur Yann,” she answered. + +That was all. He passed on. She went on her way, still quivering, but +feeling, as he disappeared, that her blood was slowly circulating again +and her strength returning. + +At home, she found Granny Moan crouching in a corner with her head +held between her hands, sobbing with her childish “he, he!” her hair +dishevelled and falling from beneath her cap like thin skeins of gray +hemp. + +“Oh, my kind Gaud! I've just met young Gaos down by Plouherzel as I came +back from my wood-gathering; we spoke of our poor lad, of course. They +arrived this morning from Iceland, and in the afternoon he came over to +see me while I was out. Poor lad, he had tears in his eyes, too. He came +right up to my door, my kind Gaud, to carry my little fagot.” + +She listened, standing, while her heart seemed almost to break; so this +visit of Yann's, upon which she had so much relied for saying so many +things, was already over, and would doubtless not occur again. It +was all done. Her poor heart seemed more lonely than ever. Her misery +harder, and the world more empty; and she hung her head with a wild +desire to die. + + + +CHAPTER XIV--THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP + +Slowly the winter drew nigh, and spread over all like a shroud leisurely +drawn. Gray days followed one another, but Yann appeared no more, and +the two women lived on in their loneliness. With the cold, their daily +existence became harder and more expensive. + +Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too; her poor mind was going. She got +into fits of temper now, and spoke wicked, insulting speeches once or +twice every week; it took her so, like a child, about mere nothings. + +Poor old granny! She was still so sweet in her lucid days, that Gaud did +not cease to respect and cherish her. To have always been so good and +to end by being bad, and show towards the close a depth of malice and +spitefulness that had slumbered during her whole life, to use a whole +vocabulary of coarse words that she had hidden; what mockery of the +soul! what a derisive mystery! She began to sing, too, which was still +more painful to hear than her angry words, for she mixed everything up +together--the _oremus_ of a mass with refrains of loose songs heard in +the harbour from wandering sailors. Sometimes she sang “_Les Fillettes +de Paimpol_” (The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding her head and beating +time with her foot, she would mutter: + +“Mon mari vient de partir; Pour la peche d'Islande, mon mari vient de +partir, Il m'a laissee sans le sou, Mais--trala, trala la lou, J'en +gagne, j'en gagne.” + +(My husband went off sailing Upon the Iceland cruise, But never left me +money, Not e'en a couple sous. But--ri too loo! ri tooral loo! I know +what to do!) + +She always stopped short, while her eyes opened wide with a lifeless +expression, like those dying flames that suddenly flash out before +fading away. She hung her head and remained speechless for a great +length of time, her lower jaw dropping as in the dead. + +One day she could remember nothing of her grandson. “Sylvestre? +Sylvestre?” repeated she, wondering whom Gaud meant; “oh! my dear, d'ye +see, I've so many of them, that now I can't remember their names!” + +So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled hands, with a careless, almost +contemptuous toss. But the next day she remembered him quite well; +mentioning several things he had said or done, and that whole day long +she wept. + +Oh! those long winter evenings when there was not enough wood for their +fire; to work in the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewing hard to +finish the clothes brought over from Paimpol. + +Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, remained quiet enough, her feet +stuck in among the smouldering embers, and her hands clasped beneath her +apron. But at the beginning of the evening, Gaud always had to talk to +her to cheer her a little. + +“Why don't ye speak to me, my good girl? In my time I've known many +girls who had plenty to say for themselves. I don't think it 'ud seem so +lonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit.” + +So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had heard in town, or spoke of the +people she had met on her way home, talking of things that were quite +indifferent to her, as indeed all things were now; and stopping in the +midst of her stories when she saw the poor old woman was falling asleep. + +There seemed nothing lively or youthful around her, whose fresh youth +yearned for youth. Her beauty would fade away, lonely and barren. The +wind from the sea came in from all sides, blowing her lamp about, +and the roar of the waves could be heard as in a ship. Listening, the +ever-present sad memory of Yann came to her, the man whose dominion +was these battling elements; through the long terrible nights, when all +things were unbridled and howling in the outer darkness, she thought of +him with agony. + +Always alone as she was, with the sleeping old granny, she sometimes +grew frightened and looked in all dark corners, thinking of the sailors, +her ancestors, who had lived in these nooks, but perished in the sea on +such nights as these. Their spirits might possibly return; and she did +not feel assured against the visit of the dead by the presence of the +poor old woman, who was almost as one of them herself. + +Suddenly she shivered from head to foot, as she heard a thin, cracked +voice, as if stifled under the earth, proceed from the chimney corner. + +In a chirping tone, which chilled her very soul, the voice sang: + +“Pour la peche d'Islande, mon mari vient de partir, Il m'a laissee sans +le sou, Mais--trala, trala la lou!” + +Then she was seized with that peculiar terror that one has of mad +people. + +The rain fell with an unceasing, fountain-like gush, and streamed down +the walls outside. There were oozings of water from the old moss-grown +roof, which continued dropping on the self-same spots with a monotonous +sad splash. They even soaked through into the floor inside, which was of +hardened earth studded with pebbles and shells. + +Dampness was felt on all sides, wrapping them up in its chill masses; an +uneven, buffeting dampness, misty and dark, and seeming to isolate the +scattered huts of Ploubazlanec still more. + +But the Sunday evenings were the saddest of all, because of the relative +gaiety in other homes on that day, for there are joyful evenings even +among those forgotten hamlets of the coast; here and there, from some +closed-up hut, beaten about by the inky rains, ponderous songs issued. +Within, tables were spread for drinkers; sailors sat before the smoking +fire, the old ones drinking brandy and the young ones flirting with the +girls; all more or less intoxicated and singing to deaden thought. Close +to them, the great sea, their tomb on the morrow, sang also, filling the +vacant night with its immense profound voice. + +On some Sundays, parties of young fellows who came out of the taverns +or back from Paimpol, passed along the road, near the door of the Moans; +they were such as lived at the land's end of Pors-Even way. They passed +very late, caring little for the cold and wet, accustomed as they were +to frost and tempests. Gaud lent her ear to the medley of their +songs and shouts--soon lost in the uproar of the squalls or the +breakers--trying to distinguish Yann's voice, and then feeling strangely +perplexed if she thought she had heard it. + +It really was too unkind of Yann not to have returned to see them again, +and to lead so gay a life so soon after the death of Sylvestre; all +this was unlike him. No, she really could not understand him now, but +in spite of all she could not forget him or believe him to be without +heart. + +The fact was that since his return he had been leading a most dissipated +life indeed. Three or four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she had seen +him coming towards her, but she was always quick enough to shun him; and +he, too, in those cases, took the opposite direction over the heath. As +if by mutual understanding, now, they fled from each other. + + + +CHAPTER XV--THE NEW SHIP + +At Paimpol lives a large, stout woman named Madame Tressoleur. In one of +the streets that lead to the harbour she keeps a tavern, well known to +all the Icelanders, where captains and ship-owners come to engage +their sailors, and choose the strongest among them, men and masters all +drinking together. + +At one time she had been beautiful, and was still jolly with the +fishers; she has a mustache, is as broad built as a Dutchman, and as +bold and ready of speech as a Levantine. There is a look of the daughter +of the regiment about her, notwithstanding her ample nun-like muslin +headgear; for all that, a religious halo of its sort floats around her, +for the simple reason that she is a Breton born. + +The names of all the sailors of the country are written in her head as +in a register; she knows them all, good or bad, and knows exactly, too, +what they earn and what they are worth. + +One January day, Gaud, who had been called in to make a dress, sat down +to work in a room behind the tap-room. + +To go into the abode of our Madame Tressoleur, you enter by a broad, +massive-pillared door, which recedes in the olden style under the first +floor. When you go to open this door, there is always some obliging gust +of wind from the street that pushes it in, and the new-comers make an +abrupt entrance, as if carried in by a beach roller. The hall is adorned +by gilt frames, containing pictures of ships and wrecks. In an angle +a china statuette of the Virgin is placed on a bracket, between two +bunches of artificial flowers. + +These olden walls must have listened to many powerful songs of sailors, +and witnessed many wild gay scenes, since the first far-off days of +Paimpol--all through the lively times of the privateers, up to these of +the present Icelanders, so very little different from their ancestors. +Many lives of men have been angled for and hooked there, on the oaken +tables, between two drunken bouts. + +While she was sewing the dress, Gaud lent her ear to the conversation +going on about Iceland, behind the partition, between Madame Tressoleur +and two old sailors, drinking. They were discussing a new craft that +was being rigged in the harbour. She never would be ready for the next +season, so they said of this _Leopoldine_. + +“Oh, yes, to be sure she will!” answered the hostess. “I tell 'ee the +crew was all made up yesterday--the whole of 'em out of the old _Marie_ +of Guermeur's, that's to be sold for breaking up; five young fellows +signed their engagement here before me, at this here table, and with my +own pen--so ye see, I'm right! And fine fellows, too, I can tell 'ee; +Laumec, Tugdual Caroff, Yvon Duff, young Keraez from Treguier, and long +Yann Gaos from Pors-Even, who's worth any three on 'em!” + +The _Leopoldine_! The half-heard name of the ship that was to carry Yann +away became suddenly fixed in her brain, as if it had been hammered in +to remain more ineffaceably there. + +At night back again at Ploubazlanec, and finishing off her work by the +light of her pitiful lamp, that name came back to her mind, and its very +sound impressed her as a sad thing. The names of vessels, as of things, +have a significance in themselves--almost a particular meaning of their +own. The new and unusual word haunted her with an unnatural persistency, +like some ghastly and clinging warning. She had expected to see Yann +start off again on the _Marie_, which she knew so well and had formerly +visited, and whose Virgin had so long protected its dangerous voyages; +and the change to the _Leopoldine_ increased her anguish. + +But she told herself that that was not her concern, and nothing about +him ought ever to affect her. After all, what could it matter to her +whether he were here or there, on this ship or another, ashore or not? +Would she feel less miserable with him back in Iceland, when the summer +would return over the deserted cottages, and lonely anxious women--or +when a new autumn came again, bringing home the fishers once more? All +that was alike indifferent to her, equally without joy or hope. There +was no link between them now, nothing ever to bring them together, for +was he not forgetting even poor little Sylvestre? So, she had plainly to +understand that this sole dream of her life was over for ever; she had +to forget Yann, and all things appertaining to his existence, even the +very name of Iceland, which