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diff --git a/9616-h/9616-h.htm b/9616-h/9616-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3da1984 --- /dev/null +++ b/9616-h/9616-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7512 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Ramuntcho, by Pierre Loti + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ramuntcho, 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: Ramuntcho + +Author: Pierre Loti + +Translator: Henri Pene du Bois + +Release Date: June 16, 2009 [EBook #9616] +Last Updated: March 6, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAMUNTCHO *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + RAMUNTCHO + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Pierre Loti + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Henri Pene du Bois + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <b>PART I.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + PART I. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The sad curlews, annunciators of the autumn, had just appeared in a mass + in a gray squall, fleeing from the high sea under the threat of + approaching tempests. At the mouth of the southern rivers, of the Adour, + of the Nivelle, of the Bidassoa which runs by Spain, they wandered above + the waters already cold, flying low, skimming, with their wings over the + mirror-like surfaces. And their cries, at the fall of the October night, + seemed to ring the annual half-death of the exhausted plants. + </p> + <p> + On the Pyrenean lands, all bushes and vast woods, the melancholy of the + rainy nights of declining seasons fell slowly, enveloping like a shroud, + while Ramuntcho walked on the moss-covered path, without noise, shod with + rope soles, supple and silent in his mountaineer's tread. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho was coming on foot from a very long distance, ascending the + regions neighboring the Bay of Biscay, toward his isolated house which + stood above, in a great deal of shade, near the Spanish frontier. + </p> + <p> + Around the solitary passer-by, who went up so quickly without trouble and + whose march in sandals was not heard, distances more and more profound + deepened on all sides, blended in twilight and mist. + </p> + <p> + The autumn, the autumn marked itself everywhere. The corn, herb of the + lowlands, so magnificently green in the Spring, displayed shades of dead + straw in the depths of the valleys, and, on all the summits, beeches and + oaks shed their leaves. The air was almost cold; an odorous humidity came + out of the mossy earth and, at times, there came from above a light + shower. One felt it near and anguishing, that season of clouds and of long + rains, which returns every time with the same air of bringing the + definitive exhaustion of saps and irremediable death,—but which + passes like all things and which one forgets at the following spring. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere, in the wet of the leaves strewing the earth, in the wet of the + herbs long and bent, there was a sadness of death, a dumb resignation to + fecund decomposition. + </p> + <p> + But the autumn, when it comes to put an end to the plants, brings only a + sort of far-off warning to man, a little more durable, who resists several + winters and lets himself be lured several times by the charm of spring. + Man, in the rainy nights of October and of November, feels especially the + instinctive desire to seek shelter at home, to warm himself at the hearth, + under the roof which so many thousand years amassed have taught him + progressively to build.—And Ramuntcho felt awakening in the depths + of his being the old ancestral aspirations for the Basque home of the + country, the isolated home, unattached to the neighboring homes. He + hastened his steps the more toward the primitive dwelling where his mother + was waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + Here and there, one perceived them in the distance, indistinct in the + twilight, the Basque houses, very distant from one another, dots white or + grayish, now in the depth of some gorge steeped in darkness, then on some + ledge of the mountains with summits lost in the obscure sky. Almost + inconsequential are these human habitations, in the immense and confused + entirety of things; inconsequential and even annihilated quite, at this + hour, before the majesty of the solitude and of the eternal forest nature. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho ascended rapidly, lithe, bold and young, still a child, likely + to play on his road as little mountaineers play, with a rock, a reed, or a + twig that one whittles while walking. The air was growing sharper, the + environment harsher, and already he ceased to hear the cries of the + curlews, their rusty-pulley cries, on the rivers beneath. But Ramuntcho + was singing one of those plaintive songs of the olden time, which are + still transmitted in the depths of the distant lands, and his naive voice + went through the mist or the rain, among the wet branches of the oaks, + under the grand shroud, more and more sombre, of isolation, of autumn and + of night. + </p> + <p> + He stopped for an instant, pensive, to see a cart drawn by oxen pass at a + great distance above him. The cowboy who drove the slow team sang also; + through a bad and rocky path, they descended into a ravine bathed in + shadows already nocturnal. + </p> + <p> + And soon they disappeared in a turn of the path, masked suddenly by trees, + as if they had vanished in an abyss. Then Ramuntcho felt the grasp of an + unexpected melancholy, unexplained like most of his complex impressions, + and, with an habitual gesture, while he resumed his less alert march, he + brought down like a visor on his gray eyes, very sharp and very soft, the + crown of his woolen Basque cap. + </p> + <p> + Why?—What had to do with him this cart, this singing cowboy whom he + did not even know? Evidently nothing—and yet, for having seen them + disappear into a lodging, as they did doubtless every night, into some + farm isolated in a lowland, a more exact realization had come to him of + the humble life of the peasant, attached to the soil and to the native + field, of those human lives as destitute of joy as beasts of burden, but + with declines more prolonged and more lamentable. And, at the same time, + through his mind had passed the intuitive anxiety for other places, for + the thousand other things that one may see or do in this world and which + one may enjoy; a chaos of troubling half thoughts, of atavic reminiscences + and of phantoms had furtively marked themselves in the depths of his + savage child's mind— + </p> + <p> + For Ramuntcho was a mixture of two races very different and of two beings + separated, if one may say it, by an abyss of several generations. Created + by the sad fantasy of one of the refined personages of our dazzled epoch, + he had been inscribed at his birth as the “son of an unknown father” and + he bore no other name than that of his mother. So, he did not feel that he + was quite similar to his companions in games and healthy fatigues. + </p> + <p> + Silent for a moment, he walked less quickly toward his house, on the + deserted paths winding on the heights. In him, the chaos of other things, + of the luminous “other places”, of the splendors or of the terrors foreign + to his own life, agitated itself confusedly, trying to disentangle itself—But + no, all this, being indistinct and incomprehensible, remained formless in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + At last, thinking no more of it, he began to sing his song again. The song + told, in monotonous couplets, the complaint of a linen weaver whose lover + in a distant war prolonged his absence. It was written in that mysterious + Euskarian language, the age of which seems incalculable and the origin of + which remains unknown. And little by little, under the influence of the + ancient melody, of the wind and of the solitude, Ramuntcho found himself + as he was at the beginning of his walk, a simple Basque mountaineer, + sixteen or seventeen years old, formed like a man, but retaining the + ignorance and the candor of a little boy. + </p> + <p> + Soon he perceived Etchezar, his parish, its belfry massive as the dungeon + of a fortress; near the church, some houses were grouped; others, more + numerous, had preferred to be disseminated in the surroundings, among + trees, in ravines or on bluffs. The night fell entirely, hastily that + evening, because of the sombre veils hooked to the great summits. + </p> + <p> + Around this village, above or in the valleys, the Basque country appeared, + at that moment, like a confusion of gigantic, obscure masses. Long mists + disarranged the perspectives; all the distances, all the depths had become + inappreciable, the changing mountains seemed to have grown taller in the + nebulous phantasmagoria of night. The hour, one knew not why, became + strangely solemn, as if the shade of past centuries was to come out of the + soil. On the vast lifting-up which is called the Pyrenees, one felt + something soaring which was, perhaps, the finishing mind of that race, the + fragments of which have been preserved and to which Ramuntcho belonged by + his mother— + </p> + <p> + And the child, composed of two essences so diverse, who was walking alone + toward his dwelling, through the night and the rain, began again in the + depth of his double being to feel the anxiety of inexplicable + reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + At last he arrived in front of his house,—which was very elevated, + in the Basque fashion, with old wooden balconies under narrow windows, the + glass of which threw into the night the light of a lamp. As he came near + the entrance, the light noise of his walk became feebler in the thickness + of the dead leaves: the leaves of those plane-trees shaped like vaults + which, according to the usage of the land, form a sort of atrium before + each dwelling. + </p> + <p> + She recognized from afar the steps of her son, the serious Franchita, pale + and straight in her black clothes,—the one who formerly had loved + and followed the stranger; then, who, feeling her desertion approaching, + had returned courageously to the village in order to inhabit alone the + dilapidated house of her deceased parents. Rather than to live in the vast + city, and to be troublesome and a solicitor there, she had quickly + resolved to depart, to renounce everything, to make a simple Basque + peasant of that little Ramuntcho, who, at his entrance in life, had worn + gowns embroidered in white silk. + </p> + <p> + It was fifteen years ago, fifteen years, when she returned, clandestinely, + at a fall of night similar to this one. In the first days of this return, + dumb and haughty to her former companions from fear of their disdain, she + would go out only to go to church, her black cloth mantilla lowered on her + eyes. Then, at length, when curiosity was appeased, she had returned to + her habits, so valiantly and so irreproachably that all had forgiven her. + </p> + <p> + To greet and embrace her son she smiled with joy and tenderness, but, + silent by nature and reserved as both were, they said to each other only + what it was useful to say. + </p> + <p> + He sat at his accustomed place to eat the soup and the smoking dish which + she served to him without speaking. The room, carefully kalsomined, was + made gay by the sudden light of a flame of branches in the tall and wide + chimney ornamented with a festoon of white calico. In frames, hooked in + good order, there were images of Ramuntcho's first communion and different + figures of saints with Basque legends; then the Virgin of Pilar, the + Virgin of Anguish, and rosaries, and blessed palms. The kitchen utensils + shone, in a line on shelves sealed to the walls; every shelf ornamented + with one of those pink paper frills, cut in designs, which are + manufactured in Spain and on which are printed, invariably, series of + personages dancing with castanets, or scenes in the lives of the + toreadors. In this white interior, before this joyful and clear chimney, + one felt an impression of home, a tranquil welfare, which was augmented by + the notion of the vast, wet, surrounding night, of the grand darkness of + the valleys, of the mountains and of the woods. + </p> + <p> + Franchita, as every evening, looked long at her son, looked at him + embellishing and growing, taking more and more an air of decision and of + force, as his brown mustache was more and more marked above his fresh + lips. + </p> + <p> + When he had supped, eaten with his young mountaineer's appetite several + slices of bread and drunk two glasses of cider, he rose, saying: + </p> + <p> + “I am going to sleep, for we have to work tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed the mother, “and when are you to get up?” + </p> + <p> + “At one o'clock, as soon as the moon sets. They will whistle under the + window.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Bundles of silk and bundles of velvet.” + </p> + <p> + “With whom are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “The same as usual: Arrochkoa, Florentino and the Iragola brothers. It is, + as it was the other night, for Itchoua, with whom I have just made an + engagement. Good-night, mother—Oh, we shall not be out late and, + sure, I will be back before mass.” + </p> + <p> + Then, Franchita leaned her head on the solid shoulder of her son, in a + coaxing humor almost infantile, different suddenly from her habitual + manner, and, her cheek against his, she remained tenderly leaning, as if + to say in a confident abandonment of her will: “I am still troubled a + little by those night undertakings; but, when I reflect, what you wish is + always well; I am dependent on you, and you are everything—” + </p> + <p> + On the shoulder of the stranger, formerly, it was her custom to lean and + to abandon herself thus, in the time when she loved him. + </p> + <p> + When Ramuntcho had gone to his little room, she stayed thinking for a + longer time than usual before resuming her needlework. So, it became + decidedly his trade, this night work in which one risks receiving the + bullets of Spain's carbineers!—He had begun for amusement, in + bravado, like most of them, and as his friend Arrochkoa was beginning, in + the same band as he; then, little by little, he had made a necessity of + this continual adventure in dark nights; he deserted more and more, for + this rude trade, the open air workshop of the carpenter where she had + placed him as an apprentice to carve beams out of oak trunks. + </p> + <p> + And that was what he would be in life, her little Ramuntcho, so coddled + formerly in his white gown and for whom she had formed naively so many + dreams: a smuggler! Smuggler and pelota player,—two things which go + well together and which are essentially Basque. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated still, however, to let him follow that unexpected vocation. + Not in disdain for smugglers, oh, no, for her father had been a smuggler; + her two brothers also; the elder killed by a Spanish bullet in the + forehead, one night that he was swimming across the Bidassoa, the second a + refugee in America to escape the Bayonne prison; both respected for their + audacity and their strength. No, but he, Ramuntcho, the son of the + stranger, he, doubtless, might have had pretensions to lead a less harsh + life than these men if, in a hasty and savage moment, she had not + separated him from his father and brought him back to the Basque + mountains. In truth, he was not heartless, Ramuntcho's father; when, + fatally, he had wearied of her, he had made some efforts not to let her + see it and never would he have abandoned her with her child if, in her + pride, she had not quitted him. Perhaps it would be her duty to-day to + write to him, to ask him to think of his son— + </p> + <p> + And now the image of Gracieuse presented itself naturally to her mind, as + it did every time she thought of Ramuntcho's future. She was the little + betrothed whom she had been wishing for him for ten years. (In the + sections of country unacquainted with modern fashions, it is usual to + marry when very young and often to know and select one another for husband + and wife in the first years of life.) A little girl with hair fluffed in a + gold mist, daughter of a friend of her childhood, of a certain Dolores + Detcharry, who had been always conceited—and who had remained + contemptuous since the epoch of the great fault. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, the father's intervention in the future of Ramuntcho would have + a decisive influence in obtaining the hand of that girl—and would + permit even of asking it of Dolores with haughtiness, after the ancient + quarrel. But Franchita felt a great uneasiness in her, increasing as the + thought of addressing herself to that man became more precise. And then, + she recalled the look, so often sombre, of the stranger, she recalled his + vague words of infinite lassitude, of incomprehensible despair; he had the + air of seeing always, beyond her horizon, distant abysses and darkness, + and, although he was not an insulter of sacred things, never would he + pray, thus giving to her this excess of remorse, of having allied herself + to some pagan to whom heaven would be closed forever. His friends were + similar to him, refined also, faithless, prayerless, exchanging among + themselves in frivolous words abysmal thoughts.—Oh, if Ramuntcho by + contact with them were to become similar to them all!—desert the + churches, fly from the sacraments and the mass!—Then, she remembered + the letters of her old father,—now decomposed in the profound earth, + under a slab of granite, near the foundations of his parish church—those + letters in Euskarian tongue which he wrote to her, after the first months + of indignation and of silence, in the city where she had dragged her + fault. “At least, my poor Franchita, my daughter, are you in a country + where the men are pious and go to church regularly?—” Oh! no, they + were hardly pious, the men of the great city, not more the fashionable + ones who were in the society of Ramuntcho's father than the humblest + laborers in the suburban district where she lived hidden; all carried away + by the same current far from the hereditary dogmas, far from the antique + symbols.—And Ramuntcho, in such surroundings, how would he resist?— + </p> + <p> + Other reasons, less important perhaps, retained her also. Her haughty + dignity, which in that city had maintained her honest and solitary, + revolted truly at the idea that she would have to reappear as a solicitor + before her former lover. Then, her superior commonsense, which nothing had + ever been able to lead astray or to dazzle, told her that it was too late + now to change anything; that Ramuntcho, until now ignorant and free, would + not know how to attain the dangerous regions where the intelligence of his + father had elevated itself, but that he would languish at the bottom, like + one outclassed. And, in fine, a sentiment which she hardly confessed to + herself, lingered powerfully in the depths of her heart: the fear of + losing her son, of guiding him no longer, of holding him no longer, of + having him no longer.—And so, in that instant of decisive + reflection, after having hesitated for years, she inclined more and more + to remain stubborn in her silence with regard to the stranger and to let + pass humbly near her the life of her Ramuntcho, under the protecting looks + of the Virgin and the saints.—There remained unsolved the question + of Gracieuse Detcharry.—Well, she would marry, in spite of + everything, her son, smuggler and poor though he be! With her instinct of + a mother somewhat savagely loving, she divined that the little girl was + enamoured enough not to fall out of love ever; she had seen this in her + fifteen year old black eyes, obstinate and grave under the golden nimbus + of her hair. Gracieuse marrying Ramuntcho for his charm alone, in spite of + and against maternal will!—The rancor and vindictiveness that lurked + in the mind of Franchita rejoiced suddenly at that great triumph over the + pride of Dolores. + </p> + <p> + Around the isolated house where, under the grand silence of midnight, she + decided alone her son's future, the spirit of the Basque ancestors passed, + sombre and jealous also, disdainful of the stranger, fearful of impiety, + of changes, of evolutions of races;—the spirit of the Basque + ancestors, the old immutable spirit which still maintains that people with + eyes turned toward the anterior ages; the mysterious antique spirit by + which the children are led to act as before them their fathers had acted, + at the side of the same mountains, in the same villages, around the same + belfries.— + </p> + <p> + The noise of steps now, in the dark, outside!—Someone walking softly + in sandals on the thickness of the plane-tree leaves strewing the soil.—Then, + a whistled appeal.— + </p> + <p> + What, already!—Already one o'clock in the morning—! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Quite resolved now, she opened the door to the chief smuggler with a +smile of greeting that the latter had never seen in her: + + “Come in, Itchoua,” she said, “warm yourself—while I go wake up my +son.” + </pre> + <p> + A tall and large man, that Itchoua, thin, with a thick chest, clean shaven + like a priest, in accordance with the fashion of the old time Basque; + under the cap which he never took off, a colorless face, inexpressive, cut + as with a pruning hook, and recalling the beardless personages archaically + drawn on the missals of the fifteenth century. Above his hollow cheeks, + the breadth of the jaws, the jutting out of the muscles of the neck gave + the idea of his extreme force. He was of the Basque type, excessively + accentuated; eyes caved-in too much under the frontal arcade; eyebrows of + rare length, the points of which, lowered as on the figures of tearful + madonnas, almost touched the hair at the temples. Between thirty and fifty + years, it was impossible to assign an age to him. His name was Jose-Maria + Gorosteguy; but, according to the custom he was known in the country by + the surname of Itchoua (the Blind) given to him in jest formerly, because + of his piercing sight which plunged in the night like that of cats. He was + a practising Christian, a church warden of his parish and a chorister with + a thundering voice. He was famous also for his power of resistance to + fatigue, being capable of climbing the Pyrenean slopes for hours at racing + speed with heavy loads on his back. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho came down soon, rubbing his eyelids, still heavy from a youthful + sleep, and, at his aspect, the gloomy visage of Itchoua was illuminated by + a smile. A continual seeker for energetic and strong boys that he might + enroll in his band, and knowing how to keep them in spite of small wages, + by a sort of special point of honor, he was an expert in legs and in + shoulders as well as in temperaments, and he thought a great deal of his + new recruit. + </p> + <p> + Franchita, before she would let them go, leaned her head again on her + son's neck; then she escorted the two men to the threshold of her door, + opened on the immense darkness,—and recited piously the Pater for + them, while they went into the dark night, into the rain, into the chaos + of the mountains, toward the obscure frontier. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Several hours later, at the first uncertain flush of dawn, at the instant + when shepherds and fisherman awake, they were returning joyously, the + smugglers, having finished their undertaking. + </p> + <p> + Having started on foot and gone, with infinite precautions to be silent, + through ravines, through woods, through fords of rivers, they were + returning, as if they were people who had never anything to conceal from + anybody, in a bark of Fontarabia, hired under the eyes of Spain's custom + house officers, through the Bidassoa river. + </p> + <p> + All the mass of mountains and of clouds, all the sombre chaos of the + preceding night had disentangled itself almost suddenly, as under the + touch of a magic wand. The Pyrenees, returned to their real proportions, + were only average mountains, with slopes bathed in a shadow still + nocturnal, but with peaks neatly cut in a sky which was already clearing. + The air had become lukewarm, suave, exquisite, as if the climate or the + season had suddenly changed,—and it was the southern wind which was + beginning to blow, the delicious southern wind special to the Basque + country, which chases before it, the cold, the clouds and the mists, which + enlivens the shades of all things, makes the sky blue, prolongs the + horizons infinitely and gives, even in winter, summer illusions. + </p> + <p> + The boatman who was bringing the smugglers back to France pushed the + bottom of the river with his long pole, and the bark dragged, half + stranded. At this moment, that Bidassoa by which the two countries are + separated, seemed drained, and its antique bed, excessively large, had the + flat extent of a small desert. + </p> + <p> + The day was decidedly breaking, tranquil and slightly pink. It was the + first of the month of November; on the Spanish shore, very distant, in a + monastery, an early morning bell rang clear, announcing the religious + solemnity of every autumn. And Ramuntcho, comfortably seated in the bark, + softly cradled and rested after the fatigues of the night, breathed the + new breeze with well-being in all his senses. With a childish joy, he saw + the assurance of a radiant weather for that All-Saints' Day which was to + bring to him all that he knew of this world's festivals: the chanted high + mass, the game of pelota before the assembled village, then, at last, the + dance of the evening with Gracieuse, the fandango in the moon-light on the + church square. + </p> + <p> + He lost, little by little, the consciousness of his physical life, + Ramuntcho, after his sleepless night; a sort of torpor, benevolent under + the breath of the virgin morning, benumbed his youthful body, leaving his + mind in a dream. He knew well such impressions and sensations, for the + return at the break of dawn, in the security of a bark where one sleeps, + is the habitual sequel of a smuggler's expedition. + </p> + <p> + And all the details of the Bidassoa's estuary were familiar to him, all + its aspects, which changed with the hour, with the monotonous and regular + tide.—Twice every day the sea wave comes to this flat bed; then, + between France and Spain there is a lake, a charming little sea with + diminutive blue waves—and the barks float, the barks go quickly; the + boatmen sing their old time songs, which the grinding and the shocks of + the cadenced oars accompany. But when the waters have withdrawn, as at + this moment, there remains between the two countries only a sort of + lowland, uncertain and of changing color, where walk men with bare legs, + where barks drag themselves, creeping. + </p> + <p> + They were now in the middle of this lowland, Ramuntcho and his band, half + dozing under the dawning light. The colors of things began to appear, out + of the gray of night. They glided, they advanced by slight jerks, now + through yellow velvet which was sand, then through a brown thing, striped + regularly and dangerous to walkers, which was slime. And thousands of + little puddles, left by the tide of the day before, reflected the dawn, + shone on the soft extent like mother-of-pearl shells. On the little yellow + and brown desert, their boatman followed the course of a thin, silver + stream, which represented the Bidassoa at low tide. From time to time, + some fisherman crossed their path, passed near them in silence, without + singing as the custom is in rowing, too busy poling, standing in his bark + and working his pole with beautiful plastic gestures. + </p> + <p> + While they were day-dreaming, they approached the French shore, the + smugglers. On the other side of the strange zone which they were + traversing as in a sled, that silhouette of an old city, which fled from + them slowly, was Fontarabia; those highlands which rose to the sky with + figures so harsh, were the Spanish Pyrenees. All this was Spain, + mountainous Spain, eternally standing there in the face of them and + incessantly preoccupying their minds: a country which one must reach in + silence, in dark nights, in nights without moonlight, under the rain of + winter; a country which is the perpetual aim of dangerous expeditions; a + country which, for the men of Ramuntcho's village, seems always to close + the southwestern horizon, while it changes in appearance according to the + clouds and the hours; a country which is the first to be lighted by the + pale sun of mornings and which masks afterward, like a sombre screen the + red sun of evenings.— + </p> + <p> + He adored his Basque land, Ramuntcho,—and this morning was one of + the times when this adoration penetrated him more profoundly. In his after + life, during his exile, the reminiscence of these delightful returns at + dawn, after the nights of smuggling, caused in him an indescribable and + very anguishing nostalgia. But his love for the hereditary soil was not as + simple as that of his companions. As in all his sentiments, as in all his + sensations, there were mingled in it diverse elements. At first the + instinctive and unanalyzed attachment of his maternal ancestors to the + native soil, then something more refined coming from his father, an + unconscious reflection of the artistic admiration which had retained the + stranger here for several seasons and had given to him the caprice of + allying himself with a girl of these mountains in order to obtain a Basque + descendance.— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + It is eleven o'clock now, and the bells of France and Spain mingle above + the frontier their religious festival vibrations. + </p> + <p> + Bathed, rested, and in Sunday dress, Ramuntcho was going with his mother + to the high mass of All-Saints' Day. On the path, strewn with reddish + leaves, they descended toward their parish, under a warm sun which gave to + them the illusion of summer. + </p> + <p> + He, dressed in a manner almost elegant and like a city denizen, save for + the traditional Basque cap, which he wore on the side and pulled down like + a visor over his childish eyes. She, straight and proud, her head high, + her demeanor distinguished, in a gown of new form; having the air of a + society woman, except for the mantilla; made of black cloth, which covered + her hair and her shoulders. In the great city formerly she had learned how + to dress—and anyway, in the Basque country, where so many ancient + traditions have been preserved, the women and the girls of the least + important villages have all taken the habit of dressing in the fashion of + the day, with an elegance unknown to the peasants of the other French + provinces. + </p> + <p> + They separated, as etiquette ordains, in the yard of the church, where the + immense cypress trees smelled of the south and the Orient. It resembled a + mosque from the exterior, their parish, with its tall, old, ferocious + walls, pierced at the top only by diminutive windows, with its warm color + of antiquity, of dust and of sun. + </p> + <p> + While Franchita entered by one of the lower doors, Ramuntcho went up a + venerable stone stairway which led one from the exterior wall to the high + tribunes reserved for men. + </p> + <p> + The extremity of the sombre church was of dazzling old gold, with a + profusion of twisted columns, of complicated entablements, of statues with + excessive convolutions and with draperies in the style of the Spanish + Renaissance. And this magnificence of the tabernacle was in contrast with + the simplicity of the lateral walls, simply kalsomined. But an air of + extreme old age harmonized these things, which one felt were accustomed + for centuries to endure in the face of one another. + </p> + <p> + It was early still, and people were hardly arriving for this high mass. + Leaning on the railing of his tribune, Ramuntcho looked at the women + entering, all like black phantoms, their heads and dress concealed under + the mourning cashmere which it is usual to wear at church. Silent and + collected, they glided on the funereal pavement of mortuary slabs, where + one could read still, in spite of the effacing of ages, inscriptions in + Euskarian tongue, names of extinguished families and dates of past + centuries. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse, whose coming preoccupied Ramuntcho, was late. But, to distract + his mind for a moment, a “convoy” advanced slowly; a convoy, that is a + parade of parents and nearest neighbors of one who had died during the + week, the men still draped in the long cape which is worn at funerals, the + women under the mantle and the traditional hood of full mourning. + </p> + <p> + Above, in the two immense tribunes superposed along the sides of the nave, + the men came one by one to take their places, grave and with rosaries in + their hands: farmers, laborers, cowboys, poachers or smugglers, all pious + and ready to kneel when the sacred bell rang. Each one of them, before + taking his seat, hooked behind him, to a nail on the wall, his woolen cap, + and little by little, on the white background of the kalsomine, came into + line rows of innumerable Basque headgear. + </p> + <p> + Below, the little girls of the school entered at last, in good order, + escorted by the Sisters of Saint Mary of the Rosary. And, among these + nuns, wrapped in black, Ramuntcho recognized Gracieuse. She, too, had her + head enveloped with black; her blonde hair, which to-night would be + flurried in the breeze of the fandango, was hidden for the moment under + the austere mantilla of the ceremony. Gracieuse had not been a scholar for + two years, but was none the less the intimate friend of the sisters, her + teachers, ever in their company for songs, novenas, or decorations of + white flowers around the statues of the Holy Virgin.—Then, the + priests, in their most sumptuous costumes, appeared in front of the + magnificent gold of the tabernacle, on a platform elevated and theatrical, + and the mass began, celebrated, in this distant village, with excessive + pomp as in a great city. There were choirs of small boys chanting in + infantile voices with a savage ardor. Then choruses of little girls, whom + a sister accompanied at the harmonium and which the clear and fresh voice + of Gracieuse guided. From time to time a clamor came, like a storm, from + the tribunes above where the men were, a formidable response animated the + old vaults, the old sonorous wainscoting, which for centuries have + vibrated with the same song.— + </p> + <p> + To do the same things which for numberless ages the ancestors have done + and to tell blindly the same words of faith, are indications of supreme + wisdom, are a supreme force. For all the faithful who sang there came from + this immutable ceremony of the mass a sort of peace, a confused but soft + resignation to coming destruction. Living of the present hour, they lost a + little of their ephemeral personality to attach themselves better to the + dead lying under the slabs and to continue them more exactly, to form with + them and their future descendants only one of these resisting entireties, + of almost infinite duration, which is called a race. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + “Ite missa est!” The high mass is finished and the antique church is + emptying. Outside, in the yard, among the tombs, the assistants scatter. + And all the joy of a sunny noon greets them, as they come out of the + sombre nave where each, according to his naive faculties, had caught more + or less a glimpse of the great mystery and of the inevitable death. + </p> + <p> + Wearing all the uniform national cap, the men come down the exterior + stairway; the women, slower to be captivated by the lure of the blue sky, + retaining still under the mourning veil a little of the dream of the + church, come out of the lower porticoes in black troops; around a grave + freshly closed, some stop and weep. + </p> + <p> + The southern wind, which is the great magician of the Basque country, + blows softly. The autumn of yesterday has gone and it is forgotten. + Lukewarm breaths pass through the air, vivifying, healthier than those of + May, having the odor of hay and the odor of flowers. Two singers of the + highway are there, leaning on the graveyard wall, and they intone, with a + tambourine and a guitar, an old seguidilla of Spain, bringing here the + warm and somewhat Arabic gaieties of the lands beyond the frontiers. + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of all this intoxication of the southern November, more + delicious in this country than the intoxication of the spring, Ramuntcho, + having come down one of the first, watches the coming out of the sisters + in order to greet Gracieuse. + </p> + <p> + The sandal peddler has come also to this closing of the mass, and displays + among the roses of the tombs his linen foot coverings ornamented with + woolen flowers. Young men, attracted by the dazzling embroideries, gather + around him to select colors. + </p> + <p> + The bees and the flies buzz as in June; the country has become again, for + a few hours, for a few days, for as long as this wind will blow, luminous + and warm. In front of the mountains, which have assumed violent brown or + sombre green tints, and which seem to have advanced to-day until they + overhang the church, houses of the village appear in relief, very neat, + very white under their coat of kalsomine,—old Pyrenean houses with + their wooden balconies and on their walls intercrossings of beams in the + fashion of the olden time. In the southwest, the visible portion of Spain, + the denuded and red peak familiar to smugglers, stands straight and near + in the beautiful clear sky. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse does not appear yet, retarded doubtless by the nuns in some + altar service. As for Franchita, who never mingles in the Sunday + festivals, she takes the path to her house, silent and haughty, after a + smile to her son, whom she will not see again until to-night after the + dances have come to an end. + </p> + <p> + A group of young men, among whom is the vicar who has just taken off his + golden ornaments, forms itself at the threshold of the church, in the sun, + and seems to be plotting grave projects.—They are the great players + of the country, the fine flower of the lithe and the strong; it is for the + pelota game of the afternoon that they are consulting, and they make a + sign to Ramuntcho who pensively comes to them. Several old men come also + and surround them, caps crushed on white hair and faces clean shaven like + those of monks: champions of the olden time, still proud of their former + successes, and sure that their counsel shall be respected in the national + game, which the men here attend with pride as on a field of honor.—After + a courteous discussion, the game is arranged; it will be immediately after + vespers; they will play the “blaid” with the wicker glove, and the six + selected champions, divided into two camps, shall be the vicar, Ramuntcho + and Arrochkoa, Gracieuse's brother, against three famous men of the + neighboring villages: Joachim of Mendiazpi; Florentino of Espelette, and + Irrubeta of Hasparren— + </p> + <p> + Now comes the “convoy”, which comes out of the church and passes by them, + so black in this feast of light, and so archaic, with the envelope of its + capes, of its caps and of its veils. They are expressive of the Middle + Age, these people, while they pass in a file, the Middle Age whose shadow + the Basque country retains. And they express, above all, death, as the + large funereal slabs, with which the nave is paved, express it, as the + cypress trees and the tombs express it, and all the things in this place, + where the men come to pray, express it: death, always death.—But a + death very softly neighboring life, under the shield of the old consoling + symbols—for life is there marked also, almost equally sovereign, in + the warm rays which light up the cemetery, in the eyes of the children who + play among the roses of autumn, in the smile of those beautiful brown + girls who, the mass being finished, return with steps indolently supple + toward the village; in the muscles of all this youthfulness of men, alert + and vigorous, who shall soon exercise at the ball-game their iron legs and + arms.—And of this group of old men and of boys at the threshold of a + church, of this mingling, so peacefully harmonious, of death and of life, + comes the benevolent lesson, the teaching that one must enjoy in time + strength and love; then, without obstinacy in enduring, submit to the + universal law of passing and dying, repeating with confidence, like these + simple-minded and wise men, the same prayers by which the agonies of the + ancestors were cradled.