TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 WITH A NOTICE OF THE LIFE AND LITERARY CHARACTER 
 
 EMILE SOUVESTRE. 
 
 NEW YORK: DIX, EDWARDS & CO. 
 
 LONDON : HAMILTON', ADAMS 4 CO. 
 EDINB0RG : THOMAS CONSTABLE A CO 
 
 .MIKTCI.VII. 

 
 MILLER &, HOLMAN, 
 Printers, New York.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGI 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL XOTICE OF EMILE SOUVESTRE, . . . T 
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE, ... 1 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER, . . . . . .61 
 
 THE KOURIGAN, . . . . . . . 117 
 
 THE WHITE BOAT, .... . 153 
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER, ...... 185 
 
 THE GROACJI AND THE KAKOOT, . ... 207 
 
 THE CHOUANS, ... ... 225 
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD, . . ... 269
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF EMILE SOUVESTRE. 
 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 Home art gone, and taken thy wages. 
 
 IN one of the indentations of that western coast of France 
 from which Finistere looks out on the Land's End, and whence 
 the Breton sailor crosses to the Welsh, if not the Cornish 
 shore, to find men of his own Celtic blood, and still able to 
 parley with him in his own Celtic tongue, lie the little 
 port and town of Morlaix. A romantic valley, with two 
 mountain streams, is entered by the tidal creek on the waters 
 of which sleep numerous coasting-vessels with their ruddy 
 sails ; around is grouped a double row of houses, projecting 
 on grotesquely-carved posts and brackets over footways peopled 
 by not less grotesque figures of men in trunk-hose, broad- 
 brimmed penthouse hats, and shaggy, mane-like locks and 
 of women in their sombre nun- like garb of black and white, 
 or in the blue dress which tells that the widow's thoughts 
 and hopes are turned to heaven ; while steep rocks and woody
 
 VI BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 hills crowned with gardens rise close behind. The " Saxons' 
 Fountain " still marks the spot where the men of Morlaix 
 made the forces of the Earl of Surrey pay dearly for the 
 pillage, fire, and slaughter with which they had visited the 
 town and its " right fair castles, goodly houses, and proper 
 piles," according to the official report to Henry VIII. More 
 dreamlike traditions of King Arthur and the Knights of the 
 Round Table hover over this land, which still shows the ruin 
 of the Castle of the Joyeuse Garde ; and the earnest faith of 
 the Breton Catholic is still strangely modified, not merely by 
 the beliefs, but even by the rites of the Druids. In this not 
 unfitting home for the painter of nature, men, and manners, 
 Emile Souvestre was born, on the 15th of April 1806. His 
 father was an engineer officer, whose narrow escape when the 
 town of Chateaulaudrin was overwhelmed by the bursting 
 out of the neighbouring lake, and his return from his official 
 duty to find the corpse of his intended bride, in her ball-dress, 
 still wearing the flower he had given her at parting, and with 
 her hand still joined with that of a partner in the dance, are 
 so graphically related by his son in Les Derniers Bretons. 
 He had charge of the roads and bridges of the district ; and, 
 apparently with a view to educate the young Emile for the 
 like employment, he sent him to the partly military and partly 
 scientific college of Pontivy, where he remained till about the 
 age of seventeen, not without showing some turn for mathe- 
 matics. But then the father's death, and his mother's earnest 
 wish that he should choose his future profession for himself, 
 decided him to prefer the bar, as less remote from the pursuit 
 of letters and philosophy, and perhaps as being at that mo-
 
 EMILE SOUVESTBE. \'ii 
 
 ment illustrious in its examples of patriotism and inde- 
 pendence. He therefore entered on a course of legal study at 
 Rennes, followed by another in Paris, with which latter he 
 combined regular attendance on medical and other lectures : 
 his habits were methodical and persevering, and resulted in 
 the acquisition of stores of knowledge, as solid as they were 
 extensive. 
 
 The poetic genius, which was afterward to produce so much 
 and such ripe fruit, was already quickened in the breast of 
 the student. He tells us that he arrived in Paris in the year 
 1826, with all the self-importance, pride, and hopes, but with 
 all the awkwardness and painful sensibility of the youth 
 whose knowledge of the world has been limited to a reverent 
 contemplation of his professor in his chair and his mother 
 knitting stockings, but who has obtained the gold medal, and 
 the prize for the best oration, at the college of his native pro- 
 vince : his bachelor's diploma was in his trunk, a tragedy in 
 his pocket, and his heart glowing in full faith that the life of 
 the man of letters was the noblest and fairest under the sun. 
 But his bright dreams were speedily disturbed. France was 
 then full of enthusiasm for the liberation of Greece ; yet the 
 three copies of Souvestre's Siege of Missolonghi, duly for- 
 warded to as many theatres, remained wholly unnoticed, till 
 he ventured on asking, and readily obtained, the help of M. 
 Alexandre Duval, a fellow- Breton, and whose own success on 
 the stage had given him a powerful voice at the Theatre 
 Frai^ais. The tragedy was now read, and accepted with 
 acclamation. But the Government censors next intervened ; 
 and when they had cut it down to the degree that respect for
 
 vhi BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 the Sublime Porte and for absolute government in general 
 demanded, the managers of the theatre relaxed, or changed 
 their favourable disposition ; and the author, worn out with 
 the proceedings, withdrew the piece in a disgust which for a 
 time extended itself to all his literary aspirations nay, to 
 life itself, though, happily for him (he observes), suicide was 
 not at that time a fashion, and he did not know that it was 
 one way of finding a publisher. Ten years afterwards, he 
 could narrate these youthful experiences with a smile ; but 
 they were not the less real and painful at the time. But a 
 severe discipline of another kind was at hand, to transform 
 the dreaming youth into the earnest man. His elder brother, 
 the captain of a merchantman in which their whole property 
 was ventured, was lost at sea ; the family was ruined ; and 
 Emile was the sole remaining support of his mother and his 
 brother's widow. He left Paris immediately for home, and 
 there sought for some employment, no matter what, which 
 would yield the means of subsistence for them. He was 
 offered and accepted the place of shopman to M. Mellinet, a 
 Nantes bookseller ; and behind his counter he took his stand, 
 without hesitation or delay. 
 
 The courage of the young Souvestre did not fail under the 
 humble tasks to which he had thus engaged himself; and he 
 employed his leisure hours in writing verse or prose for the 
 Nantes and Eennes periodicals, and occasionally was able to 
 make an excursion into some part of his favourite Brittany, 
 of which he now began to collect the traditions and other 
 records. Meanwhile, the worthy bookseller, like all who 
 came in contact with his shopman, saw more and more of
 
 E*MILE' SOUVESTRE. ix 
 
 that intellectual and moral superiority, which showed itself, 
 whether its possessor would or no, in the commonest conver- 
 sation ; and he became the object of especial interest to one 
 of the frequenters of M. Mellinet's shop, who was a philan- 
 thropist and a man of wealth. 
 
 This was M. Luminais, a deputy, and one of the most 
 zealous of a number of persons who, at that period, were 
 interesting themselves in the reform of the existing methods 
 of their national education, which they aspired to make more 
 deeply and practically moral, and thus to strengthen in the 
 rising generation the disposition to prize and honour the 
 name and institutions of their country, and the will and 
 power to use their liberties aright. M. Luminais resolved to 
 found a school at Nantes on a new plan, and he intrusted 
 the charge of it to Emile Souvestre, associating with him 
 another youthful philanthropist, M. Papot ; and their success 
 was such that Souvestre was soon able to marry without im- 
 prudence. This union, promising in itself, and from the 
 character of the man by whom the sanctity, the repose, and 
 the sympathies of domestic life were prized in no ordinary 
 degree, was terminated in less than a year by the death of 
 his wife and unborn infant ; but they who knew him best say 
 that this heavy trial did but prove the impossibility of his 
 continuing to live without a renewal of the support he was 
 thus deprived of. And this he subsequently found in the 
 sister of his friend and associate, who, with her three daughters, 
 lives to mourn their irreparable loss. 
 
 Experience showed that the new scheme of education was 
 likely to be carried on more efficiently under a single head,
 
 X BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 and Eraile Souvestre, resigning bis share of the work to 
 M. Papot, withdrew with his wife to Morlaix, to be near his 
 mother ; but on her death, shortly after, he went to Brest, 
 where he was first the editor of a newspaper, Le Finistere, 
 and then Professor of Rhetoric in a college newly founded in 
 that place, as well as a writer in the Paris Temps. During 
 this period he finished the work which, on its publication in 
 1836, under the title of Les Derniers Bretons, at once esta- 
 blished his reputation in France. It is a description of the 
 country, manners, customs, and literature of Brittany, in 
 which intimate personal acquaintance with, and hearty love 
 of the subject are united with that peculiar power of painting 
 nature and man which characterizes the simplest of Souvestre's 
 writings; and the book is full of charm and interest even to 
 the foreigner, who can easily believe that the French consider 
 it of quite classical worth in their literature. 
 
 The tenor of Souvestre's life, in which he was now enjoying 
 something of intercourse with the literary world of Paris amid 
 the tranquillity of a home in his native province, was now 
 interrupted by the failure of his health. It was supposed 
 that he would benefit by exchanging the damp coast for a 
 mountain climate, and his friends obtained for him the Chair 
 of Rhetoric at Muhlhausen. But the breezes of the Vosges 
 proved no more invigorating than those of the Atlantic ; and 
 lie then resolved not to waste his life in wandering in search 
 of health from place to place, and from profession to profession, 
 with his young family, but to settle at once in Paris, and there 
 devote* himself entirely to literature. There he took up his 
 abode in the autumn of 1836, on a fourth story (each story
 
 E"MILE SOUVESTRE. xi 
 
 being a distinct dwelling) in the suburb named Poissonniere, 
 from the windows of which he looked out like the elder Eemi 
 of his own tale over the gardens below, and in which he 
 worked for the remaining eighteen years of his noble and 
 useful life. How steadily and laboriously he worked, the very 
 list of his books, extending to near seventy volumes, may 
 testify : and the manly independence and self-respect of this 
 his literary life, may be illustrated by the little fact that 
 nothing could induce him to share the payment for the Eng- 
 lish translation of those of his works over which he found 
 he had retained no legal power, while he thus justified, with 
 no less dignity than grace, his reference to the subject at 
 all : " Je vous demande pardon, Madame, d'entrer . dans ces 
 details. II y a malheureusement deux hommes dans 1'ecrivain 
 qui vit de son travail, Vauteur et I'homme d'affaires : celui- 
 ci est forcement moins poetique que 1'autre ; il est oblige de 
 veiller aux intere'ts positifs d'une maniere souvent penible, 
 mais, en revanche, c'est lui qui garantit 1'independance et la 
 dignite de Vauteur. Depuis que I'homme de lettres se nourrit 
 des produits de sa plume, il ne re9oit plus le pain des sinecures, 
 de la cour, on des grands seigneurs ; son osuvre le fait vivre ; 
 c'est un compensation aux details prosatques dans lesquels il 
 doit quelquefois descendre."* 
 
 * " I ask pardon, Madam, for entering into these details. There are unfortunately 
 two persons in the writer who lives by his work the author, and the man of business,- 
 and the latter is of necessity less poetical than the other, being obliged to look to material 
 interests in a manner which is often painful, but which, on the other hand, secures the 
 independence of the author. Since the man of letters has taken to maintaining himself 
 by his pen, he feeds no longer on the doles of the court or of great lords ; he lives by his 
 own work, and thus finds compcneation for being at times compelled to enter inioprosaio 
 details of business."
 
 Xll BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 Many of our author's works among which may be men- 
 tioned Le Philosophe sous les Toils, which received the crown of 
 the Academic Franaise, and Le Memorial de Famille, giving 
 his ideal of married, as the other of unmarried life, and with 
 which La Derniere Etape, of widowhood and old age, was 
 completing the series when he was called on his own last 
 journey first appeared in the pages of the Magasin Pittoresque, 
 a monthly illustrated periodical, with the management of 
 which he had been connected from its commencement in 1830, 
 and the didactic character of which was in harmony Avith 
 that great purpose of the moral and intellectual culture of 
 his countrymen to which his life was devoted.* 
 
 A new opening, and in a form which the bent of his genius 
 always led him to prefer to that of mere writing, was afforded 
 him in 1848. M. Carnot, who has been misrepresented and 
 calumniated by party ignorance and spite, both here and in 
 France, for a passage in his Election Circular which, even 
 without his subsequent explanation, could have been more 
 honestly interpreted in a good sense, became Minister of Public 
 Instruction and Worship ; and he proceeded to organize a 
 scheme of education for all classes of citizens, which, if we 
 may believe the eloquent historian of the Revolution, was 
 worthy of the man whom he depicts as cast in the mould of a 
 patriot of antiquity, and pre-eminent among his fellows for 
 religious philosophy, philanthropy, devotion to truth, firmness, 
 feeling, and moderation. "He grouped around him, as it 
 were in a philosophic and literary council, the men whose 
 
 * The memoir which appeared in tho Magasin Pittoresque for December last has, by 
 tho desire of M. Souvestre'a family, been chiefly though not exclusively followed in 
 the present notice.
 
 E*MILE SOUVESTRE. xiii 
 
 names were highest and purest in philosophy and political 
 literature ;" and among these was Emile Souvestre, who was 
 appointed a lecturer in the school now established for the 
 education of those intended for the civil service, and for which 
 office his legal training gave him a special qualification in 
 addition to those which he possessed as a man of genius, 
 patriotism, and personal worth. His unpaid services were 
 about the same time engaged, with those of University pro- 
 fessors and other eminent men of letters, by the same Minister, 
 for the evening lectures which he established for working men 
 and their families in various parts of Paris. The room in 
 which Souvestre gave his readings was crowded with an 
 attentive and interested audience, and at the close of the 
 evening the fathers of families gathered round the teacher to 
 ask his advice in the choice of books for their children at 
 home. 
 
 The success of these readings suggested to Souvestre the 
 design, which he carried into effect in the summer of 1853, 
 and was preparing to repeat in that of '54, of giving a 
 course of public lectures in the principal towns of Switzerland 
 Geneva, Lausanne, Vevey, and Chaux-le-Fond. He was 
 already known in that country by his books, several of which 
 had been adopted by the public schools ; and we need not say 
 that to know his writings was to esteem and love the writer. 
 People hastened from all parts to see and hear the man him- 
 self; and it was often necessary for him to repeat the same 
 lecture to two successive audiences, because one room could 
 not hold them all together. His friends say that this was 
 certainly the happiest period of his life ; and we venture to
 
 XIV BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 think that even the satisfaction given him by this enthusiastic 
 reception from the whole educated people of French Switzer- 
 land, may have been heightened by the pleasure with which 
 he learnt about the same time that he was becoming better 
 known in England, both by the translations* of the Confes- 
 sions d'un Ouvrier and Le Philosophe sous les Toits, and by 
 the increased circulation of his original works, which these 
 promoted. He thus wrote in acknowledging the receipt of 
 these translations " Et maintenant, Madame, permettez-moi 
 d'ajouter de vifs et sinceres remerciments pour 1'honneur que 
 vous avez fait a Vauteur (referring to a passage quoted above), 
 en choisissant son livre pour tre traduit dans votre langue : 
 c'est une distinction dont il se tient fort touche. Vouloir tra- 
 duire une livre, c'est preuver qu'on entre en sympathie avec 
 celui qui 1'a ecrit, et qu'on sent, qu'on pense, comme lui ! II 
 n'est rien de plus doux que ces adhesions obtenues de loin, et 
 il y a un charme particulier dans les amis inconnus qui re- 
 pondent a votre cceur sans que vous ayez jamais entendu leur 
 voix."^- And again " Je dois done vous remercier double- 
 ment, et de m'avoir fait connaitre au public anglais, et de 
 m'avoir presente sous un aspect si favorable." \ 
 
 Yet after his return to Paris, he seemed sadder than before 
 
 * Published in Longman's " Traveller's Library." 
 
 | " And now, Madam, allow me to add my most sincere thanks for the honour you 
 have done the authnr (referring to a passage quoted above) in choosing his book for trans, 
 lation into your own language : it is a distinction which he feels very sensibly. To resolve 
 to translate a book is to give proof of hearty sympathy with the writer of it, and of feel- 
 ing and thinking like himself. Nothing is more gratifying than to receive such assurances 
 of sympathy from a distance; and there is a peculiar charm in the wiknmcn friends 
 whose hearts answer to your own, though you have never heard their voice." 
 
 * " I must thank you doubly, then : for having introduced me to the English public, 
 and for having presented me in so favourable an aspect"
 
 SOUVESTRE. XV 
 
 his visit to Switzerland. He had seen only the favourable 
 side of that country ; and the appearances of moral and reli- 
 gious earnestness, of general education, of reverence for the 
 laws, of personal self-respect, and freedom from the spirit of 
 ever-scheming selfishness, contrasted painfully with what he 
 knew more intimately of the cond ition of his own people, and 
 stirred deeply that patriotic grief for their faults which the 
 reader of his books knows so well, and which, in Le Mtit de 
 Cocagne in particular, takes the form of a despair of all poli- 
 ticians and political schemes of reform, which seems strange, 
 not to say wrong, to almost every Englishman. Not, how- 
 ever, that Souvestre ever really despaired of society. At the 
 conclusion of his latest work, he declares that now, indeed, as 
 often in past times, the faith of mankind is reeling and totter- 
 ing under the terrible weight of the evils around them while 
 now, as then, they desire that the cup may pass from them ; 
 but that to do our duty thoroughly, and with all our powers, 
 in the work of bettering the world, morally and materially, 
 will not be in vain, if only our trust is in Him whose pro- 
 mises, like His eternal purposes, can never fail, though they 
 may be accomplished only through death. 
 
 The thought of death of death as the way to resurrection 
 and life seems now to have occupied the thoughts of Sou- 
 vestre in a degree which his friends have since looked back 
 upon as an anticipation unexpected at the time of his im- 
 pending separation from them. This sad and sudden event, 
 preceded by a short illness, of which the serious character was 
 unexpected an hour before its close, occurred on the 5th of 
 July 18;">4, in his forty-eighth year : a life long if we measure
 
 XVI BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF 
 
 it by all he had done, and still more had been ; but short in- 
 deed if we remember what he still hoped to do, and think of 
 the loss of those whom he has left behind. 
 
 The portraits of Emile Souvestre show him with a high in- 
 tellectual forehead, an eye of fire, the Koman nose which 
 marks the clear and analytic mind, and a mouth combining 
 firmness and dignity with that sweetness of expression which 
 was so marked in his living countenance, that little children 
 when they saw him, would stretch out their hands to him. 
 His daily life in his own home, and among his friends was 
 not less, but more than his written words. It might be truly 
 said of him that 
 
 " First he wrought, and afterwards he taught." 
 
 DUTY was the principle of his life, as it is of his books : the 
 spirit in which the youth had renounced the charms of Paris 
 society, and the prospects of an honourable profession, to stand 
 behind a shop-counter in Nantes, because his duty bade him, 
 was the spirit which to the last shed its bright light on the 
 home of his wife and children, and made every look and 
 word an assurance to them not less of support and strength, 
 than of an inexhaustible devotion and tenderness ; for it 
 was the spirit of duty as well as affection, though its sterner 
 voice was heard only by himself. This is their own testi- 
 mony, and not that of a less competent informant. 
 
 In conversation, the powers of Souvestre are said to have 
 been even more remarkable than in writing though it is dif- 
 ficult for those who only know him through his books and 
 letters to feel that this could be. But in the one as in the 
 other case, the moral tone was ever predominant, so that it
 
 MILE SOUVESTRE. xvii 
 
 has been said of him that if he had been born a French Pro- 
 testant, he would have no doubt become a pastor, so wholly 
 was his heart set upon the moral and religious instruction of 
 his countrymen. His genius was conservative ; with a true 
 faith in man's progress, and unaffected readiness to abandon 
 the most time-honoured traditions when proved to be hostile 
 to that progress, he seems to have looked rather to the better 
 use of existing means than to the introduction of new ones for 
 effecting the great end ; and those who think that both one 
 and the other may be required, and that new, as well as, 
 though not instead of, the old institutions and methods of 
 social organization are demanded by the wants of our times, 
 will perhaps see in this conservative disposition of Souvestre 
 some explanation of that occasional despondency of his views 
 of society which has been mentioned. But be this as it may, 
 we repeat that DUTY was the principle of his life, which he 
 never ceased to believe in and to teach. We English are apt 
 to fancy that we care more for duty than other men, and 
 especially than our honour-coveting neighbours ; but as our 
 manufacturers discovered at the Great Exhibition that it was 
 not in artistic beauty alone, but also in work for ordinary 
 uses, that they were often inferior to the French ; and as our 
 soldiers are now confessing that it is not only in the mar- 
 shalling of great armies, but much more in the organization of 
 hospitals and roads, that our "practical" nation has need to 
 learn of them ; so it might not be unprofitable to ask ourselves 
 whether we can point to any popular writer of our own who 
 so makes duty his cardinal doctrine, and who has been 
 listened to with such wide-spread interest and sympathy by
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF E*MILE SOUVESTRE. 
 
 his countrymen, as Emile Souvestre. At the news of his 
 death, Frenchmen of all opinions rendered homage to his 
 character ; and those for there were such who, in his life- 
 time, had accused him of employing art too entirely in the 
 service of morals, were not last to deplore the loss which the 
 national literature had sustained in him. The Academic 
 Francaise voted to Madame Souvestre, his widow, the testi- 
 monial founded by M. Lambert for the recognition of the 
 memory of the writer who had been most useful to his country. 
 
 The two first tales, THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE and THE 
 LAZARETTO-KEEPER, were translated by M. Souvestre's own 
 request the former from the volume called Sous les Filets, 
 and the latter from En Quaraniaine : and the translators had 
 hoped to offer them in their English form to the author as a 
 token of personal regard and esteem. But alas ! they can 
 only lay them as a winter wreath upon his tomb ! 
 
 CLIFTOX, February 1855.
 
 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. THE RIVALS. 
 
 Do you see that figure of a nymph leaning on the symbolic 
 urn ? Her fair hair is wreathed with silver willow ; her soft 
 blue eye wanders into the depths of heaven ; her hands are 
 full of fruits, and stretched towards a group of children ; and 
 her beautiful form lies gracefully reclining along the flowery 
 grass. It is the Loire, such as art has been able to express 
 her in marble such as your own imagination, when you 
 had once seen, would personify, her. Force, impetuosity, and 
 grandeur, may rule elsewhere ; here is the reign of beauty 
 and fertility. In a course of more than a hundred and eighty 
 leagues, the " corn-coloured river," as an old chronicler 
 has it, flows through meadows, vineyards, woods, and great 
 cities, without once finding a barren or a desert spot. From 
 its source to the sea, on either side, the eye sees only flocks 
 feeding, chimneys smoking, and ploughmen who seem sing- 
 ing at their ploughs. The stream glides noiselessly over its 
 sandy bed among islets nodding their plumes of osier, willow,
 
 2 BUITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and poplar. In all the landscape, there is a delightful though 
 rather unvarying softness ; a subdued quiet, which gives to 
 everything around you that attractiveness which is somehow 
 always found with affluence and ease. It is almost a piece of 
 Arcadia, with more water and less sun. 
 
 Upon the river dwell a race who partake its character. 
 They have not the jeering turbulence of the Seine boatmen, 
 nor the sullen fierceness of those of the Ehone, nor the heavi- 
 ness of the men who navigate the Ehine. The bargeman of 
 the Loire is of a peaceful disposition ; vigorous without coarse- 
 ness, and meriy without excess, he lets his life flow on through 
 things as he finds them, like the water which carries him be- 
 tween its fertile banks. With a few exceptions, he has no re- 
 straints of locks, no hard labour at the oar, no tedious towing 
 work to undergo. The wind, which finds free course through 
 the immense basin of the river, enables him to sail both up 
 and clown. Standing at the enormous helm, the boatmaster 
 attends only to the course of the barge, whilst his mates help 
 it along by " spurring" the bottom of the water with iron- 
 shod poles. At intervals, a few words are exchanged in the 
 loud tone of people accustomed to talk in the open air ; the 
 youngster hums the famous song of " The Bargeman of the 
 Loire;" the barge that meets them gets a merry cheer as it 
 passes, or gives them some useful bit of news; and in this 
 way they all reach the evening's anchorage, where the crews 
 who have had equal luck of wind and tide during the day, 
 meet together at the public house patronized by the River 
 Service. 
 
 One of these chances has just brought the bargemen of the 
 " Hope," a newly -built charreyonm, and those of ihefutreau* 
 
 * The Charreyonnes and the Futreaur, like the Pyards, the Chalans, and the Gabarres, 
 are boats in use upon the Loire. Differences of size and other things distinguish them 
 one from the other. The Futreau is generally smaller than the Charrcyonne ; formerly 
 it had a covered place for the use of passengers.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 3 
 
 " White Flag," together at the " Grand Turk," at Chalonnes. 
 It was the end of January in the year 1819 : the snow had 
 now been lying on the ground for a long time, and a great 
 fire was blazing in the main room of the inn, which served at 
 once for kitchen and hall. The " river brethren," while wait- 
 ing for supper, sat drinking round a large oak table stained 
 with wine, and with four brass halfpence at its four corners, 
 where some jovial fellow had nailed them by way of ornament. 
 The bargemen's voices resounded merrily in boisterous jests 
 and laughter, when the inn door, which the inclemency 
 of the season had kept closed, contrary to all custom, was 
 hastily opened. At the draught of cold air which entered 
 with the new-comer, they all turned round, and discovered 
 " outlawed Tony." This was the nickname given to Master 
 Lezin, formerly a bargeman, and now a fisherman of the 
 Loire ; and who had many times been fined and sent to jail for 
 making use of the small-meshed nets, which are forbidden by 
 law, lest the river should be unstocked by the destruction of 
 the young fry. Lezin was one of those cynics of the baser 
 sort, who, finding it troublesome to affect virtue, indulge 
 themselves in plain-speaking vice. To be beforehand with 
 the accusations of others, he had become his own accuser, and 
 complacently showed himself on his evil reputation, elevated 
 as on a pedestal ; and his buffoonery made his immorality 
 pass. Many honest folks laughed at him the timid from 
 false shame, and the bold not to seem too easily startled ; and 
 by thus making themselves his accomplices they encouraged 
 Lezin in his course. 
 
 The bargemen greeted his entrance with a welcome of 
 doubtful meaning, but he seemed to take it in good part. 
 
 " Good-day, my lads ; a good-day, and a merry new year 
 to you," said he, with his usual impudent chuckle. 
 
 Addressing himself to a handsome young man of five-
 
 4 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and-twenty, who, notwithstanding the cold, wore the ordinary 
 bargeman's dress a short jacket, blue trowsers fastened 
 round the waist with a red woollen sash, a knotted cotton 
 cravat, small glazed hat, and thin shoes tied with ribbon 
 he added " Ah, here you are, Andre, my boy ; they say 
 you are beginning the year by sporting a bran-new Charre- 
 yonne." 
 
 Then turning round 
 
 " My service to you, Master Meru ; and to your nephew 
 Francis, and all the rest. Confound me if all the folks here 
 must not be honest men, to look so comfortable and happy as 
 they do." 
 
 " You don't mean to reckon yourself among them, then, 
 Master Outlaw," observed Meru, with a jocoseness that im- 
 perfectly concealed his contempt. 
 
 " Men of the world never reckon themselves when they 
 get among innocents," replied Lezin, in a tone of easy impu- 
 dence. " But deuce take me if I did not think Master Meru's 
 Futreau was discharged and off again." 
 
 " Then you did not know that I was waiting here for a 
 freight?" 
 
 "A freight!" repeated the fisherman; "have the lords 
 of Chalonnes charged you with the carriage of their dis- 
 taff?"* 
 
 " Not a distaff, but some one who knows how to use it," 
 
 Lezin followed the looks of the bargeman towards the 
 chimney corner, and he there perceived a girl spinning by the 
 fireside. 
 
 " Faith 1 'tis pretty Entine ! " f cried he ; " how goes it with 
 you, Entine?" 
 
 * The Sire of Chalonnes having neglected to take aid to the Seigneur of Chantoce" when 
 besieged by the English, was condemned to send his wife every year a distaff laid on a 
 silken cushion, and drawn in a carriage by four oxen. 
 
 t Short for Valentine.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. O 
 
 " Colder than in the month of August, Mr. Lezin," said 
 the damsel, whose perked-up nose, laughing mouth, and saucy 
 eyes, showed her character. 
 
 " And is this the way you leave your uncle at St. Vincent's 
 Hermitage?" resumed the fisherman; "cannot the lovely 
 Entine fancy a farmhouse?" 
 
 " No," replied she ironically ; " the time hung heavy on 
 my hands, as I might not guide the plough, nor drive the 
 oxen, nor even manage the servant lads." 
 
 Lezin gave a knowing look, and then 
 
 " My notion is rather that you wished yourself back in the 
 town of Nantes," replied he impudently. " The town is the 
 right place for pretty girls and sharpers." 
 
 " Then perhaps you have some idea of going there, Mr. 
 Lezin?" asked Entine with an air of simplicity, which did 
 not take the fisherman in. 
 
 " Mischievous mole !" said he ; "he will be sharp enough 
 who sells you." 
 
 " And happy enough, I hope, who buys me," added the dam- 
 sel ; " but a ring and a prayer-book will be wanted for that." 
 
 " Yes, yes," resumed Lezin, laughing ; " I know you re- 
 quire a license for fishing." 
 
 " And she does not use illegal nets," put in Meru gaily. 
 
 " Because the fish comes of itself into her snare," replied 
 the fisherman. " Honesty's the same with girls as with boys, 
 old fellow it's a matter of convenience ; if I could get any- 
 thing by turning saint, I would soon have myself on the list. 
 But now, where are you taking her to at Nantes?" 
 
 " To a fine wooden house upon two wheels, which go round 
 without going on," said Entine. 
 
 " That's Aunt Kinot's mill?" 
 
 " There now, if you don't understand witchcraft ! " 
 
 " More than you think for, poor little trout ! And to prove
 
 6 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 it, I can tell you what makes you so liappy to go and live at 
 the Madeleine mill." 
 
 " Perhaps because flour does not make one's face black." 
 
 " My notion is rather because the miller is a handsome 
 lad." " 
 
 "The miller!" repeated the damsel. "Then you don't 
 know that my aunt is a widow?" 
 
 " But widows have sons," rejoined the fisherman ; " and I 
 see one, not two steps off, who seems a likely one to be look- 
 ing out for a sweetheart. Come, let us know, Francis, is not 
 that the truth?" 
 
 The youth to whom he spoke was what is called a well- 
 grown young fellow, strongly built, and of a florid complexion ; 
 but his forehead was low, and he had a sullen look. He col- 
 oured at the fisherman's question. 
 
 " As you were speaking to my cousin, you had better get 
 her to answer you," said he gruffly, and with embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "He would like it," observed Meru, laughing; "but he is 
 not cunning enough yet to catch her. You see, Mr. Outlaw, 
 that it's of no use for the meshes of your nets to be smaller 
 than lawful ; a girl's secrets will slip through them, anyhow. 
 Hey, Entine?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, uncle, but I don't understand about 
 fishing," replied she, with an arch look of ignorance, which 
 made everybody laugh. 
 
 " If Francis is not your sweetheart, then you must have 
 some one else," said Lezin. " Let us see, where can there be 
 a more likely blade for a lover than your cousin?" 
 
 " Find out, master," replied the girl, keeping her eyes 
 fixed upon her distaff, but yet involuntarily turning herself a 
 little towards the right in a way which did not escape the 
 sharp looks of outlawed Tony.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 7 
 
 " "Well, well ; then perhaps it is the master of the new 
 Charreyonne?" asked he in a whisper. 
 
 The damsel pretended not to hear, and looked down. 
 
 " He's the man," continued Lezin, with a burst of laughter. 
 " Oh, that's famous ! Now I know why he calls his boat 
 ' The Hope.' " 
 
 " Come, we shall all have our turn," said the young boat- 
 man, who coloured a little, but kept his good-humoured look. 
 " Positively, Tony is turned priest, and means to confess all 
 the lads and lasses in the country round." 
 
 " Ah, you may laugh," resumed the fisherman ; " but would 
 you like me to tell the name of the flower that is growing at 
 the bottom of your heart, and of pretty Entine's?" 
 
 "Nobody asked you, Master Outlaw," put in Francis 
 abruptly. 
 
 "And of yours too, my lad," added the imperturbable fisher- 
 man ; " don't you know, that by dint of looking to the bottom 
 of the river one learns to see clearly into men's minds. There 
 are always troubled waters in both. So, I can tell you that 
 two of you are setting your lines in the same pool one openly, 
 and the other like a sneak ; and the other is not Andre. Now, 
 do you understand?" 
 
 " I understand," cried Francis, casting a scowl full of ran- 
 cour at Lezin. "I understand that you are a good-for-nothing 
 rascal, who either to-day or to-morrow must be made to hold 
 his tongue." 
 
 "Pooh! how will you do that, my lad?" asked outlawed 
 Tony, looking the youth full in the face. 
 
 " By shutting your mouth with a glass of wine," interrupted 
 Andre in a jovial voice, and holding out to the fisherman a 
 cup filled to the brim. 
 
 Lezin nodded his head. 
 
 " Directly," said he. '' It is you who are a true bargeman
 
 8 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 as bright as the sun, and as free as the river. May the 
 mullets fry me if I don't give you my daughter when I 
 have one ! " 
 
 "And when he has proved himself a good boatmaster," 
 added Meru, who was emptying his glass by little sips ; " for 
 now-a-days the lads take the command before they have 
 learned to obey, and the youngsters give captains the go'by 
 in a trice ! But it is not enough to have a barge under your 
 feet ; you must know how to make her follow the channel, 
 avoid the ice, clear the bridges, anchor at the best places, and 
 manage her crew by kindness." 
 
 " Stop!" cried the fisherman, shrugging his shoulders, "all 
 that goes for nothing ; what you are speaking of only comes 
 second." 
 
 "Then what comes first?" asked Entine's uncle. 
 
 " What really makes the bargeman." 
 
 "Well, what's that?" 
 
 " It's the matelote* Father Meru. He who can make that 
 best will always be the river's best friend, have the steadiest 
 hand, and the quickest brains too." 
 
 All the boatmen began to laugh. 
 
 " Faith ! outlawed Tony is right," said the oldest ; " I have 
 always seen good matelote-makers good sailors." 
 
 " Then it's agreed," cried Lezin, slipping a net-bag from 
 off his shoulder ; " we must take soundings what each one is 
 worth. Come, in the devil's name ! I propose a matelote- 
 match between the lads ; here's the fish, Goodman Meru will 
 find the sauce." 
 
 " Agreed," said the boatman. 
 
 " Quick ! Francis, Andre, Simon," resumed the fisherman ; 
 " tuck up your sleeves, youngsters, and matelote to death ! 
 When each has done bis best, the elders will be judges." 
 
 * A dish composed of several kinds of flsh.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 9 
 
 He emptied the bag of fish into several plates, which the 
 young bargemen came and took with a laugh. 
 
 This sort of contest was neither strange nor new to them. 
 They were, oftener than not, obliged to depend upon them- 
 selves for everything during their wandering and isolated 
 lives on the river, and to make the most of the smallest 
 means ; and usually, moreover, to procure these from the 
 river which was carrying them along. Thus the art of dress- 
 ing fish had become one of the most important occupations 
 of a boatman of the Loire. He found his pride and pleasure 
 both in it. Consequently, the " bargeman's matelote " has 
 acquired and retained a fame which, like the trophies of 
 Miltiades, still prevents more than one culinary Themistocles 
 from sleeping. In the towns on the banks of the river, many 
 clever servants of Lent have vainly applied their minds to 
 the discovery of the secret of this celebrated dish : whether 
 it is some defect in the imitation, or prejudice in the tasters, 
 the supremacy has hitherto remained indisputably with the 
 inventors. 
 