still vibrated in her with so painful a +charm--because of him all such thoughts must be swept away. All was +indeed over, for ever and ever. + +She tenderly looked over at the poor old woman asleep, who still +required all her attention, but who would soon die. Then, what would be +the good of living and working after that; of what use would she be? + +Out of doors, the western wind had again risen; and, notwithstanding its +deep distant soughing, the soft regular patter of the eaves-droppings +could be heard as they dripped from the roof. And so the tears of the +forsaken one began to flow--tears running even to her lips to impart +their briny taste, and dropping silently on her work, like summer +showers brought by no breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy, +from the over-laden clouds; as she could no longer see to work, and +she felt worked out and discouraged before this great hollowness of her +life, she folded up the extra-sized body of Madame Tressoleur and went +to bed. + +She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for, like all things in the +cottage, it seemed also to be getting colder and damper. But as she +was very young, although she still continued weeping, it ended by her +growing warm and falling asleep. + + + +CHAPTER XVI--LONE AND LORN + +Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early February, fine, temperate +weather. Yann had just come from his shipowner's where he had received +his wages for the last summer's fishery, fifteen hundred francs, which, +according to the custom of the family, he carried to his mother. The +catch had been a good one, and he returned well pleased. + +Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side of the road. An old +woman was gesticulating with her stick, while the street boys mocked +and laughed around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old granny whom +Sylvestre had so tenderly loved--her dress torn and bedraggled--had +now become one of those poor old women, almost fallen back in second +childhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their roads. The sight +hurt him cruelly. + +The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily and +despairingly threatened them with her stick. “Ah, if my poor lad had +only been here! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you young rascals!” + +It appeared that as she ran after them to beat them, she had fallen +down; her cap was awry, and her dress covered with mud; they called +out that she was tipsy (as often happens to those poor old “grizzling” + people in the country who have met misfortune). + +But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a very +respectable old woman, who only drank water. + +“Aren't you ashamed?” roared he to the boys. + +He was very angry, and his voice and tone frightened them, so that in +the twinkling of an eye they all took flight, frightened and confused +before “Long Gaos.” + +Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing home her work for +the evening, had seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny in +the group. She eagerly rushed forward to learn what the matter was, and +what they had done to her; seeing the cat, she understood it all. +She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who did not look aside; neither +thought of avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply and +they gazed rather startled at being so near one another; but without +hatred, almost with affection, united as they were in this common +impulse of pity and protection. + +The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor dead grimalkin for +some time, because he had a black, satanic look; though he was really +a very good cat, and when one looked closely at him, he was soft and +caress-inviting of coat. They had stoned him to death, and one of +his eyes hung out. The poor old woman went on grumbling, shaking with +emotion, and carrying her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit. + +“Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor lad, if he were only here; for +sure, they'd never dared a-do it.” + +Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles; and her rough blue-veined +hands trembled. + +Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried to comfort her with +soothing words. Yann was quite indignant to think that little children +could be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and her +pet. Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart ached for the poor +old dame as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so dearly, and +the terrible pain it would have been to him to see her thus, under +derision and in misery. + +Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for her state. “She must +have fallen down,” she said in a low voice; “'tis true her dress isn't +new, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann; but I mended it again only +yesterday, and this morning when I left home I'm sure she was neat and +tidy.” + +He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched by that simple excuse +than by clever phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side by side they +walked on to the Moans' cottage. He always had acknowledged her to be +lovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him that she was even +more beautiful now in her poverty and mourning. She wore a graver look, +and her gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and nevertheless +seemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul. Her figure, too, was +thoroughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in the full bloom of her +loveliness. She looked like a genuine fisher's daughter, too, in her +plain black gown and cap; yet one could not precisely tell what gave her +that unmistakable token of the lady; it was involuntary and concealed +within herself, and she could not be blamed for it; only perhaps her +bodice was a trifle nicer fitting than the others, though from sheer +inborn taste, and showed to advantage her rounded bust and perfect arms. +But, no! the mystery was revealed in her quiet voice and look. + + + +CHAPTER XVII--THE ESPOUSAL + +It was manifest that Yann meant to accompany them; perhaps all the way +home. They walked on, all three together, as if following the cat's +funeral procession; it was almost comical to watch them pass; and the +old folks on the doorsteps grinned at the sight. Old Yvonne, in the +middle, carried the dead pet; Gaud walked on her right, trembling and +blushing, and tall Yann on the left, grave and haughty. + +The aged woman had become quiet now; she had tidied her hair up herself +and walked silently, looking alternately at them both from the tail of +her eyes, which had become clear again. + +Gaud said nothing for fear of giving Yann the opportunity of taking his +leave; she would have liked to feel his kind, tender eyes eternally on +her, and to walk along with her own closed so as to think of nothing +else; to wander along thus by his side in the dream she was weaving, +instead of arriving so soon at their lonely, dark cottage, where all +must fade away. + +At the door occurred one of those moments of indecision when the heart +seems to stop beating. The grandam went in without turning round, then +Gaud, hesitating, and Yann, behind, entered, too. + +He was in their house for the first time in his life--probably without +any reason. What could he want? As he passed over the threshold he +touched his hat, and then his eyes fell and dwelt upon Sylvestre's +portrait in its small black-beaded frame. He went slowly up to it, as to +a tomb. + +Gaud remained standing with her hands resting on the table. He looked +around him; she watched him take a silent inspection of their poverty. +Very poor looked this cottage of the two forsaken women. At least he +might feel some pity for her, seeing her reduced to this misery inside +its plain granite and whitewash. Only the fine white bed remained of all +past splendour, and involuntarily Yann's eyes rested there. + +He said nothing. Why did he not go? The old grandmother, although still +so sharp in her lucid intervals, appeared not to notice him. How odd! So +they remained over against one another, seeming respectively to question +with a yearning desire. But the moments were flitting, and each second +seemed to emphasize the silence between them. They gazed at one +another more and more searchingly, as if in solemn expectation of some +wonderful, exquisite event, which was too long in coming. + +“Gaud,” he began, in a low grave voice, “if you're still of a mind +now----” + +What was he going to say? She felt instinctively that he had suddenly +taken a mighty resolution--rapidly as he always did, but hardly dared +word it. + +“If you be still of a mind--d'ye see, the fish has sold well this year, +and I've a little money ahead----” + +“If she were still of a mind!” What was he asking of her? Had she heard +aright? She felt almost crushed under the immensity of what she thought +she premised. + +All the while, old Yvonne, in her corner, pricked up her ears, feeling +happiness approach. + +“We could make a splice on it--a marriage, right off, Mademoiselle Gaud, +if you are still of the same mind?” + +He listened here for her answer, which did not come. What could stop her +from pronouncing that “yes?” He looked astonished and frightened, she +could see that. Her hands clutched the table edge. She had turned quite +white and her eyes were misty; she was voiceless, and looked like some +maid dying in her flower. + +“Well, Gaud, why don't you answer?” said Granny Yvonne, who had risen +and come towards them. “Don't you see, it rather surprises her, Monsieur +Yann. You must excuse her. She'll think it over and answer you later on. +Sit you down a bit, Monsieur Yann, and take a glass of cider with us.” + +It was not the surprise, but ecstasy that prevented Gaud from answering; +no words at all came to her relief. So it really was true that he was +good and kind-hearted. She knew him aright--the same true Yann, her own, +such as she never had ceased to see him, notwithstanding his sternness +and his rough refusal. For a long time he had disdained her, but now he +accepted her, although she was poor. No doubt it had been his wish all +through; he may have had a motive for so acting, which she would know +hereafter; but, for the present, she had no intention of asking him his +meaning, or of reproaching him for her two years of pining. Besides, all +that was past, ay, and forgotten now; in one single moment everything +seemed carried away before the delightful whirlwind that swept over her +life! + +Still speechless, she told him of her great love and adoration for him +by her sweet brimming eyes alone; she looked deeply and steadily at him, +while the copious shower of happy tears poured adown her roseate cheeks. + +“Well done! and God bless you, my children,” said Granny Moan. “It's +thankful I be to Him, too, for I'm glad to have been let grow so old to +see this happy thing afore I go.” + +Still there they remained, standing before one another with clasped +hands, finding no words to utter; knowing of no word sweet enough, and +no sentence worthy to break that exquisite silence. + +“Why don't ye kiss one another, my children? Lor'! but they're dumb! +Dear me, what strange grandchildren I have here! Pluck up, Gaud; say +some'at to him, my dear. In my time lovers kissed when they plighted +their troth.” + +Yann raised his hat, as if suddenly seized with a vast, heretofore +unfelt reverence, before bending down to kiss Gaud. It seemed to him +that this was the first kiss worthy of the name he ever had given in his +life. + +She kissed him also, pressing her fresh lips, unused to refinements of +caresses, with her whole heart, to his sea-bronzed cheek. + +Among the stones the cricket sang of happiness, being right for this +time. And Sylvestre's pitiful insignificant portrait seemed to smile +on them out of its black frame. All things, in fact, seemed suddenly to +throb with life and with joy in the blighted cottage. The very silence +apparently burst into exquisite music; and the pale winter twilight, +creeping in at the narrow window, became a wonderful, unearthly glow. + +“So we'll go to the wedding when the Icelanders return; eh, my dear +children?” + +Gaud hung her head. “Iceland,” the “_Leopoldine_”--so it was all real! +while she had already forgotten the existence of those terrible things +that arose in their way. + +“When the Icelanders return.” + +How long that anxious summer waiting would