— + </p> + <p> + It is improbably radiant, the sun of noon in this yard of the dead. The + air is exquisite and one becomes intoxicated by breathing it. The Pyrenean + horizons have been swept of their clouds, their least vapors, and it seems + as if the wind of the south had brought here the limpidities of Andalusia + or of Africa. + </p> + <p> + The Basque guitar and tambourine accompany the sung seguilla, which the + beggars of Spain throw, like a slight irony into this lukewarm breeze, + above the dead. And boys and girls think of the fandango of to-night, feel + ascending in them the desire and the intoxication of dancing.— + </p> + <p> + At last here come the sisters, so long expected by Ramuntcho; with them + advance Gracieuse and her mother, Dolores, who is still in widow's weeds, + her face invisible under a black cape closed by a crape veil. + </p> + <p> + What can this Dolores be plotting with the Mother Superior?—Ramuntcho, + knowing that these two women are enemies, is astonished and disquiet + to-day to see them walk side by side. Now they even stop to talk aside, so + important and secret doubtless is what they are saying; their similar + black caps, overhanging like wagon-hoods, touch each other and they talk + sheltered under them; a whispering of phantoms, one would say, under a + sort of little black vault.—And Ramuntcho has the sentiment of + something hostile plotted against him under these two wicked caps. + </p> + <p> + When the colloquy comes to an end, he advances, touches his cap for a + salute, awkward and timid suddenly in presence of this Dolores, whose + harsh look under the veil he divines. This woman is the only person in the + world who has the power to chill him, and, never elsewhere than in her + presence, he feels weighing upon him the blemish of being the child of an + unknown father, of wearing no other name than that of his mother. + </p> + <p> + To-day, however, to his great surprise, she is more cordial than usual, + and she says with a voice almost amiable: “Good-morning, my boy!” Then he + goes to Gracieuse, to ask her with a brusque anxiety: “To-night, at eight + o'clock, say if you will be on the square to dance with me?” + </p> + <p> + For some time, every Sunday had brought to him the same fear of being + deprived of dancing with her in the evening. In the week he hardly ever + saw her. Now that he was becoming a man, the only occasion for him to have + her company was this ball on the green of the square, in the light of the + stars or of the moon. + </p> + <p> + They had fallen in love with each other five years ago, Ramuntcho and + Gracieuse, when they were still children. And such loves, when by chance + the awakening of the senses confirms instead of destroying them, become in + young heads something sovereign and exclusive. + </p> + <p> + They had never thought of saying this to each other, they knew it so well; + never had they talked together of the future which did not appear possible + to one without the other. And the isolation of this mountain village where + they lived, perhaps also the hostility of Dolores to their naive, + unexpressed projects, brought them more closely together— + </p> + <p> + “To-night, at eight o'clock, say if you will be on the square to dance + with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—” replies the little girl, fixing on her friend eyes of + sadness, a little frightened, as well as of ardent tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Sure?” asked Ramuntcho again, whom these eyes make anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sure!” + </p> + <p> + So, he is quieted again this time, knowing that if Gracieuse has said and + decided something one may count on it. And at once the weather seems to + him more beautiful, the Sunday more amusing, life more charming— + </p> + <p> + The dinner hour calls the Basques now to the houses or to the inns, and, + under the light, somewhat gloomy, of the noon sun, the village seems + deserted. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho goes to the cider mill which the smugglers and pelota players + frequent. There, he sits at a table, his cap still drawn over his eyes, + with his friends: Arrochkoa, two or three others of the mountains and the + somber Itchoua, their chief. + </p> + <p> + A festive meal is prepared for them, with fish of the Nivelle, ham and + hares. In the foreground of the hall, vast and dilapidated, near the + windows, are the tables, the oak benches on which they are seated; in the + background, in a penumbra, are the enormous casks filled with new cider. + </p> + <p> + In this band of Ramuntcho, which is there entire, under the piercing eye + of its chief, reigns an emulation of audacity and a reciprocal, fraternal + devotion; during their night expeditions especially, they are all one to + live or to die. + </p> + <p> + Leaning heavily, benumbed in the pleasure of resting after the fatigues of + the night and concentrated in the expectation of satiating their robust + hunger, they are silent at first, hardly raising their heads to look + through the window-panes at the passing girls. Two are very young, almost + children like Ramuntcho: Arrochkoa and Florentino. The others have, like + Itchoua, hardened faces, eyes in ambuscade under the frontal arcade, + expressing no certain age; their aspect reveals a past of fatigues, in the + unreasonable obstinacy to pursue this trade of smuggling, which hardly + gives bread to the less skilful. + </p> + <p> + Then, awakened little by little by the smoking dishes, by the sweet cider, + they talk; soon their words interlace, light, rapid and sonorous, with an + excessive rolling of the <i>r</i>. They talk in their mysterious language, + the origin of which is unknown and which seems to the men of the other + countries in Europe more distant than Mongolian or Sanskrit. They tell + stories of the night and of the frontier, stratagems newly invented and + astonishing deceptions of Spanish carbineers. Itchoua, the chief, listens + more than he talks; one hears only at long intervals his profound voice of + a church singer vibrate. Arrochkoa, the most elegant of all, is in + striking contrast with his comrades of the mountain. (His name was Jean + Detcharry, but he was known only by his surname, which the elders of his + family transmitted from father to son for centuries.) A smuggler for his + pleasure, he, without any necessity, and possessing beautiful lands in the + sunlight; the face fresh and pretty, the blonde mustache turned up in the + fashion of cats, the eye feline also, the eye caressing and fleeting; + attracted by all that succeeds, by all that amuses, by all that shines; + liking Ramuntcho for his triumphs in the ball-game, and quite disposed to + give to him the hand of his sister, Gracieuse, even if it were only to + oppose his mother, Dolores. And Florentino, the other great friend of + Ramuntcho is, on the contrary, the humblest of the band; an athletic, + reddish fellow, with wide and low forehead, with good eyes of resignation, + soft as those of beasts of burden; without father or mother, possessing + nothing in the world except a threadbare costume and three pink cotton + shirts; unique lover of a little fifteen year old orphan, as poor as he + and as primitive. + </p> + <p> + At last Itchoua deigns to talk in his turn. He relates, in a tone of + mystery and of confidence, a certain tale of the time of his youth, in a + black night, on the Spanish territory, in the gorges of Andarlaza. Seized + by two carbineers at the turn in a dark path, he had disengaged himself by + drawing his knife to stab a chest with it: half a second, a resisting + flesh, then, crack! the blade entering brusquely, a jet of warm blood on + his hand, the man fallen, and he, fleeing in the obscure rocks— + </p> + <p> + And the voice which says these things with implacable tranquility, is the + same which for years sings piously every Sunday the liturgy in the old + sonorous church,—so much so that it seems to retain a religious and + almost sacred character—! + </p> + <p> + “When you are caught”—adds the speaker, scrutinizing them all with + his eyes, become piercing again—“When you are caught—What is + the life of a man worth in such a case? You would not hesitate, either, I + suppose, if you were caught—?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure not,” replied Arrochkoa, in a tone of infantile bravado, “Sure not! + In such a case to take the life of a carabinero no one would hesitate!—” + </p> + <p> + The debonair Florentino, turned from Itchoua his disapproving eyes. + Florentino would hesitate; he would not kill. This is divined in the + expression of his face. + </p> + <p> + “You would not hesitate,” repeated Itchoua, scrutinizing Ramuntcho this + time in a special manner; “you would not hesitate, either, I suppose, if + you were caught, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” replied Ramuntcho, submissively. “Oh, no, surely—” + </p> + <p> + But his look, like that of Florentino, has turned from Itchoua. A terror + comes to him of this man, of this imperious and cold influence, so + completely felt already; an entire soft and refined side of his nature is + awakened, made disquiet and in revolt. + </p> + <p> + Silence has followed the tale, and Itchoua, discontented with the effect + of it, proposes a song in order to change the course of ideas. + </p> + <p> + The purely material well-being which comes after dinner, the cider which + has been drunk, the cigarettes which are lighted and the songs that begin, + bring back quickly confident joy in these children's heads. And then, + there are in the band the two brothers Iragola, Marcos and Joachim, young + men of the mountain above Mendiazpi, who are renowned extemporary speakers + in the surrounding country and it is a pleasure to hear them, on any + subject, compose and sing verses which are so pretty. + </p> + <p> + “Let us see,” says Itchoua, “you, Marcos, are a sailor who wishes to pass + his life on the ocean and seek fortune in America; you, Joachim, are a + farm hand who prefers not to quit his village and his soil here. Each of + you will discuss alternately, in couplets of equal length, the pleasures + of his trade to the tune—to the tune of the 'Iru Damacho'. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other, the two brothers, half turned toward each other + on the oak bench where they sit; an instant of reflection, during which an + imperceptible agitation of the eyelids alone betrays the working of their + minds; then, brusquely Marcos, the elder, begins, and they will never + stop. With their shaven cheeks, their handsome profiles, their chins which + advance somewhat imperiously above the powerful muscles of the neck, they + recall, in their grave immobility, the figures engraved on the Roman + medals. They sing with a certain effort of the throat, like the muezzins + in the mosques, in high tones. When one has finished his couplet, without + a second of hesitation or silence, the other begins; more and more their + minds are animated and inflamed. Around the smugglers' table many other + caps have gathered and all listen with admiration to the witty or sensible + things which the two brothers know how to say, ever with the needed + cadence and rhyme. + </p> + <p> + At the twentieth stanza, at last, Itchoua interrupts them to make them + rest and he orders more cider. + </p> + <p> + “How have you learned?” asked Ramuntcho of the Iragola brothers. “How did + the knack come to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” replies Marcos, “it is a family trait, as you must know. Our father, + our grandfather were extemporary composers who were heard with pleasure in + all the festivals of the Basque country, and our mother also was the + daughter of a grand improvisator of the village of Lesaca. And then, every + evening in taking back the oxen or in milking the cows, we practice, or at + the fireside on winter nights. Yes, every evening, we make compositions in + this way on subjects which one of us imagines, and it is our greatest + pleasure—” + </p> + <p> + But when Florentino's turn to sing comes he, knowing only the old refrains + of the mountain, intones in an Arabic falsetto voice the complaint of the + linen weaver; and then Ramuntcho, who had sung it the day before in the + autumn twilight, sees again the darkened sky of yesterday, the clouds full + of rain, the cart drawn by oxen going down into a sad and closed valley, + toward a solitary farm—and suddenly the unexplained anguish returns + to him, the one which he had before; the fear of living and of passing + thus always in these same villages, under the oppression of these same + mountains; the notion and the confused desire for other places; the + anxiety for unknown distances—His eyes, become lifeless and fixed, + look inwardly; for several strange minutes he feels that he is an exile, + from what country he does not know, disinherited, of what he does not + know, sad in the depths of his soul; between him and the men who surround + him have come suddenly irreducible, hereditary barriers— + </p> + <p> + Three o'clock. It is the hour when vespers, the last office of the day, + comes to an end; the hour when leave the church, in a meditation grave as + that of the morning, all the mantillas of black cloth concealing the + beautiful hair of the girls and the form of their waists, all the woolen + caps similarly lowered on the shaven faces of men, on their eyes piercing + or somber, still plunged in the old time dreams. + </p> + <p> + It is the hour when the games are to begin, the dances, the pelota and the + fandango. All this is traditional and immutable. + </p> + <p> + The light of the day becomes more golden, one feels the approach of night. + The church, suddenly empty, forgotten, where persists the odor of incense, + becomes full of silence, and the old gold of the background shines + mysteriously in the midst of more shade; silence also is scattered around + on the tranquil enclosure of the dead, where the folks this time passed + without stopping, in their haste to go elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + On the square of the ball-game, people are beginning to arrive from + everywhere, from the village itself and from the neighboring hamlets, from + the huts of the shepherds or of the smugglers who perch above, on the + harsh mountains. Hundreds of Basque caps, all similar, are now reunited, + ready to judge the players, to applaud or to murmur; they discuss the + chances, comment upon the relative strength of the players and make big + bets of money. And young girls, young women gather also, having nothing of + the awkwardness of the peasants in other provinces of France, elegant, + refined, graceful in costumes of the new fashions; some wearing on their + hair the silk kerchief, rolled and arranged like a small cap; others + bareheaded, their hair dressed in the most modern manner; most of them + pretty, with admirable eyes and very long eyebrows—This square, + always solemn and ordinarily somewhat sad, is filled to-day, Sunday, with + a lively and gay crowd. + </p> + <p> + The most insignificant hamlet in the Basque country has a square for the + ball-game, large, carefully kept, in general near the church, under oaks. + </p> + <p> + But here, this is a central point and something like the Conservatory of + French ball-players, of those who become celebrated, in South America as + well as in the Pyrenees, and who, in the great international games, oppose + the champions of Spain. So the place is particularly beautiful and + pompous, surprising in so distant a village. It is paved with large + stones, between which grass grows expressing its antiquity and giving to + it an air of being abandoned. On the two sides are extended, for the + spectators, long benches—made of the red granite of the neighboring + mountain and, at this moment, all overgrown with autumn scabwort. + </p> + <p> + And in the back, the old monumental wall rises, against which the balls + will strike. It has a rounded front which seems to be the silhouette of a + dome and bears this inscription, half effaced by time: “Blaidka haritzea + debakatua.” (The blaid game is forbidden.) + </p> + <p> + Still, the day's game is to be the blaid; but the venerable inscription + dates from the time of the splendor of the national game, degenerated at + present, as all things degenerate. It had been placed there to preserve + the tradition of the “rebot”, a more difficult game, exacting more agility + and strength, and which has been perpetuated only in the Spanish province + of Guipuzcoa. + </p> + <p> + While the graded benches are filling up, the paved square, which the grass + makes green, and which has seen the lithe and the vigorous men of the + country run since the days of old, remains empty. The beautiful autumn + sun, at its decline, warms and lights it. Here and there some tall oaks + shed their leaves above the seated spectators. Beyond are the high church + and the cypress trees, the entire sacred corner, from which the saints and + the dead seem to be looking at a distance, protecting the players, + interested in this game which is the passion still of an entire race and + characterises it— + </p> + <p> + At last they enter the arena, the Pelotaris, the six champions among whom + is one in a cassock: the vicar of the parish. With him are some other + personages: the crier, who, in an instant, will sing the points; the five + judges, selected among the experts of different villages to intervene in + cases of litigation, and some others carrying extra balls and sandals. At + the right wrist the players attach with thongs a strange wicker thing + resembling a large, curved fingernail which lengthens the forearm by half. + It is with this glove (manufactured in France by a unique basket-maker of + the village of Ascain) that they will have to catch, throw and hurl the + pelota,—a small ball of tightened cord covered with sheepskin, which + is as hard as a wooden ball. + </p> + <p> + Now they try the balls, selecting the best, limbering, with a few points + that do not count, their athletic arms. Then, they take off their + waistcoats and carry them to preferred spectators; Ramuntcho gives his to + Gracieuse, seated in the first row on the lower bench. And all, except the + priest, who will play in his black gown, are in battle array, their chests + at liberty in pink cotton shirts or light thread fleshings. + </p> + <p> + The assistants know them well, these players; in a moment, they shall be + excited for or against them and will shout at them, frantically, as it + happens with the toreadors. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the village is entirely animated by the spirit of the olden + time; in its expectation of the pleasure, in its liveliness, in its ardor, + it is intensely Basque and very old,—under the great shade of the + Gizune, the overhanging mountain, which throws over it a twilight charm. + </p> + <p> + And the game begins in the melancholy evening. The ball, thrown with much + strength, flies, strikes the wall in great, quick blows, then rebounds, + and traverses the air with the rapidity of a bullet. + </p> + <p> + This wall in the background, rounded like a dome's festoon on the sky, has + become little by little crowned with heads of children,—little + Basques, little cats, ball-players of the future, who soon will + precipitate themselves like a flight of birds, to pick up the ball every + time when, thrown too high, it will go beyond the square and fall in the + fields. + </p> + <p> + The game becomes gradually warmer as arms and legs are limbered, in an + intoxication of movement and swiftness. Already Ramuntcho is acclaimed. + And the vicar also shall be one of the fine players of the day, strange to + look upon with his leaps similar to those of a cat, and his athletic + gestures, imprisoned in his priest's gown. + </p> + <p> + This is the rule of the game: when one of the champions of the two camps + lets the ball fall, it is a point earned by the adverse camp,—and + ordinarily the limit is sixty points. After each point, the titled crier + chants with a full voice in his old time tongue: “The but has so much, the + refil has so much, gentlemen!” (The but is the camp which played first, + the refil is the camp opposed to the but.) And the crier's long clamor + drags itself above the noise of the crowd, which approves or murmurs. + </p> + <p> + On the square, the zone gilt and reddened by the sun diminishes, goes, + devoured by the shade; more and more the great screen of the Gizune + predominates over everything, seems to enclose in this little corner of + the world at its feet, the very special life and the ardor of these + mountaineers—who are the fragments of a people very mysteriously + unique, without analogy among nations—The shade of night marches + forward and invades in silence, soon it will be sovereign; in the distance + only a few summits still lighted above so many darkened valleys, are of a + violet luminous and pink. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho plays as, in his life, he had never played before; he is in one + of those instants when one feels tempered by strength, light, weighing + nothing, and when it is a pure joy to move, to extend one's arms, to leap. + But Arrochkoa weakens, the vicar is fettered two or three times by his + black cassock, and the adverse camp, at first distanced, little by little + catches up, then, in presence of this game so valiantly disputed, clamor + redoubles and caps fly in the air, thrown by enthusiastic hands. + </p> + <p> + Now the points are equal on both sides; the crier announces thirty for + each one of the rival camps and he sings the old refrain which is of + tradition immemorial in such cases: “Let bets come forward! Give drink to + the judges and to the players.” It is the signal for an instant of rest, + while wine shall be brought into the arena at the cost of the village. The + players sit down, and Ramuntcho takes a place beside Gracieuse, who throws + on his shoulders, wet with perspiration, the waistcoat which she was + keeping for him, Then he asks of his little friend to undo the thongs + which hold the glove of wood, wicker and leather on his reddened arm. And + he rests in the pride of his success, seeing only smiles of greeting on + the faces of the girls at whom he looks. But he sees also, on the side + opposed to the players' wall, on the side of the approaching darkness, the + archaic assemblage of Basque houses, the little square of the village with + its kalsomined porches and its old plane-trees, then the old, massive + belfry of the church, and, higher than everything, dominating everything, + crushing everything, the abrupt mass of the Gizune from which comes so + much shade, from which descends on this distant village so hasty an + impression of night—Truly it encloses too much, that mountain, it + imprisons, it impresses—And Ramuntcho, in his juvenile triumph, is + troubled by the sentiment of this, by this furtive and vague attraction of + other places so often mingled with his troubles and with his joys— + </p> + <p> + The game continues and his thoughts are lost in the physical intoxication + of beginning the struggle again. From instant to instant, clack! the snap + of the pelotas, their sharp noise against the glove which throws them or + the wall which receives them, their same noise giving the notion of all + the strength displayed—Clack! it will snap till the hour of + twilight, the pelota, animated furiously by arms powerful and young. At + times the players, with a terrible shock, stop it in its flight, with a + shock that would break other muscles than theirs. Most often, sure of + themselves, they let it quietly touch the soil, almost die: it seems as if + they would never catch it: and clack! it goes off, however, caught just in + time, thanks to a marvellous precision of the eye, and strikes the wall, + ever with the rapidity of a bullet—When it wanders on the benches, + on the mass of woolen caps and of pretty hair ornamented with silk + kerchiefs, all the heads then, all the bodies, are lowered as if moved by + the wind of its passage: for it must not be touched, it must not be + stopped, as long as it is living and may still be caught; then, when it is + really lost, dead, some one of the assistants does himself the honor to + pick it up and throw it back to the players. + </p> + <p> + The night falls, falls, the last golden colors scatter with serene + melancholy over the highest summits of the Basque country. In the deserted + church, profound silence is established and antique images regard one + another alone through the invasion of night—Oh! the sadness of ends + of festivals, in very isolated villages, as soon as the sun sets—! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Ramuntcho is more and more the great conqueror. And the + plaudits, the cries, redouble his happy boldness; each time he makes a + point the men, standing now on the old, graded, granite benches, acclaim + him with southern fury. + </p> + <p> + The last point, the sixtieth—It is Ramuntcho's and he has won the + game! + </p> + <p> + Then there is a sudden crumbling into the arena of all the Basque caps + which ornamented the stone amphitheatre; they press around the players who + have made themselves immovable, suddenly, in tired attitudes. And + Ramuntcho unfastens the thongs of his glove in the middle of a crowd of + expansive admirers; from all sides, brave and rude hands are stretched to + grasp his or to strike his shoulder amicably. + </p> + <p> + “Have you asked Gracieuse to dance with you this evening?” asks Arrochkoa, + who in this instant would do anything for him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, when she came out of the high mass I spoke to her—She has + promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! I feared that mother—Oh! I would have arranged it, in any + case; you may believe me.” + </p> + <p> + A robust old man with square shoulders, with square jaws, with a + beardless, monkish face, before whom all bowed with respect, comes also: + it is Haramburu, a player of the olden time who was celebrated half a + century ago in America for the game of rebot, and who earned a small + fortune. Ramuntcho blushes with pleasure at the compliment of this old + man, who is hard to please. And beyond, standing on the reddish benches, + among the long grasses and the November scabwort, his little friend, whom + a group of young girls follows, turns back to smile at him, to send to him + with her hand a gentle adios in the Spanish fashion. He is a young god in + this moment, Ramuntcho; people are proud to know him, to be among his + friends, to get his waistcoat for him, to talk to him, to touch him. + </p> + <p> + Now, with the other pelotaris, he goes to the neighboring inn, to a room + where are placed the clean clothes of all and where careful friends + accompany them to rub their bodies, wet with perspiration. + </p> + <p> + And, a moment afterward, elegant in a white shirt, his cap on the side, he + comes out of the door, under the plane-trees shaped like vaults, to enjoy + again his success, see the people pass, continue to gather compliments and + smiles. + </p> + <p> + The autumnal day has declined, it is evening at present. In the lukewarm + air, bats glide. The mountaineers of the surrounding villages depart one + by one; a dozen carriages are harnessed, their lanterns are lighted, their + bells ring and they disappear in the little shady paths of the valleys. In + the middle of the limpid penumbra may be distinguished the women, the + pretty girls seated on benches in front of the houses, under the vaults of + the plane-trees; they are only clear forms, their Sunday costumes make + white spots in the twilight, pink spots—and the pale blue spot which + Ramuntcho looks at is the new gown of Gracieuse.—Above all, filling + the sky, the gigantic Gizune, confused and sombre, is as if it were the + centre and the source of the darkness, little by little scattered over all + things. And at the church, suddenly the pious bells ring, recalling to + distracted minds the enclosure where the graves are, the cypress trees + around the belfry, and the entire grand mystery of the sky, of prayer, of + inevitable death. + </p> + <p> + Oh! the sadness of ends of festivals in very isolated villages, when the + sun ceases to illuminate, and when it is autumn— + </p> + <p> + They know very well, these men who were so ardent a moment ago in the + humble pleasures of the day, that in the cities there are other festivals + more brilliant, more beautiful and less quickly ended; but this is + something separate; it is the festival of the country, of their own + country, and nothing can replace for them these furtive instants whereof + they have thought for so many days in advance—Lovers who will depart + toward the scattered houses flanking the Pyrenees, couples who to-morrow + will begin over their monotonous and rude life, look at one another before + separating, look at one another under the falling night, with regretful + eyes that say: “Then, it is finished already? Then, that is all?—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + Eight o'clock in the evening. They have dined at the cider mill, all the + players except the vicar, under the patronage of Itchoua; they have + lounged for a long time afterward, languid in the smoke of smuggled + cigarettes and listening to the marvellous improvisations of the two + Iragola brothers, of the Mendiazpi mountain—while outside, on the + street, the girls in small groups holding one another's arms, looked at + the windows, found pleasure in observing on the smoky panes the round + shadows of the heads of the men covered with similar caps— + </p> + <p> + Now, on the square, the brass band plays the first measures of the + fandango, and the young men, the young girls, all those of the village and + several also of the mountain who have remained to dance, arrive in + impatient groups. There are some dancing already on the road, not to lose + anything. + </p> + <p> + And soon the fandango turns, turns, in the light of the new moon the horns + of which seem to pose, lithe and light, on the enormous and heavy + mountain. In the couples that dance without ever touching each other, + there is never a separation; before one another always and at an equal + distance, the boy and the girl make evolutions with a rhythmic grace, as + if they were tied together by some invisible magnet. + </p> + <p> + It has gone into hiding, the crescent of the moon, fallen, one would + think, in the black mountain; then lanterns are brought and hooked to the + trunks of the plane-trees and the young men can see better their partners + who, opposite them swing with an air of fleeing continually, but without + increasing their distance ever: almost all pretty, their hair elegantly + dressed, a kerchief on the neck, and wearing with ease gowns in the + fashion of to-day. The men, somewhat grave always, accompany the music + with snaps of their fingers in the air: shaven and sunburnt faces to which + labor in the fields, in smuggling or at sea, has given a special thinness, + almost ascetic; still, by the ampleness of their brown necks, by the width + of their shoulders, one divines their great strength, the strength of that + old, sober and religious race. + </p> + <p> + The fandango turns and oscillates, to the tune of an ancient waltz. All + the arms, extended and raised, agitate themselves in the air, rise or fall + with pretty, cadenced motions following the oscillations of bodies. The + rope soled sandals make this dance silent and infinitely light; one hears + only the frou-frou of gowns, and ever the snap of fingers imitating the + noise of castanets. With a Spanish grace, the girls, whose wide sleeves + expand like wings, swing their tightened waists above their vigorous and + supple hips— + </p> + <p> + Facing one another, Ramuntcho and Gracieuse said nothing at first, + captivated by the childish joy of moving quickly in cadence, to the sound + of music. It is very chaste, that manner of dancing without the slightest + touch of bodies. + </p> + <p> + But there were also, in the course of the evening, waltzes and quadrilles, + and even walks arm-in-arm during which the lovers could touch each other + and talk. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my Ramuntcho,” said Gracieuse, “it is of that game that you expect + to make your future, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + They were walking now arm-in-arm, under the plane-trees shedding their + leaves in the night of November, lukewarm as a night of May, during an + interval of silence when the musicians were resting. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ramuntcho, “in our country it is a trade, like any other, + where one may earn a living, as long as strength lasts—and one may + go from time to time to South America, you know, as Irun and Gorosteguy + have done, and bring back twenty, thirty thousand francs for a season, + earned honestly at Buenos Ayres.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the Americas—” exclaimed Gracieuse in a joyful enthusiasm—“the + Americas, what happiness! It was always my wish to go across the sea to + those countries!—And we would look for your uncle Ignacio, then go + to my cousin, Bidegaina, who has a farm on the Uruguay, in the prairies—” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She ceased talking, the little girl who had never gone out of that +village which the mountains enclose; she stopped to think of these +far-off lands which haunted her young head because she had, like most +Basques, nomadic ancestors—folks who are called here Americans or +Indians, who pass their adventurous lives on the other side of the ocean +and return to the cherished village only very late, to die. And, while +she dreamed, her nose in the air, her eyes in the black of the clouds +and of the summits, Ramuntcho felt his blood running faster, his +heart beating quicker in the intense joy of what she had just said so +spontaneously. And, inclining his head toward her, he asked, as if to +jest, in a voice infinitely soft and childish: + + “We would go? Is that what you said: we would go, you with me? This +signifies therefore that you would consent, a little later, when we +become of age, to marry me?” + </pre> + <p> + He perceived through the darkness the gentle black light of Gracieuse's + eyes, which rose toward him with an expression of astonishment and of + reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Then—you did not know?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to make you say it, you see—You had never said it to me, + do you know?—” + </p> + <p> + He held tighter the arm of his little betrothed and their walk became + slower. It is true that they had never said it, not only because it seemed + to them that it was not necessary to say, but especially because they were + stopped at the moment of speaking by a sort of terror—the terror of + being mistaken about each other's sentiment—and now they knew, they + were sure. Then they had the consciousness of having passed together the + grave and solemn threshold of life. And, leaning on one another, they + faltered, almost, in their slackened promenade, like two children + intoxicated by youthfulness, joy and hope. + </p> + <p> + “But do you think your mother will consent?” said Ramuntcho timidly, after + the long, delightful silence— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is the trouble,” replied the little girl with a sigh of anxiety—“Arrochkoa, + my brother, will be for us, it is probable. But mother?—Will mother + consent?—But, it will not happen soon, in any case—You have to + serve in the army.” + </p> + <p> + “No, if you do not want me to! No, I need not serve! I am a Guipuzcoan, + like my mother; I shall be enrolled only if I wish to be—Whatever + you say, I'll do—” + </p> + <p> + “My Ramuntcho, I would like better to wait for you longer and that you + become naturalized, and that you become a soldier like the others. I tell + you this, since you ask—” + </p> + <p> + “Truly, is it what you wish? Well, so much the better. Oh, to be a + Frenchman or a Spaniard is indifferent to me. I shall do as you wish. I + like as well one as the other: I am a Basque like you, like all of us; I + care not for the rest! But as for being a soldier somewhere, on this side + of the frontier or on the other, yes, I prefer it. In the first place, one + who goes away looks as if he were running away; and then, it would please + me to be a soldier, frankly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my Ramuntcho, since it is all the same to you, serve as a soldier + in France, to please me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is understood, Gatchutcha!—You will see me wearing red trousers. + I shall call on you in the dress of a soldier, like Bidegarray, like + Joachim. As soon as I have served my three years, we will marry, if your + mother consents!” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence Gracieuse said, in a low, solemn voice: + </p> + <p> + “Listen, my Ramuntcho—I am like you: I am afraid of her—of my + mother—But listen—if she refuses, we shall do together + anything, anything that you wish, for this is the only thing in the world + in which I shall not obey her—” + </p> + <p> + Then, silence returned between them, now that they were engaged, the + incomparable silence of young joys, of joys new and not yet tried, which + need to hush, which need to meditate in order to understand themselves + better in their profoundness. They walked in short steps and at random + toward the church, in the soft obscurity which the lanterns troubled no + longer, intoxicated by their innocent contact and by feeling that they + were walking together in the path where no one had followed them— + </p> + <p> + But the noise of the brass instruments suddenly arose anew, in a sort of + slow waltz, oddly rhythmic. And the two children, at the fandango's + appeal, without having consulted each other, and as if it was a compulsory + thing which may not be disputed, ran, not to lose a moment, toward the + place where the couples were dancing. Quickly, quickly placing themselves + opposite each other, they began again to swing in measure, without talking + to each other, with the same pretty gestures of their arms, the same + supple motions of their hips. From time to time, without loss of step or + distance, both ran, in a direct line like arrows. But this was only an + habitual variation of the dance,—and, ever in measure, quickly, as + if they were gliding, they returned to their starting point. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse had in dancing the same passionate ardor as in praying at the + white chapels,—the same ardor which later doubtless, she would have + in embracing Ramuntcho when caresses between them would not be forbidden. + And at moments, at every fifth or sixth measure, at the same time as her + light and strong partner, she turned round completely, the bust bent with + Spanish grace, the head thrown backward, the lips half open on the + whiteness of the teeth, a distinguished and proud grace disengaging itself + from her little personality, still so mysterious, which to Ramuntcho only + revealed itself a little. + </p> + <p> + During all this beautiful evening of November, they danced before each + other, mute and charming, with intervals of promenade in which they hardly + talked—intoxicated in silence by the delicious thought with which + their minds were filled. + </p> + <p> + And, until the curfew rang in the church, this dance under the branches of + autumn, these little lanterns, this little festival in this corner closed + to the world, threw a little light and joyful noise into the vast night + which the mountains, standing everywhere like giants of shadow, made more + dumb and more black. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + There is to be a grand ball-game next Sunday, for the feast of Saint + Damasus, in the borough of Hasparitz. + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, companions in continual expeditions through the + surrounding country, travelled for the entire day, in the little wagon of + the Detcharry family, in order to organize that ball-game, which to them + is a considerable event. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, they had to consult Marcos, one of the Iragola + brothers. Near a wood, in front of his house in the shade, they found him + seated on a stump of a chestnut tree, always grave and statuesque, his + eyes inspired and his gesture noble, in the act of making his little + brother, still in swaddling clothes, eat soup. + </p> + <p> + “Is he the eleventh?” they have asked, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Go on!” the big eldest brother has replied, “the eleventh is running + already like a hare in the heather. This is number twelve!