00
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^ ' THE FRENCH CLASSICAL ROMANCES
CO
Presented to the
LIBRARY of the
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
by
The Estate of the late
PROFESSOR A. S. P. WOODHOUSE
Head of the
Department of English
University College
1944-1964
The
French Classical Romances
Complete in Twenty Crown Octavo Volumes
Editor-in-Chief
EDMUND GOSSE, LL.D.
With Critical Introductions and Interpretative Essays by
HENRY JAMES PROP. RICHARD BURTON HENRY HARLAND
ANDREW LANG PROF. F. C. DE SUMICHRAST
THE EARL OF CREWE HIS EXCELLENCY M. CAMBON
PROP. WM. P. TRENT ARTHUR SYMONS MAURICE HEWLETT
DR. JAMES F1TZMAURICE-KELLY RICHARD MANSFIELD
BOOTH TARKINCTON DR. RICHARD GARNETT
PROF. WILLIAM M. SLOANE JOHN OLIVER HOBBES
An Iceland
Fisherman
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION
BY HIS EXCELLENCY M. JULES CAMBON
AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY AND
PLENIPOTENTIARY OF FRANCE
TO THE UNITED STATES
A FRONTISPIECE AND NUMEROUS
<>THER PORTRAITS WITH
DESCRIPTIVE NOTES BY
OCTAVE UZANNE
p. r
mi. I. il R SON
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1902
BV D. APPLETON * COMPANY
(T AUG171965
%
99994
1PIERRE LOTI
THE first appearance of Pierre Loti's works,
twenty years ago, caused a sensation throughout
those circles wherein the creations of intellect and
imagination are felt, studied, and discussed. The
author was one who, with a power which no one
had wielded before him, carried off his readers
into exotic lands, and whose art, in appearance
most simple, proved a genuine enchantment for
the imagination. It was the time when M. Zola
and his school stood at the head of the literary
movement. There breathed forth from Loti's
writings an all-penetrating fragrance of poesy,
which liberated French literary ideals from the
heavy and oppressive yoke of the Naturalistic
school Truth now soared on unhampered pin-
ions, and the reading world was completely won
by the unsurpassed intensity and faithful accu-
racy with which he depicted the alluring charms
of far-off scenes, and painted the naive soul of
the races that seem to endure in the isles of
VOL. 20 V Romances 1
Pierre Loti
the Pacific as surviving representatives of the
world's infancy.
It was then learned that this independent
writer was named in real life Louis Marie Julien
Viaud, and that he was a naval officer. This
very fact, that he was not a writer by profession,
added indeed to his success. He actually had
seen that which he was describing, he had lived
that which he was relating. What in any other
man would have seemed but research and oddity,
remained natural in the case of a sailor who re-
turned each year with a manuscript in his hand.
Africa, Asia, the isles of the Pacific, were the
usual scenes of his dramas. Finally, from France
itself, and from the oldest provinces of France,
he drew subject-matter for two of his novels, An
Iceland Fisherman and Ramuntcho. This proved
a surprise. Our Breton sailors and our Basque
mountaineers were not less foreign to the Pa-
risian drawing-room than was Aziyade* or the
little Rahahu. One claimed to have a knowledge
of Brittany, or of the Pyrenees, because one had
visited Dinard or Biarritz ; while in reality
neither Tahiti nor the Isle of Piques could have
remained more completely unknown to us.
The developments of human industry have
brought the extremities of the world nearer to-
vi
Pierre Loti
gether; but the soul of each race continues to
cloak itself in its own individuality and to re-
main a mystery to the rest of the world. One
trait alone is common to all : the infinite sadness
of human destiny. This it was that Loti im-
pressed so vividly on the reading world.
His success was great. Though a young
man as yet, Loti saw his work crowned with
what in France may be considered the supreme
sanction : he was elected to membership in the
French Academy. His name became coupled
with those of Bernardin de St. Pierre and of Cha-
teaubriand. With the sole exception of the au-
thor of Paul and Virginia and of the writer of
Atala, he seemed to be one without a predeces-
sor and without a master. It may be well hereto
inquire how much reason there is for this asser-
tion, and what novel features are presented in
his work.
It has become a trite saying that French
genius lacks the sense of Nature, that the French
tongue is colourless, and therefore wants the most
striking feature of poetry. If we abandoned for
one moment the domain of letters and took a
comprehensive view of the field of art, we might
be permitted to express astonishment at the pass-
vii
Pierre Loti
ing of so summary a judgment on the genius of
a nation which has, in the real sense of the term,
produced two such painters of Nature as Claude
Lorrain and Corot. But even in the realm of
letters it is easily seen that this mode of thinking
is due largely to insufficient knowledge of the
language's resources, and to a study of French
literature which does not extend beyond the
seventeenth century. Without going back to
the Duke of Orleans and to Villon, one need
only read a few of the poets of the sixteenth
century to be struck by the prominence given to
Nature in their writings. Nothing is more de-
lightful than Ronsard's word-paintings of his
sweet country of Vendome. Until the day of
Malherbe, the didactic Regnier and the Calvinis-
tic Marot are the only two who could be said to
give colour to the preconceived and prevalent
notion as to the dryness of French poetry. And
even after Malherbe, in the seventeenth century,
we find that La Fontaine, the most truly French
of French writers, was a passionate lover of Na-
ture. He who can see nothing in the latter's
fables beyond the little dramas which they un-
fold and the ordinary moral which the poet draws
therefrom, must confess that he fails to under-
stand him. His landscapes possess precision,
viii
Pierre Lot!
accuracy, and life, while such is the fragrance of
his speech that it seems laden with the fresh per-
fume of the fields and furrows.
Racine himself, the most penetrating and the
most psychological of poets, is too well versed in
the human soul not to have felt its intimate
union with Nature. His magnificent verse in
Phe'dre,
" Ah ! que ne suis-je assise & 1'ombre des forets ! "
is but the cry of despair, the appeal, filled with
anguish, of a heart that is troubled and which
oft has sought peace and alleviation amid the
cold indifference of inanimate things. The small
place given to Nature in the French literature of
the seventeenth century is not to be ascribed to
the language nor explained by a lack of sensi-
bility on the part of the race. The true cause is
to be found in the spirit of that period ; for in-
vestigation will disclose that the very same con-
dition then characterized the literatures of Eng-
land, of Spain, and of Italy.
We must bear in mind that, owing to an
almost unique combination of circumstances,
there never has been a period when man was
more convinced of the nobility and, I dare say
it, of the sovereignty of man, or was more in-
Pierre Loti
clined to look upon the latter as a being inde-
pendent of the external world. He did not sus-
pect the intimately close bonds which unite the
creature to the medium in which it lives. A
man of the world in the seventeenth century was
utterly without a notion of those truths which in
their ensemble constitute the natural sciences.
He crossed the threshold of life possessed of a
deep classical instruction, and all-imbued with
stoical ideas of virtue. At the same time, he had
received the mould of a strong but narrow Chris-
tian education, in which nothing figured save his
relations with God. This twofold training ele-
vated his soul and fortified his will, but wrenched
him violently from all communion with Nature.
This is the standpoint from which we must view
the heroes of Corneille, if we would understand
those extraordinary souls which, always at the
highest degree of tension, deny themselves, as a
weakness, everything that resembles tenderness
or pity. Again, thus and thus alone can we
explain how Descartes, and with him all the
philosophers of his century, ran counter to all
common sense, and refused to recognise that
animals might possess a soul-like principle which,
however remotely, might link them to the
human being.
Pierre Loti
When, in the eighteenth century, minds
became emancipated from the narrow restric-
tions of religious discipline, and when method
was introduced into the study of scientific prob-
lems, Nature took her revenge as well in litera-
ture as in all other fields of human thought.
Rousseau it was who inaugurated the movement
in France, and the whole of Europe followed in
the wake of France. It may even be declared
that the reaction against the seventeenth century
was in many respects excessive, for the eight-
eenth century gave itself up to a species of senti-
mental debauch. It is none the less a fact that
the author of La Nouvelle Htloise was the first
to blend the moral life of man with his exterior
surroundings. He felt the savage beauty and
grandeur of the mountains of Switzerland, the
grace of the Savoy horizons, and the more
familiar elegance of the Parisian suburbs. We
may say that he opened the eye of humanity to
the spectacle which the world offered it. In
Germany, Lessing, Goethe, Hegel, Schelling
have proclaimed him their master ; while even in
England, Byron, and George Eliot herself, have
recognised all that they owed to him.
The first of Rousseau's disciples in France
was Bcrnardin de St. Pierre, whusr name has
xi
Pierre Loti
frequently been recalled in connection with Loti.
Indeed, the charming masterpiece of Paul and
Virginia was the first example of exoticism in
literature ; and thereby it excited the curiosity
of our fathers at the same time that it dazzled
them by the wealth and brilliancy of its de-
scriptions.
Then came Chateaubriand ; but Nature with
him was not a mere background. He sought
from it an accompaniment, in the musical sense
of the term, to the movements of his soul ; and
being somewhat prone to melancholy, his taste
seems to have favoured sombre landscapes, stormy
and tragical. The entire romantic school was
born from him, Victor Hugo and George Sand,
Thophile Gautier who draws from the French
tongue resources unequalled in wealth and in
colour, and even M. Zola himself, whose natural-
ism, after all, is but the last form and, as it were,
the end of romanticism, since it would be diffi-
cult to discover in him any characteristic that did
not exist, as a germ at least, in Balzac.
I have just said that Chateaubriand sought in
Nature an accompaniment to the movements of
his soul : this was the case with all the romanti-
cists. We do not find Rene*, Manfred, Indiana,
living in the midst of a tranquil and monotonous
xu
Pierre Loti
Nature. The storms of heaven must respond to
the storms of their soul ; and it is a fact that all
these great writers, Byron as well as Victor
Hugo, have not so much contemplated and seen
Nature as they have interpreted it through the
medium of their own passions ; and it is in this
sense that the keen Amiel could justly remark
that a landscape is a condition or a state of the
soul.
M. Loti does not merely interpret a land-
scape ; though perhaps, to begin with, he is
unconscious of doing more. With him, the
human being is a part of Nature, one of its very
expressions, like animals and plants, mountain
forms and sky tints. His characters are what
they are only because they issue forth from the
medium in which they live. They are truly
creatures, and not gods inhabiting the earth.
Hence their profound and striking reality.
Hence also one of the peculiar characteristics
of Loti's workers. He loves to paint simple
souls, hearts close to Nature, whose primitive
passions are singularly similar to those of ani-
mals. He is happy in the isles of the Pacific or
on the borders of Senegal ; and when he shifts
enea into old Europe it is never with
xiii
Pierre Loti
men and women of the world that he enter-
tains us.
What we call a man of the world is the same
everywhere ; he is moulded by the society of
men, but Nature and the universe have no place
in his life and thought. M. Paul Bourget's
heroes might live without distinction in New-
port or in Monte Carlo ; they take root no-
where, but live in the large cities, in winter
resorts and in drawing-rooms as transient visitors
in temporary abiding-places.
Loti seeks his heroes and his heroines among
those antique races of Europe which have sur-
vived all conquests, and which have preserved,
with their native tongue, the individuality of
their character. He met Ramuntcho in the
Basque country, but dearer than all to him is
Brittany : here it was that he met his Iceland
fishermen.
The Breton soul bears an imprint of Armori-
ca's primitive soil : it is melancholy and noble.
There is an undefinable charm about those arid
lands and those sod-flanked hills of granite,
whose sole horizon is the far-stretching sea.
Europe ends here, and beyond remains only the
broad expanse of the ocean. The poor people
who dwell here are silent and tenacious : their
xiv
Pierre Loti
heart is full of tenderness and of dreams. Yann,
the Iceland fisherman, and his sweetheart, Gaud
of Paimpol, can only live here, in the small
houses of Brittany, where people huddle together
in a stand against the storms which come howl-
ing from the depths of the Atlantic.
Loti's novels are never complicated with a
mass of incidents. The characters are of humble
station and their life is as simple as their soul
Aziyactt, The Romance of a Spahi, An Iceland
Fisherman, Ramuntcho, all present the story of a
love and a separation. A departure, or death itself,
intervenes to put an end to the romance. But
the cause matters little; the separation is the
same ; the hearts are broken ; Nature survives ; it
covers over and absorbs the miserable ruins which
we leave behind us. No one better than Loti
has ever brought out the frailty of all things per-
taining to us, for no one better than he has made
us realize the persistency of life and the indiffer-
ence of Nature.
This circumstance imparts to the reading of
M. Loti's works a character of peculiar sadness.
The trend of his novels is not one that incites
curiosity ; his heroes are simple, and the atmos-
phere in which they live is foreign to us. What
saddens us is not their history, but the undefin-
xv
Pierre Loti
able impression that our pleasures are nothing
and that we are but an accident. This is a
thought common to the degree of triteness
among moralists and theologians ; but as they
present it, it fails to move us. It troubles us as
presented by M. Loti, because he has known
how to give it all the force of a sensation.
How has he accomplished this ?
He writes with extreme simplicity, and is not
averse to the use of vague and indefinite expres-
sions. And yet the wealth and precision of
Gautier's and Hugo's language fail to endow
their landscapes with the striking charm and in-
tense life which are -to be found in those of Loti.
I can find no other reason for this than that
which I have suggested above : the landscape, in
Hugo's and in Gautier's scenes, is a background
and nothing more ; while Loti makes it the pre-
dominating figure of his drama. Our sensibilities
are necessarily aroused before this apparition of
Nature, blind, inaccessible, and all-powerful as
the Fates of old.
It may prove interesting to inquire how Loti
contrived to sound such a new note in art.
He boasted, on the day of his reception into
the French Academy, that he had never read.
xvi
Pierre Loti
Many protested, some smiled, and a large num-
ber of persons refused to believe the assertion.
Yet the statement was actually quite credible,
for the foundation and basis of M. Loti rest on
a nai've simplicity which makes him very sensi-
tive to the things of the outside world, and gives
him a perfect comprehension of simple souls.
He is not a reader, for he is not imbued with
book notions of things ; his ideas of them are
direct, and everything with him is not memory,
but reflected sensation.
On the other hand, that sailor-life which has
enabled him to see the world, must have con-
firmed in him this mental attitude. The deck
officer who watches the vessel's course may do
nothing which could distract his attention ; but
while ever ready to act and always unoccupied,
he thinks, he dreams, he listens to the voices of
the sea ; and everything about him is of interest
to him, the shape of the clouds, the aspect of
skies and waters. He knows that a mere board's
thickness is all that separates him and defends
him from death. Such is the habitual state of
mind which M. Loti has brought to the colouring
of his books.
He has related to us how, when still a little
child, he first Uln Id the sea. He had escaped
xvii
Pierre Loti
from the parental home, allured by the brisk and
pungent air and by the " peculiar noise, at once
feeble and great," which could be heard beyond
little hills of sand to which led a certain path.
He recognised the sea : " before me something
appeared, something sombre and noisy, which
had loomed up from all sides at once, and which
seemed to have no end ; a moving expanse
which struck me with mortal vertigo ; . . . above
was stretched out full a sky all of one piece, of a
dark gray colour like a heavy mantle ; very, very
far away, in unmeasurable depths of horizon,
could be seen a break, an opening between sea
and sky, a long empty crack, of a light pale
yellow." He felt a sadness unspeakable, a
sense of desolate solitude, of abandonment, of
exile. He ran back in haste to unburden his
soul upon his mother's bosom, and, as he says,
"to seek consolation with her for a thousand
anticipated, indescribable pangs, which had
wrung my heart at the sight of that vast green,
deep expanse."
A poet of the sea had been born, and his
genius still bears a trace of the shudder of fear
experienced that evening by Pierre Loti the
little child.
Loti was born not far from the ocean, in
xviii
Pierre Loti
Saintonge, of an old Huguenot family which
had numbered many sailors among its members.
While yet a mere child he thumbed the old Bible
which formerly, in the days of persecution, had
been read only with cautious secrecy ; and he
perused the vessel's ancient records wherein
mariners long since gone had noted, almost a
century before, that "the weather was good,"
that "the wind was favourable," and that " do-
radoes or gilt-heads were passing near the ship."
He was passionately fond of music. He had
few comrades, and his imagination was of the
exalted kind. His first ambition was to be a
minister, then a missionary ; and finally he de-
cided to become a sailor. He wanted to see the
world, he had the curiosity of things; he was
inclined to search for the strange and the un-
known ; he must seek that sensation, delightful
and fascinating to complex souls, of betaking
himself off, of withdrawing from his own world,
of breaking with his own mode of life, and of
creating for himself voluntary regrets.
He felt in the presence of Nature a species
of disquietude, and experienced therefrom sensa-
tions which mi^ht almost be expressed in col-
ours : his head, he himself states, " might be com-
pared to a camera, filled with sensitive plates."
xix
Pierre Loti
This power of vision permitted him to appre-
hend only the appearance of things, not their
reality ; he was conscious of the nothingness of
nothing, of the dust of dust. The remnants of
his religious education intensified still more this
distaste for the external world.
He was wont to spend his summer vacation
in the south of France, and he preserved its
warm, sunny impressions. It was only later
that he became acquainted with Brittany. She
inspired him at first with a feeling of oppression
and of sadness, and it was long before he learned
to love her.
Thus was formed and developed, far from
literary circles and from Parisian coteries, one
of the most original writers that had appeared
for a long time. He noted his impressions while
touring the world ; one fine morning he pub-
lished them, and from the very first the read-
ing public was won. He related his adventures
and his own romance. The question could then
be raised whether his skill and art would prove
as consummate if he should deviate from his
own personality to write what might be termed
impersonal poems ; and it is precisely in this last
direction that he subsequently produced what
are now considered his masterpieces.
xx
Pierre Loti
A strange writer assuredly is this, at once
logical and illusive, who makes us feel at the
same time the sensation of things and that of
their nothingness. Amid so many works where-
in the luxuries of the Orient, the quasi animal
life of the Pacific, the burning passions of Africa,
are painted with a vigour of imagination never
witnessed before his advent, An Iceland Fisher-
man shines forth with incomparable brilliancy.
Something of the pure soul of Brittany is to be
found in these melancholy pages, which, so long
as the French tongue endures, must evoke the
admiration of artists, and must arouse the pity
and stir the emotions of men.
JULES CAMBON.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The real name of PIERRE LOTI is Louis
MARIE JULIEN VIAUD. He was born of Protes-
tant parents, in the old city of Rochefort, on the
1 4th of January, 1850. In one of his pleasant
volumes of autobiography, " Le Roman d'un En-
fant" he has given a very pleasing account of his
childhood, which was most tenderly cared for and
surrounded with indulgences. At a very early
age he began to develop that extreme sensitiveness
to external influences which has distinguished
him ever since. He was first taught at a school
in Rochefort, but at the age of seventeen, being
destined for the navy, he entered the great French
naval sclwol, Le Borda, and has gradually risen
in his profession. His pseudonym is said to have
had reference to his extreme shyness and reserve
in early life, which made his comrades call him
after " le Loti" an Indian flower u'/iich loves to
blush unseen. He was never given to books or
study (when he was received at the French Acad-
xxiii
Biographical Note
emy, he had the courage to say, " Loti ne sait pas
lire "), and it was not until his thirtieth year
that he was persuaded to write down and publish
certain curious experiences at Constantinople, in
44 Aziyadt" a book which, like so many of Loti' s,
seems half a romance, half an autobiography.
He proceeded to the South Seas, and, on leaving
Tahiti, published the Polynesian idyl, originally
called " Rafiaru" which was reprinted as " Le
Mariage de Loti" (j886), and which Jirst intro-
duced to the wider public an author of remark"
able originality and charm. Loti now became
extremely prolific, and in a succession of volumes
chronicled old exotic memories or manipulated the
journal of new travels. " Le Roman d'un
Spahi" a record of the melancholy adventures of
a soldier in Senegambia, belongs to 1881. In 1882
Loti issued a collection of short studies under t'he
general title of '" Fleurs d' Ennui" In 1883 he
achieved the widest celebrity, for not only did he
publish " Mon Frere Yves" a novel describing
ttie life of a French bluejacket in all parts of the
world perhaps, on the whole, to this day his
most characteristic production but he was in-
volved in a public discussion in a manner which
did him great credit. While taking part as a
naval officer in the Tonquin war, Loti had ex-
xxiv
Biographical Note
posed in a Parisian newspaper a series of scan-
dals which succeeded on the capture of Hue 1 , and,
being recalled, he was now suspended from the
service for more than a year. He continued for-
some time nearly silent, but in 1886 he published
a novel of life among the Breton fisher-folk, en-
titled "Ptcheurs dlslande" ; this has been tJie
most popular of all his writings. In 1887 Jie
brought out a volume of extraordinary merit,
which has never received the attention it deserves ;
this is " Propos d'Exil" a series of short studies
of exotic places, in Lotis peculiar semi-autobio-
graphic style. The fantastic romance of Japanese
manners, " Madame Chrysantheme" belongs to
the same year. Passing over one or two slighter
productions, we come-, in 1890, to " Au Maroc"
the record of a journey to Fez in company with a
French embassy. A collection of strangely confi-
dential and sentimental reminiscences, called " Le
Livre de la Pitid et de la Mort" belongs to 1891.
Loti was on board his ship at the port of Algiers
when news was brought to him of his election, on
the 2 ist of May, 1891, to the French Academy.
Since he Jias become an Immortal the literary ac-
tivity of Pierre Loti has somewJiat declined. In
1892 he published " Fantdme Orient" another
dreamy study of life in Constantinople, a sort of
XXV
Biographical Note
continuation of " Aziyade 1 " He has described a
visit to the Holy Land in three volumes, " Le D-
sert? "Jerusalem" "La Galitte" (1895-96), and
he has written one novel, " Ramentcho" (1897), a
story of manners in the Basque province, which is
quite on a level with his best work. In 1898 he
collected his later essays as " Figures et C hoses qui
passaient" In 1899-1900 Loti visited British
India, and in the autumn of the latter year
China / and he has described what he saw there,
after the siege, in a charming volume, " Derniers
fours de Ptkin" 1002.
E. G.
XXVI
CONTENTS
r VAGI
Pierre Loti v-xxii
Life of Pierre Loti xxiii-xxvi
Edmund Gosse
An Iceland Fisherman :
PART I
ON THE ICY SEA
CH AFTER - - . fAGl
I. The fishermen 3
II. Icelanders 1 6
III. The women at home 19
IV. First love 34
V. The second meeting 39
VI. News from home 54
PART II
IN THE BRETON LAND
I. The plaything of the storm 67
II. A pardonable ruse 76
III. Of sinister portent 79
IV. His reluctance 91
V. Sailors at the play 93
VI. Ordered on foreign service 94
xxvii
An Iceland Fisherman
CHAPTER PACK
VII. Moan's sweetheart 95
VIII. Old and young 98
IX. The eastern voyage 101
X. The Orient 106
XI. A curious rencontre 108
XII. Striking the rock unknown 116
XIII. Home news * . mo
PART III
IN THE SHADOW
I. The skirmish 1 27
II. "Out, brief candle !" 132
III. The grave abroad 138
IV. To the survivors, the spoils 140
V. The death-blow 143
VI. A charitable assumption 150
VII. The comforter 151
VIII. The brother's grief 152
IX. Work cures sorrow 154
X. The white fog 160
XI. The spectre ship 163
XII. The strange couple 170
XIII. Renewed disappointment 177
XIV. The Grandam breaking up 180
XV. The new ship 1 86
XVI. Lone and lorn 191
XVII. The espousal 195
PART IV
Y ANN'S FIRST WEDDING
I. The courting by the sea 205
II. The seaman's secret 207
III. The ominous wedding-dress 209
IV. Flower of the thorn 210
xxviii
Contents
CHAPTER FAGI
V. The cost of obstinacy 212
VI. The bridal 216
VII. The discordant note 220
VIII. The blissful week 232
PART V
THE SECOND WEDDING
I. The start 243
II. The first of the fleet 250
III. All but two 253
IV. Still at sea 254
V. Sharing the dread 255
VI. All but one 259
VII. The mourner* s vision 262
VIII. The false alarm . 265
IX. Wedded to the sea 271
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
Octave Uzanne
273-280
VOL. 20
XXIX
Romances 2
AN ICELAND FISHERMAN
PART I
ON THE ICY SEA
CHAPTER I
THE FISHERMEN
THERE they were, five huge, square-built sea-
men, drinking away together in the dismal cabin,
which reeked of fish-pickle and bilge-water. The
overhead beams came down too low for their
tall statures, and rounded off at one end so as to
resemble a gull's breast, seen from within. The
whole rolled gently with a monotonous wail, in-
clining one slowly to drowsiness.
Outside, beyond doubt, lay the sea and the
night ; but one could not be quite sure of that,
for a single opening in the deck was closed by its
weather-hatch, and the only light came from an old
hanging-lamp, swinging to and fro. A fire shone
in the stove, at which their saturated clothes were
drying, and giving out steam that mingled with
the smoke from their clay pipes.
Their massive table, fitted exactly to its shape,
occupied the whole space ; and there was just
enough room for moving around and sitting
upon tlu narrow lockers fastened to the sides.
3
On the Icy Sea
Thick beams ran above them, very nearly touch-
ing 'their heads, and behind them yawned the
berths, apparently hollowed out of the solid tim-
bers, like recesses of a vault wherein to place the
dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn,
impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and pol-
ished by the continual rubbings of their hands.
They had been drinking wine and cider in
their pannikins, and the sheer enjoyment of life
lit up their frank, honest faces. Now, they lin-
gered at table chatting, in Breton tongue, on
women and marriage. A china statuette of the
Virgin Mary was fastened on a bracket against
the midship partition, in the place of honour.
This patron saint of our sailors was rather an-
tiquated, and painted with very simple art ; yet
these porcelain images live much longer than
real men, and her red and blue robe still
seemed very fresh in the midst of the sombre
greys of the poor wooden box. She must have
listened to many an ardent prayer in deadly
hours ; at her feet were nailed two nosegays of
artificial flowers and a rosary.
These half-dozen men were dressed alike ; a
thick blue woollen jersey clung to the body,
drawn in by the waist-belt ; on the head was
worn the waterproof helmet, known as the sou'-
4
The Fishermen
wester. These men were of different ages. The
skipper might have been about forty ; the three
others between twenty-five and thirty. The
youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or " Lurlu,"
was only seventeen, yet already a man for height
and strength ; a fine curly black beard covered
his cheeks ; still he had childlike eyes, bluish-grey
in hue, and sweet and tender in expression.
Huddled against one another, for want of
space, they seemed to feel downright comfort,
snugly packed in their dark home.
Outside spread the ocean and night the infi-
nite solitude of dark fathomless waters. A brass
watch, hung on the wall, pointed to eleven o'clock
doubtless eleven at night and upon the deck
pattered the drizzling rain.
Among themselves, they treated these ques-
tions of marriage very merrily ; but without say-
ing anything indecent. No, indeed, they only
sketched plans for those who were still bachelors,
or related funny stories happening at home at
wedding-feasts. Sometimes with a happy laugh
they made some rather too free remarks about
tin- fun in love-making. But love-making, as
these men understand it, is always a healthy sen-
ion, and for all its coarseness remains tolerably
chaste.
5
On the Icy Sea
But Sylvestre was worried, because a mate
called Jean (which Bretons pronounce " Yann ")
did not come down below. Where could Yann
be, by the way ? was he lashed to his work on
deck ? Why did he not come below to take his
share in their feast ?
" It's close on midnight, hows'ever," observed
the captain ; and drawing himself up he raised
the scuttle with his head, so as to call Yann that
way.
Then a weird glimmer fell from above.
" Yann ! Yann ! Look alive, matey !"
"Matey" answered roughly from outside,
while through the half-opened hatchway the faint
light kept entering like that of dawn. Nearly
midnight, yet it looked like a peep of day, or the
light of the starry gloaming, sent from afar
through mystic lenses of magicians.
When the aperture closed, night reigned again,
save for the small lamp, " sended " now and again
aside, which shed its yellow light. A man in
clogs was heard coming down the wooden steps.
He entered bent in two like a big bear, for he
was a giant. At first he made a wry face, hold-
ing his nose, because of the acrid smell of the
souse.
He exceeded a little too much the ordinary
6
The Fishermen
proportions of man, especially in breadth, though
he was straight as a poplar. When he faced
you the muscles of his shoulders, moulded under
his blue jersey, stood out like great globes at the
tops of his arms. His large brown eyes were
very mobile, with a grand, wild expression.
Sylvestre threw his arms round Yann, and
drew him towards him tenderly, after the fashion
of children. Sylvestre was betrothed to Yann's
sister, and he treated him as an elder brother, of
course. And Yann allowed himself to be pulled
about like a .young lion, answering by a kind
smile that showed his white teeth. These were
somewhat far apart, and appeared quite small.
His fair moustache was rather short, although
never cut. It was tightly curled in small rolls
above his lips, which were most exquisitely and
delicately modelled, and then frizzed off at the
ends on either side of the deep corners of his
mouth. The remainder of his beard was shaven,
and his highly coloured cheeks retained a fresh
bloom like that of fruit never yet handled.
When Yann was seated, the mugs were filled
up anew.
The lighting of all the pipes was an excuse
for the cabin boy to smoke a few whiffs himself.
He was a robust little fellow, with round cheeks
7
On the Icy Sea
kind of little brother to them all, more or
less related to one another as they were ; other-
wise his work had been hard enough for the
darling of the crew. Yann let him drink out
of his own glass before he was sent to bed.
Thereupon the important topic of marriage was
revived.
"But I say, Yann," asked Sylvestre, "when
are we going to celebrate your wedding ?"
" You ought to be ashamed," said the master ;
" a hulking chap like you, twenty-seven years old,
and not yet spliced ; ho, ho ! What must the
lasses think of you when they see you roll by ? "
Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers
with a contemptuous look for the women folk.
He had just worked off his five years' govern-
ment naval service ; and it was as master-gunner
of the fleet that he had learned to speak good
French and hold sceptical opinions. He hemmed
and hawed and then rattled off his latest love ad-
venture, which had lasted a fortnight.
It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer
for the heroine. One evening, returning from
the waterside, being slightly tipsy, he had entered
the music hall. At the door stood a woman sell-
ing big bouquets at twenty francs apiece. He
had bought one without quite knowing what he
8
The Fishermen
should do with it, and before he was much more
than in had thrown it with great force at the vo-
calist upon the stage, striking her full in the face,
partly as a rough declaration of love, partly
through disgust for the painted doll that was too
pink for his taste. The blow had felled the woman
to the boards, and she worshipped him during
the three following weeks.
" Why, bless ye, lads, when I left she made
me this here present of a real gold watch."
The better to show it them he threw it upon
the table like a worthless toy.
This was told with coarse words and oratorical
flourishes of his own. Yet this commonplace of
civilized life jarred sadly among such simple men,
with the grand solemnity of the ocean around
them ; in the glimmering of midnight, falling
from above, was an impression of the fleeting
summers of the far north country.
These ways of Yann greatly pained and sur-
prised Sylvestre. He was a girlish boy, brought
up in respect for holy things, by an old grand-
mother, the widow of a fisherman in the village
of Ploubazlanec. As a tiny child he used to go
every day with her to kneel and tell his beads
over his mother's grave. From the churchyard
on the cliff the grey waters of the Channel, where-
9
On the Icy Sea
in his father had disappeared in a shipwreck, could
be seen in the far distance.
As his grandmother and himself were poor
he had to take to fishing in his early youth, and
his childhood had been spent out on the open
water. Every night he said his prayers, and his
eyes still wore their religious purity. He was
captivating though, and next to Yann the finest-
built lad of the crew. His voice was very soft,
and its boyish tones contrasted markedly with his
tall height and black beard ; as he had shot up
very rapidly he was almost puzzled to find him-
self grown suddenly so tall and big. He ex-
pected to marry Yann's sister soon, but never yet
had answered any girl's love advances.
There were only three sleeping bunks aboard,
one being double-berthed, so they " turned in "
alternately.
When they had finished their feast, celebrat-
ing the Assumption of their patron saint, it was
a little past midnight. Three of them crept away
to bed in the small dark recesses that resembled
coffin-shelves ; and the three others went up on
deck to get on with their often interrupted, heavy
labour of fish-catching ; the latter were Yann,
Sylvestre, and one of their fellow-villagers known
as Guillaume.
10
The Fishermen
It was daylight, the everlasting day of those
regions a pale, dim light, resembling no other
bathing all things, like the gleams of a setting
sun. Around them stretched an immense colour-
less waste, and excepting the planks of their ship,
all seemed transparent, ethereal, and fairy-like.
The eye could not distinguish what the scene
might be : first it appeared as a quivering mirror
that had no objects to reflect ; and in the distance
it became a desert of vapour ; and beyond that a
void, having neither horizon nor limits.
The damp freshness of the air was more in-
tensely penetrating than dry frost ; and when
breathing it, one tasted the flavour of brine. All
was calm, and the rain had ceased ; overhead the
clouds, without form or colour, seemed to con-
ceal that latent light that could not be explained ;
the eye could see clearly, yet one was still con-
scious of the night ; this dimness was all of an
indefinable hue.
The three men on deck had lived since their
childhood upon the frigid seas, in the very midst
of their mists, which are vague and troubled as
the background of dreams. They were accus-
tomed to see this varying infinitude play about
their paltry ark of planks, and th< -ir eyes were as
used to it as those of the great free ocean-birds.
On the Icy Sea
The boat rolled gently with its everlasting
wail, as monotonous as a Breton song moaned
by a sleeper. Yann and Sylvestre had got their
bait and lines ready, while their mate opened a
barrel of salt, and whetting his long knife went
and sat behind them, waiting.
He did not have long to wait, or they either.
They scarcely had thrown their lines into the
calm, cold water in fact, before they drew in
huge heavy fish, of a steel-grey sheen. And
time after time the codfish let themselves be
hooked in a rapid and unceasing silent series.
The third man ripped them open with his long
knife, spread them flat, salted and counted them,
and piled up the lot which upon their return
would constitute their fortune behind them, all
still redly streaming and still sweet and fresh.
The hours passed monotonously, while in the
immeasurably empty regions beyond the light
slowly changed till it grew less unreal. What at
first had appeared a livid gloaming, like a north-
ern summer's eve, became now, without any in-
tervening "dark hour before dawn," something
like a smiling morn, reflected by all the facets of
the oceans in fading, roseate-edged streaks.
"You really ought to marry, Yann," said
Sylvestre, suddenly and very seriously this time,
12
The Fishermen
still looking into the water. (He seemed to
know somebody in Brittany, who had allowed
herself to be captivated by the brown eyes of his
" big brother," but he felt shy upon so solemn a
subject.)
" Me ! Lor', yes, some day I will marry."
He smiled, did the always contemptuous Yann,
rolling his passionate eyes. " But I'll have none
of the lasses at home ; no, I'll wed the sea, and
I invite ye all in the barkey now, to the ball
I'll give at my wedding."
They kept on hauling in, for their time could
not be lost in chatting ; they had an immense
quantity of fish in a travelling shoal, which had
not ceased passing for the last two days.