 Whilst Andre and his rivals were preparing for the match 
 proposed by Lezin, the latter had seated himself at the table 
 with the drinkers, and continued to enliven them with his 
 impudent jokes. But Anjou wine always took Meru back to 
 old thoughts of past times : no sooner did he begin to get 
 heated, than he set to talking of the war in which he had for- 
 merly taken part in La Vendee, and his encounters with the 
 " Blues ; " and ended by proposing a health to the White Flag. 
 
 " A health ! only one !" cried the fisherman ; " rto, no, old 
 boy, that's very unhealthy ; two healths, by all means, or three, 
 if you please. I'm for all colours which give a man wine to 
 drink without his having to pay for it." 
 
 "Then you have no opinion of your own, you sinner?" 
 said the bargeman contemptuously.
 
 10 BRITTANY AND LA 
 
 "Why should I?" asked Lezin. "If I had one, nobody 
 would buy it of me, and, in the long run, I might find it 
 troublesome to keep. Opinions are all very well for the town 
 gentry who like to have their luxuries." 
 
 " Still, you are as old as I am," observed Meru, " and your 
 beard must have grown at the time of the great war." 
 
 " Therefore they trimmed it for me every Sunday," replied 
 Lezin waggishly. 
 
 " That means that you had not heart enough to fight 
 for your God and your king," replied the bargeman with 
 warmth. 
 
 " Faith ! it was not for want of heart, Father Meru," said 
 the fisherman ; " it was the fault of our mothers, who taught 
 us lads of Behuard how to reason." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Well, this is how it was perhaps there are some here 
 who know I was born in the Isle of Behuard, which lies up 
 above. As the Loire is pretty wide there, and the water too 
 deep to cross in your gaiters, the death-shivers were on both 
 the banks without troubling our digestion. Neither the 
 Whites nor the Blues had boats to pay us a visit in, and we 
 took care to keep our barges off the banks. So everything 
 went on with its accustomed regularity people went to their 
 mass and went to their dinner, they made hay and they 
 made love truly it was a blessed time ! But one day, or 
 rather I should say one evening, lo and behold ! there comes 
 a little wherry alongside with three Blues, who wanted pro- 
 visions. They were told that no one had more than enough 
 for himself ; they answered they must have what they wanted, 
 and threatened to cure the hunger of the first who refused 
 them ; and they entered our next neighbour's house, where 
 they set to work eating, drinking, and kissing the girls to 
 their hearts' content."
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 1] 
 
 " And you let them do it, you cowards ! " interrupted Meru. 
 
 "Wait till I've finished," continued Lezin. "Whilst they 
 were taking their pleasure iu this way, our men assembled 
 and consulted together. The oldest said, ' If we let these 
 three hungry i'ellows go back again, they will tell where the 
 cloth is laid ; to-morrow we shall have thirty here, and the 
 next day three hundred ! So we must shut them up in some 
 place where they can never get out again, and the best cage 
 is a hole in the churchyard.' Everybody agreed that this 
 was the right thing. The business was settled the same 
 evening ; and the next morning the priest was asked for a 
 mass for the repose of their souls." 
 
 " Well done ! you were quite right," said the old barge- 
 man, getting more and more heated. " I see that you too 
 have been at cuffs with the Blues." 
 
 " Stay a moment, Father Meru," resumed the fisherman ; 
 " it was a general measure of precaution. A week after, 
 when the Whites came and wanted to ring the tocsin to 
 carry off the corn, and take the fowling-pieces, our people 
 were obliged to make use of the same arguments, and had to 
 say another mass." 
 
 "For the Whites!" cried Meru, whose conscience, like that 
 of all party-men, had two sides. " Oh, you scoundrels ! you 
 murdered true Christians who came to ask you for help ! 
 And dare you tell me, and not fear that I shall revenge them 
 upon you?" 
 
 The old bargeman's eyes rolled in their sockets, his voice 
 shook with rage, and he seized a bottle that was standing be- 
 fore him by the neck, as if he meant to make a weapon of it. 
 Lezin quietly held out his glass. 
 
 " Why revenge them upon me, who was not then in the 
 place ?" said he, smiling. " Faith ! I only heard of it many 
 years after, when both Blues and Whites had knocked out
 
 12 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 their musket-flints. Come, old boy, pour away ! talking so 
 much chokes me." 
 
 Meru's fingers relaxed their grasp of the bottle, and he 
 mechanically filled the fisherman's glass. 
 
 Entine, who was frightened at her uncle's burst of rage, 
 had come to the table ; and she prevented the renewal of the 
 conversation by laying the cloth, and saying the matelotes 
 were ready. 
 
 In fact, it was not long before the three young bargemen 
 made their appearance with their dishes, in which the Anjou 
 wine they had set on fire was running along with unsteady 
 flame. It went out when on the table, and the company at 
 once proceeded to their investigation. Most of them set about 
 it with no small solemnity, and made their trials and compari- 
 sons several times over. The competitors stood waiting be- 
 hind them, whilst the damsel looked from one of the company 
 to another with something of anxiety. Lezin was the first 
 to declare his opinion. 
 
 " There's a dish," said he, pointing to the one furthest off, 
 " that I would not give to a dog, nor even a river-keeper ; 
 this one" looking at that nearest " a man might eat as he 
 drinks Loire water, for want of something better ; but for this 
 in the middle I would sell my soul to Beelzebub, if the rogue 
 were still in business and had not cleared off his stock." 
 
 " A just judgment ! " cried every voice. 
 
 " It is Andre's matelote," said Entine quickly, and colour- 
 ing with delight. 
 
 " And the one yonder is the miller's," added Lezin, with 
 a sly look at Francis. " I don't wonder now that he put so 
 much flour in it." 
 
 The youth did not answer, but his eyes assumed a still 
 more treacherous and sullen look. In the meantime the boat- 
 men lifted their glasses.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 13 
 
 " The health of the king of the matelote-makers ! " cried 
 Lezin. 
 
 " Come here, my young bargeman," added Meru, making a 
 place for him near himself. 
 
 Andre hastened to take it, and pledged all the company, 
 whose joviality was getting more and more noisy. Meru 
 himself had completely forgotten his anger, and manifested a 
 good -will to the young bargemaster, for which the latter was 
 evidently grateful. At last he put his hand in a friendly way 
 upon his shoulder, exclaiming 
 
 " Well, there's no going against what that rascal of an 
 outlaw says, ' A good matelote shows a good bargeman,' and 
 yours is the best sample. The Virgin has had a finger in it, 
 as the saying is. Now it remains to be proved if you are of 
 the stuff all true bargemasters are made of. We shall know 
 that to-morrow, my boy, as my Futreau is to go down to 
 Nantes with your Charreyonne. I shall be empty, and you 
 laden ; if you do not drop very far astern, I shall say that in 
 spite of your youth you have a right to wear anchor ear-rings, 
 and, better still, to say grace, and help yourself first."* 
 
 " You may be sure I shall do my best, Father Meru," said 
 Andre, giving a side-look at Entine. " As true as I'm my 
 mother's son, I have nothing nearer my heart than to give 
 you. satisfaction." 
 
 The old bargeman, who had caught his look, gave a merry 
 grin. 
 
 "Ay, ay, my lad," replied he, filling his glass again; 
 " uncles, you see, are something like helms they want con- 
 stant management." 
 
 And seeing Andre going to take advantage of the opening, 
 and perhaps to come to an explanation 
 
 * The barge crew all eat their meaU together ; but the master says grace, and help* 
 himself first, the dishes being handed In France, not the plates, as in England.
 
 14 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " I shall tell you nothing more," added he, " unless it be 
 that my good-will is like the river open to all the world. 
 It is the best sailor who will go ahead. Hurrah for the 
 youngsters ! Hoist the sail and shove away ; the master of 
 the White Flag is the friend of all brave lads." 
 
 " And all brave lads like to have him for their master !" 
 cried Andre, clinking his glass against Meru's. " Confound 
 me if this is not the pleasantest evening of my life ! Thunder 
 and lightning could not take away the happiness I feel !" 
 
 " Then you will not lose it by the neighbour I see coming," 
 observed Lezin, who had walked to the window. 
 
 "Whom do you see?" asked Andre, whose fascinated eyes 
 were still fixed on Entine. 
 
 " Look !" replied the fisherman. 
 
 A tall man, thin, and slovenly in his dress, had just opened 
 the door. He stood unsteadily on the threshold, and, with 
 eyes dulled by drunkenness, he seemed searching for some 
 one in the parlour of the " Grand Turk." At sight of him, 
 the young boatmaster looked surprised. 
 
 " It is my father," cried he. 
 
 "Master Jacques!" repeated several voices; " well, why 
 does he not come in?" 
 
 " Then you don't see that he is head to wind, as \isual," 
 said Francis with a malicious laugh. " Come, old Jacques, 
 come along ; the bird's here." 
 
 The drunkard reeled on a step towards Andre, who got up, 
 looking rather ashamed as his looks encountered those of 
 Meru. 
 
 "You'll excuse him, Captain," said he in a whisper, and 
 coloxiring ; " my father has had many crosses formerly, and 
 ho finds too much comfort in the brandy bottle." 
 
 " So I have been told," replied the bargeman with a sort 
 of pity ; " but this is the first time I have met with him.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 15 
 
 Poor old man, he is severely punished ! His hands shake 
 like a birch leaf! Look there, lads, and learn that wine is 
 the true drink for man : at most, it puto him down for an 
 hour, whilst brandy makes an end of him without mercy." 
 
 Then turning to Andre's father, and pointing to a stool 
 against the wall, he added 
 
 " Come, Master Jacques, one more pull at the oar. And 
 all of you, lads, make room for him ; respect sorrow." 
 
 The old man succeeded in reaching the stool and seating 
 himself, with the help of Andre, who then endeavoured to 
 learn what had induced him to leave Saint-George, where he 
 lived. 
 
 After repeatedly bringing him back to the point, he thought 
 he made out that his father had received a letter which 
 called them both to Nantes on important business, and that 
 he had come to join him at Chalonnes, that he might go down 
 the Loire in his boat. What the nature of the business was, 
 Master Jacques refused to explain. When drunk, he was 
 accustomed to hold a certain mastery over himself which had 
 always struck his son with wonder. It seemed as if a firm 
 and" sovereign will, as inseparable from his being as the in- 
 stinct of self-preservation, always kept watch over the portals 
 of his soul. Often the word just escaping from his lips was 
 suddenly withheld by a caution which had outlived everything 
 else, and then he took refuge in obstinate silence. The young 
 bargeman knew his habits too well to persist in useless attempts 
 to change them. As soon as he saw him determined to hold 
 his tongue, -he left off questioning him, and only thought of 
 getting back to his barge. His two men set off first, taking 
 Master Jacques with them, whilst he took leave of Entine 
 and her uncle. 
 
 " I must set off to-morrow morning before daylight," said 
 he to them. " There's ice up the river ; the first mild weather
 
 16 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 may move it, and then beware of the break-up. I am in a 
 hurry to be at Nantes with my cargo." 
 
 " And I, too, with my boat and my niece," replied Meru 
 merrily ; " for it is agreed, my lad, that we sail in company, 
 is it not?" 
 
 " I hope so, Captain, since that is the way to get your 
 good-will. Do you remember what you said?" 
 
 "And I'll not break my word," replied Meru; "yes, yes, 
 now we shall see what you are made of. Look you to your 
 boat, Francis shall steer mine ; and when we come to Nantes 
 we shall know what you are both worth." 
 
 "Andre pressed the old bargeman's hand, and then took 
 leave of Entine by kissing her, according to custom, on both 
 cheeks, and bidding her a hearty good-bye. 
 
 " If you really meant to follow us," said the damsel slily, 
 "you would only have said, Good-bye till our next meet- 
 ing." 
 
 " Goodbye till our next meeting, then," replied Andre ; 
 " and pray to the Virgin for me." 
 
 He went back to his barge, whilst Meru remained at the 
 inn, where he intended to stay the night with his niece, send- 
 ing his crew by themselves to their boat with Francis. 
 
 This last felt rage and jealousy burning within him. The 
 little defeat he had just sustained, the jokes of Lezin, and 
 above all, his cousin's very evident preference of Andre, were 
 rankling like poison in his heart. He was in that state of 
 mind, that he could not himself have decided if his hatred of 
 him was stronger than his love for her ; but hatred and love 
 ended in a single determination that of ridding himself of 
 the young boatmaster at any cost. He was too prudent to 
 attack him openly, and looked about for some way of dam- 
 aging him without committing himself. He was lying down 
 near his mates in the cabin of the boat ; but whilst the two
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 17 
 
 bargemen were snoring by Ins side, he was still tossing wake- 
 fully on his pallet. 
 
 The contest which was to begin next morning between 
 himself and Andre, added still more to his restlessness and 
 irritation. He had passed his early youth at Nantes, in the 
 lazy life of a mill, without any other occupation than dressing 
 the millstone, raising the water-gates, and playing the bag- 
 pipe, as was the custom of the millers of the place. After- 
 wards, owing to a quarrel with his mother, he had been com- 
 pelled to go back to his uncle, and had turned bargeman, but 
 without ever having been able to acquire much experience or 
 skill in his new craft. He therefore foresaw that the trial 
 which Father Mem had proposed between him and Andre 
 would end in a new disgrace to him, and to all appearance 
 make sure of Entine's marriage with the young boatmaster. 
 All at once he started up as if struck by a sudden light, 
 thought an instant, and then slipped out of the cabin, and 
 went cautiously to the stern of the boat, and looked round. 
 
 All was still in the other barge, which was moored a little 
 lower down. The night was dark, and the waters of the 
 Loire were rolling by with a low murmur. Having satisfied 
 himself that no one could see him, Francis got into the 
 wherry, which he unfastened, and cut across the stream in a 
 slanting direction till he reached the channel. He then 
 dropped down the river for some distance, without giving the 
 slightest indication of his intention ; nor was it until the cur- 
 rent had brought him between the two great isles, the Desert 
 and the Ospray, that he slackened the boat's speed. 
 
 Deposits of soil, which were promoted by the existence of 
 the two islands, obstructed the bed of the river, which made 
 numerous windings in this place ; and the constant shiftings 
 of the sandbanks caused this passage to be rightly looked 
 upon as one of the most difficult between Angers and Nantes.
 
 18 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 The Office of Buoys and Signals had consequently directed 
 their particular attention to it. By their' orders, large willow 
 boughs were stuck into the sand, and shifted at each change 
 of deep channel, so as to point out the shoals to the barges, 
 and mark the proper course for them to take. Francis went 
 from one to the other, cleverly pulling them out and putting 
 them back again, so as to mark out the channel over the 
 sandbanks. He reckoned that the next morning Andre would 
 set off the first, and that his deep-laden barge, being guided 
 by these false marks, could not fail to run aground. By this 
 means, he not only made sure of an easy victory over his 
 rival, but exposed him to the risk of losing his vessel, which 
 might probably go to pieces on the sandbanks ; and he would 
 then be thrown back among the hired bargemen, on none of 
 whom, he felt assured, would Meru ever bestow his niece's 
 hand. At the same time that he was preparing this infa- 
 mous snare, he examined the way for himself through the 
 channel, in order to pass it without danger ; and his work 
 being completed, he got back to his own barge again with- 
 out loss of time. 
 
 To reach it, he had to pass close by the " Hope," which 
 was moored below Meru's boat ; but at the moment he came 
 alongside, a head rose up from the bows. Francis stopped in 
 fear, and kept his wherry in the shadow. The head he had 
 seen remained leaning over the waters for some purpose he 
 could not make out. At first he thought it might be Andre 
 preparing to get under weigh, but he soon saw the night- 
 watcher raise himself up again, and he recognised Master 
 Jacques by his height. 
 
 In spite of the cold, the latter had taken off his jacket, and 
 held a boat-hook in his hand. Francis saw him pass along 
 the gunwale, and go softly back into the cabin. He hastened 
 to double the barge and get aboard his uncle's boat, where he
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 19 
 
 found the men still asleep. Certain, then, that his absence had 
 not been remarked, he crept back to his bed, where, in a more 
 tranquil state than before, he waited for the morning. 
 
 The first dawn of day was just clearing away the river mists, 
 when his companions awoke him. All was already stirring in 
 Andre's boat, which, laden to the water-line, began moving 
 heavily. The young boatmaster was giving his orders, and 
 bearing a hand everywhere, with that calm energy which is 
 the great virtue of the bargeman of the Loire. The getting 
 under sail was effected slowly, but without a single false 
 move, and the boat dropped into the current with a kind of 
 careless confidence. 
 
 " Well handled, my lad !" shouted a voice from the bank. 
 
 Andre turned round, and through the morning mist recog- 
 nised Uncle Meru with his niece, who had smart clogs on, 
 and was wrapped in a cloak of brown cloth edged with black 
 velvet. He greeted them by lifting his little glazed hat. 
 
 "The 'Hope' asks your pardon for going ahead," said 
 lie merrily ; " but she has too many nails in her shoes to 
 move very fast." 
 
 " Go along, my boy," replied the old bargeman, waving 
 his hand; "the 'White Flag' will not be long before she 
 comes up with you." 
 
 And he walked towards his own barge, telling his niece to 
 make haste on board; but she was determined the young 
 boatmaster should keep his advantage. Just as she was 
 about to enter the boat, she stopped short, as if recollecting 
 something. 
 
 "Oh, holy Virgin!" cried she, "I'll wager, uncle, you 
 have forgotten to speak to the clergyman about the picture 
 you were to bring him from Nantes." 
 
 " I have the letter he wrote to the artist in my pocket- 
 book," replied Meru ; " quick, come on board, my girl."
 
 20 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 "And have you the order for preserves for the mayor?" 
 continued Entine without stirring. 
 
 " He does not want them," replied the boatmaster ; " come 
 off, I tell you." 
 
 " Still, you have not wished your gossip Bavot good-bye." 
 
 The old boatmaster stamped his foot. 
 
 " The deuce take all Bavots and babblers !" cried he ; " do 
 you wish to keep us here till the ice comes down ? Come on 
 board, look you, or I trip the anchor." 
 
 " I am coming, I am coming," said the girl, who did not 
 appear the least frightened at Meru's threat. " It was for 
 you I was speaking, uncle ; it is all over if you no longer care 
 for the Bavots and their mild white wine." 
 
 The bargeman, in whom this last suggestion awoke an in- 
 voluntary regret, replied by a sailor's oath that was enough to 
 make all the saints in paradise shudder. 
 
 " Will you hold your plaguy tongue?" cried he. " I tell 
 you, if we delay any longer we shall not reach La Meilleraie 
 this evening. Look at the 'Hope' see, she is already in 
 the gullet." 
 
 The damsel turned her eyes in the direction he pointed, and 
 saw that Andre's boat was in fact just reaching the channel 
 between the two isles. She thought she had given him a 
 sufficient start, and, after a few fresh and indispensable delays 
 to look for her travelling basket, to fasten her cloak over 
 again, and to take leave of the hostess of the " Grand Turk," 
 who had just made her appearance, she made up her mind to 
 cross the plank which connected the barge with the shore. 
 
 The bargemen then unfastened the cables ; the boat, which 
 was in ballast, obeyed their first long push ; it went about 
 rapidly, and was soon in the middle of the stream, like the 
 other vessel, which could be seen through the mist. 
 
 The two barges had hoisted their sails, and were dropping
 
 THE BABGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 21 
 
 down the stream, but in very unequal circumstances ; the 
 one, being heavily laden, crept along with difficulty, and was 
 delayed by the slowness of her movements every time she had 
 to round one of the thousand sandbanks through which the 
 channel wound its course ; the other, completely empty, glided 
 lightly over the water, and instantly obeyed every impulse of 
 the enormous blade which formed her rudder. Consequently 
 the distance between the two boats kept decreasing every mo- 
 ment. Already they were so near Andre's barge that they 
 could distinguish the men who were helping it along by shov- 
 ing with their iron-shod poles, and the young master who was 
 watching at the helm, and striving to shorten the turns as 
 much as he could. Meru showed him to his nephew, who 
 was steering the " White Flag," as he had promised. 
 
 " Look how close that fine lad there steers," said he, in a 
 kind of admiration ; " a fish is not more master of his tail than 
 he is of his rudder. Come, Fanfan, take care not to do worse 
 than he, for your honour as a bargeman is at stake. You 
 have quinte and quatorze; don't lose the game for want of 
 point." 
 
 The young boatman only answered by a nod. They were 
 just running in between the isles of Desert and Ospray ; it 
 was there that the match would have to be decided. He 
 held his eyes fixed upon the " Hope," which was still keeping 
 on ahead, at a distance which was maintained by the courage 
 of her crew, and her captain's skill, but which was not so 
 great but that they could hear their voices, and even dis- 
 tinguish the expression of their faces from the " White Flag." 
 
 They were just nearing the first point when Master Jacques 
 appeared by his son's side. He had lost some of that ghastly 
 look which drunkenness had given him the evening before, 
 and his eye showed some intelligence. He looked for a 
 minute at the boat as it dropt slowly down the stream, and
 
 22 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 then at the swelling waters as they rolled upon the shores, 
 and the willows sparkling with hoar-frost. A faint colour 
 rose to his cheeks, and he snuffed the breeze as if he would 
 drink in the air of the Loire. 
 
 " I remember the place," murmured he ; " it is now thirty 
 years ago since I passed it. I was steering a large boat ; I 
 was only twenty-five ; but then the water was more trans- 
 parent, and the birds were singing among the trees." 
 
 " Then has Master Jacques been a boatmaster on the 
 Loire ?" asked one of the men. 
 
 " Yes," replied the old man with thoughtful sadness, " those 
 were good times neither ice nor sand could stop me ; my 
 boat obeyed me as the ass obeys the miller's wife." 
 
 The bargeman shrugged his shoulders sneeringly. 
 
 " Well, here's a difference," said he ; " at present, it's my 
 notion, Master Jacques, that it would suit you better to guide 
 an ass than a boat." 
 
 Jacques looked up, and fire kindled in his eyes. 
 
 " Who told you that ?" cried he. " Oh, perhaps you think 
 I have forgotten the craft. By my soul, we '11 see that pre- 
 sently. Take my jacket ; and you, Andre, help them to shove 
 I will steer." 
 
 He took off his coat, and put his hand upon the tiller ; but 
 his son did not seem disposed to yield it to him. 
 
 " Let be, let be, father," said he, with his eyes fixed upon 
 the stream ; " it is an awkward place here, and needs a sharp 
 sight." 
 
 " Well, we shall keep our eyes open," replied Jacques im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "Wait," resumed the youth ; "you shall take the helm 
 when we have doubled the isles." 
 
 "And when the boat can go all alone," put in the barge- 
 man who had questioned the old man's skill.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 23 
 
 The latter drew himself up, and the blood rushed to his 
 face. 
 
 " Did you hear me?" repeated he to Andre. 
 
 " Wait one moment," said the young man. 
 
 " Make way for your father I " cried Master Jacques, push- 
 ing him violently aside. Then taking possession of the helm, 
 he suddenly gave the barge another course. 
 
 Andre tried to stop him, but the old man was as if he 
 heard nothing. His whole being seemed to have undergone 
 a change. With his body erect, his head thrown back, one 
 foot planted firmly against the gunwale, and both his hands 
 resting upon the helm, he had assumed such a look of confi- 
 dence and command, that the youth stood amazed. His eyes, 
 which were usually dulled by the fumes of drunkenness, had 
 now an acute and concentrated expression ; and as he fixed 
 them upon the stream, they seemed to pierce its veil, and to 
 read it to the bottom. After having studied the eddies for a 
 few minutes, he altered the course still more decidedly. The 
 boatmen sang out loudly. 
 
 "We are leaving the channel!" cried they all. "Look, 
 the barge is sailing right across the safety-marks!" 
 
 "Down helm, father, or we shall be aground!" added 
 Andre ; " a starboard, a starboard !" 
 
 "Keep away a starboard," said Jacques in a loud voice, 
 without paying any attention to his son's warning. 
 
 In fact, on that side the boat was just touching a shoal. 
 The bargemen looked at one another in surprise. 
 
 "Heaven help us! The safety-marks are not true, then?" 
 cried the boatmaster, leaning over the water to see better. 
 
 " The beacons stand, and the shoals move," said Jacques. 
 " In my time, they did not write down the bargeman's course 
 with willow boughs ; we knew how to read it upon the water. 
 A larboard, now? keep away a larboard. Don't you see
 
 24 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 the whirling waters and the foam, which mark a sandbank ? 
 Those marks are not set by man's hands, and they never lead 
 wrong." 
 
 This time, the boatmen obeyed ; and with their poles they 
 kept the boat well off the shoal he pointed out. The old 
 man went on steering in this way, and twenty times passed 
 across the line of the beacons, without any other guide than 
 the appearance of the currents. The crew were struck with 
 surprise, looked at him in silence, and instantly obeyed his 
 slightest orders. At last they reached the mouth of the pas- 
 sage at the end of the two islands, and were entering into the 
 main stream of the Loire, when loud calls from the White 
 Flag made them look round. 
 
 When Meru saw Master Jacques handle his barge so 
 strangely, leaving the marked course and going into shoal- 
 water, he mounted upon his seat, and for some tune followed 
 him with his eyes without being able to comprehend what he 
 was about. The bargemen, too, leaning upon their iron-shod 
 poles, asked one another what could be his reason for thus 
 going straight into danger ; but the most astonished and the 
 most alarmed of all was Francis, who thought his trick had 
 been found out. Besides the severe penalties with which the 
 navigation laws would punish it, he knew what disgrace it 
 would cover him with in the eyes of the whole "Loire 
 service;" and what, above all, would be his uncle Meru's in- 
 dignation if he ever knew of it? These considerations, which 
 he had not dwelt upon as long as he thought his secret safe, 
 came upon him all at once now that he feared it was dis- 
 covered. Pale and trembling, he left the rudder to one of 
 the men, and hurried to the bows of the barge, the better to 
 watch the bold course of his rival's vessel, and not knowing 
 if he ought to wish her success or failure. Meantime, the 
 man at the helm continued to steer his own barge into the
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 25 
 
 channel marked out by the false beacons. All at once a 
 sudden shock lifted the bows ; they heard the grating of the 
 pebbles as they struck against the keel, and the water 
 streamed in between the started planks. The barge was 
 aground ! 
 
 Though the crew were in no serious danger, their situation 
 was perplexing. The stream being more than usually shut 
 in just here, ran very strongly, and was driving them more 
 and more upon the sandbank ; the barge was even beginning 
 to fall broadside on, and it was to be feared that in this state 
 she could not long bear up against the violence of the current. 
 The bargemen's first attempts to get her off were unsuccessful ; 
 they were obliged to resolve upon calling in the assistance of 
 Andre and his crew. 
 
 At their first hail, the young boatmaster saw what had 
 happened, and hastened in his small boat to Meru's help. 
 They had just taken in their sail, and the barge being thus 
 freed from the action of the wind, had stopped. Andre helped 
 to stop the leaks, and fastened ropes to the masts, planks, and 
 oars, which he threw overboard to lighten the barge ; then 
 he and his crew shoving with their poles, succeeded, after 
 prolonged exertions, in getting her off the bank, and bringing 
 her again into the channel. He then piloted her in the same 
 way as he had seen his father do, and brought her alongside 
 of his own barge, to which he then returned. 
 
 Meru, who felt a little humbled by the help he had been 
 obliged to accept, briefly thanked him, and busied himself in 
 fishing all his spars up again in order to set sail, whilst the 
 Charreyonne lifted her grapnel, and continued her course. 
 
 The manner in which Master Jacques had just proved his 
 skill, had won him Andre's entire confidence ; and therefore, 
 while he again took his place at the helm, he modestly asked 
 for instruction from the old man. who accordingly taught him
 
 26 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 how to know the depth of the stream, and the coming of the 
 hidden shoals, by the colour of the water, or by its eddies. 
 Thanks to these hints, Andre was able to diverge at intervals 
 from the regular channel marked by the beacons, to slant by 
 the shallows, and everywhere to take the shortest cuts. His 
 father seemed to have a map of the Loire engraved in the 
 deepest recesses of his brain : he knew the exact volume of 
 water in each channel according to the time of the year ; 
 stated the rates of the currents ; was acquainted with the best 
 shelters for boats in case of the ice coming down ; and told 
 the names of every village on each bank. The bargemen 
 were astonished ; but Andre showed the most surprise of all. 
 He was so little informed in the affairs of his own family, 
 that he scarcely knew until then that his father had ever 
 belonged to " the river-service." He would have questioned 
 him about these past times, of which he knew nothing ; but 
 the life and spirits of Master Jacques had already sunk. He 
 had seated himself at the bottom of the boat, with his anus 
 folded and his head bent, and only answered Yes or No, like 
 a man half asleep. However, when his son asked him what 
 could have made him leave a trade he knew so well, he seemed 
 to wake up with a start : he turned his eyes upon those about 
 him in a sort of bewilderment and alarm ; he moved, and half 
 opened his lips ; but the reply died away without a sound, his 
 head sank again upon his breast, and Andre saw that he must 
 not press his inquiry farther.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOJKE- 27 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 THE two boats reached La Meilleraie rather late in the 
 evening, and were moored close together. Thanks to Entine, 
 the vexation Meru felt on account of his barge's mishap had 
 not lasted very long. When Andre met him again at the inn, 
 all clouds had disappeared from his brow. The young man 
 made no allusion to what had passed ; and the old boatmas- 
 ter, who appreciated his reserve, paid him in friendliness what 
 he would have found it hard to pay him in thanks. 
 
 Some other boats were already moored at La Meilleraie. 
 The crews were acquaintances, and had assembled to take 
 supper together. Master Jacques remained in the barge by 
 himself, making his supper, as usual, on a few crusts of coarso 
 bread dipped in brandy, which had been brought to him. 
 
 At the inn, Meru had found Goodman Soriel, the father of 
 he " service," and who, in some old business long since 
 passed with a Nantes lawyer who wished to show his literary 
 attainments, had been named by him the "Nestor of the 
 Loire." His companions had taken this Homeric allusion of 
 the man of law for a physiognomical nickname, and had un- 
 consciously modified it by commonly calling him "Father 
 Nez-Tors" (Wry-Nose). The old bargemaster had long ago 
 given up navigation, though he happened to be then taking
 
 28 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 a boat to Orleans for one of his grandsons who was kept away 
 by sickness. 
 
 Merti and he had been acquainted in the La Vendee war, 
 and both remembered that their last meeting had happened at 
 the very place where they now found themselves again. 
 
 " Do you remember, my lad," said Soriel, who, in right of 
 his ninety winters, called every one lad who was not as old as 
 himself; "it was the day the great army was routed? Do 
 you remember all those miserable wretches crowding together 
 on the banks, and praying to God and man to take them over 
 to the other side ? They were full forty thousand, and there 
 were eight boats for them all !" 
 
 " Yes," replied Meru ; " then, too, to see the women run 
 when our boats came near ! it was, ' Take my wounded hus- 
 band my father my son this poor lad ! ' The dear crea- 
 tures never asked to be taken themselves." 
 
 " Oh, it was a great day," resumed Soriel. " Look you, 
 my lad, I never think of it without feeling a thrill to the mar- 
 row of my bones. It was then I saw M. de Bonchamp,* who 
 was just dying. The holy man was so weak that you could 
 hardly hear him speak. So he kept making signs to the priest 
 who was standing by him, to come close in order to hear him ; 
 and when the bystanders asked what he was saying, the priest 
 always repeated the same thing ' Don't kill the prisoners.' " 
 
 "The 'Blues' killed plenty of ours, however," observed 
 Meru with bitterness. 
 
 " As we did theirs," replied the old man. " At that time 
 no one cared for another man's life ; and it is a great wonder 
 that any one cared for his own, for God knows the difficulty 
 there was to keep it. When you had saved it from the guil- 
 lotine or the bullet, you had still to save it from hunger, and 
 
 * The Royalist army of La Vendfie was routed, and General Bonchamp mortally 
 wounded, at Chollet, in 1793, after which the fugitives crossed the river. Tr.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 29 
 
 that was no little matter. We bargemen found even the 
 Loire had become a field of battle. Here, the batteries sent 
 shot into us under pretence that we were serving the ' Whites ; ' 
 there, the Eoyalists fired upon us from behind the willows un- 
 der pretence that we were carrying provisions to the ' Blues.' 
 So no more boats appeared upon the river, and the bargemen 
 took to begging, unless they hired themselves to Carrier." 
 
 "And became dr owners !" cried Mem. "Yes, yes, I 
 know that there have been those in 'the river-service' who 
 made the Loire into a great grave ; but as true as I'm a 
 Christian, if I ever meet with one of them, I will revenge the 
 innocent blood upon him with my own hand." 
 
 " You will not meet any of them now," rejoined Soriel, " as 
 all of us, honest bargemen, sentenced them long ago to go 
 ashore, and none of them ever dared make their appearance 
 afloat again, when the penalty was being sent, as they said 
 in those times, to live in the Chateau d'Au ;* but indeed it 
 was a bitter time for every one, and the best way now is to 
 think but little of it." 
 
 The master of the "White Flag" could not agree to this. 
 He had passed through the terrible struggle of '93 in all the 
 vigour and glow of youth, so that the general troubles were 
 blended in his mind with the experiences proper to the period 
 of his own life in which he had shared them. Moreover, he 
 recalled his own courage in battle, his steadiness during the 
 retreat, his presence of mind before the magistrates who were 
 going to arrest him, his delight when he returned home to 
 his mother without a wound, and with the white cockade sewed 
 upon the breast of his coat. Each memory of a misfortune 
 
 * The name of a castle on the banks of the Loire. When the prisoners In the famous 
 " Loire Drownings" were on board the scuttled boats, if they asked where they were 
 being taken, the drowners ued to answer by a cruel pun " To the Chateau d'Au." [A 
 English executioners doing the like work on the Thames might have said, " Going by 
 water to GraTCsend." TV.]
 
 30 BRITTANY AND LA. VENDEE. 
 
 was in this way connected with that of a triumph or a joy , 
 and those few months of suffering had only, so to say, proved 
 to him what he could do, and what he was worth. Thus he 
 spoke of that time with a warmth which, though he knew it 
 not, was mainly the expression of contented pride. 
 
 As the bargemen were but slightly interested in this dis- 
 cussion, they left the table one after the other ; and Andre 
 himself observing that Entine had disappeared, resolved to re- 
 turn to the boat. When he reached it, Master Jacques was 
 already asleep in the cabin with the rest of the barge's crew. 
 
 The young captain, whose blood was all alive, and his brain 
 at work, was not inclined to join them yet. He wrapped him- 
 self in his goatskin cape, and began walking up and down 
 on the tarpaulin which covered the cargo, and formed a 
 deck. 
 
 The cold was now less bitter, and the night darker : scarcely 
 did a few stars beam with a faint glimmer through the dark- 
 ness. The fog hung upon the weeping willows, and crept 
 over the Loire, which here and there looked like a mirror be- 
 neath the starlight. It seemed to Andre that the waters had 
 risen, and that every now and then he heard a slight dashing 
 noise ; but he scarcely heeded it his thoughts were busy 
 elsewhere. 
 