—little + John the Baptist, you know, the latest, who, I think, will not be the + last.” + </p> + <p> + And then, lowering their heads not to strike the branches, they had + traversed the woods, the forests of oaks under which extends infinitely + the reddish lace of ferns. + </p> + <p> + And they have traversed several villages also,—Basque villages, all + grouped around these two things which are the heart of them and which + symbolize their life: the church and the ball-game. Here and there, they + have knocked at the doors of isolated houses, tall and large houses, + carefully whitewashed, with green shades, and wooden balconies where are + drying in the sun strings of red peppers. At length they have talked, in + their language so closed to strangers of France, with the famous players, + the titled champions, the ones whose odd names have been seen in all the + journals of the southwest, on all the posters of Biarritz or of + Saint-Jean-de-Luz, and who, in ordinary life, are honest country + inn-keepers, blacksmiths, smugglers, with waistcoat thrown over the + shoulder and shirt sleeves rolled on bronze arms. + </p> + <p> + Now that all is settled and that the last words have been exchanged, it is + too late to return that night to Etchezar; then, following their errant + habits, they select for the night a village which they like, Zitzarry, for + example, where they have gone often for their smuggling business. At the + fall of night, then, they turn toward this place, which is near Spain. + They go by the same little Pyrenean routes, shady and solitary under the + old oaks that are shedding their leaves, among slopes richly carpeted with + moss and rusty ferns. And now there are ravines where torrents roar, and + then heights from which appear on all sides the tall, sombre peaks. + </p> + <p> + At first it was cold, a real cold, lashing the face and the chest. But now + gusts begin to pass astonishingly warm and perfumed with the scent of + plants: the southern wind, rising again, bringing back suddenly the + illusion of summer. And then, it becomes for them a delicious sensation to + go through the air, so brusquely changed, to go quickly under the lukewarm + breaths, in the noise of their horse's bells galloping playfully in the + mountains. + </p> + <p> + Zitzarry, a smugglers' village, a distant village skirting the frontier. A + dilapidated inn where, according to custom, the rooms for the men are + directly above the stables, the black stalls. They are well-known + travelers there, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, and while men are lighting the + fire for them they sit near an antique, mullioned window, which overlooks + the square of the ball-game and the church; they see the tranquil, little + life of the day ending in this place so separated from the world. + </p> + <p> + On this solemn square, the children practice the national game; grave and + ardent, already strong, they throw their pelota against the wall, while, + in a singing voice and with the needful intonation, one of them counts and + announces the points, in the mysterious tongue of the ancestors. Around + them, the tall houses, old and white, with warped walls, with projecting + rafters, contemplate through their green or red windows those little + players, so lithe, who run in the twilight like young cats. And the carts + drawn by oxen return from the fields, with the noise of bells, bringing + loads of wood, loads of gorse or of dead ferns—The night falls, + falls with its peace and its sad cold. Then, the angelus rings—and + there is, in the entire village, a tranquil, prayerful meditation— + </p> + <p> + Then Ramuntcho, silent, worries about his destiny, feels as if he were a + prisoner here, with his same aspirations always, toward something unknown, + he knows not what, which troubles him at the approach of night. And his + heart also fills up, because he is alone and without support in the world, + because Gracieuse is in a situation different from his and may never be + given to him. + </p> + <p> + But Arrochkoa, very brotherly this time, in one of his good moments, slaps + him on the shoulder as if he had understood his reverie, and says to him + in a tone of light gaiety: + </p> + <p> + “Well! it seems that you talked together, last night, sister and you—she + told me about it—and that you are both prettily agreed!—” + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho lifts toward him a long look of anxious and grave interrogation, + which is in contrast with the beginning of their conversation: + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think,” he asks, “of what we have said?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my friend,” replied Arrochkoa, become more serious also, “on my word + of honor, it suits me very well—And even, as I fear that there shall + be trouble with mother, I promise to help you if you need help—” + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho's sadness is dispelled as a little dust on which one has + blown. He finds the supper delicious, the inn gay. He feels himself much + more engaged to Gracieuse, now, when somebody is in the secret, and + somebody in the family who does not repulse him. He had a presentiment + that Arrochkoa would not be hostile to him, but his co-operation, so + clearly offered, far surpasses Ramuntcho's hope—Poor little + abandoned fellow, so conscious of the humbleness of his situation, that + the support of another child, a little better established in life, + suffices to return to him courage and confidence! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + At the uncertain and somewhat icy dawn, he awoke in his little room in the + inn, with a persistent impression of his joy on the day before, instead of + the confused anguish which accompanied so often in him the progressive + return of his thoughts. Outside, were sounds of bells of cattle starting + for the pastures, of cows lowing to the rising sun, of church bells,—and + already, against the wall of the large square, the sharp snap of the + Basque pelota: all the noises of a Pyrenean village beginning again its + customary life for another day. And all this seemed to Ramuntcho the early + music of a day's festival. + </p> + <p> + At an early hour, they returned, Arrochkoa and he, to their little wagon, + and, crushing their caps against the wind, started their horse at a gallop + on the roads, powdered with white frost. + </p> + <p> + At Etchezar, where they arrived at noon, one would have thought it was + summer,—so beautiful was the sun. + </p> + <p> + In the little garden in front of her house, Gracieuse sat on a stone + bench: + </p> + <p> + “I have spoken to Arrochkoa!” said Ramuntcho to her, with a happy smile, + as soon as they were alone—“And he is entirely with us, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that,” replied the little girl, without losing the sadly pensive air + which she had that morning, “oh, that!—my brother Arrochkoa, I + suspected it, it was sure! A pelota player like you, you should know, was + made to please him, in his mind there is nothing superior to that—” + </p> + <p> + “But your mother, Gatchutcha, for several days has acted much better to + me, I think—For example, Sunday, you remember, when I asked you to + dance—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't trust to that, my Ramuntcho! you mean day before yesterday, + after the high mass?—It was because she had just talked with the + Mother Superior, have you not noticed?—And the Mother Superior had + insisted that I should not dance with you on the square; then, only to be + contrary, you understand—But, don't rely on that, no—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” replied Ramuntcho, whose joy had already gone, “it is true that they + are not very friendly—” + </p> + <p> + “Friendly, mama and the Mother Superior?—Like a dog and a cat, yes!—Since + there was talk of my going into the convent, do you not remember that + story?” + </p> + <p> + He remembered very well, on the contrary, and it frightened him still. The + smiling and mysterious black nuns had tried once to attract to the peace + of their houses that little blonde head, exalted and willful, possessed by + an immense necessity to love and to be loved— + </p> + <p> + “Gatchutcha! you are always at the sisters', or with them; why so often? + explain this to me: they are very agreeable to you?” + </p> + <p> + “The sisters? no, my Ramuntcho, especially those of the present time, who + are new in the country and whom I hardly know—for they change them + often, you know—The sisters, no—I will even tell you that I am + like mama about the Mother Superior. I cannot endure her—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what?—” + </p> + <p> + “No, but what will you? I like their songs, their chapels, their houses, + everything—I cannot explain that to you—Anyway, boys do not + understand anything—” + </p> + <p> + The little smile with which she said this was at once extinguished, + changed into a contemplative expression or an absent expression, which + Ramuntcho had often seen in her. She looked attentively in front of her, + although there were on the road only the leafless trees, the brown mass of + the crushing mountain; but it seemed as if Gracieuse was enraptured in + melancholy ecstasy by things perceived beyond them, by things which the + eyes of Ramuntcho could not distinguish—And during their silence the + angelus of noon began to ring, throwing more peace on the tranquil village + which was warming itself in the winter sun; then, bending their heads, + they made naively together their sign of the cross— + </p> + <p> + Then, when ceased to vibrate the holy bell, which in the Basque villages + interrupts life as in the Orient the song of the muezzins, Ramuntcho + decided to say: + </p> + <p> + “It frightens me, Gatchutcha, to see you in their company always—I + cannot but ask myself what ideas are in your head—” + </p> + <p> + Fixing on him the profound blackness of her eyes, she replied, in a tone + of soft reproach: + </p> + <p> + “It is you talking to me in that way, after what we have said to each + other Sunday night!—If I were to lose you, yes then, perhaps—surely, + even!—But until then, oh! no—oh! you may rest in peace, my + Ramuntcho—” + </p> + <p> + He bore for a long time her look, which little by little brought back to + him entire delicious confidence, and at last he smiled with a childish + smile: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he asked—“I say silly things often, you know!—” + </p> + <p> + “That, at least, is the truth!” + </p> + <p> + Then, one heard the sound of their laughter, which in two different + intonations had the same freshness and the same youthfulness. Ramuntcho, + with an habitual brusque and graceful gesture, changed his waistcoat from + one shoulder to the other, pulled his cap on the side, and, with no other + farewell than a sign of the head, they separated, for Dolores was coming + from the end of the road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + Midnight, a winter night, black as Hades, with great wind and whipping + rain. By the side of the Bidassoa, in the midst of a confused extent of + ground with treacherous soil that evokes ideas of chaos, in slime that + their feet penetrate, men are carrying boxes on their shoulders and, + walking in the water to their knees, come to throw them into a long thing, + blacker than night, which must be a bark—a suspicious bark without a + light, tied near the bank. + </p> + <p> + It is again Itchoua's band, which this time will work by the river. They + have slept for a few moments, all dressed, in the house of a receiver who + lives near the water, and, at the needed hour, Itchoua, who never closes + but one eye, has shaken his men; then, they have gone out with hushed + tread, into the darkness, under the cold shower propitious to smuggling. + </p> + <p> + On the road now, with the oars, to Spain whose fires may be seen at a + distance, confused by the rain. The weather is let loose; the shirts of + the men are already wet, and, under the caps pulled over their eyes, the + wind slashes the ears. Nevertheless, thanks to the vigor of their arms, + they were going quickly and well, when suddenly appeared in the obscurity + something like a monster gliding on the waters. Bad business! It is the + patrol boat which promenades every night. Spain's customs officers. In + haste, they must change their direction, use artifice, lose precious time, + and they are so belated already. + </p> + <p> + At last they have arrived without obstacle near the Spanish shore, among + the large fishermen's barks which, on stormy nights, sleep there on their + chains, in front of the “Marine” of Fontarabia. This is the perilous + instant. Happily, the rain is faithful to them and falls still in + torrents. Lowered in their skiff to be less visible, having ceased to + talk, pushing the bottom with their oars in order to make less noise, they + approach softly, softly, with pauses as soon as something has seemed to + budge, in the midst of so much diffuse black, of shadows without outlines. + </p> + <p> + Now they are crouched against one of these large, empty barks and almost + touching the earth. And this is the place agreed upon, it is there that + the comrades of the other country should be to receive them and to carry + their boxes to the receiving house—There is nobody there, however!—Where + are they?—The first moments are passed in a sort of paroxysm of + expectation and of watching, which doubles the power of hearing and of + seeing. With eyes dilated, and ears extended, they watch, under the + monotonous dripping of the rain—But where are the Spanish comrades? + Doubtless the hour has passed, because of this accursed custom house + patrol which has disarranged the voyage, and, believing that the + undertaking has failed this time, they have gone back— + </p> + <p> + Several minutes flow, in the same immobility and the same silence. They + distinguish, around them, the large, inert barks, similar to floating + bodies of beasts, and then, above the waters, a mass of obscurities denser + than the obscurities of the sky and which are the houses, the mountains of + the shore—They wait, without a movement, without a word. They seem + to be ghosts of boatmen near a dead city. + </p> + <p> + Little by little the tension of their senses weakens, a lassitude comes to + them with the need of sleep—and they would sleep there, under this + winter rain, if the place were not so dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Itchoua then consults in a low voice, in Basque language, the two eldest, + and they decide to do a bold thing. Since the others are not coming, well! + so much the worse, they will go alone, carry to the house over there, the + smuggled boxes. It is risking terribly, but the idea is in their heads and + nothing can stop them. + </p> + <p> + “You,” says Itchoua to Ramuntcho, in his manner which admits of no + discussion, “you shall be the one to watch the bark, since you have never + been in the path that we are taking; you shall tie it to the bottom, but + not too solidly, do you hear? We must be ready to run if the carbineers + arrive.” + </p> + <p> + So they go, all the others, their shoulders bent under the heavy loads, + the rustling, hardly perceptible, of their march is lost at once on the + quay which is so deserted and so black, in the midst of the monotonous + dripping of the rain. And Ramuntcho, who has remained alone, crouches at + the bottom of the skiff to be less visible becomes immovable again, under + the incessant sprinkling of the rain, which falls now regular and + tranquil. + </p> + <p> + They are late, the comrades—and by degrees, in this inactivity and + this silence, an irresistible numbness comes to him, almost a sleep. + </p> + <p> + But now a long form, more sombre than all that is sombre, passes by him, + passes very quickly,—always in this same absolute silence which is + the characteristic of these nocturnal undertakings: one of the large + Spanish barks!—Yet, thinks he, since all are at anchor, since this + one has no sails nor oars—then, what?—It is I, myself, who am + passing!—and he has understood: his skiff was too lightly tied, and + the current, which is very rapid here, is dragging him:—and he is + very far away, going toward the mouth of the Bidassoa, toward the + breakers, toward the sea— + </p> + <p> + An anxiety has taken hold of him, almost an anguish—What will he do?—What + complicates everything is that he must act without a cry of appeal, + without a word, for, all along this coast, which seems to be the land of + emptiness and of darkness, there are carbineers, placed in an interminable + cordon and watching Spain every night as if it were a forbidden land—He + tries with one of the long oars to push the bottom in order to return + backward;—but there is no more bottom; he feels only the + inconsistency of the fleeting and black water, he is already in the + profound pass—Then, let him row, in spite of everything, and so much + for the worse—! + </p> + <p> + With great trouble, his forehead perspiring, he brings back alone against + the current the heavy bark, worried, at every stroke of the oar, by the + small, disclosing grating that a fine ear over there might so well + perceive. And then, one can see nothing more, through the rain grown + thicker and which confuses the eyes; it is dark, dark as in the bowels of + the earth where the devil lives. He recognizes no longer the point of + departure where the others must be waiting for him, whose ruin he has + perhaps caused; he hesitates, he waits, the ear extended, the arteries + beating, and he hooks himself, for a moment's reflection, to one of the + large barks of Spain—Something approaches then, gliding with + infinite precaution on the surface of the water, hardly stirred: a human + shadow, one would think, a silhouette standing:—a smuggler, surely, + since he makes so little noise! They divine each other, and, thank God! it + is Arrochkoa; Arrochkoa, who has untied a frail, Spanish skiff to meet him—So, + their junction is accomplished and they are probably saved all, once more! + </p> + <p> + But Arrochkoa, in meeting him, utters in a wicked voice, in a voice + tightened by his young, feline teeth, one of those series of insults which + call for immediate answer and sound like an invitation to fight. It is so + unexpected that Ramuntcho's stupor at first immobilizes him, retards the + rush of blood to his head. Is this really what his friend has just said + and in such a tone of undeniable insult?— + </p> + <p> + “You said?” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” replies Arrochkoa, somewhat softened and on his guard, observing + in the darkness Ramuntcho's attitudes. “Well! you had us almost caught, + awkward fellow that you are!—” + </p> + <p> + The silhouettes of the others appear in another bark. + </p> + <p> + “They are there,” he continues. “Let us go near them!” + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho takes his oarsman's seat with temples heated by anger, with + trembling hands—no—he is Gracieuse's brother; all would be + lost if Ramuntcho fought with him; because of her he will bend the head + and say nothing. + </p> + <p> + Now their bark runs away by force of oars, carrying them all; the trick + has been played. It was time; two Spanish voices vibrate on the black + shore: two carbineers, who were sleeping in their cloaks and whom the + noise has awakened!—And they begin to hail this flying, beaconless + bark, not perceived so much as suspected, lost at once in the universal, + nocturnal confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Too late, friends,” laughs Itchoua, while rowing to the uttermost. “Hail + at your ease now and let the devil answer you!” + </p> + <p> + The current also helps them; they go into the thick obscurity with the + rapidity of fishes. + </p> + <p> + There! Now they are in French waters, in safety, not far, doubtless, from + the slime of the banks. + </p> + <p> + “Let us stop to breathe a little,” proposes Itchoua. + </p> + <p> + And they raise their oars, halting, wet with perspiration and with rain. + They are immovable again under the cold shower, which they do not seem to + feel. There is heard in the vast silence only the breathing of chests, + little by little quieted, the little music of drops of water falling and + their light rippling. But suddenly, from this bark which was so quiet, and + which had no other importance than that of a shadow hardly real in the + midst of so much night, a cry rises, superacute, terrifying: it fills the + emptiness and rents the far-off distances—It has come from those + elevated notes which belong ordinarily to women only, but with something + hoarse and powerful that indicates rather the savage male; it has the bite + of the voice of jackals and it preserves, nevertheless, something human + which makes one shiver the more; one waits with a sort of anguish for its + end, and it is long, long, it is oppressive by its inexplicable length—It + had begun like a stag's bell of agony and now it is achieved and it dies + in a sort of laughter, sinister and burlesque, like the laughter of + lunatics— + </p> + <p> + However, around the man who has just cried thus in the front of the bark, + none of the others is astonished, none budges. And, after a few seconds of + silent peace, a new cry, similar to the first, starts from the rear, + replying to it and passing through the same phases,—which are of a + tradition infinitely ancient. + </p> + <p> + And it is simply the “irrintzina”, the great Basque cry which has been + transmitted with fidelity from the depth of the abyss of ages to the men + of our day, and which constitutes one of the strange characteristics of + that race whose origins are enveloped in mystery. It resembles the cry of + a being of certain tribes of redskins in the forests of America; at night, + it gives the notion and the unfathomable fright of primitive ages, when, + in the midst of the solitudes of the old world, men with monkey throats + howled. + </p> + <p> + This cry is given at festivals, or for calls of persons at night in the + mountains, and especially to celebrate some joy, some unexpected good + fortune, a miraculous hunt or a happy catch of fish in the rivers. + </p> + <p> + And they are amused, the smugglers, at this game of the ancestors; they + give their voices to glorify the success of their undertaking, they yell, + from the physical necessity to be compensated for their silence of a + moment ago. + </p> + <p> + But Ramuntcho remains mute and without a smile. This sudden savagery + chills him, although he has known it for a long time; it plunges him into + dreams that worry and do not explain themselves. + </p> + <p> + And then, he has felt to-night once more how uncertain and changing is his + only support in the world, the support of that Arrochkoa on whom he should + be able to count as on a brother; audacity and success at the ball-game + will return that support to him, doubtless, but a moment of weakness, + nothing, may at any moment make him lose it. Then it seems to him that the + hope of his life has no longer a basis, that all vanishes like an unstable + chimera. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + It was New Year's eve. + </h3> + <p> + All the day had endured that sombre sky which is so often the sky of the + Basque country—and which harmonizes well with the harsh mountains, + with the roar of the sea, wicked, in the depths of the Bay of Biscay. + </p> + <p> + In the twilight of this last day of the year, at the hour when the fires + retain the men around the hearths scattered in the country, at the hour + when home is desirable and delicious, Ramuntcho and his mother were + preparing to sit at the supper table, when there was a discreet knock at + the door. + </p> + <p> + The man who was coming to them from the night of the exterior, at the + first aspect seemed unknown to them; only when he told his name (Jose + Bidegarray, of Hasparitz) they recalled the sailor who had gone several + years ago to America. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, after accepting a chair, “here is the message which I + have been asked to bring to you. Once, at Rosario in Uruguay, as I was + talking on the docks with several other Basque immigrants there, a man, + who might have been fifty years old, having heard me speak of Etchezar, + came to me. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you come from Etchezar?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' I replied, 'but I come from Hasparitz, which is not far from + Etchezar.' + </p> + <p> + “Then he put questions to me about all your family. I said: + </p> + <p> + “'The old people are dead, the elder brother was killed in smuggling, the + second has disappeared in America; there remain only Franchita and her + son, Ramuntcho, a handsome young fellow who must be about eighteen years + old today.' + </p> + <p> + “He was thinking deeply while he was listening to me. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' he said at last, 'since you are going back there, you will say + good-day to them for Ignacio.' + </p> + <p> + “And after offering a drink to me he went away—” + </p> + <p> + Franchita had risen, trembling and paler than ever. Ignacio, the most + adventurous in the family, her brother who had disappeared for ten years + without sending any news—! + </p> + <p> + How was he? What face? Dressed how?—Did he seem happy, at least, or + was he poorly dressed? + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” replied the sailor, “he looked well, in spite of his gray hair; as + for his costume, he appeared to be a man of means, with a beautiful gold + chain on his belt.” + </p> + <p> + And that was all he could say, with this naive and rude good-day of which + he was the bearer; on the subject of the exile he knew no more and + perhaps, until she died, Franchita would learn nothing more of that + brother, almost non-existing, like a phantom. + </p> + <p> + Then, when he had emptied a glass of cider, he went on his road, the + strange messenger, who was going to his village. Then, they sat at table + without speaking, the mother and the son: she, the silent Franchita, + absent minded, with tears shining in her eyes; he, worried also, but in a + different manner, by the thought of that uncle living in adventures over + there. + </p> + <p> + When he ceased to be a child, when Ramuntcho began to desert from school, + to wish to follow the smugglers in the mountain, Franchita would say to + him: + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, you take after your uncle Ignacio, we shall never make anything + of you!—” + </p> + <p> + And it was true that he took after his uncle Ignacio, that he was + fascinated by all the things that are dangerous, unknown and far-off— + </p> + <p> + To-night, therefore, if she did not talk to her son of the message which + had just been transmitted to them, the reason was she divined his + meditation on America and was afraid of his answers. Besides, among + country people, the little profound and intimate dramas are played without + words, with misunderstandings that are never cleared up, with phrases only + guessed at and with obstinate silence. + </p> + <p> + But, as they were finishing their meal, they heard a chorus of young and + gay voices, coming near, accompanied by a drum, the boys of Etchezar, + coming for Ramuntcho to bring him with them in their parade with music + around the village, following the custom of New Year's eve, to go into + every house, drink in it a glass of cider and give a joyous serenade to an + old time tune. + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho, forgetting Uruguay and the mysterious uncle, became a child + again, in the pleasure of following them and of singing with them along + the obscure roads, enraptured especially by the thought that they would go + to the house of the Detcharry family and that he would see again, for an + instant, Gracieuse. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + The changeable month of March had arrived, and with it the intoxication of + spring, joyful for the young, sad for those who are declining. + </p> + <p> + And Gracieuse had commenced again to sit, in the twilight of the + lengthened days, on the stone bench in front of her door. + </p> + <p> + Oh! the old stone benches, around the houses, made, in the past ages, for + the reveries of the soft evenings and for the eternally similar + conversations of lovers—! + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse's house was very ancient, like most houses in that Basque + country, where, less than elsewhere, the years change the things.—It + had two stories; a large projecting roof in a steep slope; walls like a + fortress which were whitewashed every summer; very small windows, with + settings of cut granite and green blinds. Above the front door, a granite + lintel bore an inscription in relief; words complicated and long which, to + French eyes resembled nothing known. It said: “May the Holy Virgin bless + this home, built in the year 1630 by Peter Detcharry, beadle, and his wife + Damasa Irribarne, of the village of Istaritz.” A small garden two yards + wide, surrounded by a low wall so that one could see the passers-by, + separated the house from the road; there was a beautiful rose-laurel, + extending its southern foliage above the evening bench, and there were + yuccas, a palm tree, and enormous bunches of those hortensias which are + giants here, in this land of shade, in this lukewarm climate, so often + enveloped by clouds. In the rear was a badly closed orchard which rolled + down to an abandoned path, favorable to escalades of lovers. + </p> + <p> + What mornings radiant with light there were in that spring, and what + tranquil, pink evenings! + </p> + <p> + After a week of full moon which kept the fields till day-light blue with + rays, and when the band of Itchoua ceased to work,—so clear was + their habitual domain, so illuminated were the grand, vaporous backgrounds + of the Pyrenees and of Spain—the frontier fraud was resumed more + ardently, as soon as the thinned crescent had become discreet and early + setting. Then, in these beautiful times, smuggling by night was exquisite; + a trade of solitude and of meditation when the mind of the naive and very + pardonable defrauders was elevated unconsciously in the contemplation of + the sky and of the darkness animated by stars—as it happens to the + mind of the sea folk watching, on the nocturnal march of vessels, and as + it happened formerly to the mind of the shepherds in antique Chaldea. + </p> + <p> + It was favorable also and tempting for lovers, that tepid period which + followed the full moon of March, for it was dark everywhere around the + houses, dark in all the paths domed with trees,—and very dark, + behind the Detcharry orchard, on the abandoned path where nobody ever + passed. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse lived more and more on her bench in front of her door. + </p> + <p> + It was here that she was seated, as every year, to receive and look at the + carnival dancers: those groups of young boys and of young girls of Spain + or of France, who, every spring, organize themselves for several days in a + wandering band, and, all dressed in the same pink or white colors, + traverse the frontier village, dancing the fandango in front of houses, + with castanets— + </p> + <p> + She stayed later and later in this place which she liked, under the + shelter of the rose-laurel coming into bloom, and sometimes even, she came + out noiselessly through the window, like a little, sly fox, to breathe + there at length, after her mother had gone to bed. Ramuntcho knew this + and, every night, the thought of that bench troubled his sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + One clear April morning, they were walking to the church, Gracieuse and + Ramuntcho. She, with an air half grave, half mocking, with a particular + and very odd air, leading him there to make him do a penance which she had + ordered. + </p> + <p> + In the holy enclosure, the flowerbeds of the tombs were coming into bloom + again, as also the rose bushes on the walls. Once more the new saps were + awakening above the long sleep of the dead. They went in together, through + the lower door, into the empty church, where the old “benoite” in a black + mantilla was alone, dusting the altars. + </p> + <p> + When Gracieuse had given to Ramuntcho the holy water and they had made + their signs of the cross, she led him through the sonorous nave, paved + with funereal stones, to a strange image on the wall, in a shady corner, + under the men's tribunes. + </p> + <p> + It was a painting, impregnated with ancient mysticism, representing the + figure of Jesus with eyes closed, forehead bloody, expression lamentable + and dead; the head seemed to be cut off, separated from the body, and + placed there on a gray linen cloth. Above, were written the long Litanies + of the Holy Face, which have been composed, as everybody knows, to be + recited in penance by repentant blasphemers. The day before, Ramuntcho, in + anger, had sworn in an ugly manner: a quite unimaginable string of words, + wherein the sacraments and the most saintly things were mingled with the + horns of the devil and other villainous things still more frightful. That + is why the necessity for a penance had impressed itself on the mind of + Gracieuse. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my Ramuntcho,” she recommended, as she walked away, “omit nothing + of what you must say.” + </p> + <p> + She left him then in front of the Holy Face, beginning to murmur his + litanies in a low voice, and went to the good woman and helped her to + change the water of the white Easter daisies in front of the altar of the + Virgin. + </p> + <p> + But when the languorous evening returned, and Gracieuse was seated in the + darkness meditating on her stone bench, a young human form started up + suddenly near her; someone who had come in sandals, without making more + noise than the silk owls make in the air, from the rear of the garden + doubtless, after some scaling, and who stood there, straight, his + waistcoat thrown over one shoulder: the one to whom were addressed all her + tender emotions on earth, the one who incarnated the ardent dream of her + heart and of her senses— + </p> + <p> + “Ramuntcho!” she said. “Oh! how you frightened me. Where did you come from + at such an hour? What do you want? Why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why did I come? In my turn, to order you to do penance,” he replied, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “No, tell the truth, what is the matter, what are you coming to do?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To see you, only! That is what I come to do—What will you have! We +never see each other!—Your mother keeps me at a distance more and more +every day. I cannot live in that way.—We are not doing any harm, after +all, since we are to be married! And you know, I could come every night, +if you like, without anybody suspecting it—” + </pre> + <p> + “Oh! no!—Oh! do not do that ever, I beg of you—” + </p> + <p> + They talked for an instant, and so low, so low, with more silence than + words, as if they were afraid to wake up the birds in their nests. They + recognized no longer the sound of their voices, so changed and so + trembling they were, as if they had committed some delicious and damnable + crime, by doing nothing but staying near each other, in the grand, + caressing mystery of that night of April, which was hatching around them + so many ascents of saps, so many germinations and so many loves— + </p> + <p> + He had not even dared to sit at her side; he remained standing, ready to + run under the branches at the least alarm, like a nocturnal prowler. + </p> + <p> + However, when he prepared to go, it was she who asked, hesitating, and in + a manner to be hardly heard: + </p> + <p> + “And—you will come back to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + Then, under his growing mustache, he smiled at this sudden change of mind + and he replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely.—To-morrow and every night.—Every night when we + shall not have to work in Spain.—I will come—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + Ramuntcho's lodging place was, in the house of his mother and above the + stable, a room neatly whitewashed; he had there his bed, always clean and + white, but where smuggling gave him few hours for sleep. Books of travel + or cosmography, which the cure of the parish lent to him, posed on his + table—unexpected in this house. The portraits, framed, of different + saints, ornamented the walls, and several pelota-players' gloves were + hanging from the beams of the ceiling, long gloves of wicker and of + leather which seemed rather implements of hunting or fishing. + </p> + <p> + Franchita, at her return to her country, had bought back this house, which + was that of her deceased parents, with a part of the sum given to her by + the stranger at the birth of her son. She had invested the rest; then she + worked at making gowns or at ironing linen for the people of Etchezar, and + rented, to farmers of land near by, two lower rooms, with the stable where + they placed their cows and their sheep. + </p> + <p> + Different familiar, musical sounds rocked Ramuntcho in his bed. First, the + constant roar of a near-by torrent; then, at times, songs of nightingales, + salutes to the dawn of divers birds. And, in this spring especially, the + cows, his neighbors, excited doubtless by the smell of new-mown hay, moved + all night, were agitated in dreams, making their bells tintillate + continually. + </p> + <p> + Often, after the long expeditions at night, he regained his sleep in the + afternoon, extended in the shade in some corner of moss and grass. Like + the other smugglers, he was not an early riser for a village boy, and he + woke up sometimes long after daybreak, when already, between the + disjointed planks of his flooring, rays of a vivid and gay light came from + the stable below, the door of which remained open always to the rising sun + after the departure of the cattle to their pastures. Then, he went to his + window, pushed open the little, old blinds made of massive chestnut wood + painted in olive, and leaned on his elbows, placed on the sill of the + thick wall, to look at the clouds or at the sun of the new morning. + </p> + <p> + What he saw, around his house, was green, green, magnificently green, as + are in the spring all the corners of that land of shade and of rain. The + ferns which, in the autumn, have so warm a rusty color, were now, in this + April, in the glory of their greenest freshness and covered the slopes of + the mountains as with an immense carpet of curly wool, where foxglove + flowers made pink spots. In a ravine, the torrent roared under branches. + Above, groups of oaks and of beeches clung to the slopes, alternating with + prairies; then, above this tranquil Eden, toward the sky, ascended the + grand, denuded peak of the Gizune, sovereign hill of the region of the + clouds. And one perceived also, in the background, the church and the + houses—that village of Etchezar, solitary and perched high on one of + the Pyrenean cliffs, far from everything, far from the lines of + communication which have revolutionized and spoiled the lowlands of the + shores; sheltered from curiosity, from the profanation of strangers, and + living still its Basque life of other days. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho's awakenings were impregnated, at this window, with peace and + humble serenity. They were full of joy, his awakenings of a man engaged, + since he had the assurance of meeting Gracieuse at night at the promised + place. The vague anxieties, the undefined sadness, which accompanied in + him formerly the daily return of his thoughts, had fled for a time, + dispelled by the reminiscence and the expectation of these meetings; his + life was all changed; as soon as his eyes were opened he had the + impression of a mystery and of an immense enchantment, enveloping him in + the midst of this verdure and of these April flowers. And this peace of + spring, thus seen every morning, seemed to him every time a new thing, + very different from what it had been in the previous years, infinitely + sweet to his heart and voluptuous to his flesh, having unfathomable and + ravishing depths. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + It is Easter night, after the village bells have ceased to mingle in the + air so many holy vibrations that came from Spain and from France. + </p> + <p> + Seated on the bank of the Bidassoa, Ramuntcho and Florentino watch the + arrival of a bark. A great silence now, and the bells sleep. The tepid + twilight has been prolonged and, in breathing, one feels the approach of + summer. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the night falls, it must appear from the coast of Spain, the + smuggling bark, bringing the very prohibited phosphorus. And, without its + touching the shore, they must go to get that merchandise, by advancing on + foot in the bed of the river, with long, pointed sticks in their hands, in + order to assume, if perchance they were caught, airs of people fishing + innocently for “platuches.” + </p> + <p> + The water of the Bidassoa is to-night an immovable and clear mirror, a + little more luminous than the sky, and in this mirror, are reproduced, + upside down, all the constellations, the entire Spanish mountain, carved + in so sombre a silhouette in the tranquil atmosphere. Summer, summer, one + has more and more the consciousness of its approach, so limpid and soft + are the first signs of night, so much lukewarm langour is scattered over + this corner of the world, where the smugglers silently manoeuvre. + </p> + <p> + But this estuary, which separates the two countries, seems in this moment + to Ramuntcho more melancholy than usual, more closed and more walled-in in + front of him by these black mountains, at the feet of which hardly shine, + here and there, two or three uncertain lights. Then, he is seized again by + his desire to know what there is beyond, and further still.