They had been up all night, and in thirty
hours had caught more than a thousand prime
cods ; so that even their strong arms were tired
and they were half asleep. But their bodies re-
mained active and they continued their toil,
though occasionally their minds floated off into
regions of profound sleep. But the free air
they breathed was as pure as that of the first
young days of the world, and so bracing, that
notwithstandii r weariness they felt their
chests expand and their cheeks glow as at
arising.
13
On the Icy Sea
Morning, the true morning light, at length
came ; as in the days of Genesis, it had " divided
from the darkness," which had settled upon the
horizon and rested there in great heavy masses ;
and by the clearness of vision now, it was seen
night had passed, and that that first vague strange
glimmer was only a forerunner. In the thickly-
veiled heavens, broke out rents here and there,
like side skylights in a dome, through which
pierced glorious rays of light, silver and rosy.
The lower-lying clouds were grouped round in a
belt of intense shadow, encircling the waters and
screening the far-off distance in darkness. They
hinted as of a space in a boundary ; they were
as curtains veiling the Infinite, or as draperies
drawn to hide the too majestic mysteries,
which would have perturbed the imagination of
mortals.
On this special morning, around the small
plank platform occupied by Yann and Sylvestre,
the shifting outer world had an appearance of
deep meditation, as though this were an altar
recently raised ; and the sheaves of sun-rays,
which darted like arrows under the sacred arch,
spread in a long glimmering stream over the
motionless waves, as over a marble floor. Then,
slowly and more slowly yet loomed still another
14
The Fishermen
wonder ; a high, majestic, pink profile it was a
promontory of gloomy Iceland.
Yann's wedding with the sea ? Sylvestre was
still thinking of it after resuming his fishing
without daring to say anything more. He had
felt quite sad when his big brother had so turned
the holy sacrament of marriage into ridicule ;
and it particularly had frightened him, as he was
superstitious.
For so long, too, he had mused on Yann's
marriage ! He had thought that it might take
place with Gaud M6vel, a blonde lass from
Paimpol ; and that he would have the happiness
of being present at the marriage-feast before
starting for the navy, that long five years' exile,
with its dubious return, the thought of which
already plucked at his heart-strings.
Four o'clock in the morning now. The
watch below came up, all three, to relieve the
others. Still rather sleepy, drinking in chestfuls
of the fresh, chill air, they stepped up, drawing
tluir long sea-boots higher, and having to shut
their eyes, dazzled at first by a light so pale, yet
in such abundance.
Yann and Sylvestre took their breakfast of
hich they had to break with a mallet.
and began to munch noisily, laughing at tin ir
On the Icy Sea
being so very hard. They had become quite
merry again at the idea of going down to sleep,
snugly and warmly in their berths ; and clasping
each other round the waist they danced up to
the hatchway to an old song-tune.
Before disappearing through the aperture
they stopped to play with Turc, the ship's dog, a
young Newfoundland with great clumsy paws.
They sparred at him, and he pretended to bite
them like a young wolf, until he bit too hard
and hurt them, whereupon Yann, with a frown
and anger in his quick-changing eyes, pushed
him aside with an impatient blow that sent him
flying and made him howl. Yann had a kind
heart enough, but his nature remained rather un-
tamed, and when his physical being was touched,
a tender caress was often more like a manifesta-
tion of brutal violence.
CHAPTER II
ICELANDERS
THEIR smack was named La Marie, and her
master was Captain Guermeur. Every year she
set sail for the big dangerous fisheries, in the
frigid regions where the summers have no night.
16
Icelanders
She was a very old ship, as old as the statuette
of her patron saint itself. Her heavy, oaken
planks were rough and worn, impregnated with
ooze and brine, but still strong and stout, and
smelling strongly of tar. At anchor she looked
an old unwieldy tub from her so massive build,
but when blew the mighty western gales, her
lightness returned, like a sea-gull awakened by
the wind. Then she had her own style of tum-
bling over the rollers, and rebounding more
lightly than many newer ones, launched with all
your new fangles.
As for the crew of six men and the boy, they
were " Icelanders," the valiant race of seafarers
whose homes are at Paimpol and Tre*guier, and
who from father to son are destined for the cod
fisheries.
They hardly ever had seen a summer in
France. At the end of each winter they, with
other fishers, received the parting blessing in the
harbour of Paimpol. And for that fete-day an
altar, always the same, and imitating a rocky
grotto, was erected on the quay ; and over it, in
the midst of anchors, oars, and nets, was en-
throned the Virgin Mary, calm, and beaming with
affection, the patroness of sailors ; she would be
brought from her chapel for the occasion, and
17
On the Icy Sea
had looked upon generation after generation with
her same lifeless eyes, blessing the happy for
whom the season would be lucky, and the others
who never more would return.
The Host, followed by a slow procession of
wives, mothers, sweethearts, and sisters, was borne
round the harbour, where the boats bound for Ice-
land, bedecked in all colours, saluted it on its way.
The priest halted before each, giving them his
holy blessing ; and then the fleet started, leaving
the country desolate of husbands, lovers, and sons ;
and as the shores faded from their view, the crews
sang together in low, full voices, the hymns sacred
to "the Star of the Ocean." And every year saw
the same ceremonies, and heard the same good-
byes.
Then began the life out upon the open sea,
in the solitude of three or four rough compan-
ions, on the moving thin planks in the midst of
the seething waters of the northern seas.
Until now La Maries men had always re-
turned ; the " Virgin Star of the Ocean " had pro-
tected the ship that bore her name. The end of
August was the date for these homeward comings ;
but La Marie followed the custom of many Ice-
landers, which is merely to touch at Paimpol, and
then to sail down to the Gulf of Gascony, where
18
The Women at Home
fish fetches high prices, or farther on to the Sandy
Isles, with their salty swamps, where they buy
the salt for the next expedition. The crews of
lusty fellows stay a few days in the southern, sun-
kissed harbour-towns, intoxicated by the last rays
of summer, by the sweetness of the balmy air,
and by the downright jollity of youth.
With the mists of autumn they return home
to Paimpol, or to the scattered huts of the land
of Goelo, to remain some time in their families,
in the midst of love, marriages, and births. Very
often they find unseen babies upon their return,
waiting for godfathers ere they can be baptized,
for many children are needed to keep up this race
of fishermen, which the Icelandic Moloch devours.
CHAPTER III
THE WOMEN AT HOME
AT Paimpol, one fine evening of this same
year, upon a Sunday in June, two women were
deeply busy in writing a letter. This took place
before a large open window, with a row of flower
pots on its heavy old granite sill.
As well as could be seen from their bending
over the table, both were young. One wore a
On the Icy Sea
very large old-fashioned cap ; the other quite a
small one, in the new style adopted by the wom-
en of Paimpol. They might have been taken
for two loving lasses writing a tender missive to
some handsome Icelander.
The one who dictated the one with the large
head-dress drew up her head, wool-gathering.
Oh, she was old, very old, too, notwithstanding
her look from behind, in her small brown shawl
we mean downright old. A sweet old granny,
seventy at least. Very pretty, though, and still
fresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks some old peo-
ple have. Her coiffe was drawn low upon the
forehead and upon the top of the head, was com-
posed of two or three large rolls of muslin that
seemed to telescope out of one another, and fell
on to the nape. Her venerable face, framed in
the pure white pleats, had almost a nun's look,
while her soft, tender eyes wore a kindly ex-
pression. She had not the vestige of a tooth
left, and when she laughed she showed her
round gums, which had still the freshness of
youth.
Although her chin had become as pointed " as
the toe of a sabot " (as she was in the habit of
saying), her profile was not spoiled by time ; and
it was easily imagined that in her youth it had
20
The Women at Home
been regular and pure, like the saints' adorning a
church.
She looked through the window, trying to
think of news that might amuse her grandson at
sea. There existed not in the whole country of
Paimpol another dear old body like her, to invent
such funny stories upon everybody, and even upon
nothing. Already in this letter there were three
or four merry tales, but without the slightest
mischief, for she had nothing ill-natured about
her.
The other woman, finding that ideas were
getting scarce, began to write the address care-
fully :
" To MONSIEUR MOAN, SYLVESTRE,
ABOARD THE Marie,
fjo CAPTAIN GUERMEUR, f
IN THE SEA OF ICELAND, NEAR RYKAWYK."
Here she lifted her head to ask : " Is that all,
Granny Moan ?"
The querist was young, adorably young, a girl
of twenty in fact ; very fair a rare complexion
in this corner of Brittany, where the race runs
irthy very fair, we say, with great grey eyes
between almost black lashes; her brows, as fair
as the hair, seemed as if they had a darker streak
21
On the Icy Sea
in their midst, which gave a wonderful expression
of strength and will to the beautiful face. The
rather short profile was very dignified, the nose
continuing the line of the brow with absolute
rectitude, as in a Greek statue. A deep dimple
under the lower lip foiled it up delightfully ; and
from time to time, when she was absorbed by a
particular idea, she bit this lower lip with her
white upper teeth, making the blood run in tiny
red veins under the delicate skin. In her supple
form there was no little pride, with gravity also,
which she inherited from the bold Icelandic sail-
ors, her ancestors. The expression of her eyes
was both steady and gentle.
Her cap was in the shape of a cockle-shell,
worn low on the brow, and drawn back on either
side, showing thick tresses of hair about the ears,
a head-dress that has remained from remote times
and gives quite an olden look to the women of
Paimpol.
One felt instinctively that she had been
reared differently than the poor old woman to
whom she gave the name of grandmother, but
who in reality was but a distant great-aunt.
She was the daughter of M. Mvel, a former
Icelander, a bit of a freebooter, who had made
a fortune by bold undertakings out at sea,
22
The Women at Home
The fine room where the letter had been just
written was hers ; a new bed, such as townspeo-
ple have, with muslin lace-edged curtains, and
on the stone walls a light-coloured paper, ton-
ing down the irregularities of the granite ; over-
head a coating of whitewash covered the great
beams that revealed the antiquity of the abode ;
it was the home of well-to-do folk, and the
windows looked out upon the old gray mar-
ket-place of Paimpol, where the pardons are
held.
" Is it done, Granny Yvonne ? Have you
nothing else to tell him ?"
" No, my lass, only I would like you to add
a word of greeting to young Gaos."
" Young Gaos " was otherwise called Yann.
The proud beautiful girl had blushed very red
when she wrote those words. And as soon as
they were added at the bottom of the page, in a
running hand, she rose and turned her head aside
as if to look at some very interesting object out
on the market-place.
Standing, she was rather tall ; lu r waist \v is
modelled in a clinging bodice, as perfectly fitting
as that of a fashionable dame. In spite of her
cap, she looked like a real lady. Even her
hands, without being conventionally small, were
VOL. 20 23 Romances 8
On the Icy Sea
white and delicate, never having touched rough
work.
True, she had been at first little Gaud
(Daisy), paddling bare-footed in the water, moth-
erless, almost wholly neglected during the season
of the fisheries, which her father spent in Ice-
land ; a pretty, untidy, obstinate girl, but grow-
ing vigorous and strong in the bracing sea-breeze.
In those days she had been sheltered, during the
fine summers, by poor Granny Moan, who used
to give her Sylvestre to mind during her days of
hard work in Paimpol. Gaud felt the adoration
of a young mother for the child confided to her
tender care. She was his elder by about eight-
een months. He was as dark as she was fair, as
obedient and caressing as she was hasty and ca-
pricious. She well remembered that part of her
life ; neither wealth nor town life had altered it ;
and like a far-off dream of wild freedom it came
back to her, or as the remembrance of an unde-
fined and mysterious previous existence, where
the sandy shores seemed longer, and the cliffs
higher and nobler.
Towards the age of five or six, which seemed
long ago to her, wealth had befallen her father,
who began to buy and sell the cargoes of ships.
She had been taken to Saint-Brieuc, and later
24
The Women at Home
to Paris. And from la petite Gaud she had
become Mademoiselle Marguerite, tall and se-
rious, with earnest eyes. Always left to herself,
in another kind of solitude than that of the
Breton coast, she still retained the obstinate na-
ture of her childhood.
Living in large towns, her dress had become
more modified than herself. Although she still
wore the coiffe that Breton women discard so sel-
dom, she had learned to dress herself in another
way.
Every year she had returned to Brittany with
her father in the summer only, like a fashion-
able, coming to bathe in the sea and lived again
in the midst of old memories, delighted to hear
herself called Gaud, rather curious to see these
Icelanders of whom so much was said, who were
never at home, and of whom, each year, some
were missing ; on all sides she heard the name of
Iceland, which appeared to her as a distant in-
satiable abyss. And there, now, was the man
she loved !
One fine day she had returned to live in the
midst of these fishers, through a whim of her fa-
tlirr, who had wished to end his days there, and
live like a landsman in the market-place of
PaimpoL
25
On the Icy Sea
The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud
with cordial thanks as soon as the letter had been
read again and the envelope closed. She lived
rather far away, at the other end of Ploubazlanec,
in a hamlet on the coast, in the same cottage
where she first had seen the light of day, and
where her sons and grandsons had been born.
In the town, as she passed along, she answered
many friendly nods ; she was one of the oldest
inhabitants of the country, the last of a worthy
and highly esteemed family.
With great care and good management she
managed to appear pretty well dressed, although
her gowns were much darned, and hardly held
together. She always wore the tiny brown
Paimpol shawl, which was for best, and upon
which the long muslin rolls of her white caps had
fallen for past sixty years ; her own marriage
shawl, formerly blue, had been dyed for the
wedding of her son Pierre, and since then worn
only on Sundays, looked quite nice.
She still carried herself very straight, not at all
like an old woman ; and, in spite of her pointed
chin, her soft eyes and delicate profile made all
think her still very charming. She was held in
great respect one could see that if only by the
nods that people gave her.
26
The Women at Home
On her way she passed before the house of
her gallant, the sweetheart of former days, a car-
penter by trade ; now an octogenarian, who sat
outside his door all the livelong day, while the
young ones, his sons, worked in the shop. It
was said that he never had consoled himself for
her loss, for neither in first or second marriage
would she have him ; but with old age his feeling
for her had become a sort of comical spite, half
friendly and half mischievous, and he always
called out to her :
" Aha, la belle, when must I call to take your
measure ? "
But she declined with thanks ; she had not
yet quite decided to have that dress made. The
truth is, that the old man, with rather question-
able taste, spoke of the suit in deal planks, which
is the last of all our terrestrial garments.
" Well, whenever you like ; but don't be shy
in asking for it, you know, old lady."
He had made this joke several times; but,
to-day, she could scarcely take it good-naturedly.
She felt more tired than ever of her hard-work-
ing life, and her thoughts flew back to her dear
grandson the last of them all, who, upon his
return from Iceland, was to enter the navy for
five years ! Perhaps he might have to go to
27
On the Icy Sea
China, to the war ! Would she still be about,
upon his return ? The thought alone was agony
to her. No, she was surely not so happy as she
looked, poor old granny !
And was it really possible and true, that her
last darling was to be torn from her ? She, per-
haps, might die alone, without seeing him again !
Certainly, some gentlemen of the town, whom
she knew, had done all they could to keep him
from having to start, urging that he was the sole
support of an old and almost destitute grand-
mother, who could no longer work. But they
had not succeeded because of Jean Moan, the
deserter, an elder brother of Sylvestre's, whom
no one in the family ever mentioned now, but
who still lived somewhere over in America, thus
depriving his younger brother of the military ex-
emption. Moreover, it had been objected that
she had her small pension, allowed to the widows
of sailors, and the Admiralty could not deem her
poor enough.
When she returned home, she said her pray-
ers at length for all her dead ones, sons and
grandsons ; then she prayed again with re-
newed strength and confidence for her Sylves-
tre, and tried to sleep thinking of the "suit
of wood," her heart sadly aching at the thought
28
The Women at Home
of being so old, when this new parting was im-
minent.
Meanwhile, the other victim of separation, the
girl, had remained seated at her window, gazing
upon the golden rays of the setting sun, reflected
on the granite walls, and the black swallows
wheeling across the sky above. Paimpol was
always quiet on these long May evenings, even
on Sundays ; the lasses, who had not a single lad
to make love to them, sauntered along, in couples
or three together, brooding of their lovers in
Iceland.
" A word of greeting to young Gaos ! " She
had been greatly affected in writing that sentence,
and that name, which now she could not forget.
She often spent her evenings here at the window,
like a grand lady. Her father did not approve
of her walking with the other girls of her age,
who had been her early playmates. And as he
left the cafe*, and walked up and down, smoking
his pipe with old seamen like himself, he was
happy to look up at his daughter among her
flowers, in his grand house.
41 Young Gaos ! " Against her will she gazed
seaward ; it could not be seen, but she felt it was
nigh, at the end of the tiny street crowded with
nnrn. And her thoughts travelled through
29
On the Icy Sea
a fascinating and delightful infinite, far, far away
to the northern seas, where "La Marie, Captain
Guermeur," was sailing. A strange man was young
Gaos ! retiring and almost incomprehensible now,
after having come forward so audaciously, yet so
lovingly.
In her long reverie, she remembered her return
to Brittany, which had taken place the year be-
fore. One December morning, after a night of
travelling, the train from Paris had deposited her
father and herself at Guingamp. It was a damp,
foggy morning, cold and almost dark. She had
been seized with a previously unknown feeling ;
she could scarcely recognise the quaint little
town, which she had only seen during the sum-
mer oh, that glad old time, the dear old times of
the past ! This silence, after Paris ! This quiet
life of people, who seemed of another world,
going about their simple business in the misty
morning. But the sombre granite houses, with
their dark, damp walls, and the Breton charm
upon all things, which fascinated her now that
she loved Yann, had seemed particularly sadden-
ing upon that morning. Early housewives were
already opening their doors, and as she passed she
could glance into the old-fashioned houses, with
their tall chimney-pieces, where sat the old grand-
30
The Women at Home
mothers, in their white caps, quiet and dignified.
As soon as daylight had begun to appear, she had
entered the church to say her prayers, and the
grand old aisle had appeared immense and shad-
owy to her quite different from all the Parisian
churches with its rough pillars worn at the base
by the chafing of centuries, and its damp, earthy
smell of age and saltpetre.
In a damp recess, behind the columns, a taper
was burning, before which knelt a woman, mak-
ing a vow ; the dim flame seemed lost in the
vagueness of the arches. Gaud experienced there
the feeling of a long-forgotten impression : that
kind of sadness and fear that she had felt when
quite young at being taken to mass at Paimpol
Church on raw, wintry mornings.
But she hardly regretted Paris, although
there were many splendid and amusing sights
there. In the first place she felt almost cramped
from having the blood of the vikings in her
veins. And then, in Paris, she felt like a stran-
ger and an intruder. The Parisiennes were
!it-laced, artificial women, who had a peculiar
way of walking ; and Gaud was too intelligent
even to have attempted to imitate them. In her
head-dress, ordered every year from the maker in
Paimpol, she felt out of her element in the capi-
On the Icy Sea
tal ; and did not understand that if the wayfarers
turned round to look at her, it was only because
she made a very charming picture.
Some of these Parisian ladies quite won her
by their high-bred and distinguished manners,
but she knew them to be inaccessible to her,
while from others of a lower caste who would
have been glad to make friends with her, she
kept proudly aloof, judging them unworthy of
her attention. Thus had she lived almost with-
out friends, without other society than her fa-
ther's, who was engaged in business and often
away. So she did not regret that life of es-
trangement and solitude.
But, none the less, on that day of arrival she
had been painfully surprised by the bitterness of
this Brittany, seen in full winter. And her
heart sickened at the thought of having to travel
another five or six hours in a jolting car to
penetrate still farther into the blank, desolate
country to reach Paimpol.
All through the afternoon of that same grisly
day, her father and herself had journeyed in a
little old ramshackle vehicle, open to all the
winds ; passing, with the falling night, through
dull villages, under the ghostly trees, black-
pearled with mist in drops. And ere long lan-
32
The Women at Home
terns had to be lit, and she could perceive noth-
ing else but what seemed two trails of green
Bengal lights, running on each side before the
horses, and which were merely the beams that
the two lanterns projected on the never-ending
hedges of the roadway. But how was it that
trees were so green in the month of December ?
Astonished at first, she bent to look out, and
then she remembered how the gorse, the ever-
green gorse of the paths and the cliffs, never
fades in the country of Paimpol. At the same
time a warmer breeze began to blow, which she
knew again and which smelt of the sea.
Towards the end of the journey she had been
quite awakened and amused by the new notion
that struck her, namely : " As this is winter, I
shall see the famous fishermen of Iceland."
For in December they were to return, the
brothers, cousins, and lovers of whom all her
friends, great and small, had spoken to her dur-
ing the long summer evening walks in her holi-
day trips. And the thought had haunted her,
though she felt chilled in the slow-going vehicle.
Now she had seen them, and her heart had
been captured by one of them too.
33
On the Icy Sea
CHAPTER IV
FIRST LOVE
THE first day she had seen him, this Yann,
was the day after his arrival, at the " Pardon des
Islandais" which is on the eighth of December,
the fete-day of Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle,
the patroness of fishers a little before the pro-
cession, with the gray streets, still draped in
white sheets, on which were strewn ivy and
holly and wintry blossoms with their leaves.
At this Pardon the rejoicing was heavy and
wild under the sad sky. Joy without merri-
ment, composed chiefly of insouciance and con-
tempt ; of physical strength and alcohol ; above
which floated, less disguised than elsewhere, the
universal warning of death.
A great clamour in Paimpol ; sounds of bells
mingled with the chants of the priests. Rough
and monotonous songs in the taverns old sailor
lullabies songs of woe, arisen from the sea,
drawn from the deep night of bygone ages.
Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zigzagging through
the streets, from their habit of rolling, and be-
cause they were half-drunk. Groups of girls in
their nun-like white caps. Old granite houses.
34
First Love
sheltering these seething crowds ; antiquated
roofs telling of their struggles, through many
centuries, against the western winds, the mist,
and the rain ; and relating, too, many stories of
love and adventure that had passed under their
protection.
And floating over all was a deep religious
sentiment, a feeling of bygone days, with respect
for ancient veneration and the symbols that pro-
tect it, and for the white, immaculate Virgin.
Side by side with the taverns rose the church,
its deep sombre portals thrown open, and steps
strewn with flowers, with its perfume of incense,
its lighted tapers, and the votive offerings of
sailors hung all over the sacred arch. And side
by side also with the happy girls were the sweet-
hearts of dead sailors, and the widows of the
shipwrecked fishers, quitting the chapel of the
dead in their long mourning shawls and their
smooth tiny coijfes ; with eyes downward bent,
noiselessly they passed through the midst of this
clamouring life, like a sombre warning. And
close to all was the everlasting sea, the huge
nurse and devourer of these vigorous genera-
tions, becoming fierce and agitated as if to take
in the fete.
Gaud had but a confused impression of all
35
On the Icy Sea
these things together. Excited and merry, yet
with her heart aching, she felt a sort of anguish
seize her at the idea that this country had now
become her own again. On the market-place,
where there were games and acrobats, she walked
up and down with her friends, who named and
pointed out to her from time to time the young
men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group of
these " Icelanders" were standing before the sing-
ers of " complaintes? * with their backs turned to-
wards them. And directly Gaud was struck with
one of them, tall as a giant, with huge shoulders
almost too broad ; but she had simply said,
perhaps with a touch of mockery : "There is one
who is tall, to say the least ! " And the sen-
tence implied beneath this was : " What an in-
cumbrance he'll be to the woman he marries, a
husband of that size ! "
He had turned round as if he had heard her,
and had given her a quick glance from top to
toe, seeming to say : " Who is this girl who
wears the coiffe of Paimpol, who is so elegant,
and whom I never have seen before ? "
And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground
for politeness 1 sake, and had appeared to take a
* Complainte a song of woe.
36
First Love
renewed interest in the singers, only showing the
back of his head and his black hair that fell in
rather long curls upon his neck. And although
she had asked the names of several others, she
had not dared ask his. The fine profile, the
grand half-savage look, the brown, almost tawny
pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opal of the
eyes ; all this had impressed her and made her
timid.
And it just happened to be that " Fils Gaos,"
of whom she had heard the Moans speak as a
great friend of Sylvestre's. On the evening of
this same Pardon, Sylvestre and he, walking
arm-in-arm, had crossed her father and herself,
and had stopped to wish them good-day.
And young Sylvestre had become again to
her as a sort of brother. As they were cousins
they had continued to tutoyer* each other ; true,
she had at first hesitated doing so to this great
boy of seventeen, who already wore a black
beard, but as his kind, soft, childish eyes had
hardly changed at all, she recognized him soon
enough to imagine that she never had lost sight
of him.
When he used to come into Paimpol, she
ng thou for you. A sign of familiarity.
37
On the Icy Sea
kept him to dinner of an evening ; it was without
consequence to her, and he always had a very
good appetite, being on rather short rations at
home.
To speak truly, Yann had not been very po-
lite to her at this first meeting, which took place
at the corner of a tiny gray street, strewn with
green branches. He had raised his hat to her,
with a noble though timid gesture ; and after
having given her an ever-rapid glance, turned his
eyes away, as if he were vexed with this meeting
and in a hurry to go. A strong western breeze
that had arisen during the procession, had scat-
tered branches of box everywhere and loaded the
sky with dark gray draperies.
Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances,
saw all this clearly again ; the sad gloaming fall-
ing upon the remains of the Pardon ; the
sheets strewn with white flowers floating in the
wind along the walls ; the noisy groups of Ice-
landers, other waifs of the gales and tempests
flocking into the taverns, singing to cheer them-
selves under the gloom of the coming rain ; and
above all, Gaud remembered the giant standing
in front of her, turning aside as if annoyed, and
troubled at having met her.
What a wonderful change had come over her
38 '
The Second Meeting
since then ; and what a difference there was be-
t\veen that hubbub and the present tranquility !
How quiet and empty Paimpol seemed to-night
in the warm long twilight of May, which kept
her still at her window alone, lulled in her love's
young dream !
CHAPTER V
THE SECOND MEETING
THEIR second meeting was at a wedding-feast.
Young Gaos had been chosen to offer her his
arm. At first she had been rather vexed, not
liking the idea of strolling through the streets
with this tall fellow, whom everybody would
stare at, on account of his excessive height, and
who, most probably, would not know what to
speak to her about. Besides, he really fright-
ened her with his wild, lofty look.
At the appointed hour all were assembled for
the wedding procession save Yann, who had not
appeared. Time passed, yet he did not come,
and they talked of giving up any further waiting
for him. Then it was she discovered that it was
for his pleasure, and his alone, that she had
donned her best dress ; with any other of the
39
On the Icy Sea
young men present at the ball, the evening's en-
joyment would be spoiled.
At last he arrived, in his best clothes also,
apologizing, without any embarrassment, to the
bride's party. The excuse was, that some im-
portant shoals of fish, not at all expected, had
been telegraphed from England, as bound to
pass that night a little off Aurigny ; and so all
the boats of Ploubazlanec hastily had set sail.
There was great excitement in the villages,
women rushing about to find their husbands and
urging them to put off quickly, and struggling
hard themselves to hoist the sails and help in the
launching ; in fact, a regular " turnout " through-
out the places, though in the midst of the com-
pany Yann related this very simply ; he had been
obliged to look out for a substitute and warrant
him to the owner of the boat to which he be-
longed for the winter season. It was this that
had caused him to be late, and in order not to
miss the wedding, he had "turned up" (aban-
doned) his share in the profits of the catch. His
plea was perfectly well understood by his hearers,
no one thinking of blaming him ; for well all
know that, in this coast life, all are more or less
dependent upon the unforeseen events at sea,
and the mysterious migrations of the fishy le-
40
The Second Meeting
gions. The other Icelanders present were disap-
pointed at not having been warned in time, like
the fishers of Ploubazlanec, of the fortune that
was skirting their very shores.
But it was too late now, worse luck ! So
they gave their arms to the lasses, the violins
began to play, and joyously they all tramped out.
At first Yann had only paid her a few inno-
cent compliments, such as fall to a chance partner
met at a wedding, and of whom one knows but
little. Amidst all the couples in the procession,
they formed the only one of strangers, the others
were all relatives or sweethearts.
But during the evening while the dancing
was going on, the talk between them had again
turned to the subject of the fish, and looking her
straight in the eyes, he roughly said to her :
"You are the only person about Paimpol,
and even in the world, for whom I would have
missed such a windfall ; truly, for nobody else
would I have come back from my fishing, Mad-
emoiselle Gaud."
At first she was rather astonished that this
fisherman should dare so to address her who had
come to this ball rather like a young queen, but
then delighted, she had ended by answering :
"Thank you, Monsieur Yann; and I, too,
41
On the Icy Sea
would rather be with you than with anybody
else."
That was all. But from that moment until
the end of the dancing, they kept on chatting in
a different tone than before, low and soft-voiced.
The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy-
gurdy and violin, the same couples almost always
together. When Yann returned to invite her
again, after having danced with another girl for
politeness' sake, they exchanged a smile, like
friends meeting anew, and continued their inter-
rupted conversation, which had become very
close. Simply enough, Yann spoke of his fisher
life, its hardships, its wage, and of his parents'
difficulties in former years, when they had four-
teen little Gaoses to bring up, he being the eldest.
Now, the old folks were out of the reach of need,
because of a wreck that their father had found in
the Channel, the sale of which had brought in
10,000 francs, omitting the share claimed by the
Treasury. With the money they built an upper
story to their house, which was situated at the
point of Ploubazlanec, at the very land's end, in
the hamlet of Pors-Even, overlooking the sea,
and having a grand outlook.
" It is mighty tough, though," said he, "this
here life of an Icelander, having to start in Feb-
42
The Second Meeting
ruary for such a country, where it is awful cold
and bleak, with a raging, foaming sea."
Gaud remembered every phrase of their con-
versation at the ball, as if it had all happened yes-
terday, and details came regularly back to her
mind, as she looked upon the night falling over
Paimpol. If Yann had had no idea of marriage,
why had he told her all the items of his existence,
to which she had listened, as only an engaged
sweetheart would have done ; he did not seem a
commonplace young man, prone to babbling his
business to everybody who came along.
" The occupation is pretty good, nevertheless,"
he said, "and I shall never change my career.
Some years we make eight hundred francs, and
others twelve hundred, which I get upon my
return, and hand over to the old lady."
"To your mother, Monsieur Yann, eh ?"
"Yes, every penny of it, always. It's the
custom with us Icelanders, Mademoiselle Gaud."
He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and natural
course.
" Perhaps you'll hardly believe it, but I
;ccly ever have any pocket-money. Of a
Sunday mother gives me a little when I come
into Paimpol. And so it goes all the time.
Why, look 'ee here, this year my father had
43
On the Icy Sea
these clothes made for me, without which treat
I never could have come to the wedding ; certain
sure, for I never should have dared offer you my
arm in my old duds of last year."
For one like her, accustomed to seeing Paris-
ians, Yann's habiliments were, perhaps, not very
stylish ; a short jacket open over the old-fash-
ioned waistcoat ; but the build of their wearer
was irreproachably handsome, so that he had a
noble look withal.
Smiling, he looked at her straight in the
depths of her eyes each time he spoke to her, so
as to divine her opinion. And how good and
honest was his look, as he told her all these short-
comings, so that she might well understand that
he was not rich !
And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full
in the face ; answering seldom, but listening with
her whole soul, more and more astonished and
more and more drawn towards him. What a
mixture of untamed roughness and caressing
childishness he was ! His earnest voice, short
and blunt towards others, became softer and
more and more tender as he spoke to her ; and
for her alone he knew how to make it trill with
extreme sweetness, like the music of a stringed
instrument with the mute upon it.
44
The Second Meeting
What a singular and astonishing fact it was
to see this man of brawn, with his free air and
forbidding aspect, always treated by his family
like a child, and deeming it quite natural ; having
travelled over all the earth, met with all sorts of
adventures, incurred all dangers, and yet showing
the same respectful and absolute obedience to
his parents.
She compared him to others, two or three
dandies in Paris, clerks, quill-drivers, or what not,
who had pestered her with their attentions, for
the sake of her money. He seemed to be the
best, as well as the most handsome, man she had
ever met.
To put herself more on an equality with him
she related how, in her own home, she had not
always been so well-off as at present; that her
father had begun life as a fisherman off Iceland,
and always held the Icelanders in great esteem ;
and that she herself could clearly remember as a
little child, having run barefooted upon the beach,
after her poor mother's death.
Oh ! the exquisite night of that ball, unique
in her life ! It seemed far away now, for it
dated back to December, and May had already
n turned. All the sturdy partners of that even-
ing were out fishing yonder now, scattered over
45
On the Icy Sea
the far northern seas, in the clear pale sun, in in-
tense loneliness, while the dust thickened silently
on the land of Brittany.
Still Gaud remained at her window. The
market-place of Paimpol, hedged in on all sides
by the old-fashioned houses, became sadder and
sadder with the darkling ; everywhere reigned si-
lence. Above the housetops the still brilliant
space of the heavens seemed to grow more
hollow, to raise itself up and finally separate
itself from all terrestrial things : these, in the
last hour of day, were entirely blended into
the single dark outline of the gables of olden
roofs.
From time to time a window or door would
be suddenly closed ; some old sailor, shaky upon
his legs, would blunder out of the tavern and
plunge into the small dark streets ; or girls
passed by, returning home late after their walk
and carrying nosegays of May-flowers. One of
them who knew Gaud, calling out good-evening
to her, held up a branch of hawthorn high
towards her as if to offer it her to smell ; in the
transparent darkness she could distinguish the
airy tufts of its white blossoms. From the gar-
dens and courts floated another soft perfume,
that of the flowering honeysuckle along the
46
The Second Meeting
granite walls, mingled with a vague smell of sea-
weed in the harbour.
Bats flew silently through the air above, like
hideous creatures in a dream.
Many and many an evening had Gaud passed
at her window, gazing upon the melancholy
market-place, thinking of the Icelanders who
were far away, and always of that same ball.
Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a
young oak, moving with a graceful yet dignified
bearing, his head thrown well back, his brown,
curled locks falling upon his brow, and floating
with the motion of the dance. Gaud, who was
rather tall herself, felt their contact upon her cap,
as he bent towards her to grasp her more tightly
during the swift movements.
Now and then he pointed out to her his little
sister Marie, dancing with Sylvestre, who was
hcrfancJ. He smiled with a very tender look
at seeing them both so young and yet so reserved
towards one another, bowing gravely, and put-
ting on very timid airs as they communed lowly,
on most amiable subjects, no doubt.
Of course, Yann would never have allowed it
to be otherwise ; yet it amused him, venturesome
and bold as he was, to find them so coy ; and he
and Gaud exchanged one of their confidential
VOL. 20 47 Romances i
On the Icy Sea
smiles, seeming to say : " How pretty, but how
funny our little brother is ! "
Towards the close of the evening, all the
girls received the breaking-up kiss ; cousins, be-
trothed, and lovers, all, in a good frank, honest
way, before everybody. But, of course, Yann
had not kissed Gaud ; none might take that lib-
erty with the daughter of M. Mvel ; but he
seemed to strain her a little more tightly to him
during the last waltzes, and she, trusting him,
did not resist, but yielded closer still, giving up
her whole soul, in the sudden, deep, and joyous
attraction that bound her to him.
" Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she
made at him ? " queried two or three girls, with
their own eyes timidly bent under their golden
or black brows, though they had among the
dancers one or two lovers, to say the least. And
truly Gaud did look at Yann very hard, only she
had the excuse that he was the first and only
young man whom she ever had noticed in her
life.
At dawn, when the party broke up and left
in confusion, they had taken leave of one
another, like betrothed ones, who are sure to
meet the following day. To return home, she
had crossed this same market-place with her
43
The Second Meeting
father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, happy
to breathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad
dawn itself, so sweet and enjoyable seemed
bare life.
The May night had long since fallen ; nearly
all the windows had closed with a grating of their
iron fittings, but Gaud remained at her place,
leaving hers open. The last passers-by, who
could distinguish the white cap in the darkness,
might say to themselves, "That's surely some
girl, dreaming of her sweetheart." It was true,
for she was dreaming of hers, with a wild desire
to weep ; her tiny white teeth bit her lips and
continually opened and pursed up the deep dim-
ple that outlined the under lip of her fresh, pure
mouth. Her eyes remained fixed on the dark-
ness, seeing nothing of tangible things.
But, after the ball, why had he not returned ?
What change had come over him ? Meeting
him by chance, he seemed to avoid her, turning
aside his look, which was always fleeting, by the
way. She had often debated this with Sylvestre,
who could not understand either.
" But still, he's the lad for you to marry,
Gaud," said Sylvestre, "if your father allowed
ye. In the whole country round you'd not find
his like. First, let me tell 'ee, he's a rare good
49
On the Icy Sea
one, though he mayn't look it. He seldom gets
tipsy. He sometimes is stubborn, but is very
pliable for all that. No, I can't tell 'ee how
good he is ! And such an A. B. seaman ! Every
new fishing season the skippers regularly fight to
have him."
She was quite sure of her father's permission,
for she never had been thwarted in any of her
whims. And it mattered little to her whether
Yann were rich or not. To begin with, a sailor
like him would need but a little money in ad-
vance to attend the classes of the coast navigation
school, and might shortly become a captain
whom all shipowners would gladly intrust with
their vessels. It also mattered little to her that
he was such a giant ; great strength may become
a defect in a woman, but in a man is not preju-
dicial to good looks.
Without seeming to care much, she had ques-
tioned the girls of the country round about, who
knew all the love stories going ; but he had no
recognized engagement with any one, he paid no
more attention to one than another, but roved
from right to left, to Lzardrieux as well as to
Paimpol, to all the beauties who cared to receive
his addresses.
One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen
So
The Second Meeting
him pass under her windows, in company with
one Jeannie Caroff, whom he tucked under his
wing very closely ; she was pretty, certainly, but
had a very bad reputation. This had pained
Gaud very much indeed. She had been told
that he was very quick-tempered : one night
being rather tipsy in a tavern of Paimpol, where
the Icelanders held their revels, he had thrown a
great marble table through a door that they would
not open to him. But she forgave him all that ;
we all know what sailors are sometimes when the
fit takes them. But if his heart were good, why
had he sought one out who never had thought
of him, to leave her afterward ; what reason had
he had to look at her for a whole evening with
his fair, open smile, and to use his softest, ten-
derest voice to speak to her of his affairs as to a
betrothed ? Now, it was impossible for her to
become attached to another, or to change. In
this same country, when quite a child, she was
used to being scolded when naughty and called
more stubborn than any other child in her ideas ;
and she had not altered. Fine lady as she was
now, rather serious and proud in her ways, none
had refashioned her, and she remained always the
san
After this ball, the past winter had been spent
On the Icy Sea
in waiting to see him again, but he had not even
come to say good-bye before his departure for
Iceland. Since he was no longer by, nothing
else existed in her eyes ; slowly time seemed to
drag until the return in autumn, when she had
made up her mind to put an end to her doubts.
The town-hall clock struck eleven, with that
peculiar resonance that bells have during the
quiet spring nights. At Paimpol eleven o'clock
is very late ; so Gaud closed her window and lit
her lamp, to go to bed.
Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after
all, or was it because, being proud also, he was
afraid of a refusal, as she was so rich ? She wanted
to ask him this herself straightforwardly, but
Sylvestre thought that it would not be the right
thing, and it would not look well for her to ap-
pear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners
and dress were sufficiently criticised.
She undressed slowly as if in a dream ; first
her muslin cap, then her town-cut dress, which
she threw carelessly on a chair. The little lamp,
alone to burn at this late hour, bathed her shoul-
ders and bosom in its mysterious light, her per-
fect form, which no eye ever had contemplated,
and never could contemplate if Yann did not
marry her. She knew her face was beautiful, but
52
The Second Meeting
she was unconscious of the beauty of her figure.
In this remote land, among daughters of fishers,
beauty of shape is almost part of the race ; it is
scarcely ever noticed, and even the least respect-
able women are ashamed to parade it.
Gaud began to unbraid her tresses, coiled in
the shape of a snail-shell and rolled round her
ears, and two plaits fell upon her shoulders like
weighty serpents. She drew them up into a
crown on the top of her head this was comfort-
able for sleeping so that, by reason of her
straight profile, she looked like a Roman vestal.
She still held up her arms, and biting her lip,
she slowly ran her fingers through the golden
mass, like a child playing with a toy, while think-
ing of something else ; and again letting it fall,
she quickly unplaited it to spread it out ; soon
she was covered with her own locks, which fell
to her knees, looking like some Druidess.
And sleep having come, notwithstanding love
and an impulse to weep, she threw herself roughly
in her bed, hiding her face in the silken masses
floating round her outspread like a veil.
In her hut in Ploubazlanec, Granny Moan,
who was on the other and darker side of her life,
had also fallen to sleep the frozen sleep of old
age dreaming of her grandson and of death.
53
On the Icy Sea
And at this same hour, on board the Marie,
on the Northern Sea, which was very heavy on
this particular evening, Yann and Sylvestre the
two longed-for rovers sang ditties to one an-
other, and went on gaily with their fishing in the
everlasting daylight.
CHAPTER VI
NEWS FROM HOME
ABOUT a month later, around Iceland, the
weather was of that rare kind that the sailors call
a dead calm ; in other words, in the air nothing
moved, as if all the breezes were exhausted and
their task done.
The sky was covered with a white veil, which
darkened towards its lower border near the ho-
rizon, and gradually passed into dull gray leaden
tints ; over this the still waters threw a pale light,
which fatigued the eyes and chilled the gazer
through and through. All at once, liquid designs
played over the surface, such light evanescent
rings as one forms by breathing on a mirror.
The sheen of the waters seemed covered with a
net of faint patterns, which intermingled and re-
formed, rapidly disappearing. Everlasting night
54
News from Home
or everlasting day, one could scarcely say what
it was ; the sun, which pointed to no special
hour, remained fixed, as if presiding over the
fading glory of dead things ; it appeared but as a
mere ring, being almost without substance, and
magnified enormously by a shifting halo.
Yann and Sylvestre, leaning against one an-
other, sang " Jean-Frangois de Nantes," the song
without an end ; amused by its very monotony,
looking at one another from the corner of their
eyes as if laughing at the childish fun, with which
they began the verses over and over again, trying
to put fresh spirit into them each time. Their
cheeks were rosy under the sharp freshness of the
morning : the pure air they breathed was strength-
ening, and they inhaled it deep down in their
chests, the very fountain of all vigorous existence.
And yet, around them, was a semblance of non-
existence, of a world either finished or not yet
created ; the light itself had no warmth ; all
things seemed without motion, and as if chilled
for eternity under the great ghostly eye that rep-
resented the sun.
The Marie projected over the sea a shadow
long and black as night, or rather appearing deep
green in the midst of the polished surface, which
K tlccted all the purity of the heavens ; in this
' 55
On the Icy Sea
shadowed part, which had no glitter, could be
plainly distinguished through the transparency,
myriads upon myriads of fish, all alike, gliding
slowly in the same direction, as if bent towards
the goal of their perpetual travels. They were
cod, performing their evolutions all as parts of a
single body, stretched full length in the same
direction, exactly parallel, offering the effect of
gray streaks, unceasingly agitated by a quick
motion that gave a look of fluidity to the mass
of dumb lives. Sometimes, with a sudden quick
movement of the tail, all turned round at the
same time, showing the sheen of their silvered
sides ; and the same movement was repeated
throughout the entire shoal by slow undulations,
as if a thousand metal blades had each thrown a
tiny flash of lightning from under the surface.
The sun, already very low, lowered further ;
so night had decidedly come. As the great
ball of flame descended into the leaden-coloured
zones that surrounded the sea, it grew yellow,
and its outer rim became more clear and solid.
Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were
but the moon. Yet it still gave out light and
looked quite near in the immensity ; it seemed
that by going in a ship, only so far as the edge
of the horizon, one might collide with the great
56
News from Home
mournful globe, floating in the air just a few
yards above the water.
Fishing was going on well ; looking into the
calm water, one could see exactly what took
place ; how the cod came to bite, with a greedy
spring ; then, feeling themselves hooked, wrig-
gled about, as if to hook themselves still firmer.
And every moment, with rapid action, the fish-
ermen hauled in their lines, hand overhand,
throwing the fish to the man who was to clean
them and flatten them out.
The Paimpol fleet was scattered over the
quiet mirror, animating the desert. Here and
there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere
form's sake, considering there was no breeze.
They were like clear white outlines upon the
greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing
off Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade
that ladies' yachting was no name for it.
" Jean Francis de Nantes ;
Jean Francois,
Jean Frangois ! "
So they sang, like a couple of children.
Yann little troubled whether or no he was
handsome and good-looking. He was boyish
only with Sylvestre, it is true, and sang and
joked with no other; on the contrary, he was
57
On the Icy Sea
rather distant with the others and proud and dis-
dainful very willing though, when his help was
required, and always kind and obliging when not
irritated.
So the twain went on singing their song,
with two others, a few steps off, singing another,
a dirge a clashing of sleepiness, health, and
vague melancholy. But they did not feel dull,
and the hours flew by.
Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in
the iron range, and the hatch was kept shut, so
as to give the appearance of night there for those
who needed sleep. They required but little air
to sleep ; indeed, less robust fellows, brought up
in towns, would have wanted more. They used
to go to bed after the watch at irregular times,
just when they felt inclined, hours counting for
little in this never-fading light. And they always
slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness
or bad dreams.
" Jean Frangois de Nantes ;
Jean Francois,
Jean Francois ! "
They looked attentively at some almost im-
perceptible object, far off on the horizon, some
faint smoke rising from the waters like a tiny
jot of another gray tint slightly darker than the
58
News from Home
sky's. Their eyes were used to plumbing depths,
and they had seen it.
"A sail, a sail, thereaway !"
" I have an idea," said the skipper, staring at-
tentively, " that it's a government cruiser coming
on her inspection-round."
This faint smoke brought news of home to
the sailors, and among others, a letter we wot
of, from an old grandam, written by the hand of
a beautiful girl. Slowly the steamer approached
till they perceived her black hull. Yes, it was
the cruiser, making the inspection in these west-
ern fjords.
At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up,
fresher yet to inhale, and began to tarnish the
surface of the still waters in patches; it traced
designs in a bluish green tint over the shining
mirror, and scattering in trails, these fanned out
or branched off like a coral tree ; all very rapidly
with a low murmur ; it was like a signal of awak-
ening foretelling the end of this intense torpor.
The sky, its veil being rent asunder, grew clear ;
the vapours fell down on the horizon, massing in
heaps like slate-coloured wadding, as if to form a
soft bank to the sea. The two ever-during mir-
rors between which the fishermen lived, the one
on high and the one beneath, recovered their
59
On the Icy Sea
deep lucidity, as if the mists tarnishing them had
been brushed away.
The weather was changing in a rapid way
that foretold no good. Smacks began to arrive
from all points of the immense plane ; first, all
the French smacks in the vicinity, from Brittany,
Normandy, Boulogne, or Dunkirk. Like birds
flocking to a call, they assembled round the
cruiser; from the apparently empty corners of
the horizon, others appeared on every side ; their
tiny gray wings were seen till they peopled the
pallid waste.
No longer slowly drifting, for they had
spread out their sails to the new and cool breeze,
and cracked on all to approach.
Far-off Iceland also reappeared, as if she
would fain come near them also ; showing her
great mountains of bare stones more distinctly
than ever.
And there arose a new Iceland of similar
colour, which little by little took a more definite
form, and none the less was purely illusive, its
gigantic mountains merely a condensation of
mists. The sun, sinking low, seemed incapable
of ever rising again over all things, though glow-
ing through this phantom island so tangibly that
it seemed placed in front of it. Incompre-
60
News from Home
hensible sight ! no longer was it surrounded by
a halo, but its disc had become firmly spread,
rather like some faded yellow planet slowly de-
caying and suddenly checked there in the heart
of chaos.
The cruiser, which had stopped, was fully
surrounded by the fleet of Icelanders. From
all boats were lowered, like so many nut-shells,
and conveyed their strong, long-bearded men, in
barbaric-looking dresses, to the steamer.
Like children, all had something to beg for ;
remedies for petty ailments, materials for repairs,
change of diet, and home letters. Others came,
sent by their captains, to be clapped in irons, to
expiate some fault ; as they had all been in the
navy, they took this as a matter of course.
When the narrow deck of the cruiser was
blocked-up by four or five of these hulking fel-
lows, stretched out with the bilboes round their
feet, the old sailor who had just chained them up
called out to them, " Roll o' one side, my lads, to
let us work, d'ye hear ? " which they obediently
did with a grin.
There were a great many letters this time for
the Iceland fleet Among the rest, two for " La
Marie, Captain Guermeur"; one addressed to
" Monsieur Gaos, Yann," the other to " Monsieur
61
On the Icy Sea
Moan, Sylvestre." The latter had come by way
of Rykavyk, where the cruiser had taken it on.
The purser, diving into his post-bags of sail-
cloth, distributed them all round, often finding it
hard to read the addresses, which were not
always written very skilfully, while the captain
kept on saying : " Look alive there, look alive !
the barometer is falling."
He was rather anxious to see all the tiny
yawls afloat, and so many vessels assembled in
that dangerous region.
Yann and Sylvestre used to read their letters
together. This time they read them by the light
of the midnight sun, shining above the horizon,
still like a dead luminary. Sitting together, a
little to one side, in a retired nook of the deck,
their arms about each other's shoulders, they
very slowly read, as if to enjoy more thoroughly
the news sent them from home.
In Yann's letter Sylvestre got news of Marie
Gaos, his little sweetheart ; in Sylvestre's, Yann
read all Granny Moan's funny stories, for she
had not her like for amusing the absent ones you
will remember ; and the last paragraph concern-
ing him came up : the " word of greeting to
young Gaos."
When the letters were got through, Sylvestre
62
News from Home
timidly showed his to his big friend, to try and
make him admire the writing of it.
" Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann ?"
But Yann, who knew very well whose hand
had traced it, turned aside, shrugging his shoul-
ders, as much as to say that he was worried too
often about this Gaud girl.
So Sylvestre carefully folded up the poor, re-
jected paper, put it into its envelope and all in
his jersey, next his breast, saying to himself
sadly : " For sure, they'll never marry. But
what on earth can he have to say against her ? "
Midnight was struck on the cruiser's bell.
And yet our couple remained sitting there, think-
ing of home, the absent ones, a thousand things
in reverie. At this same moment the everlasting
sun, which had dipped its lower edge into the
waters, began slowly to reascend, and lo ! this
was morning.
PART II
IN THE BRETON LAND
CHAPTER I
THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM
THE Northern sun had taken another aspect
and changed its colour, opening the new day by a
sinister morn. Completely free from its veil, it
gave forth its grand rays, crossing the sky in fit-
ful flashes, foretelling nasty weather. During the
past few days it had been too fine to last. The
winds blew upon that swarm of boats, as if to
clear the sea of them ; and they began to disperse
and flee, like an army put to rout, before the
warning written in the air, beyond possibility to
misread. Harder and harder it blew, making
men and ships quake alike.
And the still tiny waves began to run one
after another and to melt together ; at first they
were frosted over with white foam spread out in
patches ; and then, with a whizzing sound, arose
smoke as though they burned and scorched, and
the whistling grew louder every moment. Fish-
catching was no longer thought of ; it was their
work on deck. The fishing lines had been drawn
67
In the Breton Land
in, and all hurried to make sail and some to seek
for shelter in the fjords, while yet others pre-
ferred to round the southern point of Iceland,
finding it safer to stand for the open sea, with
the free space about them, and run before the
stern wind. They could still see each other a
while : here and there, above the trough of the
sea, sails wagged as poor wearied birds fleeing ;
the masts tipped, but ever and anon righted, like
the weighted pith figures that similarly resume
an erect attitude when released after being blown
down.
The illimitable cloudy roof, erstwhile com-
pacted towards the western horizon, in an island
form, began to break up on high and send its
fragments over the surface. It seemed inde-
structible, for vainly did the winds stretch it, pull
and toss it asunder, continually tearing away dirk
strips, which they waved over the pale yellow
sky, gradually becoming intensely and icily livid.
Ever more strongly grew the wind that threw all
things in turmoil.
The cruiser had departed for shelter at Ice-
land ; some fishers alone remained upon the
seething sea, which now took an ill-boding look
and a dreadful colour. All hastily made prepara-
tions for bad weather. Between one and an-
68
The Plaything of the Storm
other the distance grew greater, till some were
lost sight of.
The waves, curling up in scrolls, continued
to run after each other, to reassemble and climb
on one another, and between them the hollows
deepened.
In a few hours, everything was belaboured
and overthrown in these regions that had been
so calm the day before, and instead of the past
silence, the uproar was deafening. The present
agitation was a dissolving view, unconscientious
and useless, and quickly accomplished. What
was the object of it all ? What a mystery of
blind destruction it was !
The clouds continued to stream out on high,
out of the west continually, racing and darkening
all. A few yellow clefts remained, through which
the sun shot its rays in volleys. And the now
greenish water was striped more thickly with
snowy froth.
By midday the Marie was made completely
snug for dirty weather; her hatches battened
down, and her sails storm-reefed ; she bounded
lightly and elastic ; for all the horrid confusion,
she seemed to be playing like the porpoises, also
amused in storms. With her foresail taken in,
she simply scudded before the wind.
69
In the Breton Land
It had become quite dark overhead, where
stretched the heavily crushing vault. Studded
with shapeless gloomy spots, it appeared a set
dome, unless a steadier gaze ascertained that
everything was in the full rush of motion ; end-
less gray veils were drawn along, unceasingly
followed by others, from the profundities of the
sky-line draperies of darkness, pulled from a
never-ending roll.
The Marie fled faster and faster before the
wind ; and time fled also before some invisible
and mysterious power. The gale, the sea, the
Marie, and the clouds were all lashed into one
great madness of hasty flight towards the same
point. The fastest of all was the wind ; then
the huge seething billows, heavier and slower,
toiling after ; and, lastly, the smack, dragged into
the general whirl. The waves tracked her down
with their white crests, tumbling onward in con-
tinual motion, and she though always being
caught up to and outrun still managed to elude
them by means of the eddying waters she spurned
in her wake, upon which they vented their fury.
In this similitude of flight the sensation particu-
larly experienced was of buoyancy, the delight
of being carried along without effort or trouble,
in a springy sort of a way. The Marie mounted
The Plaything of the Storm
over the waves without any shaking, as if the
wind had lifted her clean up ; and her subsequent
descent was a slide. She almost slid backward,
though, at times, the mountains lowering before
her as if continuing to run, and then she suddenly
found herself dropped into one of the measure-
less hollows that evaded her also ; without injury
she sounded its horrible depths, amid a loud
splashing of water, which did not even sprinkle
her decks, but was blown on and on like every-
thing else, evaporating in finer and finer spray
until it was thinned away to nothing. In the
trough it was darker, and when each wave had
passed the men looked behind them to see if the
next to appear were higher ; it came upon them
with furious contortions, and curling crests, over
its transparent emerald body, seeming to shriek :
" Only let me catch you, and I'll swallow you
whole ! "
But this never came to pass, for, as a feather,
the billows softly bore them up and then down
as gently ; they felt it pass under them, with all
boiling surf and thunderous roar. And so on
continually, but the sea getting heavier and heav-
ier. One after another rushed the waves, more
and more gigantic, like a long chain of mountains,
with yawning valleys. And the madness of all
VOL - 20 7 1 Romances 6
In the Breton Land
this movement, under the ever-darkening sky,
accelerated the height of the intolerable clamour.
Yann and Sylvestre stood at the helm, still
singing "Jean Frangois de Nantes" ; intoxicated
with the quiver of speed, they sang out loudly,
laughing at their inability to hear themselves in
this prodigious wrath of the wind.
" I say, lads, does it smell musty up here
too ? " called out Guermeur to them, passing his
bearded face up through the half-open hatchway,
like Jack-in-the-box.
Oh, no ! it certainly did not smell musty on
deck. They were not at all frightened, being
quite conscious of what man can cope with, hav-
ing faith in the strength of their barkey and their
arms. And they furthermore relied upon the
protection of that china Virgin, which had voy-
aged forty years to Iceland, and so often had
danced the dance of this day, smiling perpetually
between her branches of artificial flowers.
Generally speaking, they could not see far
around them ; a few hundred yards off, all seemed
entombed in the fearfully big billows, with their
frothing crests shutting out the view. They felt
as if in an enclosure, continually altering shape ;
and, besides, all things seemed drowned in the
aqueous smoke, which fled before them like a
72
The Plaything of the Storm
cloud with the greatest rapidity over the heaving
surface. But from time to time a gleam of sun-
light pierced through the north-west sky, through
which a squall threatened ; a shuddering light
would appear from above, a rather spun-out dim-
ness, making the dome of the heavens denser
than before, and feebly lighting up the surge.
This new light was sad to behold ; far-off
glimpses as they were, that gave too strong an
understanding that the same chaos and the same
fury lay on all sides, even far, far behind the
seemingly void horizon ; there was no limit to
its expanse of storm, and they stood alone in
its midst !
A tremendous tumult arose all about, like
the prelude of an apocalypse, spreading the terror
of the ultimate end of the earth. And amidst it
thousands of voices could be heard above, shriek-
ing, bellowing, calling, as from a great distance.
It was only the wind, the great motive breath of
all this disorder, the voice of the invisible power
ruling all. Then came other voices, nearer and
less indefinite, threatening destruction, and mak-
ing the water shudder and hiss as if on burning
coals ; the disturbance increased in terror.
Notwithstanding their flight, the sea began
to gain on them, to "bury them up," as they
73
In the Breton Land
phrased it : first the spray fell down on them
from behind, and masses of water thrown with
such violence as to break everything in their
course. The waves were ever increasing, and the
tempest tore off their ridges and hurled them,
too, upon the poop, like a demon's game of
snowballing, till dashed to atoms on the bul-
warks. Heavier masses fell on the planks with
a hammering sound, till the Marie shivered
throughout, as if in pain. Nothing could be
distinguished over the side, because of the screen
of creamy foam ; and when the winds soughed
more loudly, this foam formed into whirling
spouts, like the dust of the way in summer time.
At length a heavy rain fell crossways, and soon
straight up and down, and how all these elements
of destruction yelled together, clashed and inter-
locked, no tongue can tell.
Yann and Sylvestre stuck staunchly to the
helm, covered with their waterproofs, hard and
shiny as sharkskin ; they had firmly secured them
at the throat by tarred strings, and likewise at
wrists and anldes to prevent the water from run-
ning in, and the rain only poured off them ;
when it fell too heavily, they arched their
backs, and held all the more stoutly, not to be
thrown over the board. Their cheeks burned,
74
The Plaything of the Storm
and every minute their breath was beaten out or
stopped.
After each sea was shipped and rushed over,
they exchanged glances, grinning at the crust of
salt settled in their beards.
In the long run though, this became tire-
some, an unceasing fury, which always promised
a worse visitation. The fury of men and beasts
soon falls and dies away ; but the fury of lifeless
things, without cause or object, is as mysterious
as life and death, and has to be borne for very
" Jean Frangois de Nantes ;
Jean Francois,
Jean Francois ! "
Through their pale lips still came the refrain of
the old song, but as from a speaking automaton,
unconsciously taken up from time to time. The
excess of motion and uproar had made them
dumb, and despite their youth their smiles were
insincere, and their teeth chattered with cold;
their eyes, half-closed under their raw, throbbing
eyelids, remained glazed in terror. Lashed to
the helm, like marble caryatides, they only moved
their numbed blue hands, almost without think-
ing, by sheer muscular habit. With their hair
streaming and mouths contracted, they had be-
come changed, all the primitive wildncss in man
75
In the Breton Land
appearing again. They could not see one an-
other truly, but still were aware of being com-
panioned. In the instants of greatest danger,
each time that a fresh mountain of water rose
behind them, came to overtower them, and crash
horribly against their boat, one of their hands
would move as if involuntarily, to form the sign
of the cross. They no more thought of Gaud
than of any other woman, or any marrying. The
travail was lasting too long, and they had no
thoughts left. The intoxication of noise, cold,
and fatigue drowned all in their brain. They
were merely two pillars of stiffened human flesh,
held up by the helm ; two strong beasts, cower-
ing, but determined they would not be over-
whelmed.
CHAPTER II
A PARDONABLE RUSH
IN Brittany, towards the end of September,
on an already chilly day, Gaud was walking alone
across the common of Ploubazlanec, in the direc-
tion of Pors-Even.
The Icelanders had returned a month back,
except two, which had perished in that June gale.
76
A Pardonable Ruse
But the Marie had held her own, and Yann and
all her crew were peacefully at home.
Gaud felt very troubled at the idea of going
to Yann's house. She had seen him once since
the return from Iceland, when they had all gone
together to see poor little Sylvestre off to the
navy. They accompanied him to the coaching-
house, he blubbering a little and his grandmother
weeping, and he had started to join the fleet at
Brest.
Yann, who had come also to bid good-bye to
his little friend, had feigned to look aside when
Gaud looked at him, and as there were many
people round the coach to see the other sailors
off, and parents assembled to say good-bye, the
pair had not a chance to speak. So, at last, she
had formed a strong resolution, and rather tim-
idly wended her way towards the Gaos's home.
Her father had formerly had mutual interests
with Yann's father (complicated business, which,
with peasants and fishers alike, seems to be end-
less), and owed him a hundred francs for the
sale of a boat, which had just taken place in a
raffle.
" You ought to let me carry the money to
him, father," she had said. "I shall be pleased
to see Marie Gaos. I never have been so far in
77
In the Breton Land
Ploubazlanec, either, and I shall enjoy the long
walk."
To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious
to know Yann's family, which she might some
day enter ; and she also wanted to see the house
and village.
In one of their last chats, before his departure,
Sylvestre had explained to her, in his own way,
his friend's shyness.
" D'ye see, Gaud, he's like this, he won't
marry anybody, that's his idea ; he only loves the
sea, and one day even, in fun, he said he had
promised to be wedded to it."
Whereupon, she forgave him all his peculiar
ways, and remembered only his beautiful open
smile on the night of the ball, and she hoped on
and on.
If she were to meet him in his home, of
course she would say nothing ; she had no inten-
tion of being so bold. But if he saw her closely
again, perhaps he might speak.
Of Sinister Portent
CHAPTER III
OF SINISTER PORTENT
SHE had been walking for the last hour, lightly
yet oppressed, inhaling the healthy open breeze
whistling up the roads to where they crossed and
Calvaires were erected, ghastly highway orna-
ments of our Saviour on His cross, to which
Bretons are given.
From time to time she passed through small
fishing villages, which are beaten about by the
winds the whole year through till of the colour
of the rocks. In one of these hamlets, where
the path narrows suddenly between dark walls,
and between the whitewashed roofs, high and
pointed like Celtic huts, a tavern sign-board made
her smile. It was " The Chinese Cider Cellars."
On it were painted two grotesque figures, dressed
in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking
cider. No doubt the whim of some old sailor
who had been in China. She saw all on her way ;
people who are greatly engrossed in the object
of a journey always find more amusement than
others in its thousand details.
The tiny village was far behind her now, and
as she advanced in this last promontory of the
79
In the Breton Land
Breton land, the trees around her became more
scarce, and the country more mournful.
The ground was undulating and rocky, and
from all the heights the open sea could be seen.
No more trees now ; nothing but the shorn heaths
with their green reeds, and here and there the
consecrated crosses rose, their outstretched arms
outlined against the sky, giving the whole country
the aspect of a cemetery.
At one of the cross-ways, guarded by a colossal
image of Christ, she hesitated between two roads
running among thorny slopes.
A child happening to pass, came to her rescue :
" Good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud ! "
It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann's
wee sisters. Gaud kissed her and asked her if
her parents were at home.
" Father and mother are, yes. But brother
Yann," said the little one, without intent, of
course, " has gone to Loguivy ; but I don't think
he'll be very late home again."
So he was not there ? Again destiny was
between them, everywhere and always. She
thought at first of putting off her visit to an-
other day. But the little lass who had met her
might mention the fact. What would they
think at Pors-Even? So she decided to go
80
Of Sinister Portent
on, but loitering so as to give Yann time to re-
turn.
As she neared his village, in this lost country,
all things seemed rougher and more desolate. Sea
breezes that made men stronger, made shorter
and more stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds
were scattered over the paths, leaves from growths
in another element, proving the existence of a
neighbouring world ; their briny odour mingled
with the perfume of the heather.
Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk,
who could be seen a long way off, over the bare
country, outlined and magnified against the high
sea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the
great sea, in passing her wished her good-day.
Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs, manly and de-
termined under their easy caps.
Time did not go quickly enough, and she
really did not know what to do to lengthen the
way ; these people seemed surprised at seeing her
walk so slowly.
What could Yann be doing at Loguivy?
Courting the girls, perhaps.
Ah ! if she only had known how little he
troubled his head about them ! He had simply
gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket-
maker, who was the only one in the country
Si
In the Breton Land
knowing how to weave lobster pots. His mind
was very free from love just now.
She passed a chapel, at such a height it could
be seen remotely. It was a little gray old chapel
in the midst of the barren. A clump of trees,
gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to
it, pushed by some invisible hand all on one side.
It was that same hand that had wrecked the
fishers' boats, the eternal hand of the western
winds, and had twisted all the branches of the
coast trees in the direction of the waves and of
the off-sea breezes. The old trees had grown
awry and dishevelled, bending their backs under
the time-honoured strength of that hand.
Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as
the chapel in sight was that of Pors-Even ; so
she stopped there to win a little more time.
A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclos-
ure containing tombstones. Everthing was of the
same colour, chapel, trees, and graves ; the whole
spot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind ;
the stones, the knotty branches, and the granite
saints, placed in the wall niches, were covered by
the same grayish lichen, splashed pale yellow.
On one of the wooden crosses this name was
written in large letters :
" GAOS. GAOS, JOEL, 80 years."
82
Of Sinister Portent
Yes, this was the old grandfather she knew
that for the sea had not wanted this old sailor.
And many of Yann's relatives, besides, slept
here ; it was only natural, and she might have
expected it ; nevertheless, the name upon the
tomb had made a sad impression.
To waste a little more time, she entered to
say a prayer under the old cramped porch, worn
away and daubed over with whitewash. But she
stopped again with a sharp pain at her heart.
"Gaos" again that name, engraved upon one
of the slabs erected in memory of those who die
at sea.
She read this inscription :
" To the Memory of
GAOS, JEAN-LOUIS,
Aged 24 years ; seaman on board the Marguerite.
Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877.
May he rest in peace I "
Iceland always Iceland ! All over the porch
were wooden slabs bearing the names of dead
sailors. It was the place reserved for the
shipwrecked of Pors-Even. Filled with a
dark foreboding she was sorry to have gone
there.
In Paimpol church she had seen many such
inscriptions ; but in this village the empty tomb
In the Breton Land
of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad because
so lone and humble. On each side of the door-
way was a granite seat for the widows and moth-
ers ; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like
a grotto, was guarded by an old image of the
Virgin, coloured red, with large, staring eyes,
looking most like Cybele the first goddess of
the earth.
"Gaos!" Again!
" To the Memory of
GAOS, FRANCOIS,
Husband of Anne-Marie le Coaster,
Captain on board the Paimpolais,
Lost off Iceland, between the ist and 3d of May, 1877, *
With the twenty-three men of his crew.
May they rest in peace ! "
And, lower down, were two cross-bones under
a black skull with green eyes, a simple but ghastly
emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism of a
bygone age.
" Gaos, Gaos ! " The name was everywhere.
As she read, thrills of sweet tenderness came over
her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a
feeling of hopelessness. Nay, he never would
be hers ! How could she tear him from the sea
where so many other Gaoses had gone down, an-
cestors and brothers, who must have loved the
84
Of Sinister Portent
sea like he ! She entered the chapel. It was
almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy
frames. And there, her heart full of tears that
would better have fallen, she knelt to pray before
the colossal saints, surrounded by common flow-
ers, touching the vaulted roof with their massive
heads. Outside, the rising wind began to sob as
if it brought the death-gasps of the drowned men
back to their Fatherland.
Night drew near ; she rose and went on her
way. After having asked in the village, she
found the home of the Gaos family, which was
built up against a high clifT. A dozen granite
steps led up to it. Trembling a little at the
thought that Yann might have returned, she
crossed the small garden where chrysanthemums
and veronicas grew.
When she was indoors, she explained she had
come to bring the money for the boat, and they
very politely asked her to sit down, to await the
father's return, as he was the one to sign the re-
ceipt for her. Amidst all, her eyes searched for
Yann but did not see him.
They were very busy in the home. Already
they were cutting out the new waterproof cloth
on the clean white table, and getting it ready for
the approaching Iceland season.
In the Breton Land
" You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it's like this :
every man wants two new suits."
They explained to her how they set to work
to make them, and to render their seams water-
proof with tar, for they were for wet weather
wear. And while they worked, Gaud looked at-
tentively around the home of these Gaoses.
It was furnished after the traditional manner
of all Breton cottages ; an immense chimney-
place took up one whole end, and on the sides
of the walls the Breton beds, bunks, as on ship-
board, were placed one above another. But it
was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of other
peasants, which are generally half-hidden by the
wayside ; it was all fresh and clean, as the homes
of seamen usually are. Several little Gaoses were
there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of
Yann ; without counting two big ones, who were
already out at sea. And, besides, there was a
little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others.
"We adopted her last year," explained the
mother ; " we had enough children as it was, of
course, but what else could we do, Mademoiselle
Gaud, for her daddy belonged to the Maria-Dieu-
faime, lost last season off Iceland, as you know ;
so the neighbours divided the little ones between
them, and this one fell to our lot."
86
Of Sinister Portent
Hearing herself spoken of, the adopted child
hung her pretty head and smiled, hiding herself
behind little Laumec Gaos, her favourite.
There was a look of comfort all over the
place, and radiant health bloomed on all the chil-
dren's rosy cheeks.