 The last few days he had passed in the presence and society 
 of Mera's niece had revived a love already of old date, and 
 reawakened his impatience to know what he ought to hope 
 for. Though the opportunities of meeting Entine had been 
 frequent, the maiden's good-will towards him apparently 
 plain, and he quite ready to believe that he should find no 
 objection on her part, he had not yet proposed himself. The 
 time seemed to him now come ; he had only to find a favour- 
 able opportunity and a proper way of introducing the subject. 
 But besides a mutual shyness, he felt that sort of anxiety
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 31 
 
 which accompanies all great resolves. The question at issue 
 was of an engagement in which his whole life was concerned, 
 which would be the occasion of lasting peace or trouble of 
 happiness or misery to him ; therefore he at once desired and 
 dreaded the interview that must decide his fate. 
 
 Leaning against the boat's mast with folded arms and 
 wandering eyes, he was conning over for the hundredth time 
 the same doubts, without clearing them up, when a light 
 rustling made him turn his head. Some one had come out of 
 the cabin of the " White Flag," and was advancing towards 
 the " Hope," which it was necessary to pass across in order to 
 reach the shore. Andre recognised Meru's niece by her light 
 and graceful step, in spite of the darkness. She stepped over 
 the seats of the boat timidly and cautiously, and was about to 
 set her foot in the second boat, when a movement of the boat- 
 master made her give a little cry. 
 
 "What are you afraid of, Entine?" said the youth in a 
 very gentle voice, and advancing a step towards her ; " don't 
 you know me?" 
 
 Although his tone ought to have encouraged the damsel, 
 she seemed still more disconcerted, drew back, and answered 
 hastily, as if her presence in the boat at such an hour needed 
 some excuse, that she had just been for her travelling basket, 
 which she had forgotten in the cabin of the barge. 
 
 " Are you afraid that you will be accused of coming here 
 to meet me ?" asked Andre with a tender smile. 
 
 " Oh, that would be very unjust," replied she, " for I 
 thought you were still at the inn with my uncle." 
 
 " When you were gone, there was no reason forme to stay," 
 answered the young bargeman ; " but since I have found you 
 here, Heaven must have sent me back." 
 
 " Perhaps so, master," said Eutine, who, notwithstanding 
 her confusion, could not resist a joke ; " but as Heaven does
 
 32 BRITTANY AXD LA VENDEE. 
 
 not usually send bargemen to damsels as if they were guardian 
 angels, any one who found us talking together at this time of 
 night, might think you were sent on another's account." 
 
 "Whose, pray?" 
 
 "The devil's!" 
 
 " Well, that would be a great mistake," cried Andre, smil- 
 ing in spite of himself; "for I am come I am come on my 
 own." 
 
 " That, you know, is nearly the same thing," interrupted 
 the damsel merrily. " Come, Andre, let me pass ; the boat's 
 crew may come back with my uncle, and then I should be 
 quite disgraced." 
 
 " No," said the bargeman, approaching her, and causing 
 her to retreat towards the end of her own vessel ; " you shall 
 not go away in this manner without having heard me. It 
 was but just now that I was asking myself how I could find 
 an opportunity of speaking to you ; and since my patron saint 
 has given it me, I will not leave you without having told you 
 of the wound I have in my heart." 
 
 " It's of no use," interrupted the damsel slyly ; " I only 
 know receipts for chilblains, Master Andre. You must go to 
 La Merode of Chalonnes she knows words that will cure like 
 balm." 
 
 " You only can say those that can comfort me," said the 
 young man sadly and tenderly. " Do not pretend to misun- 
 derstand me, Entine ; do not play with my trouble, like the 
 cat with the bird she keeps under her claws. I am so afraid 
 of displeasing you, that I am always silenced at once by you. 
 So you can amuse yourself as you like with me without my 
 being able to answer you ; but there is no true bravery in 
 that, and you should not use your wit against a lad who 
 would find it easier to give you his blood drop by drop than 
 to ask you if you will have his love."
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 33 
 
 His tone was so frank, yet so full of feeling, that the damsel 
 was much affected by it. With a movement so quick that it 
 seemed involuntary, she seized the young bargeman's arm 
 and uttered his name, almost weeping. Andre drew her to- 
 wards him with a joyful exclamation, and was going to repeat 
 his question ; but all at once she started, made a sign to him 
 with her finger to be silent, and turned towards the other 
 boat. 
 
 " What is it?" asked the young man. 
 
 "I thought that some one was listening," whispered 
 Entine. 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " There, in your boat. I heard a step, and it seemed to 
 me as if a shadow passed." 
 
 Andre mounted the side to see better. All was silent in 
 his own barge ; the shore was deserted, and the inn-windows 
 were bright. He endeavoured to reassure the maiden, by 
 bidding her recollect that all his crew were asleep, that those 
 of the "White Flag" were still sitting with her uncle and 
 Father Soriel, and that consequently they had nothing to 
 fear. Then, emboldened by Entine's silence, he spoke to her 
 more freely of his love, and told her of his plans and his hopes. 
 The maiden, who was evidently struggling between uneasi- 
 ness and affection" had seated herself upon the last bench, 
 with her eyes cast down ; whilst Andr6, bending towards her, 
 pressed for an answer. 
 
 " In the name of the saints, Entine," said he, after having 
 exhausted all his own assurances of love, " say one word, one 
 single word, to relieve my anxiety. I ask nothing you need 
 ever be ashamed of. If you could see to the bottom of my 
 heart, you would know that I am speaking to you as I would 
 to the priest who has known and taught me from a child. 
 
 The maiden raised her head ; her face wore a more serious
 
 34 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 expression than the bargeman had ever seen on it before j she 
 turned upon him an open look, and full of feeling. 
 
 " I believe you, Andre," she said in a very tender tone. 
 " I know you are a man of good name, and a good heart, who 
 would not take pleasure in deceiving a poor girl whose father 
 and mother are in their grave ; so I shall not answer you 
 with stories, such as lads and girls usually tell each other. 
 Ever since I have known you, I have seen nothing but true 
 manliness and real honesty in you. I esteem you more than 
 I do any other of your age ; and I shall not need much to 
 induce me to show you I love you ; but my uncle must first 
 give his consent. Orphan as I am, I have no other guardian, 
 and I will obey him in everything. Gain his consent, and 
 I can promise you, my dear Andre, that you will very soon 
 have mine." 
 
 " All in good time," cried a third voice. 
 
 And Uncle Meru, who had crossed without noise over the 
 tarpaulin of the first barge, cleared the boat's side, and came 
 upon them at once. He was followed by Father Soriel and 
 Francis, the latter of whom held back a little, with a foolish 
 and sullen look. 
 
 The two young people showed some alarm at the surprise. 
 Meru went up to his niece and took her hand. 
 
 " You have just given a good honest answer," said he with 
 feeling ; " and I wish that all the bargemen of the Loire 
 could have heard it ; kiss me you are a good girl." 
 
 Entine threw her arms round his neck. 
 
 " Only," added the boatmaster, " it would have been better 
 to have said it in some other place, and at another time ; 
 private conversations by moonlight are not good for the 
 health." 
 
 Andre hastened to explain that their meeting had been 
 quite by accident.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 35 
 
 " That's another thing, then," said Father Soriel ; " and 
 Francis told a lie when he came to give us notice that you 
 had planned a meeting in the ' White Flag.' " 
 
 " Then it was he I heard there just now," said Entine 
 quickly.; "may Heaven forgive him! But if he thought I 
 was to blame, he had better have come and told me so, like a 
 good cousin, instead of sneaking off and carrying tales." 
 
 Francis looked down without answering. 
 
 " No more reproaches," said Meru ; " the sad fellow is 
 sufficiently punished by not being to your fancy." 
 
 " And that he may be more so, you must give the pretty 
 one leave to follow the current of her own wishes," resumed 
 old Soriel. " Come now, what can you object to in Andre?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Entine's uncle. 
 
 " Then it's all settled," cried the old man merrily ; " I 
 invite myself to the wedding ; and I mean to be a brides- 
 man." 
 
 The master of the " White Flag" held out his hand to 
 Andre, who seized it with such a lively transport of joy, that 
 he could only stammer out a few words of thanks ; he was 
 choked by his feelings. The maiden, leaning on her uncle's 
 shoulder, smiled and wept at once ; the " father of the barge- 
 men" himself wiped his eyes with the back of his wrinkled 
 hand. 
 
 " Come, come, enough of this," said he ; " these youthful 
 fancies touch you still, though they are over with you. Let 
 the tree be never so old, good Meru, there is always a little 
 sap left ; and if you bring it near the fire, it begins to work. 
 But see, it's almost midnight, and it's my notion that things 
 are so far settled that we may put off the rest till to-morrow, 
 and go to bed, especially as here comes one who may hear us." 
 
 " It is my father," observed Andre. 
 
 "Master Jacques?" repeated Meru; "bless me, we had
 
 36 BRITTANY ANT) LA VENDEE. 
 
 forgotten him, good people ! My leave is not enough for you 
 to marry Entine ; you must have your father's too." 
 
 " I am ready to do my duty," replied Andre, going forward 
 from the boat's stern to meet his father ; whilst old Soriel, 
 foreseeing a family conference, discreetly withdrew and rejoined 
 Francis. 
 
 In the meantime, Master Jacques having come out of the 
 cabin, had proceeded towards the mast of the barge, slowly 
 taken off his jacket, and thrown it on a coil of ropes. He 
 then took up a boat-hook, examined the iron point, and stood 
 still for a few moments, as if he were waiting for a signal. 
 All at once the sound of a clock was heard, and the twelve 
 strokes echoed through the distance. Master Jacques seemed 
 to count them, and then walked towards the end of the 
 boat. Just then Andre came up to him and addressed him ; 
 but he appeared to hear nothing, went on, passed in front of 
 Meru, and placed himself on the side of the farther barge. 
 By the light of the stars, now shining more clearly again, 
 they could perceive his livid face, his half-open and apparently 
 breathless lips, and his glazed eyes, which he kept fixed upon 
 the water ; he seemed like a corpse come forth from the grave 
 to fulfil some unearthly achievement. Entine, quite frightened, 
 retreated, with a stifled cry, behind her uncle ; and Andre, 
 who had joined them again, looked at his father in alarm. 
 
 " May Heaven protect us ! " said he at last. " His mind is 
 awake without having given his body notice. I recollect now, 
 that in my childhood my mother often got up to follow him." 
 
 " He is a somnambulist," said Meru, with a sort of fear 
 mixed with pity. " Poor man, some shepherd of Sologne 
 must have put a spell upon him !" 
 
 " Look, look ! what is he doing there?" asked the maiden, 
 coming closer to Meru. 
 
 Master Jacques had just lifted up his iron-shod pole, and
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 37 
 
 was dashing it furiously into the water. As he ran from one 
 end of the barge to the other, he looked as if he were watch- 
 ing for some invisible object which he was trying to reach ; 
 and at every blow of his pole, broken words escaped his lips. 
 
 " Still another ! well hit ! Here : and here again ! Heads 
 everywhere, everywhere!" 
 
 "Do you hear?" asked Entine's uncle, taking Andre's 
 arm ; " what does he mean ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said the youth in a low tone, and growing 
 pale. 
 
 Mem beckoned to Soriel to come near, and showed him 
 Master Jacques. The old man looked astonished, seemed 
 endeavouring to recollect something, then, with a start, he 
 murmured 
 
 "It is he!" 
 
 "Who?" asked Meru. 
 
 "Down with you!" interrupted the sleep-walker, continu- 
 ing to strike into the water " down with the rascals ! " 
 
 "That's it," cried the old man ; "he is dreaming of the 
 scuttled barges : he thinks he is assisting at Carrier's mar- 
 riages ! Yes, yes, I recollect him : he is Jacques the 
 'drowner'!" 
 
 This dreadful discovery was received by as many exclama- 
 tions as there were persons to hear it ; but with Entine and 
 Andre it was an expression of surprise and grief with Meru, 
 one of anger. He sprang towards Master Jacques, whom he 
 seized round the body, and would have thrown into the Loire 
 if the old boatmaster had not prevented him. 
 
 " Let go, Father Soriel, let go !" cried he, struggling. " I 
 have sworn that the day one of these villains should cross ray 
 path, I would free ' the river-service ' of him ! " 
 
 Again he tried to seize the sleep-walker, whom the violence 
 of this attack had just awoke. Andr6 threw himself before
 
 38 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 him, and begged him to spare his father. At the sound of 
 his voice, the bargeman's fury seemed to change its direction, 
 and turn with all its force upon the young man. 
 
 "Oh, so you defend him!" cried be. "It might be ex- 
 pected : you are of the same breed. You approve of what he 
 has clone, and would do the same if the opportunity offered ! 
 Wolf's blood will always show itself!" 
 
 " Do not speak so, Master Meru," interrupted Andre gently ; 
 " you know very well that just now I cannot answer you, be- 
 cause he who gave me life is concerned, and God commands 
 me to respect him." 
 
 " And did He command you also to get my good-will by 
 false pretences? Why did you conceal from me whose son 
 you were?" 
 
 " Because I did not know it myself." 
 
 Meru looked incredulous. 
 
 "As I hope to be saved, I did not know it!" resumed the 
 youth energetically. " He whom Master Soriel has just recog- 
 nised can tell you the same." 
 
 " Dare you appeal to the 'drowner' as a witness?" cried 
 the bargeman. 
 
 " We must take witnesses as they are ; we cannot choose 
 them, Master Meru," said Andre in a low tone. 
 
 " That may be," said the master of the White Flag ; " but 
 an uncle who has the care of a niece under age may choose 
 her husband, I suppose ? Well, sooner than give mine to the 
 son of one of Carrier's butchers, I would take her, look you, 
 with a millstone round her neck, to the great arch of Pirmil 
 Bridge, and throw her headlong into the Loire." 
 
 Entine uttered a low cry, and Andre tried to speak ; but 
 the boatmaster did not give him time. He put his arm round 
 his niece's waist, and without waiting for anything more, 
 drew her towards the inn, followed by Soriel and Francis.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 39 
 
 The young bargeman felt stunned by what had just hap- 
 pened, and seated himself on the edge of the boat, with his 
 head between his two hands. The transitions from doubt to 
 joy, and from joy to despair, had been so sudden, that he had 
 need of a few moments to collect himself. However, this sort 
 of weakness did not last long ; he threw it off by a strong 
 effort, and recollecting his father, he looked round him, but 
 Master Jacques was no longer there. The moment he found 
 himself alone, he had silently put on his jacket again, gone 
 on shore, and taken on foot the road to Nantes. 
 
 After looking for him in vain in the barge and on shore, 
 Andre returned to the former, there to wait for morning. 
 The painful revulsions of mind he had just experienced, 
 kept him awake a long time ; it was only when the night was 
 just past that fatigue got the better of him, and he fell asleep. 
 His eyes opened again as the first morning rays fell upon 
 them through the chinks in the cabin ; and still drowsy, he 
 raised himself upon his elbow with a sigh. Then all the re- 
 collections of the night came back upon him at once as he 
 awoke, and with them all his bitter grief. He could doubt 
 it no longer all was indeed at an end for him ; for he knew 
 Meru and Entine well enough to be sure he could expect 
 nothing either from the disobedience of the one, or the justice 
 of the other. The maiden would remain submissive till death 
 itself, from a spirit of duty ; the boatmaster inexorable, from 
 a spirit of party. Thus all his hopes so long brooded upon 
 in secret, hatched with such anxiety, and which he had seen 
 the evening before ready to take wing had now fallen to the 
 earth for ever, struck by death ! 
 
 He would not dwell upon this thought, which would have 
 deprived him of all courage ; and he hastened to get up, and 
 make preparations for starting. 
 
 Meru's crew had already finished theirs, and he looked at
 
 40 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 their boat as she glided alongside of his own, -with her sails 
 set. Meru was at the helm ; Francis was sitting in the bows 
 with his bagpipe, as if he were on his way to some new 
 threshingfloor, or some village festival. As he passed, he 
 gave the young boatmaster a scowling look of insolent triumph. 
 Andre did not answer it : his eye was seeking for the maiden, 
 whom he could not see anywhere. Doubtless she was keep- 
 ing herself shut up in the cabin, to avoid the pang of this last 
 meeting. The young boatmaster felt his heart bursting ; but 
 ne overcame his emotion, and not seeing any of his own crew 
 with him, he went to the inn to call them. 
 
 At the moment he entered, all the bargemen then at La 
 Meilleraie were assembled round Father Soriel, and were 
 talking eagerly. At sight of him, they stopped speaking; 
 those who had looked at him turned away their eyes, and 
 room was made by the party as if they wished to leave him 
 the place to himself. Andre had a vague impression that 
 they had just come to some determination with regard to him- 
 self, and the blood mounted to his face ; but he did not suffer 
 himself to be daunted. He looked round for his crew, and 
 gave them notice that the vessel was about to sail. The 
 bargemen turned away their heads without answering, and 
 kept their places. The young man was surprised, and repeated 
 what he had said, ordering them to follow him. The sailors, 
 who were evidently perplexed, looked at Father Soriel. The 
 latter then stepped towards the master of The Hope as their 
 spokesman. 
 
 " We were talking of you, Andre," said he gravely ; " and 
 you are come at the right time." 
 
 The young man was struck by the absence of the familiar 
 " thou," which among the bargemen of the Loire is not only 
 a custom, but a binding symbol of brotherhood. 
 
 " You know that ' the river-service ' have determined to
 
 THE BARGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 41 
 
 have nothing to do with the ' drowners,' " resumed the old 
 boatmaster, who seemed to be choosing his words ; " every 
 true bargeman has sworn to expel them from the barges, and 
 to keep no terms with them. Now, you cannot keep this 
 oath, since Jacques is your father." 
 
 "Well?" interrupted Andre, getting irritated by the old 
 man's slowness. 
 
 " Well," resumed he, with hesitation, " those who cannot 
 obey the laws of the river brethren, cannot belong to them 
 either." 
 
 "That's to say, then," said the young man, his heart beat- 
 ing violently, " that you mean to prevent my plying on the 
 river?" 
 
 Soriel shook his head. " Nobody can bar the river to the 
 barge," replied he ; " but no brother belonging to ' the river 
 service ' may henceforth help to work her." 
 
 "Yeg, speak out!" cried Andre, striking his hands one 
 against the other. " Say at once, that you want to get rid of 
 a boatmaster who has too much pluck and spirit for you ; that 
 you gain over his crew to stop him on his voyage ; that you 
 make use of the sentence passed against Master Jacques to 
 ruin my boat." 
 
 "No, no; as I'm a man, it is not that!" interrupted an 
 athletic bargeman, with a face of copper. " The old man 
 wanted to soften matters, and he has confounded them all. 
 The truth ! I am going to tell it you myself. We Loire 
 bargemen have our honour to keep up, and we will not have 
 people of bad name among us. We turned out your father 
 because he was a rascal ; we turn you out because you are 
 your father's son." 
 
 The bargemen confirmed what was said by a murmur of 
 approbation. Andre, who had become very pale, looked 
 round him with flashing eyes.
 
 42 BRITTANY AND LA 
 
 " Be it so," said he in a voice trembling with anger ; " this 
 is what you should have told me at once. Now I see that 
 the noble corps of the Loire bargemen punishes the children 
 for the fathers. A man may, indeed, without risk be a drone, 
 like Barral; a drunkard, like Henriot ; a freebooter, like 
 Morel ; a fool, like Ardouin ; but to be worthy of keeping 
 among you, he must at least be no man's son, like Gros- 
 Jean!" 
 
 These personal taunts, addressed to each of the boatmen 
 present, raised a loud outcry among them ; they all answered 
 with insults or threats, and Gros-Jean came up to the young 
 boatmaster with clenched fists. Father Soriel threw himself 
 between them, and tried to pacify them ; but for some time 
 his voice was unheard amidst the noise of their angry words. 
 Andre, with his back against the wall, looked defiance at all 
 his enemies ; and a fight seemed inevitable, when the sound 
 of a horn coming from the Loire, with a long, melancholy 
 note, reached the inn. Every voice stopped, as if by magic. 
 
 " Do you hear that, men?" cried Soriel. 
 
 " It is the warning horn !" replied the bargemen, rushing 
 towards the door and window. 
 
 A small boat passed rapidly down, with the blue and yellow 
 flag at the mast. 
 
 " The ice is out ! the ice is out !" repeated the bargemen in 
 one breath. 
 
 And without thinking more of Andre, they all went out 
 and ran to their boats, which they made haste to unmoor, and 
 were very soon under sail for their destination, which they 
 hoped to reach before the ice was upon them. 
 
 The young boatmaster, too, returned to his vessel. But, 
 deserted as he was by his crew, it was impossible for him to 
 follow the rest ; and therefore, after having secured her as 
 well as he could by surrounding her with poles, planks, and
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 43 
 
 spars, he went to the helm, and leant his head upon his elbow. 
 His boat, deserted, dark, and still, was the only one left in 
 the little port, while he saw at various distances the sails of 
 those just gone, gliding down the river ; and far off through 
 the morning mist, he could still discern the dim outline of a 
 barge, from whence came the distant sounds of a bagpipe. 
 It was Master Meru's vessel, hastening towards Nantes, and 
 carrying away with Entine all the hopes of his life.
 
 44 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ICE. 
 
 WHILST Andre was compelled to remain at La Meilleraie 
 by the sort of interdict his comrades had put upon him, Master 
 Jacques went on his road, and arrived at Nantes, whither he 
 had been summoned by the mysterious letter which had in- 
 duced him to leave Saint-George. 
 
 It was the first time for more than twenty years that he 
 had seen this town, which for him was connected with so 
 many gloomy recollections. He passed through it quickly, 
 and directed his steps towards a well-known suburb, on reach- 
 ing the outskirts of which, he at last saw before him the 
 house he was bound for. 
 
 Standing alone, and beyond all the other houses, it looked 
 like a sentry advanced into the country. A very high wall, 
 the top of which was bristling with broken glass, completely 
 surrounded it, so that the ridge of the roof alone was visible. 
 When he saw it, Master Jacques slackened his steps ; for the 
 blood seemed to curdle in his veins. This lonely house he 
 had often visited during those dreadful days, the memory 
 of which haunted him in his sleep. There lived in it then 
 the same man whom he was going to find there now : he was 
 the last survivor of that formidable tribunal who had organized 
 the reign of terror in the West, and had opened at Nantes
 
 THE BAKGEMAN OP THE LOIRE. 45 
 
 an artery, by which the blood of La Vendee was poured out. 
 Thrown into the vortex of the Kevolution at an age when the 
 passions fever the imagination, and when ignorance of actual 
 life always hurries the mind into theoiy, he had shown him- 
 self inflexible in what he believed to be truth, and inexorable 
 in his means of making it triumph. Of a violent and gloomy 
 nature, he mistook his own headstrong will for principle ; he 
 had at first, as so many others have done, confused his con- 
 science by his exaggerated language, and then been led on to 
 realize this language in action, till he had fallen from crime 
 to crime into the lowest depths of the abyss. His punishment 
 had been terrible : he had been driven from the society of 
 men, and condemned for the last twenty-five years to keep 
 revolving his past life, like Ixion's wheel, in his isolated abode, 
 of which public opinion had constituted itself the jailor. 
 
 After hesitating a few moments, Master Jacques went round 
 the wall to look for a little half-hidden door, at which he 
 knocked. Nobody came, and he had to repeat the knock 
 twice ; at last he heard the creaking of a slow step on the 
 gravel of the garden-walk, and a feeble and broken voice 
 asked him what he wanted. 
 
 " Open the door," replied Master Jacques ; " I am the per- 
 son you expect." 
 
 The bolts were slowly drawn one after the other, and the 
 door opened enough to admit the " drowner," who saw before 
 him an old woman in a nun's dress. 
 
 " Sister Clara ! " cried he, taking off his hat. 
 
 " Who names me ?" asked the nun. 
 
 " What ! am I so altered that you do not recollect my face 
 again?" replied the "drowner," astonished. 
 
 The old nun raised her eyes upon him ; they were as stony 
 as those of a statue. 
 
 "Sister Clara can see no face any more," replied she.
 
 46 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 coldly ; " bnt your voice seems like yes, you are Cousin 
 Jacques ! Come, come, he is in a hurry to see you." 
 
 She walked before him with the help of a little holly stick, 
 with which she felt her way. Jacques could hardly recognise 
 the garden as they passed through it. The borders, formerly 
 so carefully tended, were lost among grass and weeds ; and 
 the unpruned fruit-trees spread their branches about in dis- 
 order, or hung half off the walls in every direction over the 
 walks. 
 
 It was only when they came to the flower-beds in front of 
 the house that the appearance improved, and showed that 
 some careful hand had still tended the shrubs, and covered 
 the flowers with straw to protect them from the frost ; while 
 here and there a winter sunflower raised its perfumed stem, on 
 which sparkled a few drops of hoar-frost melting in the last 
 beams of sunshine. Seated by the door, to warm himself in 
 these, and bathed, so to speak, in their golden glory, a sick 
 man was dozing in an arm-chair, with his head leaning on one 
 of his hands. Some birds, which had come to peck among the 
 flowers, were fluttering at his feet, and pigeons were softly 
 cooing over his head in a ray of the setting sun. Jacques 
 stopped ; he had recognised his " great cousin," as he had 
 always called the old member of the Kevolutionary Tribunal. 
 
 In spite of all the wasting of disease, he still had the same 
 look of bold defiant energy. His hair was of a reddish brown, 
 and cut very close ; beneath his shaggy eyebrows were deeply 
 sunk two dark and piercing eyes ; his nose was prominent, 
 and hooked like an eagle's beak ; his lips thin but stubborn ; 
 and his head was set upon one of those very short necks which 
 usually mark a violent disposition. 
 
 "Is he asleep?" asked sister Clara, who heard the dying 
 man give no greeting to Jacques. 
 
 The latter replied in a low voice that he was.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 47 
 
 " Speak louder," said the nun, with some harshness in her 
 tone ; " his hours are numbered, and he must be awakened." 
 
 Doubtless the sick man heard these words, which were ut- 
 tered without regard to him, for he opened his eyes, and in- 
 stantly recognised Master Jacques. 
 
 " Oh, it is you ! " said he, making an effort to raise his head ; 
 " you are very late but never mind, there is still time." 
 
 Sister Clara, who had groped her way to him, shook up the 
 pillow which supported him. He looked behind the " drowner." 
 
 " Are you alone, then?" resumed he. " I wrote to yoti to 
 bring your son ; where is he ?" 
 
 "He is away," replied Jacques, wishing to avoid an ac- 
 count of what had passed at La Meilleraie in the morning. 
 
 The sick man fixed his sharp eye upon him. 
 
 "Was it not that he refused to come?" asked he; "tell 
 me no lies." 
 
 " I have told the truth," replied the old bargeman, who 
 bore his look steadily. 
 
 "I wish that I could have seen him," said the "great 
 cousin," hesitating, and with vexation. 
 
 " What does the absence of the son signify, as the father is 
 here ?" observed the nun shortly. " Cannot he execute your 
 orders now as he executed them formerly?" 
 
 Jacques started, and looked down ; the dying man looked 
 up with an indomitable expression. 
 
 "You are right, sister Clara," said he bitterly ; " he obeyed 
 faithfully that day, when, to save you, he risked his own life ; 
 and" 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " And yours," concluded the blind old woman ; " that is a 
 remembrance we may venture to recal. There was some heart 
 in saving a poor nun, only because she had been your mother's 
 friend in the convent ; and I have not forgotten it."
 
 48 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " I know, I know," resumed the sick man rather impa- 
 tiently ; " when everybody turned against me when every- 
 body deserted rne, you came and offered me your services I 
 will not say your consolations." 
 
 "God alone gives consolation," interrupted sister Clara 
 coldly. 
 
 "Therefore you only bestowed your time upon me," continued 
 the other. " For the last twenty years I have had some one 
 who has superintended, managed, worked for me, yet I have 
 not been the less alone. But no matter, others refused me 
 what you gave, and I am not ashamed of acknowledging 
 what I owe you." 
 
 " You owe me nothing," replied the nun, in a voice in the 
 calm of which there was something as cold and cutting as 
 steel. " What I have done, I have done from duty, not from 
 choice. I would discharge every claim on me, for man's 
 honour and God's glory." 
 
 " So," said the sick man, leaning his two hands with force 
 upon the arms of his easy-chair, and trying to raise himself 
 up, " you did nothing for my sake ? You have only looked 
 upon me as the instrument by which your faults were being 
 punished, and so expiated ? You have lived with me in my 
 solitude for twenty years without a single feeling of sym- 
 pathy?" 
 
 " There was a gulf between us," said the blind woman 
 quietly ; " you might have passed it by the Saviour's cross, 
 but you would not. Christ will be your judge !" 
 
 " And this is why you refused to accept what I have to 
 leave ?" continued the dying man, raising his voice ; " as you 
 have done nothing for my sake, you will have none of my 
 gratitude. Your God alone can recompense you ! Well ; go, 
 then, and pray to Him, for I have no more need of you go, 
 you saint, whose kindness is a curse ! Yes, my own feelings
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 49 
 
 tell me, that outside these walls, which have imprisoned me for 
 so long, there are hearts less closely barred than yours. Yes, 
 yes, time must have taught those who breathe the free air 
 outside, how a man is ruled by circumstances, and carried 
 away by opinions. Oh, I am sure that if that world which 
 proscribed and cast me out could speak again now, its voice 
 woiild be more merciful !" 
 
 " Hark I" interrupted the nun. 
 
 At that moment a hooting was raised outside the wall. 
 The dying man's name was heard mixed with insults and 
 curses. Almost at the same time a shower of stones was sent 
 over the enclosure, and fell among the flower-beds, breaking 
 down the flowers, and frightening away the birds. The sick 
 man uttered a feeble cry ; and the paleness of death gave place 
 to a paleness yet more ghastly, as he heard the shouts of 
 laughter from the children, who ran off after their daily attack 
 upon the accursed house. For many years past this insult 
 had been repeated every evening as the school broke up ; and 
 the terrible associate of Carrier could not get accustomed to it. 
 He who had faced every curse unmoved, bent beneath that of 
 children. 
 
 He raised his hand with an effort, to wipe away the cold 
 sweat which bathed his brow. 
 
 "The world has answered!" said sister Clara, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Not the world," stammered the dying man, " but those 
 who hate me ! Leave me leave me ! " 
 
 The nun turned her head, fixed her marble eyes upon the 
 agitated face of the dying man, as if she could see him through 
 her darkness, and raising her hand with awful solemnity 
 
 " There is still an hour left you," said she ; " repent !" 
 
 Then turning slowly round, she groped her way back to 
 the house.
 
 50 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Jacques followed her fearfully with his eyes, as if he saw 
 before him the spectre of Divine Justice. When she had dis- 
 appeared, there was a long silence. The dying man endea- 
 voured to collect himself for an instant, and uttered half 
 delirious words cut short by inarticulate sneers. 
 
 " Kepent ! " stammered he ; " ah ! ah ! they little know 
 Fools ! to believe that revolutions grow up of themselves 
 watered by Heaven's rain ! Ah ! ah I ah ! let them wait 
 let them wait ! " 
 
 Here his voice' became more broken, and his words more 
 confused ; presently his lips alone moved, as if he was about 
 to draw his last breath. Jacques in alarm came nearer, took 
 his hands, and called him by his name. His trembling eye-- 
 lids opened again, a tinge of life coloured his features, and he 
 drew the old bargemaster towards him. 
 
 " Listen," murmured he ; " your son is a good bargeman, 
 is he not ? Men esteem him ; well, all I have I give him. 
 Everything; do you understand me?" 
 
 And as the astonished Jacques was trying to stammer out 
 his thanks, he interrupted him, by continuing in a weaker 
 voice 
 
 " Quick !" and then, pointing to the cushion of the easy- 
 chair, " look there ! What do you find ?" 
 
 " A pocket-book ! " said the bargeman, who had thrust his 
 hand into the place indicated. 
 
 " That is right ; all I have is in it. Bills payable to 
 bearer, and bank notes. You understand me ? they are for 
 your son ; the honest man whom honest people left in poverty 
 the villain they curse will make him rich. In spite of 
 them, I shall end by a good action." 
 
 As he spoke, a contemptuous smile was perceptible on his 
 shrivelled lips ; he seemed to try to say something more, but 
 the death-rattle interrupted him. Jacques was frightened,
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 51 
 
 and called sister Clara, who came with the same unmoved 
 countenance, and slowly knelt down by the arm-chair, whilst 
 the "drowner" supported the falling head of the dying man. 
 All three remained thus for a long time without speaking. 
 The sun had almost set, the birds were ( silent, all was cold 
 and gloomy. Nothing was heard but a hissing sound of 
 breathing, ever growing fainter. At last, just as the last 
 gleams of day were fading from the roof of the lonely house, 
 the dying man stretched out his arms, as if seeking for some 
 stay, opened his eyes, and then closed them with a deep sigh. 
 Jacques, who was leaning towards him, listened a moment, 
 then put his hand upon his lips. The blind woman raised 
 her head. 
 
 " Is he in the hands of God ?" asked she. 
 
 And Jacques answered, " Yes." 
 
 She got up quickly, and exclaimed 
 
 " Then my trial is finished ! Lord, Thou hast taken 
 me out of the den of lions, like Daniel; blessed be Thy 
 name I" 
 
 She crossed herself twice, and slowly withdrew. The 
 "drowner" looked round him for an instant in fear; then hid 
 the pocket-book in his breast, and decamped ; whilst the 
 corpse, with its head hanging over the back of the arm-chair, 
 and looking as if its ghastly features were still braving 
 Heaven, was left deserted in the damp fog which was falling 
 with the night. 
 
 Troubled by this death, by the recollections it had brought 
 to mind, and by the unexpected fortune which had just made 
 his son a rich man, Master Jacques at first went straight before 
 him, without any purpose or object. He was under the in- 
 fluence of a sort of whirl of mind, which made everything pass 
 before his eyes confusedly, and as if in a dream. In this state 
 he walked through the outskirts of the town, reached the
 
 52 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 quays, and passed over the nearest bridges;* but at last 
 fatigue forced him to stop, and brought him back to the reali- 
 ties of life. 
 
 He looked about through the now dark night, and perceived, 
 at the top of one of the sloping causeways which go down to 
 the Loire, a poor-looking inn, with leaning walls and sinking 
 roof, which seemed to threaten to fall in. On the blackened 
 sign, which, was swinging by the door between two ivy 
 wreaths, was the indistinct representation of an anchor made 
 in tin, but black with age, and round which the sharpest eye 
 had vainly tried to read the now effaced motto. However, 
 Jacques did not fail to recognise immediately the " Silver 
 Anchor" public-house, formerly frequented by all the young 
 bargemen of the river. Its present deserted state was a new 
 proof of the instability of human prosperity ; but it was also a 
 reason for the old " drowner" preferring it. Therefore he did 
 not hesitate to push open the breast-high door which barred 
 the entrance. 
 
 An old woman was knitting near the fire by the light of a 
 resin candle ; she got up, evidently surprised at the arrival of 
 a guest, and at his asking for a supper and a night's lodging. 
 She was about to call her granddaughter up to prepare every- 
 thing for him, but, after asking only for bread and brandy, 
 Jacques made her show him into a lower room, the window of 
 which opened upon the banks of the Loire, hastily wished her 
 good-night, and shut himself in. 
 
 Whilst Andre's father was, as usual, seeking to forget the 
 past in drunkenness and sleep, there was one waking not far 
 off whose hopes by that very past had all been destroyed. 
 Just opposite to the " Silver Anchor," at a cable's length 
 from the shore, a sort of square tower stood upon the river, 
 
 * The rivers Erdre and SSvre join the Loire at Nantes ; and there are said to be no less 
 than sixteen bridges over the network of streams thus formed. Tr.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIKE. 53 
 
 the dark shadow of which rose against the sky ; it was the 
 floating mill belonging to Francis's mother. En tine had 
 arrived there a few hours before with Mem, who had soon 
 left her, while he went with his nephew to make their barge 
 safe against the ice, which was beginning to appear in the 
 river. After the customary exchange of questions and an- 
 swers which a first meeting brings, the mill-wife showed her 
 to the little room which was intended for her, on the top story 
 of the mill, and then left her, promising her that, rocked by 
 " Goody Eiver," she would sleep like a child of three years 
 old until next morning. 
 