—Oh! to + go elsewhere!—To escape, at least for a time, from the + oppressiveness of that land—so loved, however!—Before death, + to escape the oppressiveness of this existence, ever similar and without + egress. To try something else, to get out of here, to travel, to know + things—! + </p> + <p> + Then, while watching the far-off, terrestrial distances where the bark + will appear, he raises his eyes from time to time toward what happens + above, in the infinite, looks at the new moon, the crescent of which, as + thin as a line, lowers and will disappear soon; looks at the stars, the + slow and regulated march of which he has observed, as have all the people + of his trade, during so many nocturnal hours; is troubled in the depth of + his mind by the proportions and the inconceivable distances of these + things.— + </p> + <p> + In his village of Etchezar, the old priest who had taught him the + catechism, interested by his young, lively intelligence, has lent books to + him, has continued with him conversations on a thousand subjects, and, on + the subject of the planets, has given to him the notion of movements and + of immensities, has half opened before his eyes the grand abyss of space + and duration. Then, in his mind, innate doubts, frights and despairs that + slumbered, all that his father had bequeathed to him as a sombre + inheritance, all these things have taken a black form which stands before + him. Under the great sky of night, his Basque faith has commenced to + weaken. His mind is no longer simple enough to accept blindly dogmas and + observances, and, as all becomes incoherence and disorder in his young + head, so strangely prepared, the course of which nobody is leading, he + does not know that it is wise to submit, with confidence in spite of + everything, to the venerable and consecrated formulas, behind which is + hidden perhaps all that we may ever see of the unknowable truths. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, these bells of Easter which the year before had filled him with + a religious and soft sentiment, this time had seemed to him to be a music + sad and almost vain. And now that they have just hushed, he listens with + undefined sadness to the powerful noise, almost incessant since the + creation, that the breakers of the Bay of Biscay make and which, in the + peaceful nights, may be heard in the distance behind the mountains. + </p> + <p> + But his floating dream changes again.—Now the estuary, which has + become quite dark and where one may no longer see the mass of human + habitations, seems to him, little by little, to become different; then, + strange suddenly, as if some mystery were to be accomplished in it; he + perceives only the great, abrupt lines of it, which are almost eternal, + and he is surprised to think confusedly of times more ancient, of an + unprecise and obscure antiquity.—The Spirit of the old ages, which + comes out of the soil at times in the calm nights, in the hours when sleep + the beings that trouble us in the day-time, the Spirit of the old ages is + beginning, doubtless, to soar in the air around him; Ramuntcho does not + define this well, for his sense of an artist and of a seer, that no + education has refined, has remained rudimentary; but he has the notion and + the worry of it.—In his head, there is still and always a chaos, + which seeks perpetually to disentangle itself and never succeeds.—However, + when the two enlarged and reddened horns of the moon fall slowly behind + the mountain, always black, the aspect of things takes, for an + inappreciable instant, one knows not what ferocious and primitive airs; + then, a dying impression of original epochs which had remained, one knows + not where in space, takes for Ramuntcho a precise form in a sudden manner, + and troubles him until he shivers. He dreams, even without wishing it, of + those men of the forests who lived here in the ages, in the uncalculated + and dark ages, because, suddenly, from a point distant from the shore, a + long Basque cry rises from the darkness in a lugubrious falsetto, an + “irrintzina,” the only thing in this country with which he never could + become entirely familiar. But a great mocking noise occurs in the + distance, the crash of iron, whistles: a train from Paris to Madrid, which + is passing over there, behind them, in the black of the French shore. And + the Spirit of the old ages folds its wings made of shade and vanishes. + Silence returns: but after the passage of this stupid and rapid thing, the + Spirit which has fled reappears no more— + </p> + <p> + At last, the bark which Ramuntcho awaited with Florentino appears, hardly + perceptible for other eyes than theirs, a little, gray form which leaves + behind it slight ripples on this mirror which is of the color of the sky + at night and wherein stars are reflected upside down. It is the + well-selected hour, the hour when the customs officers watch badly; the + hour also when the view is dimmer, when the last reflections of the sun + and those of the crescent of the moon have gone out, and the eyes of men + are not yet accustomed to darkness. + </p> + <p> + Then to get the prohibited phosphorus, they take their long fishing + sticks, and go into the water silently. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + There was a grand ball-game arranged for the following Sunday at + Erribiague, a far-distant village, near the tall mountains. Ramuntcho, + Arrochkoa and Florentino were to play against three celebrated ones of + Spain; they were to practice that evening, limber their arms on the square + of Etchezar, and Gracieuse, with other little girls of her age, had taken + seats on the granite benches to look at them. The girls, all pretty; with + elegant airs in their pale colored waists cut in accordance with the most + recent vagary of the season. And they were laughing, these little girls, + they were laughing! They were laughing because they had begun laughing, + without knowing why. Nothing, a word of their old Basque tongue, without + any appropriateness, by one of them, and there they were all in spasms of + laughter.—This country is truly one of the corners of the world + where the laughter of girls breaks out most easily, ringing like clear + crystal, ringing youthfulness and fresh throats. + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa had been there for a long time, with the wicker glove at his + arm, throwing alone the pelota which, from time to time, children picked + up for him. But Ramuntcho, Florentino, what were they thinking of? How + late they were! They came at last, their foreheads wet with perspiration, + their walk heavy and embarrassed. And, while the little, laughing girls + questioned them, in that mocking tone which girls, when they are in a + troupe, assume ordinarily to interpellate boys, these smiled, and each one + struck his chest which gave a metallic sound.—Through paths of the + Gizune, they had returned on foot from Spain, heavy with copper coin + bearing the effigy of the gentle, little King Alfonso XIII. A new trick of + the smugglers: for Itchoua's account, they had exchanged over there with + profit, a big sum of money for this debased coin, destined to be + circulated at par at the coming fairs, in different villages of the Landes + where Spanish cents are current. They were bringing, in their pockets, in + their shirts, some forty kilos of copper. They made all this fall like + rain on the antique granite of the benches, at the feet of the amused + girls, asking them to keep and count it for them; then, after wiping their + foreheads and puffing a little, they began to play and to jump, being + light now and lighter than ordinarily, their overload being disposed of. + </p> + <p> + Except three or four children of the school who ran like young cats after + the lost pelotas, there were only the girls, seated in a group on the + lowest one of these deserted steps, the old, reddish stones of which bore + at this moment their herbs and their flowers of April. Calico gowns, clear + white or pink waists, they were all the gaiety of this solemnly sad place. + Beside Gracieuse was Pantchika Dargaignaratz, another fifteen year old + blonde, who was engaged to Arrochkoa and would soon marry him, for he, + being the son of a widow, had not to serve in the army. And, criticizing + the players, placing in lines on the granite rows of piled-up copper + cents, they laughed, they whispered, in their chanted accent, with ends of + syllables in “rra” or in “rrik,” making the “r's” roll so sharply that one + would have thought every instant sparrows were beating their wings in + their mouths. + </p> + <p> + They also, the boys, were laughing, and they came frequently, under the + pretext of resting, to sit among the girls. These troubled and intimidated + them three times more than the public, because they mocked so! + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho learned from his little betrothed something which he would not + have dared to hope for: she had obtained her mother's permission to go to + that festival of Erribiague, see the ball-game and visit that country, + which she did not know. It was agreed that she should go in a carriage, + with Pantchika and Madame Dargaignaratz; and they would meet over there; + perhaps it would be possible to return all together. + </p> + <p> + During the two weeks since their evening meetings had begun, this was the + first time when he had had the opportunity to talk to her thus in the + day-time and before the others—and their manner was different, more + ceremonious apparently, with, beneath it, a very suave mystery. It was a + long time, also, since he had seen her so well and so near in the + daylight: she was growing more beautiful that spring; she was pretty, + pretty!—Her bust had become rounder and her waist thinner; her + manner gained, day by day, an elegant suppleness. She resembled her + brother still, she had the same regular features, the same perfect oval of + the face; but the difference in their eyes went on increasing: while those + of Arrochkoa, of a blue green shade which seemed fleeting, avoided the + glances of others, hers, on the contrary, black pupils and lashes, dilated + themselves to look at you fixedly. Ramuntcho had seen eyes like these in + no other person; he adored the frank tenderness of them and also their + anxious and profound questioning. Long before he had become a man and + accessible to the trickery of the senses, those eyes had caught, of his + little, childish mind, all that was best and purest in it.—And now + around such eyes, the grand Transformer, enigmatic and sovereign, had + placed a beauty of flesh which irresistibly called his flesh to a supreme + communion.— + </p> + <p> + They were made very inattentive to their game, the players, by the group + of little girls, of white and pink waists, and they laughed themselves at + not playing so well as usual. Above them, occupying only a small corner of + the old, granite amphitheatre, ascended rows of empty benches in ruins; + then, the houses of Etchezar, so peacefully isolated from the rest of the + world; then, in fine, the obscure, encumbering mass of the Gizune, filling + up the sky and mingling with thick clouds asleep on its sides. Clouds + immovable, inoffensive and without a threat of rain; clouds of spring, + which were of a turtle-dove color and which seemed tepid, like the air of + that evening. And, in a rent, much less elevated than the summit + predominating over this entire site, a round moon began to silver as the + day declined. + </p> + <p> + They played, in the beautiful twilight, until the hour when the first bats + appeared, until the hour when the flying pelota could hardly be seen in + the air. Perhaps they felt, unconsciously, that the moment was rare and + might not be regained: then, as much as possible, they should prolong it— + </p> + <p> + And at last, they went together to take to Itchoua his Spanish coins. In + two lots, they had been placed in two thick, reddish towels which a boy + and a girl held at each end, and they walked in cadence, singing the tune + of “The Linen Weaver.” + </p> + <p> + How long, clear and soft was that twilight of April!—There were + roses and all sorts of flowers in front of the walls of the venerable, + white houses with brown or green blinds. Jessamine, honeysuckle and linden + filled the air with fragrance. For Gracieuse and Ramuntcho, it was one of + those exquisite hours which later, in the anguishing sadness of + awakenings, one recalls with a regret at once heart-breaking and charming. + </p> + <p> + Oh! who shall say why there are on earth evenings of spring, and eyes so + pretty to look at, and smiles of young girls, and breaths of perfumes + which gardens exhale when the nights of April fall, and all this delicious + cajoling of life, since it is all to end ironically in separation, in + decrepitude and in death— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, Friday, was organized the departure for this village where + the festival was to take place on the following Sunday. It is situated + very far, in a shady region, at the turn of a deep gorge, at the foot of + very high summits. Arrochkoa was born there and he had spent there the + first months of his life, in the time when his father lived there as a + brigadier of the French customs; but he had left too early to have + retained the least memory of it. + </p> + <p> + In the little Detcharry carriage, Gracieuse, Pantchita and, with a long + whip in her hand, Madame Dargaignaratz, her mother, who is to drive, leave + together at the noon angelus to go over there directly by the mountain + route. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho, Arrochkoa and Florentino, who have to settle smuggling affairs + at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, go by a roundabout way which will bring them to + Erribiague at night, on the train which goes from Bayonne to Burguetta. + To-day, all three are heedless and happy; Basque caps never appeared above + more joyful faces. + </p> + <p> + The night is falling when they penetrate, by this little train of + Burguetta, into the quiet, interior country. The carriages are full of a + gay crowd, a spring evening crowd, returning from some festival, young + girls with silk kerchiefs around their necks, young men wearing woolen + caps; all are singing, laughing and kissing. In spite of the invading + obscurity one may still distinguish the hedges, white with hawthorn, the + woods white with acacia flowers; into the open carriages penetrates a + fragrance at once violent and suave, which the country exhales. And on all + this white bloom of April, which the night little by little effaces, the + train throws in passing a furrow of joy, the refrain of some old song of + Navarre, sung and resung infinitely by these girls and these boys, in the + noise of the wheels and of the steam— + </p> + <p> + Erribiague! At the doors, this name, which makes all three start, is + cried. The singing band had already stepped out, leaving them almost alone + in the train, which had become silent. High mountains had made the night + very thick—and the three were almost sleeping. + </p> + <p> + Astounded, they jump down, in the midst of an obscurity which even their + smugglers' eyes cannot pierce. Stars above hardly shine, so encumbered is + the sky by the overhanging summits. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the village?” they ask of a man who is there alone to receive + them. + </p> + <p> + “Three miles from here on the right.” + </p> + <p> + They begin to distinguish the gray trail of a road, suddenly lost in the + heart of the shade. And in the grand silence, in the humid coolness of + these valleys full of darkness, they walk without talking, their gaiety + somewhat darkened by the black majesty of the peaks that guard the + frontier here. + </p> + <p> + They come, at last, to an old, curved bridge over a torrent; then, to the + sleeping village which no light indicates. And the inn, where shines a + lamp, is near by, leaning on the mountain, its base in the roaring water. + </p> + <p> + The young men are led into their little rooms which have an air of + cleanliness in spite of their extreme oldness: very low, crushed by their + enormous beams, and bearing on their whitewashed walls images of the + Christ, the Virgin and the saints. + </p> + <p> + Then, they go down to the supper tables, where are seated two or three old + men in old time costume: white belt, black blouse, very short, with a + thousand pleats. And Arrochkoa, vain of his parentage, hastens to ask them + if they have not known Detcharry, who was here a brigadier of the customs + eighteen years ago. + </p> + <p> + One of the old men scans his face: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are his son, I would bet! You look like him! Detcharry, do I + remember Detcharry!—He took from me two hundred lots of merchandise!—That + does not matter, here is my hand, even if you are his son!” + </p> + <p> + And the old defrauder, who was the chief of a great band, without rancor, + with effusion, presses Arrochkoa's two hands. + </p> + <p> + Detcharry has remained famous at Erribiague for his stratagems, his + ambuscades, his captures of contraband goods, out of which came, later, + his income that Dolores and her children enjoy. + </p> + <p> + And Arrochkoa assumes a proud air, while Ramuntcho lowers his head, + feeling that he is of a lower condition, having no father. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not in the customhouse, as your deceased father was?” continued + the old man in a bantering tone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not exactly.—Quite the reverse, even—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well! I understand!—Then, shake once more—and it's a sort + of revenge on Detcharry for me, to know that his son has gone into + smuggling like us!—” + </p> + <p> + They send for cider and they drink together, while the old men tell again + the exploits and the tricks of former times, all the ancient tales of + nights in the mountains; they speak a variety of Basque different from + that of Etchezar, the village where the language is preserved more clearly + articulated, more incisive, more pure, perhaps. Ramuntcho and Arrochkoa + are surprised by this accent of the high land, which softens the words and + which chants them; those white-haired story tellers seem to them almost + strangers, whose talk is a series of monotonous stanzas, repeated + infinitely as in the antique songs expressive of sorrow. And, as soon as + they cease talking, the slight sounds in the sleep of the country come + from peaceful and fresh darkness. The crickets chirp; one hears the + torrent bubbling at the base of the inn; one hears the dripping of springs + from the terrible, overhanging summits, carpeted with thick foliage.—It + sleeps, the very small village, crouched and hidden in the hollow of a + ravine, and one has the impression that the night here is a night blacker + than elsewhere and more mysterious. + </p> + <p> + “In truth,” concludes the old chief, “the customhouse and smuggling, at + bottom, resemble each other; it is a game where the smartest wins, is it + not? I will even say that, in my own opinion, an officer of customs, + clever and bold, a customs officer like your father, for example, is as + worthy as any of us!” + </p> + <p> + After this, the hostess having come to say that it was time to put out the + lamp—the last lamp still lit in the village—they go away, the + old defrauders. Ramuntcho and Arrochkoa go up to their rooms, lie down and + sleep, always in the chirp of the crickets, always in the sound of fresh + waters that run or that fall. And Ramuntcho, as in his house at Etchezar, + hears vaguely during his sleep the tinkling of bells, attached to the + necks of cows moving in a dream, under him, in the stable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Now they open, to the beautiful April morning, the shutters of their + narrow windows, pierced like portholes in the thickness of the very old + wall. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly, it is a flood of light that dazzles their eyes. Outside, the + spring is resplendent. Never had they seen, before this, summits so high + and so near. But along the slopes full of leaves, along the mountains + decked with trees, the sun descends to radiate in this valley on the + whiteness of the village, on the kalsomine of the ancient houses with + green shutters. + </p> + <p> + Both awakened with veins full of youth and hearts full of joy. They have + formed the project this morning to go into the country, to the house of + Madame Dargaignaratz's cousins, and see the two little girls, who must + have arrived the night before in the carriage, Gracieuse and Pantchika.—After + a glance at the ball-game square, where they shall return to practice in + the afternoon, they go on their way through small paths, magnificently + green, hidden in the depths of the valleys, skirting the cool torrents. + The foxglove flowers start everywhere like long, pink rockets above the + light and infinite mass of ferns. + </p> + <p> + It is at a long distance, it seems, that house of the Olhagarray cousins, + and they stop from time to time to ask the way from shepherds, or they + knock at the doors of solitary houses, here and there, under the cover of + branches. They had never seen Basque houses so old nor so primitive, under + the shade of chestnut trees so tall. + </p> + <p> + The ravines through which they advance are strangely enclosed. Higher than + all these woods of oaks and of beeches, which seem as if suspended above, + appear ferocious, denuded summits, a zone abrupt and bald, sombre brown, + making points in the violent blue of the sky. But here, underneath, is the + sheltered and mossy region, green and deep, which the sun never burns and + where April has hidden its luxury, freshly superb. + </p> + <p> + And they also, the two who are passing through these paths of foxglove and + of fern, participate in this splendor of spring. + </p> + <p> + Little by little, in their enjoyment at being there, and under the + influence of this ageless place, the old instincts to hunt and to destroy + are lighted in the depths of their minds. Arrochkoa, excited, leaps from + right to left, from left to right, breaks, uproots grasses and flowers; + troubles about everything that moves in the green foliage, about the + lizards that might be caught, about the birds that might be taken out of + their nests, and about the beautiful trout swimming in the water; he + jumps, he leaps; he wishes he had fishing lines, sticks, guns; truly he + reveals his savagery in the bloom of his robust eighteen years.—Ramuntcho + calms himself quickly; after breaking a few branches, plucking a few + flowers, he begins to meditate; and he thinks— + </p> + <p> + Here they are stopped now at a cross-road where no human habitation is + visible. Around them are gorges full of shade wherein grand oaks grow + thickly, and above, everywhere, a piling up of mountains, of a reddish + color burned by the sun. There is nowhere an indication of the new times; + there is an absolute silence, something like the peace of the primitive + epochs. Lifting their heads toward the brown peaks, they perceive at a + long distance persons walking on invisible paths, pushing before them + donkeys of smugglers: as small as insects at such a distance, are these + silent passers-by on the flank of the gigantic mountain; Basques of other + times, almost confused, as one looks at them from this place, with this + reddish earth from which they came—and where they are to return, + after having lived like their ancestors without a suspicion of the things + of our times, of the events of other places— + </p> + <p> + They take off their caps, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, to wipe their + foreheads; it is so warm in these gorges and they have run so much, jumped + so much, that their entire bodies are in a perspiration. They are enjoying + themselves, but they would like to come, nevertheless, near the two + little, blonde girls who are waiting for them. But of whom shall they ask + their way now, since there is no one? + </p> + <p> + “Ave Maria,” cries at them from the thickness of the branches an old, + rough voice. + </p> + <p> + And the salutation is prolonged by a string of words spoken in a rapid + decrescendo, quick; quick; a Basque prayer rattled breathlessly, begun + very loudly, then dying at the finish. And an old beggar comes out of the + fern, all earthy, all hairy, all gray, bent on his stick like a man of the + woods. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” says Arrochkoa, putting his hand in his pocket, “but you must take + us to the Olhagarray house.” + </p> + <p> + “The Olhagarray house,” replies the old man. “I have come from it, my + children, and you are near it.” + </p> + <p> + In truth, how had they failed to see, at a hundred steps further, that + black gable among branches of chestnut trees? + </p> + <p> + At a point where sluices rustle, it is bathed by a torrent, that + Olhagarray house, antique and large, among antique chestnut trees. Around, + the red soil is denuded and furrowed by the waters of the mountain; + enormous roots are interlaced in it like monstrous gray serpents; and the + entire place, overhung on all sides by the Pyrenean masses, is rude and + tragic. + </p> + <p> + But two young girls are there, seated in the shade; with blonde hair and + elegant little pink waists; astonishing little fairies, very modern in the + midst of the ferocious and old scenes.—They rise, with cries of joy, + to meet the visitors. + </p> + <p> + It would have been better, evidently, to enter the house and salute the + old people. But the boys say to themselves that they have not been seen + coming, and they prefer to sit near their sweethearts, by the side of the + brook, on the gigantic roots. And, as if by chance, the two couples manage + not to bother one another, to remain hidden from one another by rocks, by + branches. + </p> + <p> + There then, they talk at length in a low voice, Arrochkoa with Pantchika, + Ramuntcho with Gracieuse. What can they be saying, talking so much and so + quickly? + </p> + <p> + Although their accent is less chanted than that of the highland, which + astonished them yesterday, one would think they were speaking scanned + stanzas, in a sort of music, infinitely soft, where the voices of the boys + seem voices of children. + </p> + <p> + What are they saying to one another, talking so much and so quickly, + beside this torrent, in this harsh ravine, under the heavy sun of noon? + What they are saying has not much sense; it is a sort of murmur special to + lovers, something like the special song of the swallows at nesting time. + It is childish, a tissue of incoherences and repetitions. No, what they + are saying has not much sense—unless it be what is most sublime in + the world, the most profound and truest things which may be expressed by + terrestrial words.—It means nothing, unless it be the eternal and + marvellous hymn for which alone has been created the language of men and + beasts, and in comparison with which all is empty, miserable and vain. + </p> + <p> + The heat is stifling in the depth of that gorge, so shut in from all + sides; in spite of the shade of the chestnut trees, the rays, that the + leaves sift, burn still. And this bare earth, of a reddish color, the + extreme oldness of this nearby house, the antiquity of these trees, give + to the surroundings, while the lovers talk, aspects somewhat harsh and + hostile. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho has never seen his little friend made so pink by the sun: on her + cheeks, there is the beautiful, red blood which flushes the skin, the fine + and transparent skin; she is pink as the foxglove flowers. + </p> + <p> + Flies, mosquitoes buzz in their ears. Now Gracieuse has been bitten on the + chin, almost on the mouth, and she tries to touch it with the end of her + tongue, to bite the place with the upper teeth. And Ramuntcho, who looks + at this too closely, feels suddenly a langour, to divert himself from + which he stretches himself like one trying to awake. + </p> + <p> + She begins again, the little girl, her lip still itching—and he + again stretches his arms, throwing his chest backward. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Ramuntcho, and why do you stretch yourself like a + cat?—” + </p> + <p> + But when, for the third time, Gracieuse bites the same place, and shows + again the little tip of her tongue, he bends over, vanquished by the + irresistible giddiness, and bites also, takes in his mouth, like a + beautiful red fruit which one fears to crush, the fresh lip which the + mosquito has bitten— + </p> + <p> + A silence of fright and of delight, during which both shiver, she as much + as he; she trembling also, in all her limbs, for having felt the contact + of the growing black mustache. + </p> + <p> + “You are not angry, tell me?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “No, my Ramuntcho.—Oh, I am not angry, no—” + </pre> + <p> + Then he begins again, quite frantic, and in this languid and warm air, + they exchange for the first time in their lives, the long kisses of lovers— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, Sunday, they went together religiously to hear one of the + masses of the clear morning, in order to return to Etchezar the same day, + immediately after the grand ball-game. It was this return, much more than + the game, that interested Gracieuse and Ramuntcho, for it was their hope + that Pantchika and her mother would remain at Erribiague while they would + go, pressed against each other, in the very small carriage of the + Detcharry family, under the indulgent and slight watchfulness of + Arrochkoa, five or six hours of travel, all three alone, on the spring + roads, under the new foliage, with amusing halts in unknown villages— + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock in the morning, on that beautiful Sunday, the square was + encumbered by mountaineers come from all the summits, from all the savage, + surrounding hamlets. It was an international match, three players of + France against three of Spain, and, in the crowd of lookers-on, the + Spanish Basques were more numerous; there were large sombreros, waistcoats + and gaiters of the olden time. + </p> + <p> + The judges of the two nations, designated by chance, saluted each other + with a superannuated politeness, and the match began, in profound silence, + under an oppressive sun which annoyed the players, in spite of their caps, + pulled down over their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho soon, and after him Arrochkoa, were acclaimed as victors. And + people looked at the two little strangers, so attentive, in the first row, + so pretty also with their elegant pink waists, and people said: “They are + the sweethearts of the two good players.” Then Gracieuse, who heard + everything, felt proud of Ramuntcho. + </p> + <p> + Noon. They had been playing for almost an hour. The old wall, with its + summit curved like a cupola, was cracking from dryness and from heat, + under its paint of yellow ochre. The grand Pyrenean masses, nearer here + than at Etchezar, more crushing and more high, dominated from everywhere + these little, human groups, moving in a deep fold of their sides. And the + sun fell straight on the heavy caps of the men, on the bare heads of the + women, heating the brains, increasing enthusiasm. The passionate crowd + yelled, and the pelotas were flying, when, softly, the angelus began to + ring. Then an old man, all wrinkled, all burned, who was waiting for this + signal, put his mouth to the clarion—his old clarion of a Zouave in + Africa—and rang the call to rest. And all, the women who were seated + rose; all the caps fell, uncovering hair black, blonde or white, and the + entire people made the sign of the cross, while the players, with chests + and foreheads streaming with perspiration, stopped in the heat of the game + and stood in meditation with heads bent— + </p> + <p> + At two o'clock, the game having come to an end gloriously for the French, + Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho went in their little wagon, accompanied and + acclaimed by all the young men of Erribiague; then Gracieuse sat between + the two, and they started for their long, charming trip, their pockets + full of the gold which they had earned, intoxicated by their joy, by the + noise and by the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho, who retained the taste of yesterday's kiss, felt like + shouting to them: “This little girl who is so pretty, as you see, is mine! + Her lips are mine, I had them yesterday and will take them again + to-night!” + </p> + <p> + They started and at once found silence again, in the shaded valleys + bordered by foxglove and ferns— + </p> + <p> + To roll for hours on the small Pyrenean roads, to change places almost + every day, to traverse the Basque country, to go from one village to + another, called here by a festival, there by an adventure on the frontier—this + was now Ramuntcho's life, the errant life which the ball-game made for him + in the day-time and smuggling in the night-time. + </p> + <p> + Ascents, descents, in the midst of a monotonous display of verdure. Woods + of oaks and of beeches, almost inviolate, and remaining as they were in + the quiet centuries.—When he passed by some antique house, hidden in + these solitudes of trees, he stopped to enjoy reading, above the door, the + traditional legend inscribed in the granite: “Ave Maria! in the year 1600, + or in the year 1500, such a one, from such a village, has built this + house, to live in it with such a one, his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Very far from all human habitation, in a corner of a ravine, where it was + warmer than elsewhere, sheltered from all breezes, they met a peddler of + holy images, who was wiping his forehead. He had set down his basket, full + of those colored prints with gilt frames that represent saints with + Euskarian legends, and with which the Basques like to adorn their old + rooms with white walls. And he was there, exhausted from fatigue and heat, + as if wrecked in the ferns, at a turn of those little, mountain routes + which run solitary under oaks. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse came down and bought a Holy Virgin. + </p> + <p> + “Later,” she said to Ramuntcho, “we shall put it in our house as a + souvenir—” + </p> + <p> + And the image, dazzling in its gold frame, went with them under the long, + green vaults— + </p> + <p> + They went out of their path, for they wished to pass by a certain valley + of the Cherry-trees, not in the hope of finding cherries in it, in April, + but to show to Gracieuse the place, which is renowned in the entire Basque + country. + </p> + <p> + It was almost five o'clock, the sun was already low, when they reached + there. It was a shaded and calm region, where the spring twilight + descended like a caress on the magnificence of the April foliage. The air + was cool and suave, fragrant with hay, with acacia. Mountains—very + high, especially toward the north, to make the climate there softer, + surrounded it on all sides, investing it with a melancholy mystery of + closed Edens. + </p> + <p> + And, when the cherry-trees appeared, they were a gay surprise, they were + already red. + </p> + <p> + There was nobody on these paths, above which the grand cherry-trees + extended like a roof, their branches dripping with coral. + </p> + <p> + Here and there were some summer houses, still uninhabited, some deserted + gardens, invaded by the tall grass and the rose bushes. + </p> + <p> + Then, they made their horse walk; then, each one in his turn, transferring + the reins and standing in the wagon, amused himself by eating these + cherries from the trees while passing by them and without stopping. + Afterward, they placed bouquets of them in their buttonholes, they culled + branches of them to deck the horse's head, the harness and the lantern. + The equipage seemed ornamented for some festival of youth and of joy— + </p> + <p> + “Now let us hurry,” said Gracieuse. “If only it be light enough, at least, + when we reach Etchezar, for people to see us pass, ornamented as we are!” + </p> + <p> + As for Ramuntcho, he thought of the meeting place in the evening, of the + kiss which he would dare to repeat, similar to that of yesterday, taking + Gracieuse's lip between his lips like a cherry— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + May! The grass ascends, ascends from everywhere like a sumptuous carpet, + like silky velvet, emanating spontaneously from the earth. + </p> + <p> + In order to sprinkle this region of the Basques, which remains humid and + green all summer like a sort of warmer Brittany, the errant vapors on the + Bay of Biscay assemble all in this depth of gulf, stop at the Pyrenean + summits and melt into rain. Long showers fall, which are somewhat + deceptive, but after which the soil smells of new flowers and hay. + </p> + <p> + In the fields, along the roads, the grasses quickly thicken; all the + ledges of the paths are as if padded by the magnificent thickness of the + bent grass; everywhere is a profusion of gigantic Easter daisies, of + buttercups with tall stems, and of very large, pink mallows like those of + Algeria. + </p> + <p> + And, in the long, tepid twilights, pale iris or blue ashes in color, every + night the bells of the month of Mary resound for a long time in the air, + under the mass of the clouds hooked to the flanks of the mountains. + </p> + <p> + During the month of May, with the little group of black nuns, with + discreet babble, with puerile and lifeless laughter, Gracieuse, at all + hours, went to church. Hastening their steps under the frequent showers, + they went together through the graveyard, full of roses; together, always + together, the little clandestine betrothed, in light colored gowns, and + the nuns, with long, mourning veils; during the day they brought bouquets + of white flowers, daisies and sheafs of tall lilies; at night they came to + sing, in the nave still more sonorous than in the day-time, the softly + joyful canticles of the Virgin Mary: + </p> + <p> + “Ave, Queen of the Angels! Star of the Sea, ave!—” + </p> + <p> + Oh, the whiteness of the lilies lighted by the tapers, their white petals + and their yellow pollen in gold dust! Oh, their fragrance in the gardens + or in the church, during the twilights of spring! + </p> + <p> + And as soon as Gracieuse entered there, at night, in the dying ring of the + bells—leaving the pale half-light of the graveyard full of roses for + the starry night of the wax tapers which reigned already in the church, + quitting the odor of hay and of roses for that of incense and of the tall, + cut lilies, passing from the lukewarm and living air outside to that heavy + and sepulchral cold that centuries amass in old sanctuaries—a + particular calm came at once to her mind, a pacifying of all her desires, + a renunciation of all her terrestrial joys. Then, when she had knelt, when + the first canticles had taken their flight under the vault, infinitely + sonorous, little by little she fell into an ecstasy, a state of dreaming, + a visionary state which confused, white apparitions traversed: whiteness, + whiteness everywhere; lilies, thousands of sheafs of lilies, and white + wings, shivers of white wings of angels— + </p> + <p> + Oh! to remain for a long time in that state, to forget all things, and to + feel herself pure, sanctified and immaculate, under that glance, ineffably + fascinating and soft, under that glance, irresistibly appealing, which the + Holy Virgin, in long white vestments, let fall from the height of the + tabernacle—! + </p> + <p> + But, when she went outside, when the night of spring re-enveloped her with + tepid breezes of life, the memory of the meeting which she had promised + the day before, the day before as well as every day, chased like the wind + of a storm the visions of the church. In the expectation of Ramuntcho, in + the expectation of the odor of his hair, of the touch of his mustache, of + the taste of his lips, she felt near faltering, like one wounded, among + the strange companions who accompanied her, among the peaceful and + spectral black nuns. + </p> + <p> + And when the hour had come, in spite of all her resolutions she was there, + anxious and ardent, listening to the least noise, her heart beating if a + branch of the garden moved in the night—tortured by the least + tardiness of the beloved one. + </p> + <p> + He came always with his same silent step of a rover at night, his + waistcoat on his shoulder, with as much precaution and artifice as for the + most dangerous act of smuggling. + </p> + <p> + In the rainy nights, so frequent in the Basque spring-time, she remained + in her room on the first floor, and he sat on the sill of the open window, + not trying to go in, not having the permission to do so. And they stayed + there, she inside, he outside, their arms laced, their heads touching each + other, the cheek of one resting on the cheek of the other. + </p> + <p> + When the weather was beautiful, she jumped over this low window-sill to + wait for him outside, and their long meetings, almost without words, + occurred on the garden bench. Between them there were not even those + continual whisperings familiar to lovers; no, there were rather silences. + At first they did not dare to talk, for fear of being discovered, for the + least murmurs of voices at night are heard. And then, as nothing new + threatened their lives, what need had they to talk? What could they have + said which would have been better than the long contact of their joined + hands and of their heads resting against each other? + </p> + <p> + The possibility of being surprised kept them often on the alert, in an + anxiety which made more delicious afterward the moments when they forgot + themselves more, their confidence having returned.