They received Gaud very profusely, like a
great lady whose visit was an honour to the fam-
ily. She was taken upstairs, up a newly-built
wooden staircase, to see the room above, which
was the glory of the home. She remembered
the history of its construction ; it was after the
finding of a derelict vessel in the Channel, which
luck had befallen Yann's father and his cousin
the pilot.
The room was very gay and pretty in its
whiteness ; there were two town beds in it, with
pink chintz curtains, and a large table in the
middle. Through the window the whole of
Paimpol could be seen, with the Icelanders at
anchor off shore, and the channel through which
they passed.
She did not dare question, but she would
have liked to have known where Yann slept ;
probably as a child he had slept downstairs in
one of the antique cupboard-beds. But perhaps
now he slept under those pink draperies. She
37
In the Breton Land
would have loved to have known all the details
of his life, especially what he did in the long
winter evenings.
A heavy footstep on the stairs made her
tremble. But it was not Yann, though a man
much like him ; notwithstanding his white hair,
as tall and as straight. It was old father Gaos
returning from fishing.
After he had saluted her and asked her the
object of her visit, he signed her receipt for her,
which was rather a long operation, as his hand
was not very steady, he explained.
But he would not accept the hundred francs
as a final payment, but only as an instalment ;
lie would speak to M. Me"vel again about it.
Whereupon Gaud, to whom money was nothing,
smiled imperceptibly ; she had fancied the busi-
ness was not quite terminated, and this just
suited her.
They made something like excuses for Yann's
absence ; as if they found it more orthodox for
the whole family to assemble to receive her. Per-
haps the father had guessed, with the shrewdness
of an old salt, that his son was not indifferent to
this beautiful heiress ; for he rather insisted upon
talking about him.
" It's very queer," said he, " the boy's never
88
Of Sinister Portent
so late out. He went over to Loguivy, Mad-
emoiselle Gaud, to buy some lobster baskets ; as
you know, lobster-catching is our main winter
fishery."
She dreamily lengthened out her call, al-
though conscious that it was too long already,
and feeling a tug at her heart at the idea that
she would not see him after all.
" A well-conducted young man like Yann
what can he be doing ? Surely he's not at the
inn. We don't fear that for our lad. I don't
say that now and then, of a Sunday, with his
mates You know, Mademoiselle Gaud, what
them sailors are. Eh ! ye know, he's but a young
chap, and must have some liberty now and again.
But it's very rare with him to break out, for he's
a straight-goer ; we can say that."
But night was falling, and the work had been
folded up. The little ones on the benches around
drew closer to one another, saddened by the grey
dismal gloaming, and eyed Gaud hard, seeming
to say
" Why doesn't she go now ? "
On the hearth, the flames burned redder in
the midst of the falling shadows.
" You ought to stay and have a bit o' supper
with us, Mademoiselle Gaud."
89
In the Breton Land
" Oh, no ! I couldn't think of it ! " The blood
rushed to her face at the idea of having remained
so late. She got up and took her leave.
Yann's father also rose to accompany her part
of the way, anyhow as far as a lonely nook where
the old trees make a dark lane.
As they walked along together, she felt a sud-
den sympathy of respect and tenderness towards
him ; she would have liked to have spoken as to
a father in the sudden gushes of feeling that came
over her ; but the words were stifled in her throat,
and she said not a word.
And so they went their way, in the cold even-
ing wind, full of the odour of the sea, passing here
and there, on the barren heath, some poor hovels,
where beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed
themselves up for the night ; dark and neglected
they looked under the weather-beaten roofs ; these
crosses, clumps of reeds, and boulders they left
behind.
What a great way off Pors-Even was, and
what a time she had remained !
Now and then they met folks returning from
Paimpol or Loguivy ; and as she watched the
shadows approach, each time she thought it was
Yann ; but it was easy to recognise him at a good
distance off, and so she was quickly undeceived.
90
His Reluctance
Every moment her feet caught in the brown
trailing plants, tangled like hair, which were sea-
weeds littering the pathway.
At the Cross of Plouezoc'h she bade good-
bye to the old man, and begged him to return.
The lights of Paimpol were already in view, and
there was no more occasion to be afraid.
So hope was over for this time. Who could
tell her when she might see Yann again ?
An excuse to return to Pors-Even would
have been easy ; but it would really look too bad
to begin her quest all over again. She would
have to be braver and prouder than that. If only
her little confidant Sylvestre had been there, she
might have asked him to go and fetch Yann, so
that there could be some explanation. But he
was gone now, and for how many years ?
CHAPTER IV
HIS RELUCTANCE
"ME get married ?" said Yann to his parents
that same evening. " Me get married ? Good
heavens, why should I ? Shall I ever be as happy
as here with ye ? no troubles, no tiffs with any
one, and warm soup ready for me every night
9*
In the Breton Land
when I come home from' sea. Oh ! I quite un-
derstand that you mean the girl that came here
to-day, but what's such a rich girl got to do with
us ? Tisn't clear to my thinking. And it'll be
neither her, nor any other. It's all settled, I
won't marry it ain't to my liking."
The two old Gaoses looked at one another
in silence, deeply disappointed, for, after having
talked it over together, they were pretty well
sure that this young lady would not refuse their
handsome Yann. But they did not try to argue,
knowing how useless that would be. The mother
lowered her head, and said no more ; she respected
the will of this son, her eldest born, who was all
but the head of the family ; although he was al-
ways tender and gentle with her, more obedient
than a child in the petty things of life, he long
ago had been her absolute master for the great
ones, eluding all restraint with a quiet though
savage independence. He never sat up late,
being in the habit, like other fishermen, of rising
before break of day. And after supper at eight
o'clock, he had given another satisfactory look to
his baskets and new nets from Loguivy, and be-
gan to undress calm to all appearances, and went
up to sleep in the pink-curtained bed, which he
shared with his little brother Laumec.
92
Sailors at the Play
CHAPTER V
SAILORS AT THE PLAY
FOR the last fortnight Gaud's little confidant,
Sylvestre, had been quartered in Brest ; very
much out of his element, but very quiet and
obedient to discipline. He wore his open blue
sailor-collar and red-balled, flat, woollen cap,
with a frank, fearless look, and was noble and
dignified in his sailor garb, with his free step and
tall figure, but at the bottom of his heart he was
still the same innocent boy as ever, and thinking
of his dear old grandam.
One evening he had got tipsy together with
some lads from his parts, simply because it is the
custom ; and they had all returned to the bar-
racks together arm-in-arm, singing out as lustily
as they could.
And one Sunday, too, they had all gone to
the theatre, in the upper galleries. A melodrama
was being played, and the sailors, exasperated
against the villain, greeted him with a howl,
which they all roared together, like a blast of
the Atlantic cyclones.
93
In the Breton Land
CHAPTER VI
ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE
ONE day Sylvestre was summoned before the
officer of his company ; and they told him he
was among those ordered out to China in the
squadron for Formosa. He had been pretty
well expecting it for some time, as he had heard
those who read the papers say that out there the
war seemed never-ending.
And because of the urgency of the departure,
he was informed at the same time that he would
not be able to have the customary leave for his
home farewells ; in five days' time he would have
to pack up and be off.
Then a bitter pain came over him ; though
charmed at the idea of far-off travels amid the
unknown and of the war. There also was agony
at the thought of leaving all he knew and loved,
with the vague apprehension that he might never
more return.
A thousand noises rang in his head. Around
was the bustle of the barrack-rooms, where hun-
dreds of others were called up, like himself,
chosen for the Chinese squadron. And rapidly
he wrote to his old grandmother, with a stump
94
Moan's Sweetheart
of pencil, crouching on the floor, alone in his
own feverish dream, though in the thick of the
continual hurry and hubbub amidst all the young
sailors hurried away like himself.
CHAPTER VII
MOAN'S SWEETHEART
11 His sweetheart's a trifle old!" said the
others, a couple of days later, as they laughed
after Sylvestre and his grandmother, "but they
seem to get on fine together all the same."
It amused them to see the boy, for the first
time, walk through the streets of Recouvrance,
with a woman at his side, like the rest of them ;
and, bending towards her with a tender look,
whisper what seemed to be very soft nothings.
She was a very quick, diminutive person seen
from behind, with rather short skirts for the
fashion of the day ; and a scanty brown shawl,
and a high Paimpol coiffe. She, too, hanging on
his arm, turned towards him with an affectionate
.ice.
" A trifle old was his sweetheart !"
That's what the others called after him, we
say, but without spite, for any one could see that
VOL. 20 95 uances 6
In the Breton Land
she was his old granny, come up from the country.
She had come, too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified
at the news of his sudden departure ; for this
Chinese war had already cost Paimpol many
sailors. So she had scraped together all her
poor little savings, put her best Sunday dress
and a fresh clean coiffe in a box, and had set out
to kiss him once again.
She had gone straight to the barracks to ask
for him ; at first his adjutant had refused to let
him go out.
" If you've anything to say, my good woman,
go and speak to the captain yourself. There he
is, passing."
So she calmly walked up to him, and he
allowed himself to be won over.
" Send Moan to change his clothes, to go
out," said he.
All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in
his best attire, while the good old lady, to make
him laugh, of course, made a most inimitably
droll face and a mock curtsey at the adjutant
behind his back.
But when the grandson appeared in his full
uniform, with the inevitable turned-down collar,
leaving his throat bare, she was quite struck with
his beauty ; his black beard was cut into a sea-
Moan's Sweetheart
manly fashionable point by the barber, and his
cap was decked out with long floating ribbons,
with a golden anchor at each end. For the
moment she almost saw in him her son Pierre,
who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor
in the navy, and the remembrance of the far past,
with all its dead, stealthily shadowed the present
hour.
But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in-
arm they strolled on, happy to be together ; and
it was then that the others had pretended to see
in her his sweetheart, and voted her "a trifle
old."
She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an
inn kept by some people from Paimpol, which
had been recommended to her as rather cheap.
And then, still arm-in-arm, they had sauntered
through Brest, looking at the shop-windows.
There never were such funny stories told as
those she told her grandson to make him laugh ;
of course all in Paimpol Breton, so that the pass-
ers-by might not understand.
97
In the 13reton Land
CHAPTER VIII
OLD AND YOUNG
SHE stayed three days with him, three happy
days, though over them hung a dark and ominous
forecast ; one might as well call them three days
of respite.
At last she was forced to return to Ploubaz-
lanec, for she had come to the end of her little
savings, and Sylvestre was to embark the day
afterward. The sailors are always inexorably
kept in barracks the day before foreign cruises
(a custom that seems rather barbarous at first,
but which is a necessary precaution against the
" flings" they would have before leaving defi-
nitely).
Oh, that last day ! She had done her very
best to hatch up some more funny stories in her
head, to tell her boy just at the parting, but she
had remembered nothing no ; only tears had
welled up, and at every moment sobs choked her.
Hanging on his arm, she reminded him of a
thousand things he was not to forget to do, and
he also tried hard to repress his tears. They
had ended by going into a church to say their
prayers together.
98
Old and Young
It was by the night train that she went. To
save a few pence, they had gone on foot to the
station ; he carrying her box, and holding her on
his strong arm, upon which she weighed heavily.
She was so very, very tired poor old lady !
She had scarcely any strength left after the ex-
ertion of the last three or four days. Her shoul-
ders were bent under her brown shawl, and she
had no force to bear herself up ; her youngish
look was gone, and she felt the weight of her
seventy-six years.
Oh ! how her heart ached at the thought that
it was all over, and that in a few moments she
must leave him ! Was he really to go out so
far, to China, perhaps to slaughter. She still
had him there with her, quite close, her poor
hands could yet grasp him and yet he must go ;
all the strength of her will, all her tears, and all
her great heartrending despair all ! would noth-
ing be of avail to keep him back ?
With her ticket, and her lunch-basket, and
her mittens in her grasp, agitated, she gave him
her last blessing and advice, and he answered her
with an obedient "Ay, ay," bending his head
derly towards her and gazing lovingly at her,
in his soft childish way.
" Now then, old lady, you must make up
99
In the Breton Land
your mind plaguey quick if you want to go by
this train ! "
The engine whistled. Suddenly terrified at
the idea of losing the train, she tore her box
from Sylvestre's grasp, and flinging it down,
threw her arms round his neck in a last and su-
preme embrace.
Many people on the platform stared at them,
but not one smiled. Hustled about by the por-
ters, worn out and full of pain, she pressed into
the first carriage near ; the door was banged
quickly upon her, while Sylvestre, with all the
speed of a young sailor, rushed out of the station
to the rails beside the line to see the train pass.
A shrill screeching whistle, a noisy grinding
of the wheels, and his grandmother passed away,
leaving him leaning against the gate and swing-
ing up his cap with its flying ribbons, while she,
hanging out of the window of her third-class car-
riage, made an answering signal with her hand-
kerchief ; and for as long as she could see the
dark blue-clad figure, that was her child, followed
him with her eyes, throwing her whole soul into
that "good-bye!" kept back to the last, and
always uncertain of realization when sailors are
concerned.
Look long at your little Sylvestre, poor old
100
The Eastern Voyage
woman ; until the very latest moment, do not
lose sight of his fleeting shadow, which is fading
away for ever.
When she could see him no longer, she fell
back, completely crushing her still clean unrum-
pled cap, weeping and sobbing in the agony of
death itself.
He had turned away slowly, with his head
bent, and big tears falling down his cheeks. The
autumn night had closed in ; everywhere the gas
was flaring, and the sailors' riotous feasts had be-
gun anew. Paying no heed to anything about
him, he passed through Brest and over the Re-
couvrance Bridge, to the barracks.
" Whist ! here, you darling boy ! " called out
some nocturnal prowlers to him ; but he passed
on, and entering the barracks, flung himself,
down in his hammock, weeping, all alone, and
hardly sleeping until dawn.
CHAPTER IX
HIE EASTERN VOYAGE
SYLVESTRE was soon out on the ocean, rapidly
whisked away over the unknown seas, far more
blue than Iceland's. The ship that carried him
101
In the Breton Land
off to the confines of Asia was ordered to go at
full speed and stop nowhere. Ere long he felt
that he was far away, for the speed was unceasing,
and even without a care for the sea or the wind.
As he was a topman, he lived perched aloft, like
a bird, avoiding the soldiers crowded upon the
deck.
Twice they stopped, however, on the coast of
Tunis, to take up more Zouaves and mules ;
from afar he had perceived the white cities amid
sands and arid hills. He had even come down
from his top to look at the dark-brown men
draped in their white robes who came off in
small boats to peddle fruit ; his mates told him
that these were Bedouins.
The heat and the sun, which were unlessened
by the autumn season, made him feel out of his
element.
One day they touched at Port Said. All the
flags of Europe waved overhead from long staves,
which gave it an aspect of Babel on a feast-day,
and the glistening sands surrounded the town
like a moving sea.
They had stopped there, touching the quays,
almost in the midst of the long streets full of
wooden shanties. Since his departure, Sylvestre
never had seen the outside world so closely, and
102
The Eastern Voyage
the movement and numbers of boats excited and
amused him.
With never-ending screeching from their es-
cape-pipes, all these boats crowded up in the long
canal, as narrow as a ditch, which wound itself in
a silvery line through the infinite sands. From
his post on high he could see them as in a pro-
cession under a window, till disappearing in the
plain.
On the canal all kinds of costumes could be
seen ; men in many-coloured attire, busy and
shouting like thunder. And at night the clam-
our of confused bands of music mingled with
the diabolical screams of the locomotives, play-
ing noisy tunes, as if to drown the heart-break-
ing sorrow of the exiles who for ever passed
onward.
The next day, at sunrise, they, too, glided
into the narrow ribbon of water between the
sands. For two days the steaming in the long
file through the desert lasted, then another sea
opened before them, and they were once again
upon the open. They still ran at full speed
through this warmer expanse, stained like red
marblei, with their boiling wake like blood. Syl-
vestre remained all the time up in his top, where
he would hum his old song of "Jean-Francois de
103
In the Breton Land
Nantes," to remind him of his dear brother Yann,
of Iceland, and the good old bygone days.
Sometimes, in the depths of the shadowy dis-
tance, some wonderfully tinted mountain would
arise. Notwithstanding the distance and the dim-
ness around, the names of those projected capes
of countries appeared as the eternal landmarks
on the great roadways of the earth to the steers-
men of this vessel ; but a topman is carried on
like an inanimate thing, knowing nothing, and
unconscious of the distance over the everlasting,
endless waves.
All he felt was a terrible estrangement from
the things of this world, which grew greater and
greater ; and the feeling was very defined and
exact as he looked upon the seething foam be-
hind, and tried to remember how long had lasted
this pace that never slackened night or day.
Down on deck, the crowd of men, huddled
together in the shadow of the awnings, panted
with weariness. The water and the air, even the
very light above, had a dull, crushing splendour ;
and the fadeless glory of those elements were as
a very mockery of the human beings whose phys-
ical lives are so ephemeral.
Once, up in his crow's nest, he was gladdened
by the sight of flocks of tiny birds, of an un-
104
The Eastern Voyage
known species, which fell upon the ship like a
whirlwind of coal dust. They allowed themselves
to be taken and stroked, being worn out with
fatigue. All the sailors had them as pets upon
their shoulders. But soon the most exhausted
among them began to die, and before long they
died by thousands on the rigging, yards, ports,
and sails poor little things ! under the blasting
sun of the Red Sea. They had come to destruc-
tion, off the Great Desert, fleeing before a sand-
storm. And through fear of falling into the blue
waters that stretched on all sides, they had ended
their last feeble flight upon the passing ship.
Over yonder, in some distant region of Libya,
they had been fledged in masses. Indeed, there
were so many of them, that their blind and un-
kind mother, Nature, had driven away before
her this surplus, as unmoved as if they had been
superabundant men. On the scorching funnels
and ironwork of the ship they died away ; the
deck was strewn with their puny forms, only
yesterday so full of life, songs, and love. Now,
poor little black dots, Sylvestre and the others
picked them up, spreading out their delicate blue
wings, with a look of pity, and swept them over-
board into the abysmal sea.
Next came hosts of locusts, the spawn of
105
In the Breton Land
those conjured up by Moses, and the ship was
covered with them. At length, though, it surged
on a lifeless blue sea, where they saw no things
around them, except from time to time the flying
fish skimming along the level water.
CHAPTER X
THE ORIENT
RAIN in torrents, under a heavy black sky.
This was India. Sylvestre had just set foot upon
land, chance selecting him to complete the crew
of a whale boat. He felt the warm shower upon
him through the thick foliage, and looked around,
surprised at the novel sight. All was magnifi-
cently green ; the leaves of the trees waved like
gigantic feathers, and the people walking beneatl
them had large velvety eyes, which seemed to
close under the weight of their lashes. The very
wind that brought the rain had the odour of musk
and flowers.
At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to
come to them. Some happy strain they sang,
like the " Whist ! here, you darling boy ! " so often
heard at Brest. But seductive as was their coun-
try, their call was imperious and exasperating,
106
The Orient
making his very flesh shudder. Their perfect
bosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin,
in which they were solely draped ; they were
glowing and polished as in bronze statues. Hesi-
tating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, fol-
lowing them ; but the boatswain's sharp shrill
whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, sum-
moning him hurriedly back to his boat, about
to push off.
He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's
beauties.
After a second week of the blue sea, they
paused off another land of dewy verdure. A
crowd of yellow men appeared, yelling out and
pressing on deck, bringing coal in baskets.
" Already in China ? " asked Sylvestre, at the
sight of these grotesque figures in pigtails.
" Bless you, no, not yet," they told him ;
" have a little more patience."
It was only Singapore. He went up into his
mast-top again, to avoid the black dust tossed
about by the breeze, while the coal was fever-
ishly heaped up in the bunkers from little
baskets.
One day, at length, they arrived off a land
called Tourane, where the Circe was anchored,
to blockade the port. This was the ship to which
107
In the Breton Land
Sylvestre had been long ago assigned, and he was
left there with his bag.
On board he met with two mates from home,
Icelanders, who were captains of guns for the
time being. Through the long, hot, still even-
ings, when there was no work to be done, they
clustered on deck apart from the others, to form
together a little Brittany of remembrances.
Five months he passed there in inaction and
exile, locked up in the cheerless bay, with the
feverish desire to go out and fight and slay, for
change's sake.
CHAPTER XI
A CURIOUS RENCONTRE
IN Paimpol again, on the last day of Feb-
ruary, before the setting-out for Iceland. Gaud
was standing up against her room door, pale and
still. For Yann was below, chatting to her
father. She had seen him come in, and indis-
tinctly heard his voice.
All through the winter they never had met,
as if some invincible fate always had kept them
apart.
After the failure to find him in her walk to
Pors-Even, she had placed some hope on the
108
A Curious Rencontre
Pardon des Islandais where there would be many
chances for them to see and talk to one an-
other, in the market-place at dusk, among the
crowd.
But on the very morning of the holiday,
though the streets were already draped in white
and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had
fallen in torrents, brought from the west by a
soughing wind ; never had so blacK a sky shad-
owed Paimpol. " What a pity ! the boys won't
come over from Ploubazlanec now," had moaned
the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt there. And
they did not come, or else had gone straight into
the taverns to drink together.
There had been no processions or strolls, and
she, with her heart aching more than ever, had
remained at her window the whole evening listen-
ing to the water streaming over the roofs, and
the fishers' noisy songs rising and falling out of
the depths of the taverns.
For the last few days she had been expecting
this visit, surmising truly that old Gaos would
send his son to terminate the business concerning
tin. 1 sale of the boat, as he did not care to come
into Paimpol himself. She determined then that
she would go straight to him, and, unlike other
girls, speak out frankly, to have her conscience
109
In the Breton Land
clear on the subject. She would reproach him
with having sought her out and having abandoned
her like a man without honour. If it were only
stubbornness, timidity, his great love for his
sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, as Syl-
vestre had hinted, why, all these objections would
disappear, after a frank, fair understanding be-
tween them. His fond smile might return,
which had charmed and won her the winter be-
fore, and all would be settled. This hope gave
her strength and courage, and sweetened her im-
patience. From afar, things always appear so
easy and simple to say and to do.
This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a con-
venient hour. She was sure that her father, who
was sitting and smoking, would not get up to
walk part of the way with him ; so in the empty
passage she might have her explanation out with
him.
But now that the time had come, such bold-
ness seemed extreme. The bare idea of looking
him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made
her tremble ; and her heart beat as if it would
break. At any moment the door below might
open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let
him out !
" No, no, she never would dare ; rather would
1 10
A Curious Rencontre
she die of longing and sorrow, than attempt such
an act." She already made a few return steps
towards the back of her room, to regain her seat
and work. But she stopped again, hesitating
and afraid, remembering that to-morrow was the
sailing day for Iceland, and that this occasion
stood alone. If she let it slip by, she would
have to wait through months upon months of
solitude and despair, languishing for his return
losing another whole summer of her life.
Below, the door opened Yann was coming
out!
Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and
tremblingly stood before him.
" Monsieur Yann, I I wish to speak to you,
please."
"To me, Mademoiselle Gaud?" queried he,
lowering his voice and snatching off his hat.
He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expres-
sion in his flashing eyes, and his head thrown
back, seeming even to wonder if he ought to
stop for her at all. With one foot ready to
start away, he stood straight up against the
wall, as if to be as far apart from her as pos-
sible, in the narrow passage, where he felt in>
prisoned.
Paralyzed, she could remember nothing of
in
In the Breton Land
what she had wished to say ; she had not thought
he would try and pass on without listening to
her. What an affront !
" Does our house frighten you, Monsieur
Yann ? " she asked, in a dry, odd tone not at
all the one she wished to use.
He turned his eyes away, looking outside ;
his cheeks blazed red, a rush of blood burned all
his face, and his quivering nostrils dilated with
every breath, keeping time with the heavings of
his chest, like a young bull's.
"The night of the ball," she tried to continue,
" when we were together, you bade me good-bye,
not as a man speaks to an indifferent person.
Monsieur Yann, have you no memory ? What
have I done to vex you ? "
The nasty western breeze blowing in from
the street ruffled his hair and the frills of Gaud's
coiffe, and behind them a door was banged furi-
ously. The passage was not meet for talking of
serious matters in. After these first phrases,
choking, Gaud reifiained speechless, feeling her
head spin, and without ideas. They still ad-
vanced towards the street door ; he seemed so
anxious to get away, and she was so determined
not to be shaken off.
Outside the wind blew noisily and the sky
112
A Curious Rencontre
was black. A sad livid light fell upon their
faces through the open door. And an opposite
neighbour looked at them : what could the pair
be saying to one another in that passage together,
looking so troubled ? What was wrong over at
the M6vel's ?
" Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud," he answered at
last, turning away with the powerful grace of a
young lion, " I've heard folks talk about us quite
enough already ! Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, for,
you see, you are rich, and we are not people of
the same class. I am not the fellow to come
after a ' swell ' lady."
He went forth on his way. So now all was
over for ever and ever. She had not even said
what she wished in that interview, which had
only made her seem a very bold girl in his sight.
What kind of a fellow was this Yann, with his
contempt for women, his scorn for money, and
all desirable things ?
At first she remained fixed to the spot, sick
with giddiness, as things swam around her. One
intolerably painful thought suddenly struck her
like a flash of lightning Yann's comrades, the
Icelanders, were waiting for him below in the
market-place. What if he were to tell them this
as a good joke what a still more odious affront
In the Breton Land
upon her ! She quickly returned to her room
to watch them through her window-curtains.
Before the house, indeed, she saw the men
assembled, but they were simply contemplating
the weather, which was becoming worse and
worse, and discussed the threatening rain.
" It'll only be a shower. Let's go in and
drink away the time, till it passes."
They poked jokes and laughed loudly over
Jeannie Caroff and other beauties ; but not even
one of them looked up at her window. They
were all joyful, except Yann, who said nothing,
and remained grave and sad. He did not go in
to drink with them ; and without noticing either
them or the rain, which had begun to fall, he
slowly walked away under the shower, as if ab-
sorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-place
towards Ploubazlanec.
Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of
hopeless tenderness for him came, instead of the
bitter disappointment that previously had filled
her heart. She sat down and held her head be-
tween her hands. What could she do now ?
Oh ! if he had listened only a moment to her,
or if he could come into that room, where they
might speak together alone, perhaps all might
yet be arranged. She loved him enough to tell
114
A Curious Rencontre
him so to his face. She would say to him : " You
sought me out when I asked you for nothing ;
now I am yours with my whole soul, if you will
have me. I don't mind a bit being the wife of
a fisherman, and yet, if I liked, I need but choose
among all the young men of Paimpol ; but I
do love you, because, notwithstanding all, I be-
lieve you to be better than others. I'm tolerably
well-to-do, and I know I am pretty ; although I
have lived in towns, I am sure that I am not a
spoiled girl, as I never have done any thing wrong ;
then, if I love you so, why shouldn't you take
me?"
But all this never would be said except in
dreams ; it was too late ! Yann would not hear
her. Try and talk to him a second time ? Oh,
no ! what kind of a creature would he take her
then to be ? She would rather die.
Yet to-morrow they would all start for Ice-
land. The whitish February daylight streamed
into her fine room. Chill and lonely she fell
upon one of the chairs along the wall. It seemed
to her as if the whole world were crashing and
falling in around her. All things past and present
were as if buried in a fearful abyss, which yawned
on all sides of her. She wished her life would
end, and that she were lying calm beneath some
In the Breton Land
cold tombstone, where no more pain might
touch her.
But she had sincerely forgiven him, and no
hatred mingled with her desperate love.
CHAPTER XII
STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN
THE sea, the gray sea once more, where Yann
was gently gliding along its broad, trackless road,
that leads the fishermen every year to the Land
of Ice.
The day before, when they all had set off to
the music of the old hymns, there blew a brisk
breeze from the south, and all the ships with their
outspread sails had dispersed like so many gulls ;
but that breeze had suddenly subsided, and speed
had diminished ; great fog-banks covered the
watery surface.
Yann was perhaps quieter than usual. He
said that the weather was too calm, and appeared
to excite himself, as if he would drive away some
care that weighed upon him. But he had noth-
ing to do but be carried serenely in the midst of
serene things ; only to breathe and let himself
live. On looking out, only the deep gray masses
116
Striking the Rock Unknown
around could be seen ; on listening, only si-
lence.
Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible
rumbling, which came from below, accompanied
by a grinding sensation, as when a brake comes
hard down on carriage wheels. The Marie ceased
all movement. They had struck. Where, and
on what ? Some bank off the English coast
probably. For since overnight they had been
able to see nothing, with those curtains of mist.
The men ran and rushed about, their bustle
contrasting strongly with the sudden rigidity of
their ship. How had the Marie come to a stop
in that spot ? In the midst of that immensity of
fluid in this dull weather, seeming to be almost
without consistence, she had been seized by some
resistless immovable power hidden beneath the
waves ; she was tight in its grasp, and might per-
ish there.
Who has not seen poor birds caught by their
feet in the lime ? At first they can scarcely be-
lieve they are caught ; it changes nothing in their
aspect ; but they soon are sure that they are held
fast, and in danger of never getting free again.
And when they struggle to 'get free, and the
sticky stuff soils their wings and heads, they
gradually assume that pitiful look of a dumb
117
In the Breton Land
creature in distress, about to die. Such was the
case with the Marie. At first it did not seem
much to be concerned about ; she certainly was
careened a little on one side, but it was broad
morning, and the weather was fair and calm ; one
had to know such things by experience to be-
come uneasy, and understand that it was a serious
matter.
The captain was to be pitied. It was his fault,
as he had not understood exactly where they were.
He wrung his hands, saying : " God help us ! God
help us ! " in a voice of despair.
Close to them, during a lifting of the fog,
they could distinguish a headland, but not recog-
nise it. But the mists covered it anew, and they
saw it no longer.
There was no sail or smoke in sight. They
all jostled about, hurrying and knocking the deck
lumber over. Their dog Turc, who did not usu-
ally mind the movement of the sea, was greatly
affected too by this incident, these sounds from
down below, these heavy wallowings when the
low swell passed under, and the sudden calm that
afterwards followed ; he understood that all this
was unusual, and he hid himself away in corners,
with his tail between his legs. They got out the
boats to carry the kedges and set them firm, and
118
Striking the Rock Unknown
tried to row her out of it by uniting all their
forces together upon the tow-lines a heavy piece
of work this, which lasted ten successive hours.
So, when evening came, the poor bark, which had
only that morning been so fresh and light, looked
almost swamped, fouled, and good for nothing.
She had fought hard, floundered about on all
sides, but still remained there, fixed as in a
dock.
Night was overtaking them ; the wind and
the waves were rising ; things were growing
worse, when, all of a sudden, towards six o'clock,
they were let go clear, and could be off again,
tearing asunder the tow-lines, which they had
left to keep her head steady. The men went
rushing about like madmen, cheering from stem
to stern " We're afloat, boys ! "
They were afloat, with a joy that cannot be
described ; what it was to feel themselves going
forwards on a buoyant craft again, instead of on
the semi-wreck it was before, none but a seaman
frrls, and few of them can tell.
Yann's sadness had disappeared too. Like
his ship, he became lively once more, cured by
the healthy manual labour; he had found his
ajrain, and had thrown off his glum
though;
VOL.20 ,, 9 Romances t
In the Breton Land
Next morning, when the kedges were fished
up, the Marie went on her way to Iceland, and
Yann's heart, to all appearance, was as free as in
his early years.
CHAPTER XIII
HOME NEWS
THE home letters were being distributed on
board the Circe, at anchor at Ha-Long, over on
the other side of the earth. In the midst of a
group of sailors, the purser called out, in a loud
voice, the names of the fortunate men who had
letters to receive. This went on at evening, on
the ship's side, all crushing round a funnel.
" Moan, Sylvestre ! " There was one for him,
postmarked " Paimpol," but it was not Gaud's
writing. What did that mean ? from whom did
it come else ?
After having turned and flourished it about,
he opened it fearingly, and read :
" PLOUBAZLANEC, March 5th, 1884.
" M Y DEAR GRANDSON : "
So, it was from his dear old granny. Pie
breathed free again. At the bottom of the letter
she even had placed her signature, learned by
1 20
Home News
heart, but trembling like a school-girl's scribble :
11 Widow Moan."
" Widow Moan ! " With a quick spontaneous
movement he carried the paper to his lips and
kissed the poor name, as a sacred relic. For this
letter arrived at a critical moment of his life ; to-
morrow at dawn, he was to set out for the battle-
field.
It was in the middle of April ; Bac-Ninh and
Hong-Hoa had just been taken. There was no
great warfare going on in Tonquin, yet the rein-
forcements arriving were not sufficient ; sailors
were taken from all the ships to make up the
deficit in the corps already disembarked. Syl-
vestre, who had languished so long in the midst
of cruises and blockades, had just been selected
with some others to fill up the vacancies.
It is true that now peace was spoken of, but
something told them that they yet would disem-
bark in good time to fight a bit. They packed
their bags, made all their other preparations, and
said good-bye, and all the evening through they
strolled about with their unfortunate mates who
had to remain, feeling much grander and prouder
than they. Each in his own way showed his im-
pression at this departure some were grave and
serious, others exuberant and talkative.
121
In the Breton Land
Sylvestre was very quiet and thoughtful,
though impatient ; only, when they looked at
him, his smile seemed to say, " Yes, I'm one of
the fighting party, and huzza ! the action is for
to-morrow morning ! "
Of gunshots and battle he formed but an in-
complete idea as yet ; but they fascinated him,
for he came of a valiant race.
The strange writing of his letter made him
anxious about Gaud, and he drew near a porthole
to read the epistle through. It was difficult
amid all those half-naked men pressing round,
in the unbearable heat of the gundeck.
As he thought she would do, in the beginning
of her letter Granny Moan explained why she had
had to take recourse to the inexperienced hand
of an old neighbour :
" My dear child, I don't ask your cousin to
write for me to-day, as she is in great trouble.
Her father died suddenly two days ago. It ap-
pears that his whole fortune has been lost through
unlucky gambling last winter in Paris. So his
house and furniture will have to be sold. No-
body in the place was expecting this. I think,
dear child, that this will pain you as much as it
does me.
122
Home News
i
" Gaos, the son, sends you his kind remem-
brance ; he has renewed his articles with Captain
Guermeur of the Marie, and the departure for
Iceland was rather early this year, for they set
sail on the first of the month, two days before
our poor Gaud's trouble, and he don't know of
it yet.
" But you can easily imagine that we shall
not get them wed now, for she will be obliged to
work for her daily bread."
Sylvestre dwelt stupor-stricken ; this bad news
quite spoiled his glee at going out to fight.
123
PART III
IN THE SHADOW
CHAPTER I
THE SKIRMISH
HARK ! a bullet hurtles through the air!
Sylvestre stops short to listen !
He is upon an infinite meadow, green with
the soft velvet carpet of spring. The sky is
gray, lowering, as if to weigh upon one's very
shoulders.
They are six sailors reconnoitring among the
fresh rice-fields, in a muddy pathway.
Hist ! again the whizz, breaking the silence
of the air a shrill, continuous sound, a kind of
prolonged zing, giving one a strong impression
that the pellets buzzing by might have stung
fatally.
For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears
that music. The bullets coming towards a man
have a different sound from those fired by him-
self : the far-off report is attenuated, or not heard
at all, so it is easier to distinguish the sharp rush
of metal as it swiftly passes by, almost grazing
one's ears.