seem! + +Yann drummed on the floor with his foot feverishly and rapidly. He +seemed to be in a great hurry to be off and back, and was telling the +days to know if, without losing time, they would be able to get married +before his sailing. So many days to get the official papers filled and +signed; so many for the banns: that would only bring them up to the +twentieth or twenty-fifth of the month for the wedding, and if nothing +rose in the way, they could have a whole honeymoon week together before +he sailed. + +“I'm going to start by telling my father,” said he, with as much haste +as if each moment of their lives were now numbered and precious. + + + + +PART IV -- YANN'S FIRST WEDDING + + + +CHAPTER I--THE COURTING BY THE SEA + +All sweethearts like to sit on the bench at their cottage door, when +night falls. + +Yann and Gaud did that likewise. Every evening they sat out together +before the Moans' cottage, on the old granite seat, and talked love. + +Others have the spring-time, the soft shadow of the trees, balmy +evenings, and flowering rosebushes; they had only the February twilight, +which fell over the sea-beaten land, strewn with eel-grass and stones. +There was no branch of verdure above their heads or around them; nothing +but the immense sky, over which passed the slowly wandering mists. +And their flowers were brown sea-weeds, drawn up from the beach by the +fishers, as they dragged their nets along. + +The winters are not very severe in this part of the country, being +tempered by currents of the sea; but, notwithstanding that, the gloaming +was often laden with invisible icy rain, which fell upon their shoulders +as they sat together. But they remained there, feeling warm and happy. +The bench, which was more than a hundred years old, did not seem in the +least surprised at their love, having seen many other pairs in its time; +it had listened to many soft words, which are always the same on the +lips of the young, from generation to generation; and it had become used +to seeing lovers sit upon it again, when they returned to it old and +trembling; but in the broad day, this time, to warm themselves in the +last sun they would see. + +From time to time Granny Moan would put her head out at the door to have +a look at them, and try to induce them to come in. “You'll catch cold, +my good children,” said she, “and then you'll fall ill--Lord knows, it +really isn't sensible to remain out so late.” + +Cold! they cold? Were they conscious of anything else besides the bliss +of being together. + +The passers-by in the evening down their pathway, heard the soft murmur +of two voices mingling with the voice of the sea, down below at the foot +of the cliffs. It was a most harmonious music; Gaud's sweet, fresh voice +alternated with Yann's, which had soft, caressing notes in the lower +tones. Their profiles could be clearly distinguished on the granite wall +against which they reclined; Gaud with her white headgear and slender +black-robed figure, and beside her the broad, square shoulders of her +beloved. Behind and above rose the ragged dome of the straw thatch, and +the darkening, infinite, and colourless waste of the sea and sky floated +over all. + +Finally, they did go in to sit down by the hearth, whereupon old Yvonne +immediately nodded off to sleep, and did not trouble the two lovers very +much. So they went on communing in a low voice, having to make up for +two years of silence; they had to hurry on their courtship because it +was to last so short a time. + +It was arranged that they were to live with Granny Moan, who would leave +them the cottage in her will; for the present, they made no alterations +in it, for want of time, and put off their plan for embellishing their +poor lonely home until the fisherman's return from Iceland. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE SEAMAN'S SECRET + +One evening Yann amused himself by relating to his affianced a thousand +things she had done, or which had happened to her since their first +meeting; he even enumerated to her the different dresses she had had, +and the jollifications to which she had been. + +She listened in great surprise. How did he know all this? Who would have +thought of a man ever paying any attention to such matters, and being +capable of remembering so clearly? + +But he only smiled at her in a mysterious way, and went on mentioning +other facts to her that she had altogether forgotten. + +She did not interrupt him; nay, she but let him continue, while an +unexpected delicious joy welled up in her heart; she began, at length, +to divine and understand everything. He, too, had loved--loved her, +through that weary time. She had been his constant thought, as he was +guilelessly confessing. But, in this case, what had been his reason for +repelling her at first and making her suffer so long? + +There always remained this mystery that he had promised to explain to +her--yet still seemed to elude--with a confused, incomprehensible smile. + + + +CHAPTER III--THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS + +One fine day, the loving pair went over to Paimpol, with Granny Moan, to +buy the wedding-dress. + +Gaud could very easily have done over one of her former town-lady's +dresses for the occasion. But Yann had wanted to make her this present, +and she had not resisted too long the having a dress given by her +betrothed, and paid for by the money he had earned at his fishing; it +seemed as if she were already his wife by this act. + +They chose black, for Gaud had not yet left off mourning for her father; +but Yann did not find any of the stuffs they placed before them good +enough. He was not a little overbearing with the shopman; he, who +formerly never would have set his foot inside a shop, wanted to manage +everything himself, even to the very fashion of the dress. He wished it +adorned with broad beads of velvet, so that it would be very fine, in +his mind. + + + +CHAPTER IV--FLOWER OF THE THORN + +One evening as these lovers sat out on their stone bench in the solitude +over which the night fell, they suddenly perceived a hawthorn bush, +which grew solitarily between the rocks, by the side of the road, +covered with tiny flowered tufts. + +“It looks as if 'twas in bloom,” said Yann. + +They drew near to inspect it. It was in full flower, indeed. As they +could not see very well in the twilight, they touched the tiny blooms, +wet with mist. Then the first impression of spring came to them at the +same time they noticed this; the days had already lengthened, the air +was warmer, and the night more luminous. But how forward this particular +bush was! They could not find another like it anywhere around, not one! +It had blossomed, you see, expressly for them, for the celebration of +their loving plight. + +“Oh! let us gather some more,” said Yann. + +Groping in the dark, he cut a nosegay with the stout sailor's knife that +he always wore in his belt, and paring off all the thorns, he placed it +in Gaud's bosom. + +“You look like a bride now,” said he, stepping back to judge of the +effect, notwithstanding the deepening dusk. + +At their feet the calm sea rose and fell over the shingle with an +intermittent swash, regular as the breathing of a sleeper; for it seemed +indifferent or ever favourable to the love-making going on hard by. + +In expectation of these evenings the days appeared long to them, and +when they bade each other good-bye at ten o'clock, they felt a kind of +discouragement, because it was all so soon over. + +They had to hurry with the official documents for fear of not being +ready in time, and of letting their happiness slip by until the autumn, +or even uncertainty. + +Their evening courtship in that mournful spot, lulled by the continual +even wash of the sea, with that feverish impression of the flight of +time, was almost gloomy and ominous. They were like no lovers; more +serious and restless were they in their love than the common run. + +Yet Yann never told her what mysterious thing had kept him away from her +for these two lonely years; and after he returned home of a night, Gaud +grew uneasy as before, although he loved her perfectly--this she knew. +It is true that he had loved her all along, but not as now; love grew +stronger in his heart and mind, like a tide rising and overbrimming. He +never had known this kind of love before. + +Sometimes on their stone seat he lay down, resting his head in Gaud's +lap like a caressing child, till, suddenly remembering propriety, he +would draw himself up erect. He would have liked to lie on the very +ground at her feet, and remain there with his brow pressed to the hem of +her garments. Excepting the brotherly kiss he gave her when he came and +went, he did not dare to embrace her. He adored that invisible spirit in +her, which appeared in the very sound of her pure, tranquil voice, the +expression of her smile, and in her clear eye. + + + +CHAPTER V--THE COST OF OBSTINACY + +One rainy evening they were sitting side by side near the hearth, and +Granny Moan was asleep opposite them. The fire flames, dancing over the +branches on the hearth, projected their magnified shadows on the beams +overhead. + +They spoke to one another in that low voice of all lovers. But upon this +particular evening their conversation was now and again broken by long +troubled silence. He, in particular, said very little and lowered his +head with a faint smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For she had +been pressing him with questions all the evening concerning that mystery +that he positively would not divulge; and this time he felt himself +cornered. She was too quick for him, and had fully made up her mind to +learn; no possible shifts could get him out of telling her now. + +“Was it any bad tales told about me?” she asked. + +He tried to answer “yes,” and faltered: “Oh! there was always plenty of +rubbish babbled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec.” + +She asked what, but he could not answer her; so then she thought of +something else. “Was it about my style of dress, Yann?” + +Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time she +had dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But he was +obliged to acknowledge that that was not all. + +“Was it because at that time we passed for very rich people, and you +were afraid of being refused?” + +“Oh, no! not that.” He said this with such simple confidence that Gaud +was amused. + +Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-winds was +heard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck her, and +her expression changed. + +“If not anything of that sort, Yann, _what_ was it?” demanded she, +suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, with the irresistible +questioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense with +confirmation. + +He turned aside, laughing outright. + +So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright; he never could give her a +real reason, because there was none to give. He had simply “played the +mule” (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But everybody had teased him +so much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, +and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly said “no,” but knew well +enough in the bottom of his heart that when nobody thought any more +about the hollow mystery it would become “yes.” + +So it was on account of Yann's childishness that Gaud had been +languishing, forsaken for two long years, and had longed to die. + +At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with kind eyes, +questioning deeply. Would she forgive him? He felt such remorse for +having made her suffer. Would she forgive him? + +“It's my temper that does it, Gaud,” said he. “At home with my folks, +it's the same thing. Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole week +angered against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you know how I +love them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like a boy. If +you think that I was happy to live unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it +couldn't have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure.” + +Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft tears fall, she +knew they were the outflow of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's +confession. Besides, the present never would have been so happy without +all her suffering; that being over, she was almost pleased at having +gone through that time of trial. + +Everything was finally cleared up between them, in a very unexpected +though complete manner; there remained no clouds between their souls. +He drew her towards him, and they remained some time with their cheeks +pressed close, requiring no further explanations. So chaste was their +embrace, that the old grandam suddenly awaking, they remained before her +as they were without any confusion or embarrassment. + + + +CHAPTER VI--THE BRIDAL + +It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their wedding procession +was returning from Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious wind, +under a sombre, rain-laden sky. + +They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked along as in a +dream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, +reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing about them; as if they +were above ordinary life and everybody else. The very wind seemed to +respect them, while behind them their “train” was a jolly medley of +laughing couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale. + +Many people were present, overflowing with young life; others turning +gray, but these still smiled as they thought of _their_ wedding-day and +younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting a +little, but something like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle of +Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grand +new cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had been +dyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre. + +The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets and _coiffes_, +were similarly tossed about mercilessly. + +At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant to custom, had +bought two nosegays of artificial flowers, to complete their bridal +attire. Yann had fastened his on anyhow upon his broad chest, but he +was one of those men whom anything becomes. As for Gaud, there was still +something of the lady about the manner in which she had placed the rude +flowers in her bodice, as of old very close fitting to her unrivalled +form. + +The violin player, who led the whole band, bewildered by the wind, +played at random; his tunes were heard by fits and starts betwixt the +noisy gusts, and rose as shrill as the screaming of a sea-gull. All +Ploubazlanec had turned out to look at them. This marriage seemed to +excite people's sympathy, and many had come from far around; at each +turn of the road there were groups stationed to see them pass. Nearly +all Yann's mates, the Icelanders of Paimpol, were there. They cheered +the bride and bridegroom as they passed; Gaud returned their greeting, +bowing slightly like a town lady, with serious grace; and all along the +way she was greatly admired. + +The darkest and most secluded hamlets around, even those in the woods, +had been emptied of all their beggars, cripples, wastrels, poor, and +idiots on crutches; these wretches scattered along the road, with +accordions and hurdy-gurdies; they held out their hands and hats to +receive the alms that Yann threw to them with his own noble look and +Gaud with her beautiful queenly smile. Some of these poor waifs +were very old and wore gray locks on heads that had never held much; +crouching in the hollows of the roadside, they were of the same colour +as the earth from which they seemed to have sprung, but so unformed as +soon to be returned without ever having had any human thoughts. Their +wandering glances were as indecipherable as the mystery of their +abortive and useless existences. Without comprehending, they looked +at the merrymakers' line pass by. It went on beyond Pors-Even and the +Gaoses' home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal tradition of +Ploubazlanec and go to the chapel of La Trinite, which is situated at +the very end of the Breton country. + +At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on a threshold of low-lying +rocks close to the water, and seems almost to belong to the sea already. +A narrow goat's path leads down to it through masses of granite. + +The wedding party spread over the incline of the forsaken cape head; +and among the rocks and stones, happy words were lost in the roar of the +wind and the surf. + +It was useless to try and reach the chapel; in this boisterous weather +the path was not safe, the sea came too close with its high rollers. +Its white-crested spouts sprang up in the air, so as to break over +everything in a ceaseless shower. + +Yann, who had advanced the farthest with Gaud on his arm, was the first +to retreat before the spray. Behind, his wedding party had remained +strewn about the rocks, in a semicircle; it seemed as if he had come +to present his wife to the sea, which received her with scowling, +ill-boding aspect. + +Turning round, he caught sight of the violinist perched on a gray rock, +trying vainly to play his dance tunes between gusts of wind. + +“Put up your music, my lad,” said Yann; “old Neptune is playing us a +livelier tune than yours.” + +A heavily beating shower, which had threatened since morning, began to +fall. There was a mad rush then, accompanied by outcries and laughter, +to climb up the bluff and take refuge at the Gaoses'. + + + +CHAPTER VII--THE DISCORDANT NOTE + +The wedding breakfast was given at Yann's parents', because Gaud's +home was so poor. It took place upstairs in the great new room. +Five-and-twenty guests sat down round the newly married pair--sisters +and brothers, cousin Gaos the pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, Yvon Duff, all +of the old _Marie's_ crew, who were now the _Leopoldine's_; four very +pretty bridesmaids, with their hair-plaits wound round their ears, like +the empresses' in ancient Byzantium, and their modern white caps, shaped +like sea-shells; and four best men, all broad-shouldered Icelanders, +with large proud eyes. + +Downstairs, of course, there was eating and cooking going on; the whole +train of the wedding procession had gathered there in disorder; and the +extra servants, hired from Paimpol, well-nigh lost their senses before +the mighty lumbering up of the capacious hearth with pots and pans. + +Yann's parents would have wished a richer wife for their son, naturally, +but Gaud was known now as a good, courageous girl; and then, in spite +of her lost fortune, she was the greatest beauty in the country, and it +flattered them to see the couple so well matched. + +The old father was inclined to be merry after the soup, and spoke of the +bringing up of his fourteen little Gaoses; but they were all doing well, +thanks to the ten thousand francs that had made them well off. + +Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he played in the navy, yarns about +China, the West Indies, and Brazil, making the young ones who would be +off some day, open their eyes in wonderment. + +“There is a cry against the sea-service,” said the old sailor, laughing, +“but a man can have fine fun in it.” + +The weather did not clear up; on the contrary, the wind and rain raged +through the gloomy night; and in spite of the care taken, some of the +guests were fidgety about their smacks anchored in the harbour, and +spoke of getting up to go and see if all was right. But here a more +jovial sound than ever was heard from downstairs, where the younger +members of the party were supping together; cheers of joy and peals of +laughter ascended. The little cousins were beginning to feel exhilarated +by the cider. + +Boiled and roasted meats had been served up with poultry, different +kinds of fish, omelets and pancakes. + +The debate had turned upon fishery and smuggling, and the best means of +fooling the coast-guardsmen, who, as we all know, are the sworn enemies +of honest seafarers. + +Upstairs, at the grand table, old circumnavigators went so far as to +relate droll stories, in the vernacular. + +But the wind was raging altogether too strong; for the windows shook +with a terrible clatter, and the man telling the tale had hurriedly +ended to go and see to his smack. + +Then another went on: “When I was bo's'n's mate aboard of the _Zenobie_, +a-lying at Aden, and a-doing the duty of a corporal of marines, by the +same token, you ought to ha' seen the ostridge feather traders a-trying +to scramble up over the side. [_Imitating the broken talk_] 'Bon-joo, +cap'n! we're not thiefs--we're honest merchants'--Honest, my eye! with a +sweep of the bucket, a purtending to draw some water up, I sent 'em all +flying back an oar's length. 'Honest merchants, are ye,' says I, 'then +send us up a bunch of honest feathers first--with a hard dollar or two +in the core of it, d'ye see, and then I'll believe in your honesty!' +Why, I could ha' made my fortun' out of them beggars, if I hadn't been +born and brought up honest myself, and but a sucking-dove in wisdom, +saying nothing of my having a sweetheart at Toulon in the millinery +line, who could have used any quantity of feathers----” + +Ha! here's one of Yann's little brothers, a future Iceland fisherman, +with a fresh pink face and bright eyes, who is suddenly taken ill from +having drunk too much cider. So little Laumec has to be carried off, +which cuts short the story of the milliner and the feathers. + +The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil spirit in torment; with +fearful strength, it shook the whole house on its stone foundation. + +“It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos we're enjoying of +ourselves,” said the pilot cousin. + +“No, it's the sea that's wrathy,” corrected Yann, smiling at Gaud, +“because I'd promised I'd be wedded to _her_.” + +A strange languor seemed to envelop them both; they spoke to one another +in a low voice, apart, in the midst of the general gaiety. Yann, knowing +thoroughly the effect of wine, did not drink at all. Now and then he +turned dull too, thinking of Sylvestre. It was an understood thing that +there was to be no dancing, on account of him and of Gaud's dead father. + +It was the dessert now; the singing would soon begin. But first there +were the prayers to say, for the dead of the family; this form is never +omitted, at all wedding-feasts, and is a solemn duty. So when old Gaos +rose and uncovered his white head, there was a dead silence around. + +“This,” said he, “is for Guillaume Gaos, my father.” Making the sign of +the cross, he began the Lord's prayer in Latin: “_Pater noster, qui es +in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tumm_----” + +The silence included all, even to the joyful little ones downstairs, and +every voice was repeating in an undertone the same eternal words. + +“This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two brothers, who were lost in the +Sea of Iceland. This is for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked aboard +the _Zelie_.” When all the dead Gaoses had had their prayers, he turned +towards grandmother Moan, saying, “This one is for Sylvestre Moan.” + +Yann wept as he recited another prayer. + +“_Sed libera nos a malo. Amen_!” + +Then the songs began; sea-songs learned in the navy, on the forecastle, +where we all know there are rare good vocalists. + +“_Un noble corps, pas moins que celui des Zouaves_,” etc. + +A noble and a gallant lad The Zouave is, we know, But, capping him for +bravery, The sailor stands, I trow. Hurrah, hurrah! long life to him, +Whose glory never can grow dim! + +This was sung by one of the bride's supporters, in a feeling tone that +went to the soul; and the chorus was taken up by other fine, manly +voices. + +But the newly wedded pair seemed to listen as from a distance. When they +looked at one another, their eyes shone with dulled brilliance, like +that of transparently shaded lamps. They spoke in even a lower voice, +and still held each other's hands. Gaud bent her head, too, gradually +overcome by a vast, delightful terror, before her master. + +The pilot cousin went around the table, serving out a wine of his own; +he had brought it with much care, hugging and patting the bottle, which +ought not to be shaken, he said. He told the story of it. One day out +fishing they saw a cask a-floating; it was too big to haul on board, so +they had stove in the head and filled all the pots and pans they had, +with most of its contents. It was impossible to take all, so they had +signalled to other pilots and fishers, and all the sails in sight had +flocked round the flotsam. + +“And I know more than one old sobersides who was gloriously topheavy +when we got back to Pors-Even at night!” he chuckled liquorishly. + +The wind still went on with its fearful din. + +Downstairs the children were dancing in rings; except some of the +youngest, sent to bed; but the others, who were romping about, led by +little Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guillaume), wanted to go and play +outside. Every minute they were opening the door and letting in furious +gusts, which blew out the candles. + +The pilot cousin went on with his story. Forty bottles had fallen to +his lot, he said. He begged them all to say nothing about it, because of +“_Monsieur le Commissaire de l'Inscription Maritime_,” who would surely +make a fuss over the undeclared find. + +“But, d'ye see,” he went on, “it sarved the lubbers right to heave over +such a vallyble cask or let it 'scape the lashings, for it's superior +quality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice in it than in all the +wine-merchants' cellars of Paimpol. Goodness knows whence it came--this +here castaway liquor.” + +It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed with sea-water, and had +the flavour of cod-pickle, but in spite of that, relishable; and several +bottles were emptied. + +Some heads began to spin; the Babel of voices became more confused, and +the lads kissed the lasses less surreptitiously. + +The songs joyously continued; but the winds would not moderate, and +the seamen exchanged tokens of apprehension about the bad weather +increasing. + +The sinister clamour without was indeed worse than ever. It had +become one continuous howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand mad +creatures were yelling with full throats and out-stretched necks. + +One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting out their deafening boom +in the distance, but that was only the sea hammering the coast of +Ploubazlanec on all points; undoubtedly it did not appear contented, +and Gaud felt her heart shrink at this dismal music, which no one had +ordered for their wedding-feast. + +Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who had risen softly, beckoned +his wife to come to speak with him. + +It was to go home. She blushed, filled with shame, and confused at +having left her seat so promptly. She said it would be impolite to go +away directly and leave the others. + +“Not a bit on it,” replied Yann, “my father allows it; we may go,” and +away he carried her. + +They hurried away stealthily. Outside they found themselves in the cold, +the bitter wind, and the miserable, agitated night. They began to run +hand-in-hand. + +From the height of the cliff-path, one could imagine, without seeing it, +the furious open sea, whence arose all this hubbub. They ran along, the +wind cutting their faces, both bowed before the angry gusts, and obliged +to put their hands over their mouths to cover their breathing, which the +wind had completely taken away at first. + +He held her up by the waist at the outset, to keep her dress from +trailing on the ground, and her fine new shoes from being spoiled in the +water, which streamed about their feet, and next he held her round the +neck, too, and continued to run on still faster. He could hardly realize +that he loved her so much! To think that she was now twenty-three and +he nearly twenty-eight; that they might have been married two years ago, +and as happy then as to-night! + +At last they arrived at home, that poor lodging, with its damp flooring +and moss-grown roof. They lit the candle, which the wind blew out twice. + +Old grandam Moan, who had been taken home before the singing began, was +there. She had been sleeping for the last two hours in her bunk, the +flaps of which were shut. They drew near with respect and peeped through +the fretwork of her press, to bid her good-night, if by chance she were +not asleep. But they only perceived her still venerable face and closed +eyes; she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb them. + +They felt they were alone then. Both trembled as they clasped hands. +He bent forward to kiss her lips; but Gaud turned them aside, through +ignorance of that kind of kiss; and as chastely as on the evening of +their betrothal, she pressed hers to Yann's cheek, which was chilled, +almost frozen, by the wind. + +It was bitterly cold in their poor, low-roofed cottage. If Gaud had only +remained rich, what happiness she would have felt in arranging a pretty +room, not like this one on the bare ground! She was scarcely yet used to +these rugged granite walls, and the rough look of all things around; but +her Yann was there now, and by his presence everything was changed and +transfigured. She saw only her husband. Their lips met now; no turning +aside. Still standing with their arms intertwined tightly to draw +themselves together, they remained dumb, in the perfect ecstasy of a +never-ending kiss. Their fluttering breath commingled, and both quivered +as if in a burning fever. They seemed without power to tear themselves +apart, and knew nothing and desired nothing beyond that long kiss of +consecrated love. + +She drew herself away, suddenly agitated. “Nay, Yann! Granny Yvonne +might see us,” she faltered. + +But he, with a smile, sought his wife's lips again and fastened his own +upon them, like a thirsty man whose cup of fresh water had been taken +from him. + +The movement they had made broke the charm of delightful hesitation. +Yann, who, at the first, was going to kneel to her as before a saint, +felt himself fired again. He glanced stealthily towards the old oaken +bunk, irritated at being so close to the old woman, and seeking some +way not to be spied upon, but ever without breaking away from those +exquisite lips. + +He stretched forth his arm behind him, and with the back of his hand +dashed out the light, as if the wind had done it. Then he snatched her +up in his arms. Still holding her close, with his mouth continually +pressed to hers, he seemed like a wild lion with his teeth embedded in +his prey. For her part she gave herself up entirely, to that body and +soul seizure that was imperious and without possible resistance, even +though it remained soft as a great all-comprising embrace. + +Around them, for their wedding hymn, the same invisible orchestra, +played on----“Hoo-ooh-hoo!” At times the wind bellowed out in its deep +noise, with a _tremolo_ of rage; and again repeated its threats, as if +with refined cruelty, in low sustained tones, flute-like as the hoot of +an owl. + +The broad, fathomless grave of all sailors lay nigh to them, restless +and ravenous, drumming against the cliffs with its muffled boom. + +One night or another Yann would have to be caught in that maw, and +battle with it in the midst of the terror of ice as well. Both knew this +plainly. + +But what mattered that now to them on land, sheltered from the sea's +futile fury. In their poor gloomy cottage, over which tempest rushed, +they scorned all that was hostile, intoxicated and delightfully +fortified against the whole by the eternal magic of love. + + + +CHAPTER VIII--THE BLISSFUL WEEK + +For six days they were husband and wife. In this time of leave-taking +the preparations for the Iceland season occupied everybody. The women +heaped up the salt for the pickle in the holds of the vessels; the men +saw to the masts and rigging. Yann's mother and sisters worked from +morning till night at the making of the sou'westers and oilskin +waterproofs. + +The weather was dull, and the sea, forefeeling the approach of the +equinoctial gales, was restless and heaving. + +Gaud went through these inexorable preparations with agony; counting the +fleeting hours of the day, and looking forward to the night, when the +work was over, and she would have her Yann to herself. + +Would he leave her every year in this way? + +She hoped to be able to keep him back, but she did not dare to speak to +him about this wish as yet. He loved her passionately, too; he never had +known anything like this affection before; it was such a fresh, trusting +tenderness that the same caresses and fondlings always seemed as if +novel and unknown heretofore; and their intoxication of love continued +to increase, and never seemed--never was satiated. + +What charmed and surprised her in her mate was his tenderness and +boyishness. This the Yann in love, whom she had sometimes seen at +Paimpol most contemptuous towards the girls. On the contrary, to her he +always maintained that kindly courtesy that seemed natural to him, and +she adored that beautiful smile that came to him whenever their eyes +met. Among these simple folk there exists the feeling of absolute +respect for the dignity of the wife; there is an ocean between her and +the sweetheart. Gaud was essentially the wife. She was sorely troubled +in her happiness, however, for it seemed something too unhoped for, as +unstable as a joyful dream. Besides, would this love be lasting in Yann? +She remembered sometimes his former flames, his fancies and different +love adventures, and then she grew fearful. Would he always cherish that +infinite tenderness and sweet respect for her? + +Six days of a wedded life, for such a love as theirs, was nothing; only +a fevered instalment taken from the married life term, which might be +so long before them yet! They had scarcely had leisure to be together at +all and understand that they really belonged to one another. All their +plans of life together, of peaceful joy, and settling down, was forcedly +put off till the fisherman's return. + +No! at any price she would stop him from going to this dreadful Iceland +another year! But how should she manage? And what could they do for a +livelihood, being both so poor? Then again he so dearly loved the sea. +But in spite of all, she would try and keep him home another season; she +would use all her power, intelligence, and heart to do so. Was she to +be the wife of an Icelander, to watch each spring-tide approach with +sadness, and pass the whole summer in painful anxiety? no, now that she +loved him, above everything that she could imagine, she felt seized with +an immense terror at the thought of years to come thus robbed of the +better part. + +They had one spring day together--only one. It was the day before the +sailing; all the stores had been shipped, and Yann remained the whole +day with her. They strolled along, arm-in-arm, through the lanes, like +sweethearts again, very close to one another, murmuring a thousand +tender things. The good folk smiled, as they saw them pass, saying: + +“It's Gaud, with long Yann from Pors-Even. They were married only +t'other day!” + +This last day was really spring. It was strange and wonderful to behold +this universal serenity. Not a single cloud marred the lately flecked +sky. The wind did not blow anywhere. The sea had become quite tranquil, +and was of a pale, even blue tint. The sun shone with glaring white +brilliancy, and the rough Breton land seemed bathed in its light, as +in a rare, delicate ether; it seemed to brighten and revive even in +the utmost distance. The air had a delicious, balmy scent, as of summer +itself, and seemed as if it were always going to remain so, and never +know any more gloomy, thunderous days. The capes and bays over which +the changeful shadows of the clouds no longer passed, were outlined in +strong steady lines in the sunlight, and appeared to rest also in the +long-during calm. All this made their loving festival sweeter and longer +drawn out. The early flowers already appeared: primroses, and frail, +scentless violets grew along the hedgerows. + +When Gaud asked: “How long then are you going to love me, Yann?” + +He answered, surprisedly, looking at her full in the face with his frank +eyes: “Why, for ever, Gaud.” + +That word, spoken so simply by his fierce lips, seemed to have its true +sense of eternity. + +She leaned on his arm. In the enchantment of her realized dream, she +pressed close to him, always anxious, feeling that he was as flighty as +a wild sea-bird. To-morrow he would take his soaring on the open sea. +And it was too late now, she could do nothing to stop him. + +From the cliff-paths where they wandered, they could see the whole of +this sea-bound country; which seems almost treeless, strewn with low, +stunted bush and boulders. Here and there fishers' huts were scattered +over the rocks, their high battered thatches made green by the cropping +up of new mosses; and in the extreme distance, the sea, like a boundless +transparency, stretched out in a never-ending horizon, which seemed to +encircle everything. + +She enjoyed telling him about all the wonderful things she had seen in +Paris, but he was very contemptuous, and was not interested. + +“It's so far from the coast,” said he, “and there is so much land +between, that