—Nobody frightened + them as much as Arrochkoa, a smart, nocturnal prowler himself, and always + so well-informed about the goings and comings of Ramuntcho—In spite + of his indulgence, what would he do, if he discovered them?— + </p> + <p> + Oh, the old stone benches, under branches, in front of the doors of + isolated houses, when fall the lukewarm nights of spring!—Theirs was + a real lovers' hiding place, and there was for them, every night, a music, + for, in all the stones of the neighbors' wall lived those singing + tree-toads, beasts of the south, which, as soon as night fell, gave from + moment to moment a little, brief note, discreet, odd, having the tone of a + crystal bell and of a child's throat. Something similar might be produced + by touching here and there, without ever resting on them, the scales of an + organ with a celestial voice. There were tree-toads everywhere, responding + to one another in different tones; even those which were under their + bench, close by them, reassured by their immobility, sang also from time + to time; then that little sound, brusque and soft, so near, made them + start and smile. All the exquisite, surrounding obscurity was animated by + that music, which continued in the distance, in the mystery of the leaves + and of the stones, in the depths of all the small, black holes of rocks or + walls; it seemed like chivies in miniature, or rather, a sort of frail + concert somewhat mocking—oh! not very mocking, and without any + maliciousness—led timidly by inoffensive gnomes. And this made the + night more living and more loving— + </p> + <p> + After the intoxicated audacities of the first nights, fright took a + stronger hold of them, and, when one of them had something special to say, + one led the other by the hand without talking; this meant that they had to + walk softly, softly, like marauding cats, to an alley behind the house + where they could talk without fear. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we live, Gracieuse?” asked Ramuntcho one night. + </p> + <p> + “At your house, I had thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, so thought I—only I thought it would make you sad to be so + far from the parish, from the church and the square—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—with you, I could find anything sad?—” + </p> + <p> + “Then, we would send away those who live on the first floor and take the + large room which opens on the road to Hasparitz—” + </p> + <p> + It was an increased joy for him to know that Gracieuse would accept his + house, to be sure that she would bring the radiance of her presence into + that old, beloved home, and that they would make their nest there for life— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> + <p> + Here come the long, pale twilights of June, somewhat veiled like those of + May, less uncertain, however, and more tepid still. In the gardens, the + rose-laurel which is beginning to bloom in profusion is becoming already + magnificently pink. At the end of each work day, the good folks sit + outside, in front of their doors, to look at the night falling—the + night which soon confuses, under the vaults of the plane-trees, their + groups assembled for benevolent rest. And a tranquil melancholy descends + over villages, in those interminable evenings— + </p> + <p> + For Ramuntcho, this is the epoch when smuggling becomes a trade almost + without trouble, with charming hours, marching toward summits through + spring clouds; crossing ravines, wandering in lands of springs and of wild + fig-trees; sleeping, waiting for the agreed hour, with carbineers who are + accomplices, on carpets of mint and pinks.—The good odor of plants + impregnated his clothes, his waistcoat which he never wore, but used as a + pillow or a blanket—and Gracieuse would say to him at night: “I know + where you went last night, for you smell of mint of the mountain above + Mendizpi”—or: “You smell of absinthe of the Subernoa morass.” + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse regretted the month of Mary, the offices of the Virgin in the + nave, decked with white flowers. In the twilights without rain, with the + sisters and some older pupils of their class, she sat under the porch of + the church, against the low wall of the graveyard from which the view + plunges into the valleys beneath. There they talked, or played the + childish games in which nuns indulge. + </p> + <p> + There were also long and strange meditations, meditations to which the + fall of day, the proximity of the church, of the tombs and of their + flowers, gave soon a serenity detached from material things and as if free + from all alliance with the senses. In her first mystic dreams as a little + girl,—inspired especially by the pompous rites of the cult, by the + voice of the organ, the white bouquets, the thousand flames of the wax + tapers—only images appeared to her—very radiant images, it is + true: altars resting on mists, golden tabernacles where music vibrated and + where fell grand flights of angels. But those visions gave place now to + ideas: she caught a glimpse of that peace and that supreme renunciation + which the certainty of an endless celestial life gives; she conceived, in + a manner more elevated than formerly, the melancholy joy of abandoning + everything in order to become an impersonal part of that entirety of nuns, + white, or blue, or black, who, from the innumerable convents of earth, + make ascend toward heaven an immense and perpetual intercession for the + sins of the world— + </p> + <p> + However, as soon as night had fallen quite, the course of her thoughts + came down every evening fatally toward intoxicating and mortal things. Her + wait, her feverish wait, began, more impatient from moment to moment. She + felt anxious that her cold companions with black veils should return into + the sepulchre of their convent and that she should be alone in her room, + free at last, in the house fallen asleep, ready to open her window and + listen to the slight noise of Ramuntcho's footsteps. + </p> + <p> + The kiss of lovers, the kiss on the lips, was now a thing possessed and of + which they had not the strength to deprive themselves. And they prolonged + it a great deal, not wishing, through charming scruples, to accord more to + each other. + </p> + <p> + Anyway, if the intoxication which they gave to each other thus was a + little too carnal, there was between them that absolute tenderness, + infinite, unique, by which all things are elevated and purified. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. + </h2> + <p> + Ramuntcho, that evening, had come to the meeting place earlier than usual—with + more hesitation also in his walk, for one risks, on these June evenings, + to find girls belated along the paths, or boys behind the hedges on love + expeditions. + </p> + <p> + And by chance she was already alone, looking outside, without waiting for + him, however. + </p> + <p> + At once she noticed his agitated demeanor and guessed that something new + had happened. Not daring to come too near, he made a sign to her to come + quickly, jump over the window-sill, and meet him in the obscure alley + where they talked without fear. Then, as soon as she was near him, in the + nocturnal shade of the trees, he put his arm around her waist and + announced to her, brusquely, the great piece of news which, since the + morning, troubled his young head and that of Franchita, his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Ignacio has written.” + </p> + <p> + “True? Uncle Ignacio!” + </p> + <p> + She knew that that adventurous uncle, that American uncle, who had + disappeared for so many years, had never thought until now of sending more + than a strange good-day by a passing sailor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! And he says that he has property there, which requires attention, + large prairies, herds of horses; that he has no children, that if I wish + to go and live near him with a gentle Basque girl married to me here, he + would be glad to adopt both of us.—Oh! I think mother will come + also.—So, if you wish.—We could marry now.—You know they + marry people as young as we, it is allowed.—Now that I am to be + adopted by my uncle and I shall have a real situation in life, your mother + will consent, I think.—And as for military service, we shall not + care for that, shall we?—” + </p> + <p> + They sat on the mossy rocks, their heads somewhat dizzy, troubled by the + approach and the unforeseen temptation of happiness. So, it would not be + in an uncertain future, after his term as a soldier, it would be almost at + once; in two months, in one month, perhaps, that communion of their minds + and of their flesh, so ardently desired and now so forbidden, might be + accomplished without sin, honestly in the eyes of all, permitted and + blessed.—Oh! they had never looked at this so closely.—And + they pressed against each other their foreheads, made heavy by too many + thoughts, fatigued suddenly by a sort of too delicious delirium.—Around + them, the odor of the flowers of June ascended from the earth, filling the + night with an immense suavity. And, as if there were not enough scattered + fragrance, the jessamine, the honeysuckle on the walls exhaled from moment + to moment, in intermittent puffs, the excess of their perfume; one would + have thought that hands swung in silence censers in the darkness, for some + hidden festival, for some enchantment magnificent and secret. + </p> + <p> + There are often and everywhere very mysterious enchantments like this, + emanating from nature itself, commanded by one knows not what sovereign + will with unfathomable designs, to deceive us all, on the road to death— + </p> + <p> + “You do not reply, Gracieuse, you say nothing to me—” + </p> + <p> + He could see that she was intoxicated also, like him, and yet he divined + by her manner of remaining mute so long, that shadows were amassing over + his charming and beautiful dream. + </p> + <p> + “But,” she asked at last, “your naturalization papers. You have received + them, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they arrived last week, you know very well, and it was you who said + that I should apply for them—” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a Frenchman to-day.—Then, if you do not do your + military service you are a deserter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.—A deserter, no; but refractory, I think it is called.—It + isn't better, since one cannot come back.—I was not thinking of that—” + </p> + <p> + How she was tortured now to have caused this thought, to have impelled him + herself to this act which made soar over his hardly seen joy a threat so + black! Oh, a deserter, he, her Ramuntcho! That is, banished forever from + the dear, Basque country!—And this departure for America becomes + suddenly frightfully grave, solemn, similar to a death, since he could not + possibly return!—Then, what was there to be done?— + </p> + <p> + Now they were anxious and mute, each one preferring to submit to the will + of the other, and waiting, with equal fright, for the decision which + should be taken, to go or to remain. From the depths of their two young + hearts ascended, little by little, a similar distress, poisoning the + happiness offered over there, in that America from which they would never + return.—And the little, nocturnal censers of jessamine, of + honeysuckle, of linden, continued to throw into the air exquisite puffs to + intoxicate them; the darkness that enveloped them seemed more and more + caressing and soft; in the silence of the village and of the country, the + tree-toads gave, from moment to moment, their little flute-note, which + seemed a very discreet love call, under the velvet of the moss; and, + through the black lace of the foliage, in the serenity of a June sky which + one thought forever unalterable, they saw scintillate, like a simple and + gentle dust of phosphorus, the terrifying multitude of the worlds. + </p> + <p> + The curfew began to ring, however, at the church. The sound of that bell, + at night especially, was for them something unique on earth. At this + moment, it was something like a voice bringing, in their indecision, its + advice, its counsel, decisive and tender. Mute still, they listened to it + with an increasing emotion, of an intensity till then unknown, the brown + head of the one leaning on the brown head of the other. It said, the + advising voice, the dear, protecting voice: “No, do not go forever; the + far-off lands are made for the time of youth; but you must be able to + return to Etchezar: it is here that you must grow old and die; nowhere in + the world could you sleep as in this graveyard around the church, where + one may, even when lying under the earth, hear me ring again—” They + yielded more and more to the voice of the bell, the two children whose + minds were religious and primitive. And Ramuntcho felt on his cheek a tear + of Gracieuse: + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said at last, “I will not desert; I think that I would not have + the courage to do it—” + </p> + <p> + “I thought the same thing as you, my Ramuntcho,” she said. “No, let us not + do that. I was waiting for you to say it—” + </p> + <p> + Then he realized that he also was crying, like her— + </p> + <p> + The die was cast, they would permit to pass by happiness which was within + their reach, almost under their hands; they would postpone everything to a + future uncertain and so far off—! + </p> + <p> + And now, in the sadness, in the meditation of the great decision which + they had taken, they communicated to each other what seemed best for them + to do: + </p> + <p> + “We might,” she said, “write a pretty letter to your uncle Ignacio; write + to him that you accept, that you will come with a great deal of pleasure + immediately after your military service; you might even add, if you wish, + that the one who is engaged to you thanks him and will be ready to follow + you; but that decidedly you cannot desert.” + </p> + <p> + “And why should you not talk to your mother now, Gatchutcha, only to know + what she would think?—Because now, you understand, I am not as I + was, an abandoned child—” Slight steps behind them, in the path—and + above the wall, the silhouette of a young man who had come on the tips of + his sandals, as if to spy upon them! + </p> + <p> + “Go, escape, my Ramuntcho, we will meet to-morrow evening!—” + </p> + <p> + In half a second, there was nobody: he was hidden in a bush, she had fled + into her room. + </p> + <p> + Ended was their grave interview! Ended until when? Until to-morrow or + until always?—On their farewells, abrupt or prolonged, frightened or + peaceful, every time, every night, weighed the same uncertainty of their + meeting again— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. + </h2> + <p> + The bell of Etchezar, the same dear, old bell, that of the tranquil + curfew, that of the festivals and that of the agonies, rang joyously in + the beautiful sun of June. The village was decorated with white cloths, + white embroideries, and the procession of the Fete-Dieu passed slowly, on + a green strewing of fennel seed and of reeds cut from the marshes. + </p> + <p> + The mountains seemed near and sombre, somewhat ferocious in their brown + tones, above this white parade of little girls marching on a carpet of cut + leaves and grass. + </p> + <p> + All the old banners of the church were there, illuminated by that sun + which they had known for centuries but which they see only once or twice a + year, on the consecrated days. + </p> + <p> + The large one, that of the Virgin, in white silk embroidered with pale + gold, was borne by Gracieuse, who walked in white dress, her eyes lost in + a mystic dream. Behind the young girls, came the women, all the women of + the village, wearing black veils, including Dolores and Franchita, the two + enemies. Men, numerous enough, closed this cortege, tapers in their hands, + heads uncovered—but there were especially gray hairs, faces with + expressions vanquished and resigned, heads of old men. + </p> + <p> + Gracieuse, holding high the banner of the Virgin, became at this hour one + of the Illuminati; she felt as if she were marching, as after death, + toward the celestial tabernacles. And when, at instants, the reminiscence + of Ramuntcho's lips traversed her dream, she had the impression, in the + midst of all this white, of a sharp stain, delicious still. Truly, as her + thoughts became more elevated from day to day, what brought her back to + him was less her senses, capable in her of being tamed, than true, + profound tenderness, the one which resists time and deceptions of the + flesh. And this tenderness was augmented by the fact that Ramuntcho was + less fortunate than she and more abandoned in life, having had no father— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. + </h2> + <p> + “Well, Gatchutcha, you have at last spoken to your mother of Uncle + Ignacio?” asked Ramuntcho, very late, the same night, in the alley of the + garden, under rays of the moon. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, I have not dared.—How could I explain that I know all + these things, since I am supposed not to talk with you ever, and she has + forbidden me to do so?—Think, if I were to make her suspicious!—There + would be an end to everything, we could not see each other again! I would + like better to wait until you left the country, then all would be + indifferent to me—” + </p> + <p> + “It is true!—let us wait, since I am to go.” + </p> + <p> + He was going away, and already they could count the evenings which would + be left to them. + </p> + <p> + Now that they had permitted their immediate happiness to escape, the + happiness offered to them in the prairies of America, it seemed preferable + to them to hasten the departure of Ramuntcho for the army, in order that + he might return sooner. So they had decided that he would enlist in the + naval infantry, the only part of the service where one may elect to serve + for a period as short as three years. And as they needed, in order to be + certain not to be lacking in courage, a precise epoch, considered for a + long time in advance, they had fixed the end of September, after the grand + series of ball-games. + </p> + <p> + They contemplated this separation of three years duration with an absolute + confidence in the future, so sure they thought they were of each other, + and of themselves, and of their imperishable love. But it was, however, an + expectation which already filled their hearts strangely; it threw an + unforeseen melancholy over things which were ordinarily the most + indifferent, on the flight of days, on the least indications of the next + season, on the coming into life of certain plants, on the coming into + bloom of certain species of flowers, on all that presaged the arrival and + the rapid march of their last summer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + Already the fires of St. John have flamed, joyful and red in a clear, blue + night, and the Spanish mountain seemed to burn, that night, like a sheaf + of straw, so many were the bonfires lighted on its sides. It has begun, + the season of light, of heat and of storms, at the end of which Ramuntcho + must depart. + </p> + <p> + And the saps, which in the spring went up so quickly, become languid + already in the complete development of the verdure, in the wide bloom of + the flowers. And the sun, more and more burning, overheats all the heads + covered with Basque caps, excites ardor and passion, causes to rise + everywhere, in those Basque villages, ferments of noisy agitation and of + pleasure. While, in Spain, begin the grand bull-fights, this is here the + epoch of so many ball-games, of so many fandangoes danced in the evening, + of so much pining of lovers in the tepid voluptuousness of nights—! + </p> + <p> + Soon will come the warm splendor of the southern July. The Bay of Biscay + has become very blue and the Cantabric coast has for a time put on its + fallow colors of Morocco or of Algeria. + </p> + <p> + With the heavy rains alternates the marvellously beautiful weather which + gives to the air absolute limpidities. And there are days also when + somewhat distant things are as if eaten by light, powdered with sun dust; + then, above the woods and the village of Etchezar, the Gizune, very + pointed, becomes more vaporous and more high, and, on the sky, float, to + make it appear bluer, very small clouds of a gilded white with a little + mother-of-pearl gray in their shades. + </p> + <p> + And the springs run thinner and rarer under the thickness of the ferns, + and, along the routes, go more slowly, driven by half nude men, the + ox-carts which a swarm of flies surrounds. + </p> + <p> + At this season, Ramuntcho, in the day-time, lived his agitated life of a + pelotari, running with Arrochkoa from village to village, to organize + ball-games and play them. + </p> + <p> + But, in his eyes, evenings alone existed. + </p> + <p> + Evenings!—In the odorous and warm darkness of the garden, to be + seated very near Gracieuse; to put his arm around her, little by little to + draw her to him and hold her against his breast, and remain thus for a + long time without saying anything, his chin resting on her hair, breathing + the young and healthy scent of her body. + </p> + <p> + He enervated himself dangerously, Ramuntcho, in these prolonged contacts + which she did not prohibit. Anyway, he divined her surrendered enough to + him now, and confident enough, to permit everything; but he did not wish + to attempt supreme communion, through childish reserve, through respect + for his betrothed, through excess and profoundness of love. And it + happened to him at times to rise abruptly, to stretch himself—in the + manner of a cat, she said, as formerly at Erribiague—when he felt a + dangerous thrill and a more imperious temptation to leave life with her in + a moment of ineffable death— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + Franchita, however, was astonished by the unexplained attitude of her son, + who, apparently, never saw Gracieuse and yet never talked of her. Then, + while was amassing in her the sadness of his coming departure for military + service, she observed him, with her peasant's patience and muteness. + </p> + <p> + One evening, one of the last evenings, as he was going away, mysterious + and in haste, long before the hour of the nocturnal contraband, she + straightened before him, her eyes fixed on his: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, my son?” + </p> + <p> + And seeing him turn his head, blushing and embarrassed, she acquired a + sudden certainty: + </p> + <p> + “It is well, now I know.—Oh! I know!—” + </p> + <p> + She was moved even more than he, at her discovery of this great secret.—The + idea had not even come to her that it was not Gracieuse, that it might be + another girl. She was too far-seeing. And her scruples as a Christian were + awakened, her conscience was frightened at the evil that they might have + done, as rose from the depth of her heart a sentiment of which she was + ashamed as if it were a crime, a sort of savage joy.—For, in fine—if + their carnal union was accomplished, the future of her son was assured.—She + knew her Ramuntcho well enough to know that he would not change his mind + and that Gracieuse would never be abandoned by him. + </p> + <p> + The silence between them was prolonged, she standing before him, barring + the way: + </p> + <p> + “And what have you done together?” she decided to ask. “Tell me the truth, + Ramuntcho, what wrong have you done?—” + </p> + <p> + “What wrong?—Oh! nothing, mother, nothing wrong, I swear to you—” + </p> + <p> + He replied this without irritation at being questioned, and bearing the + look of his mother with eyes of frankness. It was true, and she believed + him. + </p> + <p> + But, as she stayed in front of him, her hand on the door-latch, he said, + with dumb violence: + </p> + <p> + “You are not going to prevent me from going to her, since I shall leave in + three days!” + </p> + <p> + Then, in presence of this young will in revolt, the mother, enclosing in + herself the tumult of her contradictory thoughts, lowered her head and, + without a word, stood aside to let him pass. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. + </h2> + <p> + It was their last evening, for, the day before yesterday, at the Mayor's + office of Saint-Jean-de-Luz, he had, with a hand trembling a little, + signed his engagement for three years in the Second naval infantry, whose + garrison was a military port of the North. + </p> + <p> + It was their last evening,—and they had said that they would make it + longer than usual,—it would last till midnight, Gracieuse had + decided: midnight, which in the villages is an unseasonable and black + hour, an hour after which, she did not know why, all seemed to the little + betrothed graver and guiltier. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the ardent desire of their senses, the idea had not come to + one nor to the other that, during this last meeting, under the oppression + of parting, something more might be attempted. + </p> + <p> + On the contrary, at the instant so full of concentration of their + farewell, they felt more chaste still, so eternal was their love. + </p> + <p> + Less prudent, however, since they had not to care for the morrow, they + dared to talk there, on their lovers' bench, as they had never done + before. They talked of the future, of a future which was for them very + distant, because, at their age, three years seem infinite. + </p> + <p> + In three years, at his return, she would be twenty; then, if her mother + persisted to refuse in an absolute manner, at the end of a year she would + use her right of majority, it was between them an agreed and a sworn + thing. + </p> + <p> + The means of correspondence, during the long absence of Ramuntcho, + preoccupied them a great deal: between them, everything was so complicated + by obstacles and secrets!—Arrochkoa, their only possible + intermediary, had promised his help; but he was so changeable, so + uncertain!—Oh, if he were to fail!—And then, would he consent + to send sealed letters?—If he did not consent there would be no + pleasure in writing.—In our time, when communications are easy and + constant, there are no more of these complete separations similar to the + one which theirs would be; they were to say to each other a very solemn + farewell, like the one which the lovers of other days said, the lovers of + the days when there were lands without post-offices, and distances that + frightened one. The fortunate time when they should see each other again + appeared to them situated far off, far off, in the depths of duration; + yet, because of the faith which they had in each other, they expected this + with a tranquil assurance, as the faithful expect celestial life. + </p> + <p> + But the least things of their last evening acquired in their minds a + singular importance; as this farewell came near, all grew and was + exaggerated for them, as happens in the expectation of death. The slight + sounds and the aspects of the night seemed to them particular and, in + spite of them, were engraving themselves forever in their memory. The song + of the crickets had a characteristic which it seemed to them they had + never heard before. In the nocturnal sonority, the barking of a watch-dog, + coming from some distant farm, made them shiver with a melancholy fright. + And Ramuntcho was to carry with him in his exile, to preserve later with a + desolate attachment, a certain stem of grass plucked from the garden + negligently and with which he had played unconsciously the whole evening. + </p> + <p> + A phase of their life finished with that day: a lapse of time had + occurred, their childhood had passed— + </p> + <p> + Of recommendations, they had none very long to exchange, so intensely was + each one sure of what the other might do during the separation. They had + less to say to each other than other engaged people have, because they + knew mutually their most intimate thoughts. After the first hour of + conversation, they remained hand in hand in grave silence, while were + consumed the inexorable minutes of the end. + </p> + <p> + At midnight, she wished him to go, as she had decided in advance, in her + little thoughtful and obstinate head. Therefore, after having embraced + each other for a long time, they quitted each other, as if the separation + were, at this precise minute, an ineluctable thing which it was impossible + to retard. And while she returned to her room with sobs that he heard, he + scaled over the wall and, in coming out of the darkness of the foliage, + found himself on the deserted road, white with lunar rays. At this first + separation, he suffered less than she, because he was going, because it + was he that the morrow, full of uncertainty, awaited. While he walked on + the road, powdered and clear, the powerful charm of change, of travel, + dulled his sensitiveness; almost without any precise thought, he looked at + his shadow, which the moon made clear and harsh, marching in front of him. + And the great Gizune dominated impassibly everything, with its cold and + spectral air, in all this white radiance of midnight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. + </h2> + <p> + The parting day, good-byes to friends here and there; joyful wishes of + former soldiers returned from the regiment. Since the morning, a sort of + intoxication or of fever, and, in front of him, everything unthought-of in + life. + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa, very amiable on that last day, had offered to drive him in a + wagon to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, and had arranged to go at sunset, in order to + arrive there just in time for the night train. + </p> + <p> + The night having come, inexorably, Franchita wished to accompany her son + to the square, where the Detcharry wagon was waiting for him, and here her + face, despite her will, was drawn by sorrow, while he straightened + himself, in order to preserve the swagger which becomes recruits going to + their regiment: + </p> + <p> + “Make a little place for me, Arrochkoa,” she said abruptly. “I will sit + between you to the chapel of Saint-Bitchentcho; I will return on foot—” + </p> + <p> + And they started at the setting sun, which, on them as on all things, + scattered the magnificence of its gold and of its red copper. + </p> + <p> + After a wood of oaks, the chapel of Saint-Bitchentcho passed, and the + mother wished to remain. From one turn to another, postponing every time + the great separation, she asked to be driven still farther. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, when we reach the top of the Issaritz slope you must go down!” he + said tenderly. “You hear, Arrochkoa, you will stop where I say; I do not + want mother to go further—” + </p> + <p> + At this Issaritz slope the horse had himself slackened his pace. The + mother and the son, their eyes burned with suppressed tears, held each + other's hands, and they were going slowly, slowly, in absolute silence, as + if it were a solemn ascent toward some Calvary. + </p> + <p> + At last, at the top of the slope, Arrochkoa, who seemed mute also, pulled + the reins slightly, with a simple little: “Ho!—” discreet as a + lugubrious signal which one hesitates to give—and the carriage was + stopped. + </p> + <p> + Then, without a word, Ramuntcho jumped to the road, helped his mother to + descend, gave a long kiss to her, then remounted briskly to his seat: + </p> + <p> + “Go, Arrochkoa, quickly, race, let us go!” + </p> + <p> + And in two seconds, in the rapid descent, he lost sight of the one whose + face at last was covered with tears. + </p> + <p> + Now they were going away from one another, Franchita and her son. In + different directions, they were walking on that Etchezar road,—in + the splendor of the setting sun, in a region of pink heather and of yellow + fern. She was going up slowly toward her home, meeting isolated groups of + farmers, flocks led through the golden evening by little shepherds in + Basque caps. And he was going down quickly, through valleys soon darkened, + toward the lowland where the railway train passes— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. + </h2> + <p> + At twilight, Franchita was returning from escorting her son and was trying + to regain her habitual face, her air of haughty indifference, to pass + through the village. + </p> + <p> + But, when she arrived in front of the Detcharry house, she saw Dolores + who, instead of going in, as she intended, turned round and stood at the + door to see her pass. Something new, some sudden revelation must have + impelled her to take this attitude of aggressive defiance, this expression + of provoking irony,—and Franchita then stopped, she also, while this + phrase, almost involuntary, came through her set teeth: + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with that woman? Why does she look at me so—” + </p> + <p> + “He will not come to-night, the lover, will he?” responded the enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew that he came here to see your daughter?” + </p> + <p> + In truth, Dolores knew this since the morning: Gracieuse had told her, + since no care needed to be taken of the morrow; Gracieuse had told it + wearily, after talking uselessly of Uncle Ignacio, of Ramuntcho's future, + of all that would serve their cause— + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew that he came here to see your daughter?” + </p> + <p> + By a reminiscence of other times, they regained instinctively their + theeing and thouing of the sisters' school, those two women who for nearly + twenty years had not addressed a word to each other. Why they detested + each other, they hardly knew; so many times, it begins thus, with + nothings, with jealousies, with childish rivalries, and then, at length, + by dint of seeing each other every day without talking to each other, by + dint of casting at each other evil looks, it ferments till it becomes + implacable hatred.—Here they were, facing each other, and their two + voices trembled with rancor, with evil emotion: + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied the other, “you knew it before I did, I suppose, you who + are without shame and sent him to our house!—Anyway, one can + understand your easiness about means, after what you have done in the past—” + </p> + <p> + And, while Franchita, naturally much more dignified, remained mute, + terrified now by this unexpected dispute on the street, Dolores continued: + </p> + <p> + “No. My daughter marrying that penniless bastard, think of it!—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have the idea that she will marry him, in spite of everything!—Try + to propose to her a man of your choice and see—” + </p> + <p> + Then, as if she disdained to continue, she went on her way, hearing behind + her the voice and the insults of the other pursuing her. All her limbs + trembled and she faltered at every step on her weakened legs. + </p> + <p> + At the house, now empty, what sadness she found! + </p> + <p> + The reality of this separation, which would last for three years, appeared + to her under an aspect frightfully new, as if she had hardly been prepared + for it—even as, on one's return from a graveyard, one feels for the + first time, in its frightful integrity, the absence of the cherished dead— + </p> + <p> + And then, those words of insult in the street, those words the more + crushing because she was cruelly conscious of her sin with the stranger! + Instead of passing by, as she should have done, how had she found the + courage to stop before her enemy and, by a phrase murmured between her + teeth, provoke this odious dispute? How could she have descended to such a + thing, forgotten herself thus, she who, for fifteen years, had imposed + herself, little by little, on the respect of all by her demeanor, so + perfectly dignified. Oh, to have attracted and to have suffered the insult + of that Dolores,—whose past was irreproachable and who had, in + effect, the right to treat her with contempt! When she reflected, she + became frightened more and more by that sort of defiance of the future + which she had had the imprudence to hurl; it seemed to her that she had + compromised the cherished hope of her son in exasperating thus the hatred + of that woman. + </p> + <p> + Her son!—her Ramuntcho, whom a wagon was carrying away from her at + this hour in the summer night, was carrying away from her to a long + distance, to danger, to war!—She had assumed very heavy + responsibilities in directing his life with ideas of her own, with + stubbornness, with pride, with selfishness.—And now, this evening, + she had, perhaps, attracted misfortune to him, while he was going away so + confident in the joy of his return!—This would be doubtless for her + the supreme chastisement; she seemed to hear, in the air of the empty + house, something like a threat of this expiation, she felt its slow and + sure approach. + </p> + <p> + Then, she said for him her prayers, from a heart harshly revolted, because + religion, as she understood it, remained without sweetness, without + consolation, without anything confidential and tender. Her distress and + her remorse were, at this moment, of so sombre a nature that tears, + benevolent tears, came no longer to her— + </p> + <p> + And he, at this same instant of the night, continued to descend, through + darker valleys, toward the lowland where the trains pass—carrying + away men to a long distance, changing and upsetting all things. For about + an hour he would continue to be on Basque soil; then, it would end. Along + his route, he met some oxcarts, of indolent demeanor, recalling the + tranquillities of the olden time; or vague human silhouettes, hailing him + with the traditional goodnight, the antique “Gaou-one,” which to-morrow he + would cease to hear. And beyond, at his left, in the depth of a sort of + black abyss, was the profile of Spain, Spain which, for a very long time + doubtless, would trouble his nights no longer— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <h3> + Three years have passed, rapidly. + </h3> + <p> + Franchita is alone at home, ill and in bed, at the end of a November day.—And + it is the third autumn since her son's departure. + </p> + <p> + In her hands, burning with fever, she holds a letter from him, a letter + which should have brought only joy without a cloud, since it announces his + return, but which causes in her, on the contrary, tormented sentiments, + for the happiness of seeing him again is poisoned now by sadness, by worry + especially, by frightful worry— + </p> + <p> + Oh, she had an exact presentiment of the sombre future, that night when, + returning from escorting him on the road to departure, she returned to her + house with so much anguish, after that sort of defiance hurled at Dolores + on the street: it was cruelly true that she had broken then forever her + son's life—! + </p> + <p> + Months of waiting and of apparent calm had followed that scene, while + Ramuntcho, far from his native land, was beginning his military service. + Then, one day, a wealthy suitor had presented himself for Gracieuse and + she, to the entire village's knowledge, had rejected him obstinately in + spite of Dolores's will. Then, they had suddenly gone away, the mother and + the daughter, pretexting a visit to relatives in the highland; but the + voyage had been prolonged; a mystery more and more singular had enveloped + this absence,—and suddenly the rumor had come that Gracieuse was a + novice among the sisters of Saint Mary of the Rosary, in a convent of + Gascony where the former Mother Superior of Etchezar was the abbess—! + </p> + <p> + Dolores had reappeared alone in her home, mute, with a desolate and evil + air. None knew what influence had been exercised over the little girl with + the golden hair, nor how the luminous doors of life had been closed before + her, how she had permitted herself to be walled in that tomb; but, as soon + as the period of novitiate had been accomplished, without seeing even her + brother, she had taken her vows there, while Ramuntcho, in a far-off + colonial war, ever distant from the post-offices of France, among the + forests of a Southern island, won the stripes of a sergeant and a military + medal. + </p> + <p> + Franchita had been almost afraid that he would never return, her son.