127
In the Shadow
Crack ! whizz ! ping ! again and yet again !
The balls fall in regular showers now. Close by
the sailors they stop short, and are buried in the
flooded soil of the rice-fields, accompanied by a
faint splash, like hail falling sharp and swift in a
puddle of water.
The marines looked at one another as if it
was all a piece of odd fun, and said :
" Only John Chinaman ! pish ! "
To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or
" Black Flags " are all of the same Chinese family.
It is difficult to show their contempt and mock-
ing rancour, as well as eagerness for " bowling
over the beggars," when they speak of "the
Chinese."
Two or three bullets are still flying about,
more closely grazing ; they can be seen bouncing
like grasshoppers in the green. The slight shower
of lead did not last long.
Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant
plain, and nowhere can anything be seen moving.
The same six are still there, standing on the watch,
scenting the breeze, and trying to discover whence
the volley came. Surely from over yonder, by
that clump of bamboos, which looks like an island
of feathers in the plain ; behind it several pointed
roofs appear half hidden. So they all made for
128
The Skirmish
it, their feet slipping or sinking into the soaked
soil. Sylvestre runs foremost, on his longer, more
nimble legs.
No more buzz of bullets ; they might have
thought they were dreaming.
As in all the countries of the world, some
features are the same ; the cloudy gray skies and
the fresh tints of fields in spring-time, for ex-
ample ; one could imagine this upon French
meadows, and these young fellows, running mer-
rily over them, playing a very different sport from
this game of death.
But as they approach, the bamboos show the
exotic delicacy of their foliage, and the village
roofs grow sharper in the singularity of their
curves, and yellow men hidden behind advance
to reconnoitre ; their flat faces are contracted by
fear and spitefulness. Then suddenly they rush
out screaming, and deploy into a long line, trem-
bling, but decided and dangerous.
11 The Chinese ! " shout the sailors again, with
their same brave smile.
But this time they find that there are a good
many too many ; and one of them turning round
perceives other Chinese coming from behind,
springing up from the long tall grass.
At this moment, young Sylvestre came out
129
In the Shadow
grand ; his old granny would have been proud to
see him such a warrior. Since the last few days
he had altered. His face was bronzed, and his
voice strengthened. He was in his own element
here.
In a moment of supreme indecision the sailors
hit by the bullets almost yielded to an impulse of
retreat, which would certainly have been death to
them all ; but Sylvestre continued to advance,
clubbing his rifle, and fighting a whole band,
knocking them down right and left with smash-
ing blows from the butt-end. Thanks to him
the situation was reversed ; that panic or mad-
ness that blindly deceives all in these leader-
less skirmishes had now passed over to the Chi-
nese side, and it was they who began to re-
treat.
It was soon all over ; they were fairly taking
to their heels. The six sailors, reloading their
repeating rifles, shot them down easily ; upon the
grass lay dead bodies by red pools, and skulls
were emptying their brains into the river.
They fled, cowering like leopards. Sylvestre
ran after them, although he had had two wounds
a lance-thrust in the thigh and a deep gash in
his arm ; but feeling nothing save the intoxication
of battle, that unreasoning fever that comes of
130
The Skirmish
vigorous blood, gives lofty courage to simple
souls, and made the heroes of antiquity.
One whom he was pursuing turned round,
and with a spasm of desperate terror took a de-
liberate aim at him. Sylvestre stopped short,
smiling scornfully, sublime, to let him fire, and
seeing the direction of the aim, only shifted a
little to the left. But with the pressure upon
the trigger the barrel of the Chinese jingal de-
viated slightly in the same direction. He sud-
denly felt a smart rap upon his breast, and in a
flash of thought understood what it was, even
before feeling any pain ; he turned towards the
others following, and tried to cry out to them
the traditional phrase of the old soldier, " I think
it's all up with me ! " In the great breath that
he inhaled after having run, to refill his lungs
with air, he felt the air rush in also by a hole in
his right breast, with a horrible gurgling, like the
blast in a broken bellows. In that same time his
mouth filled with blood, and a sharp pain shot
through his side, which rapidly grew worse, until
it became atrocious and unspeakable. He whirled
round two or three times, his brain swimming
too ; and gasping for breath through the rising
red tide that choked him, fell heavily in the mud.
In the Shadow
CHAPTER II
41 OUT, BRIEF CANDLE ! "
ABOUT a fortnight later, as the sky was dark-
ening at the approach of the rains, and the heat
more heavily weighed over yellow Tonquin, Syl-
vestre brought to Hanoi', was sent to Ha-Long,
and placed on board a hospital-ship about to re-
turn to France.
He had been carried about for some time on
different stretchers, with intervals of rest at the
ambulances. They had done all they could for
him ; but under the insufficient conditions, his
chest had filled with water on the pierced side,
and the gurgling air entered through the wound,
which would not close up.
He had received the military medal, which
gave him a moment's joy. But he was no longer
the warrior of old resolute of gait, and steady
in his resounding voice. All that had vanished
before the long-suffering and weakening fever.
He had become a home-sick boy again ; he hardly
spoke except in answering occasional questions,
in a feeble and almost inaudible voice. To feel
oneself so sick and so far away ; to think that it
wanted so many days before he could reach home !
132
"Out, Brief Candle!' 1
Would he ever live until then, with his strength
ebbing away ? Such a terrifying feeling of dis-
tance continually haunted him and weighed at
every wakening; and when, after a few hours'
stupor, he awoke from the sickening pain of his
wounds, with feverish heat and the whistling
sound in his pierced bosom, he implored them to
put him on board, in spite of everything. He
was very heavy to carry into his ward, and with-
out intending it, they gave him some cruel jolts
on the way.
They laid him on one of the iron camp bed-
steads placed in rows, hospital fashion, and then
he set out in an inverse direction, on his long
journey through the seas. Instead of living like
a bird in the full wind of the tops, he remained
below deck, in the midst of the bad air of medi-
cines, wounds, and misery.
During the first days the joy of being home-
ward bound made him feel a little better. He
could even bear being propped up in bed with
pillows, and at times he asked for his box. His
i man's chest was a deal box, bought in Paim-
pol, to keep all his loved treasures in ; inside
were letters from Granny Yvonne, and also from
Yann and Gaud, a copy-book into which he had
copied some sea-songs, and one of the works of
In the Shadow
Confucius in Chinese, caught up at random dur-
ing pillage ; on the blank sides of its leaves he
had written the simple account of his campaign.
Nevertheless he got no better, and after the
first week, the doctors decided that death was
imminent. They were near the Line now, in the
stifling heat of storms. The troop-ship kept on
her course, shaking her beds, the wounded and
the dying; quicker and quicker she sped over
the tossing sea, troubled still as during the sway
of the monsoons.
Since leaving Ha-Long more than one patient
died, and was consigned to the deep water on the
high road to France ; many of the narrow beds
no longer bore their suffering burdens.
Upon this particular day it was very gloomy
in the travelling hospital ; on account of the high
seas it had been necessary to close the iron port-
lids, which made the stifling sick-room more un-
bearable. Sylvestre was worse ; the end was
nigh. Lying always upon his wounded side, he
pressed upon it with both hands with all his re-
maining strength, to try and allay the watery
decomposition that rose in his right lung, and
to breathe with the other lung only. But by
degrees the other was affected and the ultimate
agony had begun.
134
"Out, Brief Candle I"
Dreams and visions of home haunted his
brain ; in the hot darkness, beloved or horrible
faces bent over him ; he was in a never-ending
hallucination, through which floated apparitions
of Brittany and Iceland. In the morning was
called in the priest, and the old man, who was
used to seeing sailors die, was astonished to find
so pure a soul in so strong and manly a body.
He cried out for air, air ! but there was none
anywhere ; the ventilators no longer gave any ;
the attendant, who was fanning him with a Chi-
nese fan, only moved unhealthy vapours over him
of sickening staleness, which revolted all lungs.
Sometimes fierce, desperate fits came over him ;
he wished to tear himself away from that bed,
where he felt death would come to seize him,
and rush above into the full fresh wind and try
to live again. Oh ! to be like those others,
scrambling about among the rigging, and living
among the masts. But his extreme effort only
ended in the feeble lifting of his weakened head ;
something like the incompleted movement of a
sleeper. He could not manage it, but fell back
in the hollow of his crumpled bed, partly chained
there by death ; and each time, after the fatigue
of a like shock, he lost all consciousness.
To please him they opened a port at last,
135
In the Shadow
although it was dangerous, the sea being very
rough. It was going on for six in the evening.
When the disk was swung back, a red light en-
tered, glorious and radiant. The dying sun ap-
peared upon the horizon in dazzling splendour,
through a torn rift in a gloomy sky ; its blinding
light glanced over the waves, and lit up the
floating hospital, like a waving torch.
But no air rushed in ; the little there was out-
side, was powerless to enter and drive before it
the fevered atmosphere. Over all sides of that
boundless equatorial sea, floated a warm and
heavy moisture, unfit for respiration. No air on
any side, not even for the poor gasping fellows
on their deathbeds.
One vision disturbed him greatly ; it was of
his old grandmother, walking quickly along a
road, with a heartrending look of alarm ; from
low-lying funereal clouds above her, fell the
drizzling rain ; she was on her way to Paim-
pol, summoned thither to be informed of his
death.
He was struggling now, with the death-rattle
in his throat. From the corners of his mouth
they sponged away the water and blood, which
had welled up in quantities from his chest in
writhing agony. Still the grand, glorious sun lit
136
"Out, Brief Candle!"
up all, like a conflagration of the whole world,
with blood-laden clouds; through the aperture
of the port-hole, a wide streak of crimson fire
blazed in, and, spreading over Sylvestre's bed,
formed a halo around him.
At that very moment that same sun was to
be seen in Brittany, where midday was about to
strike. It was, indeed, the same sun, beheld at
the precise moment of its never-ending round ;
but here it kept quite another hue. Higher up
in the bluish sky, it kept shedding a soft white
light on grandmother Yvonne, sitting out at her
door, sewing.
In Iceland, too, where it was morning, it was
shining at that same moment of death. Much paler
there, it seemed as if it only showed its face by
some miracle. Sadly it shed its rays over the
fjord where La Marie floated ; and now its sky
was lit up by a pure northern light, which always
gives the idea of a frozen planet's reflection, with-
out an atmosphere. With a cold accuracy, it out-
lined all the essentials of that stony chaos that is
Iceland ; the whole of the country as seen from
La Marie seemed fixed in one same perspective
and held upright. Yann was there, lit up by a
In the Shadow
strange light, fishing, as usual, in the midst of
this lunar-like scenery.
As the beam of fiery flame that came through
the port-hole faded, and the sun disappeared com-
pletely under the gilded billows, the eyes of the
grandson rolled inward toward his brow as if to
fall back into his head.
They closed his eyelids with their own long
lashes, and Sylvestre became calm and beautiful
again, like a reclining marble statue of manly
repose.
CHAPTER III
THE GRAVE ABROAD
I CANNOT refrain from telling you about Syl-
vestre's funeral, which I conducted myself in Sing-
apore. We had thrown enough other dead into
the Sea of China, during the early days of the
home voyage ; and as the Malay land was quite
near, we decided to keep his remains a few hours
longer, to bury him fittingly.
It was very early in the morning, oil account
of the terrible sun. In the boat that carried him
ashore, his corpse was shrouded in the national
flag. The city was in sleep as we landed. A
138
The Grave Abroad
wagonette, sent by the French Consul, was wait-
ing on the quay ; we laid Sylvestre upon it, with
a wooden cross made on board the paint still
wet upon it, for the carpenter had to hurry over
it, and the white letters of his name ran into the
black ground.
We crossed that Babel in the rising sun. And
then it was such an emotion to find the serene
calm of an European place of worship in the
midst of the distasteful turmoil of the Chinese
country. Under the high white arch, where I
stood alone with my sailors, the "Dies Irce?
chanted by a missionary priest, sounded like
a soft magical incantation. Through the open
doors we could see sights that resembled en-
chanted gardens, exquisite verdure and immense
palm-trees ; the wind shook the large flowering
shrubs and their perfumed crimson petals fell
like rain, almost into the church itself. Thence
we marched to the cemetery, very far off. Our
little procession of sailors was very unpretentious,
but the coffin remained conspicuously wrapped in
the flag of France. We had to traverse the Chi-
nese quarter, through seething crowds of yellow
men ; and then the Malay and Indian suburbs,
where all types of Asiatic faces looked upon us
with
In the Shadow
Then came the open country already heated ;
through shady groves where exquisite butterflies,
on velvety blue wings, flitted in masses. On
either side, waved tall luxuriant palms, and quan-
tities of flowers in splendid profusion. At last
we came to the cemetery, with mandarins' tombs
and many-coloured inscriptions, adorned with
paintings of dragons and other monsters ; amid
astounding foliage and plants growing every-
where. The spot where we laid him down to
rest resembled a nook in the gardens of Indra.
Into the earth we drove the little wooden cross,
lettered :
SYLVESTRE MOAN,
AGED 19.
And we left him, forced to go because of the
hot rising sun; we turned back once more to
look at him under those marvellous trees and
huge nodding flowers.
CHAPTER IV
TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS
THE trooper continued its course through the
Indian Ocean. Down below in the floating hos-
pital other death-scenes went on. On deck there
140
To the Survivors, the Spoils
was carelessness of health and youth. Round
about, over the sea, was a very feast of pure sun
and air.
In this fine trade-wind weather, the sailors,
stretched in the shade of the sails, were playing
with little pet parrots and making them run races.
In this Singapore, which they had just left, the
sailors buy all kinds of tame animals. They had
all chosen baby parrots, with childish looks upon
their hooknose faces ; they had no tails yet ; they
were green, of a wonderful shade. As they went
running over the clean white planks, they looked
like fresh young leaves, fallen from tropical trees.
Sometimes the sailors gathered them all to-
gether in one lot, when they inspected one an-
other funnily ; twisting about their throats, to be
seen under all aspects. They comically waddled
about like so many lame people, or suddenly
started off in a great hurry for some unknown
destination ; and some fell down in their excite-
ment. And there were monkeys, learning tricks
of all kinds, another source of amusement. Some
re most tenderly loved and even kissed ex-
travagantly, as they nestled against the callous
bosoms of their masters, gazing fondly at them
with womanish eyes, half-grotesque and half
touching.
141
In the Shadow
Upon the stroke of three o'clock, the quarter-
masters brought on deck two canvas bags, sealed
with huge red seals, bearing Sylvestre's name ;
for by order of the regulations in regard to the
dead, all his clothes and personal worldly belong-
ings were to be sold by auction. The sailors
gaily grouped themselves around the pile ; for,
on board a hospital ship, too many of these sales
of effects are seen to excite any particular emo-
tion. Besides, Sylvestre had been but little known
upon that ship.
His jackets and shirts and blue-striped jerseys
were fingered and turned over and then bought
up at different prices, the buyers forcing the bid-
ding just to amuse themselves.
Then came the turn of the small treasure-box,
which was sold for fifty sous. The letters and
military medal had been taken out of it, to be
sent back to the family ; but not the book of
songs and the work of Confucius, with the nee-
dles, cotton, and buttons, and all the petty requi-
sites placed there by the forethought of Granny
Moan for sewing and mending.
Then the quartermaster who held up the
things to be sold drew out two small Buddhas,
taken in some pagoda to give to Gaud, and so
funny were they that they were greeted with a
142
The Death-Blow
general burst of laughter, when they appeared as
the last lot. But the sailors laughed, not for
want of heart, but only through thoughtlessness.
To conclude, the bags were sold, and the
buyer immediately struck out the name on them
to substitute his own.
A careful sweep of the broom was afterward
given to clear the scrupulously clean deck of the
dust and odds and ends, while the sailors re-
turned merrily to play with their parrots and
monkeys.
CHAPTER V
THE DEATH-BLOW
ONE day, in the first fortnight of June, as old
Yvonne was returning home, some neighbours
told her that she had been sent for by the Com-
missioner from the Naval Registry Office. Of
course it concerned her grandson, but that did
not frighten her in the least. The families of
seafarers are used to the Naval Registry, and
she, the daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother
of seamen, had known that office for the past
sixty years.
Doubtless it had to do with his "delega-
tion " ; or i there was a small prize-money
VOL - 20 143 Romances 8
In the Shadow
account from La Circe to take through her
proxy. As she knew what respect was due to
"Monsieur le Commissaire" she put on her best
gown and a clean white cap, and set out about
two o'clock.
Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of
the cliff, she neared Paimpol ; and musing upon
those two months without letters, she grew a bit
anxious.
She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his
door. He had greatly aged since the appearance
of the winter cold.
" Eh, eh ? When you're ready, you know,
don't make any ceremony, my beauty ! " That
" suit of deal " still haunted his mind.
The joyous brightness of June smiled around
her. On the rocky heights there still grew the
stunted reeds with their yellow blossoms ; but
passing into the hollow nooks sheltered against
the bitter sea winds, one met with high sweet-
smelling grass. But the poor old woman did not
see all this, over whose head so many rapid
seasons had passed, which now seemed as short
as days.
Around the crumbling hamlet with its gloomy
walls grew roses, pinks, and stocks ; and even up
on the tops of the whitewashed and mossy roofs,
144
The Death-Blow
sprang the flowerets that attracted the first
" miller " butterflies of the season.
This spring-time was almost without love in
the land of the Icelanders, and the beautiful
lasses of proud race, who sat out dreaming on
their doorsteps, seemed to look far beyond the
visible things with their blue or brown eyes.
The young men, who were the objects of their
melancholy and desires, were remote, fishing on
the northern seas.
But it was a spring-time for all that warm,
sweet, and troubling, with its buzzing of flies and
perfume of young plants.
And all this soulless freshness smiled upon
the poor old grandmother, who was quickly
walking along to hear of the death of her last-
born grandson. She neared the awful moment
when this event, which had taken place in the
so distant Chinese seas, was to be told to her ;
she was taking that sinister walk that Sylvestre
had divined at his death-hour the sight of that
had torn his last agonized tears from him ; his
darling old granny summoned to Paimpol to be
told that he was dead ! Clearly he had seen her
pass along that road, running straight on, with
her tiny brown shawl, her umbrella, and large
head-dress. And that apparition had made him
145
In the Shadow
toss and writhe in fearful anguish, while the huge,
red sun of the Equator, disappearing in its glory,
peered through the port-hole of the hospital to
watch him die. But he, in his last hallucination,
had seen his old granny moving under a rain-
laden sky, and on the contrary a joyous laughing
spring-time mocked her on all sides.
Nearing Paimpol, she became more and more
uneasy, and improved her speed. Now she is in
the gray town with its narrow granite streets,
where the sun falls, bidding good-day to some
other old women, her contemporaries, sitting at
their windows. Astonished to see her, they
said : " Wherever is she going so quickly, in her
Sunday gown, on a week-day ?"
" Monsieur le Commissaire " of the Naval
Enlistment Office was not in just then. One
ugly little creature, about fifteen years old, who
was his clerk, sat at his desk. As he was too
puny to be a fisher, he had received some educa-
tion and passed his time in that same chair, in
his black linen dust-sleeves, scratching away at
paper.
With a look of importance, when she had
said her name, he got up to get the official docu-
ments from off a shelf.
There were a great many papers what did it
146
The Death-Blow
all mean ? Parchments, sealed papers, a sailor's
record-book, grown yellow on the sea, and over
all floated an odour of death. He spread them
all out before the poor old woman, who began to
tremble and feel dizzy. She had just recognised
t\vo of the letters which Gaud used to write for
her to her grandson, and which were now re-
turned to her never unsealed. The same thing
had happened twenty years ago at the death of
her son Pierre ; the letters had been sent back
from China to " Monsieur le Commissaire," who
had given them to her thus.
Now he was reading out in a consequential
voice : " Moan, Jean-Marie-Sylvestre, registered
at Paimpol, folio 213, number 2091, died on
board the Bien Hoa, on the i4th of - ."
"What what has happened him, my good
sir?"
" Discharged dead," he answered.
It wasn't because this clerk was unkind, but
if he spoke in that brutal way, it was through
want of judgment, and from lack of intelligence
in the little incomplete being.
As he saw that she did not understand that
technical expression, he said in Breton :
" Marw to / " (He is dead.)
147
In the Shadow
She repeated the words after him, in her aged
tremulous voice, as a poor cracked echo would
send back some indifferent phrase. So what she
had partly foreseen was true ; but it only made
her tremble ; now that it was certain, it seemed to
affect her no more. To begin with, her faculty
to suffer was slightly dulled by old age, especially
since this last winter. Pain did not strike her
immediately. Something seemed to fall upside
down in her brain, and somehow or another she
mixed this death up with others. She had lost
so many of them before. She needed a moment
to grasp that this was her very last one, her dar-
ling, the object of all her prayers, life, and waiting,
and of all her thoughts, already darkened by the
sombre approach of second childhood.
She felt a sort of shame at showing her de-
spair before this little gentleman who horrified her.
Was that the way to tell a grandmother of her
darling's death ? She remained standing before
the desk, stiffened, and tearing the fringes of her
brown shawl with her poor aged hands, sore and
chapped with washing.
How far away she felt from home ! Good-
ness ! what a long walk back to be gone through,
and steadily, too, before nearing the whitewashed
hut in which she longed to shut herself up, like a
148
The Death-Blow
wounded beast who hides in its hole to die. And
so she tried not to think too much and not to
understand yet, frightened above all at the long
home-journey.
They gave her an order to go and take, as the
heiress, the thirty francs that came from the
sale of Sylvestre's bag ; and then the letters, the
certificates, and the box containing the military
medal.
She took the whole parcel awkwardly with
open fingers, unable to find pockets to put them in.
She went straight through Paimpol, looking
at no one, her body bent slightly like one about
to fall, with a rushing of blood in her ears ; press-
ing and hurrying along like some poor old ma-
chine, which could not be wound up, at a great
pressure, for the last time, without fear of break-
ing its springs.
At the third mile she went along quite bent in
two and exhausted ; from time to time her foot
struck against the stones, giving her a painful
shock up to the very head. She hurried to bury
herself in her home, for fear of falling and having
to be carried there.
149
In the Shadow
CHAPTER VI
A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION
" OLD Yvonne's tipsy ! " was the cry.
She had fallen, and the street children ran
after her. It was just at the boundary of the
parish of Ploubazlanec, where many houses strag-
gle along the roadside. But she had the strength
to rise and hobble along on her stick.
" Old Yvonne's tipsy ! "
The bold little creatures stared her full in the
face, laughing. Her coiffe was all awry. Some of
these little ones were not really wicked, and these,
when they scanned her closer and saw the senile
grimace of bitter despair, turned aside, surprised
and saddened, daring to say nothing more.
At home, with the door tightly closed, she
gave vent to the deep scream of despair that
choked her, and fell down in a corner, her head
against the wall. Her cap had fallen over her
eyes ; she threw off roughly what formerly had
been so well taken care of. Her Sunday dress
was soiled, and a thin mesh of yellowish white
hair strayed from beneath her cap, completing her
pitiful, poverty-stricken disorder.
150
The Comforter
CHAPTER VII
THE COMFORTER
THUS did Gaud, coming in for news in the
evening, find her ; her hair dishevelled, her arms
hanging down, and her head resting against the
stone wall, with a falling jaw grinning, and the
plaintive whimper of a little child ; she scarcely
could weep any more ; these grandmothers, grown
too old, have no tears left in their dried-up
eyes.
" My grandson is dead ! " She threw the let-
ters, papers, and medal into her caller's lap.
Gaud quickly scanned the whole, saw the
news was true, and fell on her knees to pray.
The two women remained there together almost
dumb, through the June gloaming, which in Brit-
tany is long but in Iceland is never-ending. On
the hearth the cricket that brings joy was chirp-
ing his shrill music.
The dim dusk entered through the narrow
window into the dwelling of those Moans, who
had all been devoured by the sea, and whose
family was now extinguished.
At last Gaud said : " /'// come to you, good
granny, to live with you ; I'll bring my bed that
In the Shadow
they've left me, and I'll take care of you and
nurse you you shan't be all alone."
She wept, too, for her little friend Sylvestre,
but in her sorrow she was led involuntarily to
think of another he who had gone back to the
deep-sea fishery.
They would have to write to Yann and tell
him Sylvestre was dead ; it was just now that the
fishers were starting. Would he, too, weep for
him ? Mayhap he would, for he had loved him
dearly. In the midst of her own tears, Gaud
thought a great deal of him ; now and again
waxing wroth against that hard-hearted fellow,
and then pitying him at the thought of that pain
which would strike him also, and which would be
as a link between them both one way and an-
other, her heart was full of him.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BROTHER'S GRIEF
ONE pale August evening, the letter that an-
nounced Yann's brother's death, at length arrived
on board the Marie, upon the Iceland seas ; it
was after a day of hard work and excessive fatigue,
just as they were going down to sup and to rest.
152
The Brother's Grief
With eyes heavy with sleep, he read it in their
dark nook below deck, lit by the yellow beam of
the small lamp ; at the first moment he became
stunned and giddy, like one dazed out of fair
understanding. Very proud and reticent in all
things concerning the feelings was Yann, and he
hid the letter in his blue jersey, next his breast,
without saying anything, as sailors do. But he
did not feel the courage to sit down with the
others to supper, and disdaining even to explain
why, he threw himself into his berth and fell
asleep. Soon he dreamed of Sylvestre dead, and
of his funeral going by.
Towards midnight, being in that state of mind
that is peculiar to seamen who are conscious of
the time of day in their slumber, and quite clearly
see the hour draw nigh when to awaken for the
watch he saw the funeral, and said to himself :
" I am dreaming ; luckily the mate will come and
wake me up, and the vision will pass away."
But when a heavy hand was laid upon him
and a voice cried out : " Tumble out, Gaos ! watch,
hoy ! " he heard the slight rustling of paper at his
breast, a fine ghastly music that affirmed the fact
of the death. Yes, the letter ! It was true, then ?
The more cruel, heartrending impression deep-
ened, and he jumped up so quickly in his sudden
In the Shadow
start, that he struck his forehead against the over-
head beam. He dressed and opened the hatch-
way to go up mechanically and take his place in
the fishing.
CHAPTER IX
WORK CURES SORROW
WHEN Yann was on deck, he looked around
him with sleep-laden eyes, over the familiar circle
of the sea. That night the illimitable immensity
showed itself in its most astonishingly simple as-
pects, in neutral tints, giving only the impression
of depth. This horizon, which indicated no recog-
nisable region of the earth, or even any geological
age, must have looked so many times the same
since the origin of time, that, gazing upon it, one
saw nothing save the eternity of things that exist
and cannot help existing.
It was not the dead of night, for a patch of
light, which seemed to ooze from no particular
point, dimly lit up the scene. The wind sobbed
as usual its aimless wail. All was gray, a fickle
gray, which faded before the fixed gaze. The
sea, during its mysterious rest, hid itself under
feeble tints without a name.
Above floated scattered clouds ; they had as-
154
Work Cures Sorrow
sumed various shapes, for, without form, things
cannot exist ; in the darkness they had blended
together, so as to form one single vast veiling.
But in one particular spot of the sky, low
down on the waters, they seemed a dark-veined
marble, the streaks clearly defined although very
distant ; a tender drawing, as if traced by some
dreamy hand some chance effect, not meant to
be viewed for long, and indeed hastening to die
away. Even that alone, in the midst of this
broad grandeur, appeared to mean something;
one might think that the sad, undefined thought
of the nothingness around was written there ; and
the sight involuntarily remained fixed upon it.
Yann's dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the
outside darkness, and gazed more and more stead-
ily upon that veining in the sky ; it had now
taken the shape of a kneeling figure with arms out-
stretched He began to look upon it as a human
shadow rendered gigantic by the distance itself.
In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and
primitive beliefs still lingered, the ominous shadow,
crushed beneath the gloomy sky, slowly coalesced
with the thought of his dead brother, as if it were
a last token from him.
He was used to such strange associations of
ideas, that thrive in the minds of children. But
155
In the Shadow
words, vague as they may be, are still too precise
to express those feelings ; one would need that
uncertain language that comes in dreams, of which
upon awakening, one retains merely enigmatical,
senseless fragments.
Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep an-
guish, full of unknown mystery, that froze his
very soul ; he understood full well now that his
poor little brother would never more be seen ;
sorrow, which had been some time penetrating the
hard, rough rind of his heart, now gushed in and
brimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre again
with his soft childish eyes; at the thought of
embracing him no more, a veil fell between his
eyelids and his eyes, against his will ; and, at first,
he could not rightly understand what it was
never having wept in all his manhood. But the
tears began to fall heavily and swiftly down his
cheeks, and then sobs rent his deep chest.
He went on with his fishing, losing no time
and speaking to no one, and his two mates, though
hearing him in the deep silence, pretended not to
do so, for fear of irritating him, knowing him to
be so haughty and reserved.
In his opinion death was the end of all. Out
of respect he often joined in the family prayers
for the dead, but he believed in no after-life of
156
Work Cures Sorrow
the soul. Between themselves, in their long
talks, the sailors all said the same, in a blunt
taken-for-granted way, as a well-known fact ; but
it did not stop them from believing in ghosts,
having a vague fear of graveyards, and an un-
limited confidence in protecting saints and images,
and above all a deep respect for the consecrated
earth around the churches.
So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up
by the sea, as if it would annihilate him, and the
thought of Sylvestre, so far away on the other
side of the earth, made his sorrow more dark and
desperate. With his contempt for his fellows,
he had no shame or constraint in weeping, no
more than if he were alone.
Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, al-
though it was only two o'clock, and at the same
time it appeared to spread farther, hollowing in
a fearful manner. With that kind of rising dawn,
eyes opened wider, and the awakened mind could
conceive better the immensity of distance, as the
boundaries of visible space receded and widened
away.
The pale aurora increased, seeming to come
in tiny jets with slight shocks ; eternal things
seemed to light up by sheer transparency, as if
white-flamed lamps had slowly been raised up be-
157
In the Shadow
hind the shapeless gray clouds, and held there
with mysterious care, for fear of disturbing the
calm, even rest of the sea. Below the horizon
that colossal white lamp was the sun, which
dragged itself along without strength, before
taking its leisurely ascent, which began in the
dawn's eye above the ocean.
On this day, the usual rosy tints were not
seen ; all remained pale and mournful. On board
the gray ship, Yann wept alone. The tears of
the fierce elder brother, together with the melan-
choly of this surrounding waste, were as mourn-
ing, worn in honour of the poor, obscure, young
hero, upon these seas of Iceland, where half his
life had been passed.
When the full light of day appeared, Yann
abruptly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ceased
weeping. That grief was over now. He seemed
completely absorbed by the work of the fishery,
and by the monotonous routine of substantial
deeds, as if he never had thought of anything
else.
The catching went on apace, and there were
scant hands for the work. Around about the
fishers, in the immense depths, a transformation
scene was taking place. The grand opening out
of the infinitude, that great wonder of the morn-
158
Work Cures Sorrow
ing, had finished, and the distance seemed to
diminish and close in around them. How was
it that before the sea had seemed so boundless !
The horizon was quite near now, and more
space seemed necessary. The void filled in with
flecks and streamers that floated above, some
vague as mist, others with visibly jagged edges.
They fell softly amid an utter silence, like
snowy gauze, but fell on all sides together, so
that below them suffocation set in swiftly ; it
took away the breath to see the air so thickened.
It was the first of the August fogs that was
rising. In a few moments the winding-sheet be-
came universally dense ; all around the Marie a
white damp lay under the light, and in it the
mast faded and disappeared.
" Here's the cursed fog now, for sure," grum-
bled the men. They had long ago made the ac-
quaintance of that compulsory companion of the
second part of the fishing season ; but it also an-
nounced its end and the time for returning to
Brittany.
It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their
beards, and shone upon their weather-beaten faces.
Looking athwart ship to one another, they ap-
peared dim as ghosts ; and by comparison, nearer
objects were seen more clearly under the colour-
'59
In the Shadow
less light. They took care not to inhale the air too
deeply, for a feeling of chill and wet penetrated
the lungs.
But the fishing was going on briskly, so that
they had no time left to chatter, and they only
thought of their lines. Every moment big heavy
fish were drawn in on deck, and slapped down
with a smack like a whip-crack ; there they wrig-
gled about angrily, flapping their tails on the
deck, scattering plenty of sea-water about, and
silvery scales too, in the course of their death-
struggle. The sailor who split them open with
his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in
his haste, so that his warm blood mingled with
the brine.
CHAPTER X
THE WHITE FOG
CAUGHT in the fog, they remained ten days
in succession without being able to see anything.
The fishing went on handsomely the while, and
with so much to do there was no time for
weariness. At regular intervals one of them
blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound like
the howling of a wild beast.
Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog,
160
The White Fog
another bellowing answered their call. Then a
sharper watch was kept. If the blasts were ap-
proaching, all ears were turned in the direction
of that unknown neighbour, whom they might
perhaps never see, but whose presence was never-
theless a danger. Conjectures were made about
the strange vessel ; it became a subject of con-
versation, a sort of company for them ; all long-
ing to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts
to pierce those impalpable white shrouds.
Then the mysterious consort would depart,
the bellowing of her trumpet fading away in the
distance, and they would remain again in the
deep hush, amid the infinity of stagnant vapour.
Everything was drenched with salt water ; the
cold became more penetrating ; each day the sun
took longer to sink below the horizon ; there
were now real nights one or two hours long, and
their gray gloaming was chilly and weird.
Every morning they heaved the lead, through
fear that the Marie might have run too near the
Icelandic coast. But all the lines on board, fast-
ened end to end, were paid out in vain the bot-
tom could not be touched. So they knew that
they were well out in blue water.
Life on board was rough and wholesome ; the
comfort in the snug strong oaken cabin below
161
In the Shadow
was enhanced by the impression of the piercing
cold outside, when they went down to supper or
for rest.
In the daytime, these men, who were as se-
cluded as monks, spoke but little among them-
selves. Each held his line, remaining for hours
and hours in the same immovable position. They
were separated by some three yards of space, but
it ended in not even seeing one another.
The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fish-
ing so lonely, they hummed home songs, so as
not to scare the fish away. Ideas came more
slowly and seldom ; they seemed to expand, fill-
ing in the space of time, without leaving any
vacuum. They dreamed of incoherent and mys-
terious things, as if in slumber, and the woof of
their dreams was as airy as fog itself.
This misty month of August usually termi-
nated the Iceland season, in a quiet, mournful
way. Otherwise the full physical life was the
same, filling the sailors' lungs with rustling air
and hardening their already strong muscles.
Yann's usual manner had returned, as if his
great grief had not continued ; watchful and
active, quick at his fishing work, a happy-go-lucky
temper, like one who had no troubles ; commu-
nicative at times, but very rarely and always
162
The Spectre Ship
carrying his head up high, with his old, indif-
ferent, domineering look.