 Notwithstanding this prediction, the damsel kept awake a 
 long time. She was thinking of the events of the evening be- 
 fore, of the way in which her uncle had parted with Andre, 
 and of the impossibility of ever making him accept the son of 
 Jacques the "drowner" as nephew, and she worried herself 
 with this sorrowful thought. Her saucy mirth was flown ; 
 she seated herself on her bed, and her cheek rested on the 
 pillow, which was wetted by her ever-returning tears, like the 
 great drops of a summer's shower. Many hours passed tlms. 
 At last her tears stopped, her swelled eyelids closed, and, still 
 sobbing, like a child overtaken by sleep in one of its fleeting 
 fits of grief, she slumbered, with her two arms folded under 
 her head. 
 
 A low dull sound, but long arid deep, awoke her. Little by 
 little it seemed to draw nearer, and to grow louder. It was a 
 mighty rolling sound, which came continually on. Very soon 
 lights began to shine, the great bell of the cathedral began to 
 toll, and one loud voice proceeding from a thousand throats, 
 rose on the air, and shouted, " The ice ! the ice !" 
 
 This terrible cry had sped along from the upper Loire, car- 
 ried by messengers, who passed through towns, villages, and 
 hamlets, bending over their panting horses, and waving a
 
 54 BRITTANY AND LA VEND^K. 
 
 flaming torch. At La Meilleraie, man, torch, and horse, 
 dropped down exhausted ; Andre took up the torch, mounted 
 a fresh horse, and had come to give Nantes warning of the 
 approach of the scourge. 
 
 The news spread like wildfire. The crews of the vessels 
 at anchor near the "Fosse" started from their sleep; the 
 bargemen ran to the river ; in an instant, both banks were 
 lined with a moving multitude, and the bridges wreathed with 
 rows of heads ; torches flashing, and calls and orders passing 
 in different directions. Everything that could break the first 
 shock of the masses of ice was thrown into the Loire. And 
 now the water, driven against the banks with unusual vio- 
 lence, gave signal of their approach. At last the vanguard 
 was in sight ; it barred the river right across, and came on 
 like an army of white spectres shaking their snowy mantles 
 in the night wind. 
 
 TJ) jse only who live on the banks of a great river know 
 the frightful power of these avalanches of ice, which, coming 
 first from its sources, gathering mass on their way, and at last 
 reaching its navigable waters, with a steady and merciless 
 force, carry everything away before them in one fell swoop. 
 They only know the shudder which runs through every heart 
 at the tidings of the scourge ; the agony of interest, which 
 causes every foot to hasten to the river-banks ; the horrors of 
 the thousand struggles carried on between man and these 
 mountains of ice, which lift themselves high above the waters, 
 and then break and crumble, and bury everything beneath 
 their ruins. 
 
 Entine, when wakened by the rumbling and the shouts 
 which proclaimed the coming ice, hurried to her aunt. Both 
 of them were at first alarmed to see a mass of it collecting 
 above the mill; but they soon perceived that, as it rested 
 firmly against the bank and the nearest buttress of the bridge,
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 55 
 
 it protected them like a rampart, and served to direct the 
 course of other masses towards the more distant arches. Mem 
 and Francis, whose barge was likewise within the range of 
 this shelter, called to them from where they were to keep 
 their courage up. The avalanche seemed, in fact, to be 
 making for the other branches of the river ; and as the boats 
 there were in greater numbers, and the efforts to save them 
 more noisy, the arm of the river where the mill lay moored 
 was, by comparison, thrown into shade and stillness. 
 
 The two women, as they recovered heart a little, cast their 
 eyes over the strange scene which was unfolding before them. 
 
 In front, and as far as they could distinguish, they saw 
 nothing but a host of pale and gleaming forms, which followed 
 one after another with ever greater speed, passed by with a 
 rumbling and clashing sound, and then disappeared with a 
 roaring noise beneath the half-blocked arches of the bzidge. 
 On their right, the inhabitants of the houses which lined the 
 banks were being waked up one after another, and a light 
 began to shine at every window, and voices to sound at every 
 door ; while on the left, stretched the dark, deserted, and silent 
 meadows. In the distance, they could perceive the solitary 
 and ruinous " Silver Anchor," where no light shone, and 
 which seemed a spot more black than night itself. The mill- 
 wife's eye was just resting upon it, when she saw a shadow 
 slowly emerge from it, go down the slope which led to the 
 river, and proceed towards the rampart of drifted ice by which 
 the mill and Meru's barge were shut in. She soon distin- 
 guished a tall, thin man, who carried a handspike over his 
 shoulder. When he came to the barrier formed by the ice, 
 he stepped upon it as firmly as if he were on the deck of a 
 vessel, and was not long before he reached the middle. The 
 frightened mill-wife showed him to her niece. 
 
 "Look, look, Entine!" cried she. "Where does that un-
 
 5G BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 lucky man come from, and what is he looking for there ? Has 
 he lost his senses, or is he tired of life?" 
 
 " He keeps walking straight on, without looking at any- 
 thing I" observed the maiden. 
 
 "Now he is on the edge of the ice ! he is looking round." 
 
 Entitle started. By the starlight, which silvered the bank 
 of ice, she had recognised the fixed eyes and drawn features 
 of Master Jacques. Merit, who had just observed him from 
 his boat, knew him again at the same moment. 
 
 " It is the ' drowner' ! " cried he. " Ah, God is just ! He 
 has sent him to his punishment." 
 
 The sleep-walker, in fact, was proceeding along the bank 
 of ice, at the end of which he would have come upon the deep 
 water; but he stopped before he got to it, and raising his 
 handspike, he began striking into the water, with incoherent 
 exclamations, as he had done the evening before. His blows 
 very soon fell upon the edge of the ice-bank, which might be 
 heard to crack and break, till at last the violence of the strokes 
 so shook it, that it split through its whole length. Meru 
 tried in vain to stop him by threats ; the somnambulist was 
 wholly under the influence of his customary illusion, heard 
 nothing, and went on with his mad work. Francis uttered 
 exclamations of the greatest alarm. 
 
 " Curses on the rascal ! " said the bargemaster in a fury ; 
 "if the ice gets loose, all is done for. Push off, Francis, 
 push off to the 'drowner.' I'll soon make him quiet, either 
 alive or dead ! " 
 
 The barge glided over the water that was left free, and as 
 it neared Jacques, Meru lifted his pole to strike him ; but he 
 was too late. One last blow had caused the riven ice-bank 
 to give way in twenty places. The masses which it had 
 hitherto stopped in their course rushed on all at once rose 
 one upon the other ; and this mountain of ice giving way from
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 57 
 
 top to bottom, buried the barge and the sleep-walker together 
 under its ruins. 
 
 The shrieks which came from the floating mill were so 
 piercing, that the crowd heard them far off, and ran towards 
 the bridge ; but the space, which was open a moment before, 
 was already filled by an avalanche of ice, which bore down 
 upon the mill with a hoarse roar. 
 
 With an instinctive impulse of self-preservation, the two 
 women rushed within. Entine, out of her senses with fear, 
 went up to the little room where she had passed the night, 
 and fell down, incapable of any effort. Meanwhile, the frag- 
 ments of the original bank of ice, increased in bulk and num- 
 ber by the new masses which the current was bringing down, 
 had drifted upon the mill, and were dashing violently against 
 the iron cables which kept it moored to the bottom of the 
 river. At every onset was heard the grating of some broken 
 chain, and pieces of the wreck were seen as the masses of ice 
 carried them away. At last a terrific crash was heard : the 
 building was borne up for a moment, then swayed, gave way, 
 and was drifted down the stream. 
 
 A cry of terror was heard from the multitude which crowded 
 the bridge. The mill came on by starts, its dark mass rising 
 over the ice and water. One moment a block of ice struck 
 the great wheels, and made them turn round rapidly; and 
 then another stopped them as suddenly. In this way the 
 black and tottering building reached one of the arches of the 
 bridge, bent forward as if about to sink below it, and then 
 stopped for a moment. 
 
 This pause, which could be followed by no other, seemed 
 to arouse Entine ; she saw the whole danger, and the height 
 of terror gave her back the strength which its first coming 
 had deprived her of. She rushed to the window, with her 
 arms stretched out, and calling for help.
 
 58 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 At sight of her, the spectators pressed to the parapet of the 
 bridge ; every head bent forward, every arm was held out to 
 her. Vain attempts ! the window was too far off. A buzz 
 of pity and horror ran through the crowd. The great blocks 
 of drift-ice still came closing in upon the mill, and its dark 
 mass was sinking more and more. The poor girl pressed 
 herself against the window, her whole thoughts absorbed in 
 the one wish for life. She clasped her hands, and cried for 
 help with sobs ; but the mill still kept sinking. Its roof was 
 already on a level with the archway, when a man appeared 
 standing on the parapet above. 
 
 It was Andre, who was no sooner at Nantes, where he had 
 come to give notice of the ice, than he had thought of the 
 danger the damsel might run in her aunt's mill, and who 
 had now come up at the very moment it was sinking. He 
 saw everything at the first glance. "With two springs, he was 
 on the arch before which the mill was floating ; Tie let himself 
 slide along the edge of the buttress, reached one of the great 
 iron rings cramped into the stone, and holding on to it by one 
 of his arms, contrived just to reach the window. As he 
 stretched out his hand, the dark building swayed upon the 
 water ; and he took advantage of this motion to seize upon 
 the maiden and draw her out. The two. remained for a 
 moment hanging over the abyss ; but by a desperate effort 
 Andre got back to the ledge of the buttress with his burden. 
 He had just set her down on it, when a frightful roar sounded 
 at his feet ; an icy shower dashed over his face, and the mill 
 at the same moment sank beneath the waters. 
 
 The bargemen ran with ropes to help him to get up the 
 maiden, who was brought upon the bridge in a swoon. 
 
 Every endeavour to save her aunt was fruitless ; she was 
 carried down in the ruins of the mill, and remained buried in 
 the huge mass of drifting ice, like Francis and Master Meru.
 
 THE BARGEMAN OF THE LOIRE. 59 
 
 A single day had thus deprived Entine of all her Nantes 
 relations. As soon as she had recovered from the dreadful 
 shock, and in deep mourning had attended the service for the 
 dead in their parish church, she set out again for St. Vincent's 
 hermitage, the only home now left her. 
 
 It was there that Andre saw her next. Meru's prejudices 
 were not shared in by the farmer at the Hermitage ; and 
 knowing that his niece owed her life to the young barge- 
 master, he received him cordially. Besides, a great change 
 had taken place in Andre's position. The pocket-book be- 
 queathed him by the inhabitant of the lonely house had been 
 found at the " Silver Anchor " inn, with Master Jacques' coat 
 and hat. The young man, who did not know from whence 
 it came, believed he only inherited his father's secret savings ; 
 and this unlooked-for wealth was sufficient to silence every 
 objection. Three months after the events we have just re- 
 lated, he married Entine at Saint- Vincent. He had not for- 
 gotten his expulsion from ' the river-service ; ' but he made 
 no attempts to enter it again, and gave up the bargeman's 
 trade. 
 
 The traveller who goes down from Angers to Nantes, may 
 still see, between Chantoce and- Ingrande, a workyard filled 
 with oak-staves, deal boards, and wooden tiles. At the 
 end, and in the middle of a garden, stands a cottage, its 
 white front ornamented with vines and china-roses, and look- 
 ing upon the Loire. This is Andre's chosen home : here he 
 lives happily with Entine, on the banks of the river he loves, 
 and within sound of the waters which recall to him so many 
 memories.
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE YELLOW FLAG HOISTED. 
 
 AT the end of the roadstead of Brest, in the passage whici 
 extends between Long Island and the point of Kelerne,rise two 
 rocks crowned with heavy granite buildings. On the former, 
 stands the Lazaretto of Treberon ; the other, which was for- 
 merly used as a burying-ground, and thus acquired the name, 
 of the Isle of Graves, now contains the principal powder-maga- 
 zine of the naval arsenal. 
 
 The two rocks are about six miles from Brest, and separated 
 from each other by an arm of the sea. There is no sensible 
 difference in the appearance of these little islets. Excepting 
 the space occupied by the buildings, they only present the 
 eye with rugged declivities, diversified here and there with 
 coarse mosses and prickly furze. You would seek there in 
 vain for any other shelter than the fissures of the rock, any 
 other shade than that of the walls, or any other walk than 
 the short terrace contrived in front of the buildings. Barren 
 and naked, the two islands look like two enormous stone 
 sentry-boxes, placed there to watch over the sea which roars 
 beneath.
 
 62 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 However, if the foot which treads them is kept prisoner 
 within a limited circle, the eye from the height of this escarp- 
 ment wanders over a vast horizon. Here is the Bay of 
 Lanvoc, fringed with low and dark vegetation ; there Eoscan- 
 vel, with its shady groves, through which peeps the graceful 
 spire of its steeple ; further off, Spanish Point, bristling with 
 batteries ; and lastly, on the furthest verge of the horizon, 
 Brest half shows through a veil of mist her arsenals, her forts, 
 and the hundred masts of her vessels. In the space between 
 opens the gullet, the sea-gate of this marvellous lake, through 
 which come in and out incessantly the roving barks which go 
 to show the flag of France on the seas, or which bring it back 
 from distant lands. 
 
 The report of a gun, of which the echo was still booming 
 along the shores, had just announced one of these arrivals, 
 and a frigate in full sail doubled the point by favour of a 
 gentle breeze. From the height of the esplanade of Treberon, 
 a man, wearing a cape of pilot-cloth, and a narrow-brimmed 
 hat which showed his grizzled hair, was looking at the noble 
 ship as she glided in the distance between the azure of the 
 sea and of the sky. It was easy to perceive that the Lazaretto 
 keeper for it was he was giving bnt a divided attention to 
 this sight, with which his long residence at Treberon had made 
 him familiar. His eyes rested for a moment with a sort of 
 indifference on the frigate, which was beginning to take in 
 her top-sails, and then speedily turned homewards, and re- 
 mained fixed on the end of a path which led from the espla- 
 nade to the sea, upon a group, which seemed to interest him 
 much more earnestly. The object of his contemplation was, 
 in truth, one which would have struck the least attentive eye ; 
 and a pupil of Phidias would have found in it the hint for one 
 of those antique bas-reliefs of which the marble has become 
 more precious than pure gold.
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 63 
 
 Two little girls and a goat were climbing the winding path 
 together. The eldest, who might be eleven years old, held 
 the freakish animal by one of those ribbon sea-weeds which 
 look like strips of Spanish leather. Her black hair fell back 
 on her dark neck like two raven's wings, and gave her face 
 a hardy and slightly wild expression, which tempered the 
 sweetness ol ler deep, soft eye. The younger, who was 
 mounted on the goat, as if it were her usual steed, looked like 
 a wild rose in all its dewy purity. A spray of heather, mixed 
 among her golden hair fell almost to her shoulder, and gave 
 her an inexpressibly picturesque and graceful air. The two 
 sisters were forcing the goat to slacken her pace, but she sub- 
 mitted impatiently ; and from time to time they were obliged 
 to double the frail bands which held her captive, and again 
 and again to seize the garland of sea-flowers twined round her 
 horns. Then there were long cries of joy, and bursts of 
 laughter without end, broken by the shrill bleatings of Bru- 
 nette, who stamped on the ground with her foot, and shook her 
 head rebelliously,. In vain had any other hands but those of 
 Jeannette and Francine tried to make her even thus com- 
 pliant ; but this latter had been her foster-child, and the goat 
 had plainly not forgotten it. 
 
 Matthew Ropars had been looking for some time at this sort 
 of playful contest between the frolicsome Brunette and his 
 daughters, when he felt a hand pressed upon his arm ; he 
 turned, and met, so to say, against his shoulder, their mother's 
 smiling face. 
 
 " Look at the children ! " said he, pointing out the romping 
 group by a movement of his head. 
 
 " Heavens ! Francine will fall," said the mother, making a 
 step towards the path. 
 
 But he drew her back. 
 
 " Let her alone," replied he ; " you know there is nothing
 
 64 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 to fear while Jeannette takes care of her; without counting 
 that Brunette loves them better than her own kids, and they 
 return her love in full. God forgive me, if they don't love the 
 beast next to us ! " 
 
 " And M. Gabriel," put in their mother " at least Jean- 
 nette. The child does not let a day pass without talking of 
 him, although he was in the lazaretto for hardly more than 
 a week, and that three years ago." 
 
 " Truly, the lieutenant is a man difficult to forget," replied 
 Eopars ; " above all, for the little one to whom he gave so 
 many kind words and promises. Isn't he to bring her all the 
 wonders of India ? But unless some misfortune has happened 
 to him, my notion is that we shall not wait long before we 
 see him, as well as the ' Thetis.' " 
 
 " In the meantime, I must tell the children of another visit 
 which will give them not a little pleasure." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " One from our cousin and little Michael." 
 
 " Dorot coming ! " repeated Matthew, looking towards the 
 battery on the Isle of Graves ; " how do you know?" 
 
 " Have not we our signal language as well as the king's 
 ships?" replied Genevieve, smiling. "See, he has hoisted 
 three little red flags in his window; that is to show he is 
 coming here. Besides, I saw Michael go down to the boat- 
 man's house." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Eopars, his face lighting up ; " your 
 cousin and the boy shall sup with us always provided that 
 /our larder is not as empty as our hospital." 
 
 Genevieve exclaimed against this, and enumerated with not 
 a little satisfaction all her culinary resources, which had for- 
 tunately been increased two days before by the boatmaster, 
 who was purveyor both to the powder-magazine and the 
 lazaretto. Matthew promised to crown the feast for the
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 65 
 
 ordnance-keeper, by opening a bottle of old Eoussillon, which 
 had been long buried in the sand in his cellar. 
 
 At this moment the two little girls reached the terrace. 
 
 " Quick !" cried the mother ; "come, somebody is coming 
 here." 
 
 " M. Gabriel ?" said Jeannette, springing forward with a 
 cry. 
 
 " no, silly one cousin Dorot and little Michael." 
 
 The child betrayed a sign of disappointment, but Francine 
 clapped her hands with exclamations of delight ; the goat, left 
 to herself, bounded along the sharp points of the rock, where 
 she began browsing upon the tiifts of briny grass ; and the 
 two sisters went down hand in hand to the landing-creek, 
 whilst their mother returned to get everything ready. 
 
 As the latter had said, the special affection of Jeannette for 
 M. Gabriel had already lasted several years. It dated from 
 a quarantine performed at Treberon by the lieutenant, who, 
 charmed by her unsophisticated grace, had shown her such 
 kindness that the child had responded to it with a sort of 
 passion. 
 
 M. Gabriel had entered the navy against his inclination, 
 and had nothing of his profession but the uniform. In the 
 midst of that life of changes, toils, and adventures, he was 
 always dreaming of a settled home, and the peaceful joys 
 of family life ; he was one of those lovers of solitude born for 
 a life among peasants, women, and children. When confined 
 to the lazaretto of Treberon, he had brought with him a few 
 favourite books, and his violin, upon which he played for 
 hours together for the solo purpose of hearing its melodious 
 strains. When he went out, Jeannette would run to meet 
 him, and guide him along the rocks to their most hidden 
 windings, where each day he discovered some unknown plant, 
 or some new moss. When evening came, he would visit the
 
 66 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 old quarter-master, and witness his quiet happiness. Gene- 
 vieve would talk to him of her children ; Jeannette would ask 
 him for a story or a song ; and at the hour of rest he would 
 return to his cell with a calm mind and light heart. A fort- 
 night thus passed away like an hour ; so that when the 
 quarantine was over, and he had to leave Treberon, his free- 
 dom only gave him cause for regret. He returned many 
 times to pass whole days upon the gloomy isle ; and at last, 
 when he was obliged to embark on a distant exploring expe- 
 dition, he promised to write to the lonely family. Eopars had 
 since received some letters from him, and, as we have seen, 
 was expecting him soon to return. 
 
 Just now, the visit announced by Genevieve exclusively 
 occupied the whole thoughts of the lazaretto-keeper. He 
 had remained by himself on the esplanade, from whence he 
 continued to look towards the Isle of Graves. The distance 
 permitted him to make out all that was going on there to 
 recognise the persons, and to distinguish their movements. 
 So he could see Dorot going down to the boat, stepping the 
 mast, and preparing the sail ; and little Michael grasping the 
 rudder with difficulty. 
 
 Before marriage had united the two families, the ordnance 
 and the lazaretto keepers had known one another in the 
 naval service, in which both had served one as a quarter- 
 master, and the other as a sergeant of artillery. When 
 Matthew Eopars was appointed to Treberon, he was rejoiced 
 to find his old comrade, Dorot, settled these many years on 
 the Isle of Graves, with his wife, his son, and an orphan 
 cousin. The lazaretto, being almost always empty, left him 
 so much leisure that he was able to pay frequent visits to the 
 powder-magazine, and to make himself known and appreciated 
 there. 
 
 Dorot's cousin, Genevieve, took a particular liking to his
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 67 
 
 upright and calm disposition; Up to the age of sixteen, she 
 had felt all the pangs of want ; her cousin had then taken her 
 from charity into his own house, where his wife made her at 
 every moment pay clearly for her home ; and thus the poor 
 orphan was accustomed to expect nothing from any one, and 
 to receive as a favour all that was given her. She therefore 
 felt Matthew's frank cordiality more than another would have 
 done, and accepted it with a half filial gratitude, with which 
 was insensibly blended that touch of tenderness which women 
 whose hearts are free bring into all their friendships. The 
 intimacy between her and Eopars went on increasing every 
 day, without either of them discovering the state of their in- 
 clinations. When Matthew, who already felt the weight of 
 years upon him, saw the young girl in the full bloom of her 
 fresh beauty, he never dreamt of asking her to share his life ; 
 and Genevieve, happy to see him every day, and to know he 
 lived near, never thought of wishing for more. It was only 
 when a place was offered to the latter near Brest, and a sepa- 
 ration was in prospect, that they discovered how necessary 
 each was to the other. When Eopars saw the tears of Gene- 
 vieve, a consciousness of his own grief made him bold. He 
 told her she need not depart if the Isle of Treberon did not 
 displease her more than the Isle of Graves, and if his company 
 pleased her as well as that of her cousin. The poor girl, with 
 blushes and tears of joy, could only reply by sinking into his 
 arms. The old quarter-master spoke directly to Dorot. They 
 were married ; and he took Genevieve away with him into 
 his isle, the solitude of which he no longer feared. 
 
 The difference of their ages did not appear to affect the 
 happiness of the keeper and the orphan. Both had that 
 which makes marriage happy a simple mind and willing heart. 
 Children bound them still more strongly to one another, by 
 enlarging the circle of their fireside. The younger was just
 
 68 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 born when Dorot lost his wife, and was left with only his 
 son Michael, a boy of thirteen. 
 
 Since this bereavement, the friendship of the two old com- 
 rades had revived. Their intercourse became more frequent. 
 The boat in use for the two establishments was kept at the 
 little port of the Isle of Graves, and was thus left at the 
 disposal of the ordnance-keeper, who neglected no opportunity 
 of coming to pass a few hours with his neighbours ; but not- 
 withstanding the nearness, and the facility of the passage, he 
 was yet not able to pay them daily visits. Dorot's constant 
 superintendence was required ; the orders of the service were 
 as sudden as unforeseen ; and he dared not run the risk of 
 being absent too often. 
 
 His appearance at the lazaretto, then, was not so frequent 
 as to have ceased to be an extraordinary pleasure. Father, 
 mother, and children, equally thought it an occasion for keep- 
 ing holiday ; and it was never without great delight that they 
 perceived the signal announcing the wished-for visit, and the 
 boat loosened from the little harbour and steering towards 
 Treberon. 
 
 This time, as soon as Eopars saw it coming, he went down 
 to meet it. Hardly had it touched land than Michael sprang 
 ashore, embraced the lazaretto-keeper, and then the two little 
 girls, with whom he ran on towards the house. Then Dorot 
 landed in his turn, squeezed Matthew by the hand, and the 
 two walked slowly up, talking as they went. 
 
 When they reached the top, they turned round by force of 
 habit, and cast a look on the sea. The ordnance-keeper 
 observed that the frigate had just finished taking in her last 
 sails. 
 
 " Heaven forgive me, if she is not going to anchor," said 
 he. " Did you ever see a home-bound ship stop so far from 
 land, Matthew ?"
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 69 
 
 " That's as it may be," replied the old boatswain, laugh- 
 ing ; " you keep at a distance when you distrust a fort, or 
 when you suspect a reef." 
 
 " But that's not the case now," observed Dorot ; " the 
 frigate need not fear either the castle cannon, which are her 
 good friends, nor the roadstead, the bottom of which is as sound 
 as a refitting dock. There must be something out of the 
 common." 
 
 " Most likely the ship has to perform quarantine," replied 
 Ropars. " The ' Thetis' is expected." 
 
 " Bless me ! that's she," cried the ordnance-keeper, who 
 was half shutting his eyes, and shading his brow with one of 
 his hands, to see better in the distance ; " it is the ' Thetis,' or 
 I'm a heathen. I had her down yonder for a week when she 
 was taking in her powder, and I know her again by her masts 
 and her build." 
 
 " The ' Thetis' ! " repeated Matthew ; " now, then, we shall 
 see M. Gabriel ; here's a pleasure for Jeannette ! Quick ! I 
 must let her know." 
 
 He was hastening on, but Dorot drew him back. 
 
 " Don't hurry, Ropars," said he ; " never count too much 
 upon what <i ship brings; the people you expect are al- 
 ways those who are missing at the roll-call. You had better 
 wait, and let the lieutenant give his own news of himself." 
 
 " You are right," replied the quarter-master; " and the more 
 so, because I believe the frigate comes from Havannah." 
 
 " Who knows if she does not bring us tenants for the la- 
 zaretto?" 
 
 " So be it ; they will be welcome. With Genevieve and 
 the children one is never dull ; but at times a little company 
 is not unpleasant. You, in the Isle of Graves, have the ord- 
 nance station, which keeps you up to what is going on, besides 
 inspections, and the relays of workmen at the powder maga-
 
 70 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 zine, whilst here there is never anything new. Not one 
 visitor in a year ! So if some quarantines do chance to 
 come to us, at any rate we hear of what is passing on the 
 mainland, and that will give us enough to talk about for 
 months." 
 
 The ordnance-keeper shook his head. 
 
 "It's all well and good when they don't bring sickness," 
 replied he ; " but old people on shore talk still of a quarantine 
 in which the lazaretto had neither earth nor rock enough to 
 lay the dead in, and when they were obliged to throw them 
 into the water with a cannon-shot round their necks, as they 
 do in ships at sea." 
 
 " Christ spare us such a trial ! " said Ropars, reverently 
 touching his hat, as was his custom every time he pronounced 
 the Saviour's name. " But you speak of a time now long 
 past, Dorot ; Heaven grant we may never see it again ! 
 There are no heathens here, and I've a trust that the favour 
 of God will rest upon us." 
 
 Dorot nodded, in token of agreeing with him. In fact, 
 this confidence, springing from a simple faith, had hitherto 
 been justified by experience. During the thirteen years past, 
 the keeper had taken none but persons in health hi to quaran- 
 tine, although they had all been obliged to submit to the 
 detention and seclusion which the formal regulations pre- 
 scribed as a security and test. Even these were rare excep- 
 tions. Treberon, like all lazarettos, was oftenest left unoccu- 
 pied, and the keeper remained there on his watch alone, like 
 a perpetual look-out, posted in advance of the mainland to 
 keep contagion off it. 
 
 As they talked, Dorot and he reached the house ; Genevieve 
 received them on the threshold, with the three children around 
 her, holding her and speaking to her at the same time. After 
 exchanging the usual expressions of friendship, she went in
 
 THE LAZARETTO- KEEPER. 71 
 
 with the two keepers, whilst Michael wandered along with 
 Jeannette and Francine towards Brunette, which had perched 
 herself on the top of a rock, from whence she looked at them 
 bleating. The boy, who was accustomed to follow his father's 
 sheep over the crags in the Isle of Graves, tried to get to her ; 
 but the mischievous creature sprang along the escarpments 
 from point to point, always seeming ready to be caught, and 
 always contriving to escape the instant his hand touched her. 
 ' While the children thus pursued her with a thousand loud 
 calls, and a thousand shouts of laughter, Eopars and Dorot 
 entered the dining-room, where Genevieve had begun to lay 
 the cloth. 
 
 It was a room of moderate size, furnished by the keeper 
 himself at the time of his marriage, and ornamented with a 
 few sea-engravings, amongst which was conspicuous a portrait 
 of Jean Bart, the nautical Hercules to whom the traditions 
 of the forecastle have attributed, as we know, every kind of 
 superhuman exploit and impossible adventure. 
 
 After seeing his guest seated, Matthew went for the bottle 
 of Koussillon, which he brought up all white with sand, and 
 crowned with the cap of green wax that certified its noble 
 birth. Dorot, in a friendly way, exclaimed against such 
 magnificence, and informed them he could not stay long, as 
 the officer in command at the port in the Isle of Graves re- 
 quired the boat to return before sunset. Genevieve conse- 
 quently made haste to get the meal ready, and to call the 
 children in to supper. 
 
 The conversation between people whose whole existence is 
 limited by the narrow bounds of two islets, could not have 
 much variety. Matthew talked of his dead-lines, set among 
 the creeks of Treberon ; and Dorot of his wild cherry-tree. 
 
 The latter might be looked upon as the " pitfal of pride " at 
 which the worthy and unpretending sergeant always stumbled.
 
 72 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 No other keeper before him had succeeded in preserving 1 
 his shrubs from the effects of the sea-breeze; it was the 
 only tree that had ever been seen in the two islets. Lucullus 
 himself could hardly have been more proud of the first cherry- 
 tree he brought from Persia to grace his triumph. Dorot, 
 though humble as to all else, drew himself up with dignity 
 when the question concerned his poor stunted crab-tree ; he 
 only showed it occasionally to friends and superiors, and 
 even they had to ask it as a favour. Things are like men, 
 and for the most part obtain the importance which is ascribed 
 to them, instead of that which they actually possess. Thus 
 overrated and husbanded, the reputation of the wild cherry- 
 tree of the Isle of Graves spread from Plougastel to Camaret ; 
 it was spoken of everywhere as a wonder. Dorot's pride had 
 increased in proportion, and had just been carried to the highest 
 pitch by an event as extraordinary as it was unforeseen. He 
 brought the news to Treberon, but would not make it known 
 at once ; every possible conjecture, as in Madame de Sevigne's 
 famous letter on the marriage of Mademoiselle, was first to be 
 tried. At last, when they had " given it up," he consented 
 to speak out, and he declared that the cherry-tree had 
 blossomed ! 
 
 There was a general cry of surprise and wonder. Eopars 
 and Genevieve being always confined to their little island, 
 had not seen a tree in blossom for many years ; and the two 
 little girls never recollected any. They questioned Michael 
 loudly, and both at once. 
 
 "Were the flowers gold-colour like broom, or blood-red 
 like sea-furze? How could the flowers turn into cherries? 
 Must they wait long- for them ? Would the tree have red 
 garden-cherries, or black mountain ones?" 
 
 Dorot cut the questions short, by saying that he would 
 come the next morning to fetch all the family to see the won-
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 73 
 
 derful tree, and dine at the Isle of Graves. The ecstasies of 
 the sisters may be guessed : their mother could not quiet their 
 laughter, and their clapping of hands. They cried out, " To- 
 morrow! to-morrow!" like the watchmen of JEneas, who 
 cried "Italy! "when they descried through the purple mist 
 that final object of so many efforts, and of so much hope. 
 
 When the sergeant saw their impatience, he proposed to 
 take them with Michael that same evening. There would 
 still be sufficient daylight on their arrival for them to see the 
 cherry-tree, covered with its summer snow, and their parents 
 could come for them the next day. The children supported 
 him by their entreaties. Ropars smiled, without answering, 
 and looked as if inclined to consent ; but Genevieve exclaimed 
 against it. What would become of her without Francine and 
 Jeannette ? Often, even now, if she awoke in the middle of 
 the night, she was uneasy if she did not hear their gentle 
 breathing; she would get up shivering, and would grope 
 along in the dark to their bed, that she might touch them 
 and hear them breathe. Then what would it be if they were 
 no longer there? Could she sleep in peace, and not fancy 
 some danger near ? She should dream that the powder maga- 
 zine had taken fire, or that the Isle of Graves had gone down 
 like a wrecked vessel. All this was said between laughing 
 and crying. The two little girls, who at first had longed to 
 go, now hung round their mother's neck, moved by sympathy, 
 and crying out that they would stay. The ordnance-keeper 
 urged it no longer ; and he and Matthew again took the path 
 which led to the beach, followed by the mother and children, 
 who were once more silent. 
 
 The sun was sinking below the horizon, leaving a track of 
 purple and gold on the channel of the Gullet. The breeze 
 was beginning to move over the bay, ruffling it with dancing 
 ripples ; the perfumes of flowers came in gusts from the main-
 
 74 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 land, with the tinkling of the evening prayer-bell, and the 
 lowing of the cattle as they came home. Everywhere was 
 felt the tendency to repose, and that inexpressible calm, 
 which from outward objects reaches the senses, and enters 
 into the depths of the soul. Heaven, earth, and water seemed 
 with one consent to have lowered their voices, to mingle to- 
 gether in one melodious murmur. The two keepers and their 
 families, without analysing the soft yet invigorating tran- 
 quillity that surrounded them, felt its influence. They went 
 clown the path in silence, and slackened their steps, as if to 
 prolong a pleasure which they wished to taste with full 
 relish. When they reached the boat, however, they were 
 obliged to make up their minds to part. Jeannette made the 
 sergeant promise to come and fetch them early the next day : 
 they then set sail ; and the boat darting over the pliant waves 
 took its course towards the powder-magazine. 
 
 Just at the moment they reached the mid-channel between 
 the two isles, a ship's barge, which they had been so occupied 
 in leave-taking as not to have noticed sooner, appeared to the 
 leeward of Treberon. Her bold make, her dark colour, crossed 
 by a single white stripe at the water-line, and the perfect 
 trim of her sails, would have been enough to tell what she 
 was, even if the dress of the double row of sailors which lined 
 her sides had not proclaimed her a craft of war. When she 
 crossed the boat steered by the sergeant, she kept off abruptly, 
 and by the last glimmer of daylight they distinguished the 
 yellow flag of the health office. 
 
 At this sight, Genevieve and the children uttered a cry. 
 They all three knew that these were guests coming to the 
 lazaretto ; they would put the island in quarantine, and for- 
 bid all communication with those outside it. The next day's 
 visit must be put off indefinitely, and the cherry blossoms 
 would be over before they were again free.
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 75 
 
 This deathblow to their new-born hopes was something so 
 sudden and so unexpected, that Francine and Jeannette could 
 not at once reconcile themselves to it. They looked at one 
 another disconsolately, and began to sob ; whilst their mother, 
 taking a daughter in each hand, mournfully returned up the 
 path. 
 
 Genevieve herself felt a weight at her heart. On reaching 
 the battery, she involuntarily stopped. The boat with the 
 rose-coloured sail, which carried away all their visions of 
 meeting and of holiday-making, had disappeared; but the 
 black barge was there at their feet she had just reached the 
 shore imprisonment, sorrow, and sickness in her train. Ge- 
 nevieve kissed her two children, with difficulty restraining a 
 tear which rose to her eyes, and hastened in, without caring 
 to see more. 
 