—But + at last, he was coming back. Between her fingers, thin and warm, she held + the letter which said: “I start day after to-morrow and I will be with you + Saturday night.” But what would he do, at his return, what would he make + of his life, so sadly changed? In his letters, he had obstinately + refrained from writing of this. + </p> + <p> + Anyway, everything had turned against her. The farmers, her tenants, had + left Etchezar, leaving the barn empty, the house more lonely, and + naturally her modest income was much diminished. Moreover, in an imprudent + investment, she had lost a part of the money which the stranger had given + for her son. Truly, she was too unskilful a mother, compromising in every + way the happiness of her beloved Ramuntcho,—or rather, she was a + mother upon whom justice from above fell heavily to-day, because of her + past error.—And all this had vanquished her, all this had hastened + and aggravated the malady which the physician, called too late, did not + succeed in checking. + </p> + <p> + Now, therefore, waiting for the return of her son, she was stretched on + her bed, burning with fever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + He was returning, Ramuntcho, after his three years of absence, discharged + from the army in that city of the North where his regiment was in + garrison. He was returning with his heart in disarray, with his heart in a + tumult and in distress. + </p> + <p> + His twenty-two year old face had darkened under the ardent sun; his + mustache, now very long, gave him an air of proud nobility. And, on the + lapel of the civilian coat which he had just bought, appeared the glorious + ribbon of his medal. + </p> + <p> + At Bordeaux, where he had arrived after a night of travel, he had taken a + place, with some emotion, in that train of Irun which descends in a direct + line toward the South, through the monotony of the interminable moors. + Near the right door he had installed himself in order to see sooner the + Bay of Biscay open and the highlands of Spain sketch themselves. + </p> + <p> + Then, near Bayonne, he had been startled at the sight of the first Basque + caps, at the tall gates, the first Basque houses among the pines and the + oaks. + </p> + <p> + And at Saint-Jean-de-Luz at last, when he set foot on the soil, he had + felt like one drunk—After the mist and the cold already begun in + Northern France, he felt the sudden and voluptuous impression of a warmer + climate, the sensation of going into a hothouse. There was a festival of + sunlight that day; the southern wind, the exquisite southern wind, blew, + and the Pyrenees had magnificent tints on the grand, free sky. Moreover, + girls passed, whose laughter rang of the South and of Spain, who had the + elegance and the grace of the Basques—and who, after the heavy + blondes of the North, troubled him more than all these illusions of + summer.—But promptly he returned to himself: what was he thinking + of, since that regained land was to him an empty land forever? How could + his infinite despair be changed by that tempting gracefulness of the + girls, by that ironical gaiety of the sky, the human beings and the + things?—No! He would go home, embrace his mother—! + </p> + <p> + As he had expected, the stage-coach to Etchezar had left two hours ago. + But, without trouble, he would traverse on foot this long road so familiar + to him and arrive in the evening, before night. + </p> + <p> + So he went to buy sandals, the foot-gear of his former runs. And, with the + mountaineer's quick step, in long, nervous strides, he plunged at once + into the heart of the silent country, through paths which were for him + full of memories. + </p> + <p> + November was coming to an end in the tepid radiance of that sun which + lingers always here for a long time, on the Pyrenean slopes. For days, in + the Basque land, had lasted this same luminous and pure sky, above woods + half despoiled of their leaves, above mountains reddened by the ardent + tint of the ferns. From the borders of the paths ascended tall grasses, as + in the month of May, and large, umbellated flowers, mistaken about the + season; in the hedges, privets and briars had come into bloom again, in + the buzz of the last bees; and one could see flying persistent + butterflies, to whom death had given several weeks of grace. + </p> + <p> + The Basque houses appeared here and there among the trees,—very + elevated, the roof protruding, white in their extreme oldness, with their + shutters brown or green, of a green ancient and faded. And everywhere, on + their wooden balconies were drying the yellow gold pumpkins, the sheafs of + pink peas; everywhere, on their walls, like beautiful beads of coral, were + garlands of red peppers: all the things of the soil still fecund, all the + things of the old, nursing soil, amassed thus in accordance with old time + usage, in provision for the darkened months when the heat departs. + </p> + <p> + And, after the mists of the Northern autumn, that limpidity of the air, + that southern sunlight, every detail of the land, awakened in the complex + mind of Ramuntcho infinite vibrations, painfully sweet. + </p> + <p> + It was the tardy season when are cut the ferns that form the fleece of the + reddish hills. And, large ox-carts filled with them rolled tranquilly, in + the beautiful, melancholy sun, toward the isolated farms, leaving on their + passage the trail of their fragrance. Very slowly, through the mountain + paths, went these enormous loads of ferns; very slowly, with sounds of + cow-bells. The harnessed oxen, indolent and strong,—all wearing the + traditional head-gear of sheepskin, fallow colored, which gives to them + the air of bisons or of aurochs, pulled those heavy carts, the wheels of + which are solid disks, like those of antique chariots. The cowboys, + holding the long stick in their hands, marched in front, always + noiselessly, in sandals, the pink cotton shirt revealing the chest, the + waistcoat thrown over the left shoulder—and the woolen cap drawn + over a face shaven, thin, grave, to which the width of the jaws and of the + muscles of the neck gives an expression of massive solidity. + </p> + <p> + Then, there were intervals of solitude when one heard, in these paths, + only the buzz of flies, in the yellowed and finishing shade of the trees. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho looked at them, at these rare passers-by who crossed his road, + surprised at not meeting somebody he knew who would stop before him. But + there were no familiar faces. And the friends whom he met were not + effusive, there were only vague good-days exchanged with folks who turned + round a little, with an impression of having seen him sometime, but not + recalling when, and fell back into the humble dream of the fields.—And + he felt more emphasized than ever the primary differences between him and + those farm laborers. + </p> + <p> + Over there, however, comes one of those carts whose sheaf is so big that + branches of oaks in its passage catch it. In front, walks the driver, with + a look of soft resignation, a big, peaceful boy, red as the ferns, red as + the autumn, with a reddish fur in a bush on his bare chest; he walks with + a supple and nonchalant manner, his arms extended like those of a cross on + his goad, placed across his shoulders. Thus, doubtless, on these same + mountains, marched his ancestors, farm laborers and cowboys like him since + numberless centuries. + </p> + <p> + And this one, at Ramuntcho's aspect, touches the forehead of his oxen, + stops them with a gesture and a cry of command, then comes to the + traveller, extending to him his brave hands.—Florentino! A + Florentino much changed, having squarer shoulders, quite a man now, with + an assured and fixed demeanor. + </p> + <p> + The two friends embrace each other. Then, they scan each other's faces in + silence, troubled suddenly by the wave of reminiscences which come from + the depth of their minds and which neither the one nor the other knows how + to express; Ramuntcho, not better than Florentino, for, if his language be + infinitely better formed, the profoundness and the mystery of his thoughts + are also much more unfathomable. + </p> + <p> + And it oppresses them to conceive things which they are powerless to tell; + then their embarrassed looks return absent-mindedly to the two beautiful, + big oxen: + </p> + <p> + “They are mine, you know,” says Florentino. “I was married two years ago.—My + wife works. And, by working—we are beginning to get along.—Oh!” + he adds, with naive pride, “I have another pair of oxen like these at the + house.” + </p> + <p> + Then he ceases to talk, flushing suddenly under his sunburn, for he has + the tact which comes from the heart, which the humblest possess often by + nature, but which education never gives, even to the most refined people + in the world: considering the desolate return of Ramuntcho, his broken + destiny, his betrothed buried over there among the black nuns, his mother + dying, Florentino is afraid to have been already too cruel in displaying + too much his own happiness. + </p> + <p> + Then the silence returned; they looked at each other for an instant with + kind smiles, finding no words. Besides, between them, the abyss of + different conceptions has grown deeper in these three years. And + Florentino, touching anew the foreheads of his oxen, makes them march + again with a call of his tongue, and presses tighter the hand of his + friend: + </p> + <p> + “We shall see each other again, shall we not?” + </p> + <p> + And the noise of the cow-bells is soon lost in the calm of the road more + shady, where begins to diminish the heat of the day— + </p> + <p> + “Well, he has succeeded in life, that one!” thinks Ramuntcho lugubriously, + continuing his walk under the autumn branches— + </p> + <p> + The road which he follows ascends, hollowed here and there by springs and + sometimes crossed by big roots of oaks. + </p> + <p> + Soon Etchezar will appear to him and, before seeing it, the image of it + becomes more and more precise in him, recalled and enlivened in his memory + by the aspect of the surroundings. + </p> + <p> + Empty now, all this land, where Gracieuse is no more, empty and sad as a + beloved home where the great Reaper has passed!—And yet Ramuntcho, + in the depths of his being, dares to think that, in some small convent + over there, under the veil of a nun, the cherished black eyes still exist + and that he will be able at least to see them; that taking the veil is not + quite like dying, and that perhaps the last word of his destiny has not + been said irrevocably.—For, when he reflects, what can have changed + thus the soul of Gracieuse, formerly so uniquely devoted to him?—Oh, + terrible, foreign pressure, surely—And then, when they come face to + face again, who knows?—When they talk, with his eyes in her eyes?—But + what can he expect that is reasonable and possible?—In his native + land has a nun ever broken her eternal vows to follow one to whom she was + engaged? And besides, where would they go to live together afterward, when + folks would get out of their way, would fly from them as renegades?—To + America perhaps, and even there!—And how could he take her from + these white houses of the dead where the sisters live, eternally watched?—Oh, + no, all this is a chimera which may not be realized—All is at an + end, all is finished hopelessly—! + </p> + <p> + Then, the sadness which comes to him from Gracieuse is forgotten for a + moment, and he feels nothing except an outburst of his heart toward his + mother, toward his mother who remains to him, who is there, very near, a + little upset, doubtless, by the joyful trouble of waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + And now, on the left of his route, is a humble hamlet, half hidden in the + beeches and the oaks, with its ancient chapel,—and with its wall for + the pelota game, under very old trees, at the crossing of two paths. At + once, in Ramuntcho's youthful head, the course of thoughts changes again: + that little wall with rounded top, covered with wash of kalsomine and + ochre, awakens tumultuously in him thoughts of life, of force and of joy; + with a childish ardor he says to himself that to-morrow he will be able to + return to that game of the Basques, which is an intoxication of movement + and of rapid skill; he thinks of the grand matches on Sundays after + vespers, of the glory of the fine struggles with the champions of Spain, + of all this deprivation of his years of exile. But it is a very short + instant, and mortal despair comes back to him: his triumphs on the + squares, Gracieuse shall not see them; then, what is the use!—Without + her, all things, even these, fall back discolored, useless and vain, do + not even exist— + </p> + <p> + Etchezar!—Etchezar, is revealed suddenly at a turn of the road!—It + is in a red light, something like a fantasmagoria image, illuminated + purposely in a special manner in the midst of grand backgrounds of shade + and of night. It is the hour of the setting sun. Around the isolated + village, which the old, heavy belfry, surmounts, a last sheaf of rays + traces a halo of the color of copper and gold, while clouds—and a + gigantic obscurity emanating from the Gizune—darken the lands piled + up above and under, the mass of brown hills, colored by the death of the + ferns— + </p> + <p> + Oh! the melancholy apparition of the native land, to the soldier who + returns and will not find his sweetheart—! + </p> + <p> + Three years have passed since he left here.—Well, three years, at + his age, are an abyss of time, a period which changes all things. And, + after that lone exile, how this village, which he adores, appears to him + diminished, small, walled in the mountains, sad and hidden!—In the + depth of his mind of a tall, uncultured boy, commences again, to make him + suffer more, the struggle of those two sentiments of a too refined man, + which are an inheritance of his unknown father: an attachment almost + maladive to the home, to the land of childhood, and a fear of returning to + be enclosed in it, when there exist in the world other places so vast and + so free. —After the warm afternoon, the autumn is indicated now by + the hasty fall of the day, with a coolness ascending suddenly from the + valleys underneath, a scent of dying leaves and of moss. And then the + thousand details of preceding autumns in the Basque country, of the former + Novembers, come to him very precisely; the cold fall of night succeeding + the beautiful, sunlit day; the sad clouds appearing with the night; the + Pyrenees confounded in vapors inky gray, or, in places, cut in black + silhouettes on a pale, golden sky; around the houses, the belated flowers + of the gardens, which the frost spares for a long time here, and, in front + of all the doors, the strewn leaves of the plane-trees, the yellow strewn + leaves cracking under the steps of the man returning in sandals to his + home for supper.—Oh, the heedless joy of these returns to the home, + in the nights of other times, after days of marching on the rude mountain! + Oh, the gaiety, in that time, of the first winter fires—in the tall, + smoky hearth ornamented with a drapery of white calico and with a strip of + pink paper. No, in the city, with its rows of houses one does not have the + real impression of returning home, of earthing up like plants at night in + the primitive manner, as one has it here, under those Basque roofs, + solitary in the midst of the country, with the grand, surrounding black, + the grand, shivering black of the foliage, the grand, changing black of + the clouds and the summits.—But to-day, his travels, his new + conceptions, have diminished and spoiled his mountaineer's home; he will + doubtless find it almost desolate, especially in the thought that his + mother shall not be there always—and that Gracieuse shall never be + there again. + </p> + <p> + His pace quickens in his haste to embrace his mother; he turns around his + village instead of going into it, in order to reach his house through a + path which overlooks the square and church; passing quickly, he looks at + everything with inexpressible pain. Peace, silence soar over this little + parish of Etchezar, heart of the French Basque land and country of all the + famous pelotaris of the past who have become heavy grandfathers, or are + dead now. The immutable church, where have remained buried his dreams of + faith, is surrounded by the same dark cypresses, like a mosque. The + ball-game square, while he walks quickly above it, is still lighted by the + sun with a finishing ray, oblique, toward the background, toward the wall + which the ancient inscription surmounts,—as on the evening of his + first great success, four years ago, when, in the joyous crowd, Gracieuse + stood in a blue gown, she who has become a black nun to-day.—On the + deserted benches, on the granite steps where the grass grows, three or + four old men are seated, who were formerly the heroes of the place and + whom their reminiscences bring back here incessantly, to talk at the end + of the days, when the twilight descends from the summits, invades the + earth, seems to emanate and to fall from the brown Pyrenees.—Oh, the + folks who live here, whose lives run here; oh, the little cider inns, the + little, simple shops and the old, little things—brought from the + cities, from the other places—sold to the mountaineers of the + surrounding country!—How all this seems to him now strange, + separated from him, or set far in the background of the primitive past!—Is + he truly not a man of Etchezar to-day, is he no longer the Ramuntcho of + former times?—What particular thing resides in his mind to prevent + him from feeling comfortable here, as the others feel? Why is it + prohibited to him, to him alone, to accomplish here the tranquil destiny + of his dreams, since all his friends have accomplished theirs?— + </p> + <p> + At last here is his house, there, before his eyes. It is as he expected to + find it. As he expected, he recognizes along the wall all the persistent + flowers cultivated by his mother, the same flowers which the frost has + destroyed weeks ago in the North from which he comes: heliotropes, + geraniums, tall dahlias and roses with climbing branches. And the + cherished, strewn leaves, which fall every autumn from the vault-shaped + plane-trees, are there also, and are crushed with a noise so familiar + under his steps—! + </p> + <p> + In the lower hall, when he enters, there is already grayish indecision, + already night. The high chimney, where his glance rests at first by an + instinctive reminiscence of the fires of ancient evenings, stands the same + with its white drapery; but cold, filled with shade, smelling of absence + or death. + </p> + <p> + He runs up to his mother's room. She, from her bed having recognized her + son's step, has straightened up, all stiff, all white in the twilight: + </p> + <p> + “Ramuntcho,” she says, in a veiled and aged voice. + </p> + <p> + She extends her arms to him and as soon as she holds him, enlaces and + embraces him: + </p> + <p> + “Ramuntcho!—” + </p> + <p> + Then, having uttered this name without adding anything, she leans her head + against his cheek, in the habitual movement of surrender, in the movement + of the grand, tender feelings of other times.—He, then, perceives + that his mother's face is burning against his. Through her shirt he feels + the arms that surround him thin, feverish and hot. And for the first time, + he is frightened; the notion that she is doubtless very ill comes to his + mind, the possibility and the sudden terror that she might die— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are alone, mother! But who takes care of you? Who watches over + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Who watches over me?—” she replies with her abrupt brusqueness, her + ideas of a peasant suddenly returned. “Spending money to nurse me, why + should I do it?—The church woman or the old Doyamburu comes in the + day-time to give me the things that I need, the things that the physician + orders.—But—medicine!—Well! Light a lamp, my Ramuntcho!—I + want to see you—and I cannot see you—” + </p> + <p> + And, when the clearness has come from a Spanish, smuggled match, she says + in a tone of caress infinitely sweet, as one talks to a very little child + whom one adores: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your mustache! The long mustache which has come to you, my son!—I + do not recognize my Ramuntcho!—Bring your lamp here, bring it here + so that I can look at you!—” + </p> + <p> + He also sees her better now, under the new light of that lamp, while she + admires him lovingly. And he is more frightened still, because the cheeks + of his mother are so hollow, her hair is so whitened; even the expression + of her eyes is changed and almost extinguished; on her face appears the + sinister and irremediable labor of time, of suffering and of death— + </p> + <p> + And, now, two tears, rapid and heavy, fall from the eyes of Franchita, + which widen, become living again, made young by desperate revolt and + hatred. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that woman,” she says suddenly. “Oh, that Dolores!” + </p> + <p> + And her cry expresses and summarizes all her jealousy of thirty years' + standing, all her merciless rancor against that enemy of her childhood who + has succeeded at last in breaking the life of her son. + </p> + <p> + A silence between them. He is seated, with head bent, near the bed, + holding the poor, feverish hand which his mother has extended to him. She, + breathing more quickly, seems for a long while under the oppression of + something which she hesitates to express: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, my Ramuntcho!—I would like to ask you.—What do you + intend to do, my son? What are your projects for the future?—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, mother.—I will think, I will see.—You ask—all + at once.—We have time to talk of this, have we not?—To + America, perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she says slowly, with the fear that was in her for days, “to + America—I suspected it. Oh, that is what you will do.—I knew + it, I knew it—” + </p> + <p> + Her phrase ends in a groan and she joins her hands to try to pray— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Ramuntcho, the next morning, was wandering in the village, under a sun + which had pierced the clouds of the night, a sun as radiant as that of + yesterday. Careful in his dress, the ends of his mustache turned up, proud + in his demeanor, elegant, grave and handsome, he went at random, to see + and to be seen, a little childishness mingling with his seriousness, a + little pleasure with his distress. His mother had said to him: + </p> + <p> + “I am better, I assure you. To-day is Sunday; go, walk about I pray you—” + </p> + <p> + And passers-by turned their heads to look at him, whispered the news: + “Franchita's son has returned home; he looks very well!” + </p> + <p> + A summer illusion persisted everywhere, with, however, the unfathomable + melancholy of things tranquilly finishing. Under that impassible radiance + of sunlight, the Pyrenean fields seemed dull, all their plants, all their + grasses were as if collected in one knows not what resignation weary of + living, what expectation of death. + </p> + <p> + The turns of the path, the houses, the least trees, all recalled hours of + other times to Ramuntcho, hours wherein Gracieuse was mingled. And then, + at each reminiscence, at each step, engraved itself and hammered itself in + his mind, under a new form, this verdict without recourse: “It is + finished, you are alone forever, Gracieuse has been taken away from you + and is in prison—” The rents in his heart, every accident in the + path renewed and changed them. And, in the depth of his being, as a + constant basis for his reflections, this other anxiety endured: his + mother, his mother very ill, in mortal danger, perhaps—! + </p> + <p> + He met people who stopped him, with a kind and welcoming air, who talked + to him in the dear Basque tongue—ever alert and sonorous despite its + incalculable antiquity; old Basque caps, old white heads, liked to talk of + the ball-game to this fine player returned to his cradle. And then, at + once, after the first words of greeting, smiles went out, in spite of this + clear sun in this blue sky, and all were disturbed by the thought of + Gracieuse in a veil and of Franchita dying. + </p> + <p> + A violent flush of blood went up to his face when he caught sight of + Dolores, at a distance, going into her home. Very decrepit, that one, and + wearing a prostrate air! She had recognized him, for she turned quickly + her obstinate and hard head, covered by a mourning mantilla. With a + sentiment of pity at seeing her so undone, he reflected that she had + struck herself with the same blow, and that she would be alone now in her + old age and at her death— + </p> + <p> + On the square, he met Marcos Iragola who informed him that he was married, + like Florentino—and with the little friend of his childhood, he + also. + </p> + <p> + “I did not have to serve in the army,” Iragola explained, “because we are + Guipuzcoans, immigrants in France; so I could marry her earlier!” + </p> + <p> + He, twenty-one years old; she eighteen; without lands and without a penny, + Marcos and Pilar, but joyfully associated all the same, like two sparrows + building their nest. And the very young husband added laughingly: + </p> + <p> + “What would you? Father said: 'As long as you do not marry I warn you that + I shall give you a little brother every year.' And he would have done it! + There are already fourteen of us, all living—” + </p> + <p> + Oh, how simple and natural they are! How wise and humbly happy!—Ramuntcho + quitted him with some haste, with a heart more bruised for having spoken + to him, but wishing very sincerely that he should be happy in his + improvident, birdlike, little home. + </p> + <p> + Here and there, folks were seated in front of their doors, in that sort of + atrium of branches which precedes all the houses of this country. And + their vaults of plane-trees, cut in the Basque fashion, which in the + summer are so impenetrable all open worked in this season, let fall on + them sheafs of light. The sun flamed, somewhat destructive and sad, above + those yellow leaves which were drying up— + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho, in his slow promenade, felt more and more what intimate + ties, singularly persistent, would attach him always to this region of the + earth, harsh and enclosed, even if he were there alone, abandoned, without + friends, without a wife and without a mother— + </p> + <p> + Now, the high mass rings! And the vibrations of that bell impress him with + a strange emotion that he did not expect. Formerly, its familiar appeal + was an appeal to joy and to pleasure— + </p> + <p> + He stops, he hesitates, in spite of his actual religious unbelief and in + spite of his grudge against that church which has taken his betrothed away + from him. The bell seems to invite him to-day in so special a manner, with + so peaceful and caressing a voice: “Come, come; let yourself be rocked as + your ancestors were; come, poor, desolate being, let yourself be caught by + the lure which will make your tears fall without bitterness, and will help + you to die—” + </p> + <p> + Undecided, resisting still, he walks, however, toward the church—when + Arrochkoa appears! + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa, whose catlike mustache has lengthened a great deal and whose + feline expression is accentuated, runs to him with extended hands, with an + effusion that he did not expect, in an enthusiasm, perhaps sincere, for + that ex-sergeant who has such a grand air, who wears the ribbon of a medal + and whose adventures have made a stir in the land: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my Ramuntcho, when did you arrive?—Oh, if I could have + prevented—What do you think of my old, hardened mother and of all + those church bigots?—Oh, I did not tell you: I have a son, since two + months; a fine little fellow! We have so many things to say, my poor + friend, so many things!—” + </p> + <p> + The bell rings, rings, fills the air more and more with its soft appeal, + very grave and somewhat imposing also. + </p> + <p> + “You are not going there, I suppose?” asks Arrochkoa, pointing to the + church. + </p> + <p> + “No, oh, no,” replies Ramuntcho, sombrely decided. + </p> + <p> + “Well come then, let us go in here and taste the new cider of your + country!—” + </p> + <p> + To the smugglers' cider mill, he brings him; both, near the open window, + sit as formerly, looking outside;—and this place also, these old + benches, these casks in a line in the back, these same images on the wall, + are there to recall to Ramuntcho the delicious times of the past, the + times that are finished. + </p> + <p> + The weather is adorably beautiful; the sky retains a rare limpidity; + through the air passes that special scent of falling seasons, scent of + woods despoiled, of dead leaves that the sun overheats on the soil. Now, + after the absolute calm of the morning, rises a wind of autumn, a chill of + November, announcing clearly, but with a melancholy almost charming, that + the winter is near—a southern winter, it is true, a softened winter, + hardly interrupting the life of the country. The gardens and all the old + walls are still ornamented with roses—! + </p> + <p> + At first they talk of indifferent things while drinking their cider, of + Ramuntcho's travels, of what happened in the country during his absence, + of the marriages which occurred or were broken. And, to those two rebels + who have fled from the church, all the sounds of the mass come during + their talk, the sounds of the small bells and the sounds of the organ, the + ancient songs that fill the high, sonorous nave— + </p> + <p> + At last, Arrochkoa returns to the burning subject: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you had been here it would not have occurred!—And even now, + if she saw you—” + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho looks at him then, trembling at what he imagines he understands: + </p> + <p> + “Even now?—What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, women—with them, does one ever know?—She cared a great + deal for you and it was hard for her.—In these days there is no law + to keep her there!—How little would I care if she broke her vows—” + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho turns his head, lowers his eyes, says nothing, strikes the soil + with his foot. And, in the silence, the impious thing which he had hardly + dared to formulate to himself, seems to him little by little less + chimerical, attainable, almost easy.—No, it is not impossible to + regain her. And, if need be, doubtless, Arrochkoa, her own brother, would + lend a hand. Oh, what a temptation and what a new disturbance in his mind—! + </p> + <p> + Drily he asks, “Where is she?—Far from here?” + </p> + <p> + “Far enough, yes. Over there, toward Navarre, five or six hours of a + carriage drive. They have changed her convent twice. She lives at + Amezqueta now, beyond the oak forests of Oyanzabal; the road is through + Mendichoco; you know, we must have gone through it together one night with + Itchoua.” + </p> + <p> + The high mass is ended.—Groups pass: women, pretty girls, elegant in + demeanor, among whom Gracieuse is no more: many Basque caps lowered on + sunburnt foreheads. And all these faces turn to look at the two cider + drinkers at their window. The wind, that blows stronger, makes dance + around their glasses large, dead, plane-tree leaves. + </p> + <p> + A woman, already old, casts at them, from under her black cloth mantilla, + a sad and evil glance: + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” says Arrochkoa, “here is mother! And she looks at us crosswise.—She + may flatter herself for her work!—She punished herself for she will + end in solitude now.—Catherine—who is at Elsagarray's, you + know—works by the day for her; otherwise, she would have nobody to + talk to in the evening—” + </p> + <p> + A bass voice, behind them, interrupts them, with a Basque greeting, hollow + like a sound in a cavern, while a large and heavy hand rests on + Ramuntcho's shoulder as if to take possession of him: Itchoua, Itchoua who + has just finished chanting his liturgy!—Not changed at all, this + one; he has always his same ageless face, always his colorless mask which + is at once that of a monk and that of a highwayman, and his same eyes, set + in, hidden, absent. His mind also must have remained similar, his mind + capable of impassible murder at the same time as devout fetichism. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he says, in a tone which wishes to be that of a good fellow, “you + have returned to us, my Ramuntcho! Then we are going to work together, eh? + Business is brisk with Spain now, you know, and arms are needed at the + frontier. You are one of us, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” replies Ramuntcho. “We may talk of it—” + </p> + <p> + For several moments his departure for America has become a faint idea in + his mind.—No!—He would rather stay in his native land, begin + again his former life, reflect and wait obstinately. Anyway, now that he + knows where she is, that village of Amezqueta, at a distance of five or + six hours from here, haunts him in a dangerous way, and he hugs all sorts + of sacrilegious projects which, until to-day, he would never have dared + hardly to conceive. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <h3> + At noon, he returned to his isolated house to see his mother. + </h3> + <p> + The febrile and somewhat artificial improvement of the morning had + continued. Nursed by the old Doyanburu, Franchita said that she felt + better, and, in the fear that Ramuntcho might become dreamy, she made him + return to the square to attend the Sunday ball-game. + </p> + <p> + The breath of the wind became warm again, blew from the south; none of the + shivers of a moment ago remained; on the contrary, a summer sun and + atmosphere, on the reddened woods, on the rusty ferns, on the roads where + continued to fall the sad leaves. But the sky was gathering thick clouds, + which suddenly came out from the rear of the mountains as if they had + stayed there in ambush to appear all at the same signal. + </p> + <p> + The ball-game had not yet been arranged and groups were disputing + violently when he reached the square. Quickly, he was surrounded, he was + welcomed, designated by acclamation to go into the game and sustain the + honor of his county. He did not dare, not having played for three years + and distrusting his unaccustomed arm. At last, he yielded and began to + undress—but to whom would he trust his waistcoat now?—The + image reappeared to him, suddenly, of Gracieuse, seated on the nearest + steps and extending her hands to receive it. To whom would he throw his + waistcoat to-day? It is intrusted ordinarily to some friend, as the + toreadors do with their gilt silk mantles.—He threw it at random, + this time, anywhere, on the granite of the old benches flowered with + belated scabwort— + </p> + <p> + The match began. Out of practice at first, uncertain, he missed several + times the little bounding thing which is to be caught in the air. + </p> + <p> + Then, he went to his work with a rage, regained his former ease and became + himself again superbly. His muscles had gained in strength what they had + perhaps lost in skill; again he was applauded, he knew the physical + intoxication of moving, of leaping, of feeling his muscles play like + supple and violent springs, of hearing around him the ardent murmur of the + crowd. + </p> + <p> + But then came the instant of rest which interrupts ordinarily the long + disputed games; the moment when one sits halting, the blood in ebulition, + the hands reddened, trembling,—and when one regains the course of + ideas which the game suppresses. + </p> + <p> + Then, he realized the distress of being alone. + </p> + <p> + Above the assembled heads, above the woolen caps and the hair ornamented + with kerchiefs, was accentuated that stormy sky which the southern winds, + when they are about to finish, bring always. The air had assumed an + absolute limpidity, as if it had become rarified, rarified unto emptiness. + The mountains seemed to have advanced extraordinarily; the Pyrenees were + crushing the village; the Spanish summits or the French summits were + there, all equally near, as if pasted on one another, exaggerating their + burned, brown colors, their intense and sombre, violet tints. Large + clouds, which seemed as solid as terrestrial things, were displayed in the + form of bows, veiling the sun, casting an obscurity which was like an + eclipse. And here and there, through some rent, bordered with dazzling + silver, one could see the profound blue green of a sky almost African. All + this country, the unstable climate of which changes between a morning and + an evening, became for several hours strangely southern in aspect, in + temperature and in light. + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho breathed that dry and suave air, come from the South in order to + vivify the lungs. It was the true weather of his native land. It was even + the characteristic weather of that land of the Bay of Biscay, the weather + which he liked best formerly, and which to-day filled him with physical + comfort—as much as with disturbance of mind, for all that was + preparing, all that was amassing above, with airs of ferocious menace, + impressed him with the sentiment of a heaven deaf to prayers, without + thoughts as without master, a simple focus of storms, of blind forces + creating, recreating and destroying. And, during these minutes of halting + meditation, where men in Basque caps of a temperament other than his, + surrounded him to congratulate him, he made no reply, he did not listen, + he felt only the ephemeral plenitude of his own vigor, of his youth, of + his will, and he said to himself that he wished to use harshly and + desperately all things, to try anything, without the obstacle of vain + fears, of vain church scruples, in order to take back the young girl whom + his soul and his flesh desired, who was the unique one and the betrothed— + </p> + <p> + When the game had ended gloriously for him, he returned alone, sad and + resolute,—proud of having won, of having known how to preserve his + agile skilfulness, and realizing that it was a means in life, a source of + money and of strength, to have remained one of the chief ball-players of + the Basque country. + </p> + <p> + Under the black sky, there were still the same tints exaggerated by + everything, the same sombre horizon. And still the same breaths from the + south, dry and warm, agitors of muscles and of thought. + </p> + <p> + However, the clouds had descended, descended, and soon this weather, these + appearances would change and finish. He knew it, as do all the countrymen + accustomed to look at the sky: it was only the announcement of an autumn + squall to close the series of lukewarm winds,—of a decisive shake-up + to finish despoiling the woods of their leaves. Immediately after would + come the long showers, chilling everything, the mists making the mountains + confused and distant. And it would be the dull rain of winter, stopping + the saps, making temporary projects languid, extinguishing ardor and + revolt— + </p> + <p> + Now the first drops of water were beginning to fall on the road, separate + and heavy on the strewn leaves. + </p> + <p> + As the day before, when he returned home, at twilight, his mother was + alone. + </p> + <p> + He found her asleep, in a bad sleep, agitated, burning. + </p> + <p> + Rambling in his house he tried, in order to make it less sinister, to + light in the large, lower chimney a fire of branches, but it went out + smoking. Outside, torrents of rain fell. Through the windows, as through + gray shrouds, the village hardly appeared, effaced under a winter squall. + The wind and the rain whipped the walls of the isolated house, around + which, once more, would thicken the grand blackness of the country in + rainy nights—that grand blackness, that grand silence, to which he + had long been unaccustomed. And in his childish heart, came little by + little, a cold of solitude and of abandonment; he lost even his energy, + the consciousness of his love, of his strength and of his youth; he felt + vanishing, before the misty evening, all his projects of struggle and of + resistance. The future which he had formed a moment ago became miserable + or chimerical in his eyes, that future of a pelota player, of a poor + amuser of the crowds, at the mercy of a malady or of a moment of weakness—His + hopes of the day-time were going out, based, doubtless, on unstable + things, fleeing now in the night— + </p> + <p> + Then he felt transported, as in his childhood, toward that soft refuge + which was his mother; he went up, on tiptoe, to see her, even asleep, and + to remain there, near her bed, while she slept. + </p> + <p> + And, when he had lighted in the room, far from her, a discreet lamp, she + appeared to him more changed than she had been by the fever of yesterday; + the possibility presented itself, more frightful to his mind, of losing + her, of being alone, of never feeling again on his cheek the caress of her + head.