At supper in the rough retreat, when they
were all seated at table, with their knives busy on
their hot plates, he occasionally laughed out as
he used to do at droll remarks of his mates. In
his inner self he perhaps thought of Gaud, to
whom, doubtless, Sylvestre had plighted him in
his last hours ; and she had become a poor girl
now, alone in the world. And above all, per-
haps, the mourning for his beloved brother still
preyed upon his heart. But this heart of his was
a virgin wilderness, difficult to explore and little
known, where many things took place unrevealed
on the exterior.
CHAPTER XI
THE SPECTRE SHIP
ONE morning, going on three o'clock, while
all were dreaming quietly under their winding-
sheet of fog, they heard something like a clamour
of voices voices whose tones seemed strange
and unfamiliar. Those on deck looked at each
other questioningly.
" Who's that talking ? "
Nobody. Nobody had said anything. For
163
In the Shadow
that matter, the sounds had seemed to come from
the outer void. Then the man who had charge
of the fog-horn, but had been neglecting his duty
since overnight, rushed for it, and inflating his
lungs to their utmost, sounded with all his might
the long bellow of alarm.* It was enough to
make a man of iron start, in such a silence.
As if a spectre had been evoked by that
thrilling, though deep-toned roar, a huge unfore-
seen gray form suddenly arose very loftily and
towered threateningly right beside them ; masts,
spars, rigging, all like a ship that had taken sud-
den shape in the air instantly, just as a single
beam of electric light evokes phantasmagoria on
the screen of a magic lantern.
Men appeared, almost close enough to touch
them, leaning over the bulwarks, staring at them
with eyes distended in the awakening of surprise
and dread.
The Maries men rushed for oars, spars, boat-
hooks, anything they could lay their hands on
for fenders, and held them out to shove off that
grisly thing and its impending visitors. Lo !
these others, terrified also, put out large beams
to repel them likewise.
But there came only a very faint creaking in
the topmasts, as both standing gears momentarily
164
The Spectre Ship
entangled became disentangled without the least
damage ; the shock, very gentle in such a calm,
had been almost wholly deadened ; indeed, it was
so feeble that it really seemed as if the other
ship had no substance, that it was a mere pulp,
almost without weight.
When the fright was over, the men began to
laugh ; they had recognised each other.
"La Marie, ahoy ! how are ye, lads ?"
" Halloa ! Gaos, Laumec, Guermeur ! "
The spectre ship was the Reine-Berthe, also
of Paimpol, and so the sailors were from neigh-
bouring villages ; that thick, tall fellow with the
huge, black beard, showing his teeth when he
laughed, was Kerjgou, one of the Ploudaniel
boys, the others were from Plounes or Ploun&rin.
" Why didn't you blow your fog-horn, and be
blowed to you, you herd of savages ? " challenged
Larvoe*r of the Reine-Berthe.
"If it comes to that, why didn't you blow
yours, you crew of pirates you rank mess of
toad-fish ? "
" Oh, no ! with us, d'ye see, the sea-law differs.
Were forbidden to make any noise ! "
He made this reply with the air of giving a
dark hint, and a queer smilr, which afterward
came back to the memory of the men of the
165
In the Shadow
Marie, and caused them a great deal of thinking.
Then, as if he thought he had said too much, he
concluded with a joke:
" Our fog-horn, d'ye see, was burst by this
rogue here a-blowing too hard into it." He
pointed to a sailor with a face like a Triton, a
man all bull-neck and chest, extravagantly broad-
shouldered, low-set upon his legs, with something
unspeakably grotesque and unpleasant in the de-
formity of strength.
While they were looking at each other, wait-
ing for breeze or undercurrent to move one ves-
sel faster than the other and separate them, a
general palaver began. Leaning over the side,
but holding each other off at a respectable dis-
tance with their long wooden props, like besieged
pikemen repelling an assault, they began to chat
about home, the last letters received, and sweet-
hearts and wives.
" I say ! my old woman," said Kerjegou,
" tells me she's had the little boy we were look-
ing for ; that makes half-score-two now ! "
Another had found himself the father of
twins ; and a third announced the marriage of
pretty Jeannie Caroff, a girl well known to all
the Icelanders, with some rich and infirm old
resident of the Commune of Plourivo. As they
166
The Spectre Ship
were eyeing each other as if through white
gauze, this also appeared to alter the sound of
the voices, which came as if muffled and from
far away.
Meanwhile Yann could not take his eyes off
one of those brother fishermen, a little grizzled
fellow, whom he was quite sure he never had
seen before, but who had, nevertheless, straight-
way said to him, " How d'o, long Yann?" with
all the familiarity of bosom acquaintance. He
wore the provoking ugliness of a monkey, with
an apish twinkling of mischief too in his pierc-
ing eyes.
"As for me," said Larvoe'r, of the Reine-
Berthe, " I've been told of the death of the
grandson of old Yvonne Moan, of Ploubazlanec
who was serving his time in the navy, you
know, in the Chinese squadron a very great
pity."
On hearing this, all the men of La Marie
turned towards Yann to learn if he already knew
anything of the sad news.
" Ay," he answered in a low voice, but with
an indifferent and haughty air,. " it was told me
in the last letter my father sent me." They still
kept on looking at him, curious at finding out
the secret of his grief, and it made him angry.
VOL - 20 167 Romances
In the Shadow
These questions and answers were rapidly ex-
changed through the pallid mists, so the moments
of this peculiar colloquy skipped swiftly by.
" My wife wrote me at the same time," con-
tinued Larvoer, " that Monsieur Mvel's daughter
has left the town to live at Ploubazlanec and take
care of her old grand-aunt Granny Moan. She
goes out to needlework by the day now to earn
her living. Anyhow, I always thought, I did,
that she was a good, brave girl, in spite of her fine-
lady airs and her furbelows."
Then again they all stared at Yann, which
made him still more angry ; a red flush mounted
to his cheeks, under their tawny tan.
With Larvoer's expression of opinion about
Gaud ended this parley with the crew of the
Reine-Berthe, none of whom were ever again to
be seen by human eyes. For a moment their
faces became more dim, their vessel being already
farther away ; and then, all at once, the men of
the Marie found they had nothing to push
against, nothing at the end of their poles all
spars, oars, odds and ends of deck-lumber, were
groping and quivering in emptiness, till they fell
heavily, one after the other, down into the sea,
like their own arms, lopped off and inert.
They pulled all the useless defences on board.
168
The Spectre Ship
The Rcine-Berthe, melting away into the thick
fog, had disappeared as suddenly as a painted
ship in a dissolving view. They tried to hail
her, but the only response was a sort of mocking
clamour as of many voices ending in a moan,
that made them all stare at each other in sur-
prise.
This Reine-Berthe did not come back with
the other Icelandic fishers ; and as the men of
the Samuel- A z^nide afterward picked up in
some fjord an unmistakable waif (part of her
taffrail with a bit of her keel), all ceased to hope ;
in the month of October the names of all her
crew were inscribed upon black slabs in the
church.
From the very time of that apparition the
date of which was well remembered by the men
of the Marie until the time of their return,
there had been no really dangerous weather on
the Icelandic seas, but a great storm from the
west had, three weeks before, swept several
sailors overboard, and swallowed up two vessels.
The men remembered Larvocr's peculiar smile,
and putting things together many strange con-
jectures were made. In the dead of night, Yann,
more than once, dreamed that he attain saw the
sailor who blinked like an ape, and some of the
169
In the Shadow
men of the Marie wondered if, on that remem-
bered morning, they had not been talking with
ghosts.
CHAPTER XII
THE STRANGE COUPLE
SUMMER advanced, and, at the end of August,
with the first autumnal mists, the Icelanders
came home.
For the last three months the two lone
women had lived together at Ploubazlanec in the
Moans' cottage. Gaud filled a daughter's place in
the poor birthplace of so many dead sailors. She
had sent hither all that remained from the sale
of her father's house ; her grand bed in the town
fashion, and her fine, different coloured dresses.
She had made herself a plainer black dress, and
like old Yvonne, wore a mourning cap, of thick
white muslin, adorned merely with simple plaits.
Every day she went out sewing at the houses of
the rich people in the town, and returned every
evening without being detained on her way home
by any sweetheart. She had remained as proud
as ever, and was still respected as a fine lady ; and
as the lads bade her good-night, they always raised
a hand to their caps.
170
The Strange Couple
Through the sweet evening twilight, she
walked home from Paimpol, all along the cliff
road inhaling the fresh, comforting sea air. Con-
stant sitting at needlework had not deformed her
like many others, who are always bent in two over
their work and she drew up her beautiful supple
form perfectly erect in looking over the sea, fairly
across to where Yann was it seemed.
The same road led to his home. Had she
walked on much farther, towards a well-known
rocky windswept nook, she would come to that
hamlet of Pors-Even, where the trees, covered
with gray moss, grew crampedly between the
stones, and are slanted over lowly by the western
gales. Perhaps she might never more return
there, although it was only a league away ; but
once in her lifetime she had been there, and that
was enough to cast a charm over the whole road ;
and, besides, Yann would certainly often pass that
way, and she could fancy seeing him upon the
bare moor, stepping between the stumpy reeds.
She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec,
and was almost happy that fate had driven her
there ; she never could have become resigned to
live in any other place.
Towards this end of August, a southern
warmth, diffusing languor, rises and spreads
171
In the Shadow
towards the north, with luminous afterglows
and stray rays from a distant sun, which float
over the Breton seas. Often the air is calm and
pellucid, without a single cloud on high.
At the hour of Gaud's return journey, all
things had already begun to fade in the nightfall,
and become fused into close, compact groups.
Here and there a clump of reeds strove to make
way between stones, like a battle-torn flag ; in a
hollow, a cluster of gnarled trees formed a dark
mass, or else some straw-thatched hamlet indented
the moor. At the cross-roads the images of
Christ on the cross, which watch over and pro-
tect the country, stretched out their black arms
on their supports like real men in torture ; in the
distance the Channel appeared fair and calm, one
vast golden mirror, under the already darkened
sky and shade-laden horizon.
In this country even the calm fine weather
was a melancholy thing ; notwithstanding, a vague
uneasiness seemed to hover about ; a palpable
dread emanating from the sea to which so many
lives are intrusted, and whose everlasting threat
only slumbered.
Gaud sauntered along as in a dream, and
never found the way long enough. The briny
smell of the shore, and a sweet odour of flowerets
172
The Strange Couple
growing along the cliffs amid thorny bushes,
perfumed the air. Had it not been for Granny
Yvonne waiting for her at home, she would have
loitered along the reed-strewn paths, like the
beautiful ladies in stories, who dream away the
summer evenings in their fine parks.
Many thoughts of her early childhood came
back to her as she passed through the country ;
but they seemed so effaced and far away now,
eclipsed by her love looming up between.
In spite of all, she went on thinking of Yann
as engaged in a degree a restless, scornful be-
trothed, whom she never would really have, but
to whom she persisted in being faithful in mind,
without speaking about it to any one. For the
time, she was happy to know that he was off Ice-
land ; for there, at least, the sea would keep him
lonely in her deep cloisters, and he would belong
to no other woman.
True, he would return one of these days, but
she looked upon that return more calmly than
before. She instinctively understood that her
poverty would not be a reason for him to despise
her; for he was not as other men. Moreover,
the death of poor Sylvestre would draw them
closer together. Upon his return, he could not
do otherwise than come to see his friend's old
In the Shadow
granny ; and Gaud had decided to be present at
that visit ; for it did not seem to her that it would
be undignified. Appearing to remember nothing,
she would talk to him as to a long-known friend ;
she would even speak with affection, as was due
to Sylvestre's brother, and try to seem easy and
natural. And who knows ? Perhaps it would
not be impossible to be as a sister to him, now
that she was so lonely in the world ; to rely upon
his friendship, even to ask it as a support, with
enough preliminary explanation for him not to
accuse her of any after-thought of marriage.
She judged him to be untamed and stubborn
in his independent ideas, yet tender and loyal,
and capable of understanding the goodness that
comes straight from the heart.
How would he feel when he met her again,
in her poor ruined home ? Very, very poor she
was for Granny Moan was not strong enough
now to go out washing, and only had her small
widow's pension left ; granted, she ate but little,
and the two could still manage to live, not de-
pendent upon others.
Night was always fallen when she arrived
home ; before she could enter she had to go
down a little over the worn rocks, for the cot-
tage was placed on an incline towards the beach,
174
The Strange Couple
below the level of the Ploubazlanec roadside. It
was almost hidden under its thick brown straw
thatch, and looked like the back of some huge
beast, shrunk down under its bristling fur. Its
walls were sombre and rough like the rocks, but
with tiny tufts of green moss and lichens over
them. There were three uneven steps before the
threshold, and the inside latch was opened by a
length of rope-yarn run through a hole. Upon
entering, the first thing to be seen was the win-
dow, hollowed out through the wall as in the
substance of a rampart, and giving view of the
sea, whence inflowed a dying yellow light. On
the hearth burned brightly the sweet-scented
branches of pine and beechwood that old Yvonne
used to pick up along the way, and she herself
was sitting there, seeing to their bit of supper ;
indoors she wore a kerchief over her head to save
her cap. Her still beautiful profile was outlined
in the red flame of her fire. She looked up at
Gaud. Her eyes, which formerly were brown,
had taken a faded look, and almost appeared
blue ; they seemed no longer to see, and were
troubled and uncertain with old age. Each day
she greeted Gaud with the same words :
" Oh, dear me ! my good lass, how late you
are to-night 1 "
i75
In the Shadow
" No, Granny," answered Gaud, who was
used to it. " This is the same time as other
days."
" Eh ? It seemed to me, dear, later than
usual."
They sat down to supper at their table, which
had almost become shapeless from constant use,
but was still thick as the generous slice of a huge
oak. The cricket began its silver-toned music
again.
One of the sides of the cottage was filled up
by roughly sculptured, worm-eaten woodwork,
which had an opening wherein were set the sleep-
ing bunks, where generations of fishers had been
born, and where their aged mothers had died.
Quaint old kitchen utensils hung from the
black beams, as well as bunches of sweet herbs,
wooden spoons, and smoked bacon ; fishing-nets,
which had been left there since the shipwreck of
the last Moans, their meshes nightly bitten by
the rats.
Gaud's bed stood in an angle under its white
muslin draperies ; it seemed like a very fresh and
elegant modern invention brought into the hut
of a Celt.
On the granite wall hung a photograph of
Svlvestre in his sailor clothes. His grandmother
176
Renewed Disappointment
had fixed his military medal to it, with his own
pair of those red cloth anchors that French men-
of-wars-men wear on their right sleeve ; Gaud
had also bought one of those funereal crowns, of
black and white beads, placed round the portraits
of the dead in Brittany. This represented Syl-
vestre's mausoleum, and was all that remained to
consecrate his memory in his own land.
On summer evenings they did not sit up late,
to save the lights ; when the weather was fine,
they sat out a while on a stone bench before the
door, and looked at passers-by in the road, a little
over their heads. Then old Yvonne would lie
down on her cupboard shelf ; and Gaud on her
fine bed, would fall asleep pretty soon, being
tired out with her day's work, and walking, and
dreaming of the return of the Icelanders. Like
a wise, resolute girl, she was not too greatly
apprehensive.
CHAPTER XIII
RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT
BUT one day in Paimpol, hearing that La
Marie had just got in, Gaud felt possessed with
a kind of fever. All her quiet composure dis-
appeared ; she abruptly finished up her work,
177
In the Shadow
without quite knowing why, and set off home
sooner than usual
Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recog-
nised him, at some distance off, coming towards
her. She trembled and felt her strength giving
way. He was now quite close, only about twenty
steps off, his head erect and his hair curling out
from beneath his fisher's cap. She was so taken
by surprise at this meeting, that she was afraid
she might fall, and then he would understand all ;
she would die of very shame at it. She thought,
too, she was not looking well, but wearied by
the hurried work. She would have done any-
thing to be hidden away under the reeds or in
one of the ferret-holes.
He also had taken a backward step, as if to
turn in another direction. But it was too late
now. Both met in the narrow path. Not to
touch her, he drew up against the bank, with a
side swerve like a skittish horse, looking at her
in a wild, stealthy way.
She, too, for one half second looked up, and
in spite of herself mutely implored him, with an
agonized prayer. In that involuntary meeting
of their eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, these
gray pupils of hers had appeared to dilate and
light up with some grand noble thought, which
178
Renewed Disappointment
flashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood
rushed crimson even to her temples beneath her
golden tresses.
As he touched his cap he faltered. "Wish
you good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud."
" Good-day, Monsieur Yann," she answered.
That was all. He passed on. She went on
her way, still quivering, but feeling, as he disap-
peared, that her blood was slowly circulating again
and her strength returning.
At home, she found Granny Moan crouching
in a corner with her head held between her hands,
sobbing with her childish " he, he ! " her hair
dishevelled and falling from beneath her cap like
thin skeins of gray hemp.
"Oh, my kind Gaud! I've just met young
Gaos down by Plouherzel as I came back from
my wood-gathering ; we spoke of our poor lad,
of course. They arrived this morning from Ice-
land, and in the afternoon he came over to see
me while I was out. Poor lad, he had tears in
his eyes, too. He came right up to my door,
my kind Gaud, to carry my little fagot."
She listened, standing, while her heart seemed
almost to break ; so this visit of Yann's, upon
which she had so much relied for saying so m;mv
things, was already over, and would doubtless
179
In the Shadow
not occur again. It was all done. Her poor
heart seemed more lonely than ever, her misery
harder, and the world more empty ; and she hung
her head with a wild desire to die.
CHAPTER XIV
THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP
SLOWLY the winter drew nigh, and spread
over all like a shroud leisurely drawn. Gray
days followed one another, but Yann appeared
no more, and the two women lived on in their
loneliness. With the cold, their daily existence
became harder and more expensive.
Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too ; her
poor mind was going. She got into fits of tem-
per now, and spoke wicked, insulting speeches
once or twice every week ; it took her so, like a
child, about mere nothings.
Poor old granny ! She was still so sweet in
her lucid days, that Gaud did not cease to re-
spect and cherish her. To have always been so
good and to end by being bad, and show towards
the close a depth of malice and spitefulness that
had slumbered during her whole life ; to use a
whole vocabulary of coarse words that she had
1 80
The Grandam Breaking Up
hidden ; what mockery of the soul ! what a de-
risive mystery ! She began to sing, too, which
was still more painful to hear than her angry
words, for she mixed everything up together
the oremus of a mass with refrains of loose songs
heard in the harbour from wandering sailors.
Sometimes she sang " Les Fillettes de Paimpol"
(The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding her head
and beating time with her foot, she would
mutter :
" Mon man vient de partir ;
Pour la peche d'lslande, mon man vient de partir,
II m'a laissee sans le sou,
Mais trala, trala la lou,
J'en gagne, j'en gagne." *
She always stopped short, while her eyes
opened wide with a lifeless expression, like those
dying flames that suddenly flash out before fading
away. She hung her head and remained speech-
less for a great length of time, her lower jaw
dropping as in the dead.
One day she could remember nothing of her
grandson. " Sylvestre ? Sylvestre ?" repeated she,
* My husband went off sailing
Upon the Iceland cruise ;
But never left me money.
Not e'en a couple sous.
But H too loo ! ri tooral loo !
/ know what to do I
1*1
In the Shadow
wondering whom Gaud meant ; " oh ! my dear,
d'ye see, I've had so many of them, when I was
young, boys and girls together, that now I can't
remember their names ! "
So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled
hands, with a careless, almost contemptuous toss.
But the next day she remembered him quite
well ; mentioning several things he had said or
done, and that whole day long she wept.
Oh ! those long winter evenings when there
was not enough wood for their fire ; to work in
the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewing hard
to finish the clothes brought over from Paimpol.
Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, re-
mained quiet enough, her feet stuck in among
the smouldering embers, and her hands elapsed
beneath her apron. But at the beginning of the
evening, Gaud always had to talk to her to cheer
her a little.
" Why don't ye speak to me, my good girl ?
In my time I've known many girls who had
plenty to say for themselves. I don't think it
'ud seem so lonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit."
So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had
heard in town, or spoke of the people she had
met on her way home, talking of things that
were quite indifferent to her, as indeed all things
182
The Grandam Breaking Up
were no\v ; and stopping in the midst of her
stories when she saw the poor old woman was
falling asleep.
There seemed nothing lively or youthful
around her, whose fresh youth yearned for
youth. Her beauty would fade away, lonely and
barren. The wind from the sea came in from all
sides, blowing her lamp about, and the roar of the
waves could be heard as in a ship. Listening,
the ever-present sad memory of Yann came to
her, the man whose dominion was these bat-
tling elements ; through the long terrible nights,
when all things were unbridled and howling
in the outer darkness, she thought of him with
agony.
Always alone as she was, with the sleeping
old granny, she sometimes grew frightened and
looked in all dark corners, thinking of the sail-
ors, her ancestors, who had lived in these nooks,
but perished in the sea on such nights as these.
Their spirits might possibly return ; and she did
not feel assured against the visit of the dead by
the presence of the poor old woman, who was
almost as one of them herself.
Suddenly she shivered from head to foot, as
she heard a thin, cracked voice, as if stifled under
the earth, proceed from the chimney corner.
In the Shadow
In a chirping tone, which chilled her very
soul, the voice sang :
" Pour la pche d'lslande, mon rnari vient cle partir ;
II m'a laissee sans le sou,
Mais trala, trala la lou ! "
Then she was seized with that peculiar terror
that one has of mad people.
The rain fell with an unceasing, fountain-like
gush, and streamed down the walls outside.
There were oozings of water from fhe old moss-
grown roof, which continued dropping on the self-
same spots with a monotonous sad splash. They
even soaked through into the floor inside, which
was of hardened earth studded with pebbles and
shells.
Dampness was felt on all sides, wrapping
them up in its chill masses ; an uneven, buffet-
ing dampness, misty and dark, and seeming to
isolate the scattered huts of Ploubazlanec still
more.
But the Sunday evenings were the saddest of
all, because of the relative gaiety in other homes
on that day, for there are joyful evenings even
among those forgotten hamlets of the coast ;
here and there, from some closed-up hut, beaten
about by the inky rains, ponderous songs issued.
Within, tables were spread for drinkers ; sailors
184
The Grandam Breaking Up
sat before the smoking fire, the old ones drinking
brandy and the young ones flirting with the girls ;
all more or less intoxicated and singing to deaden
thought. Close to them, the great sea, their
tomb on the morrow, sang also, filling the vacant
night with its immense profound voice.
On some Sundays, parties of young fellows
who came out of the taverns or back from Paim-
pol, passed along the road, near the door of the
Moans ; they were such as lived at the land's end
of Pors-Even way. They passed very late, caring
little for the cold and wet, accustomed as they
were to frost and tempests. Gaud lent her ear
to the medley of their songs and shouts soon
lost in the uproar of the squalls or the breakers
trying to distinguish Yann's voice, and then
feeling strangely perplexed if she thought she
had heard it.
It really was too unkind of Yann not to have
returned to see them again, and to lead so gay a
life so soon after the death of Sylvestre ; all this
was unlike him ! No, she really could not under-
stand him now, but in spite of all she could not
forget him or believe him to be without heart.
The fact was that since his return he had been
leading a most dissipated life indeed. Three or
four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she had
185
In the Shadow
seen him coming towards her, but she was al-
ways quick enough to shun him ; and he, too,
in those cases, took the opposite direction over
the heath. As if by a mutual understanding,
now, they fled from each other.
CHAPTER XV
THE NEW SHIP
AT Paimpol lives a large, stout woman
named Madame Tressoleur. In one of the
streets that lead to the harbour she keeps a
tavern, well known to all the Icelanders, where
captains and ship-owners come to engage their
sailors, and choose the strongest among them,
men and masters all drinking together.
At one time she had been beautiful, and was
still jolly with the fishers ; she has a mustache,
is as broad built as a Dutchman, and as bold
and ready of speech as a Levantine. There is
a look of the daughter of the regiment about
her, notwithstanding her ample nun-like mus-
lin headgear ; for all that, a religious halo of
its sort floats around her, for the simple reason
that she is a Breton born.
The names of all the sailors in the country
186
The New Ship
are written in her head as in a register; she
knows them all, good or bad, and knows exactly,
too, what they earn and what they are worth.
One January day, Gaud, who had been called
in to make a dress, sat down to work in a room
behind the tap-room.
To go into the abode of our Madame Tresso-
leur, you enter by a broad, massive-pillared door,
which recedes in the olden style under the first
floor. When you go to open this door, there is
always some obliging gust of wind from the
street that pushes it in, and the new-comers
make an abrupt entrance, as if carried in by a
beach roller. The hall is deep and low, is white-
washed, and is adorned by gilt frames, containing
pictures of ships and wrecks. In an angle a
china statuette of the Virgin is placed on a
bracket, between two bunches of artificial flowers.
These olden walls must have listened to many
powerful songs of sailors, and witnessed many
wild gay scenes, since the first far-off days of
Paimpol all through the lively times of the
privateers, up to these of the present Icelanders,
so very little different from their ancestors.
Many lives of men have been angled for and
hooked there, on the oaken tables, bet \vcrn two
drunken bouts.
187
In the Shadow
While she was sewing the dress, Gaud lent
her ear to the conversation going on about Ice-
land, behind the partition, between Madame
Tressoleur and two old sailors, drinking. They
were discussing a new craft that was being rigged
in the harbour. She never would be ready for
the next season, so they said of this Ltopoldine.
" Oh, yes, to be sure she will ! " answered the
hostess. " I tell 'ee the crew was all made up
yesterday the whole of 'em out of the old Marie
of Guermeur's, that's to be sold for breaking up ;
five young fellows signed their engagement here
before me, at this here table, and with my own
pen so ye see, I'm right ! And fine fellows,
too, I can tell 'ee ; Laumec, Tugdual Caroff,
Yvon Duff, young Keraez from Treguier, and
long Yann Gaos from Pors-Even, who's worth
any three on 'em ! "
The Ltopoldine / The half-heard name of the
ship that was to carry Yann away became sud-
denly fixed in her brain, as if it had been ham-
mered in to remain more ineffaceably there.
At night back again at Ploubazlanec, and
finishing off her work by the light of her pitiful
lamp, that name came back to her mind, and its
very sound impressed her as a sad thing. The
names of vessels, as of things, have a significance
188
The New Ship
in themselves almost a particular meaning of
their own. The new and unusual word haunted
her with an unnatural persistency, like some
ghastly and clinging warning. She had expected
to see Yann start off again on the Marie, which
she knew so well and had formerly visited, and
whose Virgin had so long protected its danger-
ous voyages ; and the change to the Ltopoldine
increased her anguish.
But she told herself that that was not her
concern, and nothing about him ought ever to
affect her. After all, what could it matter to
her whether he were here or there, on this ship
or another, ashore or not ? Would she feel less
miserable with him back in Iceland, when the
summer would return over the deserted cottages,
and lonely anxious women or when a new au-
tumn came again, bringing home the fishers once
more? All that was alike indifferent to her,
equally without joy or hope. There was no link
between them now, nothing ever to bring them
together, for was he not forgetting even poor little
Sylvestre? So, she had plainly to understand
that this sole dream of her life was over for ever ;
she had to forget Yann, and all things appertain-
ing to his existence, even the very name of Ice-
land, which still vibrated in her with so painful
189
In the Shadow
a charm because of him all such thoughts must
be swept away. All was indeed over, for ever
and ever.
She tenderly looked over at the poor old
woman asleep, who still required all her atten-
tion, but who would soon die. Then, what
would be the good of living and working after
that ; of what use would she be ?
Out of doors, the western wind had again
risen ; and, notwithstanding its deep distant
soughing, the soft regular patter of the eaves-
droppings could be heard as they dripped from
the roof. And so the tears of the forsaken one
began to flow tears running even to her lips to
impart their briny taste, and dropping silently on
her work, like summer showers brought by no
breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy,
from the over-laden clouds ; as she could no
longer see to work, and she felt worked out and
discouraged before this great hollowness of her
life, she folded up the extra-sized body of Ma-
dame Tressoleur and went to bed.
She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for,
like all things in the cottage, it seemed also to
be getting colder and damper. But as she was
very young, although she still continued weeping,
it ended bv her growing warm and falling asleep.
190
Lone and Lorn
CHAPTER XVI
LONE AND LORN
OTHER sad weeks followed on, till it was
early February, fine, temperate weather. Yann
had just come from his shipowner's, where he
had received his wages for the last summer's
fishery, fifteen hundred francs, which, according
to the custom of the family, he carried to his
mother. The catch had been a good one, and
he returned well pleased.
Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by
the side of the road. An old woman was ges-
ticulating with her stick, while the street boys
mocked and laughed around her. It was Granny
Moan. The good old granny whom Sylvestre
had so tenderly loved her dress torn and be-
draggled had now become one of those poor
old women, almost fallen back in second child-
hood, who are followed and ridiculed along their
roads. The sight hurt him cruelly.
The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat,
and she angrily and despairingly threatened the in
with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad had only
been here ! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you
young rascals !
VOL. 20 191 Romances 10
In the Shadow-
It appeared that as she ran after them to beat
them, she had fallen down ; her cap was awry,
and her dress covered with mud ; they called out
that she was tipsy (as often happens to those
poor old " grizzling " people in the country who
have met misfortune).
But Yann clearly knew that that was not
true, and that she was a very respectable old
woman, who only drank water.
" Aren't you ashamed ? " roared he to the boys.
He was very angry, and his voice and tone
frightened them, so that in the twinkling of an
eye they all took flight, frightened and confused
before " Long Gaos."
Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol,
bringing home her work for the evening, had
seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny
in the group. She eagerly rushed forward to
learn what the matter was, and what they had
done to her ; seeing the cat, she understood it
all. She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who
did not look aside ; neither thought of avoiding
each other now ; but they both blushed deeply
and rtiey gazed rather startled at being so near
one another ; but without hatred, almost with
affection, united as they were in this common
impulse of pity and protection.
192
Lone and Lorn
The school-children had owed a grudge to
the poor dead grimalkin for some time, because
he had a black, satanic look ; though he was really
a very good cat, and when one looked closely
at him, he was soft and caress-inviting of coat.
They had stoned him to death, and one of his
eyes hung out. The poor old woman went on
grumbling, shaking with emotion, and carrying
her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit
"Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor
lad, if he were only here ; for sure, they'd never
dared a-do it."
Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles ;
and her rough blue-veined hands trembled.
Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried
to comfort her with soothing words. Yann was
quite indignant to think that little children could
be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged
woman and her pet. Tears almost came into his
eyes, and his heart ached for the poor old dame
as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so
dearly, and the terrible pain it would have been
to him to see her end thus, under derision and in
misery.
Gaud excused herself as if she were respon-
le for her state. " She must have fallen down,"
she said in a low voice ; " 'tis true her dress isn't
193
In the Shadow
new, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann ;
but I mended it again only yesterday, and this
morning when I left home I'm sure she was neat
and tidy."
He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply
touched by that simple excuse than by clever
phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side by
side they walked on to the Moans' cottage. He
always had acknowledged her to be lovelier than
any other girl, but it seemed to him that she
was even more beautiful now in her poverty and
mourning. She wore a graver look, and her
gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and
nevertheless seemed to penetrate to the inner
depth of the soul. Her figure, too, was thor-
oughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in
the full bloom of her loveliness. She looked
like a genuine fisher's daughter, too, in her plain
black gown and cap ; yet one could not precisely
tell what gave her that unmistakable token of
the lady ; it was involuntary and concealed with-
in herself, and she could not be blamed for it ;
only perhaps her bodice was a trifle nicer fitting
than the others, though from sheer inborn taste,
and showed to advantage her .rounded bust and
perfect arms. But, no ! the mystery was re-
vealed in her quiet voice and look.
194
The Espousal
CHAPTER XVII
THE ESPOUSAL
IT was manifest that Yann meant to accom-
pany them ; perhaps all the way home. They
walked on, all three together, as if following the
cat's funeral procession ; it was almost comical
to watch them pass ; and the old folks on the
doorsteps grinned at the sight. Old Yvonne, in
the middle, carried the dead pet ; Gaud walked
on her right, trembling and blushing, and tall
Yann on the left, grave and haughty.
The aged woman had become quiet now ;
she had tidied her hair up herself and walked
silently, looking alternately at them both from
the tail of her eyes, which had become clear
again.
Gaud said nothing for fear of giving Yann
the opportunity of taking his leave ; she would
have liked to feel his kind, tender eyes eternally
on her, and to walk along with her own closed
so as to think of nothing else ; to wander along
thus by his side in the dream she was weaving,
instead of arriving so soon at their lonely, dark
cottage, when- all must fade- away.
At the door occurred one of those moments
'95
In the Shadow
of indecision when the heart seems to stop beat-
ing. The grandam went in without turning
round, then Gaud, hesitating, and Yann, behind,
entered, too.
He was in their home for the first time in his
life probably without any reason. What could
he want ? As he passed over the threshold he
touched his hat, and then his eyes fell and dwelt
upon Sylvestre's portrait in its small black-beaded
frame. He went slowly up to it, as to a tomb.
Gaud remained standing with her hands rest-
ing on the table. He looked around him ; she
watched him take a silent inspection of their
poverty. Very poor looked this cottage of the
two forsaken women. At least he might feel
some pity for her, seeing her reduced to this
misery inside its plain granite and whitewash.
Only the fine white bed remained of all past
splendour, and involuntarily Yann's eyes rested
there.
He said nothing. Why did he not go ? The
old grandmother, although still so sharp in her
lucid intervals, appeared not to notice him. How
odd ! So they remained over against one another,
seeming respectively to question with a yearning
desire. But the moments were flitting, and each
second seemed to emphasize the silence between
196
The Espousal
them. They gazed at one another more and
more searchingly, as if in solemn expectation of
some wonderful, exquisite event, which was too
long in coming.
" Gaud," he began, in a low grave voice, " if
you're still of a mind now
What was he going to say ? She felt instinc-
tively that he had suddenly taken a mighty reso-
lution rapidly as he always did, but hardly dared
word it.
" If you be still of a mind d'ye see, the fish
has sold well this year, and I've a little money
ahead "
"If she were still of a mind ! " What was he
asking of her ? Had she heard aright ? She
felt almost crushed under the immensity of what
she thought she premised.
All the while, old Yvonne, in her corner,
pricked up her ears, feeling happiness approach.
" We could make a splice on it a marriage,
right off, Mademoiselle Gaud, if you are still of
the same mind?"
He listened here for her answer, which did
not come. What could stop her from pronounc-
ing that "yes?" He looked astonished and
frightened, she could see that. Her hands clutched
the table edge. She had turned quite white and
'97
In the Shadow
her eyes were misty ; she was voiceless, and
looked like some maid dying in her flower.
" Well, Gaud, why don't you answer ? " said
Granny Yvonne, who had risen and come towards
them. " Don't you see, it rather surprises her,
Monsieur Yann. You must excuse her. She'll
think it over and answer you later on. Sit you
down a bit, Monsieur Yann, and take a glass of
cider with us."