 Meantime, Matthew had gone to receive the quarantines, 
 and to open the lazaretto for them. When he returned, he 
 was rather pale, and his face had an expression by which 
 Genevieve was struck ; but at the first question she put to 
 him, he hastily interrupted her, to ask her what had become 
 of Jeannette and Francine. 
 
 "Don't you see them?" replied she, pointing to the two 
 little girls, who were sitting in the dark, still sobbing, with 
 tears in their eyes. "Did you think they had gone away 
 with their cousin?" 
 
 " Would to God they had ! " murmured Matthew, in an- 
 guish, and low enough not to be heard by the children. 
 
 Genevieve looked at him thunderstruck. 
 
 "Why?" asked she; "what has happened? For God's 
 sake, speak, Matthew ; what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Well," replied the lazaretto-keeper, " the matter is that 
 death is in the isle ! " 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 76 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " What I have seen, my poor wife ! The barge of the 
 1 Thetis' has just landed the doctors and nurses, with eight 
 sick not one of whom will see the mainland again." 
 
 " Heavens ! what is it ?" 
 
 "The yellow fever I"
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PATH DOWN THE CLIFFS. 
 
 To him who lives inland, the yellow fever is only one 
 of a thousand diseases known merely by name. Neither 
 the traditions of his family nor his own recollections can con- 
 nect it with grief or fear ; but among our seafaring popula- 
 tion this word strikes like a funeral knell. It not only recalls 
 the thought of dangers encountered, but it re-awakens sor- 
 rows old or recent. In a place where every family has one 
 object of love in some distant land, this terrible disease is too 
 well known by the sight of widows and orphans it has made. 
 Like the storm and the reef, it is one of the great enemies of 
 life. The sound of its name produces the same effect as the 
 wind when it whistles, or the waves when they roar. When 
 men hear it, they look at one another, and they think of the 
 absent, perhaps of the dead. 
 
 But Ropars now thought chiefly of the present. In truth, 
 he had more cause to tremble than others. Formerly, when 
 in the midst of a raging yellow fever, he had seen the crews 
 of all the fleet cut down around him, and himself saved as by 
 a miracle. The thoughts of this " slaughter," as he called 
 it, had remained impressed on his mind ; and he had too often 
 spoken of it to Genevieve for them not to feel their courage
 
 78 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 shaken. Neither of them feared for self, but each for those 
 whose lives were dearer far. Matthew's first thought rested 
 on his wife and children ; Genevieve's first movement was 
 to gather them together within her arms, crying out that 
 they must fly. The old sailor had some difficulty in making 
 her understand that to leave the isle, even if it had not been 
 dishonourable for him, was now impossible. The barge had 
 sailed again for the frigate, and the yellow flag was hoisted 
 on the lazaretto flagstaff. Quarantine had begun for all those 
 who happened to be at Treberon not one of them could 
 henceforth pass its limits ; and Kopars showed Genevieve the 
 pinnace sent by the military authorities, which was just 
 about to moor at half-cable's distance from the isle, and to 
 prevent all shipping from coming near it. They were, there- 
 fore, shut in with the infection, and condemned to run all risks 
 to the end. 
 
 However, Matthew's uneasiness, in which the suddenness of 
 the event had a share, did not last long. The quarter-master 
 soon recovered his old firmness, now softened a little by the 
 affectionate habits of family life ; and tried to calm the fears 
 of Genevieve, by qualifying his own words, and making light 
 of the danger. After all, they had not here the conditions 
 which favoured the pestilence elsewhere. They had not to 
 contend against the oppressive sun of the Havannah or Brazil ; 
 they had not to do with a formidable contagion which was 
 gaining more and more upon them, like a fire, and leaving 
 only the dead behind but with a sickness on the decline, 
 and from which, with a few precautions, they might easily 
 escape. 
 
 The first and most indispensable of these was to avoid the 
 rooms occupied by the quarantiners, and never to remain to 
 leeward of the lazaretto. Jeannette and Francine were 
 warned immediately. Genevieve explained to them at great
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 79 
 
 length all that must be done, now with threatening and now 
 with moving words. First, she told them that sickness or even 
 death would be the punishment for the least disobedience ; 
 then when she saw them get pale with fear, she encouraged 
 them again by her kisses and endearments. 
 
 Matthew added to her advice something more distinct and 
 more certain. In the morning, he marked out an enclosure 
 with stakes and a cord, which was to serve the children for a 
 sanitary line. As an additional precaution, the goat herself 
 was brought into the enclosure, where she was tethered, and 
 fed on hay. 
 
 The keeper left off his usual intercourse with the lazaretto 
 servants and doctors. He would have been ignorant of 
 the fate of the quarantiners, if every evening the sight 
 of two or three men going down towards the sea-shore, and 
 the sound of a hand-bell which warned him out of the way, 
 had not told him that they were going to dig a grave. The 
 gaps were, however, soon filled up by new sick men brought 
 in the frigate's barge ; for the fever did not seem to decrease 
 or take a milder form. No convalescent had yet appeared on 
 the terrace of the lazaretto. The pinnace-boat belonging to 
 the health office came in every morning, but without touching 
 the shore. It landed the provisions or medicines by the pass- 
 rope put up in the creek, received the surgeon's report at the 
 end of a boat-hook, and then set sail with a rapidity which 
 showed the fear excited by the contagion. 
 
 However, after the first few days, the fears of Eopars and 
 Genevieve were a little relieved. The blows which death was 
 striking around them were silent and unseen, and the sting 
 of anxiety insensibly grew blunter. When they saw that life 
 was possible in contact with the formidable disease, both of 
 them half forgot that death was possible too. What happens 
 to the inhabitants of a besieged town, who no longer start at
 
 80 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 the report of cannon, happened to them : the bell might sound 
 every evening, and the barge bring new sick and dying every 
 morning still the unbroken recurrence of the danger accus- 
 tomed them to it, and custom produced a sense of security. 
 At times even, Genevieve forgot it all, and would begin her 
 songs again ; but at sight of the yellow flag, or at some sudden 
 thought which went through her heart, she would stop 
 abruptly, and the song ended in a sigh. 
 
 Eopars had inquired for M. Gabriel on the arrival of the 
 first patients. The fever had not then attacked him ; but the 
 interruption of all intercourse with the lazaretto servants and 
 the boats' crews had prevented him renewing his inquiries. 
 Several parties had landed, without his being able to inquire 
 after the lieutenant, when at last he received a note cut 
 through with scissors, and soaked in vinegar. It only con- 
 tained these words, written in pencil 
 
 " I am here. If I live, we shall meet again ; if I die, take 
 this letter to the captain of the Thetis, and claim my large 
 mahogany box, for Jeannette. GABRIEL." 
 
 The writing was almost illegible, and betrayed a hand 
 shaking with the fever. Matthew, who was both grieved and 
 shocked, now forgot every precaution, and ran to the laza- 
 retto ; but the doctor would not let him see the lieutenant, 
 about whom he seemed to have serious uneasiness. In the 
 evening, the fever became worse, and allowed but little hope ; 
 the next morning, there was no longer even that. 
 
 Jeannette, who had been left in ignorance of the name of 
 the frigate in which the fever was raging, did not suspect 
 the danger of her friend ; but she and her sister had not the 
 less lost all their mirth. Kept prisoners within the enclosure 
 marked out by their father, both of them were sitting mourn- 
 fully near the tethered goat, which lay at their feet, and seemed
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 81 
 
 to disdain the hay scattered before her. Jeannette, with 
 Francine leaning on her lap, had proposed in succession all 
 the games they knew ; but the child hung her head, and fixed 
 her eyes on the sea. 
 
 "Then what will you do, Zina?" asked she, saddened by 
 her sadness. 
 
 She did not answer. Her elder sister put her hand on her 
 fair hair, and played for a moment with the ringlets. 
 
 " You want to go down there and see Michael, don't you ?" 
 resumed she, stooping towards the little girl ; " but it is of no 
 use, for the cherry blossoms are over." 
 
 "Then do you think the cherries are ripe now?" inter- 
 rupted Francine, turning her face which, from lassitude, was 
 less rosy than usual towards Jeannette, and with her great 
 eyes full of curiosity. 
 
 "I don't know," replied her elder sister; "mother will tell 
 us. But we must now think of something else ; you know 
 very well we must not go to the powder-magazine." 
 
 " Nor to the end of the isle, nor anywhere," added Fran- 
 cine, falling back again on Jeannette's lap. 
 
 The latter, who wished in any way to amuse her, then 
 pointed to the goat, which had just got up. Brunette, suddenly 
 roused from a doze, was making such fantastical evolutions 
 round her tether, that the child's melancholy gave way, and 
 she could not resist a burst of laughter. Jeannette at first 
 joined in her mirth ; but fearing that the movements of the 
 headstrong creature woiild break the cord, she put out her 
 hand to prevent it. 
 
 " Let go, let go ! " cried Francine, laughing. " See how 
 she stands up ! see how she dances ! Bravo, Brunette I faster, 
 my pet, faster 1" 
 
 The child knelt on the sand, and clapped her hands with 
 cries of joy ; whilst the goat, seemingly excited by her VQice
 
 82 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and the noise, redoubled her frolicsome tricks. Suddenly 
 the stake, which so many jerks had loosened, gave way, 
 and was torn from the ground. The creature bounded aside, 
 and no longer feeling any restraint, made towards the other 
 end of the isle. 
 
 At first, the two sisters screamed out ; then, with unthink- 
 ing impulse, they both rushed forward in pursuit of her. 
 They passed the boundary-cord, and were soon far away 
 among the escarpments, calling Brunette, which, as was her 
 custom, waited bleating for them to come up, and then darted 
 off as they reached her. Thus, carried away by the chase, 
 they reached the top of the isle, followed the slopes which 
 went down to the sea, and arrived at the bottom of the 
 ravine over against their home. It was only there that 
 Jeannette became conscious of their disobedience. Out of 
 breath, she stopped, and keeping back her sister in her arms, 
 she cried 
 
 "We must go no farther, Zina. We ought not to have 
 come here ; mother told us not." 
 
 The little girl looked round her, and she, too, remarked 
 the place where they were. It was a large cleft in the solid 
 rock of the isle, at the bottom of which grew tufts of large 
 ferns and flowering broom. On the right and left, the sides 
 of the rock were covered with creepers ; sea-grasses with 
 purple pods, and fox-gloves, with their long stems loaded with 
 rose-coloured bells, grew out of the crevices. 
 
 At sight of them, Francine gave a scream of delight. It 
 was the first green, and the first flowers, she had seen since 
 the strict regulations had kept her on the barren flat where 
 the keeper's house stood. So she could not resist the tempta- 
 tion ; and she escaped from her sister without listening to her, 
 and running away, she disappeared into the midst of the 
 flowering bushes.
 
 THE LAZAKETTO-KEEPER. 83 
 
 I 
 
 After calling her in vain, Jeannette followed to bring her 
 back ; but the child ran from spray to spray without stopping. 
 In vain, at every handful of flowers, did Jeannette cry, 
 " That's enough ! " Francine replied, " No, no ; more ! " and 
 heaped into her apron, which she held by the two corners, all 
 that her hands could pull. The ground itself must fail her 
 before she could agree to leave her harvest. At last, when 
 she was loaded with grasses and wild-flowers, which fell in 
 garlands to her feet, she consented to take once more the hand 
 of Jeannette, who carefully pushed back the prickly furze, 
 while she tried to find the path. 
 
 The two children had just reached the border of the little 
 thicket of heath and broom, when they heard the warning 
 hand-bell above their heads. They stopped, and looked up : 
 four lazaretto servants were coming down towards the ravine, 
 with their funereal burden. They were following the only 
 practicable path down the rock, and the two little girls could 
 not go on without meeting them. They drew back in terror 
 into the bushes which still hid them, and waited there, press- 
 ing close to one another. 
 
 The hand- bell rang at what seemed convulsive intervals, 
 and each time nearer. At last, they heard the bearers' heavy 
 tread along the rock, and saw their dark shadows visible in 
 the twilight ; they came on towards the little oasis where the 
 children had taken shelter. 
 
 On reaching its entrance, they seemed to consult for a mo- 
 ment, then proceeding into the midst of the prickly bushes, 
 they turned round by the clump behind which the two sisters 
 were crouching, and stopped, saying 
 
 "It is here!" 
 
 Francine hid her head in Jeannette's lap in terror; but 
 she, more bold than her sister, softly moved the branches 
 back, and then perceived a grave ready dug in the gravel.
 
 84 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 The bearers had placed the body, wrapped in a coarse sheet, 
 on the ground ; they took a sack out of one of the clefts of 
 the rock and emptied its contents into the grave. The white 
 powder, which rose in a cloud, diffused the pungent smell of 
 lime as far as the children. The men spread it carefully over 
 the bottom of the grave, as a bed for the corpse, and sprinkled 
 it with water fetched from the sea. All these prepara- 
 tions were performed in ominous silence. Nothing was heard 
 but the clink of the shovel against the rocky soil, and the 
 monotonous sound of the little waves as the evening wind 
 drove them in upon the beach. Jeannette, with stretched- 
 out neck, eyes wide open, and a heart wrung with painful 
 oppression, continued looking. 
 
 Just then two of the bearers took the body and brought it 
 up to the grave. There was nothing between them and the 
 children but the clump of shrubs. As they grazed by it with 
 their load, a gust of wind blew aside a corner of the coarse 
 winding-sheet ; a ghastly head appeared by the closing light 
 of evening, and Jeannette uttered a stifled cry. 
 
 The fall of the corpse into the grave prevented its being 
 heard ; but that glance had been enough the child had re- 
 cognised the face of M. Gabriel ! 
 
 She recoiled with an inexpressible shock. It was the first 
 time death had struck her sight, and it appeared to her under 
 circumstances which filled her with grief and fear. She clung 
 to Francine, and began to tremble in all her limbs. The noise 
 of the earth and gravel falling into the grave seemed to turn 
 her to stone. It was only when the four grave-diggers had 
 left the ravine, and disappeared along the path, that her sobs 
 burst out. Francine raised her head and asked what was the 
 matter ; but receiving no answer, she threw herself into her 
 arms, sobbing in her turn. 
 
 The tears of her little sister seemed to stop those of Jean-
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 85 
 
 nette, who tried to suppress her sobs, and began to kiss and 
 console Francine. 
 
 " Hush !" stammered she, half choking in spite of herself; 
 " don't be afraid don't cry !" 
 
 " What's the matter, Jeannie, what's the matter?" repeated 
 the child, taking her sister's head between her two hands, and 
 kissing her wet cheeks. 
 
 " It is nothing," replied Jeannette, her accent belying her 
 words ; " I was startled." 
 
 " Are the men gone ?" asked Francine, looking with fright 
 in the direction of the grave. 
 
 " You see they are," replied Jeannette, shuddering. 
 
 " What did they come here for ? They were carrying 
 something : it was a dead man, was it not?" 
 
 Her sister put her hand upon her lips. 
 
 " Don't speak of it, Zina," faltered she, again overwhelmed 
 by her sobs. 
 
 " Did you see him ?" asked the child, half curious and half 
 frightened. 
 
 " Yes, yes I " stammered her sister, " and I knew him 
 again it is M. Gabriel ! " 
 
 "Your kind friend I" cried Francine. "Are you really 
 sure, Jeannie ? And is he there under the ground ? Oh I 
 let us go ; I am afraid I am afraid 1 " 
 
 She threw herself again into her sister's arms, who tried to 
 pacify her, and to restrain her own tears. 
 
 " Peace, Zina ! " said she in a broken voice ; " we must be 
 quiet we must dry our eyes, or mother will be uneasy." 
 
 And suddenly getting up, she added 
 
 " Hark ! I think they are calling us ; quick ! quick I let 
 us go up." 
 
 At these words the two little girls got up, and leaving the
 
 86 BKITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ravine returned in all haste to the battery, which they reached 
 trembling and out of breath. 
 
 G-enevieve was there waiting for them ; but the night, 
 which had set in, prevented her remarking their trouble. She 
 led them home, heard them both say their prayers together, 
 and they went to bed without having said anything of the 
 adventure in the ravine.
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPEB. 87 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE WAY BY THE REEF. 
 
 JEANNETTE slept badly ; and the next day when she got 
 up, she looked pale and worn. Genevieve perceived it, and 
 anxiously questioned her, but the child replied she had 
 nothing the matter with her. But her eyes filled with tears, 
 and her voice trembled at each question. 
 
 So she passed the day in lassitude. In the evening she 
 felt more exhausted, but still she suffered no pain ; her night 
 was restless, and the next morning Kopars sent for the doctor 
 of the lazaretto. 
 
 He looked at the child, and asked several questions at 
 which Matthew's brow grew gloomy. Genevieve, whose eyes 
 went from the doctor to her husband, perceived it. She felt 
 her heart sink within her. The moment they crossed the 
 threshold, she followed them, shut the door quickly, and 
 stopped them. 
 
 "It is the sickness, is it not?" asked she with anguish. 
 
 She dared not name the yellow fever. The doctor seemed 
 unwilling to answer. 
 
 " Oh 1 I am sure of it ! " cried she, confirmed in her suspicion 
 by his hesitation. " Then all our care has been of no use ? 
 It is come it is all over ! " 
 
 She sank upon the stone bench at the door, and covered her
 
 88 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 face with her apron. The doctor tried to comfort her with 
 vague hopes ; but it was evident that he had no expectation 
 of success from anything he could do. He was already con- 
 quered by the inveterate force of the infection, and only con- 
 tinued to fight against it from duty, and when hope was gone, 
 like those soldiers who, for the honour of their flag, silently 
 devote themselves in defence of a post abandoned to the 
 enemy. Then, perceiving that his words, far from calming 
 Genevieve's grief, seemed to increase it, he turned towards 
 the keeper, to whom he briefly repeated the prescriptions he 
 had already given for the sick child, and then went back 
 to the lazaretto. 
 
 Eopars remained for some moments in the same place, with 
 his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the ground ; but a loud 
 sob from Genevieve made him raise them. He took her 
 hand 
 
 " The time is not yet come for despair," said he, with a 
 gentle firmness ; " when God has declared against us, you 
 will have the rest of your life for tears. At present, let us 
 attend to our duty by doing what the captain orders." 
 
 " And did he say nothing?" cried the mother, who wished 
 in her heart that the doctor had combated her fears more de- 
 cidedly ; " did he give no hope ?" 
 
 " We are in God's hands," replied Matthew simply ; " and 
 as long as He does not declare His will, we may trust that 
 all will go well ; but if the dear child must leave us, let us 
 show at least to the last moment how precious we feel the 
 charge." 
 
 Just then they heard the child's feverish voice. 
 
 " Ah ! she calls me ! " cried Genevieve, hurriedly rising to 
 go in. 
 
 Eopars stopped her. 
 
 " First wipe your eyes," said he, passing his own hand
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 89 
 
 fondly over the moist eyelids of the poor mother ; " Jeannette 
 must not think that you are anxious. Her life may depend 
 upon it ; do you understand ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied she ; " never fear, Matthew, I will cry 
 no more ; " and she tried to dry her eyes, which always filled 
 again with fresh tears. " There, no one can see anything 
 now. Besides, the doctors maybe mistaken, may they not? 
 And then God will have pity upon us ! " 
 
 " We must hope so," replied the keeper, much affected ; 
 " but while we look to Him for pity, it is for us to show resig- 
 nation. Come, my brave heart, smile on your child it will 
 do her good. And before you go back to her, kiss me that 
 will give us both courage ! " 
 
 Jeannette's mother threw her arms round her husband's 
 neck with a fresh burst of tears ; but she stopped at the voice 
 of the sick child calling her a second time, and with a last 
 effort she forced her despair back into the very depths of her 
 heart, and darted into the house with a calm brow and a 
 smile upon her lips. 
 
 In the meantime, Jeannette rapidly grew worse. By the 
 evening the fever had greatly increased. She talked in turn 
 of her sister Francine, of Michael, of the cherry-tree in blos- 
 som, of her kind friend M. Gabriel. Sometimes she thought 
 she heard him, she called him she wished to know if he had 
 brought her the presents he had promised ; at other times, the 
 recollection of the scene in the ravine returned to her memory. 
 She cried out that he was dead, and that she heard the earth 
 being thrown upon him in the grave. 
 
 The doctor came back several times, and prescribed more 
 remedies, without being able to stop the progress of the dis- 
 ease. It was a dreadful night for the poor mother, holding 
 her child, who was becoming more and more light-headed, in 
 her arms. When the sun rose, her restless delirium ceased;'
 
 90 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 but only to give place to the lethargy which precedes death. 
 At last, towards the middle of the day, Jeannette opened her 
 eyes, and heaved a sigh it was her last ! 
 
 The blow was too surely expected for Ropars and Gene- 
 vieve's grief to be loud ; the pain of their loss had, so to say, 
 come first both had drunk it drop by drop during that long 
 agony. The mother's calmness, however, had something so 
 haggard in it, that it would have terrified one less over- 
 whelmed with sorrow than Matthew. She would herself pay 
 the last duties to her child ; she combed out her beautiful 
 black hair, dressed her in her best clothes, laid her out, and 
 joined her two hands over her heart, as Jeannette used to do 
 in sleep. All these offices were performed slowly, quietly, 
 with a sort of satisfaction ; and often she added her kisses. 
 Scarcely did a tear steal at intervals down her cheeks marked 
 with burning spots, or a slight trembling agitate her hand, as 
 it fulfilled its mournful task. At last, when she who had 
 brought this child into the world, and who had fed her with 
 her milk, and cherished her with her love, had herself wrapped 
 her in her shroud, she went to the window, plucked a white 
 gillyflower the only one the sea-wind had spared, and scat- 
 tered its leaves over the winding-sheet. 
 
 In the meantime, night had come. As the shadows gathered 
 round the bed, the form of the dead showed dimly under its 
 linen covering, like some half-finished statue ; and above 
 hung an ivory crucifix, with drooping head and extended 
 arms. 
 
 Genevieve fell on her knees at the bedside, and remained a 
 long time with her head resting on her clasped hands. She 
 gently murmured a prayer ; but though her lips repeated all 
 its words, its sense did not reach her mind. When she had 
 finished, she got up mechanically, and looked round her ; her 
 brain was a dark chaos. She raised her two hands to her
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 91 
 
 forehead, which she pressed with a stifled cry, as if she would 
 arrest that whirlwind of confused and heart-rending thoughts. 
 There was a struggle for a moment between despair and reso- 
 lution. Then the latter gained the advantage, and she went 
 towards the door and opened it. 
 
 Her husband had withdrawn to the battery with Francine, 
 to spare her the painful sight of the laying out. She per- 
 ceived him standing near the parapet ; the little girl was close 
 to him, and resting her head against his knees. Since the 
 death of her sister, she had not uttered a word. As she stood 
 motionless, with open eyes and compressed lips, she seemed 
 trying to understand it. Her two little hands hung idly 
 down, and her bare feet were as if fixed upon the ground. 
 
 On seeing her thus, in the light of the rising moon, which 
 played on her fair hair, Genevieve seemed to come to herself ; 
 a gleam passed over her pallid features, she breathed more 
 freely, and a flood of tears streamed from her eyes. She 
 threw herself towards the child, whom she raised in her arms 
 in a sort of passion of grief, which Francine immediately took 
 part in by a burst of kisses and sobs. For a long time there 
 was only an exchange of broken words and unfinished sen- 
 tences. The little girl asked for her sister ; and her mother, 
 whose grief was renewed by these questions, tried to stifle 
 them with her kisses. At last, when quite exhausted, she 
 relaxed the embrace with which she was holding Francine, 
 and she felt some one gently taking her away. 
 
 It was Matthew, who put the child on the ground. He 
 drew her mother a little further off, and obliged her to sit on 
 the stone bench set against the parapet. She endeavoured to 
 get up, and stretched out her arms. 
 
 " My child !" stammered she through her sobs ; " I want 
 my child!" 
 
 " Directly, thou shalt have her," said Eopars, who, as is
 
 92 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 the custom of the Breton peasants, only said "thou" to Gene- 
 vieve when under strong emotion ; * " but first thou must 
 listen with all thy heart, for what I have to say is of great 
 consequence." 
 
 "Ah! I wish I could!" said she, holding her head be- 
 tween her two hands. " But do not be angry, Matthew, if it 
 is impossible ; I hear something out there, you see, which 
 silences everything else ; it is her death-rattle, dear husband ! 
 And, do you know, I love the pain it gives me to hear it I 
 can think she breathes still. Oh, Jesus I who would have 
 said that I should grieve not to hear the death-gasp of my 
 child!" 
 
 Eopars put his hand upon the head of his poor wife, who 
 began to sob again. 
 
 "Compose yourself," resumed he, firmly yet tenderly; 
 " God would have us submit, and not despair. Our child is 
 now in His paradise, where she has no more need of us ; but 
 she leaves a sister behind her whose life is in our charge." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Genevieve, stopping her 
 tears, and raising her now anxious eyes towards him. 
 
 "Don't you understand?" replied the keeper, in a lower 
 tone ; " the fever's blast is like the sea's it spares no one, and 
 at any moment may send the living to join the dead !" 
 
 "0 God our Saviour! is this a warning?" asked Gene- 
 vieve, clasping her hands. " Can the child be struck ? Have 
 you remarked anything ? Ah ! tell me the truth, Matthew ; 
 tell it at once. I had rather be killed by one blow !" 
 
 " The child has no other ill but her grief," said Eopars j 
 " but if she stays in this air of death, who can promise us that 
 she shall escape ?" 
 
 " Wo to us ! " cried Genevieve, raising her clasped hands 
 
 * In other parts of France, the usage is not so restricted among relations and intimate 
 friends. Tr.
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 93 
 
 above her head. " Why did you tell me ? I wished not to 
 think of it ; now I shall see her die every hour. God forgive 
 you, for so stirring the knife already in my heart !" 
 
 " If I touch it, it is only to draw it out," observed the 
 quarter-master. " This is no time to shut the eyes and let 
 the squall come, but to work the ship to save our darling. 
 If she remain on the isle, you have but too much chance of 
 making her winding-sheet, Genevieve ; she must go directly." 
 
 " But how ? what way is there ?" 
 
 Eopars looked round him, to be sure that nobody heard him. 
 
 " There is one," replied he cautiously. 
 
 "The magazine-boat?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The pinnace?" 
 
 " You know she lies there to watch the isle." 
 
 " Then what can help us?" 
 
 " The tide." 
 
 Genevieve looked at her husband, without understanding 
 him. 
 
 " It is now the spring-tide," resumed Matthew ; " in less 
 than an hour the sea will have ebbed enough to leave but 
 four feet of water over the line of reefs which run from Tre- 
 beron to the Isle of Graves. With a stout heart, and God's 
 help, a man may risk the crossing. I will carry the child to 
 Dorot." 
 
 And as the mother could not restrain an exclamation of 
 terror, he added quickly 
 
 " Not so loud, unhappy woman 1 do you wish to betray me ? 
 Except the magazine-keeper and myself, nobody knows of 
 this sea-road ; we have often taken it when we were fishing 
 together, and always got in safe." 
 
 "But not in the night," interrupted Genevieve; "not 
 carrying a child ! "
 
 94 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " The child is hardly any weight, and the moon is at its 
 full," resumed Eopars, rather impatiently. " Besides, I have 
 been thinking over the matter all the evening ; there is no 
 other way. I have made up my mind ; and I will do what I 
 ought, whatever happens. Your words may weaken my con- 
 fidence, but they cannot keep me back. Then try rather to 
 keep up my courage, as is the duty of a good wife, and get 
 everything ready for the child. When the last point of the 
 great rock is bare, it will be time for me to attempt the pas- 
 sage, and for you to pray God to open us a safe crossing 
 through the sea." 
 
 The boatswain's tone was so determined, that Genevieve 
 saw the uselessness of all opposition. In the ordinary acts of 
 life, Matthew had no will of his own, and formed a determina- 
 tion rarely ; but when he had done so, and once declared it, 
 he maintained it unshaken. Besides, when the first shock 
 was over, his explanations and assurances somewhat calmed 
 Francine's mother, and he succeeded in half convincing her. 
 But there was still the child, and Eopars dreaded her opposi- 
 tion or her fright. Genevieve fetched her, and the father and 
 mother seated her on their knees together. 
 
 "You want to see the cherry-tree blossom, don't you?" 
 said the latter, kissing her. 
 
 The little girl hung her head. 
 
 " Not now," replied she, in a very low tone. 
 
 " But this is the very time," added her poor mother with 
 an effort ; " down there you will have more liberty. You will 
 be happier ; you will have Michael to play with." 
 
 "No," said the child in a broken voice; "I had rather 
 stay with Jeannette." 
 
 Genevieve clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and her voice 
 failed her. It was Kopars' turn. He drew Francine to his 
 heart, and whispered in her ear
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 95 
 
 " Listen to me : we are in trouble. You would not give us 
 more, would you? You love us too much for that." 
 
 Instead of answering, the child threw both her arms round 
 her father's neck, and pressed her little rosy cheek against the 
 sailor's wrinkled face. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I was sure of it," continued Matthew. " Then 
 you will do everything we ask you?" 
 
 The child agreed. 
 
 " Well," continued Ropars, " you must go and spend a few 
 days with Uncle Dorot ; and as we have no boat, I must carry 
 you across the channel. You will be still when you are in 
 the middle of the sea if you have your father's shoulders for 
 a boat, won't you ? " 
 
 The child shuddered. 
 
 " I would rather stay here," said she hastily. 
 
 "That's impossible," replied her father. "I must carry 
 you to the powder-magazine ; it must be so, and we must go 
 directly. But if you are not brave, if you scream, the way 
 will be more difficult, and perhaps some harm may come to 
 me. Do you understand me?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; I will not go," replied the little girl, who was 
 now beginning to tremble with fear. 
 
 Genevieve took her again into her arms. 
 
 "Hush! hush!" said she, pressing her lips upon her head, 
 and rocking her against her heart. " Children must obey 
 God says so. Do what you are told for your father for 
 me for Jeannette I If she could speak, she would tell you to 
 be good and brave. Do you wish to make her unhappy in 
 heaven?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried the child, throwing herself again into 
 Matthew's arms. 
 
 "Then you mean to come?" said he. 
 
 " Yes," whispered the little girl.
 
 96 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 "And you won't be frightened, nor speak a word?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Come along, then ! " said the keeper, who had risen and 
 looked over the parapet. " The great rock is bare we have 
 no time to lose." 
 
 He took Francine in his arms, and went quickly down one 
 of the paths leading to the beach. Genevieve followed, in 
 unutterable grief. 
 
 They all three reached a rocky point, which projected a 
 long way into the waves. It was the end of the line of reefs 
 which connected the powder-magazine and Treberon. 
 
 Kopars put the child on the ground, while he made out his 
 course. By the light of the moon, the channel looked of a 
 pale-green hue, streaked with little white lines, formed by the 
 waves lightly crested with foam. Their undulations were 
 so gentle, that you might have fancied it a green corn-field 
 chequered with ox-eyed daisies. Beyond lay visible in the 
 moonlight the whole of the Isle of Graves, with its yellow 
 buildings, its long slated roofs, and its lightning-conductors 
 piercing the clouds. So calm was the night, that the step of 
 the sentry before the stone watch-box in the corner of the 
 esplanade could be heard. Between the isles, and a little 
 in the shadow, the pinnace was silently lying on its two 
 anchors. 
 
 Eopars scrutinized everything strictly : he showed Gene- 
 vieve the course of the road under water, marked by a slightly 
 deeper tinge on the surface of the sea ; threw off his coat and 
 hat ; then taking both his wife's hands, as she looked at him 
 distractedly, he said 
 
 " The time is come, Genevieve ; kiss me, and pray God of 
 His mercy to be with us." 
 
 The poor woman at first returned his embrace, without 
 being able to say a word. But when she felt him letting go
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 97 
 
 her hands and turning towards the child, who was a few steps 
 off, she gave a shriek ; she lost her self-control ; she forgot 
 all that Matthew had said to her, all she had promised him ; 
 and threw her arms round him in despair and terror. 
 
 " You shall not go," stammered she, " you shall not go ! 
 It is going to death ! By your marriage-vow, stay with me 
 be my succour, and share my trouble ! Will you leave 
 me alone with Jeannette ? Look, look how great and deep 
 the sea is ! you and Francine will be lost in it ! Oh ! if it 
 be God's will, let us die ; but let us die together ! Matthew, 
 I cannot bear that you leave me ! you shall not carry the 
 child away ! you shall not go ! " 
 
 Ropars tried to quiet her, and made an effort to disengage 
 himself from her arms. But she clung to him, without listen- 
 ing to anything ; and when he reminded her that she had 
 herself, a moment before, persuaded Francine to go 
 
 " I was wrong ! " said she wildly ; " I wish it no longer ! 
 If you leave me I will follow you, and you must answer before 
 God for whatever happens 1 Matthew, do not tempt me ! 
 Matthew, have pity on me ! What have I done to you to 
 make you go thus readily to your destruction? do you no 
 longer love life with me ? Oh ! if I have been wanting in 
 my duty, do not remember it against me, dear husband ! If 
 the violence of my grief has made you angry, forgive me ! I 
 will cry no more, Matthew ; I will be what you wish. Stop, 
 think again, forgive me ; but say that you will stay here !" 
 
 She had gradually sunk upon her knees, and she held 
 Ropars' hands, and pressed them to her lips. He tried to 
 raise her. 
 
 "Enough, Genevieve," said, he, in a voice in which emotion 
 contended with impatience. "I thought you were braver; 
 this is not what you promised me. Recollect, unhappy 
 woman, that the time is passing."
 
 98 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Genevieve sobbed, and renewed her prayers. He turned 
 an anxious look towards the sea, and saw the lowest points of 
 the great rock dry. More delay would increase the danger, 
 and might render the crossing impossible. Matthew took 
 Genevieve abruptly by the arms, and raised her up with her 
 face close to his. 
 
 "As you would be saved, listen to me !" said he in so de- 
 cided a tone, that she shuddered at it. " For the first time, 
 I must remind you that I am your master and if you are not 
 more discreet, perhaps it may be the last. But by the God 
 who made us, you shall obey, and without more contention ! 
 The child's life is in question nothing shall stop me. Stay 
 there, I command you ; and do not take a single step, nor 
 utter a single sound, or, as sure as I'm my mother's son, I 
 will never forgive you till the day of judgment !" 
 
 With these words, he seated the thunder- stricken Genevieve 
 on a sandbank, ran to the little girl, whom he lifted on his 
 shoulders, and rushed with her into the waves. 
 
 When the mother turned round at the noise of the splash- 
 ing water, he was already on the causeway of the sunken 
 reef, and the waves were rising to his chest. She tried to 
 get up, but her strength failed her, and she could only utter 
 a feeble shriek. Matthew heard it, and turned round. He 
 saw through the darkness the dim form of Genevieve half 
 fallen back on the rock, stretching her clasped hands to- 
 wards him. His heart, which he had hardened by a resolute 
 effort, gave way with affection. He looked at the deep, 
 green sea, with its gulfs yawning all around him ; above his 
 head he heard the breathing of the child, who was panting 
 with terror ; and thinking that the poor woman, from whom 
 both had just been torn, might never see them again, the 
 love and pity he felt for her filled his eyes with tears. He 
 stopped, in spite of himself, in the midst of the surging billows,
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 99 
 
 turned his head to the shore, and cried out in a suppressed, 
 but very gentle voice 
 
 " Do not cry, Genevieve ; and may God bless you ! All 
 will be well!" 
 