—Moreover, for the first time, she seemed old to him, and, in + the memory of all the deceptions which she had suffered because of him, he + felt a pity for her, a tender and infinite pity, at sight of her wrinkles + which he had not before observed, of her hair recently whitened at the + temples. Oh, a desolate pity and hopeless, with the conviction that it was + too late now to arrange life better.—And something painful, against + which there was no possible resistance, shook his chest, contracted his + young face; objects became confused to his view, and, in the need of + imploring, of asking for mercy, he let himself fall on his knees, his + forehead on his mother's bed, weeping at last, weeping hot tears— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + “And whom did you see in the village, my son?” she asked, the next morning + during the improvement which returned every time, in the first hours of + the day, after the fever had subsided. + </p> + <p> + “And whom did you see in the village, my son?—” In talking, she + tried to retain an air of gaiety, of saying indifferent things, in the + fear of attacking grave subjects and of provoking disquieting replies. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Arrochkoa, mother,” he replied, in a tone which brought back + suddenly the burning questions. + </p> + <p> + “Arrochkoa!—And how did he behave with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he talked to me as if I had been his brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, I know.—Oh, it was not he who made her do it—” + </p> + <p> + “He said even—” + </p> + <p> + He did not dare to continue now, and he lowered his head. + </p> + <p> + “He said what, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that—that it was hard to put her in prison there—that + perhaps—that, even now, if she saw me, he was not far from thinking—” + </p> + <p> + She straightened under the shock of what she had just suspected; with her + thin hands she parted her hair, newly whitened, and her eyes became again + young and sharp, in an expression almost wicked from joy, from avenged + pride: + </p> + <p> + “He said that, he!—” + </p> + <p> + “Would you forgive me, mother—if I tried?” + </p> + <p> + She took his two hands and they remained silent, not daring, with their + scruples as Catholics, to utter the sacrilegious thing which was fomenting + in their heads. In the depth of her eyes, the evil spark went out. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you?” she said in a low voice, “Oh, I—you know very well + that I would.—But do not do this, my son, I pray you, do not do it; + it would bring misfortune to both of you!—Do not think of it, my + Ramuntcho, never think of it—” + </p> + <p> + Then, they hushed, hearing the steps of the physician who was coming up + for his daily visit. And it was the only time, the supreme time when they + were to talk of it in life. + </p> + <p> + But Ramuntcho knew now that, even after death, she would not condemn him + for having attempted, or for having committed it: and this pardon was + sufficient for him, and, now that he felt sure of obtaining it, the + greatest barrier, between his sweetheart and him, had now suddenly fallen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + In the evening, when the fever returned, she seemed already much more + dangerously affected. + </p> + <p> + On her robust body, the malady had violently taken hold,—the malady + recognized too late, and insufficiently nursed because of her stubbornness + as a peasant, because of her incredulous disdain for physicians and + medicine. + </p> + <p> + And little by little, in Ramuntcho, the frightful thought of losing her + installed itself in a dominant place; during the hours of watchfulness + spent near her bed, silent and alone, he was beginning to face the reality + of that separation, the horror of that death and of that burial,—even + all the lugubrious morrows, all the aspects of his future life: the house + which he would have to sell before quitting the country; then, perhaps, + the desperate attempt at the convent of Amezqueta; then the departure, + probably solitary and without desire to return, for unknown America— + </p> + <p> + The idea also of the great secret which she would carry with her forever,—of + the secret of his birth,—tormented him more from hour to hour. + </p> + <p> + Then, bending over her, and, trembling, as if he were about to commit an + impious thing in a church, he dared to say: + </p> + <p> + “Mother!—Mother, tell me now who my father is!” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered at first under the supreme question, realizing well, that if + he dared to question her thus, it was because she was lost. Then, she + hesitated for a moment: in her head, boiling from fever, there was a + battle; her duty, she discerned well no longer; her obstinacy which had + lasted for so many years faltered almost at this hour, in presence of the + sudden apparition of death— + </p> + <p> + But, resolved at last forever, she replied at once, in the brusque tone of + her bad days: + </p> + <p> + “Your father!—And what is the use, my son?—What do you want of + your father who for twenty years has never thought of you?—” + </p> + <p> + No, it was decided, ended, she would not tell. Anyway, it was too late + now; at the moment when she would disappear, enter into the inert + powerlessness of the dead, how could she risk changing so completely the + life of that son over whom she would no longer watch, how could she + surrender him to his father, who perhaps would make of him a disbeliever + and a disenchanted man like himself! What a responsibility and what an + immense terror—! + </p> + <p> + Her decision having been taken irrevocably, she thought of herself, + feeling for the first time that life was closing behind her, and joined + her hands for a sombre prayer. + </p> + <p> + As for Ramuntcho, after this attempt to learn, after this great effort + which had almost seemed a profanation to him, he bent his head before his + mother's will and questioned no longer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + It went very quickly now, with the drying fevers that made her cheeks red, + her nostrils pinched, or with the exhaustion of baths of perspiration, her + pulse hardly beating. + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho had no other thought than his mother; the image of Gracieuse + ceased to visit him during these funereal days. + </p> + <p> + She was going, Franchita; she was going, mute and as if indifferent, + asking for nothing, never complaining— + </p> + <p> + Once, however, as he was watching, she called him suddenly with a poor + voice of anguish, to throw her arms around him, to draw him to her, lean + her head on his cheek. And, in that minute, Ramuntcho saw pass in her eyes + the great Terror—that of the flesh which feels that it is finishing, + that of the men and that of the beasts, the horrible and the same for all.—A + believer, she was that a little; practising rather, like so many other + women around her; timid in the face of dogmas, of observances, of + services, but without a clear conception of the world beyond, without a + luminous hope.—Heaven, all the beautiful things promised after life.—Yes, + perhaps.—But still, the black hole was there, near and certain, + where she would have to turn into dust.—What was sure, what was + inexorable, was the fact that never, never more would her destroyed visage + lean in a real manner on that of Ramuntcho; then, in the doubt of having a + mind which would fly, in the horror and the misery of annihilation, of + becoming powder and nothing, she wanted again kisses from that son, and + she clutched at him as clutch the wrecked who fall into the black and deep + waters— + </p> + <p> + He understood all this, which the poor, fading eyes said so well. And the + pity so tender, which he had already felt at seeing the wrinkles and the + white hairs of his mother, overflowed like a flood from his very young + heart; he responded to this appeal with all that one may give of desolate + clasps and embraces. + </p> + <p> + But it did not last long. She had never been one of those who are + enervated for long, or at least, let it appear. Her arms unclasped, her + head fallen back, she closed her eyes again, unconscious now,—or + stoical— + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho, standing, not daring to touch her, wept heavy tears, + without noise, turning his head,—while, in the distance, the parish + bell began to ring the curfew, sang the tranquil peace of the village, + filled the air with vibrations soft, protective, advising sound sleep to + those who have morrows— + </p> + <p> + The following morning, after having confessed, she passed out of life, + silent and haughty, having felt a sort of shame for her suffering,—while + the same bell rang slowly her agony. + </p> + <p> + And at night, Ramuntcho found himself alone, beside that thing in bed and + cold, which is preserved and looked at for several hours, but which one + must make haste to bury in the earth— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + Eight days after. + </h3> + <p> + At the fall of night, while a bad mountain squall twisted the branches of + the trees, Ramuntcho entered his deserted house where the gray of death + seemed scattered everywhere. A little of winter had passed over the Basque + land, a little frost, burning the annual flowers, ending the illusory + summer of December. In front of Franchita's door, the geraniums, the + dahlias had just died, and the path which led to the house, which no one + cared for, disappeared under the mass of yellow leaves. + </p> + <p> + For Ramuntcho, this first week of mourning had been occupied by the + thousand details that rock sorrow. Proud also, he had desired that all + should be done in a luxurious manner, according to the old usages of the + parish. His mother had been buried in a coffin of black velvet ornamented + with silver nails. Then, there had been mortuary masses, attended by the + neighbors in long capes, the women enveloped and hooded with black. And + all this represented a great deal of expense for him, who was poor. + </p> + <p> + Of the sum given formerly, at the time of his birth, by his unknown + father, little remained, the greater part having been lost through + unfaithful bankers. And now, he would have to quit the house, sell the + dear familiar furniture, realize the most money possible for the flight to + America— + </p> + <p> + This time, he returned home peculiarly disturbed, because he was to do a + thing, postponed from day to day, about which his conscience was not at + rest. He had already examined, picked out, all that belonged to his + mother; but the box containing her papers and her letters was still intact—and + to-night he would open it, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + He was not sure that death, as many persons think, gives the right to + those who remain to read letters, to penetrate the secrets of those who + have just gone. To burn without looking seemed to him more respectful, + more honest. But it was also to destroy forever the means of discovering + the one whose abandoned son he was.—Then what should he do?—And + from whom could he take advice, since he had no one in the world? + </p> + <p> + In the large chimney he lit the evening fire: then he got from an upper + room the disquieting box, placed it on a table near the fire, beside his + lamp, and sat down to reflect again. In the face of these papers, almost + sacred, almost prohibited, which he would touch and which death alone + could have placed in his hands, he had in this moment the consciousness, + in a more heartbreaking manner, of the irrevocable departure of his + mother; tears returned to him and he wept there, alone, in the silence— + </p> + <p> + At last he opened the box— + </p> + <p> + His arteries beat heavily. Under the surrounding trees, in the obscure + solitude, he felt that forms were moving, to look at him through the + window-panes. He felt breaths strange to his own chest, as if some one was + breathing behind him. Shades assembled, interested in what he was about to + do.—The house was crowded with phantoms— + </p> + <p> + They were letters, preserved there for more than twenty years, all in the + same handwriting,—one of those handwritings, at once negligent and + easy, which men of the world have and which, in the eyes of the simple + minded, are an indication of great social difference. And at first, a + vague dream of protection, of elevation and of wealth diverted the course + of his thoughts.—He had no doubt about the hand which had written + them, those letters, and he held them tremblingly, not daring to read + them, nor even to look at the name with which they were signed. + </p> + <p> + One only had retained its envelope; then he read the address: “To Madame + Franchita Duval.”—Oh! yes, he remembered having heard that his + mother, at the time of her disappearance from the Basque country, had + taken that name for a while.—Following this, was an indication of + street and number, which it pained him to read without his being able to + understand why, which made the blood come to his cheeks; then the name of + that large city, wherein he was born.—With fixed eyes, he stayed + there, looking no longer.—And suddenly, he had the horrible vision + of that clandestine establishment: in a suburban apartment, his mother, + young, elegant, mistress of some rich idler, or of some officer perhaps!—In + the regiment he had known some of these establishments, which doubtless + are all alike, and he had found in them for himself unexpected adventures.—A + dizziness seized him, to catch a glimpse thus under a new aspect of the + one whom he had venerated so much; the dear past faltered behind him, as + if to fall into a desolating abyss. And his despair turned into a sudden + execration for the one who had given life to him through a caprice— + </p> + <p> + Oh! to burn them, to burn them as quickly as possible, these letters of + misfortune!—And he began to throw them one by one into the fire, + where they were consumed by sudden flames. + </p> + <p> + A photograph, however, came out of them, fell on the floor; then he could + not refrain from taking it to the lamp to see it. + </p> + <p> + And his impression was heart-rending, during the few seconds when his eyes + met the half effaced ones of the yellowed image!—It resembled him!—He + found, with profound fear, something of himself in the unknown. And + instinctively he turned round, asking himself if the spectres in the + obscure corners had not come near behind him to look also. + </p> + <p> + It had hardly an appreciable duration, that silent interview, unique and + supreme, with his father. To the fire also, the image! He threw it, with a + gesture of anger and of terror, among the ashes of the last letters, and + all left soon only a little mass of black dust, extinguishing the clear + flames of the branches. + </p> + <p> + Finished! The box was empty. He threw on the floor his cap which gave him + a headache, and straightened himself, with perspiration on his forehead + and a buzzing at the temples. + </p> + <p> + Finished! Annihilated, all these memories of sin and of shame. And now the + things of life appeared to him to regain their former balance; he regained + his soft veneration for his mother, whose memory it seemed to him he had + purified, avenged also a little, by this disdainful execution. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, his destiny had been fixed to-night forever. He would remain + the Ramuntcho of other times, the “son of Franchita,” player of pelota and + smuggler, free, freed from everything, owing nothing to and asking nothing + from anybody. And he felt serene, without remorse, without fright, either, + in this mortuary house, from which the shades had just disappeared, + peaceful now and friendly— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + At the frontier, in a mountain hamlet. A black night, about one o'clock in + the morning; a winter night inundated by cold and heavy rain. At the front + of a sinister house which casts no light outside, Ramuntcho loads his + shoulders with a heavy smuggled box, under the rippling rain, in the midst + of a tomb-like obscurity. Itchoua's voice commands secretly,—as if + one hardly touched with a bow the last strings of a bass viol,—and + around him, in the absolute darkness, one divines the presence of other + smugglers similarly loaded, ready to start on an adventure. + </p> + <p> + It is now more than ever Ramuntcho's life, to run almost every night, + especially on the cloudless and moonless nights when one sees nothing, + when the Pyrenees are an immense chaos of shade. Amassing as much money as + he can for his flight, he is in all the smuggling expeditions, as well in + those that bring a suitable remuneration as in those where one risks death + for a hundred cents. And ordinarily, Arrochkoa accompanies him, without + necessity, in sport and for a whim. + </p> + <p> + They have become inseparable, Arrochkoa, Ramuntcho,—and they talk + freely of their projects about Gracieuse, Arrochkoa seduced especially by + the attraction of some fine prowess, by the joy of taking a nun away from + the church, of undoing the plans of his old, hardened mother,—and + Ramuntcho, in spite of his Christian scruples which affect him still, + making of this dangerous project his only hope, his only reason for being + and for acting. For a month, almost, the attempt has been decided upon in + theory and, in their long talks in the December nights, on the roads where + they walk, or in the corners of the village cider mills where they sit + apart, the means of execution are discussed by them, as if the question + was a simple frontier undertaking. They must act very quickly, concludes + Arrochkoa always, they must act in the surprise of a first interview which + shall be for Gracieuse a very disturbing thing; they must act without + giving her time to think or to recant, they must try something like + kidnapping— + </p> + <p> + “If you knew,” he says, “what is that little convent of Amezqueta where + they have placed her: four old, good sisters with her, in an isolated + house!—I have my horse, you know, who gallops so quickly; once the + nun is in a carriage with you, who can catch her?—” + </p> + <p> + And to-night they have resolved to take into their confidence Itchoua + himself, a man accustomed to suspicious adventures, valuable in assaults + at night, and who, for money, is capable of everything. + </p> + <p> + The place from which they start this time for the habitual smuggling + expedition is named Landachkoa, and it is situated in France at ten + minutes' distance from Spain. The inn, solitary and old, assumes as soon + as the night falls, the air of a den of thieves; at this moment while the + smugglers come out of one door, it is full of Spanish carbineers who have + familiarly crossed the frontier to divert themselves here and who drink + while singing. And the hostess, accustomed to these nocturnal affairs, has + said joyfully, a moment ago, in Basque tongue to Itchoua's folks: + </p> + <p> + “It is all right! They are all drunk, you can go out!” + </p> + <p> + Go out! It is easier to advise than to do! You are drenched at the first + steps and your feet slip on the mud, despite the aid of your sticks, on + the stiff slopes of the paths. They do not see one another; they see + nothing, neither the walls of the hamlet along which they pass nor the + trees afterward, nor the rocks; they are like blind men, groping and + slipping under a deluge, with the music of rain in their ears which makes + them deaf. + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho, who makes this trip for the first time, has no idea of the + passages which they are to go through, strikes here and there his load + against black things which are branches of beeches, or slips with his two + feet, falters, straightens up, catches himself by planting at random his + iron-pointed stick in the soil. They are the last on the march, Arrochkoa + and Ramuntcho, following the band by ear;—and those who precede them + make no more noise with their sandals than wolves in a forest. + </p> + <p> + In all, fifteen smugglers on a distance of fifty metres, in the thick + black of the mountain, under the incessant sprinkling of the shower; they + carry boxes full of jewels, of watches, of chains, of rosaries, or bundles + of Lyons silk, wrapped in oilcloth; in front, loaded with merchandise less + valuable, walk two men who are the skirmishers, those who will attract, if + necessary, the guns of the Spaniards and will then take flight, throwing + away everything. All talk in a low voice, despite the drumming of the rain + which already stifles sounds— + </p> + <p> + The one who precedes Ramuntcho turns round to warn him: + </p> + <p> + “Here is a torrent in front of us—” (Its presence would have been + guessed by its noise louder than that of the rain—) “We must cross + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!—Cross it how? Wade in the water?—” + </p> + <p> + “No, the water is too deep. Follow us. There is a tree trunk over it.” + </p> + <p> + Groping, Ramuntcho finds that tree trunk, wet, slippery and round. He + stands, advancing on this monkey's bridge in a forest, carrying his heavy + load, while under him the invisible torrent roars. And he crosses, none + knows how, in the midst of this intensity of black and of this noise of + water. + </p> + <p> + On the other shore they have to increase precaution and silence. There are + no more mountain paths, frightful descents, under the night, more + oppressing, of the woods. They have reached a sort of plain wherein the + feet penetrate; the sandals attached to nervous legs cause a noise of + beaten water. The eyes of the smugglers, their cat-like eyes, more and + more dilated by the obscurity, perceive confusedly that there is free + space around, that there is no longer the closing in of branches. They + breathe better also and walk with a more regular pace that rests them— + </p> + <p> + But the bark of dogs immobilizes them all in a sudden manner, as if + petrified under the shower. For a quarter of an hour they wait, without + talking or moving; on their chests, the perspiration runs, mingled with + the rain that enters by their shirt collars and falls to their belts. + </p> + <p> + By dint of listening, they hear the buzz of their ears, the beat of their + own arteries. + </p> + <p> + And this tension of their senses is, in their trade, what they all like; + it gives to them a sort of joy almost animal, it doubles the life of the + muscles in them, who are beings of the past; it is a recall of the most + primitive human impressions in the forests or the jungles of original + epochs.—Centuries of civilization will be necessary to abolish this + taste for dangerous surprises which impels certain children to play hide + and seek, certain men to lie in ambush, to skirmish in wars, or to smuggle— + </p> + <p> + They have hushed, the watch-dogs, quieted or distracted, their attentive + scent preoccupied by something else. The vast silence has returned, less + reassuring, ready to break, perhaps, because beasts are watching. And, at + a low command from Itchoua, the men begin again their march, slower and + more hesitating, in the night of the plain, a little bent, a little + lowered on their legs, like wild animals on the alert. + </p> + <p> + Before them is the Nivelle; they do not see it, since they see nothing, + but they hear it run, and now long, flexible things are in the way of + their steps, are crushed by their bodies: the reeds on the shores. The + Nivelle is the frontier; they will have to cross it on a series of + slippery rocks, leaping from stone to stone, despite the loads that make + the legs heavy. + </p> + <p> + But before doing this they halt on the shore to collect themselves and + rest a little. And first, they call the roll in a low voice: all are + there. The boxes have been placed in the grass; they seem clearer spots, + almost perceptible to trained eyes, while, on the darkness in the + background, the men, standing, make long, straight marks, blacker than the + emptiness of the plain. Passing by Ramuntcho, Itchoua has whispered in his + ear: + </p> + <p> + “When will you tell me about your plan?” + </p> + <p> + “In a moment, at our return!—Oh, do not fear, Itchoua, I will tell + you!” + </p> + <p> + At this moment when his chest is heaving and his muscles are in action, + all his faculties doubled and exasperated by his trade, he does not + hesitate, Ramuntcho; in the present exaltation of his strength and of his + combativeness he knows no moral obstacles nor scruples. The idea which + came to his accomplice to associate himself with Itchoua frightens him no + longer. So much the worse! He will surrender to the advice of that man of + stratagem and of violence, even if he must go to the extreme of kidnapping + and housebreaking. He is, to-night, the rebel from whom has been taken the + companion of his life, the adored one, the one who may not be replaced; he + wants her, at the risk of everything.—And while he thinks of her, in + the progressive languor of that halt, he desires her suddenly with his + senses, in a young, savage outbreak, in a manner unexpected and sovereign— + </p> + <p> + The immobility is prolonged, the respirations are calmer. And, while the + men shake their dripping caps, pass their hands on their foreheads to wipe + out drops of rain and perspiration that veil the eyes, the first sensation + of cold comes to them, of a damp and profound cold; their wet clothes + chill them, their thoughts weaken; little by little a sort of torpor + benumbs them in the thick darkness, under the incessant winter rain. + </p> + <p> + They are accustomed to this, trained to cold and to dampness, they are + hardened prowlers who go to places where, and at hours when, other men + never appear, they are inaccessible to vague frights of the darkness, they + are capable of sleeping without shelter anywhere in the blackest of rainy + nights, in dangerous marshes or hidden ravines— + </p> + <p> + Now the rest has lasted long enough. This is the decisive instant when the + frontier is to be crossed. All muscles stiffen, ears stretch, eyes dilate. + </p> + <p> + First, the skirmishers; then, one after another, the bundle carriers, the + box carriers, each one loaded with a weight of forty kilos, on the + shoulders or on the head. Slipping here and there among the round rocks, + stumbling in the water, everybody crosses, lands on the other shore. Here + they are on the soil of Spain! They have to cross, without gunshots or bad + meetings, a distance of two hundred metres to reach an isolated farm which + is the receiving shop of the chief of the Spanish smugglers, and once more + the game will have been played! + </p> + <p> + Naturally, it is without light, obscure and sinister, that farm. + Noiselessly and groping they enter in a file; then, on the last who enter, + enormous locks of the door are drawn. At last! Barricaded and rescued, + all! And the treasury of the Queen Regent has been frustrated, again + tonight, of a thousand francs—! + </p> + <p> + Then, fagots are lighted in the chimney, a candle on the table; they see + one another, they recognize one another, smiling at the success. The + security, the truce of rain over their heads, the flame that dances and + warms, the cider and the whiskey that fill the glasses, bring back to + these men noisy joy after compelled silence. They talk gaily, and the + tall, white-haired, old chief who receives them all at this undue hour, + announces that he will give to his village a beautiful square for the + pelota game, the plans of which have been drawn and the cost of which will + be ten thousand francs. + </p> + <p> + “Now, tell me your affair,” insists Itchoua, in Ramuntcho's ear. “Oh, I + suspect what it is! Gracieuse, eh?—That is it, is it not?—It + is hard you know.—I do not like to do things against my religion, + you know.—Then, I have my place as a chorister, which I might lose + in such a game.—Let us see, how much money will you give me if I + succeed?—” + </p> + <p> + He had foreseen, Ramuntcho, that this sombre aid would cost him a great + deal, Itchoua being, in truth, a churchman, whose conscience would have to + be bought; and, much disturbed, with a flush on his cheeks, Ramuntcho + grants, after a discussion, a thousand francs. Anyway, if he is piling up + money, it is only to get Gracieuse, and if enough remains for him to go to + America with her, what matters it?— + </p> + <p> + And now that his secret is known to Itchoua, now that his cherished + project is being elaborated in that obstinate and sharp brain, it seems to + Ramuntcho that he has made a decisive step toward the execution of his + plan, that all has suddenly become real and approaching. Then, in the + midst of the lugubrious decay of the place, among these men who are less + than ever similar to him, he isolates himself in an immense hope of love. + </p> + <p> + They drink for a last time together, all around, clinking their glasses + loudly; then they start again, in the thick night and under the incessant + rain, but this time on the highway, in a band and singing. Nothing in the + hands, nothing in the pockets: they are now ordinary people, returning + from a natural promenade. + </p> + <p> + In the rear guard, at a distance from the singers, Itchoua on his long + legs walks with his hands resting on Ramuntcho's shoulder. Interested and + ardent for success, since the sum has been agreed upon, Itchoua whispers + in Ramuntcho's ear imperious advices. Like Arrochkoa, he wishes to act + with stunning abruptness, in the surprise of a first interview which will + occur in the evening, as late as the rule of a convent will permit, at an + uncertain and twilight hour, when the village shall have begun to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Above all,” he says, “do not show yourself beforehand. She must not have + seen you, she must not even know that you have returned home! You must not + lose the advantage of surprise—” + </p> + <p> + While Ramuntcho listens and meditates in silence, the others, who lead the + march, sing always the same old song that times their steps. And thus they + re-enter Landachkoa, village of France, crossing the bridge of the + Nivelle, under the beards of the Spanish carbineers. + </p> + <p> + They have no sort of illusion, the watching carbineers, about what these + men, so wet, have been doing at an hour so black. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + The winter, the real winter, extended itself by degrees over the Basque + land, after the few days of frost that had come to annihilate the annual + plants, to change the deceptive aspect of the fields, to prepare the + following spring. + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho acquired slowly his habits of one left alone; in his house, + wherein he lived still, without anybody to serve him, he took care of + himself, as in the colonies or in the barracks, knowing the thousand + little details of housekeeping which careful soldiers practice. He + preserved the pride of dress, dressed himself well, wore the ribbon of the + brave at his buttonhole and a wide crape around his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + At first he was not assiduous at the village cider mill, where the men + assembled in the cold evenings. In his three years of travel, of reading, + of talking with different people, too many new ideas had penetrated his + already open mind; among his former companions he felt more outcast than + before, more detached from the thousand little things which composed their + life. + </p> + <p> + Little by little, however, by dint of being alone, by dint of passing by + the halls where the men drank,—on the window-panes of which a lamp + always sketches the shadows of Basque caps,—he had made it a custom + to go in and to sit at a table. + </p> + <p> + It was the season when the Pyrenean villages, freed from the visitors + which the summers bring, imprisoned by the clouds, the mist, or the snow, + are more intensely as they were in ancient times. In these cider mills—sole, + little, illuminated points, living, in the midst of the immense, empty + darkness of the fields—something of the spirit of former times is + reanimated in winter evenings. In front of the large casks of cider + arranged in lines in the background where it is dark, the lamp, hanging + from the beams, throws its light on the images of saints that decorate the + walls, on the groups of mountaineers who talk and who smoke. At times + someone sings a plaintive song which came from the night of centuries; the + beating of a tambourine recalls to life old, forgotten rhythms; a guitar + reawakens a sadness of the epoch of the Moors.—Or, in the face of + each other, two men, with castanets in their hands, suddenly dance the + fandango, swinging themselves with an antique grace. + </p> + <p> + And, from these innocent, little inns, they retire early—especially + in these bad, rainy nights—the darkness of which is so peculiarly + propitious to smuggling, every one here having to do some clandestine + thing on the Spanish side. + </p> + <p> + In such places, in the company of Arrochkoa, Ramuntcho talked over and + commented upon his cherished, sacrilegious project; or,—during the + beautiful moon-light nights which do not permit of undertakings on the + frontier—they talked on the roads for a long time. + </p> + <p> + Persistent religions scruples made him hesitate a great deal, although he + hardly realized it. They were inexplicable scruples, since he had ceased + to be a believer. But all his will, all his audacity, all his life, were + concentrated and directed, more and more, toward this unique end. + </p> + <p> + And the prohibition, ordered by Itchoua, from seeing Gracieuse before the + great attempt, exasperated his impatient dream. + </p> + <p> + The winter, capricious as it is always in this country, pursued its + unequal march, with, from time to time, surprises of sunlight and of heat. + There were rains of a deluge, grand, healthy squalls which went up from + the Bay of Biscay, plunged into the valleys, bending the trees furiously. + And then, repetitions of the wind of the south, breaths as warm as in + summer, breezes smelling of Africa, under a sky at once high and sombre, + among mountains of an intense brown color. And also, glacial mornings, + wherein one saw, at awakening, summits become snowy and white. + </p> + <p> + The desire often seized him to finish everything.—But he had the + frightful idea that he might not succeed and might fall again, alone + forever, without a hope in life. + </p> + <p> + Anyway, reasonable pretexts to wait were not lacking. He had to settle + with men of affairs, he had to sell the house and realize, for his flight, + all the money that he could obtain. He had also to wait for the answer of + Uncle Ignacio, to whom he had announced his emigration and at whose house + he expected to find an asylum. + </p> + <p> + Thus the days went by, and soon the hasty spring was to ferment. Already + the yellow primrose and the blue gentian, in advance here by several + weeks, were in bloom in the woods and along the paths, in the last suns of + January— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + They are this time in the cider mill of the hamlet of Gastelugain, near + the frontier, waiting for the moment to go out with boxes of jewelry and + weapons. + </p> + <p> + And it is Itchoua who is talking: + </p> + <p> + “If she hesitates—and she will not hesitate, be sure of it—but + if she hesitates, well! we will kidnap her.—Let me arrange this, my + plan is all made. It will be in the evening, you understand?—We will + bring her anywhere and imprison her in a room with you.—If it turns + out badly—if I am forced to quit the country after having done this + thing to please you; then, you will have to give me more money than the + amount agreed upon, you understand?—Enough, at least, to let me seek + for my bread in Spain—” + </p> + <p> + “In Spain!—What? What are you going to do, Itchoua? I hope you have + not in your head the idea to do things that are too grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not be afraid, my friend. I have no desire to assassinate + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! You talk of running away—” + </p> + <p> + “I said this as I would have said anything else, you know. For some time, + business has been bad. And then, suppose the thing turns out badly and the + police make an inquiry. Well, I would prefer to go, that is sure.—For + whenever these men of justice put their noses into anything, they seek for + things that happened long ago, and the inquiry never ends—” + </p> + <p> + In his eyes, suddenly expressive, appeared crime and fear. And Ramuntcho + looked with an increase of anxiety at this man, who was believed to be + solidly established in the country with lands in the sunlight, and who + accepted so easily the idea of running away. What sort of a bandit is he + then, to be so much afraid of justice?—And what could be these + things that happened long ago?—After a silence between them, + Ramuntcho said in a lower voice, with extreme distrust: + </p> + <p> + “Imprison her—you say this seriously, Itchoua?—And where + imprison her, if you please? I have no castle to hide her in—” + </p> + <p> + Then Itchoua, with the smile of a faun which no one had seen before, + tapped his shoulder: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, imprison her—for one night only, my son!—It will be + enough, you may believe me.—They are all alike, you see: the first + step costs; but the second one, they make it all alone, and quicker than + you may think. Do you imagine that she would wish to return to the good + sisters, afterward?—” + </p> + <p> + The desire to slap that dull face passed like an electric shock through + the arm and the hand of Ramuntcho. He constrained himself, however, + through a long habit of respectfulness for the old singer of the + liturgies, and remained silent, with a flush on his cheeks, and his look + turned aside. It revolted him to hear one talk thus of her—and + surprised him that the one who spoke thus was that Itchoua whom he had + always known as the quiet husband of an ugly and old woman. But the blow + struck by the impertinent phrase followed nevertheless, in his + imagination, a dangerous and unforeseen path.—Gracieuse, “imprisoned + a room with him!” The immediate possibility of such a thing, so clearly + presented with a rough and coarse word, made his head swim like a very + violent liquor. + </p> + <p> + He loved her with too elevated a tenderness, his betrothed, to find + pleasure in brutal hopes. Ordinarily, he expelled from his mind those + images; but now that man had just placed them under his eye, with a + diabolical crudity, and he felt shivers in his flesh, he trembled as if + the weather were cold— + </p> + <p> + Oh, whether the adventure fell or not under the blow of justice, well, so + much the worse, after all! He had nothing to lose, all was indifferent to + him! And from that evening, in the fever of a new desire, he felt more + boldly decided to brave the rules, the laws, the obstacles of this world. + Saps ascended everywhere around him, on the sides of the brown Pyrenees; + there were longer and more tepid nights; the paths were bordered with + violets and periwinkles.—But religious scruples held him still. They + remained, inexplicably in the depth of his disordered mind: instinctive + horror of profanation; belief, in spite of everything, in something + supernatural enveloping, to defend them, churches and cloisters— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <h3> + The winter had just come to an end. + </h3> + <p> + Ramuntcho,—who had slept for a few hours, in a bad, tired sleep, in + a small room of the new house of his friend Florentino, at Ururbil,—awakened + as the day dawned. + </p> + <p> + The night,—a night of tempest everywhere, a black and troubled + night,—had been disastrous for the smugglers. Near Cape Figuier, in + the rocks where they had just landed from the sea with silk bundles, they + had been pursued with gunshots, compelled to throw away their loads, + losing everything, some fleeing to the mountain, others escaping by + swimming among the breakers, in order to reach the French shore, in terror + of the prisons of San Sebastian. + </p> + <p> + At two o'clock in the morning, exhausted, drenched and half drowned, he + had knocked at the door of that isolated house, to ask from the good + Florentino his aid and an asylum. + </p> + <p> + And on awakening, after all the nocturnal noise of the equinoctial storm, + of the rain, of the groaning branches, twisted and broken, he perceived + that a grand silence had come. Straining his ear, he could hear no longer + the immense breath of the western wind, no longer the motion of all those + things tormented in the darkness. No, nothing except a far-off noise, + regular, powerful, continued and formidable; the roll of the waters in the + depth of that Bay of Biscay—which, since the beginning, is without + truce and troubled; a rhythmic groan, as might be the monstrous + respiration of the sea in its sleep; a series of profound blows which + seemed the blows of a battering ram on a wall, continued every time by a + music of surf on the beaches.