It was not surprise, but ecstasy that pre-
vented Gaud from answering ; no words at all
came to her relief. So it really was true that he
was good and kind-hearted. She knew him
aright the same true Yann, her own, such as
she never had ceased to see him, notwithstand-
ing his sternness and his rough refusal. For a
long time he had disdained her, but now he ac-
cepted her, although she was poor. No doubt it
had been his wish all through ; he may have had
a motive for so acting, which she would know
hereafter ; but, for the present, she had no inten-
tion of asking him his meaning, or of reproach-
ing him for her two years of pining. Besides,
all that was past, ay, and forgotten now ; in one
single moment everything seemed carried away
before the delightful whirlwind that swept over
her life !
198
The Espousal
Still speechless, she told him of her great
love and adoration for him by her sweet brim-
ming eyes alone ; she looked deeply and
steadily at him, while the copious shower of
happy tears poured adown her roseate cheeks.
" Well done ! and God bless you, my chil-
dren," said Granny Moan. a It's thankful I be
to Him, too, for I'm glad to have been let grow
so old to see this happy thing afore I go."
Still there they remained, standing before
one another with clasped hands, finding no
words to utter ; knowing of no word sweet
enough, and no sentence worthy to break that
exquisite silence.
" Why don't ye kiss one another, my chil-
dren ? Lor' ! but they're dumb ! Dear me,
what strange grandchildren I have here !
Pluck up, Gaud ; say some'at to him, my
dear. In my time lovers kissed when they
plighted their troth."
Yann raised his hat, as if suddenly seized
with a vast, heretofore unfelt reverence, before
bending down to kiss Gaud. It seemed to him
that this was the first kiss worthy of the name
he ever had given in his life.
She kissed him also, pressing her fresh
lips, unused to refinements of caresses, with
her whole heart, to his sea-bronzed cheek.
199
In the Shadow
Among the stones the cricket sang of happi-
ness, being right for this time. And Sylvestre's
pitiful insignificant portrait seemed to smile on
them out of its black frame. All things, in fact,
seemed suddenly to throb with life and with joy
in the blighted cottage. The very silence appar-
ently burst into exquisite music ; and the pale
winter twilight, creeping in at the narrow win-
dow, became a wonderful, unearthly glow.
" So we'll go to the wedding when the Ice-
landers return ; eh, my dear children ? "
Gaud hung her head. " Iceland," the " Lto-
poldine " so it was all real ! while she had al-
ready forgotten the existence of those terrible
things that arose in their way.
" When the Icelanders return."
How long that anxious summer waiting would
seem !
Yann drummed on the floor with his foot
feverishly and rapidly. He seemed to be in a
great hurry to be off and back, and was telling
the days to know if, without losing time, they
would be able to get married before his sailing.
So many days to get the official papers filled and
signed ; so many for the banns : that would only
bring them up to the twentieth or twenty-fifth
of the month for the wedding, and if nothing
200
The Espousal
rose in the way, they could have a whole honey-
moon week together before he sailed.
" I'm going to start by telling my father,"
said he, with as much haste as if each moment
of their lives were now numbered and precious.
201
PART IV
YANN'S FIRST WEDDING
CHAPTER I
THE COURTING BY THE SEA
ALL sweethearts like to sit on the bench at
their cottage door, when night falls.
Yann and Gaud did that likewise. Every
evening they sat out together before the Moans'
cottage, on the old granite seat, and talked love.
Others have the spring-time, the soft shadow
of the trees, balmy evenings, and flowering rose-
bushes; they had only the February twilight,
which fell over the sea-beaten land, strewn with
eel-grass and stones. There was no branch of
verdure above their heads or around them ; noth-
ing but the immense sky, over which passed the
slowly wandering mists. And their flowers were
brown sea-weeds, drawn up from the beach by
the fishers, as they dragged their nets along.
The winters are not very severe in this part
of the country, being tempered by currents of
the sea ; but, notwithstanding that, the gloaming
5 often laden with invisible icy rain, which fell
upon their shoulders as they sat together. But
205
Yann's First Wedding
they remained there, feeling warm and happy.
The bench, which was more than a hundred years
old, did not seem in the least surprised at their
love, having seen many other pairs in its time ;
it had listened to many soft words, which are
always the same on the lips of the young, from
generation to generation; and it had become
used to seeing lovers sit upon it again, when they
returned to it old and trembling ; but in the
broad day, this time, to warm themselves in the
last sun they would see.
From time to time Granny Moan would put
her head out at the door to have a look at them,
and try to induce them to come in. " You'll
catch cold, my good children," said she, "and
then you'll fall ill Lord knows, it really isn't
sensible to remain out so late."
Cold ! they cold ? Were they conscious of
anything else besides the bliss of being together ?
The passers-by in the evening down their
pathway, heard the soft murmur of two voices
mingling with the voice of the sea, down
below at the foot of the cliffs. It was a most
harmonious music ; Gaud's sweet, fresh voice
alternated with Yann's, which had soft, caressing
notes in the lower tones. Their profiles could
be clearly distinguished on the granite wall
206
The Seaman's Secret
against which they reclined ; Gaud with her
white headgear and slender black-robed figure,
and beside her the broad, square shoulders of her
beloved. Behind and above rose the ragged
dome of the straw thatch, and the darkening,
infinite, and colourless waste of the sea and sky
floated over all.
Finally, they did go in to sit down by the
hearth, whereupon old Yvonne immediately nod-
ded off to sleep, and did not trouble the two
lovers very much. So they went on communing
in a low voice, having to make up for two years
of silence ; they had to hurry on their courtship
because it was to last so short a time.
It was arranged that they were to live with
Granny Moan, who would leave them the cot-
tage in her will ; for the present, they made no
alterations in it, for want of time, and put off
their plan for embellishing their poor lonely
home until the fisherman's return from Iceland.
CHAPTER II
THE SEAMAN'S SECRET
ONE evening Yann amused himself by re-
lating to his affianced a thousand things she had
207
Yann's First Wedding
done, or which had happened to her since their
first meeting ; he even enumerated to her the
different dresses she had had, and the jollifica-
tions to which she had been.
She listened in great surprise. How did he
know all this ? Who would have thought of a
man ever paying any attention to such matters,
and being capable of remembering so clearly ?
But he only smiled at her in a mysterious
way, and went on mentioning other facts to her
that she had altogether forgotten.
She did not interrupt him ; nay, she but let
him continue, while an unexpected delicious joy
welled up in her heart ; she began, at length, to
divine and understand everything. He, too, had
loved loved her, through that weary time. She
had been his constant thought, as he was guile-
lessly confessing. But, in this case, what had
been his reason for repelling her at first and
making her suffer so long ?
There always remained this mystery that he
had promised to explain to her yet still seemed
to elude with a confused, incomprehensible
smile.
208
The Ominous Wedding-Dress
CHAPTER III
THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS
OXE fine day, the loving pair went over to
Paimpol, with Granny Moan, to buy the wed-
ding-dress.
Gaud could very easily have done over one
of her former town-lady's dresses for the occa-
sion. But Yann had wanted to make her this
present, and she had not resisted too long the
having a dress given by her betrothed, and paid
for by the money he had earned at his fishing ;
it seemed as if she were already his wife by this
act.
They chose black, for Gaud had not yet left
off mourning for her father ; but Yann did not
find any of the stuffs they placed before them
good enough. He was not a little overbearing
with the shopman ; he, who formerly never would
have set his foot inside a shop, wanted to man-
age everything himself, even to the very fashion
of the dress. He wished it adorned with broad
bands of velvet, so that it would be very fine, in
his mind.
209
Yann's First Wedding
CHAPTER IV
FLOWER OF THE THORN
ONE evening as these lovers sat out on their
stone bench in the solitude over which the night
fell, they suddenly perceived a hawthorn bush,
which grew solitarily between the rocks, by the
side of the road, covered with tiny flowered tufts.
" It looks as if 'twas in bloom," said Yann.
They drew near to inspect it. It was in full
flower, indeed. As they could not see very well
in the twilight, they touched the tiny blooms,
wet with mist. Then the first impression of
spring came to them at the same time they
noticed this ; the days had already lengthened,
the air was warmer, and the night more lumi-
nous. But how forward this particular bush was !
They could not find another like it anywhere
around, not one ! It had blossomed, you see,
expressly for them, for the celebration of their
loving plight.
" Oh ! let us gather some more," said Yann.
Groping in the dark, he cut a nosegay with
the stout sailor's knife that he always wore in his
belt, and paring off all the thorns, he placed it
in Gaud's bosom.
210
Flower of the Thorn
" You look like a bride now," said he, step-
ping back to judge of the effect, notwithstand-
ing the deepening dusk.
At their feet the calm sea rose and fell over
the shingle with an intermittent swash, regular
as the breathing of a sleeper ; for it seemed in-
different or ever favourable to the love-making
going on hard by.
In expectation of these evenings the days
appeared long to them, and when they bade
each other good-bye at ten o'clock, they felt a
kind of discouragement, because it was all so
soon over.
They had to hurry with the official docu-
ments for fear of not being ready in time, and of
letting their happiness slip by until the autumn,
or even uncertainty.
Their evening courtship in that mournful
spot, lulled by the continual even wash of the
sea, with that feverish impression of the flight of
time, was almost gloomy and ominous. They
were like no lovers ; more serious and restless
were they in their love than the common run.
Yet Yann never told her what mysterious
thing had kept him away from her for these two
lonely years ; and after he returned home of a
night, Gaud grew uneasy as before, although he
211
Yann's First Wedding
loved her perfectly this she knew. It is true
that he had loved her all along, but not as now ;
love grew stronger in his heart and mind, like a
tide rising and overbrimming. He never had
known this kind of love before.
Sometimes on their stone seat he lay down,
resting his head in Gaud's lap like a caressing
child, till, suddenly remembering propriety, he
would draw himself up erect. He would have
liked to lie on the very ground at her feet,
and remain there with his brow pressed to the
hem of her garments. Excepting the brotherly
kiss he gave her when he came and went, he did
not dare to embrace her. He adored that in-
visible spirit in her, which appeared in the very
sound of her pure, tranquil voice, the expression
of her smile, and in her clear eye.
CHAPTER V
THE COST OF OBSTINACY
ONE rainy evening they were sitting side by
side near the hearth, and Granny Moan was
asleep opposite them. The fire flames, dancing
over the branches on the hearth, projected their
magnified shadows on the beams overhead.
212
The Cost of Obstinacy
They spoke to one another in that low voice
of all lovers. But upon this particular evening
their conversation was now and again broken by
long troubled silence. He, in particular, said
very little and lowered his head with a faint
smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For she
had been pressing him with questions all the
evening concerning that mystery that he posi-
tively would not divulge ; and this time he felt
himself cornered. She was too quick for him,
and had fully made up her mind to learn ; no
possible shifts could get him out of telling her
now.
"Was it any bad tales told about me?" she
asked.
He tried to answer "yes," and faltered:
" Oh ! there was always plenty of rubbish bab-
bled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec."
She asked what, but he could not answer
her ; so then she thought of something else.
" Was it about my style of dress, Yann ? "
Yes, of course, that had had something to do
with it ; at one time she had dressed too grandly
to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But
he was obliged to acknowledge that that was
not all.
" Was it because at that time we passed for
213
Yann's First Wedding
very rich people, and you were afraid of being
refused?"
" Oh, no ! not that." He said this with such
simple confidence that Gaud was amused.
Then fell another silence, during which the
moaning of the sea-winds was heard outside.
Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck
her, and her expression changed.
"If not anything of that sort, Yann, what
was it ? " demanded she, suddenly, looking at him
fair in the eyes, with the irresistible questioning
look of one who guesses the truth, and could dis-
pense with confirmation.
He turned aside, laughing outright.
So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright ; he
never could give her a real reason, because there
was none to give. He had simply " played the
mule " (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But
everybody had teased him so much about that
Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates,
and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly
said " no," but knew well enough in the bottom
of his heart that when nobody thought any more
about the hollow mystery it would become "yes."
So it was on account of Yann's childishness
that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for
two long years, and had longed to die.
214
The Cost of Obstinacy
At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at
Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would
she forgive him ? He felt such remorse for hav-
ing made her suffer. Would she forgive him ?
" It's my temper that does it, Gaud," said he.
"At home with my folk, it's the same thing.
Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole
week angered against them, without speaking to
anybody. Yet you know how I love them, and
I always end by doing what they wish, like a
boy. If you think that I was happy to live
unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it couldn't
have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure."
Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the
soft tears fall, she knew they were the outflow
of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's con-
fession. Besides, the present never would have
been so happy without all her suffering ; that
being over, she was almost pleased at having
gone through that time of trial.
Everything was finally cleared up between
them, in a very unexpected though complete
manner; there remained no clouds between their
souls. He drew her towards him, and they re-
mained some time with their cheeks pressed
close, requiring no further explanations. So
chaste was their embrace, that the old gran dam
VOL. 20 2 , 5 Romances 11
Yann's First Wedding
suddenly awaking, they remained before her as
they were without any confusion or embarrass-
ment.
CHAPTER VI
THE BRIDAL
IT was six days before the sailing for Iceland.
Their wedding procession was returning from
Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious
wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky.
They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as
they walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like
king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm,
reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing
about them ; as if they were above ordinary life
and everybody else. The very wind seemed to
respect them, while behind them their "train"
was .a jolly medley of laughing couples, tum-
bled and buffeted by the angry western gale.
Many people were present, overflowing with
young life ; others turning gray, but these still
smiled as they thought of their wedding-day and
younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and
following, too, panting a little, but something
like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle
of Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned
216
The Bridal
compliments. She wore a grand new cap, bought
for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had
been dyed a third time, and black, because of
Sylvestre. .
The wind worried everybody ; dresses and
skirts, bonnets and coiffes, were similarly tossed
about mercilessly.
At the church door, the newly married couple,
pursuant to custom, had bought two nosegays of
artificial flowers, to complete their bridal attire.
Yann had fastened his on anyhow upon his broad
chest, but he was of those men whom anything
becomes. As for Gaud, there was still something
of the lady about the manner in which she had
placed the rude flowers in her bodice, as of old
very close fitting to her unrivalled form.
The violin player, who led the whole band,
bewildered by the wind, played at random ; his
tunes were heard by fits and starts betwixt the
noisy gusts, and rose as shrill as the screaming of
a sea-gull. All Ploubazlanec had turned out to
look at them. This marriage seemed to excite
people's sympathy, and many had come from
far around ; at each turn of the road there were
groups stationed to see them pass. Nearly all
Yann's mates, the Icelanders of Paimpol, were
there. Tluy cheered the bride and bridegroom
217
Yann's First Wedding
as they passed ; Gaud returned their greeting, bow-
ing slightly like a town lady, with serious grace ;
and all along the way she was greatly admired.
The darkest and most secluded hamlets
around, even those in the woods, had been
emptied of all their beggars, cripples, wastrels,
poor, and idiots on crutches ; these wretches
scattered along the road, with accordions and
hurdy-gurdies ; they held out their hands and
hats to receive the alms that Yann threw to
them with his own noble look and Gaud with
her beautiful queenly smile. Some of these poor
waifs were very old and wore gray locks on heads
that had never held much ; crouching in the hol-
lows of the roadside, they were of the same
colour as the earth from which they^seemed to
have sprung, but so unformed as soon to be
returned without ever having had any human
thoughts. Their wandering glances were as in-
decipherable as the mystery of their abortive and
useless existences. Without comprehending, they
looked at the merrymakers' line pass by. It
went on beyond Pors-Even and the Gaoses'
home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal
tradition of Ploubazlanec and go to the chapel of
La Trinite*, which is situated at the very end of
the Breton country.
218
The Bridal
At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on
a threshold of low-lying rocks close to the water,
and seems almost to belong to the sea already.
A narrow goat's path leads down to it through
masses of granite.
The wedding party spread over the incline of
the forsaken cape head ; and among the rocks
and stones, happy words were lost in the roar of
the wind and the surf.
It was useless to try and reach the chapel ; in
this boisterous weather the path was not safe, the
sea came too close with its high rollers. Its
white-crested spouts sprang up in the air, so as
to break over everything in a ceaseless shower.
Yann, who had advanced the farthest with
Gaud on his arm, was the first to retreat before
the spray. Behind, his wedding party had re-
mained strewn about the rocks, in a semicircle ;
it seemed as if he had come to present his wife
to the sea, which received her with scowling, ill-
boding aspect.
Turning round, he caught sight of the vio-
linist perched on a gray rock, trying vainly to
play his dance tunes between gusts of wind.
" Put up your music, my lad," said Yann ;
"old Neptune is playing us a livelier tune than
you;
219
Yann's First Wedding
A heavily beating shower, which had threat-
ened since morning, began to fall. There was a
mad rush then, accompanied by outcries and
laughter, to climb up the bluff and take refuge
at the Gaoses'.
CHAPTER VII
THE DISCORDANT NOTE
THE wedding breakfast was given at Yann's
parents', because Gaud's home was so poor. It
took place upstairs in the great new room. Five-
and-twenty guests sat down round the newly mar-
ried pair sisters and brothers, cousin Gaos the
pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, Yvon Duff, all of the
old Maries crew, who were now the Ltopoldines ;
four very pretty bridesmaids, with their hair-plaits
wound round their ears, like the empresses' in an-
cient Byzantium, and their modern white caps,
shaped like sea-shells ; and four best men, all
broad-shouldered Icelanders, with large proud
eyes.
Downstairs, of course, there was eating and
cooking going on ; the whole train of the wed-
ding procession had gathered there in disorder ;
and the extra servants, hired from Paimpol, well-
nigh lost their senses before the mighty lumber-
220
The Discordant Note
ing up of the capacious hearth with pots and
pans.
Yann's parents would have wished a richer
wife for their son, naturally, but Gaud was known
now as a good, courageous girl ; and then, in
spite of her lost fortune, she was the greatest
beauty in the country, and it flattered them to
see the couple so well matched.
The old father was inclined to be merry after
the soup, and spoke of the bringing up of his
fourteen little Gaoses ; but they were all doing
well, thanks to the ten thousand francs that had
made them well off.
Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he
played in the navy, yarns about China, the West
Indies, and Brazil, making the young ones who
would be off some day, open their eyes in won-
derment.
"There is a cry against the sea-service," said
the old sailor, laughing, " but a man can have
fine fun in it."
The weather did not clear up ; on the con-
trary, the wind and rain raged through the
gloomy night ; and in spite of the care taken,
some of the guests were fidgety about their
smacks anchored in the harbour, and spoke of
getting up to go and see if all was right. But
221
Yann's First Wedding
here a more jovial sound than ever was heard
from downstairs, where the younger members of
the party were supping together ; cheers of joy
and peals of laughter ascended. The little cous-
ins were beginning to feel exhilarated by the
cider.
Boiled and roasted meats had been served up
with poultry, different kinds of fish, omelets and
pancakes.
The debate had turned upon fishery and
smuggling, and the best means of fooling the
coast-guardsmen, who, as we all know, are the
sworn enemies of honest seafarers.
Upstairs, at the grand table, old circumnavi-
gators went so far as to relate droll stories, in the
vernacular.
But the wind was raging altogether too
strong ; for the windows shook with a terrible
clatter, and the man telling the tale had hur-
riedly ended to go and see to his smack.
Then another went on : " When I was bo's'n's
mate aboard of the Ztnobie, a-lying at Aden,
and a-doing the duty of a corporal of marines, by
the same token, you ought to ha' seen the os-
tridge feather traders a-trying to scramble up over
the side. \Imitating the broken talfc\ * Bon-joo,
cap'n ! we're not thief s we're honest merchants '
222
The Discordant Note
Honest, my eye ! with a sweep of the bucket,
a purtending to draw some water up, I sent 'em
all flying back an oar's length. ' Honest mer-
chants, are ye,' says I, * then send us up a bunch of
honest feathers first with a hard dollar or two
in the core of it, d'ye see, and then I'll believe in
your honesty ! ' Why, I could ha' made my for-
tun' out of them beggars, if I hadn't been born
and brought up honest myself, and but a suck-
ing-dove in wisdom, saying nothing of my having
a sweetheart at Toulon in the millinery line, who
could have used any quantity of feathers "
Ha ! here's one of Yann's little brothers, a
future Iceland fisherman, with a fresh pink face
and bright eyes, who is suddenly taken ill from
having drunk too much cider. So little Laumec
has to be carried off, which cuts short the story
of the milliner and the feathers.
The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil
spirit in torment ; with fearful strength, it shook
the whole house on its stone foundation.
44 It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos
we're enjoying of ourselves," said the pilot
cousin.
" No, it's the sea that's wrathy," corrected
Yann, smiling at Gaud, 4< because I'd promised
I'd be wedded to tier."
223
Yann's First Wedding
A strange languor seemed to envelop them
both ; they spoke to one another in a low voice,
apart, in the midst of the general gafety. Yann,
knowing thoroughly the effect of wine, did not
drink at all. Now and then he turned dull too,
thinking of Sylvestre. It was an understood
thing that there was to be no dancing, on account
of him and of Gaud's dead father.
It was the dessert now ; the singing would
soon begin. But first there were the prayers to
say, for the dead of the family ; this form is
never omitted, at all wedding-feasts, and is a
solemn duty. So when old Gaos rose and un-
covered his white head, there was a dead silence
around.
" This," said he, " is for Guillaume Gaos, my
father." Making the sign of the cross, he began
the Lord's prayer in Latin : "Pater noster, qui es
in ccelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum
The silence included all, even to the joyful
little ones downstairs, and every voice was re-
peating in an undertone the same eternal words.
"This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two
brothers, who were lost in the Sea of Iceland.
This for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked
aboard the Ztlie." When all the dead Gaoses
had had their prayers, he turned towards grand-
224
The Discordant Note
mother Moan, saying, " This one is for Sylvestre
Moan."
Yann wept as he recited another prayer.
11 Sed liber a nos a malo. Amen / "
Then the songs began ; sea-songs learned in
the navy, on the forecastle, where we all know
there are rare good vocalists.
" Un noble corps, pas mains qice celui des Zou-
aves" etc.
A noble and a gallant lad
The Zouave is, we know,
But, capping him for bravery,
The sailor stands, I trow.
Hurrah, hurrah ! long life to him,
Whose glory never can grow dim !
This was sung by one of the bride's sup-
porters, in a feeling tone that went to the soul ;
and the chorus was taken up by other fine, manly
voices.
But the newly wedded pair seemed to listen
as from a distance. When they looked at one
another, their eyes shone with dulled brilliance,
like that of transparently shaded lamps. They
spoke in even a lower voice, and still held each
other's hands. Gaud bent her head, too, gradu-
ally overcome by a vast, delightful terror, before
her master.
The^oilot cousin went around the table, serv-
225
Yann's First Wedding
ing out a wine of his own ; he had brought it
with much care, hugging and patting the bottle,
which ought not to be shaken, he said. He told
the story of it. One day out fishing they saw a
cask a-floating ; it was too big to haul on board,
so they had stove in the head and filled all the
pots and cans they had, with most of its con-
tents. It was impossible to take all, so they had
signalled to other pilots and fishers, and all the
sails in sight had flocked round the flotsam.
" And I know more than one old sobersides
who was gloriously topheavy when we got back
to Pors-Even at night ! " he chuckled liquorishly.
The wind still went on with its fearful din.
Downstairs the children were dancing in
rings ; except some of the youngest, sent to
bed ; but the others, who were romping about,
led by little Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guil-
laume), wanted to go and play outside. Every
minute they were opening the door and letting
in furious gusts, which blew out the candles.
The pilot cousin went on with his story.
Forty bottles had fallen to his lot, he said. He
begged them all to say nothing about it, because
of "Monsieur le Commissaire de Inscription
Maritime'' who would surely make a fuss over
the undeclared find.
226
The Discordant Note
11 But, d'ye see," he went on, " it sarved the
lubbers right to heave over such a vallyble cask
or let it 'scape the lashings, for it's a superior
quality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice
in it than in all the wine-merchants' cellars of
Paimpol. Goodness knows whence it came
this here castaway liquor."
It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed
with sea-water, and had the flavour of cod-pickle,
but in spite of .that, relishable ; and several bot-
tles were emptied.
Some heads began to spin; the Babel of
voices became more confused, and the lads kissed
the lasses less surreptitiously.
The songs joyously continued ; but the winds
would not moderate, and the seamen exchanged
tokens of apprehension about the bad weather
increasing.
The sinister clamour without was indeed
worse than ever. It had become one continuous
howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand mad
creatures were yelling with full throats and out-
stretched necks.
One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting
out their deafening boom in the distance, but
that was only the sea hammering the coast of
Plouba/laiu-c uti all points; undoubtedly it did
227
Yann's First Wedding
not appear contented, and Gaud felt her heart
shrink at this dismal music, which no one had
ordered for their wedding-feast.
Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who
had risen softly, beckoned his wife to come to
speak to him.
It was to go home. She blushed, filled with
shame, and confused at having left her seat so
promptly. She said it would be impolite to go
away directly and leave the others.
" Not a bit on it," replied Yann, " my father
allows it ; we may go," and away he carried her.
They hurried away stealthily. Outside they
found themselves in the cold, the bitter wind,
and the miserable, agitated night. They began
to run hand-in-hand.
From the height of the cliff-path, one could
imagine, without seeing it, the furious open sea,
whence arose all this hubbub. They ran along,
the wind cutting their faces, both bowed before
the angry gusts, and obliged to put their hands
over their mouths to cover their breathing, which
the wind had completely taken away at first.
He held her up by the waist at the outset, to
keep her dress from trailing on the ground, and
her fine new shoes from being spoiled in the
water, which streamed about their feet, and next
228
The Discordant Note
he held her round the neck, too, and continued
to run on still faster. He could hardly realize
that he loved her so much ! To think that
she was now twenty-three and he nearly twenty-
eight ; that they might have been married two
years ago, and as happy then as to-night !
At last they arrived at home, that poor lodg-
ing, with its damp flooring and moss-grown roof.
They lit the candle, which the wind blew out
twice.
Old grandam Moan, who had been taken
home before the singing began, was there. She
had been sleeping for the last two hours in her
bunk, the flaps of which were shut. They drew
near with respect and peeped through the fret-
work of her press, to bid her good-night, if by
chance she were not asleep. But they only per-
ceived her still venerable face and closed eyes ;
she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb
them.
They felt they were alone then. Both trem-
bled as they clasped hands. He bent forward
to kiss her lips ; but Gaud turned them aside,
through ignorance of that kind of kiss ; and as
chastely as on the evening of their betrothal, she
pressed hers to Yann's check, which was chillol,
almost frozen, by the wind.
22Q
Yann's First Wedding
It was so bitterly cold in their poor, low-
roofed cottage. If Gaud had only remained
rich, what happiness she would have felt in ar-
ranging a pretty room, not like this one on the
bare ground! She was scarcely yet used to these
rugged granite walls, and the rough look of all
things around ; but her Yann was there now,
and by his presence everything was changed and
transfigured. She saw only her husband. Their
lips met now ; no turning aside. Still standing
with their arms intertwined tightly to draw them-
selves together, they remained dumb, in the per-
fect ecstasy of a never-ending kiss. Their flut-
tering breath commingled, and both quivered as
if in a burning fever. They seemed without
power to tear themselves apart, and knew noth-
ing and desired nothing beyond that long kiss of
consecrated love.
She drew herself away, suddenly agitated.
" Nay, Yann ! Granny Yvonne might see us,"
she faltered.
But he, with a smile, sought his wife's lips
again and fastened his own upon them, like a
thirsty man whose cup of fresh water had been
taken from him.
The movement they had made broke the
charm of delightful hesitation. Yann, who, at
230
The Discordant Note
the first, was going to kneel to her as before a
saint, felt himself fired again. He glanced stealth-
ily towards the old oaken bunks, irritated at being
so close to the old woman, and seeking some way
not to be spied upon, but ever without breaking
away from those exquisite lips.
He stretched forth his arm behind him, and
with the back of his hand dashed out the light,
as if the wind had done it. Then he snatched
her up in his arms. Still holding her close, with
A
his mouth continually pressed to hers, he seemed
like a wild lion with his teeth embedded in his
prey. For her part she gave herself up entirely,
to that body and soul seizure that was imperious
and without possible resistance, even though it
remained soft as a great all-comprising embrace.
Around them, for their wedding hymn, the
same invisible orchestra, played on " Hoo-
ooh-hoo ! " At times the wind bellowed out in
its deep noise, with a tremolo of rage ; and again
repeated its threats, as if with refined cruelty, in
low sustained tones, flute-like as the hoot of an
owl.
The broad, fathomless grave of all sailors lay
nigh to them, restless and ravenous, drumming
against the cliffs with its muffled boom.
One night or another \ aim would have to
231
Yann's First Wedding
be caught in that maw, and battle with it in the
midst of the terror of ice as well. Both knew
this plainly.
But what mattered that now to them on land,
sheltered from the sea's futile fury. In their poor
gloomy cottage, over which tempest rushed, they
scorned all that was hostile, intoxicated and de-
lightfully fortified against the whole by the eter-
nal magic of love.
CHAPTER VIII
THE .BLISSFUL WEEK
FOR six days they were husband and wife.
In this time of leave-taking the preparations for
the Iceland season occupied everybody. The
women heaped up the salt for the pickle in the
holds of the vessels ; the men saw to the masts
and rigging. Yann's mother and sisters worked
from morning till night at the making of the
sou'westers and oilskin waterproofs.
. The weather was dull, and the sea, forefeeling
the approach of the equinoctial gales, was restless
and heaving.
Gaud went through these inexorable prepara-
tions with agony ; counting the fleeting hours of
232
The Blissful Week
the day, and looking forward to the night, when
work was over, and she would have her Yann to
herself.
Would he leave her every year in this way ?
She hoped to be able to keep him back, but
she did not dare to speak to him about that wish
as yet. He loved her passionately, too ; he never
had known anything like this affection before ;
it was such a fresh, trusting tenderness that the
same caresses and fondlings always seemed as if
novel and unknown heretofore ; and their intox-
ication of love continued to increase, and never
seemed never was satiated.
What charmed and surprised her in her mate
was his tenderness and boyishness. This the
Yann in love, whom she had sometimes seen at
Paimpol most contemptuous towards the girls.
On the contrary, to her he always maintained
that kindly courtesy that seemed natural to him,
and she adored that beautiful smile that came to
him whenever their eyes met. Among these
simple folk there exists the feeling of absolute
respect for the dignity of the wife ; there is an
ocean between her and the sweetheart. Gaud
was essentially the wife. She was sorely troubled
in her happiness, however, for it seemed some-
thing too unhoped for, as unstable as a joyful
233
Yann's First Wedding
dream. Besides, would this love be lasting in
Yann ? She remembered sometimes his former
flames, his fancies and different love adventures,
and then she grew fearful. Would he always
cherish that infinite tenderness and sweet respect
for her ?
Six days of a wedded life, for such a love as
theirs, was nothing ; only a fevered instalment
taken from the married life term, which might
be so long before them yet ! They had scarcely
had leisure to be together at all and understand
that they really belonged to one another. All
their plans of life together, of peaceful joy, and
settling down, was forcedly put off till the fisher-
man's return.
No ! at any price she would stop him from
going to this dreadful Iceland another year !
But how should she manage ? And what could
they do for a livelihood, being both so poor ?
Then again he so dearly loved the sea. But in
spite of all, she would try and keep him home
another season ; she would use all her power,
intelligence, and heart to do so. Was she to be
the wife of an Icelander, to watch each spring-
tide approach with sadness, and pass the whole
summer in painful anxiety ? no, now that she
loved him, above everything that she could
234
The Blissful Week
imagine, she felt seized with an immense terror
at the thought of years to come thus robbed
of the better part.
They had one spring day together only one.
It was the day before the sailing ; all the stores
had been shipped, and Yann remained the whole
day with her. They strolled along, arm-in-arm,
through the lanes, like sweethearts again, very
close to one another, murmuring a thousand
tender things. The good folk smiled, as they
saw them pass, saying :
" It's Gaud, with long Yann from Pors-Even.
They were married only t'other day ! "
This last day was really spring. It was
strange and wonderful to behold this universal
serenity. Not a single cloud marred the lately
flecked sky. The wind did not blow anywhere.
The sea had become quite tranquil, and was of a
pale, even blue tint. The sun shone with glar-
ing white brilliancy, and the rough Breton land
seemed bathed in its light, as in a rare, delicate
ether ; it seemed to brighten and revive even in
the utmost distance. The air had a delicious,
balmy scent, as of summer itself, and seemed as
if it were always going to remain so, and never
know any more gloomy, thunderous days. The
capes and bays OUT \\ liirh the changeful shadows
235
Yann's First Wedding
of the clouds no longer passed, were outlined in
strong steady lines in the sunlight, and appeared
to rest also in the long-during calm. All this
made their loving festival sweeter and longer
drawn out. The early flowers already appeared :
primroses, and frail, scentless violets grew along
the hedgerows.
When Gaud asked : "How long then are
you going to love me, Yann ? "
He answered, surprisedly, looking at her full
in the face with his frank eyes : " Why, for ever,
Gaud."
That word, spoken so simply by his fierce
lips, seemed to have its true sense of eternity.
She leaned on his arm. In the enchantment
of her realized dream, she pressed close to him,
always anxious, feeling that he was as flighty as
a wild sea-bird. To-morrow he would take his
soaring on the open sea. And it was too late
now, she could do nothing to stop him.
From the cliff-paths where they wandered,
they could see the whole of this sea-bound coun-
try ; which seems almost treeless, strewn with
low, stunted bush and boulders. Here and there
fishers' huts were scattered over the rocks, their
high battered thatches made green by the crop-
ping up of new mosses ; and in the extreme dis-
236
The Blissful Week
tance, the sea, like a boundless transparency,
stretched out in a never-ending horizon, which
seemed to encircle everything.
She enjoyed telling him about all the won-
derful things she had seen in Paris, but he was
very contemptuous, and was not interested.
" It's so far in from the coast," said he, " and
there is so much land between, that it must be
unhealthy. So many houses and so many peo-
ple, too, about ! There must be lots of ills and
ails in those big towns ; no, I shouldn't like to
live there, certain sure ! "
She smiled, surprised to see this giant so sim-
ple a fellow.
Sometimes they came across hollows where
trees grew and seemed to defy the winds. There
was no view here, only dead leaves scattered be-
neath their feet and chilly dampness ; the narrow
way, bordered on both sides by green reeds,
seemed very dismal under the shadow of the
branches ; hemmed in by the walls of some dark,
lonely hamlet, rotting with old age, and slumber-
ing in this hollow.
A crucifix arose inevitably before them, among
the dead branches, with its colossal image of Our
Saviour in weather-worn wood, its features wrung
with I lis endless agony.
237
Yann's First Wedding
Then the pathway rose again, and they found
themselves commanding the view of immense
horizons and breathed the bracing air of sea-
heights once more.
He, to match her, spoke of Iceland, its
pale, nightless summers and sun that never set.
Gaud did not understand and asked him to
explain.
" The sun goes all round," said he, waving
his arm in the direction of the distant circle of
the blue waters. "It always remains very low,
because it has no strength to rise ; at midnight,
it drags a bit through the water, but soon gets
up and begins its journey round again. Some-
times the moon appears too, at the other side of
the sky ; then they move together, and you can't
very well tell one from t'other, for they are much
alike in that queer country."
To see the sun at midnight ! How very far
off Iceland must be for such marvels to happen !