 Then, without waiting for an answer, which he feared 
 would weaken his courage, he proceeded on his way, his eyes 
 fixed on the line of water which indicated the direction of the 
 reef. 
 
 Soon, however, he failed to perceive the peculiar colour of 
 the waves which made this line easy to recognise from the 
 shore. Now that he was in the sea, he could no longer see 
 before him anything but one uniformly-tossing plain, without 
 difference of movement or of colour. He was obliged to 
 direct his course merely upon the rock of the Isle of Graves 
 in which the causeway ended, and the sharp crags of which 
 could just be distinguished in the distance. 
 
 Matthew advanced, sounding each step before him with a 
 broken boat-hook with which he was provided ; but in spite 
 of his caution, the way became more and more difficult. The 
 inequalities of the rocks exposed him to continual risks of 
 slipping. Borne up by the waves, deafened by the deep roar 
 around him, groping for an uneven and unknown path with 
 a gulf on either side, he proceeded with that extreme but 
 resolute slowness, in which all impatience is mastered, and 
 the whole being concentrated in each movement. His steady 
 gaze seemed to pierce the liquid veil of waters ; his hands, 
 grasping the boat-hook, seemed as though they would plant 
 it in the reef; and his feet strove, with convulsive energy, to 
 make out the right path before they took it. 
 
 In this way he reached the middle of the channel, where 
 the pinnace lay at anchor. All was silent and motionless. 
 The cries of "All's well I" sung out at intervals by the 
 night-watch, had for some time ceased ; even the two dark
 
 100 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 figures, so long immovable at their posts, had disappeared. 
 The sailors of the watch, confident that their look-out was 
 useless, had doubtless fallen asleep. 
 
 Matthew, fearing their waking, tried to avoid peril by 
 hurrying on ; but just as he entered the shadow which 
 stretched over the moonlit waves behind the pinnace, the 
 bank of rocks, which was gradually lowering, suddenly failed 
 him. Francine felt him sink, like a boat going down, and 
 the water splashed over her hair. She could not repress a 
 piercing scream. 
 
 Her father drew her to his breast in alarm, and put his 
 hand over her lips ; but it was too late. The scream had 
 evidently been heard, for a dark figure suddenly raised itself 
 from the bows. Eopars had only time to throw himself under 
 the taffrail of the pinnace, and to seize a boom to which he 
 clung. 
 
 One of the watch came astern, where he was soon joined 
 by his comrade. 
 
 " Confound me, if I did not hear a scream ! " said the first. 
 
 " Sure enough, it as good as woke me !" added the other. 
 
 "However, I've looked out to no purpose. I can see 
 nothing." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
 Both were leaning over the sea, which kept on its pleasant 
 murmur, with nothing to be seen upon it but the light ripples 
 with their embroidery of foam and phosphoric light. The 
 second watch seemed to be disturbed by something, which 
 made his voice falter. 
 
 " I say, Morvan," resumed he cautiously, " can the Eos- 
 canvel and Lanvoc boats have been so often here, and not 
 left some Christian under water?" 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "What then?" repeated the sailor, who seemed divided
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 101 
 
 between fear and shame. " Why you know what they say 
 I did not invent it. They say that drowned men who die 
 in their sins leave their spirits in the waters which swallowed 
 them ; and every year, at the day and hour of the mishap, 
 they cry out in agony for our prayers." 
 
 "And you helieve that, do you, Lascar?" said Morvan 
 with a laugh which had more noise than confidence in it. 
 
 " It's not I," replied the sailor, " it's my mates. But still, 
 the voice was not like any other it was sharp and shrill, like 
 a child's, as you might say." 
 
 " Come, come, what nonsense !" interrupted the first sailor, 
 evidently disquieted by his comrade's explanation. "You 
 see there's nothing to be heard now there's nothing but 
 moonlight on the sea, and it's a raw, cold night. How 
 lucky we have both kept our allowance of wine. Let's go 
 and drink it : it will hearten you up." 
 
 The two sailors went off. After waiting a moment, Mat- 
 thew again put the child upon his shoulders, charged her to 
 be silent while he encouraged her once more, let go the rope, 
 and endeavoured to regain the causeway ; but he had lost his 
 course, and could only find deep water. He was obliged 
 to swim with his precious burden, but hoped that a few 
 strokes would bring him back to the reef: he was already 
 beyond it. Fresh attempts were not more successful; and 
 twenty times he renewed his search, to come always on the 
 same deep water. 
 
 Alarmed, and out of breath, he struck out at random, try- 
 ing to find ground, without being able even to distinguish 
 the Isle of Graves from the Isle of Treberon. After having 
 turned and re-turned for a long time, struggling against the 
 water, into which he plunged deeper every minute, and pass- 
 ing again and again from despair to hope, until his strength 
 and spirit were quite worn out, he felt that he was beaten at
 
 102 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 last. His breathing grew painful, and a mist fell upon his 
 eyes everything became a whirling chaos to him, and his 
 senses were failing him. Yet another instant, and Francine 
 and he must sink beneath the billows ! The pinnace, which 
 he had tried to avoid, and which he no longer distinguished, 
 was their last chance for life. He collected his remaining 
 strength to utter a shout for help ; but a still heavier sea 
 stifled it on his lips. Half dead, and no longer having more 
 feeling than the instinct of self-preservation, which outlives 
 the will, he struggled yet a moment, thrown from wave to 
 wave, and then felt himself going down ! But all at once he 
 stopped ; his feet had found the reef. They made a firm 
 footing on it he righted himself again ; and the water, 
 which was blinding him, seemed now to subside. He took 
 breath, looked before him, and perceived at about a hun- 
 dred paces off, the scarped rock of the Isle of Graves. 
 
 A few minutes sufficed to reach it. As he touched the 
 shore, he sank down, calling Francine in a faint voice. 
 
 The terrified child could only answer him by throwing her- 
 self into his arms, in which he clasped her for a long time. 
 His first thought had been for her his second took him back 
 to Genevieve, who had to wait till he came back to know that 
 they were saved. He got up, still tottering, and, taking the 
 little girl by the hand, began to climb the scarped ascent lead- 
 ing to the terrace. 
 
 He had to go round the powder-magazine in order to avoid 
 the sentry posted at the corner which overlooked the great 
 roadstead ; and when he reached the ordnance-keeper's door, 
 he knocked gently, for fear of being heard by those outside. 
 Fortunately Dorot slept the light sleep of an old soldier ; he 
 awoke at the first tap, and appeared at the window. 
 
 " Open the door," said Matthew in a whisper. 
 
 "Kopars I" cried the sergeant, confounded.
 
 THE LAZARETTO -KEEPER. 103 
 
 " Not so loud ! and come quick," replied the sailor ; " our 
 life depends upon it." 
 
 Dorot came quickly clown, drew the bolt, and brought 
 them in. Matthew stepped inside the threshold, with the 
 child clinging to his knees. 
 
 "Heaven help us! where do you come from, Eopars?" 
 asked the sergeant. 
 
 " You see," replied the seaman ; " we come from the sea, 
 which we have crossed to get here." 
 
 Dorot drew back, with an exclamation of surprise. 
 
 "Is it possible?" cried he. "In God's name, what has 
 happened, to make you risk your life in this way?" 
 
 " What has happened," replied Matthew, " is, that Jean- 
 nette died this morning of the fever !" 
 
 "What do you tell me?" 
 
 " What you asked me, Dorot ; and as Genevieve and I 
 would save the other, I have brought her to you." 
 
 "Heaven reward you for the thought I" said the sergeant; 
 " the child is welcome ! " 
 
 He held out his hand to Matthew ; but he did not take 
 it. 
 
 " Think well of what I ask of you," resumed he ; " per- 
 haps the child may bring the sickness and sorrow to you 
 here." 
 
 " I hope not," replied Dorot ; "but God's will be done I" 
 
 " Recollect, too," persisted the quarter-master, " if the 
 thing is heard of, there is a chance of your being punished for 
 having broken the quarantine." 
 
 "Then man's will be done!" replied the sergeant with 
 simplicity. 
 
 " But think again" 
 
 " I will think of nothing more, Ropars," interrupted the 
 keeper; "you have said enough, and too much no more
 
 104 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 words ; you have brought me the little one, and I take 
 her." 
 
 He stooped down to Francine, took her in his arms, and 
 carried her up to the little closet which Genevieve had formerly 
 occupied ; he himself took off the child's wet clothes, and laid 
 her in Michael's old cradle. 
 
 The father, who had followed them, remained standing at 
 the door with a look of gratitude too deep for words. Only 
 when Dorot rejoined him, he grasped one of his hands, find 
 held it silently in his own. The other, wishing to avoid a 
 burst of feeling, began to speak to him of the best way to con- 
 ceal the little girl's change of home. It was enough if no 
 one could notice her having gone from Treberon ; as for her 
 being at the Isle of Graves, that would awaken no suspicion, 
 as the artillery party who were on duty at the powder-maga- 
 zine, and who might have wondered at this increase in the 
 keeper's family, were to be relieved the very next morning. 
 
 Kopars being satisfied on this point, they agreed upon sig- 
 nals for transmitting the news of each islet to the other. By 
 repeating these several times a day, they would at least spare 
 all the pangs of uncertainty. At last, when all was settled, 
 Matthew went to the window and looked out. 
 
 The wind had freshened, the sky showed fewer stars, and a 
 thin mist began to creep over the sea. 
 
 " It is time to go," said he, turning to the sergeant ; " may 
 God repay you for what you are doing, Dorot ! for Genevieve 
 and I must remain in debt to you for ever !" 
 
 "We'll talk of that presently," replied the keeper; "the 
 important matter, and what now troubles me, is how you are 
 to get back." 
 
 " Never fear," replied Eopars ; " now the child is safe, I 
 shall cross the channel as if I were going to church. The 
 legs are firm when the heart does not tremble. I wish I were
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 105 
 
 already on the other side ; I have delayed here too long for 
 Genevieve, who is waiting for me." 
 
 " Go, then, since yon must," said the sergeant ; " but for 
 God's sake, Kopars, be cautious ; and don't forget that you 
 have two other lives to take care of as well as your own." 
 
 " I will do all that a man can do," replied the quarter-mas- 
 ter ; " rest assured, cousin, that I have no wish to die to- 
 night ! But enough talk, time goes, and I must not wait till 
 the tide is in. 
 
 He went towards Francine's cradle to wish her good-bye ; 
 but the child, tired out by all she had gone through, had just 
 fallen asleep. One of her arms was doubled under her head, 
 and lost among the dishevelled ringlets of her golden hair. 
 The other lay upon her breast, and clasped a little relic for- 
 merly given to Genevieve herself, but of which she, with 
 credulous yet motherly self-sacrifice, had now deprived herself 
 to save the child. Although her breathing was regular and 
 easy, it was broken at intervals by sobs; and her cheeks, 
 which were beginning to recover their rosy colour in her 
 sleep, still bore traces of tears. 
 
 Matthew looked at her for some moments with silent affec- 
 tion ; then he slowly stooped and lightly kissed Francine's 
 little hand, then her head, and then her cheek. The child, 
 without opening her eyes, moved restlessly ; he drew back, 
 and said, in a whisper 
 
 " Yes, yes, sleep on, God's little lamb ! I will not wake 
 you." 
 
 He seemed again to fold her to himself in a look overflow- 
 ing with love ; then he turned to Dorot, and took his hand. 
 
 "I leave her with you, cousin," said he, much moved; 
 " nobody knows what may happen, only I rely upon your 
 kind heart ; and if ever the child becomes an orphan" 
 
 " God keep her from that ! " said the sergeant ; " but if
 
 106 BBITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 such a calamity should come upon her, Matthew, be sure that 
 she will then be Michael's sister ! " 
 
 " Thank you I " hurriedly interrupted the seaman ; " that 
 is just what I wanted to hear. Now I go at ease, and pre- 
 pared for everything." 
 
 " But you will not go as you are, all shivering and tired ?" 
 said the sergeant. " You must take something to strengthen 
 you." 
 
 " No, nothing !" interrupted Eopars ; " you have given me 
 all the strength I need, by assuring me that the child shall 
 not be left without help. Providence will do the rest. Give 
 me your hand, and good-bye till we meet again, here or else- 
 where ! " 
 
 They embraced affectionately ; then Matthew went down to 
 the shore, and again plunged into the sea. Although the 
 tide was beginning to rise, the passage back was accomplished 
 without much danger. He safely reached the great rock of 
 Treberon just as the sea was covering it, and ran to the place 
 where he had left Genevieve. She was no longer there. 
 
 Surprised to find she had not waited for his return, he 
 hastened up the path, reached his door, which he found open, 
 and called her. Nobody answered. The darkness prevented 
 him from distinguishing anything. He groped his way to 
 the fireplace, and hastily lighting a lamp, looked about him 
 by aid of its flickering rays. As these fell upon the bed in the 
 recess, his eye discerned close by the white figure of the dead 
 laid in its shroud, another darker figure stretched motionless. 
 Matthew drew near in terror. It was Genevieve in a swoon.
 
 THE LAZAKETTO-KEEPEK. 107 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 THE HUSBAND'S RETURN. 
 
 THANKS to the doctor's care, Ropars' wife at last recovered 
 her senses ; but it was only to fall into convulsions, which were 
 followed by the complete prostration of all her faculties. The 
 whole day passed without her waking from this lethargy, 
 which appeared half sleep and half death. It seemed as if so 
 many shocks had shattered her existence, and the vitality 
 which still lingered in her languid frame appeared but as 
 the last movements of a machine about to stop. However, 
 towards evening, the fever appeared ; the sick woman gra- 
 dually passed from her torpor into a delirious excitement; 
 she recognised Matthew only at intervals, and, as her grief 
 returned with her senses, she again relapsed into wandering. 
 
 None of these symptoms seemed to belong to the disease 
 which was ravaging the lazaretto, and the baffled doctor 
 showed his inability to understand them. Accustomed to the 
 rough practice demanded for the robust frames of our sailors 
 when sick, he was, like the generality of his class, necessarily 
 unacquainted with the sufferings of more delicate constitutions. 
 He was, therefore, utterly perplexed by the case of this woman 
 dying of a complaint of which he in vain taxed his memory 
 for some precedent. He could not conceal his embarrass- 
 ment, and the need of more experienced advice. One to
 
 108 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 whose science these mysterious and formidable symptoms 
 were familiar, might find a clue where he perceived only con- 
 fusion ; and might point out a remedy which he dared bat 
 merely guess at. 
 
 This candid though painful confession inflicted a new tor- 
 ture upon Matthew. Enclosed within the sanitary line which 
 forbade the approach of strangers to Treberon, he was unable 
 to send for advice which might perhaps save Genevieve's life ; 
 in vain he saw at his feet boats for crossing the sea, and, in 
 the distance, the town from which help might be procured : 
 an invisible but insurmountable obstacle chained him to his 
 unhappy lot. 
 
 Two days were spent like a long death-struggle, in alterna- 
 tions of speechless dejection and wild despair. After passing 
 whole hours by the bedside of his dying wife, when he saw 
 the disease, after a momentary lull, wake up with greater vio- 
 lence, he would rush to the edge of the reefs, look at the 
 waves in the midst of which he was kept a prisoner, at the 
 armed bark which guarded the channel, at the ravines of the 
 isle dotted with new-made graves, and, pressing his clenched 
 fists against his forehead, he would curse the day on which he 
 had accepted this voluntary imprisonment ; he would angrily 
 call God to account for the blows which were falling upon 
 him ; and then, returning to his pious trust, he would clasp 
 his hands and pray to Him with tears to spare the life of 
 Genevieve. 
 
 Towards the morning of the third day, there seemed a hope 
 that his prayer had been heard. The fever abated, and the 
 patient recovered all her clearness of mind ; but this change 
 did not make her share in the happiness or in the hopes of 
 Matthew. 
 
 " Do not think that this is recovery, dear husband," said 
 she, in a voice that could scarcely be heard, and pausing
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 109 
 
 at each sentence ; " the disease is going, but life will go with 
 it. That evening you crossed the channel, when I heard the 
 child's scream from the sea, I thought it was all over with 
 both of you, and then I cannot say what happened, but it 
 seemed to me that something within me the great spring of 
 life broke ! So now I feel that all is ended !" 
 
 Eopars opposed her fears by repeating that the doctor had 
 now hopes again, and that all would be well. The sick wo- 
 man, whose eyes were closed, half opened them with difficulty, 
 and looked at him with an expression full of affection. 
 
 " We are in God's hands, Matthew," said she ; " He knows 
 whether I am not willing to remain with you. But indeed, 
 my poor husband, you must not hope too much. The wisest 
 way is to think the worst." 
 
 " The wisest way," interrupted the seaman, " is to keep 
 quiet, and to have trust. I too think according to my feel- 
 ings. This very night I had a weight like lead upon my 
 heart ; now it is light again, and I can breathe freely. In 
 God's name, let your health come back, and try and wish to 
 live, if it is only for my sake I" 
 
 Genevieve made an effort to bring her cold damp hand to 
 that of Eopars. 
 
 "You are very good, Matthew," said she, letting fall two, 
 tears, the last which could be drawn from those eyes drained 
 dry with weeping. " Ah ! my greatest grief now is that I 
 have not always thought of this, nor shown myself grateful 
 enough. Oh I how much better we should be to those we 
 love, if we remembered that we must one clay leave them ! 
 Ever since I recovered my senses, this thought has haunted 
 me ; I feel all my faults, and the remorse they bring. Oh ! 
 tell me, Matthew, I entreat you, do you forgive me now for 
 not having always been what I should have been ?" 
 
 " Do not talk so, Genevieve," interrupted the seaman, much
 
 110 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 moved ; " you know well I conld not have asked God for a 
 better wife ; since I have had you, I have wanted nothing 
 and I owe you many thanks." 
 
 " No, no," resumed the sick woman, rousing herself; 
 " many, many times have I been wanting in courage and in 
 patience ; not with you alone, but with Francine, with Jean- 
 nette Jeannette ! darling of my heart, who had so few years 
 to live ! And to think, Matthew, how often I have made her 
 cry she who is now in her grave ! Ah ! it is the tears of 
 the dead which weigh heaviest of all. And the other people 
 that I have offended and God, against whom I have sinned ! 
 Shall I not, then, seek forgiveness?" 
 
 Then, as if this thought had awakened a kind of terror in 
 her, she raised herself and added 
 
 "Ah! it is in vain. Matthew, Matthew, I woiild see a 
 priest!" 
 
 "How can we bring him here?" said the seaman sorrow- 
 fully ; " have you forgotten that the island is in quarantine ?" 
 
 "What! not able even to procure our soul's salvation?" 
 resumed Genevieve, clasping her hands. " Oh ! am I then 
 condemned to die without being reconciled to God ? What 
 am I to do ? The worst sinner may confess his faults and ask 
 absolution. my God I must I alone be left without help ?" 
 
 She stopped suddenly, and raised her two hands to her fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Ah ! now I remember," resumed she, " have you not told 
 me that in your ships, when there was no priest in the hour 
 of death, any Christian man might supply his place ? that 
 God had regard to the intention?" 
 
 " I did tell you so," replied Eopars ; " and all the sailors 
 in the country will say the same, on the word of their own 
 clergyman." 
 
 " Then," resumed the dying woman, turning her fevered
 
 THE "LAZARETTO-KEEPER. Ill 
 
 eye towards the sailor, " come and help me. Listen, I will 
 confess myself to you I " 
 
 She raised herself on her elbow, and made the sign of the 
 cross. Matthew seemed startled, but could not make any 
 objection. He belonged, as we have said, to that race now 
 almost extinct even in Brittany, among whom the strong and 
 simple faith of another age still survives. Many times in a 
 shipwreck have such as he been seen, after exhausting every 
 means of saving themselves, kneeling down to wait for death, 
 and confessing themselves to one another, like the old knights 
 before battle. He was^ therefore, more disturbed than sur- 
 prised at Genevieve's request ; and when he heard her mur- 
 mur the prayer which precedes the confession of sins, he too 
 uncovered his head and crossed himself, in order to fulfil the 
 holy office necessity had intrusted to him. 
 
 It was a mournful and touching scene. The first glim- 
 mering rays of morning threw an uncertain light upon the 
 bed ; Genevieve's dishevelled head was bent towards the gray 
 head of Matthew ; the low whisper of that last holy confi- 
 dence was heard proceeding often interrupted by the ex- 
 haustion of the dying woman, or by the sailor's entreaties 
 that she would shorten it and as often resumed, with the 
 strong persistence of those who, with severely self-judging 
 consciences, think they can never accuse themselves enough. 
 
 At last, when she had finished, Eopars took down the ivory 
 crucifix from the head of the bed, put it to the lips of Gene- 
 vieve, and laying his hand upon her forehead he said with 
 mournful earnestness 
 
 " May God pardon you, as I do as well as I am able ; and 
 if it is not His will that you should live for my happiness, may 
 He find a place for you with Him in paradise." 
 
 An expression of unspeakable calm came over the face of 
 the dying woman.
 
 112 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " Thank you," murmured she, " your absolution will prevail 
 before the Holy Trinity, Matthew : now, I am in peace." 
 
 A sunbeam which was shining through the window curtains, 
 reached her bed ; she turned towards it. 
 
 " The day is come," continued she ; "I never hoped to see 
 it again. God has given me a respite. He has consented to 
 grant me the last happiness which I wished for on earth. You 
 will not refuse it me either, my Matthew." 
 
 " Speak, Genevieve," said the seaman ; " I will do all that 
 a man can do." 
 
 She took his hand and looked at him. 
 
 " Did you not tell me that our cousin could see, and under- 
 stand your signals ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did." 
 
 " Then, as you love me, Matthew, I beg you to give him 
 notice directly, to bring Francine out upon his battery ; when 
 she is there, you must take me in your arms, and carry me as 
 far as the great rock, and, if God permits, I shall reach it 
 with life enough to see my child, and take her to my heart 
 once more." 
 
 " It shall be as you wish, Genevieve," said the seaman, 
 who, overcome by the dying woman's forebodings, had given 
 up hope, and had no longer the power to refuse her anything. 
 
 " Quick, then, very quick ! " stammered she, " for I feel 
 that God is calling me." 
 
 The quarter-master rushed out, as if he feared he should 
 not be in time ; he came back almost immediately, and said 
 that Francine was on the battery of the powder-magazine with 
 Dorot. The dying woman uttered a feeble cry of joy, and 
 stretched out her hands to her husband. He wrapped her in 
 his winter cloak, and carried her gently in his arms up to 
 the battery-parapet. 
 
 " Where is she ? " asked the sick woman, whose eyes were
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 113 
 
 dazzled by the day-light, as she tried in vain to see ; " I 
 distinguish nothing, Matthew where is the child ? Show me 
 my child ! " 
 
 " Look down there," replied the seaman ; " do you see the 
 great rock ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And can you follow the ripple of the sea along the bar ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " 
 
 "And down there still further, over the reefs, do you 
 distinguish the battery walls ? " 
 
 " Down there ? No ! it is all a mist I see nothing 1 Oh, 
 if it were too late ! if I had her under my eyes, and yet could 
 not see her more I my God, my God ! only once, once 
 more, let me see my child ! " 
 
 These words, or rather exclamations of maternal love, were 
 so woful, that Eopars could not conceal his tears. He placed 
 the dying woman upon the parapet, and knelt by her to 
 support her. 
 
 " Courage, Genevieve," stammered he ; " look well on this 
 side between the sky and the sea." 
 
 " I am looking," said the dying woman, who seemed to 
 gather all her remaining life together into this effort. " Lift 
 up my head, Matthew. Shade the sun from me " 
 
 She interrupted herself by a stifled exclamation. 
 
 " Ah, there she is ! there she is I She sees me ! she holds 
 out her arms ! Francine I my child ! " 
 
 She bent forward with such a sudden impulse, that but for 
 Ropars she would have fallen over the rocks which went 
 down to the sea. A passing ray of life lit up her features ; 
 she sent her kisses to her child, speaking to her as if she could 
 hear her ; she raised her clasped hands to heaven, with rapid 
 and broken prayers ; she smiled and wept at once. At last, 
 the strength for such utterance of her feelings failed her, and
 
 114 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 her head fell back upon the quarter-master's shoulder, who, 
 frightened, took her again in his arms to carry her back to 
 the house ; but she made a sign to him, that she wished to 
 stay in the open air. He placed her on the bench where the 
 family were wont to meet every evening, in front of the sea, 
 now lighted by the rising sun. 
 
 After a long fainting fit, she again opened her eyes and 
 asked for her daughter. Matthew looked towards the powder- 
 magazine, and told her Dorot had taken her away. She bowed 
 her head sadly, but in resignation. 
 
 " He has done right," said she in a weaker tone ; " I feel, 
 besides, that my sight is confused I can no longer distinguish, 
 and I have still something more to say to you. Come near, 
 Matthew nearer, my voice is going ; give me your hand, I 
 must be sure you hear me." 
 
 Eopars knelt down on the sand, with one of his hands in 
 those of the dying woman, and with the other passed round 
 her to support her. 
 
 " You will be left alone," continued she ; " you might 
 perhaps bear this elsewhere ; but here, in the middle of the 
 sea, it is not a life for a man, nor a Christian. You are used 
 to have some one to keep you company, to love you. When 
 I am no more, another must fill my place." 
 
 " Never ! " interrupted Eopars. 
 
 She motioned him with her hand to be silent. 
 
 " Hush," said she gently ; " it is right you should think so 
 as long as I am with you, but, when they have laid me in 
 my coffin, you will feel your need. Do not think I reproach 
 you for it, my poor husband I would not carry away your 
 happiness with me in my winding-sheet. No, no ! wherever 
 I am, I shall always wish to be sure that you are in want 
 of nothing."
 
 THE LAZARETTO-KEEPER. 115 
 
 " Enough, Genevieve ! " murmured the seaman, his voice 
 broken by emotion. 
 
 " Let me finish," resumed she ; " I have still something to 
 ask you. When you take the crape from your arm, Matthew, 
 promise me to think of the darling creature who is child to 
 us both, and who will remain with you, as a remembrance of 
 me. Look for a wife who will supply my place to her." 
 
 " What are you asking me, and whom could I give her for 
 a mother after you ? " cried Kopars. 
 
 " Some one who will not grudge my having been chosen 
 first," replied Genevieve ; " an honest heart willing to take 
 kindly to an orphan, to talk to her of me, to teach her to love 
 God, and to obey you. If you promise me she shall be this, 
 Matthew if you promise it on your honour, and on your 
 hope of salvation, I shall sleep in peace, and blessing you." 
 
 Kopars promised through his sobs ; and this was the last 
 effort of the dying woman. After thanking him by a pressure 
 of his hand, she sank back into the seaman's arms. It seemed 
 as if by strength of will, she had stayed the approach of death 
 till she had thus opened her heart for the last time ; hardly 
 had she done, when the death-struggle began. She was 
 carried back to her bed, where she died towards the close of 
 day. Her last words were a prayer, in which the names of 
 her husband and child were heard. 
 
 The next day, the grave where the remains of Jeannette 
 already rested was opened again to receive her ; for during 
 the last month death had cut down so many, that the rocky 
 isle lacked space for his dismal harvest. The ordnance-keeper, 
 who had been apprised of what had happened by the signals 
 agreed upon, brought Francine to the edge of his rock, and 
 the child on her knees prayed for her mother, while the biirial 
 service was proceeding on the other side of the water.
 
 116 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 This was the last death. Like those expiatory victims, 
 who, by sacrificing themselves, appeased the wrath of the gods, 
 Genevieve, when descending into the tomb, seemed to close it 
 behind her. A fortnight afterwards, the yellow flag no longer 
 floated from the lazaretto flagstaff; and the recovered quar- 
 antiners departed in the frigate's barge, leaving on the de- 
 serted isle only a man with whitened hair, and a child dressed 
 in mourning.
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 
 
 LE SILLON the ridge is the name given to that long- 
 extended narrow elevation which separates the portion of land 
 between the mouths of the Loire and Vilaine from the re- 
 mainder of Brittany. The road from Nantes to Vannes runs 
 along the summit of this natural rampart. To the right lies 
 the French Brittany, which always gives me the idea of a 
 well-worn coin, so uniform is the character of its landscape 
 scenery, totally devoid as it is of one prominent feature. On 
 the other side, stretches out a different view, which, for pecu- 
 liarity of outline and well-defined lineament or, to carry out 
 our former simile, having better maintained the freshness of 
 its impress is the most striking country to be seen at the 
 present day. Nor is the contrast here confined to inanimate 
 nature the inhabitants being as diverse as the land of their 
 birth. To the right, we meet a small short race, with dark 
 Lair and colourless faces, whose expression chiefly betokens 
 listless apathy ; while to the left, we behold tall, graceful 
 forms, blooming complexions, animated countenances. On 
 the right a Celtic, on. the left a German race. 
 
 So far back as the fifteenth century a party of Saxon navi-
 
 118 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 gators settled on these shores. They have increased much in 
 number since then ; but have not mingled with the natives of 
 the surrounding country, so that their descendants at the pre- 
 sent time form almost exclusively the community which in- 
 habits the territory known by the name of La Bruyere. These 
 people seem to have inherited the roving disposition of their 
 ancestors. After having gathered in their summer harvest, 
 they enter their futreaux large boats of a peculiar shape 
 which they freight with turf, and convey to Nantes, Eochelle. 
 Bordeaux, &c. Or they lade their mules with salt, and carry 
 ing it to the western provinces, receive in exchange sugar, 
 coffee, and other articles which minister to the necessaries or 
 the luxuries of life, and which are either disposed of during 
 the journey back, or else deposited in their homes. 
 
 To one of these caravans I joined myself, in order to ac- 
 complish a long-cherished plan of becoming acquainted with 
 this part of the coast of Brittany. I proceeded along the 
 Sillon seated upon one of twelve mules which were under the 
 guidance of Pierre Louis, commonly called " the grenadier ;" 
 a well-known salt-dealer, who was now on his homeward jour- 
 ney from Kochelle to the small seaport of Saille. Pierre 
 Louis was a tall, commanding-looking fellow, with a frank 
 expression, an independent bearing, and a cheerful heart who 
 always let his eyes rest upon the sunbeams which fell across 
 his path, thankfully received and enjoyed each day as many 
 blessings as the day might bring, patiently bore the mis- 
 fortunes that he could not avoid, and rested peacefully at 
 night, without any anxiety for the wants of the morrow. 
 
 Of the twelve mules which formed the cavalcade, only two 
 belonged to himself; the remaining number, as well as the 
 loads of salt with which he had set out six weeks before, 
 were the property of neighbours, with whom he had to make 
 up accounts. His journey this time was unfortunate chiefly
 
 THE KOUR1GAN. 119 
 
 to himself. One of his beasts died the other fell lame, so 
 that he was obliged to sell it, to use his own expression, " for 
 less than the worth of its hide and its hoofs." 
 
 He was returning home, if not a ruined man, at least not 
 far from it ; but he did not allow himself to become a prey to 
 despondency. Cheerfully he walked along by the side of the 
 cavalcade, dressed in his waggoner's smock always fresh and 
 clean white linen leggins, which came above the knee, a 
 broad-brimmed hat, placed sideways on his head, his whip 
 fastened across his back while his fingers were busily em* 
 ployed in paring willow-twigs, and converting them into all 
 sorts of ingenious devices, which were presented to the chil- 
 dren whom he met upon the road. 
 
 But whatever else Pierre Louis was about, he was generally 
 heard whistling, whether he walked or stood still in fact, at 
 all times and at every employment, except when taking his 
 food, or when engaged in prayer. With true musical talent, 
 he would whistle the most difficult tunes, national melodies, 
 bacchanalian and political songs, sacred music, opera airs 
 every style, in short. But what I liked best to hear were his 
 voluntaries, in which, for hours together, he delighted to 
 give full play to his genius, without ever growing weary. 
 
 When he did happen to be silent, it seemed to me as if all 
 sounds were hushed, as though even the mule-bells had ceased 
 their tinkling something was wanting ; I felt uncomfortable 
 and dissatisfied. But this only happened when anything 
 peculiarly painful weighed upon his mind, which was of rare 
 occurrence. And even at such times, his melodious notes 
 would only cease for fifteen minutes or so, when one or other 
 of the animals, unable to proceed from weariness, probably re- 
 called to his mind his recent losses. 
 
 During such pauses, I was wont to converse with his wife, 
 who, as is the custom of these people, accompanied her hus-
 
 120 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 band on his journey. This was the first that they had under- 
 taken together, not having been very long married. She had 
 weaned her infant shortly before setting out, and was obliged 
 to leave it behind ; and now her whole thoughts seemed to 
 centre in her home, in the direction of which she gazed so 
 eagerly, that one would have imagined that her dark and 
 penetrating eyes expected every moment to discover the figure 
 of her child in the farthest point of the horizon before us. 
 Jeanne was a very beautiful creature it would be hard in- 
 deed to find a handsomer pair than she and Pierre Louis. 
 And yet her whole deportment betokened something more in- 
 tellectual, more retiring, more noble than his ; and the look of 
 intense anxiety to be with her child heightened the interest of 
 her appearance, by throwing over the usually beaming expres- 
 sion which lighted up her regular features a shade of dignified 
 sadness, almost of pain. 
 
 One day, Pierre Louis having indulged for a while in a 
 gloomy fit of silence, seemed suddenly to be aroused from it 
 by something terrifying ; then, taking a few rapid strides in 
 advance of us, he glanced fearfully round him, and began to 
 whistle. On our reaching him, he drew my attention to two 
 windmills, the sails of which were going briskly round, while 
 several mills in the neighbourhood seemed, like ourselves, to 
 be forsaken by every breath of wind. I endeavoured, in vari- 
 ous ways, both by the formation of the ground and their own 
 position, to explain this monopoly of the wind, but it so hap- 
 pened that I could discover no cause by which to account for 
 it. Consequently I had little to urge in reply when " the 
 grenadier" briefly explained the matter as being an unearthly 
 power conferred by the Virgin, which could only be interrupt- 
 ed by the influence of the " black Kourigan."* 
 
 * The Kourigan of Brittany is evidently the same demoniacal being who is called iu 
 Ireland " Cluricane," an account of whom is given in Grimm's Irith Fairy Talet, and 
 alio in Sketches of Ireland, published at Berlin in 1851.
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 121 
 
 From the further information that he gave me respecting 
 this mysterious being to whom he also applied the epithet of 
 the " black dwarf," and whom Jeanne denominated " the elder 
 brother of death" I learned that his chief pleasure consists 
 in acquainting mortals, by his appearance, of some impending 
 calamity, without at the same time showing them any means 
 of averting it. Jeanne related to me, in an under tone, how 
 she had seen the Kourigan when they were setting out on 
 their journey ; and how, after sneaking at the other side of the 
 hedge, quite close to them, for a long time, he had sprung across 
 the road and disappeared, with a strange cry, which sounded 
 first like a scornful laugh, but died away in a piteous wail. 
 " It is no wonder, then," she added, " that our journey has been 
 so unfortunate ; but Pierre Louis" she suddenly cut short 
 her sentence, and trembled, as he turned round quickly and 
 cast a melancholy glance at her. However, he soon began to 
 whistle, and then Jeanne looked again cheerfully into the far 
 distance. 
 
 We turned off the Sillon opposite Savenai, entering la 
 grande BruyZre the great moor where Pierre had some 
 business to transact with a relation of his wife, who not only 
 filled the office of godfather to her, but had taken entire charge 
 of her from the death of her parents, which occurred when 
 she was very young. 
 