—But the air, the trees and the + surrounding things were immovable; the tempest had finished, without + reasonable cause, as it had begun, and the sea alone prolonged the + complaint of it. + </p> + <p> + To look at that land, that Spanish coast which he would perhaps never see + again, since his departure was so near, he opened his window on the + emptiness, still pale, on the virginity of the desolate dawn. + </p> + <p> + A gray light emanating from a gray sky; everywhere the same immobility, + tired and frozen, with uncertainties of aspect derived from the night and + from dreams. An opaque sky, which had a solid air and was made of + accumulated, small, horizontal layers, as if one had painted it by + superposing pastes of dead colors. + </p> + <p> + And underneath, mountains black brown; then Fontarabia in a morose + silhouette, its old belfry appearing blacker and more worn by the years. + At that hour, so early and so freshly mysterious, when the ears of most + men are not yet open, it seemed as if one surprised things in their + heartbreaking colloquy of lassitude and of death, relating to one another, + at the first flush of dawn, all that they do not say when the day has + risen.—What was the use of resisting the storm of last night? said + the old belfry, sad and weary, standing in the background in the distance; + what was the use, since other storms will come, eternally others, other + storms and other tempests, and since I will pass away, I whom men have + elevated as a signal of prayer to remain here for incalculable years?—I + am already only a spectre, come from some other time; I continue to ring + ceremonies and illusory festivals; but men will soon cease to be lured by + them; I ring also knells, I have rung so many knells for thousands of dead + persons whom nobody remembers! And I remain here, useless, under the + effort, almost eternal, of all those western winds which blow from the sea— + </p> + <p> + At the foot of the belfry, the church, drawn in gray tints, with an air of + age and abandonment, confessed also that it was empty, that it was vain, + peopled only by poor images made of wood or of stone, by myths without + comprehension, without power and without pity. And all the houses, piously + grouped for centuries around it, avowed that its protection was not + efficacious against death, that it was deceptive and untruthful— + </p> + <p> + And especially the clouds, the clouds and the mountains, covered with + their immense, mute attestation what the old city murmured beneath them; + they confirmed in silence the sombre truths: heaven empty as the churches + are, serving for accidental phantasmagoria, and uninterrupted times + rolling their flood, wherein thousands of lives, like insignificant + nothings, are, one after another, dragged and drowned.—A knell began + to ring in that distance which Ramuntcho saw whitening; very slowly, the + old belfry gave its voice, once more, for the end of a life; someone was + in the throes of death on the other side of the frontier, some Spanish + soul over there was going out, in the pale morning, under the thickness of + those imprisoning clouds—and he had almost the precise notion that + this soul would very simply follow its body in the earth which decomposes— + </p> + <p> + And Ramuntcho contemplated and listened. At the little window of that + Basque house, which before him had sheltered only generations of + simple-minded and confident people, leaning on the wide sill which the + rubbing of elbows had worn, pushing the old shutter painted green, he + rested his eyes on the dull display of that corner of the world which had + been his and which he was to quit forever. Those revelations which things + made, his uncultured mind heard them for the first time and he lent to + them a frightened attention. An entire new labor of unbelief was going on + suddenly in his mind, prepared by heredity to doubts and to worry. An + entire vision came to him, sudden and seemingly definitive, of the + nothingness of religions, of the nonexistence of the divinities whom men + supplicate. + </p> + <p> + And then—since there was nothing, how simple it was to tremble still + before the white Virgin, chimerical protector of those convents where + girls are imprisoned—! + </p> + <p> + The poor agony bell, which exhausted itself in ringing over there so + puerilely to call for useless prayers, stopped at last, and, under the + closed sky, the respiration of the grand waters alone was heard in the + distance, in the universal silence. But the things continued, in the + uncertain dawn, their dialogue without words: nothing anywhere; nothing in + the old churches venerated for so long a time; nothing in the sky where + clouds and mists amass; but always, in the flight of times, the eternal + and exhausting renewal of beings; and always and at once, old age, death, + ashes— + </p> + <p> + That is what they were saying, in the pale half light, the things so dull + and so tired. And Ramuntcho, who had heard, pitied himself for having + hesitated so long for imaginary reasons. To himself he swore, with a + harsher despair, that this morning he was decided; that he would do it, at + the risk of everything; that nothing would make him hesitate longer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Weeks have elapsed, in preparations, in anxious uncertainties on the + manner of acting, in abrupt changes of plans and ideas. + </p> + <p> + Between times, the reply of Uncle Ignacio has reached Etchezar. If his + nephew had spoken sooner, Ignacio has written, he would have been glad to + receive him at his house; but, seeing how he hesitated, Ignacio had + decided to take a wife, although he is already an old man, and now he has + a child two months old. Therefore, there is no protection to be expected + from that side; the exile, when he arrives there, may not find even a home— + </p> + <p> + The family house has been sold, at the notary's money questions have been + settled; all the goods of Ramuntcho have been transformed into gold pieces + which are in his hand— + </p> + <p> + And now is the day of the supreme attempt, the great day,—and + already the thick foliage has returned to the trees, the clothing of the + tall grass covers anew the prairies; it is May. + </p> + <p> + In the little wagon, which the famous fast horse drags, they roll on the + shady mountain paths, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, toward that village of + Amezqueta. They roll quickly; they plunge into the heart of an infinite + region of trees. And, as the hour goes by, all becomes more peaceful + around them, and more savage; more primitive, the hamlets; more solitary, + the Basque land. + </p> + <p> + In the shade of the branches, on the borders of the paths, there are pink + foxgloves, silences, ferns, almost the same flora as in Brittany; these + two countries, the Basque and the Breton, resemble each other by the + granite which is everywhere and by the habitual rain; by the immobility + also, and by the continuity of the same religious dream. + </p> + <p> + Above the two young men who have started for the adventure, thicken the + big, customary clouds, the sombre and low sky. The route which they + follow, in these mountains ever and ever higher, is deliciously green, dug + in the shade, between walls of ferns. + </p> + <p> + Immobility of several centuries, immobility in beings and in things,—one + has more and more the consciousness of it as one penetrates farther into + this country of forests and of silence. Under this obscure veil of the + sky, where are lost the summits of the grand Pyrenees, appear and run by, + isolated houses, centenary farms, hamlets more and more rare,—and + they go always under the same vault of oaks, of ageless chestnut trees, + which twist even at the side of the path their roots like mossy serpents. + They resemble one another, those hamlets separated from one another by so + much forest, by so many branches, and inhabited by an antique race, + disdainful of all that disturbs, of all that changes: the humble church, + most often without a belfry, with a simple campanila on its gray facade, + and the square, with its wall painted for that traditional ball-game + wherein, from father to son, the men exercise their hard muscles. + Everywhere reigned the healthy peace of rustic life, the traditions of + which in the Basque land are more immutable than elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + The few woolen caps which the two bold young men meet on their rapid + passage, incline all in a bow, from general politeness first, and from + acquaintance above all, for they are, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, the two + celebrated pelota players of the country;—Ramuntcho, it is true, had + been forgotten by many people, but Arrochkoa, everybody, from Bayonne to + San Sebastian, knows his face with healthy colors and the turned up ends + of his catlike mustache. + </p> + <p> + Dividing the journey into two stages, they have slept last night at + Mendichoco. And at present they are rolling quickly, the two young men, so + preoccupied doubtless that they hardly care to regulate the pace of their + vigorous beast. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Itchoua, however, is not with them. At the last moment, a fear has +come to Ramuntcho of this accomplice, whom he felt to be capable of +everything, even of murder; in a sudden terror, he has refused the aid +of that man, who clutched the bridle of the horse to prevent it from +starting; and feverishly, Ramuntcho has thrown gold into his hands, to +pay for his advice, to buy the liberty to act alone, the assurance, +at least, of not committing a crime: piece by piece, to break his +engagement, he has given to Itchoua a half of the agreed price. Then, +when the horse is driven at a gallop, when the implacable figure has +vanished behind a group of trees, Ramuntcho has felt his conscience +lighter— + + “You will leave my carriage at Aranotz, at Burugoity, the inn-keeper's, +who understands,” said Arrochkoa, “for, you understand, as soon as you +have accomplished your end I will leave you.—We have business with the +people of Buruzabal, horses to lead into Spain to-night, not far from +Amezqueta, and I promised to be there before ten o'clock—” + </pre> + <p> + What will they do? They do not know, the two allied friends; this will + depend on the turn that things take; they have different projects, all + bold and skilful, according to the cases which might present themselves. + Two places have been reserved, one for Ramuntcho and the other for her, on + board a big emigrant vessel on which the baggage is embarked and which + will start tomorrow night from Bordeaux carrying hundreds of Basques to + America. At this small station of Aranotz, where the carriage will leave + both of them, Ramuntcho and Gracieuse, they will take the train for + Bayonne, at three o'clock in the morning, and, at Bayonne afterward, the + Irun express to Bordeaux. It will be a hasty flight, which will not give + to the little fugitive the time to think, to regain her senses in her + terror,—doubtless also in her intoxication deliciously mortal— + </p> + <p> + A gown, a mantilla of Gracieuse are all ready, at the bottom of the + carriage, to replace the veil and the black uniform: things which she wore + formerly, before her vows, and which Arrochkoa found in his mother's + closets. And Ramuntcho thinks that it will be perhaps real, in a moment, + that she will be perhaps there, at his side, very near, on that narrow + seat, enveloped with him in the same travelling blanket, flying in the + midst of night, to belong to him, at once and forever;—and in + thinking of this too much, he feels again a shudder and a dizziness— + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that she will follow you,” repeats his friend, striking him + rudely on the leg in protective encouragement, as soon as he sees + Ramuntcho sombre and lost in a dream. “I tell you that she will follow + you, I am sure! If she hesitates, well, leave the rest to me!” + </p> + <p> + If she hesitates, then they will be violent, they are resolved, oh, not + very violent, only enough to unlace the hands of the old nuns retaining + her.—And then, they will carry her into the small wagon, where + infallibly the enlacing contact and the tenderness of her former friend + will soon turn her young head. + </p> + <p> + How will it all happen? They do not yet know, relying a great deal on + their spirit of decision which has already dragged them out of dangerous + passes. But what they know is that they will not weaken. And they go + ahead, exciting each other; one would say that they are united now unto + death, firm and decided like two bandits at the hour when the capital game + is to be played. + </p> + <p> + The land of thick branches which they traverse, under the oppression of + very high mountains which they do not see, is all in ravines, profound and + torn up, in precipices, where torrents roar under the green night of the + foliage. The oaks, the beeches, the chestnut trees become more and more + enormous, living through centuries off a sap ever fresh and magnificent. A + powerful verdure is strewn over that disturbed geology; for ages it covers + and classifies it under the freshness of its immovable mantle. And this + nebulous sky, almost obscure, which is familiar to the Basque country, + adds to the impression which they have of a sort of universal meditation + wherein the things are plunged; a strange penumbra descends from + everywhere, descends from the trees at first, descends from the thick, + gray veils above the branches, descends from the great Pyrenees hidden + behind the clouds. + </p> + <p> + And, in the midst of this immense peace and of this green night, they + pass, Ramuntcho and Arrochkoa, like two young disturbers going to break + charms in the depths of forests. At all cross roads old, granite crosses + rise, like alarm signals to warn them; old crosses with this inscription, + sublimely simple, which is here something like the device of an entire + race: “O crux, ave, spes unica!” + </p> + <p> + Soon the night will come. Now they are silent, because the hour is going, + because the moment approaches, because all these crosses on the road are + beginning to intimidate them— + </p> + <p> + And the day falls, under that sad veil which covers the sky. The valleys + become more savage, the country more deserted. And, at the corners of + roads, the old crosses appear, ever with their similar inscriptions: “O + crux, ave, spes unica!” + </p> + <p> + Amezqueta, at the last twilight. They stop their carriage at an outskirt + of the village, before the cider mill. Arrochkoa is impatient to go into + the house of the sisters, vexed at arriving so late; he fears that the + door may not be opened to them. Ramuntcho, silent, lets him act. + </p> + <p> + It is above, on the hill; it is that isolated house which a cross + surmounts and which one sees in relief in white on the darker mass of the + mountain. They recommend that as soon as the horse is rested the wagon be + brought to them, at a turn, to wait for them. Then, both go into the + avenue of trees which leads to that convent and where the thickness of the + May foliage makes the obscurity almost nocturnal. Without saying anything + to each other, without making a noise with their sandals, they ascend in a + supple and easy manner; around them the profound fields are impregnated by + the immense melancholy of the night. + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa knocks with his finger on the door of the peaceful house: + </p> + <p> + “I would like to see my sister, if you please,” he says to an old nun who + opens the door, astonished— + </p> + <p> + Before he has finished talking, a cry of joy comes from the dark corridor, + and a nun, whom one divines is young in spite of the envelopment of her + dissembling costume, comes and takes his hand. She has recognized him by + his voice,—but has she divined the other who stays behind and does + not talk?— + </p> + <p> + The Mother Superior has come also, and, in the darkness of the stairway, + she makes them go up to the parlor of the little country convent; then she + brings the cane-seat chairs and everyone sits down, Arrochkoa near his + sister, Ramuntcho opposite,—and they face each other at last, the + two lovers, and a silence, full of the beating of arteries, full of leaps + of hearts, full of fever, descends upon them— + </p> + <p> + Truly, in this place, one knows not what peace almost sweet, and a little + sepulchral also, envelopes the terrible interview; in the depth of the + chests, the hearts beat with great blows, but the words of love or of + violence, the words die before passing the lips.—And this peace, + more and more establishes itself; it seems as if a white shroud little by + little is covering everything, in order to calm and to extinguish. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing very peculiar, however, in this humble parlor: four walls + absolutely bare under a coat of whitewash; a wooden ceiling; a floor where + one slips, so carefully waxed it is; on a table, a plaster Virgin, already + indistinct, among all the similar white things of the background where the + twilight of May is dying. And a window without curtains, open on the grand + Pyrenean horizons invaded by night.—But, from this voluntary + poverty, from this white simplicity, is exhaled a notion of definitive + impersonality, of renunciation forever; and the irremediability of + accomplished things begins to manifest itself to the mind of Ramuntcho, + while bringing to him a sort of peace, of sudden and involuntary + resignation. + </p> + <p> + The two smugglers, immovable on their chairs, appear as silhouettes, of + wide shoulders on all this white of the walls, and of their lost features + one hardly sees the black more intense of the mustache and the eyes. The + two nuns, whose outlines are unified by the veil, seem already to be two + spectres all black— + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Sister Mary Angelique,” says the Mother Superior to the transformed + young girl who was formerly named Gracieuse, “wait sister till I light the + lamp in order that you may at least see your brother's face!” + </p> + <p> + She goes out, leaving them together, and, again, silence falls on this + rare instant, perhaps unique, impossible to regain, when they are alone— + </p> + <p> + She comes back with a little lamp which makes the eyes of the smugglers + shine,—and with a gay voice, a kind air, asks, looking at Ramuntcho: + </p> + <p> + “And this one? A second brother, I suppose?—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” says Arrochkoa in a singular tone. “He is only my friend.” + </p> + <p> + In truth, he is not their brother, that Ramuntcho who stays there, + ferocious and mute.—And how he would frighten the quiet nuns if they + knew what storm brings him here—! + </p> + <p> + The same silence returns, heavy and disquieting, on these beings who, it + seems, should talk simply of simple things; and the old Mother Superior + remarks it, is astonished by it.—But the quick eyes of Ramuntcho + become immovable, veil themselves as if they are fascinated by some + invisible tamer. Under the harsh envelope, still beating, of his chest, + the calmness, the imposed calmness continues to penetrate and to extend. + On him, doubtless, are acting the mysterious, white powers which are here + in the air; religious heredities which were asleep in the depths of his + being fill him now with unexpected respect and submissiveness; the antique + symbols dominate him: the crosses met in the evening along the road and + that plaster Virgin of the color of snow, immaculate on the spotless white + of the wall— + </p> + <p> + “Well, my children, talk of the things of Etchezar,” says the Mother + Superior to Gracieuse and to her brother. “We shall leave you alone, if + you wish,” she adds with a sign to Ramuntcho to follow her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” protests Arrochkoa, “Let him stay.—No, he is not the one—who + prevents us—” + </p> + <p> + And the little nun, veiled in the fashion of the Middle Age, lowers her + head, to maintain her eyes hidden in the shade of her austere headdress. + </p> + <p> + The door remains open, the window remains open; the house, the things + retain their air of absolute confidence, of absolute security, against + violations and sacrilege. Now two other sisters, who are very old, set a + small table, put two covers, bring to Arrochkoa and to his friend a little + supper, a loaf of bread, cheese, cake, grapes from the arbor. In arranging + these things they have a youthful gaiety, a babble almost childish—and + all this is strangely opposed to the ardent violence which is here, + hushed, thrown back into the depth of minds, as under the blows of some + mace covered with white— + </p> + <p> + And, in spite of themselves, they are seated at the table, the two + smugglers, opposite each other, yielding to insistence and eating + absent-mindedly the frugal things, on a cloth as white as the walls. Their + broad shoulders, accustomed to loads, lean on the backs of the little + chairs and make their frail wood crack. Around them come and go the + Sisters, ever with their discreet talk and their puerile laugh, which + escape, somewhat softened, from under their veils. Alone, she remains mute + and motionless, Sister Mary Angelique: standing near her brother who is + seated, she places her hand on his powerful shoulder; so lithe beside him + that she looks like a saint of a primitive church picture. Ramuntcho, + sombre, observes them both; he had not been able to see yet the face of + Gracieuse, so severely her headdress framed it. They resemble each other + still, the brother and the sister; in their very long eyes, which have + acquired expressions more than ever different remains something + inexplicably similar, persists the same flame, that flame which impelled + one toward adventures and the life of the muscles, the other toward mystic + dreams, toward mortification and annihilation of flesh. But she has become + as frail as he is robust; her breast doubtless is no more, nor her hips; + the black vestment wherein her body remains hidden falls straight like a + furrow enclosing nothing carnal. + </p> + <p> + And now, for the first time, they are face to face, Gracieuse and + Ramuntcho; their eyes have met and gazed on one another. She does not + lower her head before him; but it is as from an infinite distance that she + looks at him, it is as from behind white mists that none may scale, as + from the other side of an abyss, as from the other side of death; very + soft, nevertheless, her glance indicates that she is as if she were + absent, gone to tranquil and inaccessible other places.—And it is + Ramuntcho at last who, still more tamed, lowers his ardent eyes before her + virgin eyes. + </p> + <p> + They continue to babble, the Sisters; they would like to retain them both + at Amezqueta for the night: the weather, they say, is so black, and a + storm threatens.—M. the Cure, who went out to take communion to a + patient in the mountain, will come back; he has known Arrochkoa at + Etchezar when a vicar there; he would be glad to give him a room in the + parish house—and one to his friend also, of course— + </p> + <p> + But no, Arrochkoa refuses, after a questioning glance at Ramuntcho. It is + impossible to stay in the village; they will even go at once, or after a + few moments of conversation, for they are expected on the Spanish + frontier.—Gracieuse who, at first, in her mortal disturbance of + mind, had not dared to talk, begins to question her brother. Now in + Basque, then in French, she asks for news of those whom she has forever + abandoned: + </p> + <p> + “And mother? All alone now in the house, even at night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” says Arrochkoa, “Catherine watches over her and sleeps at the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “And how is your child, Arrochkoa, has he been christened? What is his + name? Lawrence, doubtless, like his grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + Etchezar, their village, is separated from Amezqueta by some sixty + kilometres, in a land without more means of communication than in the past + centuries: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in spite of the distance,” says the little nun, “I get news of you + sometimes. Last month, people here had met on the market place of + Hasparren, women of our village; that is how I learned—many things.—At + Easter I had hoped to see you; I was told that there would be a ball-game + at Erricalde and that you would come to play there; then I said to myself + that perhaps you would come here—and, while the festival lasted, I + looked often at the road through this window, to see if you were coming—” + </p> + <p> + And she shows the window, open on the blackness of the savage country—from + which ascends an immense silence, with, from time to time, the noise of + spring, intermittent musical notes of crickets and tree-toads. + </p> + <p> + Hearing her talk so quietly, Ramuntcho feels confounded by this + renunciation of all things; she appears to him still more irrevocably + changed, far-off—poor little nun!—Her name was Gracieuse; now + her name is Sister Mary Angelique, and she has no relatives; impersonal + here, in this little house with white walls, without terrestrial hope and + without desire, perhaps—one might as well say that she has departed + for the regions of the grand oblivion of death. And yet, she smiles, quite + serene now and apparently not even suffering. + </p> + <p> + Arrochkoa looks at Ramuntcho, questions him with a piercing eye accustomed + to fathom the black depths—and, tamed himself by all this unexpected + peace, he understands very well that his bold comrade dares no longer, + that all the projects have fallen, that all is useless and inert in + presence of the invisible wall with which his sister is surrounded. At + moments, pressed to end all in one way or in another, in a haste to break + this charm or to submit to it and to fly before it, he pulls his watch, + says that it is time to go, because of the friends who are waiting for + them.—The Sisters know well who these friends are and why they are + waiting but they are not affected by this: Basques themselves, daughters + and granddaughters of Basques, they have the blood of smugglers in their + veins and consider such things indulgently— + </p> + <p> + At last, for the first time, Gracieuse titters the name of Ramuntcho; not + daring, however, to address him directly, she asks her brother, with a + calm smile: + </p> + <p> + “Then he is with you, Ramuntcho, now? You work together?” + </p> + <p> + A silence follows, and Arrochkoa looks at Ramuntcho. + </p> + <p> + “No,” says the latter, in a slow and sombre voice, “no—I, I go + to-morrow to America—” + </p> + <p> + Every word of this reply, harshly scanned, is like a sound of trouble and + of defiance in the midst of that strange serenity. She leans more heavily + on her brother's shoulder, the little nun, and Ramuntcho, conscious of the + profound blow which he has struck, looks at her and envelopes her with his + tempting eyes, having regained his audacity, attractive and dangerous in + the last effort of his heart full of love, of his entire being of youth + and of flame made for tenderness.—Then, for an uncertain minute, it + seems as if the little convent had trembled; it seems as if the white + powers of the air recoiled, went out like sad, unreal mists before this + young dominator, come here to hurl the triumphant appeal of life. And the + silence which follows is the heaviest of all the silent moments which have + interrupted already that species of drama played almost without words— + </p> + <p> + At last, Sister Mary Angelique talks, and talks to Ramuntcho himself. + Really it does not seem as if her heart had just been torn supremely by + the announcement of that departure, nor as if she had just shuddered under + that lover's look.—With a voice which little by little becomes + firmer in softness, she says very simple things, as to any friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—Uncle Ignacio?—I had always thought that you would go + to rejoin him there.—We shall all pray the Holy Virgin to accompany + you in your voyage—” + </p> + <p> + And it is the smuggler who lowers the head, realizing that all is ended, + that she is lost forever, the little companion of his childhood; that she + has been buried in an inviolable shroud.—The words of love and of + temptation which he had thought of saying, the projects which he had + revolved in his mind for months, all these seemed insensate, sacrilegious, + impossible things, childish bravadoes.—Arrochkoa, who looks at him + attentively, is under the same irresistible and light charm; they + understand each other and, to one another, without words, they confess + that there is nothing to do, that they will never dare— + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless an anguish still human appears in the eyes of Sister Mary + Angelique when Arrochkoa rises for the definite departure: she prays, in a + changed voice, for them to stay a moment longer. And Ramuntcho suddenly + feels like throwing himself on his knees in front of her; his head on the + hem of her veil, sobbing all the tears that stifle him; like begging for + mercy, like begging for mercy also of that Mother Superior who has so soft + an air; like telling both of them that this sweetheart of his childhood + was his hope, his courage, his life, and that people must have a little + pity, people must give her back to him, because, without her, there is no + longer anything.—All that his heart contains that is infinitely good + is exalted at present into an immense necessity to implore, into an + outbreak of supplicating prayer and also into a confidence in the + kindness, in the pity of others— + </p> + <p> + And who knows, if he had dared formulate that great prayer of pure + tenderness, who knows what he might have awakened of kindness also, and of + tenderness and of humanity in the poor, black-veiled girl?—Perhaps + this old Mother Superior herself, this old, dried-up girl with childish + smile and grave, pure eyes, would have opened her arms to him, as to a + son, understanding everything, forgiving everything, despite the rules and + despite the vows? And perhaps Gracieuse might have been returned to him, + without kidnapping, without deception, almost excused by her companions of + the cloister. Or at last, if that was impossible, she would have bade him + a long farewell, consoling, softened by a kiss of immaterial love— + </p> + <p> + But no, he stays there mute on his chair. Even that prayer he cannot make. + And it is the hour to go, decidedly. Arrochkoa is up, agitated, calling + him with an imperious sign of the head. Then he straightens up also his + proud bust and takes his cap to follow Arrochkoa. They express their + thanks for the little supper which was given to them and they say + good-night, timidly. During their entire visit they were very respectful, + almost timid, the two superb smugglers. And, as if hope had not just been + undone, as if one of them was not leaving behind him his life, they + descend quietly the neat stairway, between the white walls, while the good + Sisters light the way with their little lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Sister Mary Angelique,” gaily proposes the Mother Superior, in her + frail, infantile voice, “we shall escort them to the end of our avenue, + you know, near the village.” + </p> + <p> + Is she an old fairy, sure of her power, or a simple and unconscious woman, + playing without knowing it, with a great, devouring fire?—It was all + finished; the parting had been accomplished; the farewell accepted; the + struggle stifled under white wadding,—and now the two who adored + each other are walking side by side, outside, in the tepid night of + spring!—in the amorous, enveloping night, under the cover of the new + leaves and on the tall grass, among all the saps that ascend in the midst + of the sovereign growth of universal life. + </p> + <p> + They walk with short steps, through this exquisite obscurity, as in silent + accord, to make the shaded path last longer, both mute, in the ardent + desire and the intense fear of contact of their clothes, of a touch of + their hands. Arrochkoa and the Mother Superior follow them closely, on + their heels; without talking, nuns with their sandals, smugglers with + their rope soles, they go through these soft, dark spots without making + more noise than phantoms, and their little cortege, slow and strange, + descends toward the wagon in a funereal silence. Silence also around them, + everywhere in the grand, ambient black, in the depth of the mountains and + the woods. And, in the sky without stars, sleep the big clouds, heavy with + all the water that the soil awaits and which will fall to-morrow to make + the woods still more leafy, the grass still higher; the big clouds above + their heads cover all the splendor of the southern summer which so often, + in their childhood, charmed them together, disturbed them together, but + which Ramuntcho will doubtless never see again and which in the future + Gracieuse will have to look at with eyes of one dead, without + understanding nor recognizing it— + </p> + <p> + There is no one around them, in the little obscure alley, and the village + seems asleep already. The night has fallen quite; its grand mystery is + scattered everywhere, on the mountains and the savage valleys.—And, + how easy it would be to execute what these two young men have resolved, in + that solitude, with that wagon which is ready and that fast horse—! + </p> + <p> + However, without having talked, without having touched each other, they + come, the lovers, to that turn of the path where they must bid each other + an eternal farewell. The wagon is there, held by a boy; the lantern is + lighted and the horse impatient. The Mother Superior stops: it is, + apparently, the last point of the last walk which they will take together + in this world,—and she feels the power, that old nun, to decide that + it will be thus, without appeal. With the same little, thin voice, almost + gay, she says: + </p> + <p> + “Come, Sister, say good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + And she says that with the assurance of a Fate whose decrees of death are + not disputable. + </p> + <p> + In truth, nobody attempts to resist her order, impassibly given. He is + vanquished, the rebellious Ramuntcho, oh, quite vanquished by the + tranquil, white powers; trembling still from the battle which has just + come to an end in him, he lowers his head, without will now, and almost + without thought, as under the influence of some sleeping potion— + </p> + <p> + “Come, Sister, say good-bye,” the old, tranquil Fate has said. Then, + seeing that Gracieuse has only taken Arrochkoa's hand, she adds: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you do not kiss your brother?—” + </p> + <p> + Doubtless, the little Sister Mary Angelique asks for nothing better, to + kiss him with all her heart, with all her soul; to clasp him, her brother, + to lean on his shoulder and to seek his protection, at that hour of + superhuman sacrifice when she must let the cherished one leave her without + even a word of love.—And still, her kiss has in it something + frightened, at once drawn back; the kiss of a nun, somewhat similar to the + kiss of one dead.—When will she ever see him again, that brother, + who is not to leave the Basque country, however? When will she have news + of her mother, of the house, of the village, from some passer-by who will + stop here, coming from Etchezar?— + </p> + <p> + “We will pray,” she says again, “to the Holy Virgin to protect you in your + long voyage—” And how they go; slowly they turn back, like silent + shades, toward the humble convent which the cross protects, and the two + tamed smugglers, immovable on the road, look at their veils, darker than + the night of the trees, disappearing in the obscure avenue. + </p> + <p> + Oh! she is wrecked also, the one who will disappear in the darkness of the + little, shady hill.—But she is nevertheless soothed by white, + peaceful vapors, and all that she suffers will soon be quieted under a + sort of sleep. To-morrow she will take again, until death, the course of + her strangely simple existence; impersonal, devoted to a series of daily + duties which never change, absorbed in a reunion of creatures almost + neutral, who have abdicated everything, she will be able to walk with eyes + lifted ever toward the soft, celestial mirage— + </p> + <p> + O crux, ave, spes unica—! + </p> + <p> + To live, without variety or truce to the end, between the white walls of a + cell always the same, now here, then elsewhere, at the pleasure of a + strange will, in one of those humble village convents to which one has not + even the leisure to become attached. On this earth, to possess nothing and + to desire nothing, to wait for nothing, to hope for nothing. To accept as + empty and transitory the fugitive hours of this world, and to feel freed + from everything, even from love, as much as by death.—The mystery of + such lives remains forever unintelligible to those young men who are + there, made for the daily battle, beautiful beings of instinct and of + strength, a prey to all the desires; created to enjoy life and to suffer + from it, to love it and to continue it— + </p> + <p> + O crux, ave, spes unica!—One sees them no longer, they have + re-entered their little, solitary convent. + </p> + <p> + The two men have not exchanged even a word on their abandoned undertaking, + on the ill-defined cause which for the first time has undone their + courage; they feel, toward one another, almost a sense of shame of their + sudden and insurmountable timidity. + </p> + <p> + For an instant their proud heads were turned toward the nuns slowly + fleeing; now they look at each other through the night. + </p> + <p> + They are going to part, and probably forever: Arrochkoa puts into his + friends hands the reins of the little wagon which, according to his + promise, he lends to him: + </p> + <p> + “Well, my poor Ramuntcho!” he says, in a tone of commiseration hardly + affectionate. + </p> + <p> + And the unexpressed end of the phrase signifies clearly: + </p> + <p> + “Go, since you have failed; and I have to go and meet my friends—” + </p> + <p> + Ramuntcho would have kissed him with all his heart for the last farewell,—and + in this embrace of the brother of the beloved one, he would have shed + doubtless good, hot tears which, for a moment at least, would have cured + him a little. + </p> + <p> + But no, Arrochkoa has become again the Arrochkoa of the bad days, the + gambler without soul, that only bold things interest. Absentmindedly, he + touches Ramuntcho's hand: + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye!—Good luck—” + </p> + <p> + And, with silent steps, he goes toward the smugglers, toward the frontier, + toward the propitious darkness. + </p> + <p> + Then Ramuntcho, alone in the world now, whips the little, mountain horse + who gallops with his light tinkling of bells.—That train which will + pass by Aranotz, that vessel which will start from Bordeaux—an + instinct impels Ramuntcho not to miss them. Mechanically he hastens, no + longer knowing why, like a body without a mind which continues to obey an + ancient impulsion, and, very quickly, he who has no aim and no hope in the + world, plunges into the savage country, into the thickness of the woods, + in all that profound blackness of the night of May, which the nuns, from + their elevated window, see around them— + </p> + <p> + For him the native land is closed, closed forever; finished are the + delicious dreams of his first years. He is a plant uprooted from the dear, + Basque soil and which a breath of adventure blows elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + At the horse's neck, gaily the bells tinkle, in the silence of the + sleeping woods; the light of the lantern, which runs hastily, shows to the + sad fugitive the under side of branches, fresh verdure of oaks; by the + wayside, flowers of France; from distance to distance, the walls of a + familiar hamlet, of an old church,—all the things which he will + never see again, unless it be, perhaps, in a doubtful and very distant old + age— + </p> + <p> + In front of his route, there is America, exile without probable return, an + immense new world, full of surprises and approached now without courage: + an entire life, very long, doubtless, during which his mind plucked from + here will have to suffer and to harden over there; his vigor spend and + exhaust itself none knows where, in unknown labors and struggles— + </p> + <p> + Above, in their little convent, in their sepulchre with walls so white, + the tranquil nuns recite their evening prayers— + </p> + <p> + O crux, ave, spes unica—! + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ramuntcho, by Pierre Loti + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAMUNTCHO *** + +***** This file should be named 9616-h.htm or 9616-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/1/9616/ + +Produced by Dagny; 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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