And the fjords ? Gaud had read that word sev-
eral times written among the names of the dead
in the chapel of the shipwrecked, and it seemed
to portend some grisly thing.
"The fjords," said Yann, "they are only
broad bays, like Paimpol, for instance ; only they
are surrounded by high mountains so high that
238
The Blissful Week
they seem endless, because of the clouds upon
their tops. It's a sorry country, I can tell you,
darling. Nothing but stones. The people of
Iceland know of no such things as trees. In the
middle of August, when our fishery is over, it's
quite time to return, for the nights begin again
then, and they lengthen out very quickly ; the sun
falls below the earth without being able to get
up, and that night lasts all the winter through.
Talking of night," he continued, " there's a little
burying-ground on the coast in one of the fjords,
for Paimpol men who have died during the sea-
son or went down at sea ; it's consecrated earth,
just like at Pors-Even, and the dead have wooden
crosses just like ours here, with their names
painted on them. The two Goazdious from
Ploubazlanec lie there, and Guillaume Moan,
Sylvestre's grandfather."
She could almost see the little churchyard at
the foot of the solitary capes, under the pale rose-
coloured light of those never-ending days, and
she thought of those distant dead, under the ice
and dark winding sheets of the long night-like
winters.
" Do you fish the whole time," she asked,
" without ever stopping ?"
"The whole time, though we somehow get
VOL. 239 Romances 12
Yann's First Wedding
on with work on deck, for the sea isn't always
fine out there. Well ! of course we're dead beat
when the night comes, but it gives a man an
appetite bless you, dearest, we regularly gobble
down our meals."
" Do you never feel sick of it ?"
" Never," returned he, with an air of unshaken
faith which pained her; "on deck, on the open
sea, the time never seems long to a man never ! "
She hung her head, feeling sadder than ever,
and more and more vanquished by her only ene-
my, the sea.
240
PART V
THE SECOND WEDDING
CHAPTER I
THE START
AFTER the spring day they had enjoyed, the
falling night brought back the impression of win-
ter, and they returned to dine before their fire,
which was flaming with new branches. It was
their last meal together ; but they had some hours
yet, and were not saddened.
After dinner, they recovered the sweet im-
pression of spring again, out on the Pors-Even
road ; for the air was calm, almost genial, and the
twilight still lingered over the land.
They went to see the family for Yann to bid
good-bye and returned early, as they wished to
rise with break of day.
The next morning the quay of Paimpol was
crowded with people. The departures for Ice-
land had begun the day before, and with each
tide there was a fresh fleet off. On this particu-
lar morning, fifteen vessels were to start with the
Ltopoldine, and the wives or mothers of the sail-
ors were all present at the getting under sail.
243
The Second Wedding
Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander,
was much surprised to find herself among them
all, and brought thither for the same fateful pur-
pose. Her position seemed to have become so
intensified within the last few days, that she had
barely had time to realize things as they were ;
gliding irresistibly down an incline, she had ar-
rived at this inexorable conclusion that she must
bear up for the present, and do as the others did,
who were accustomed to it.
She never before had been present at these
farewells ; hence all was new to her. Among
these women was none like her, and she felt her
difference and isolation. Her past life, as a lady,
was still remembered, and caused her to be set
aside as one apart.
The weather had remained fine on this part-
ing-day ; but out at sea a heavy swell came from
the west, foretelling wind, and the sea, lying in
wait for these new adventurers, burst its crests
afar.
Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives
like her, and touching, with their eyes big with
tears ; others were thoughtless and lively ; these
had no heart or were not in love. Old women,
threatened nearly by death, wept as they clung
to their sons ; sweethearts kissed each other ;
244
The Start
half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer themselves up,
while others went on board with gloomy looks
as to their execution.
Many sad incidents could be marked ; there
were poor luckless fellows who had signed their
contracts unconsciously, when in liquor in the
grog-shop, and they had to be dragged on board
by force ; their own wives helping the gen-
darmes. Others, noted for their great strength,
had been drugged in drink beforehand, and were
carried like corpses on stretchers, and flung down
in the forecastles.
Gaud was frightened by all this ; what com-
panions were these for her Yann ? and what a
fearful thing was this Iceland, to inspire men
with such terror of it ?
Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were
happy ; who, doubtless, like Yann, loved the un-
trammelled life and hard fishing work ; those
were the sound, able seamen, who had fine noble
countenances ; if they were unmarried they went
off recklessly, merely casting a last look on the
lasses; and if they were married, they kissed
their wives and little ones, with fervent sadness
and deep hopefulness as to returning home all
the richer.
Gaud was a little comforted when she saw
245
The Second Wedding
that all the Ltopoldines were of the latter class,
forming really a picked crew.
The vessels set off two by two, or four by
four, drawn out by the tugs. As soon as they
moved the sailors raised their caps and, full-
voiced, struck up the hymn to the Virgin : " Sa-
lut, Etoile-de-la-Mer!" (All Hail! Star of the
Sea !), while on the quay, the women waved
their hands for a last farewell, and tears fell upon
the lace strings of the caps.
As soon as the Ltopoldine started, Gaud
quickly set off towards the house of the Gaoses.
After an hour and a half's walk along the coast,
through the familiar paths of Ploubazlanec, she
arrived there, at the very land's end, within the
home of her new family.
The Ltopoldine was to cast anchor off Pors-
Even before starting definitely in the evening,
so the married pair had made a last appointment
here. Yann came to land in the yawl, and
stayed another three hours with her to bid her
good-bye on firm land. The weather was still
beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene.
They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm,
and it reminded them of their walk the day be-
fore. They strolled on towards Paimpol with-
out any apparent object in view, and soon came
246
The Start
to their own home, as if unconsciously drawn
there ; they entered together for the last time.
Grandam Moan was quite amazed at seeing them
together again.
Yann left many injunctions with Gaud con-
cerning several of his things in their wardrobe,
especially about his fine wedding clothes ; she
was to take them out occasionally and air them
in the sun, and so on. On board ship the sail-
ors learn all these household-like matters ; but
Gaud was amused to hear it. Her husband
might have been sure, though, that all his things
would be kept and attended to, with loving care.
But all these matters were very secondary for
them ; they spoke of them only to have some-
thing to talk about, and to hide their real feel-
ings. They went on speaking in low, soft tones,
as if fearing to frighten away the moments that
remained, and so make time flit by more swiftly
still. Their conversation was as a thing that had
inexorably to come to an end ; and the most in-
significant things that they said seemed, on this
day, to become wondrous, mysterious, and im-
portant.
At the very last minute Yann caught up his
wife in his arms, and without saying a word, they
were enfolded in a long and silent embrace.
247
The Second Wedding
He embarked ; the gray sails were unfurled
and spread out to the light wind that rose from
the west. He, whom she still could distinguish,
waved his cap in a particular way agreed on be-
tween them. And with her figure outlined
against the sea, she gazed for a long, long time
upon her departing love.
That tiny, human-shaped speck, appearing
black against the bluish gray of the waters, was
still her husband, even though already it became
vague and indefinable, lost in the distance, where
persistent sight becomes baffled, and can see no
longer.
As the Ltopoldine faded out of vision, Gaud,
as if drawn by a magnet, followed the pathway
all along the cliffs till she had to stop, because
the land came to an end ; she sat down at the
foot of a tall cross, which rises amidst the gorse
and stones. As it was rather an elevated spot,
the sea, as seen from there, appeared to be
rimmed, as in a bowl, and the Ldopoldine, now a
mere point, appeared sailing up the incline of
that immense circle. The water rose in great
slow undulations, like the upheavals of a sub-
marine combat going on somewhere beyond the
horizon ; but over the great space where Yann
still was, all dwelt calm.
248
The Start
Gaud still gazed at the ship, trying to fix its
image well in her brain, so that she might recog-
nise it again from afar, when she returned to the
same place to watch for its home-coming.
Great swells now rolled in from the west, one
after another, without cessation, renewing their
useless efforts, and ever breaking over the same
rocks, foaming over the same places, to wash the
same stones. The stifled fury of the sea ap-
peared strange, considering the absolute calmness
of the air and sky ; it was as if the bed of the sea
were too full and would overflow and swallow
up the strand.
The Ltopoldine had grown smaller and smaller,
and was lost in the distance. Doubtless the un-
der-tow carried her along, for she moved swiftly
and yet the evening breezes were very faint.
Now she was only a tiny, gray touch, and would
soon reach the extreme horizon of all visible
things, and enter those infinite regions, whence
darkness was beginning to come.
Going on seven o'clock, night closed, and the
boat had disappeared. Gaud returned home,
feeling withal rather brave, notwithstanding the
tears that uncontainably fell. What a difference
it would have been, and what still greater pain, if
In- had gone away, as in the two preceding years,
249
The Second Wedding
without even a good-bye ! While now every-
thing was softened and bettered between them.
He was really her own Yann, and she knew her-
self to be so truly loved, notwithstanding this
separation, that, as she returned home alone, she
felt at least consoled by the thought of the de-
lightful waiting for that " soon again ! " to be
realized to which they had pledged themselves for
the autumn.
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST OF THE FLEET
THE summer passed sadly, being hot and
uneventful. She watched anxiously for the
first yellowed leaves, and the first gathering of
the swallows, and blooming of the chrysanthe-
mums. She wrote to Yann several times by the
boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the govern-
ment cruisers, but one never can be sure of such
letters reaching their destination.
Towards the end of July, she received a letter
from him, however. He told her that his health
was good, that the fishing season promised to be
excellent, and that he already had 1500 fish for
his share. From beginning to end, it was written
in the simple conventional way of all these Ice-
250
The First of the Fleet
landers' home letters. Men educated like Yann
completely ignore how to write the thousand
things they think, feel, or fancy. Being more
cultivated than he, Gaud could understand this,
and read between the lines that deep affection
that was unexpressed. Several times in the four-
paged letter, he called her by the title of " wife,"
as if happy in repeating the word. And the ad-
dress above : " A Madame Marguerite Gaos, mat-
son Moan, en Ploubazlanec " she liked to read
that over and over again. She was " Madame
Marguerite Gaos " since so short a time.
She worked hard during these summer
months. The ladies of Paimpol had, at .first,
hardly believed in her talent as an amateur dress-
maker, saying her hands were too fine-ladyish ;
but they soon perceived that she excelled in
making dresses that were very nice-fitting, so she
had become almost a famous dressmaker.
She spent all her earnings in embellishing
their home against his return. The wardrobe
and old-shelved beds were all done up afresh,
waxed over, and bright new fastenings put on ;
she had put a pane of glass into their little win-
dow towards the sea, and hung up a pair of cur-
tains ; and she had bought a new counterpane
for the winter, with new chairs and table.
251
The Second Wedding
She had kept the money untouched that her
Yann had left her, carefully put by in a small
Chinese box, to show him when he returned.
During the summer evenings, by the fading light,
she sat out before the cottage door with Granny
Moan, whose head was much better in the warm
weather, and knitted a fine new blue wool jersey
for her Yann ; round the collar and cuffs were
wonderful open - work embroideries. Granny
Yvonne had been a very clever knitter in her
day, and now she taught all she knew to Gaud.
The work took a great deal of wool ; for it had
to be a large jersey to fit Yann.
But soon, especially in the evenings, the
shortening of the days could be perceived. Some
plants, which had put forth all their blossoms in
July, began to look yellow and dying, and the
violet scabious by the wayside bloomed for the
second time, smaller now, and longer-stalked ;
the last days of August drew nigh, and the first
return -ship from Iceland hove in sight one even-
ing at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast of the
returners began.
Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to
welcome it. Which one was it ?
It was the Samuel- A ztnide, always the first
to return.
252
All but Two
"Surely," said Yann's old father, "the Lto-
poldine won't be long now ; I know how 'tis out
yonder : when one of 'em begins to start home-
ward, the others can't hang back in any peace."
CHAPTER III
ALL BUT TWO
THE Icelanders were all returning now. Two
ships came in the second day, four the next, and
twelve during the following week. And, all
through the country, joy returned with them,
and there was happiness for the wives and moth-
ers ; and junkets in the taverns where the beau-
tiful barmaids of Paimpol served out drink to
the fishers.
The Ltopoldim was among the belated ; there
were yet another ten expected. They would not
be long now, and allowing a week's delay so as
not to be disappointed, Gaud waited in happy,
passionate joy for Yann, keeping their home
bright and tidy for his return. When everything
was in good order there was nothing left for her
to do, and besides she could think of nothing else
but her husband in her impatience.
253
The Second Wedding
Three more ships appeared ; then another five.
There were only two lacking now.
" Come, come," they said to her cheerily, " this
year the Ltopoldine and the Marie-Jeanne will be
the last, to pick up all the brooms fallen over-
board from the other craft."
Gaud laughed also. She was more animated
and beautiful than ever, in her great joy of ex-
pectancy.
CHAPTER IV
STILL AT SEA
BUT the days succeeded one another without
result. She still dressed herself every day, and
with a joyful look, went down to the harbour to
gossip with the other wives. She said that this
delay was but natural ; was it not the same event
every year? These were such safe boats, and
had such capital sailors.
But when at home alone, at night, a nervous,
anxious shiver of anguish would run through her
whole frame.
Was it right to be frightened already ? Was
there even a single reason to be so ? But she
began to tremble at the mere idea of grounds
for being afraid.
254
Sharing the Dread
CHAPTER V
SHARING THE DREAD
THE tenth of September came. How swiftly
the days flew by!
One morning, a true autumn morning, with
cold mist falling over the earth, in the rising sun,
she sate under the porch of the chapel of the
shipwrecked mariners, where the widows go to
pray; with eyes fixed and glassy, throbbing tem-
ples tightened as by an iron band.
These sad morning mists had begun two days
before, and on this particular day Gaud had
awakened with a still more bitter uneasiness,
caused by the forecast of advancing winter. Why
did this day, this hour, this very moment, seem to
her more painful than the preceding? Often
ships are delayed a fortnight, even a month, for
that matter.
But surely there was something different about
this particular morning, for she had come to-day
for the first time to sit in the porch of this chapel
and read the names of the dead sailors, perished
in their prime.
'n memory of
GAOS, YVON,
Lost at sea
Near the Norden-Fjord."
2$$
The Second Wedding
Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose
from the sea, and at the same time something
fell like rain upon the roof above. It was only
the dead leaves though ; many were blown in at
the porch ; the old wind-tossed trees of the
graveyard were losing their foliage in this rising
gale, and winter was marching nearer.
" Lost at sea,
Near the Norden-Fjord,
In the storm of the 4th and $th of August, 1880."
She read mechanically under the arch of the
doorway ; her eyes sought to pierce the distance
over the sea. That morning it was untraceable
under the gray mist, and a dragging drapery of
clouds overhung the horizon like a mourning veil.
Another gust of wind, and other leaves
danced in in whirls. A stronger gust still, as
if the western storm that had strewn those dead
over the sea, wished to deface the very inscrip-
tions that remembered their names to the living.
Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at
an empty space upon the wall that seemed to
yawn expectant. By a terrible impression she
was pursued, the thought of a fresh slab which
might soon, perhaps, be placed there, with an-
other name which she did not even dare to think
of in such a spot.
256
Sharing the Dread
She felt cold, and remained seated on the
granite bench, her head reclining against the
stone wall.
" near the Norden-Fjord,
In the storm of the 4th and $th of August,
At the age of 23 years.
Requiescat in pace ! "
Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its
little cemetery lighted up from below the sea-line
by the midnight sun. Suddenly in the same
empty space on the wall, with horrifying clear-
ness she saw the fresh slab she was thinking of ;
a clear white one, with a skull and cross-bones,
and in a flash of foresight, a name the wor-
shipped name of " Yann Gaos ! " Then she sud-
denly and fearfully drew herself up straight and
stiff, with a hoarse, wild cry in her throat like a
mad creature.
Outside the gray mist of the dawn fell over
the land, and the dead leaves were again blown
dancingly into the porch.
Steps on the footpath ? Somebody was
coming ? She rose and quickly smoothed down
her cap and composed her face. Nearer drew
the steps. She assumed the air of one who
might be there by chance ; for, above all, she
257
The Second Wedding
did not wish to appear yet, like the widow of a
shipwrecked mariner.
It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of
the second mate of the Ltopoldine. She under-
stood immediately what Gaud was doing there ;
it was useless to dissemble with her. At first
each woman stood speechless before the other.
They were angry and almost hated each other for
having met with a like sentiment of apprehen-
sion.
" All the men of Trguier and Saint Brieuc
have been back this week," said Fante at last, in
a pitiless, muffled, half-irritated voice.
She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to
offer up a prayer. Gaud did not wish yet to
resort to that extreme resource of despairing
wives. Yet silently she entered the chapel be-
hind Fante, and they knelt down together side
by side, like two sisters.
To the " Star of the Sea" they offered ardent
imploring prayers, with their whole soul in them.
A sound of sobbing was alone heard, as their
rapid tears swiftly fell upon the floor. They rose
together, more confident and softened. Fante
held up Gaud, who staggered, and taking her in
her arms, kissed her.
Wiping their eyes, and smoothing their di-
258
All but One
shevelled hair, they brushed off the salt dust
from the flagstones, soiling their gowns, and
they went away in opposite directions, without
another word.
CHAPTER VI
ALL BUT ONE
THIS end of September was like another
summer, only a little less lively. The weather
was so beautiful, that had it not been for the
dead leaves that fell upon the roads, one might
have thought that June had come back again.
Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, and
everywhere was the joy of a second spring-time
of love.
At last, one day, one of the missing ships
was signalled. Which one was it ?
The groups of speechless and anxious women
had rapidly formed on the cliff. Gaud, pale and
trembling, was there, by the side of her Yann's
father.
11 I'm almost sure," said the old fisher, " I'm
almost sure it's them ! A red rail and a topsail
that clews up it's very like them anyhow. What
do you make it, Gaud ?
41 No, it isn't," IK- \\vui on, with sudden dis-
259
The Second Wedding
couragement ; " we've made a mistake again, the
boom isn't the same, and ours has a jigger sail.
Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only
the Marie-Jeanne. Never mind, my lass, surely
they'll not be long now."
But day followed day, and night succeeded
night, with uninterrupted serenity.
Gaud continued to dress every day like a
poor crazed woman, always in fear of being taken
for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feeling
exasperated when others looked furtively and
compassionately at her, and glancing aside so
that she might not meet those glances that froze
her very blood.
She had fallen into the habit of going in the
early morning right to the end of the headland,
on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behind
Yann's old home, so as not to be seen by his
mother or little sisters. She went to the extreme
point of the Ploubazlanec land, which is outlined
in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray
waters of the channel, and sat there all day long
at the foot of the lonely cross, which rises high
above the immense waste of the ocean. There
are many of these crosses hereabout; they are
set up on the most advanced cliffs of the sea-
bound land, as if to implore mercy and to calm
260
All but One
that restless mysterious power that draws men
away, never to give them back, and in preference
retains the bravest and noblest.
Around this cross stretches the ever-green
waste, strewn with short rushes. At this great
height the sea air was very pure ; it scarcely re-
tained the briny odour of the weeds, but was per-
fumed with all the exquisite ripeness of Septem-
ber flowers.
Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast
were firmly outlined, rising one above another ;
the land of Brittany terminated in ragged edges,
which spread out far into the tranquil surface.
Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but
out beyond nothing broke its polished mirror,
from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light
and intensified from the depths of its many bays.
Its horizon seemed so calm, and its depths so
soft ! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoses
hid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes,
faint as human breath, wafted to and fro the per-
fume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed
again in the latest autumn sun.
At regular hours the sea retreated, and great
spaces were left uncovered everywhere, as if the
Channel was slowly drying up; thru with the
same lazy slowness, the waters rose again, and
261
The Second Wedding
continued their everlasting coming and going,
without any heed of the dead.
At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, sur-
rounded by these tranquil mysteries, gazing ever
before her, until the night fell and she could see
no more.
CHAPTER VII
THE MOURNER'S VISION
SEPTEMBER had passed. The sorrowing wife
took scarcely any nourishment, and could no
longer sleep. She remained at home now,
crouching low with her hands between her knees,
her head thrown back and resting against the
wall behind. What was the good of getting up
or going to bed now ? When she was thorough-
ly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon her
bed. Otherwise she remained in the same posi-
tion, chilled and benumbed ; in her quiescent
state, only her teeth chattered with the cold ; she
had that continual impression of a band of iron
round her brows ; her cheeks looked wasted ; her
mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at
times a painful hoarse cry rose from her throat,
and was repeated in spasms, while her head beat
backward against the granite wall. Or else she
262
The Mourner's Vision
called Yann by his name in a low, tender voice,
as if he were quite close to her, whispering words
of love to her.
Sometimes she occupied her brain with
thoughts of quite insignificant things ; for in-
stance, she amused herself by watching the
shadow of the china Virgin lengthen slowly
over the high woodwork of the bed, as the sun
went down. And then the agonized thoughts re-
turned more horrible, and her wailing cry broke
out again as she beat her head against the wall.
All the hours of the day passed, and all the
hours of evening, and of night, and then the
hours of the morning. When she reckoned the
time he ought to have been back, she was seized
with a still greater terror ; she wished to forget
all dates and the very names of the days.
Usually there is some information concerning
the wrecks off Iceland ; those who return have
seen the tragedy from afar, or else have found
some wreckage or bodies, or have an indication
to guess the rest. But of the Ltopoldine nothing
had been seen, and nothing was known. The
Marie-Jeanne men, the last to have seen her, on
the 2d of August, said that she was to have gone
on fishing farther towards the north, and, beyond
that, the secret was unfathomable.
VOL - 20 263 Romances 13
The Second Wedding
Waiting, always waiting, and knowing noth-
ing ! When would the time come when she
need wait no longer ? She did not even know
that ; and, now, she almost wished that it might
be soon.
Oh ! if he were dead ; let them at least have
pity enough to tell her so ! Oh ! to see her
darling, as he was at this very moment, that is,
what was left him ! If only the much-im-
plored Virgin, or some other power, would do
her the blessing to show her, by second-sight,
her beloved ! either living and working hard to
return a rich man, or else as a corpse, surrendered
by the sea, so that she might at least know a
certainty.
Sometimes she was seized with the thought
of a ship appearing suddenly upon the horizon ;
the Ltopoldine hastening home. Then she would
suddenly make an irreflected movement to rise,
and rush to look out at the ocean, to see whether
it were true.
But she would fall back. Alas ! where was
this Ltopoldine now ? Where could she be ? Out
afar, at that awful distance of Iceland, forsaken,
crushed, and lost.
All ended by a never-fading vision appearing
to her an empty, sea-tossed wreck, slowly and
264
The False Alarm
gently rocked by the silent gray and rose-streaked
sea ; almost with soft mockery, in the midst of
the vast calm of deadened waters.
CHAPTER VIII
THE FALSE ALARM
Two o'clock in the morning.
It was at night, especially, that she kept at-
tentive to approaching footsteps ; at the slightest
rumour or unaccustomed noise her temples vi-
brated ; by dint of being strained to outward
things, they had become fearfully sensitive.
Two o'clock in the morning. On this night
as on others, with her hands clasped and her eyes
wide open in the dark, she listened to the wind,
sweeping in never-ending tumult over the heath.
Suddenly a man's footsteps hurried along the
path ! At this hour who would pass now ? She
drew herself up, stirred to the very soul, her heart
ceasing to beat.
Some one stopped before the door, and came
up the small stone steps.
He ! O God ! he ! Some one had knocked
it could be no other than he ! She was up
now, barefooted ; she, so feeble for the last few
265
The Second Wedding
days, had sprung up as nimbly as a kitten, with
her arms outstretched to wind round her darling.
Of course the L&opoldine had arrived at night, and
anchored in Pors-Even Bay, and he had rushed
home ; she arranged all this in her mind with the
swiftness of lightning. She tore the flesh off her
fingers in her excitement to draw the bolt, which
had stuck.
"Eh?"
She slowly moved backward, as if crushed,
her head falling on her bosom. Her beautiful
insane dream was over. She just could grasp
that it was not her husband, her Yann, and that
nothing of him, substantial or spiritual, had passed
through the air ; she felt plunged again into her
deep abyss, to the lowest depths of her terrible
despair.
Poor Fantec, for it was he, stammered many
excuses, his wife was very ill, and their child was
stifling in its cot, suddenly attacked with a malig-
nant sore throat ; so he had run over to beg for
assistance on the road to fetch the doctor from
Paimpol.
What did all this matter to her? She had
gone mad in her own distress, and could give no
thoughts to the troubles of others. Huddled on
a bench, she remained before him with fixed,
266
The False Alarm
glazed eyes, like a dead woman's ; without listen-
ing to him or even answering at random or look-
ing at him. What to her was the speech the man
was making ?
He understood it all; and guessed why the
door had bten opened so quickly to him, and
feeling pity for the pain he had unwittingly
caused, he stammered out an excuse.
"Just so; he never had ought to have dis-
turbed her her in particular."
" I !" ejaculated Gaud, quickly, "why should
I not be disturbed particularly, Fantec ? "
Life had suddenly come back to her ; for she
did not wish to appear in despair before others.
Besides, she pitied him now ; she dressed to ac-
company him, and found the strength to go and
see to his little child.
At four o'clock in the morning, when she re-
turned to throw herself on the bed, sleep sub-
dued her, for she was tired out. But that mo-
ment of excessive joy had left an impression on
her mind, which, in spite of all, was permanent ;
she awoke soon with a shudder, rising a little
and partially recollecting she knew not what.
News had come to her concerning her Yann.
In the midst of her confusion of ideas, she
sought rapidly in her mind what it could be,
267
The Second Wedding
but there was nothing save Fantec's interrup-
tion.
For the second time she fell back into her
terrible abyss, nothing changed in her morbid,
hopeless waiting.
Yet in that short, hopeful moment she had
felt him so near to her, that it was as if his spirit
had floated over the sea unto her, what is called
a foretoken {pressigne) in Breton land ; and she
listened still more attentively to the steps outside,
trusting that some one might come to her to
speak of him.
Just as the day broke Yann's father entered.
He took off his cap, and pushed back his splen-
did white locks, which were in curls like Yann's,
and sat down by Gaud's bedside.
His heart ached fully, too, for Yann, his tall,
handsome Yann, was his first-born, his favourite
and his pride ; but he did not despair yet. He
comforted Gaud in his own blunt, affectionate
way ; to begin with, those who had last returned
from Iceland spoke of the increasing dense fogs
that might well have delayed the vessel ; and
then, too, an idea struck him ; they might pos-
sibly have stopped at the distant Faroe Islands
on their homeward course, whence letters were
so long in travelling. This had happened to him
268
The False Alarm
once forty years ago, and his own poor dead and
gone mother had had a mass said for his soul.
The Ltopoldine was such a good boat, next to
new, and her crew were such able-bodied seamen.
Granny Moan stood by them shaking her
head ; the distress of her granddaughter had
almost given her back her own strength and
reason ; she tidied up the place, glancing from
time to time at the faded portrait of Sylvestre,
which hung upon the granite wall with its anchor
emblems and mourning-wreath of black bead-
work. Ever since the sea had robbed her of her
own last offspring she believed no longer in safe
returns ; she only prayed through fear, bearing
Heaven a grudge in the bottom of her heart.
But Gaud listened eagerly to these consoling
reasonings ; her large sunken eyes looked with
deep tenderness out upon this old sire, who so
much resembled her beloved one ; merely to
have him near her was like a hostage against
death having taken the younger Gaos ; and she
felt reassured, nearer to her Yann. Her tears
fell softly and silently, and she repeated again
her passionate prayers to the " Star of the Sea."
A delay out at those islands to repair damages
was a very likely event. She rose and brushed
her hair, and then dressed as if she might fairly
269
The Second Wedding
expect him. All then was not lost, if a seaman,
his own father, did not yet despair. And for a
few days, she resumed looking out for him again.
Autumn at last arrived, a late autumn too, its
gloomy evenings making all things appear dark
in the old cottage, and all the land looked som-
bre, too.
The very daylight seemed crepuscular; im-
measurable clouds, passing slowly overhead, dark-
ened the whole country at broad noon. The
wind blew constantly with the sound of a great
cathedral organ at a distance, but playing pro-
fane, despairing dirges ; at other times the noise
came close to the door, like the howling of wild
beasts.
She had grown pale, aye, blanched, and bent
more than ever, as if old age had already touched
her with its featherless wing. Often did she
finger the wedding clothes of her Yann, folding
and unfolding them again and again like some
maniac, especially one of his blue woollen jerseys,
which still had preserved his shape ; when she
threw it gently on the table, it fell with the
shoulders and chest well defined ; so she placed
it by itself in a shelf of their wardrobe, and left
it there, so that it might for ever rest unaltered.
Every night the cold mists sank upon the
270
Wedded to the Sea
land, as she gazed over the depressing heath
through her little window, and watched the pal-
try puffs of white smoke arise from the chimneys
of other cottages scattered here and there on all
sides. There the husbands had returned, like
wandering birds driven home by the frost. Be-
fore their blazing hearths the evenings passed,
cosy and warm ; for the spring-time of love had
begun again in this land of North Sea fishermen.
Still clinging to the thought of those islands
where he might perhaps have lingered, she was
buoyed up by a kind hope and expected him
home any day.
CHAPTER IX
WEDDED TO THE SEA
BUT he never returned. One August night,,
out off gloomy Iceland, mingled with the furious
clamour of the sea, his wedding with the sea was
performed. It had been his nurse ; it had rocked
him in his babyhood, and had afterward made
him big and strong ; then, in his superb man-
hood, it had taken him back again for itself
alone. Profoundest mystery had surrounded this
unhallowed union. While it went on. dark cur-
The Second Wedding
tains hung pall-like over it as if to conceal the
ceremony, and the ghoul howled in an awful
deafening voice to stifle his cries. He, thinking
of Gaud, his sole, darling wife, had battled with
giant strength against this deathly rival, until he
at last surrendered, with a deep death-cry like
the roar of a dying bull, through a mouth already
filled with water ; and his arms were stretched
apart and stiffened for ever.
All those he had invited in days of old were
present at his wedding. All except Sylvestre,
who had gone to sleep in the enchanted gardens
far, far away, at the other side of the earth.
272
)
THE PORTRAITS OF
PIERRE LOTI
TIIR PORTRAITS OF
1MKRRE LOTI
LOTI (Lotos) is the name
of an oceanic tlower. By
this name did Queen
Pomare* herself chri-h-n
Lieutenant Louis Marie
Julien Viaud during his
hiM visit to Tahiti. Since
then readers of Pierre
Loti have hecnine famil-
iar with this pseudonym
with which the- m
of dreams and exoticism
signed all his works. It
is unnecessary here to deserihe the gentle lono-
for home, the moving tenderness, the rare
charm, the oriental grace, which emanate from
the soul of this artist and traveller. Let us
rather turn to his portiaits .md learn what th
tell us. We M man. rather helow
275
M. LOUIS MARIE JULIEN VIAUD
(Pierre I.
In the unifoi ; .} otti< vr
- S 5).
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
PIERRE LOTI
In the costume of an Academician.
After anengjaving made in 1895.
medium height, a slim,
graceful figure, with
head erect, and in the
face an expression of
determination, in which
at the same time there
is something of resig-
nation. The eyes
those eyes which have
seen so many seas, so
many countries, such
magnificent and varied
scenery have retained
that acuteness of per-
ception which is never dimmed in the pages of
his books.
Pierre Loti is among the number of those
who never read. Blest mortal, in whom is re-
flected all the beautiful landscapes, the supple
and graceful figures of the little Japanese dancers
with their ruddy hands, and those royal sunsets
of the Polynesian seas ! It is his fresh and im-
pressionable soul which gives to his face that
intense look in which one sees the solemn reflex
of those great and desolate wastes of Morocco,
and of Palestine, the magnificence of Japan,
the melancholy of Iceland, even the compli-
276
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
cated pageantry of the pagodas and the tem-
ples.
On page 275 is a photograph of Loti as a
lieutenant in the navy, taken in 1885. It
in this simple uniform, whose sombre colour ac-
corded well with his sailor's heart, that he took a
distinguished part in the expedition to Tomjuin,
.:rying with him through the world a heart full
of resignation and sweet fatalism. It was thep
he wrote Flcurs </'/:';/#///, Mon Frtre Yves, and
Plcheurs d* Islamic. In language fair and dis-
creet he tells of those exquisite Asiatic beauties,
fascinating women of his own creation, whose
names are A/ivade, Rarahu, Sulenna, and Mme.
Chrysantheme. It is as sailor and traveller,
sometimes at Rochefort, at other times in Ice-
land or Pekin, that he is most appreciated by
those who enjoy in his books the .unexpected
in his travels, the spontaneity of his confidences.
Pierre Loti as Academician, in the second
portrait of our little gallery, seems less familiar
to ll& The green coat that he wears does not
suit his manly face, tanned by the equatorial sun,
half so well as his sailor's uniform. This picture
represents Loti as the dweller in Paris, the fre-
quenter of the homes of political and
identical intrigue^. This is no longer the tiav-
277
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
eller, near kinsman of the Gerard de Ncrvals,
the Thdophile Gautiers, the enthusiastic biog-
rapher of the humble lives of the old mariners,
the confidant of hearts and of nature in the far
East. Creature of a bygone age, well suited to
PIERRE LOTI
In his Oriental salon at Rochefort on-the-Sea.
After a photograph in 1890.
the days when the Thousand and One Nights
were as much fairy tales as realities, he was born
to live as Egyptian, or Arab. Who has not
heard the tale of how he once appeared at a
very select Parisian ball, dressed as a Pharaoh,
with all the gorgeous paraphernalia of a Ra-
meses !
Our third engraving represents him dressed
as an Arab sheik, wrapped round in the folds of
278
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
the ample white burnoose, superb and swaggering
in his attitude, and wearing at his side the tall
scimitar incrusted with jade and precious stones.
.And behind him, does one not vaguely look for
his gentle Scheherezade ? Some, more wise than
others, have thought to discover her in Pierre
Loti himself. She is his muse ; she has long been
a tenant of that soul, sometimes puerile and
even chil.iish. It is to this double sentiment
that the little portrait with which we close these
pages refers,
Be that as it may, Loti seems to us to have
the power to live the life of his heroes, and, to
the' better understanding <>f them, himself to go
through their manifold transformations. At
Stamboul with A/ivade. with Rarahu under the
voluptuous sky of T.diiti, in Japan with Mme.
( 'hi -ysant heme. he is always the dreaming wan-
derer, the confidential pilgrim of deserts and of
heai
It is curious that this man, who passes fora
ur and vain, seems to have forgotten to have
himself photographed in the varied circumstances
of hi (here arc- fewer portraits of him
than Of any other contemporary writer. In
imd ourselves <mpelled to appeal to the
kindness of his ln< i the very Inn-
279
The Portraits of Pierre Loti
ited number of portraits of him which we have
been able to reproduce here.
Scant kit, indeed, for such a globe-trotter as
Pierre Loti !
OCTAVE UZANNE.
Caricature of Pierre Loti
By Lucque in 1895.
THE END
280
PQ
2472
Viaud, Julien
An Iceland fisherman
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