 The country through which we passed soon assumed the 
 appearance of parched sand ; but there rose here and there, 
 from out of the bleak desert plain, little hillocks clothed with 
 the richest verdure, that looked like baskets of flowers, or like 
 emerald isles, though without the surrounding water. They 
 were for the most part connected with each other by an irregu- 
 lar natural causeway. Shaded by lofty elm-trees, and partly 
 hidden by shrubs and weeds, peeped out little cottages, their 
 roofs so covered with moss and grass, house- leek, and other
 
 122 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 herbs, both variegated and of a brilliant green, that one could 
 scarcely conceive them to be the workmanship and the dwell- 
 ing of man. Flocks of sheep, with long purplish wool, pas- 
 tured on the border of these oases ; and our approach startled 
 a number of plovers or lapwings which flew rapidly round 
 their island, uttering a strange wild cry, as though sounding 
 an alarm to the inhabitants. The path led us along the verge 
 of the largest of these oases scarcely had we passed it, when 
 the great moor, properly so called, spread out before our view. 
 There it lay, a vast iindulating plain, completely bare, its red 
 soil interspersed here and there with tufts of sickly stunted reeds, 
 and emitting an offensive exhalation, which rested midway in 
 the air, like red waves which had been expelled from the 
 bosom of the earth to add to the uniform colour of the scene 
 above ; not a breath of air was to be felt on the heights, nor 
 a shadow to be seen in the valleys. The ground, which was 
 like red ashes, admitted of no firm footing ; and occasionally 
 a pond of dark stagnant water was to be seen, without even a 
 blade of grass iipon its margin. 
 
 From time to time, we passed people cutting turf; their 
 long hair falling over their shoulders, and their forms smeared 
 and darkened with the dull red dust and smoke, proclaimed 
 them to be the true natives of this dismal country. Our 
 party afforded a lively contrast to the scene around ; the 
 heads of the mules being decked with various colours, and 
 armed with green boughs to protect them from flies : on the 
 finest of these animals was seated the lovely Jeanne ; while 
 walking and whistling vigorously behind her was to be seen 
 the handsome form of " the grenadier," having an accompani- 
 ment to his music in the merry tinkling of the mule-bells. I 
 drew Jeanne's attention to what had struck me so forcibly, ask- 
 ing if our little cavalcade did not resemble a bright gladdening 
 sunbeam on a gloomy day. She looked at me thoughtfully,
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 123 
 
 almost dreamily, for a moment, and shook her beautiful head. 
 Presently she replied 
 
 " To be sure, the vast moor cannot have the charms for you 
 that it has for those who once lived happily in it. But there 
 are many women who possess true worth and excellence, 
 though quite devoid of beauty ; and this bleak moor main- 
 tains eight Christian congregations." 
 
 I inquired how long she had lived here. 
 
 " Fourteen years," she replied ; " and I may truly say that 
 they were none of the saddest years of my life. My little 
 hood and red serge frock covered a form untouched by the 
 finger of sorrow. Ah, yes ! people may say as they like, 
 but youth is surely the fairest of all God's gifts !" 
 
 The look and tone which accompanied these words induced 
 me to inquire if she would fain recall her former condition of 
 life. 
 
 " I would recall nothing, sir ; but never can I forget the 
 past," she replied, in an agitated voice, at the same time giv- 
 ing me a speaking, hasty look. Then she added, in her usual 
 blithe tone 
 
 " If you could but know how happy I used to be when 
 driving through the moor with poor Gratien, to lift the first 
 cut of turf." 
 
 " Gratien was your guardian's son, I suppose ?" 
 
 " He was a poor deserted child, whom my guardian, or 
 rather his sister, had, in compassion, rescued from the hospital 
 in Savenai. We grew up together like brother and sister. 
 Though as ugly a boy as could well be found, yet a more amiable 
 kind-hearted creature never lived upon the earth. Alas ! his 
 mind has of late become deranged, and he remains from 
 home for weeks at a time, wandering about no one knows 
 where. Many people think enough, I have not seen him 
 since my marriage."
 
 124 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 She remained silent and thoughtful for a moment, then 
 went on, in her simple, intelligent manner, to draw a lively 
 picture of her former life and occupations ; at the same time, 
 though quite unconsciously, allowing me to have a glimpse 
 into the state of her feelings at that period. Her guardian, 
 she told me, was in the habit of cutting a very large quantity 
 of turf annually, and conveying it in his own boat across the 
 canal of Means to the Loire. A long farewell was bid to 
 home, as, freighted wth her dusky cargo, the heavy-laden 
 boat, with her single sail hoisted, pushed off from the shore, 
 to which she was not to return for several months. Michael 
 the guardian, Jeanne, and Gratien, composed the entire crew ; 
 and as this aquatic turf-stack struggled against the current of 
 the Loire, the voyage was always fraught with toil, ofttimes 
 with danger. 
 
 The turf was sold, as they glided on, wherever purchasers 
 were to be found, or else bartered for other goods and neces- 
 sary provisions. At night the boat was anchored near the 
 shore ; but the small cabin in the stern, or the deck when 
 weather permitted, was Jeanne's home during the entire 
 voyage. She left the boat only when the press of work re- 
 quired her attendance in some of the larger towns. 
 
 During the depth of winter, they were sometimes ice-bound 
 for several weeks together ; after which, when the melted 
 ice rendered the inundations so great as to prevent their dis- 
 cerning where the navigable water terminated, they had often 
 an anxious, dreary time, and many moments of solemn thought. 
 But when the bright smile of spring once more gladdened the 
 earth, when the beams of the sun grew daily warmer and 
 more invigorating, and soft silvery clouds passed gently over 
 the blue sky ; when the warbling of birds could be heard 
 distinctly from amidst the shrubs on shore, and the spring 
 flowers on the river-bank again opened their bright eyes, then
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 125 
 
 all past distress was quickly forgotten. Michael would hoist 
 the sail, and Gratien cast his net, while Jeanne occupied 
 herself pleasantly, as she sat on deck, in musing, singing, and 
 spinning. 
 
 What Jeanne related was indeed devoid of incident, and 
 therefore, some might deem, of interest. But, to my mind, it 
 yielded a very vivid description of the quiet, cheerful nature 
 of this family, unclouded by vain or evil propensities, as they 
 occupied themselves busily in a simple, honest, useful, and 
 active calling. Four years of Jeanne's happy girlhood had 
 thus glided by, when, as they were embarking at Means, she 
 first met her present husband, who, contrary to the custom of 
 the people iti Saille, and for the sake of her beautiful eyes, as 
 he said, determined to marry one beyond the circle of his 
 own community. Jeanne laughed and sighed alternately as 
 she brought her little history to a conclusion. This excite- 
 ment of manner might, however, betoken nothing more than 
 I could previously have guessed, and now inferred, from a 
 single expression which escaped her lips, that his giddy, 
 thoughtless, and rather proud nature often caused her a pang 
 of sorrow, especially as he had already run through the 
 greatest part of his own fortune and of her dowry. 
 
 Our conversation was suddenly cut short by the appearing 
 of Michael Maron himself. Jeanne spied him at a great dis- 
 tance, as he was busily engaged, with his sister, in cutting 
 turf ; and, shouting with joy, she urged her mule towards them 
 at a quick trot. The entire cavalcade followed ; and Pierre 
 Louis and I, who were on foot, had to mend our pace con- 
 siderably, that we might arrive in time to see the welcome. 
 The meeting on Jeanne's part exhibited an almost impetuous 
 though pathetic tenderness, while the manner of the old 
 moor-peasant and his sister or Bruyerons, as the people term 
 themselves was marked by the most frigid calmness, such
 
 126 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 as was, in former ages, natural to the natives of their original 
 mother- country, and especially amongst the aristocracy. This 
 manner arose partly from a sort of characteristic dnlness, and 
 partly from a certain refinement of feeling, and of dignity, 
 which shrank from allowing their deeper and more tender 
 emotions to be externally manifested. As a stranger, I was 
 greeted with more courtesy, and invited to partake of the 
 hospitality which their house afforded. 
 
 We soon set forth again upon our way, as night was quickly 
 closing in, and we had still a good half-hour's ride before us. 
 The two women struck into a beaten path, whilst we pro- 
 ceeded with the remainder of the mules along the more cir- 
 cuitous highroad. I soon found myself far behind my com- 
 panions ; but had not remained so long when the thought 
 struck me, that the beaten track must surely afford some more 
 interesting object than the monotonous view which lay before 
 me ; and, besides, I preferred conversing with Jeanne and 
 her friend, to staying with the men, whose talk was almost 
 unintelligible to me, and who, so far as I could understand, 
 had in their peculiar patois entered into a tedious conver- 
 sation on business. So I determined to ride quietly across to 
 the narrow path, where, through the fading twilight, I could 
 still distinguish the two figures, whom I hoped soon to 
 overtake. But lo ! before I was at all aware, I was suddenly 
 immersed in one of the morasses of this treacherous soil. I 
 had lost sight of every object around ; and, owing to the in- 
 creasing darkness, I was quite unable to extricate myself from 
 ray uncomfortable position. All attempts to make my voice 
 heard were unavailing ; it seemed as if the atmosphere were 
 too heavy to transmit any sound, and I felt that the shouts 
 which I uttered caused a painful straining of the muscles of 
 my chest, and throat. The only effort I could make, which 
 appeared practicable with my already wearied beast, was to
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 127 
 
 follow a narrow rut or hollow, between two of the long- 
 extended mountainous undulations, which I supposed would 
 finally conduct us to some human habitation. 
 
 The air, meanwhile, had become more and more sultry and 
 oppressive ; and I observed a constantly-increasing smoke, 
 which at last rendered it painful to me to open my eyes. But 
 what distressed me more was, that the mule showed each 
 moment less inclination to proceed. Suddenly he sprang, 
 first to one side, then to the other, from which he as suddenly 
 rebounded, as if he had seen some object of danger, or some 
 source of pain invisible to me. Then he would remain for 
 a moment quite rigid, trembling and snorting, and at last 
 gallop frantically round and round in a narrow circle, neigh- 
 ing and whining all the while ; again he would rear, kick, 
 or spring up all fours in the air, without any regard to spur 
 or rein. It was only when darkness had completely set 
 in, that I discovered the cause of this frenzy, and observed 
 that the poor animal's feet sank at every step through the 
 thin layer, which I had mistaken for gray sand, but which 
 was in reality ashes, and plunged into a stratum of glowing 
 turf, which emitted the dense smoke that now threatened to 
 suffocate me, and out of which, in his anguish and alarm, 
 the hoofs of the animal scattered burning sparks around. 
 
 My situation had become extremely critical, when the wel- 
 come voices of my two guides reached my ears from the road, 
 which passed quite close to where I was ; they had heard me 
 encouraging the poor beast, and they soon appeared at the sum- 
 mit of the rising ground. Calling aloud, they directed me 
 to a stagnant pool which lay about twenty paces before me. 
 With the help of his master's stimulating cry, I succeeded in 
 bringing the mule to the margin of the pool, where he made 
 a firm stand ; nor could my utmost endeavours induce him to 
 proceed a step farther, or conquer his dread of coming into
 
 128 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 contact with the dark and loathsome water. At length, with 
 the assistance of his companion's long pole, Pierre Louis made 
 a spring, swung himself from the height where he stood, over 
 the burning soil, and lighted, with the dexterity of an eques- 
 trian performer, on the back of the animal, behind me ; then 
 taking a firm hold of me, he seized the reins, and both with 
 spur and voice urged the poor animal to take one good leap 
 into the middle of the pool ; and after slowly fording it, as 
 though his scorched hoofs enjoyed the coolness of the water, 
 he at length reached the opposite bank. 
 
 On dismounting, I heartily thanked the grenadier for hav- 
 ing rescued me from such imminent clanger, when he rather 
 drily observed : " He who is not acquainted with the paths 
 and burning soil of the Bruyere, should carefully keep by those 
 who are familiar with it, or perhaps trust to the instinct of 
 his horse, which, in such cases, is often better able to find the 
 way than its rider, though he should happen to be a scholar. 
 Poor Belotte!" he added, as he stroked the reeking side of 
 the trembling animal, " you will be lame to the end of your 
 days ; and were I not already a ruined man, your price would 
 also have to come out of my pocket." 
 
 I set his mind at rest on the latter score ; and as he soon 
 resumed his usual light-hearted manner, we pursued our way, 
 though now on foot, with as much good humour and friend- 
 liness as before. Our conversation naturally dwelt on the sub- 
 ject of the moor-fires, and other peculiarities of this part of the 
 country. I was struck by the appearance of small streaks of 
 light darting up, here and there, all over the neighbourhood ; 
 but old Maron told me that he had once seen a conflagration 
 of this kind so extensive as to threaten to overspread the 
 entire moor, and which was only extinguished by the most 
 strenuous exertions of the moor-sprites, after having lasted for 
 several days, during which time the alarum-bell rang inces-
 
 THE KOUIUGAN. 129 
 
 santly, and signals of distress were constantly given ; but 
 that since then the fires had been limited to certain portions 
 of the soil. 
 
 As we walked along, Pierre Louis chanced to plant his leap- 
 ing-pole too deeply in the ground, and had extreme difficulty 
 in drawing it out again. He declared that had he allowed 
 it to remain there, it would have disappeared entirely before 
 morning, the moor having an all-absorbing faculty. The 
 peasant remarked' that the ground is constantly rising and 
 that to what depth soever they cut the turf, the surface still 
 remains at its former height. On my inquiring the cause of 
 this strange phenomenon, he said : " Is it possible that this 
 is still unknown to you, sir ? Originally the moor was com- 
 posed, so to speak, of two stories one on the level ground, 
 and one beneath it. At that time it was the joint property 
 of the sons of Japhet and of the Kourigans ; and the two 
 parties took it by turns to live in the cellar or on the ground- 
 floor. But it so happened, that the sons of Japhet took 
 advantage of their position, once upon a time, when dwelling 
 above, and built up the cellar, in order that their neighbours 
 might not again change places with them so the Kourigans 
 have remained below ever since ; and when they try to force 
 a passage into the upper territory, the moor rises along with 
 them. It is they who draw everything down that is stuck 
 into the moor ; and the fires also are their work. There 
 remains but one of these beings above ground, who hap- 
 pened to be out at the time, and returned too late to gain 
 admission to his companions. We call him the little collier ; 
 and he has wandered about amongst men ever since, announc- 
 ing and procuring to them all kinds of misfortune." 
 
 We arrived very late and weary at Maron's residence, and 
 soon retired to rest. The next morning we set out again 
 before dawn, and drove through the moor without any further
 
 130 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 adventure. Pierre Louis was as light-hearted, and whistled 
 as merrily as ever ; Jeanne, on the contrary, looked very sad 
 and desponding. On my taking her husband aside to inquire 
 the cause of her low spirits, he replied : " Poor Jeanne saw 
 the little collier last evening the black Kourigan that we 
 were telling you about and since then, his dark shadow 
 seems to have rested upon her heart. One should not mind 
 these things, but should try to overcome such weak terrors ; 
 and yet I would give a great deal that she had not seen 
 him." 
 
 We soon left the great moor behind, our course leading 
 through scenery completely different, and still not less remark- 
 able. At first we passed innumerable meadows, that were 
 bounded on the left by stately poplars and alder-trees, through 
 the foliage of which glittered white sails and streaming pen- 
 dants, which bespoke our vicinity to the Loire. We next 
 passed waving corn fields on the plains of St. Nazaire. Then 
 the sandy wastes of Escoublac. Here the fine snow-white 
 sand formed an endless number of hills and valleys, and was 
 often piled into the most fantastic shapes, or whirled up into 
 lofty columns by the ever-shifting storm. On the lower 
 ground there occasionally appeared lakes of brackish water, 
 in which the blue sky and the fleeting clouds were clearly 
 mirrored ; while, on closer observation, the fossil shells of a 
 limestone deposit were to be seen upon their banks. The only 
 vegetation here was a species of large thistle, and solitary 
 clumps of pale-green rushes. There was no cultivation, nor 
 a single human habitation. No sound of life was to be heard 
 except the cry of a kind of small sea-gull, which mounted up 
 in swarms, now in one place, now in another, as if driven to 
 and fro by the tempest each time that they tried to settle 
 down. It was long before we got a glimpse of the sea, but 
 we heard the sound of its rolling waves, as they broke upon
 
 THE KOUKIGAN. 131 
 
 the shore, sometimes distinctly, then again in distant mur- 
 murs, according as our road iieared or receded from the yet 
 unseen coast. Upon the highest of these hills arose a solitary 
 tree, the only one this desert shore produces. It marks the 
 spot where the church and churchyard of the ancient town of 
 Escoublac once stood. The bones of those who have been laid 
 here to rest, as was no doubt supposed are now strewn over 
 the entire declivity of the hill, from which they are con- 
 stantly drifted about by the restless fury of the tempest. 
 Pierre Louis pointed out to me the spot where he remembers 
 to have seen, in his childhood, the top of the steeple peeping 
 from above the sand. 
 
 In a little valley surrounded by several of these drifted 
 hills, and so sheltered that some miserable plants were ac- 
 tually trying to exist there, we proposed to rest for a while. 
 Jeanne was a short way before us ; she seemed to be anxiously 
 awaiting our approach as she sat musing on a stone, which 
 appeared to have been placed there for the convenience of 
 travellers by some unknown benefactor, and had evidently 
 been carried from a great distance, as it was the only one to 
 be seen far and wide. This stone, of which one side was 
 rough-hewn, may probably be the only fragment now visible, 
 of the town which lies buried in the sand. When we had 
 arrived at this resting-place, and were dismounting, I made 
 an attempt to cheer up Jeanne by some passing joke ; but she 
 suddenly interrupted me, as she sprang up, and, pointing to a 
 spot near her, cried out, in a terrified voice " Look there 
 look, the Kourigan !" We eagerly turned to that part of the 
 ground on which her gaze was riveted, and observed that the 
 fine sand had been carefully smoothed, and pressed firmly down, 
 while on this flat surface were traced letters, and somewhat 
 magic-looking characters. " Heaven protect us !" exclaimed 
 Pierre Louis; " it is your name, Jeanne !" " So it is, to be
 
 132 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Bure 1" I observed, on seeing that Jeanne trembled from head 
 to foot, and leaned on her husband, as she buried her face on 
 his shoulder ; " but what is there so terrifying in that, and 
 what has it to do with your tiresome Kourigan ? It merely 
 proves that more people than we have discovered that Jeanne 
 is not only the best, but also the handsomest woman to be 
 seen between Vannes and Nantes that is, if our Jeanne is 
 the fair one designated, and not any other of the ten thousand 
 Jeannes whom this country may contain." 
 
 Pierre Louis was evidently much disquieted, but he tried 
 by some rather unseasonable jests, to calm his own and his 
 wife's terrors, or to delude her with respect to the strange 
 subject of their fear. While, without further delay, we set 
 off on our journey, Jeanne listened to his remarks with a 
 silent shake of the head, but her look told of deep and bitter 
 anguish. When we had gone a little farther, I perceived 
 more marks in the sand, at some distance. These were foot- 
 prints which could not have been made by any known animal, 
 and near them was a circle formed by some curious and 
 small implement, such as a claw or a tiny finger. This new 
 discovery seemed to remove from Pierre Louis' mind every 
 remaining doubt of these strange hieroglyphics having been 
 traced by supernatural agency, and, casting a melancholy 
 look at Jeanne, he urged on his mule to its utmost speed. 
 The poor woman was already so overcome by terror and sad 
 foreboding, that this fresh confirmation of her fears merely 
 wrung from her a heart-rending sigh, accompanied by the 
 words "I knew it too well!" The distracted manner of 
 my fellow-travellers plainly evincing that any attempt at a 
 rational investigation, or playful treatment of the subject, 
 would be out of place, I also rode on in silence. 
 
 The proneness to superstition in the minds of this race, 
 which even exceeds that manifested by the other inhabi-
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 133 
 
 tants of Brittany, was not unknown to me. I had already 
 heard of the " treacherous monk," who sits upon a stone at 
 the roadside, near his heap of gold, and nightly invites the 
 passer-by to play with him a game involving not only the 
 loss of the mule and its load, but also of the life and soul of 
 its owner. I had heard of the "phantom mule," which 
 quietly allows the way-worn midnight traveller to mount 
 him, and then disappears with him for ever ; of the " fog- 
 bell " that is heard on stormy nights, and whose tinkle the ' 
 wanderer mistakes for that of an approaching mule, till it 
 lures him on to the raging sea, or to some other equally in- 
 evitable destruction. 
 
 I had been musing on these strange popular superstitions, 
 which are, for the most part, the remains of ancient heathen 
 fables, still subsisting in this nominally Christian, and, some 
 say, highly civilized and enlightened age ! and I was so 
 absorbed in my reverie, as not to observe that we had quite 
 left the sandy country, and were now passing by rich corn 
 fields, and approaching villages and country-seats that peeped 
 from behind their well-stocked orchards. The song of the 
 reapers, heard on all sides, and becoming louder and more 
 distinct as we proceeded, at length recalled my wandering 
 thoughts. They sang, in rather a monotonous tune, an ad- 
 dress, chiefly extempore, to their oxen, which were drawing 
 home the heavy-laden corn waggons, apparently much enjoy- 
 ing this stimulus to their labours.* Where there was a pause 
 
 * Any attempt at a translation of such songs, must fa.il to convey an adequate idea of 
 their simple beauty ; so that we believe we shall afford more pleasure to our readers, by 
 giving a specimen of them in their original purity : 
 
 " 116 mon rougeaud ! 
 
 Mon noireaud! 
 A lion a ferine a 1'housteau, 
 Vous aurez du rnouveau. 
 
 L' bon Diau aime lei Chrfitienal 
 
 L' b!6 a grala6 ben ;
 
 134 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 in the song, or when it ended, they immediately relaxed their 
 exertions, and were sometimes inclined to stand still alto- 
 gether ; but when the tune was raised again, they also raised 
 their heads, and went vigorously forward with their precious 
 burden. 
 
 Pierre Louis had by this time thrown off the unwonted 
 pressure of sadness which had oppressed him, and occasionally 
 exchanged friendly or bantering words with one and another 
 as they passed. He soon began to meet acquaintances, and 
 I surmised that we were not far from his home. Jeanne 
 seemed like one in a trance as she rode along, her straining 
 gaze ever directed forwards, and regardless of all that was 
 passing around. The entire concentration of her thoughts on 
 one subject, was plainly evinced as her husband took hold of 
 her bridle, and stopped her mule, saying 
 
 " Do you see nothing, Jeanne ?" 
 
 She started back, and asked, in a wild and terrified voice 
 
 " What is it, Pierre Louis ? You have frightened me ! " 
 
 "Oh! you are dreaming !" he playfully replied. "What 
 have you been looking at, far away, that you have not seen 
 our church-steeple peeping up from behind the wood ?" 
 
 " Our steeple ! " she exclaimed, deeply agitated, and clasping 
 her hands for an instant, then adding " And our child our 
 poor child, I have sought him, but can find him nowhere !" 
 
 A flood of tears relieved her sorrow-stricken heart ; and she 
 again urged forward her mule, while Pierre Louis tenderly 
 tried to soothe her, assuring her that she would now soon be 
 able to embrace her child. 
 
 Some more intimate friends from whom Pierre Louis in- 
 
 " Mes mignons c'est vot' gain ! 
 Les gens aurons du pain, 
 Nos femmes vont ben chanter, 
 Et lea enfans serous gala ! 
 H6 won rougeaud," 4c.
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 135 
 
 quired, as we passed, how all were in Saille ? what news from 
 thence ? and if they had seen little Pierre lately ? replied 
 in general terms, and, I thought, in rather an embarrassed 
 manner. This only made Jeanne ride on with increased 
 speed. 
 
 At length we reached the first house in the place. An old 
 woman, who was spinning at her door, ran up to Jeanne, ex- 
 claiming 
 
 " Ah, poor soul ! you have just come in time." 
 
 " In time ! for what ?" 
 
 "Do you not know yet?" asked the good woman, quite 
 perplexed. 
 
 "What? what? what do I not know?" groaned poor 
 Jeanne. 
 
 "Oh! yoiir little one!" 
 
 "My little Pierre I" 
 
 She did not wait for the answer, "but rushed frantically 
 along the street toward her home. 
 
 We found the child in a violent attack of scarlet fever, 
 which was then raging, in one of its most malignant forms, 
 over the whole of Guerande. The neighbours came crowding 
 in ; amongst them many mothers, whose own children had 
 been snatched away by the disease ; and tales of wo, well- 
 meant but ignorant and exaggerated views of the child's 
 illness, miserable attempts at consolation, and suggestions of 
 absurd or hazardous remedies, were poured in from all sides 
 upon the poor mother. I was astonished at her self-com- 
 mand. After the first shock had subsided, it seemed as if the 
 certainty of the danger a presentiment of which had hitherto 
 so overwhelmed her joined to the urgent call for the exercise 
 of her maternal love and skill, had suddenly restored all the 
 intelligence and energy of her natural character. She sup- 
 pressed her sobs, dried her eyes, and with the greatest deci-
 
 136 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 sion, presence of mind, and gentleness, entered upon all her 
 rights and duties as sick -nurse, mother, and housewife. Pierre 
 Louis, on the contrary, after having given vent to a boisterous 
 expression of passionate grief, threw himself, quite exhausted, 
 into a corner, groaning and lamenting, and even cursing his 
 journey. The neighbours disappeared one after another ; 
 they felt that none could share the mother's place beside her 
 infant's cradle. 
 
 After some time, the father jumped up, impatient of the 
 unwonted restraint laid upon him by serious anxiety and 
 imminent danger. He went over to the cradle, and soon 
 discovered what he wanted some ground or pretext for cast- 
 ing off this unusual and inconvenient burden. The flush of 
 fever in the child's face, was to him a sure sign of returning 
 health. 
 
 " You shall see, Jeanne," he whispered, " that this will 
 not matter ; he is not even pale, the little cherub ! The talk 
 and exaggerated stories of the women quite overcame me at 
 first ; but you'll find, my poor darling, that it will not come 
 to anything more serious." 
 
 He was even irritable when Jeanne quietly replied, clasping 
 her hands 
 
 " God grant it, Pierre ! the child's life is in His hand." 
 
 After having, in a noisy and agitated manner, performed 
 all sorts of foolish, well-intended offices, to which she paid 
 no attention kneeling the while in silent prayer beside the 
 cradle Pierre went out in a perfectly tranquil and almost 
 lively mood, to deliver up the mules to their owners, and look 
 after his other affairs. I followed him, promising Jeanne that 
 I would return shortly to inquire about the child. I soon 
 procured accommodation for myself with a certain Mr. Con- 
 tent such was the soubriquet by which he was known all 
 over the country, and which he well deserved by his inex-
 
 THE KOURIGAX. 137 
 
 haustible store of self-satisfaction, which was so great as to 
 make him, in general, almost as well pleased with other 
 people and things as with himself. 
 
 My first walk, under his agreeable and loquacious escort, 
 was to see the salt-works. The dykes, confining the sea-water 
 admitted by sluices into the great tank or reservoir, where 
 it was evaporated by the action of the sun were covered with 
 heaps of beautiful, white crystallized salt. Handsome and 
 robust girls and women collected the particles of salt from 
 the tank into shallow wooden tubs, which, when well filled, 
 they carried nimbly and gracefully to the store-house. A 
 sweet perfume, as of violets, was caused by the motion of the 
 rake used in collecting the salt ; and this accorded well with 
 the general appearance of freshness and purity which met the 
 eye in every direction. Fine athletic men were also actively 
 engaged, here and there, at heavy labour, which they per- 
 formed apparently with the greatest ease. An air of cheerful- 
 ness seemed to pervade the entire party, while laughter, 
 song, and lively jests were heard around. The custom-house 
 officers alone who still retain here the ancient name of gabe- 
 loux, and whose province it is to prevent salt being sold with- 
 out payment of duty stalked about with gloomy, sullen, or 
 suspicions looks. 
 
 My guide introduced me to the leader of these men as 
 a country-man that is to say, a Parisian. The little, 
 active, sinewy, bustling, conceited fellow, was presented to 
 me merely under his soubriquet of " the Parisian," which he 
 considered a highly honourable title. He teased and irritated 
 me with absurd inquiries about Paris, representing himself as 
 having moved in its highest circles, and expressed the deepest 
 and most pitiful contempt of the provincials, amongst whom 
 he was banished ; but in all things, he excepted my guide, as 
 being half a Parisian.
 
 138 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " They certainly are honest and good-natured, sir, " said he, 
 concluding his remarks upon the characteristics of the people ; 
 " but genius, education, talents talents, sir, none, as we used 
 to write in the signalements, when I was in the city police. 
 This one does what the mayor orders ; the other has the 
 greatest respect for the parson ; men and women, all are per- 
 fectly besotted by religion. Do you know what would be 
 most needed here? That the company from Les Ambigus 
 should be sent to enact ' The Bishop and the Parson.' You 
 know that charming play ?' But, bah ! three-fourths of these 
 creatures do not know there is such a place in the world as 
 a theatre. They go to church, sir to church, and that is 
 enough for them ! Yes, you may believe it or not ; in the 
 entire station, there are scarcely to be found a dozen fellows 
 with spirit enough to amuse themselves by smuggling salt ; 
 and amongst these, there is hardly one who does not allow 
 himself to be seized almost at once ! There is truly neither 
 credit nor satisfaction in such a service." 
 
 Content now paid some compliments to this gentleman's 
 vigilance and dexterity, and mentioned an affair in which he 
 had lately evinced both, in the discovery of a deep-laid smug- 
 gling plot. But with a show of modesty, he proudly declined 
 the praise. 
 
 "How could one exhibit skill here?" said he, shrugging 
 his shoulders ; " it is totally superfluous. But, sir, the Reper- 
 toire one remembers one's Repertoire still, and it is not quite 
 in vain, I hope, that one has been an habitue of Les Anibigus. 
 Do you not recollect, a perfectly similar scene to that in 
 which I acted with these blockheads, is represented in the 
 ' Sexton of St. Paul's ?' a charming piece that I" 
 
 "Do you see that fellow yonder?" he continued, after an 
 interruption caused* by some inquiries from one of his men 
 " he is one of the brightest-brained amongst them he who is
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 139 
 
 standing there gazing into his salt-vat, as if his happiness 
 had fallen into it. It is true, he has been unfortunate ; 
 poor Pierre Louis ! his journey has turned out badly ; and 
 while he was away, the people here have allowed his child 
 to fall sick, and have so mismanaged his salt, that it 
 affords him no return. But if he would only set himself to 
 work in earnest, he might yet have a good after-crop. In- 
 stead of that, there he stands, and will engage in nothing, nor 
 take any advice. There is no help for it, he says ; and why 
 so ? because the Kourigan has cast an evil spell over him !" 
 
 This was my friend the grenadier. I could not repress my 
 emotion, and an exclamation of sympathy and distress at 
 this new trial which had befallen the poor couple, in whom I 
 had taken such a warm interest during the few days I had 
 been with them. 
 
 The Parisian regarded this as an expression of surprise and 
 admiration at what he had communicated, and went on 
 
 " You have, no doubt, already heard of this absurd super- 
 stition ? Evidently you are of the romantic school, sir ; for 
 my part, I am classic purely classic ; but that matters little 
 intellectual people always understand each other. As for 
 these creatures, whom superstition has robbed of all the dig- 
 nity of man, they do not comprehend that the lot of each of 
 us good or bad, as it may chance to be is directed by fate. 
 Napoleon called it his star, as you are aware. I also, who 
 have now the honour of addressing you, have my star, and 
 that one of no mean magnitude, I assure you. Two somnam- 
 bulists, pupils of the renowned Lenormand, have foretold my 
 union with an heiress of noble birth !" 
 
 I was glad when this man of many words was called away, 
 as it afforded me an opportunity of looking after poor Pierre 
 Louis ; but he had left the spot where for a long time he had 
 stood so wo-begone. When Content had pointed out to me
 
 140 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 every object of interest in the neighbourhood, we retraced our 
 steps, and on the way observed a number of people assembled 
 at the door of a tavern, from which issued boisterous sounds 
 of revelry and song. We learned that this jovial party was 
 collected on the occasion of the marriage of a cousin of Pierre 
 Louis, who was known by the appellation of the salt-devourer, 
 acquired by his being one of the most daring and successful of 
 the salt- smugglers. I perceived with regret as we passed, 
 that Pierre Louis had allowed himself to be persuaded to join 
 this questionable company. He either did not, or pretended 
 that he did not hear my call, asking him to accompany me to 
 his house. I was about to make another attempt, but was pre- 
 vented by the tormenting Parisian, who had overtaken, and 
 now wished to obtrude his company upon us ; but when I, 
 under some pretext or other, peremptorily declined the honour, 
 he accepted an invitation from some of the most respectable of 
 the wedding- guests, and seated himself amongst them. 
 
 On entering the still gloomy sick-room, I found Jeanne 
 seated near the cradle, with clasped hands, and eye riveted 
 on her child. Without any salutation or further notice of me, 
 she said, in a low, heart-thrilling tone 
 
 " Little Pierre is dying ! " 
 
 I tried to soothe her, though she made no reply ; but, rising 
 from her seat, paced once or twice up and down the room, 
 wringing her hands, as if trying to command her feelings ; 
 then seating herself by the hearth, she covered her face, and 
 wept and sobbed bitterly. Soon this paroxysm was over, and 
 she remained perfectly quiet and motionless. The laboured 
 breathing of the poor sick baby, and the riotous sounds of the 
 wedding-party, alone broke the deathlike stillness that pre- 
 vailed around. 
 
 From a slight knowledge of medicine which I had incident- 
 ally acquired very early in life, I could plainly discover, on a
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 141 
 
 more close observation of the child, that there was no cause 
 for such great alarm, as the symptoms rather seemed to argue 
 a favourable crisis. After giving my opinion, I tried to im- 
 press upon her that she had permitted the already-mentioned 
 evil omens seen on our way home to usurp too much influence 
 over her feelings. 
 
 " On the way, and since," she emphatically returned, as 
 she rose from her chair, looked round in turn, and then knelt 
 down again beside the cradle. To my further inquiries, she 
 replied 
 
 " I was sitting here in the dusk before you, sir, came in, 
 and I had wept so much that light and darkness, day and 
 night, were all alike to me ; suddenly I was roused by hear- 
 ing the sound of a footstep quite close to me, and then a 
 sigh ; but on looking sharply all around, I could discover no 
 source from whence they might have proceeded. Presently, I 
 heard similar sounds, and then my name distinctly uttered. 
 My heart at once told me that this was a warning ! He who 
 once loved me so dearly must have risen from the grave to let 
 me know that death is preparing a resting-place near his. 
 One thing is certain, that ere this night be over, some Chris- 
 tian in this house must die ! " 
 
 I was about to answer, when she suddenly interrupted me 
 by a cry of terror, as, springing to her feet, she pointed, 
 speechless and panic-struck, to a door that led from the yard 
 into the garden, and which was visible from the window by 
 the pale moonlight. True enough, there stood in the door- 
 way, the shadow of which half concealed him, a strange-look- 
 ing being, small, deformed, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, 
 which was placed so low on his brow, as quite to conceal the 
 face, and holding a long staff in his hand. 
 
 " There he is I " faltered Jeanne ; " the Kourigan 1 " 
 
 As softly, and quickly as I could, I slipped out by the back-
 
 142 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 door, and crept along, under the shadow of the wall, towards 
 the door in question. I was just within reach of the figure, 
 when it perceived me, and vanished. I would have followed, 
 thinking I again saw it disappear through a gap in the garden 
 hedge ; but I considered that any further search through the 
 adjacent hedges, bushes, and gardens, after one acquainted 
 doubtless with the localities, would be of no avail ; while, per- 
 haps, in the meantime Jeanne might be exposed to still fur- 
 ther annoyance. 
 