it must be unhealthy. So many houses and so many people, +too, about! There must be lots of ills and ails in those big towns; no, +I shouldn't like to live there, certain sure!” + +She smiled, surprised to see this giant so simple a fellow. + +Sometimes they came across hollows where trees grew and seemed to defy +the winds. There was no view here, only dead leaves scattered beneath +their feet and chilly dampness; the narrow way, bordered on both sides +by green reeds, seemed very dismal under the shadow of the branches; +hemmed in by the walls of some dark, lonely hamlet, rotting with old +age, and slumbering in this hollow. + +A crucifix arose inevitably before them, among the dead branches, with +its colossal image of Our Saviour in weather-worn wood, its features +wrung with His endless agony. + +Then the pathway rose again, and they found themselves commanding the +view of immense horizons--and breathed the bracing air of sea-heights +once more. + +He, to match her, spoke of Iceland, its pale, nightless summers and sun +that never set. Gaud did not understand and asked him to explain. + +“The sun goes all round,” said he, waving his arm in the direction of +the distant circle of the blue waters. “It always remains very low, +because it has no strength to rise; at midnight, it drags a bit +through the water, but soon gets up and begins its journey round again. +Sometimes the moon appears too, at the other side of the sky; then they +move together, and you can't very well tell one from t'other, for they +are much alike in that queer country.” + +To see the sun at midnight! How very far off Iceland must be for such +marvels to happen! And the fjords? Gaud had read that word several times +written among the names of the dead in the chapel of the shipwrecked, +and it seemed to portend some grisly thing. + +“The fjords,” said Yann, “they are not broad bays, like Paimpol, for +instance; only they are surrounded by high mountains--so high that +they seem endless, because of the clouds upon their tops. It's a sorry +country, I can tell you, darling. Nothing but stones. The people of +Iceland know of no such things as trees. In the middle of August, when +our fishery is over, it's quite time to return, for the nights begin +again then, and they lengthen out very quickly; the sun falls below the +earth without being able to get up, and that night lasts all the +winter through. Talking of night,” he continued, “there's a little +burying-ground on the coast in one of the fjords, for Paimpol men who +have died during the season or went down at sea; it's consecrated earth, +just like at Pors-Even, and the dead have wooden crosses just like +ours here, with their names painted on them. The two Goazdious from +Ploubazlanec lie there, and Guillaume Moan, Sylvestre's grandfather.” + +She could almost see the little churchyard at the foot of the solitary +capes, under the pale rose-coloured light of those never-ending days, +and she thought of those distant dead, under the ice and dark winding +sheets of the long night-like winters. + +“Do you fish the whole time?” she asked, “without ever stopping?” + +“The whole time, though we somehow get on with work on deck, for the sea +isn't always fine out there. Well! of course we're dead beat when the +night comes, but it gives a man an appetite--bless you, dearest, we +regularly gobble down our meals.” + +“Do you never feel sick of it?” + +“Never,” returned he, with an air of unshaken faith which pained her; +“on deck, on the open sea, the time never seems long to a man--never!” + +She hung her head, feeling sadder than ever, and more and more +vanquished by her only enemy, the sea. + + + + +PART V -- THE SECOND WEDDING + + + +CHAPTER I--THE START + +After the spring day they had enjoyed, the falling night brought back +the impression of winter, and they returned to dine before their fire, +which was flaming with new branches. It was their last meal together; +but they had some hours yet, and were not saddened. + +After dinner, they recovered the sweet impression of spring again, out +on the Pors-Even road; for the air was calm, almost genial, and the +twilight still lingered over the land. + +They went to see the family--for Yann to bid good-bye--and returned +early, as they wished to rise with break of day. + +The next morning the quay of Paimpol was crowded with people. The +departures for Iceland had begun the day before, and with each tide +there was a fresh fleet off. On this particular morning, fifteen vessels +were to start with the _Leopoldine_, and the wives or mothers of the +sailors were all present at the getting under sail. + +Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander, was much surprised to +find herself among them all, and brought thither for the same fateful +purpose. Her position seemed to have become so intensified within the +last few days, that she had barely had time to realize things as they +were; gliding irresistibly down an incline, she had arrived at this +inexorable conclusion that she must bear up for the present, and do as +the others did, who were accustomed to it. + +She never before had been present at these farewells; hence all was new +to her. Among these women was none like her, and she felt her difference +and isolation. Her past life, as a lady, was still remembered, and +caused her to be set aside as one apart. + +The weather had remained fine on this parting-day; but out at sea a +heavy swell came from the west, foretelling wind, and the sea, lying in +wait for these new adventurers, burst its crests afar. + +Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives like her, and touching, with +their eyes big with tears; others were thoughtless and lively; these +had no heart or were not in love. Old women, threatened nearly by +death, wept as they clung to their sons; sweethearts kissed each other; +half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer themselves up, while others went on +board with gloomy looks as to their execution. + +Many sad incidents could be marked; there were poor luckless fellows +who had signed their contracts unconsciously, when in liquor in the +grog-shop, and they had to be dragged on board by force; their own wives +helping the gendarmes. Others, noted for their great strength, had +been drugged in drink beforehand, and were carried like corpses on +stretchers, and flung down in the forecastles. + +Gaud was frightened by all this; what companions were these for her +Yann? and what a fearful thing was this Iceland, to inspire men with +such terror of it? + +Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were happy; who, doubtless, like +Yann, loved the untrammelled life and hard fishing work; those were +the sound, able seamen, who had fine noble countenances; if they were +unmarried they went off recklessly, merely casting a last look on the +lasses; and if they were married, they kissed their wives and little +ones, with fervent sadness and deep hopefulness as to returning home all +the richer. + +Gaud was a little comforted when she saw that all the _Leopoldines_ were +of the latter class, forming really a picked crew. + +The vessels set off two by two, or four by four, drawn out by the tugs. +As soon as they moved the sailors raised their caps and, full-voiced, +struck up the hymn to the Virgin: “_Salut, Etoile-de-la-Mer_!” (All +Hail! Star of the Sea!), while on the quay, the women waved their hands +for a last farewell, and tears fell upon the lace strings of the caps. + +As soon as the _Leopoldine_ started, Gaud quickly set off towards the +house of the Gaoses. After an hour and a half's walk along the coast, +through the familiar paths of Ploubazlanec, she arrived there, at the +very land's end, within the home of her new family. + +The _Leopoldine_ was to cast anchor off Pors-Even before starting +definitely in the evening, so the married pair had made a last +appointment here. Yann came to land in the yawl, and stayed another +three hours with her to bid her good-bye on firm land. The weather was +still beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene. + +They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm, and it reminded them of +their walk the day before. They strolled on towards Paimpol without +any apparent object in view, and soon came to their own house, as if +unconsciously drawn there; they entered together for the last time. +Grandam Moan was quite amazed at seeing them together again. + +Yann left many injunctions with Gaud concerning several of his things in +his wardrobe, especially about his fine wedding clothes; she was to take +them out occasionally and air them in the sun, and so on. On board ship +the sailors learn all these household-like matters; but Gaud was amused +to hear it. Her husband might have been sure, though, that all his +things would be kept and attended to, with loving care. + +But all these matters were very secondary for them; they spoke of them +only to have something to talk about, and to hide their real feelings. +They went on speaking in low, soft tones, as if fearing to frighten away +the moments that remained, and so make time flit by more swiftly still. +Their conversation was as a thing that had inexorably to come to an end; +and the most insignificant things that they said seemed, on this day, to +become wondrous, mysterious, and important. + +At the very last moment Yann caught up his wife in his arms, and without +saying a word, they were enfolded in a long and silent embrace. + +He embarked; the gray sails were unfurled and spread out to the light +wind that rose from the west. He, whom she still could distinguish, +waved his cap in a particular way agreed on between them. And with her +figure outlined against the sea, she gazed for a long, long time upon +her departing love. + +That tiny, human-shaped speck, appearing black against the bluish gray +of the waters, was still her husband, even though already it became +vague and indefinable, lost in the distance, where persistent sight +becomes baffled, and can see no longer. + +As the _Leopoldine_ faded out of vision, Gaud, as if drawn by a magnet, +followed the pathway all along the cliffs till she had to stop, because +the land came to an end; she sat down at the foot of a tall cross, which +rises amidst the gorse and stones. As it was rather an elevated spot, +the sea, as seen from there, appeared to be rimmed, as in a bowl, and +the _Leopoldine_, now a mere point, appeared sailing up the incline of +that immense circle. The water rose in great slow undulations, like the +upheavals of a submarine combat going on somewhere beyond the horizon; +but over the great space where Yann still was, all dwelt calm. + +Gaud still gazed at the ship, trying to fix its image well in her brain, +so that she might recognise it again from afar, when she returned to the +same place to watch for its home-coming. + +Great swells now rolled in from the west, one after another, without +cessation, renewing their useless efforts, and ever breaking over the +same rocks, foaming over the same places, to wash the same stones. +The stifled fury of the sea appeared strange, considering the absolute +calmness of the air and sky; it was as if the bed of the sea were too +full and would overflow and swallow up the strand. + +The _Leopoldine_ had grown smaller and smaller, and was lost in the +distance. Doubtless the under-tow carried her along, for she moved +swiftly and yet the evening breezes were very faint. Now she was only +a tiny, gray touch, and would soon reach the extreme horizon of all +visible things, and enter those infinite regions, whence darkness was +beginning to come. + +Going on seven o'clock, night closed, and the boat had disappeared. Gaud +returned home, feeling withal rather brave, notwithstanding the tears +that uncontainably fell. What a difference it would have been, and what +still greater pain, if he had gone away, as in the two preceding years, +without even a good-bye! While now everything was softened and bettered +between them. He was really her own Yann, and she knew herself to be so +truly loved, notwithstanding this separation, that, as she returned +home alone, she felt at least consoled by the thought of the delightful +waiting for that “soon again!” to be realized to which they had pledged +themselves for the autumn. + + + +CHAPTER II--THE FIRST OF THE FLEET + +The summer passed sadly, being hot and uneventful. She watched anxiously +for the first yellowed leaves, and the first gathering of the swallows, +and blooming of the chrysanthemums. She wrote to Yann several times by +the boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the government cruisers, but one +never can be sure of such letters reaching their destination. + +Towards the end of July, she received a letter from him, however. He +told her that his health was good, that the fishing season promised +to be excellent, and that he already had 1500 fish for his share. From +beginning to end, it was written in the simple conventional way of all +these Icelanders' home letters. Men educated like Yann completely ignore +how to write the thousand things they think, feel, or fancy. Being more +cultivated than he, Gaud could understand this, and read between the +lines that deep affection that was unexpressed. Several times in the +four-paged letter, he called her by the title of “wife,” as if happy in +repeating the word. And the address above: “_A Madame Marguerite Gaos, +maison Moan, en Ploubazlanec_”--she was “Madame Marguerite Gaos” since +so short a time. + +She worked hard during these summer months. The ladies of Paimpol had, +at first, hardly believed in her talent as an amateur dressmaker, +saying her hands were too fine-ladyish; but they soon perceived that +she excelled in making dresses that were very nice-fitting, so she had +become almost a famous dressmaker. + +She spent all her earnings in embellishing their home against his +return. The wardrobe and old-shelved beds were all done up afresh, waxed +over, and bright new fastenings put on; she had put a pane of glass into +their little window towards the sea, and hung up a pair of curtains; +and she had bought a new counterpane for the winter, with new chairs and +table. + +She had kept the money untouched that her Yann had left her, carefully +put by in a small Chinese box, to show him when he returned. During the +summer evenings, by the fading light, she sat out before the cottage +door with Granny Moan, whose head was much better in the warm weather, +and knitted a fine new blue wool jersey for her Yann; round the collar +and cuffs were wonderful open-work embroideries. Granny Yvonne had been +a very clever knitter in her day, and now she taught all she knew to +Gaud. The work took a great deal of wool; for it had to be a large +jersey to fit Yann. + +But soon, especially in the evenings, the shortening of the days could +be perceived. Some plants, which had put forth all their blossoms in +July, began to look yellow and dying, and the violet scabious by the +wayside bloomed for the second time, smaller now, and longer-stalked; +the last days of August drew nigh, and the first return-ship from +Iceland hove in sight one evening at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast of +the returners began. + +Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to welcome it. Which one was +it? + +It was the _Samuel-Azenide_, always the first to return. + +“Surely,” said Yann's old father, “the _Leopoldine_ won't be long now; I +know how 'tis out yonder: when one of 'em begins to start homeward, the +others can't hang back in any peace.” + + + +CHAPTER III--ALL BUT TWO + +The Icelanders were all returning now. Two ships came in the second day, +four the next, and twelve during the following week. And, all through +the country, joy returned with them, and there was happiness for the +wives and mothers; and junkets in the taverns where the beautiful +barmaids of Paimpol served out drink to the fishers. + +The _Leopoldine_ was among the belated; there were yet another ten +expected. They would not be long now, and allowing a week's delay so as +not to be disappointed, Gaud waited in happy, passionate joy for Yann, +keeping their home bright and tidy for his return. When everything was +in good order there was nothing left for her to do, and besides she +could think of nothing else but her husband in her impatience. + +Three more ships appeared; then another five. There were only two +lacking now. + +“Come, come,” they said to her cheerily, “this year the _Leopoldine_ and +the _Marie-Jeanne_ will be the last, to pick up all the brooms fallen +overboard from the other craft.” + +Gaud laughed also. She was more animated and beautiful than ever, in her +great joy of expectancy. + + + +CHAPTER IV--STILL AT SEA + +But the days succeeded one another without result. She still dressed +herself every day, and with a joyful look, went down to the harbour to +gossip with the other wives. She said that this delay was but natural; +was it not the same event every year? These were such safe boats, and +had such capital sailors. + +But when at home alone, at night, a nervous, anxious shiver of anguish +would run through her whole frame. + +Was it right to be frightened already? Was there even a single reason +to be so? But she began to tremble at the mere idea of grounds for being +afraid. + + + +CHAPTER V--SHARING THE DREAD + +The tenth of September came. How swiftly the days flew by! + +One morning, a true autumn morning, with cold mist falling over the +earth, in the rising sun, she sat under the porch of the chapel of the +shipwrecked mariners, where the widows go to pray, with eyes fixed and +glassy, throbbing temples tightened as by an iron hand. + +These sad morning mists had begun two days before, and on this +particular day Gaud had awakened with a still more bitter uneasiness, +caused by the forecast of advancing winter. Why did this day, this hour, +this very moment, seem to her more painful than the preceding? Often +ships are delayed a fortnight, even a month, for that matter. + +But surely there was something different about this particular morning, +for she had come to-day for the first time to sit in the porch of this +chapel and read the names of the dead sailors, perished in their prime. + +“In memory of GAOS, YVON, Lost at sea Near the Norden-Fjord.” + +Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose from the sea, and at the same +time something fell like rain upon the roof above. It was only the dead +leaves though; many were blown in at the porch; the old wind-tossed +trees of the graveyard were losing their foliage in this rising gale, +and winter was marching nearer. + +“Lost at sea, Near the Norden-Fjord, In the storm of the 4th and 5th of +August, 1880.” + +She read mechanically under the arch of the doorway; her eyes sought to +pierce the distance over the sea. That morning it was untraceable under +the gray mist, and a dragging drapery of clouds overhung the horizon +like a mourning veil. + +Another gust of wind, and other leaves danced in in whirls. A stronger +gust still, as if the western storm that had strewn those dead over the +sea, wished to deface the very inscriptions that remembered their names +to the living. + +Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at an empty space upon the wall +that seemed to yawn expectant. By a terrible impression she was pursued, +the thought of a fresh slab which might soon, perhaps, be placed there, +with another name which she did not even dare to think of in such a +spot. + +She felt cold, and remained seated on the granite bench, her head +reclining against the stone wall. + + + +* * * * * + + + +. . . “near the Norden-Fjord, In the storm of the 4th and 5th of +August, At the age of 23 years, _Requiescat in pace_!” + +Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its little cemetery lighted up +from below the sea-line by the midnight sun. Suddenly in the same empty +space on the wall, with horrifying clearness she saw the fresh slab she +was thinking of; a clear white one, with a skull and cross-bones, and in +a flash of foresight, a name--the worshipped name of “Yann Gaos!” Then +she suddenly and fearfully drew herself up straight and stiff, with a +hoarse, wild cry in her throat like a mad creature. + +Outside the gray mist of the dawn fell over the land, and the dead +leaves were again blown dancingly into the porch. + +Steps on the footpath? Somebody was coming? She rose and quickly +smoothed down her cap and composed her face. Nearer drew the steps. She +assumed the air of one who might be there by chance; for, above all, she +did not wish to appear yet, like the widow of a shipwrecked mariner. + +It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of the second mate of the +_Leopoldine_. She understood immediately what Gaud was doing there; it +was useless to dissemble with her. At first each woman stood speechless +before the other. They were angry and almost hated each other for having +met with a like sentiment of apprehension. + +“All the men of Treguier and Saint Brieuc have been back this week,” + said Fante at last, in a pitiless, muffled, half-irritated voice. + +She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to offer up a prayer. Gaud did +not wish yet to resort to that extreme resource of despairing wives. +Yet silently she entered the chapel behind Fante, and they knelt down +together side by side, like two sisters. + +To the “Star of the Sea” they offered ardent imploring prayers, with +their whole soul in them. A sound of sobbing was alone heard, as their +rapid tears swiftly fell upon the floor. They rose together, more +confident and softened. Fante held up Gaud, who staggered, and taking +her in her arms, kissed her. + +Wiping their eyes, and smoothing their dishevelled hair, they brushed +off the salt dust from the flagstones, soiling their gowns, and they +went away in opposite directions, without another word. + + + +CHAPTER VI--ALL BUT ONE + +This end of September was like another summer, only a little less +lively. The weather was so beautiful, that had it not been for the dead +leaves that fell upon the roads, one might have thought that June +had come back again. Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, and +everywhere was the joy of a second spring-time of love. + +At last, one day, one of the missing ships was signalled. Which one was +it? + +The groups of speechless and anxious women had rapidly formed on the +cliff. Gaud, pale and trembling, was there, by the side of her Yann's +father. + +“I'm almost sure,” said the old fisher, “I'm almost sure it's them! A +red rail and a topsail that clews up--it's very like them anyhow. What +do you make it, Gaud? + +“No, it isn't,” he went on, with sudden discouragement; “we've made +a mistake again, the boom isn't the same, and ours has a jigger sail. +Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only the _Marie-Jeanne_. +Never mind, my lass, surely they'll not be long now.” + +But day followed day, and night succeeded night, with uninterrupted +serenity. + +Gaud continued to dress every day like a poor crazed woman, always +in fear of being taken for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feeling +exasperated when others looked furtively and compassionately at her, and +glancing aside so that she might not meet those glances that froze her +very blood. + +She had fallen into the habit of going in the early morning right to +the end of the headland, on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behind +Yann's old home, so as not to be seen by his mother or little sisters. +She went to the extreme point of the Ploubazlanec land, which is +outlined in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray waters of the +channel, and sat there all day long at the foot of the lonely cross, +which rises high above the immense waste of the ocean. There are many of +these crosses hereabout; they are set up on the most advanced cliffs +of the seabound land, as if to implore mercy and to calm that restless +mysterious power that draws men away, never to give them back, and in +preference retains the bravest and noblest. + +Around this cross stretches the ever-green waste, strewn with short +rushes. At this great height the sea air was very pure; it scarcely +retained the briny odour of the weeds, but was perfumed with all the +exquisite ripeness of September flowers. + +Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast were firmly outlined, +rising one above another; the land of Brittany terminated in ragged +edges, which spread out far into the tranquil surface. + +Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but out beyond nothing broke its +polished mirror, from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light and +intensified from the depths of its many bays. Its horizon seemed so +calm, and its depths so soft! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoses +hid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes, faint as human breath, +wafted to and fro the perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed +again in the lastest autumn sun. + +At regular hours the sea retreated, and great spaces were left uncovered +everywhere, as if the Channel was slowly drying up; then with the same +lazy slowness, the waters rose again, and continued their everlasting +coming and going, without any heed of the dead. + +At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, surrounded by these tranquil +mysteries, gazing ever before her, until the night fell and she could +see no more. + + + +CHAPTER VII--THE MOURNER'S VISION + +September had passed. The sorrowing wife took scarcely any nourishment, +and could no longer sleep. She remained at home now, crouching low with +her hands between her knees, her head thrown back and resting against +the wall behind. What was the good of getting up or going to bed now? +When she was thoroughly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon her +bed. Otherwise she remained in the same position, chilled and benumbed; +in her quiescent state, only her teeth chattered with the cold; she had +that continual impression of a band of iron round her brows; her cheeks +looked wasted; her mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at times +a painful hoarse cry rose from her throat, and was repeated in spasms, +while her head beat backward against the granite wall. Or else she +called Yann by his name in a low, tender voice, as if he were quiet +close to her, whispering words of love to her. + +Sometimes she occupied her brain with thoughts of quite insignificant +things; for instance, she amused herself by watching the shadow of the +china Virgin lengthen slowly over the high woodwork of the bed, as the +sun went down. And then the agonized thoughts returned more horrible, +and her wailing cry broke out again as she beat her head against the +wall. + +All the hours of the day passed, and all the hours of evening, and of +night, and then the hours of the morning. When she reckoned the time he +ought to have been back, she was seized with a still greater terror; she +wished to forget all dates and the very names of the days. + +Usually there is some information concerning the wrecks off Iceland; +those who return have seen the tragedy from afar, or else have found +some wreckage or bodies, or have an indication to guess the rest. But +of the _Leopoldine_ nothing had been seen, and nothing was known. The +_Marie-Jeanne_ men, the last to have seen her, on the 2d of August, said +that she was to have gone on fishing farther towards the north, and, +beyond that, the secret was unfathomable. + +Waiting, always waiting, and knowing nothing! When would the time come +when she need wait no longer? She did not even know that; and, now, she +almost wished that it might be soon. + +Oh! if he were dead; let them at least have pity enough to tell her so! +Oh! to see her darling, as he was at this very moment, that is, what was +left him! If only the much-implored Virgin, or some other power, would +do her the blessing to show her, by second-sight, her beloved! either +living and working hard to return a rich man, or else as a corpse, +surrendered by the sea, so that she might at least know a certainty. + +Sometimes she was seized with the thought of a ship appearing suddenly +upon the horizon; the _Leopoldine_ hastening home. Then she would +suddenly make an irreflected movement to rise, and rush to look out at +the ocean, to see whether it were true. + +But she would fall back. Alas! where was this _Leopoldine_ now? Where +could she be? Out afar, at that awful distance of Iceland, forsaken, +crushed, and lost. + +All ended by a never-fading vision appearing to her--an empty, +sea-tossed wreck, slowly and gently rocked by the silent gray and +rose-streaked sea; almost with soft mockery, in the midst of the vast +calm of deadened waters. + + + +CHAPTER VIII--THE FALSE ALARM + +Two o'clock in the morning. + +It was at night, especially, that she kept attentive to approaching +footsteps; at the slightest rumour or unaccustomed noise her temples +vibrated; by dint of being strained to outward things, they had become +fearfully sensitive. + +Two o'clock in the morning. On this night as on others, with her hands +clasped and her eyes wide open in the dark, she listened to the wind, +sweeping in never-ending tumult over the heath. + +Suddenly a man's footsteps hurried along the path! At this hour who +would pass now? She drew herself up, stirred to the very soul, her heart +ceasing to beat. + +Some one stopped before the door, and came up the small stone steps. + +He!--O God!--he! Some one had knocked--it could be no other than he! She +was up now, barefooted; she, so feeble for the last few days, had sprung +up as nimbly as a kitten, with her arms outstretched to wind round her +darling. Of course the _Leopoldine_ had arrived at night, and anchored +in Pors-Even Bay, and he had rushed home; she arranged all this in her +mind with the swiftness of lightning. She tore the flesh off her fingers +in her excitement to draw the bolt, which had stuck. + +“Eh?” + +She slowly moved backward, as if crushed, her head falling on her bosom. +Her beautiful insane dream was over. She just could grasp that it was +not her husband, her Yann, and that nothing of him, substantial or +spiritual, had passed through the air; she felt plunged again into her +deep abyss, to the lowest depths of her terrible despair. + +Poor Fantec, for it was he, stammered many excuses, his wife was very +ill, and their child was stifling in its cot, suddenly attacked with a +malignant sore throat; so he had run over to beg for assistance on the +road to fetch the doctor from Paimpol. + +What did all this matter to her? She had gone mad in her own distress, +and could give no thoughts to the troubles of others. Huddled on a +bench, she remained before him with fixed, glazed eyes, like a dead +woman's; without listening to him or even answering at random or looking +at him. What to her was the speech the man was making? + +He understood it all; and guessed why the door had been opened so +quickly to him, and feeling pity for the pain he had unwittingly caused, +he stammered out an excuse. + +“Just so; he never had ought to have disturbed her--her in particular.” + +“I!” ejaculated Gaud, quickly, “why should I not be disturbed +particularly, Fantec?” + +Life had suddenly come back to her; for she did not wish to appear +in despair before others. Besides, she pitied him now; she dressed to +accompany him, and found the strength to go and see to his little child. + +At four o'clock in the morning, when she returned to throw herself on +the bed, sleep subdued her, for she was tired out. But that moment of +excessive joy had left an impression on her mind, which, in spite of +all, was permanent; she awoke soon with a shudder, rising a little +and partially recollecting--she knew not what. News had come to her +concerning her Yann. In the midst of her confusion of ideas, she +sought rapidly in her mind what it could be, but there was nothing save +Fantec's interruption. + +For the second time she fell back into her terrible abyss, nothing +changed in her morbid, hopeless waiting. + +Yet in that short, hopeful moment she had felt him so near to her, +that it was as if his spirit had floated over the sea unto her, what is +called a foretoken (_pressigne_) in Breton land; and she listened still +more attentively to the steps outside, trusting that some one might come +to her to speak of him. + +Just as the day broke Yann's father entered. He took off his cap, and +pushed back his splendid white locks, which were in curls like Yann's, +and sat down by Gaud's bedside. + +His heart ached fully, too, for Yann, his tall, handsome Yann, was his +first-born, his favourite and his pride; but he did not despair yet. He +comforted Gaud in his own blunt, affectionate way; to begin with, those +who had last returned from Iceland spoke of the increasing dense fogs +that might well have delayed the vessel; and then, too, an idea struck +him; they might possibly have stopped at the distant Faroe Islands on +their homeward course, whence letters were so long in travelling. This +had happened to him once forty years ago, and his own poor dead and gone +mother had had a mass said for his soul. The _Leopoldine_ was such a +good boat, next to new, and her crew were such able-bodied seamen. + +Granny Moan stood by them shaking her head; the distress of her +granddaughter had almost given her back her own strength and reason; she +tidied up the place, glancing from time to time at the faded portrait of +Sylvestre, which hung upon the granite wall with its anchor emblems and +mourning-wreath of black bead-work. Ever since the sea had robbed her of +her own last offspring she believed no longer in safe returns; she only +prayed through fear, bearing Heaven a grudge in the bottom of her heart. + +But Gaud listened eagerly to these consoling reasonings; her large +sunken eyes looked with deep tenderness out upon this old sire, who so +much resembled her beloved one; merely to have him near her was like +a hostage against death having taken the younger Gaos; and she felt +reassured, nearer to her Yann. Her tears fell softly and silently, and +she repeated again her passionate prayers to the “Star of the Sea.” + +A delay out at those islands to repair damages was a very likely event. +She rose and brushed her hair, and then dressed as if she might fairly +expect him. All then was not lost, if a seaman, his own father, did not +yet despair. And for a few days, she resumed looking out for him again. + +Autumn at last arrived, a late autumn too, its gloomy evenings making +all things appear dark in the old cottage, and all the land looked +sombre, too. + +The very daylight seemed crepuscular; immeasurable clouds, passing +slowly overhead, darkened the whole country at broad noon. The wind blew +constantly with the sound of a great cathedral organ at a distance, but +playing profane, despairing dirges; at other times the noise came close +to the door, like the howling of wild beasts. + +She had grown pale, aye, blanched, and bent more than ever, as if old +age had already touched her with its featherless wing. Often did she +finger the wedding clothes of her Yann, folding and unfolding them again +and again like some maniac, especially one of his blue woolen jerseys, +which still had preserved his shape; when she threw it gently on the +table, it fell with the shoulders and chest well defined; so she placed +it by itself on a shelf of their wardrobe, and left it there, so that it +might for ever rest unaltered. + +Every night the cold mists sank upon the land, as she gazed over the +depressing heath through her little window, and watched the paltry puffs +of white smoke arise from the chimneys of other cottages scattered here +and there on all sides. There the husbands had returned, like wandering +birds driven home by the frost. Before their blazing hearths the +evenings passed, cosy and warm; for the spring-time of love had begun +again in this land of North Sea fishermen. + +Still clinging to the thought of those islands where he might perhaps +have lingered, she was buoyed up by a kind hope and expected him home +any day. + + + +CHAPTER IX--WEDDED TO THE SEA + +But he never returned. One August night, out off gloomy Iceland, mingled +with the furious clamour of the sea, his wedding with the sea was +performed. It had been his nurse; it had rocked him in his babyhood, and +had afterward made him big and strong; then, in his superb manhood, +it had taken him back again for itself alone. Profoundest mystery had +surrounded this unhallowed union. While it went on, dark curtains hung +pall-like over it as if to conceal the ceremony, and the ghoul howled in +an awful deafening voice to stifle his cries. He, thinking of Gaud, his +sole, darling wife, had battled with giant strength against this deathly +rival, until he at last surrendered, with a deep death-cry like the roar +of a dying bull, through a mouth already filled with water; and his arms +were stretched apart and stiffened for ever. + +All those he had invited in days of old were present at his wedding. All +except Sylvestre, who had gone to sleep in the enchanted gardens far, +far away, at the other side of the earth. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of An Iceland Fisherman, by Pierre Loti + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ICELAND FISHERMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 2196-0.txt or 2196-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/9/2196/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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