 As I returned to the room, Pierre Louis was entering by 
 another door, and was evidently under the exciting influence 
 of wine. He regarded neither the groans of his child, nor the 
 tears of its mother, but rallied the latter with thoughtless 
 laughter on her over-solicitude tried to caress her, and when 
 she repulsed him with a look of horror, he grew irritable, and 
 almost rough ; but soon his thoughts took another direction, 
 that speedily restored his good-humour. He went through 
 the room talking all sorts of confused nonsense ; laughed, and 
 then again spoke of the jolly trick they were going to play, 
 by which he would make up for the loss his journey had 
 caused him would be enabled to purchase medicine for little 
 Pierre, and a handsome dress for Jeanne. As to danger, 
 there was none it was mere fun ha, ha, ha! They had 
 settled the gabelou drowned the fellow ! for once in his 
 life the shrewd Parisian was outwitted. 
 
 " Drowned I In the name of wonder, what are you talking 
 of ! " cried the poor wife, as she tried to keep him in the house. 
 "Whom have you drowned? What scheme have you on 
 foot, Pierre Louis?" 
 
 " you little fool ! " he stammered, " we have only drowned 
 the gabelou in wine, at the child's wake what nonsense am 
 I talking! at the marriage of our cousin the salt-eater, I 
 should rather say. Yes, drowned, so that he shall mistake
 
 THE KOUR1GAN. 143 
 
 the moon for a cheese, and stumble over his own feet the 
 boasting coxcomb ! And then then we'll play him a trick 
 with the salt ; fine fun that, ha, ha, ha ! Will the gentleman 
 remain here or join us ?" 
 
 With these words, he reeled out of the house. Jeanne mo- 
 tioned me to follow him, and then her heart, torn by con- 
 flicting emotions caused by the condition of her child, her 
 own over-wrought feelings, and the terror inspired by the am- 
 biguous expressions that had dropped from the lips of her 
 half-unconscious husband she sank down beside the cradle, 
 as if crushed beneath the load of her varied and accumulating 
 sorrows. 
 
 What the unfortunate man's intentions were, I could not 
 well define, but I followed him in the vague hope of pre- 
 venting any further mischief, or averting in some measure 
 the results of what he might have previously engaged in. 
 We had not gone many steps, when we met the Parisian, ac- 
 companied by several young men, who seemed, evidently 
 from some bad intent, to be highly pleased with his wretched 
 condition. And, in good truth, a most ludicrous object he 
 was, as may be supposed of a being of his nature under such 
 circumstances. As he at once attached himself to me, I could 
 not avoid yielding to his request that I should conduct him 
 home, and hoped, by so doing, to avert any premeditated harm 
 from accruing to him. The remainder of the party, to my 
 surprise, seemed quite satisfied with this arrangement ; and 
 we separated, after I had urgently requested Pierre Louis to 
 go home, and get quietly into bed. 
 
 They seemed to go, as they said they would, in the direc- 
 tion of Pierre Louis's house ; while I, as well as I could, 
 dragged the officer along to his abode, which lay round tho 
 corner of the next street. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had we gone out of eight and hearing
 
 144 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 of the other party, than the Parisian suddenly stopped his in- 
 coherent talk, and snatches of tuneless song, and walked as 
 firmly and erect as possible, looking at me at the same time 
 with a most extraordinary expression of mingled gravity and 
 fun. 
 
 As I was quite taken by surprise, and, in a word, utterly 
 confounded perceiving, also, that my gentleman was, on his 
 part, rather confused and awkward it was no small relief to 
 me when, after a pause of a few seconds, he burst into a loud 
 laugh, exclaiming 
 
 " What, sir, is it possible that you also even you ! have 
 allowed yourself to be deceived by a clumsy ruse, which was 
 merely intended for these stupid clowns ? Ah ! we know the 
 value of our repertorium ' The Feigned Drunkard ! ' Can it 
 be that you are unacquainted with it ? a charming play ! 
 Then, ' Upon the Knaves, one and all!' also by Scribe but 
 no, let me see, it is by Bayerd, is it not ? You see I personate 
 both these heroes I combine ; out of two old plays I produce 
 a new one ! But you will grant that in both instances the fel- 
 lows deserve a sound lesson. Not for the sake of a grain or 
 two of salt that I would willingly let them have ; but be- 
 cause they wanted to mystify the Parisian ! Such a thing is 
 contrary to the nature of the Parisians, thoroughly antipathic 
 perfectly incompatible with, their temperament. First, I 
 was, forsooth, to pay the reckoning, and inebriate myself with 
 them, and then they meant to make free with the salt ; and, 
 moreover, they would have had the pleasure of laughing at 
 me to-morrow ; but you shall yourself see, or I am very much 
 mistaken, that this is a trick I do not envy them their share 
 of. Anything else in the world for me, but no mystification ! 
 Then we know that ' he who has the last laugh, has the best 
 laugh.' Your very obedient servant, sir au revoir !" 
 
 So saying, and making some extraordinary gestures, in-
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 145 
 
 tended to betoken his prowess and daring, he hastened down 
 the street toward the salt-pits. 
 
 The whole thing being now quite clear, I judged it best to 
 follow quickly after Pierre Louis, that, in case of his having, 
 as I hoped, returned home, I might, if possible, prevent his 
 joining the salt-stealers. But should I not meet him there, I 
 felt that I must allow the affair to take its course, as any fur- 
 ther search on my part would be quite fruitless, owing to my 
 ignorance of the localities. Keprehensible as the Parisian's 
 trick was in my eyes a trick which, instead of preventing a 
 crime, allowed it to be perpetrated, in order to satisfy his vanity 
 by its discovery and punishment still, I could not deny that 
 Pierre Louis and his friends would have themselves alone to 
 blame for its consequences. But to say the truth, my thoughts 
 were chiefly occupied by Jeanne, as, with a gloomy presenti- 
 ment, I hastened towards her dwelling, which, owing to the ex- 
 treme darkness of the night the moon being concealed behind 
 heavy masses of cloud I did not reach without much wander- 
 ing about, and much loss of time. When, however, I had 
 done so thanks to a fleeting moonbeam and was about to 
 enter, I descried a shadowy figure stealing along the garden 
 wall, and soon recognised it to be the same that had previ- 
 ously eluded me the Kouriagn 1" 
 
 This time I was more successful ; escape would have been 
 almost impossible, as I was within about a hundred steps of 
 the figure, which, in a few moments, I had seized by the 
 collar. He shrieked ; and his broad hat falling from his 
 head, revealed the wan, sickly face of a deformed young 
 peasant, turned towards me with a most touching expression 
 of pain and terror. I shook him well, asking in a sharp tone 
 what business he had here. Laying an emaciated finger on 
 his lips, and pointing at the same time to the casement where 
 the faint light of Jeanne's lamp was seen to glimmer, he said,
 
 146 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 in a low tone, but with singular emphasis " They call me 
 Gratien!" 
 
 This entirely explained the source of Jeanne's fears. On 
 further inquiry, he acknowledged that it was he who had pur- 
 sued her with his goblin-like apparition, and had traced the 
 writing in the sand. I asked perhaps not with the indul- 
 gence that was due to him for her sake, but I was in a hurry, 
 and felt all my indignation roused 
 
 " What do you mean by this, Gratien ? You love poor, 
 kind-hearted Jeanne, and yet you have terrified her beyond 
 measure, and have been the source of bitter distress and 
 anguish to her. She supposed you to be the Kourigan. And 
 how will this end, fellow? I have a great mind to put you 
 in confinement." 
 
 The wild pathos of his words now plainly showed me that 
 his deep-rooted, but hopeless love had been the cause of his 
 wandering away from home, and of the disordered state of his 
 naturally weak intellect. And yet who could have the cruelty 
 to speak to him of the utter folly of this affection an affec- 
 tion without any conscious aim or desire ? For even in his 
 constant untiring efforts and artifices to be near Jeanne with- 
 out her knowledge of his presence, attended as these were 
 with the greatest difficulty, he had no conscious object in view. 
 It was merely an attempt of a poor creature to remain in that 
 element wherein alone it could exist. The longer he spoke, 
 the more puzzled I became as to what I should do with him ; 
 burning with impatience as I was all the while to know some 
 further particulars about Jeanne, her child, and Pierre Louis. 
 However, as to the latter, I comforted myself with the assur- 
 ance that he must be at home, and could not leave it without 
 my knowledge. 
 
 While I was making an effort to persuade Gratien to go 
 quietly home, the report of a gun broke upon the stillness of
 
 THE KOUKIGAN. 147 
 
 the night, and was quickly succeeded by another. Eelaxing 
 nay grasp of the unhappy fellow, I hastened in the direction 
 from whence the shot proceeded, under a firm conviction that 
 some heavy calamity had befallen Jeanne. As I passed along, 
 windows and doors were thrown open on all sides ; men rushed 
 into the street, and many of them ran in the same direction as 
 myself ; women looked out of the windows, uttering words of 
 inquiry and lamentation ; and there was a loud and incessant 
 barking of dogs. We soon heard the noisy buzz of mingled 
 voices as they approached, and on turning a corner, we saw a 
 crowd of people coming up from the shore, collected round 
 some men, who bore along either a severely wounded or life- 
 less body. I distinguished Pierre Louis's name, and immedi- 
 ately turned, in order, if possible, to prepare Jeanne for the 
 fearful tidings. Hoping to gain ground upon the party, I 
 made a short cut through the gardens, but again I missed 
 my way, and arrived at the back entrance just in time to see 
 them carrying the bleeding corpse in through the front-door 
 of the room where Jeanne sat beside the cradle, her thoughts 
 so wholly engrossed with her child, that she had heard nothing 
 of all the stir and tumult without. She was seated with her 
 back to the door, but as the men entered, she turned quickly 
 round, and her eye at once fell upon the drooped and bleed- 
 ing head of her husband, upon which the lamp cast a sickly 
 gleam. 
 
 A moment passed, which no human being might venture to 
 describe. When I had in a measure recovered my self-com- 
 mand, 1 saw the poor wife kneeling beside the body ; the men 
 who stood round were trembling violently. She carefully 
 wiped the blood from the ashy-pale brow, addressed him in 
 terms of the most plaintive tenderness urgently entreated 
 him to speak even one word to her to recognise his own wife 
 not, not to leave her ; in a word, she seemed so little to
 
 148 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 comprehend the terrible reality, that for a moment I feared 
 lest the shock had been too great for her mind to sustain un- 
 injured. Gradually, however, she seemed to become aware of 
 the uselessness of her exertions. Starting up, she extended 
 her blood-stained hands towards us, and gazed round with an 
 imploring, helpless, and inquiring look ; at length she slowly 
 faltered out 
 
 " Say, say sure he is not dead ? He cannot be dead ! 
 the doctor must know. Where is the doctor?" 
 
 She was told that the doctor would be here directly ; and I 
 approached to try to withdraw her from the body. But my 
 movement, and a few words which accompanied it, appeared 
 suddenly to reveal the full truth. Falling down again beside 
 her lifeless husband, she laid his head upon her knee, and 
 gazed at it with a look of agonizing wo, while her tears fell 
 in torrents upon his face, and mingled with his blood. Her 
 lamentations were so heart-rending, that we shrank back in- 
 stinctively ; none dared venture to obtrude with weak words 
 of human consolation upon such sorrow as hers. We hoped, 
 indeed, that the extreme violence of her grief would soon wear 
 itself out ; but it seemed much more likely that the intensity 
 of her feelings must over-tax her physical powers, and that the 
 very stream of life would exhaust itself in this overwhelming 
 flood. Gradually her words, her voice, her entire manner be- 
 came more and more wild ; and her occasional peals of con- 
 vulsive laughter sounded far more dreadful than her lament- 
 ations had done. I was quite convinced that we should soon 
 have to restrain a maniac. At length, she grew more calm 
 while kneeling beside the corpse, herself like a marble figure, 
 with hands tightly clenched ; but it was the calmness of ebb- 
 ing reason the vacant look, the low piteous wail, the whis- 
 pered unconnected words, that at last died away, leaving 
 only the motion of the lips all told the fearful truth.
 
 THE KOURIGAN. 149 
 
 These moments of horror-thrilling stillness were suddenly 
 interrupted by a soft plaintive cry the little one wanted his 
 mother. This cry broke through the almost torpid grief of 
 the sufferer, recalled her fast-fleeting consciousness, and pre- 
 served her intellect her life. She turned quickly round. 
 Little Pierre had raised himself up in his cradle, and, smiling 
 at his mother through his tears, stretched out his hands, as if 
 imploring her help. 
 
 Uttering a cry of unspeakable pathos, which seemed to 
 come from the inmost depths of her soul, she sprang up, and 
 darting to the cradle, caught up her child with the tenderest 
 care, and clasped it to her heart, in a loving embrace. None 
 of the men who stood by could refrain from tears ; it was as 
 though the sweet infantine voice had broken the spell of 
 horror that rested upon each. 
 
 At this moment, the doctor entered the room : he was led 
 over to Pierre Louis, whom we had laid upon his bed. His 
 business there was soon over. He placed his hand upon the 
 heart, held a mirror before the mouth, then with an ominous 
 shake of his head, and shrug of his shoulders, he drew the 
 coverlet over the blood-stained head. Jeanne's eager eye 
 narrowly watched the physician, and understood too well his 
 significant gestures. She staggered for a moment. I sprang 
 over to support her ; but the child had again stirred, and 
 cried for his mother. With a desperate effort she summoned 
 up all her strength, seized the doctor's hand, and, drawing 
 him towards the cradle, awaited his opinion with fixed look 
 and folded hands. He was a quiet, elderly, sensible, and 
 skilful man. After having carefully examined the child, he 
 put some questions to its mother, which she answered in a 
 concise and summary manner, like a soldier upon duty. 
 
 " The child is out of danger," he said at length. 
 
 " God be praised for ever and ever !" cried Jeanne, as she
 
 150 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 fell on her knees beside the cradle, and softly breathed a 
 prayer over her little one, without taking any farther notice 
 of what was passing around. 
 
 While the doctor remained to write a prescription, we all 
 left the house, and went our several ways. One of the men 
 confirmed, in a few words, my previous supposition. He told 
 me that Pierre Louis, and some other young fellows, who 
 were noted salt-smugglers, had taken advantage of the 
 Parisian's supposed state of intoxication to carry off some 
 loads of salt, that were under his care till the requisite duty 
 should be paid. But this officer had awaited them at his 
 post, and when on repeated challenges, they neither answered 
 nor desisted from their illegal undertaking, he and one of his 
 men fired. His ball struck Pierre Louis, who headed the 
 party, and on receiving the wound he leaped up in the air, 
 and then fell down without uttering a sound. 
 
 Two days after, he was laid in his grave. I, in company 
 with the entire population of Saille, attended the remains of 
 this poor fellow to his long home. It was a long and solemn 
 procession of men and women attired in their Sunday dresses, 
 and walking two abreast. Last of all followed Gi'atien, his 
 tattered garments all besmeared with the red earth of the 
 moor, his head drooping low, and his long dishevelled hair 
 hanging over his face. He did not venture within the church- 
 yard, but knelt down outside ; and as soon as the blessing was 
 pronounced, and the clay about to be shovelled over the coffin, 
 he started up, and quickly disappeared behind the church. 
 
 I went directly to see Jeanne. Her head was laid upon 
 the pillow beside her infant's, and she was quietly weeping. 
 The child played with her hair, while her thick-falling tears 
 bedewed his little hands. Then he smiled sweetly at her, 
 and tried by all kinds of gentle tones to gain her attention. 
 He appeared to be making a rapid recovery. I retired with-
 
 THE KOURIGAN. . 151 
 
 out exchanging a word with Jeanne, by whom I was quite 
 unobserved. 
 
 I spent the succeeding weeks in making excursions into 
 the interior of the country, and to the adjoining islands. On 
 my return to Saille, I learned that Jeanne, on her child's 
 perfect restoration to health, had gone to reside with her 
 guardian at her early home. Whilst on a walking excursion 
 in that neighbourhood, I made a detour in order to pay a fare- 
 well visit to the widow. As I was descending a hill, however, 
 at a short distance I recognised Jeanne seated on a mule, 
 dressed in deep mourning, her child placed before her, return- 
 ing home by the same road that we had formerly travelled 
 together. Gratien held the bridle and carefully led the mule, 
 occasionally turning round towards the tearless, melancholy, 
 yet submissive countenance of her who had suffered so deeply 
 and lost so much before returning to his care, so far at least 
 as the poor imbecile creature was capable of taking care of 
 any one. I could not prevail upon myself to go to meet and 
 take leave of her, but, deeply affected by the scene, I bent 
 my steps homewards. 
 
 The sky was clear and cloudless, occasionally a soft breeze 
 conveyed from afar the mournful murmur of the sea. Some 
 maidens' sweet voices were singing, on the other side of the 
 thicket, the plaintive melody of one of Brittany's wedding- 
 songs.
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 
 
 THE traveller who visits La Vendee, with the stirring 
 memory of its gigantic struggle of loyalty versus Eevolution 
 fresh in his mind, and looks on it as the land that, in the 
 short space of three years, became the grave of five Bepublican 
 armies, as well as of the greater proportion of its own heroic 
 population, and was thus converted into a vast and blood- 
 steeped wilderness of smoking ruins would naturally expect 
 to find in the inhabitants a people gloomy and daring, proud, 
 impetuous, and warlike. 
 
 To his astonishment, he sees himself surrounded by a race 
 whose character is in every respect the reverse of this quiet, 
 thoughtful, taciturn almost to dulness, and whose might, like 
 that of their powerful yoked oxen, slumbers and asks but for 
 repose. Such is the case especially in the hill-country of 
 La Vendee proper, the region of the pure Pictish blood ; the 
 people of the plain-country bordering on old Anjou, are dis- 
 tinguished by greater vivacity and friendliness. 
 
 It is in contemplating this aspect of the Vendean charac- 
 ter, that we learn to estimate the power of that deadly grasp
 
 154 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 which the bold hand of Kevolution must have laid on the in- 
 nermost sanctuary of popular feeling, to provoke an outburst 
 of resistance, so vigorous and so long sustained. 
 
 But if the physiognomy of the Vendeans be marked by a 
 general sameness, nothing can be more varied than the aspect 
 of their country. The eastern shore is indeed barren, dark, 
 and gloomy ; but to the north, stretches a long tract of un- 
 dulating country, rich in golden meadows and fertile fields, 
 and dotted with groups of noble forest trees, in whose shadow 
 nestles many an orchard-circled chateau and peaceful hamlet, 
 while here and there may be seen a large and populous village 
 with spire pointing to the skies. The high hedges and deep 
 embowered lanes, turned to such good account in the burgher 
 struggles of the Chouan warfare, are still the peculiar and dis- 
 tinctive characteristics of the scene. This is, indeed, the 
 Boccage ; and wherever there is an opening, wide tracts of 
 heath are seen, offering the strongest and most picturesque 
 contrast by the bright blossoms of the yellow furze, and the 
 purple glow of the heath-flower, to the solemn edging of green 
 by which they are bordered. Totally different is the appear- 
 ance of La Vendee proper a long and boundless plain of 
 waving corn, almost without trees, except where some nar- 
 row strip of orchard-ground points to the neighbourhood of 
 chateau or village. No sooner is the golden harvest brought 
 in, than the waste and dreary stubble lands are covered with 
 loads of lime, giving to them, in the distance, the appearance 
 of an interminable battle-field strewn with bleaching bones. 
 
 Proceeding onward towards the south, to the marshes the 
 Marais, ps it is called we again find ourselves in a new 
 world. The land here shows, like an accident, an exception 
 a creation of art, a sort of rustic Venice. The corn and 
 the fruits seem to ripen on piles, and the flocks to be grazing 
 on floating pastures. Ever since the sixteenth century, efforts
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 155 
 
 have been made to reclaim tracts of this marsh by drainage on 
 the Dutch plan, so that the district should rather have been 
 called Little Holland than " Little Poitou," as it is. Some 
 business connected with one of these recently drained tracts, 
 gave me the long-desired opportunity of seeing something of 
 the mode of life of the Cabanneers the name by which the 
 inhabitants of the reclaimed lands are known, as Hutters is 
 that appropriated to the dwellers in the marsh. 
 
 I had made an appointment with Guillaume Blaisot, the 
 farmer with whom my business was to be transacted, to meet 
 him at Marans, at the mouth of the Sevre, opposite to the 
 Isle of Rhe, in Pertuis-Poitou. I reached Maillepais, after a 
 very uncomfortable journey, by the Diligence, hoping to pro- 
 ceed by water. 
 
 As I was waiting at the door of the little inn for the arrival 
 of the boat that mine host had promised me, I perceived an 
 old acquaintance approaching, whom, by his little waxcloth 
 hat and his wooden leg, I had at once recognised as Maitre 
 Berand, better known as Fait-tout. Berand was one of those 
 equivocal traders who get a livelihood by various nameless 
 handicrafts, and who, in common parlance, are said to live 
 by their wits. He now assured me that business called him 
 in the direction in which I was going. I invited him to 
 embark with me in the boat, which at that moment came 
 alongside. He thankfully accepted my invitation, and I thus 
 secured a companion, who, if not altogether trustworthy, was 
 at least well acquainted with the country and its inhabitants, 
 and who was, moreover, himself an interesting subject for my 
 observation. 
 
 Immediately on leaving Maillepais, we found ourselves in 
 the district familiarly known as le Marais Mouille, and a 
 wonderful spectacle it presented. As far as the eye could 
 reach, it seemed as it were a water-landscape whereon num-
 
 156 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 berless islets, fringed with willows and ivy, were floating ; now 
 and then we passed a larger one, on which hemp and flax were 
 cultivated. On the most elevated point of these little islands 
 stand the solitary dwellings of the butters ; they are of plaited 
 wicker-work, and look like so many beehives. They have 
 neither window nor chimney, and the door appears too low for a 
 full-grown man to enter without stooping. We could generally 
 distinguish a fire flickering on the hearth, and sending its 
 smoke through all the interstices of the basket-work. The 
 older huts are often covered with a mass of vegetation ; and 
 not unfrequently the willow-wands woven into the dwelling, 
 bud and sprout, and form a thick green trellis-work of leafy 
 branches around the hut. The people find their food in the 
 waters by which they are surrounded, the neighbouring towns 
 offering a ready market for their fish and ducks. In winter, 
 when the waters often rise to the level of their dwellings, the 
 poor people are forced to take refuge, with their wives and 
 children, in their boats, which are kept by them, ready for such 
 emergencies. In these, they frequently pass long days and 
 nights, till the floods are abated. 
 
 Our passage among the islets was much retarded by the 
 tangled masses of the water-lily, yellow and white, the leaves of 
 which were thickly spread over the surface ; and our approach 
 not unfrequently scared whole flocks of wild ducks and other 
 water-fowl from their shelter, and sent them screaming and 
 cackling over our heads. 
 
 The butters are said, by the proprietors on the coast, to have 
 very inadequate perceptions and very short memories of the 
 distinction between meum and tuum. T&y companion, how- 
 ever, soon proved that this confusion of ideas was not peculiar 
 to the islanders. Whenever he saw a snare hanging from a 
 willow, he hastened to the spot ; if the jar of a leech-gatherer 
 were left on the ground, he scrupled not to empty it into his
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 157 
 
 own ; and when I asked if his friends on the islands were thus 
 solicitous to provide for his wants, he laughed, and said that 
 what was taken from a hutter was only indemnification ; for 
 that when he went round the islands with his pack, the wives 
 and maidens were not particular in the matter of needles and 
 ribbons a cross made at the back of any article going in 
 evidence that it was not stolen. 
 
 As I wished to see the interior of one of these huts, we 
 drew towards the shore, and I landed. The inside was in- 
 crusted with a black and shining coating of soot. In the 
 dusky background, two cows were lying down, and chewing 
 the cud at their ease before a sort of rough crib. This was 
 the only piece of furniture in the hut, with the exception of a 
 pair of earthen pitchers, a clumsy stool, and a hurdle covered 
 with a layer of moss ; on this lay a woman whose appearance 
 showed her to be suffering from the biliary fever so common 
 in this moist and foetid atmosphere. To our words of comfort 
 she at first made no reply, but at length, rousing herself, 
 she said 
 
 " What good can anything do me ? I have seen the White 
 Boat / All I want is the priest." 
 
 These words had evidently a startling effect, not only on 
 the sailor who had accompanied us, but on our friend Fait- 
 tout, notwithstanding his habitual readiness to parade his 
 scepticism. 
 
 " The White Boat !' " exclaimed both together, in a half 
 whisper, at the same time looking towards the shore. 
 
 " Yes, yes," continued the sick woman, with feverish ex- 
 citement ; " I was coming with a bundle of willows from the 
 other side of the island, and there, gliding noiselessly through 
 the channel, I saw the death-boat, with the yellow dwarf 
 seated at the helm ; and as I passed, I heard him cough and 
 groan ; I felt his poison breath upon me, and fell to the
 
 158 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ground. My husband found me lying, and brought me 
 home, and I have never raised my head since, and never 
 shall." 
 
 I endeavoured to soothe the poor woman, and to explain 
 the thing away as an optical delusion but all in vain ; she 
 stared wildly into the darkness, and my companions slipped 
 quietly away ; I myself felt a sort of indefinable dread, thus 
 left alone in the dusky hut with the dying woman, and has- 
 tened into the air. 
 
 When we got back to the boat, our conversation was in 
 monosyllables ; and, in order to set it agoing, I made some 
 inquiries respecting the young Blaisot whom I was to meet at 
 Marans. At the sound of his name, Fait-tout started from his 
 reverie, but made as though he had not heard me ; and called 
 my attention to the great number of boats that were lying in 
 a little bay which we were then crossing. It was no uncom- 
 mon sight, but he wished to divert me from my subject. 
 
 We soon came alongside of an embankment, on which we 
 rather heard than saw some travellers for the view was en- 
 tirely obstructed by a low growth of willows and alders. At 
 intervals, the plaintive monotonous chant of some shepherds 
 broke upon the ear ; they were singing one of those Christmas 
 carols (Hymnes de Noel, or Nau], wherein the shepherds of 
 Poitou celebrate the glad tidings that it was given to the 
 shepherds of Palestine to hear first. One of them, seated on 
 a projection of the dyke, with folded hands and head reverently 
 inclined, closed the strain in the following words 
 
 " Or prien tous a ggniel 
 Jesus Christ d'amour doucette, 
 Qu'il nous fusse bonne acceil, 
 Et que notre paix soit faite 
 Au grein jour, quen sonnera la trompette, 
 Qu'ein sein paradia nous mette 
 Au royaume paternau, 
 
 Nau! nan!''
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 159 
 
 We did not reach Marans till late in the evening, and there 
 were no tidings of Blaisot at the inn. To my repeated and 
 urgent inquiries, the host replied with a counter-question 
 
 " Do you mean the old Jerome Blaisot ?" 
 
 " No ; the question now is of his son, Guillaume," said 
 Fait-tout, answering for me, and with singular emphasis. 
 
 " The great Guillaume ! " repeated the man, stepping back 
 in astonishment. 
 
 " And why not ?" I rejoined sharply. " I have very good 
 grounds for expecting him, having made an appointment with 
 him to take charge of a business which is likely to be as ad- 
 vantageous to him as to me. I should rather ask what reason 
 he can have for staying away." 
 
 " Nay," replied mine host with some hesitation, " how can 
 any third person assign reasons for another ? To-morrow is 
 our market-day, and there will surely be some of Blaisot's 
 people in the town ; you can ask them, sir, any questions you 
 please." 
 
 "Ask, indeed !" muttered Fait-tout in a mocking tone, as 
 I moved away half satisfied, and the host devoted himself with 
 obsequious civility to some freshly-arrived guests. 
 
 Marans is now the principal port of La Vendee, and the 
 depot of the export fisheries, and I was early awakened by 
 the bustle of the market. It was thronged with hutters, 
 bringing in the rich spoils of the fishing and the chase, as well 
 as by Cabanneers, and peasants from the plain ; the former 
 with wool and flax, the latter with heavy loads of corn and 
 wood, in ponderous waggons drawn by six yoke of oxen. 
 Still, all my inquiries for Blaisot were unavailing ; and the 
 evident shyness in answering the frequent assumption of 
 stupidity, as though they could not understand me, raised my 
 previous uneasiness to the highest pitch. 
 
 On my return to the inn, I found Berand the centre of
 
 ] 60 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 a wondering circle, and prosecuting one of the thousand 
 branches of his vocation. He was etching an allegorical 
 decoration on the arm of a young sailor, and had been profuse 
 in sentimental verses and allusions ; he now showed me his 
 work with evident self-complacency. 
 
 "You see that it is all that could be wished," he said. 
 " Le Fier-gas could desire nothing better, were he the king 
 himself." 
 
 " Ay," rejoined the young man, whose cognomen he had 
 given, " for a bright half-dollar one has a right to expect 
 something." 
 
 " And I have accordingly given you the ' best article,' my 
 son," said the artificer. " The altar of love, religion death 
 and the Eoyal flower ; what could you have more ? You and 
 le Bien -nomine, you are the only ones to whom such luck has 
 fallen." 
 
 " Indeed," replied the young man, shaking his head em- 
 phatically ; " then I am the only one, for le Bien-nomme lies 
 deep beneath the water ! " 
 
 " What is that you are saying ?" 
 
 " It is so, indeed," said another of the bystanders ; " his 
 body has never been seen, but his boat was found keel up- 
 ward." 
 
 " No one knows how it happened," observed a third. 
 " Some say that he met the Lady of the Pool ! " 
 
 " Who is that?" said I, attracted rather by the expression, 
 and by the manner of the speaker, than by the fact itself. 
 
 "Why, the Lady of the Pool is she who entangles the 
 boats in her long tresses, and so drags them down into the 
 deep." 
 
 I now took counsel with mine host, and he advised me to 
 proceed in his conveyance to the cottage of the Blaisots, which, 
 he said, was distant about a mile and a half. Fail-tout would
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 161 
 
 be my conductor, as he was at home, and had business every- 
 where. 
 
 The matter was soon arranged, and in half an hour Berand 
 and I were placed side by side in the little car, with a board 
 for our seat. My guide had plied the flask so deeply in honour 
 of his last performance, that it was not without hesitation that 
 I committed the reins to his hand. 
 
 We soon came in sight of the long tract of land reclaimed 
 from the waters. Canals, small and great, intersected it in 
 every direction, and emptied themselves by an infinity of 
 sluices into ponds varying in size. It was surrounded by a 
 deep ditch, bordered for the most part with oaks. The nu- 
 merous proprietors and farmers form a corporation for the 
 management of the drainage; and their simple and appro- 
 priate regulations have secured to them a large measure of 
 independence, amid the mechanism of modern centralization, 
 and the despotism of modern liberality. 
 
 The rich alluvial soil requires no manuring. Indeed, that 
 it was covered by the sea within the historical period, is 
 proved by the frequent discovery of ships' keels, and other 
 fragments, as well as by the appearance of lofty oyster-banks 
 here and there. The fallow fields afford a generous pasturage 
 to numerous herds of oxen, and to a breed of the heavy horses 
 of the country. 
 
 The sun was declining, and the simple but varied land- 
 scape was bathed in rosy light all the more beautiful from 
 its contrast with the silvery vapour that began to rise from 
 the lower grounds, and that mingled with, and broke it into a 
 thousand rays, as it fell on the pools and the broad canals. 
 At sunset we reached Jerome Blaisot's cottage one of a 
 somewhat different construction to the greater part of those 
 we had previously seen. 
 
 In a field by the roadside, I saw an old man and a child
 
 162 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 keeping sheep. The former had a sheepskin coat over his 
 shoulders, and was resting his chin upon his staff and looking 
 attentively at us. A black sheep of unusual size trotted 
 familiarly by his side with a familiarity that evinced a con- 
 nexion of a peculiar nature between them. 
 
 "There is old Jacques the shepherd, and his Flemish 
 sheep," said my guide, with a friendly greeting to the old 
 man. " The creature gives three times as much wool as any 
 other sheep, and as much milk besides as three goats ; it be- 
 longs to him as the chief shepherd." 
 
 "Ay, ay," responded the old man, in reply to the last 
 words, " it is with this beast as with the King of France, 
 who never dies : when his time is out, the next best takes his 
 place. That is my right, is it not, La Bien-gagnee?" he 
 added, affectionately stroking his favourite, which seemed 
 conscious of deserving the name. 
 
 " At them ! at them, Flandrine ! " said the old man sud- 
 denly, and in a half whisper, to his attendant ; and in a mo- 
 ment the sensible creature set off, and soon collected the 
 straying sheep together, showing as much zeal as discretion 
 in the conduct of the affair. 
 
 "How have you been able to teach the creature this?" 
 said I, by way of beginning a conversation with the old man. 
 
 " Well, then," he replied half musing, " the brute creatures 
 only need to be reminded, you see. There is in every beast 
 some trace of its great Creator ; only for the most part we 
 tease or worry this out of them, according to our selfish will. 
 You see, sir," he continued, turning directly towards me, 
 " we are always forgetting that the shepherd is here for the 
 sake of the sheep, and not the sheep on account of the shep- 
 herd." 
 
 " And instinct is powerful," I added, without bestowing 
 much thought on the subject.
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 163 
 
 "And so, instinct is the name the gentry give it? Well, 
 the name is of no great consequence. The sheep, like all 
 the brutes that remember the earthly paradise, has a special 
 gift. You cannot find it out by thinking, but my Bieu-gagnee 
 knows whether good or ill luck is to befal us in the day." 
 
 " Then you may rest in peace, my friend," cried my con- 
 ductor, " for the brute has a noble appetite, and that is the 
 best sign for man or beast, all the world over. And now, let 
 your youngster show the gentleman the way to Blaisot's, for 
 I want to go in a contrary direction. Au revoir, sir!" And 
 so saying, my mysterious but pleasant companion alighted, 
 and disappeared at once behind the hedge. The youngster, 
 however, sprang into the vacant seat, and carefully drove the 
 car along the narrow, miry road, to the comfortable dwelling 
 of the Blaisots. 
 
 As we were approaching, an elderly man came out, and 
 hastily advanced to meet us. But when he got near enough 
 to distinguish our features he suddenly stopped, and without 
 either listening to or answering us, kept calling aloud " Lou- 
 bette ! Loubette!" till a young maiden stepped over the 
 threshold, whom at first I only remarked for her extreme 
 plainness, and her tall, ungainly form. When I had seen 
 her more nearly, I became conscious of a look of energy and 
 intelligence in the depths of her large gray eyes, that glim- 
 mered through the dark lashes like stars through the mist. 
 
 My appearance seemed rather to surprise than to alarm her. 
 With an air of mingled simplicity and good breeding, she in- 
 vited me to enter. I found that Fait-tout had been right in 
 advising me to keep to Loubette : she was evidently the head 
 of the house. On my asking for her brother, the father 
 uttered an exclamation ; but a warning look from her restored 
 his composure. 
 
 " You are, then, the gentleman who sent the letter that we
 
 164 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 gave back to the postman two days ago?" said Loubette 
 quietly, but with a penetrating glance. 
 
 " Gave back again I " I repeated ; " and why did you do 
 that?" 
 
 " Because he to whom it was addressed is not in the coun- 
 try." 
 
 " Not to be found in all Little Poitou ! " exclaimed the old 
 man. 
 
 " But you know where he is," I rejoined ; " you could have 
 given the postman the necessary instructions." 
 
 " We know nothing," cried the father ; " and he who says 
 otherwise is no friend of ours. The tall Guillaume is away 
 on his own errand, without either consulting or revealing it 
 to us, and this I do solemnly aver." 
 
 " Yes, yes, father," interrupted the maiden ; " you see that 
 the gentleman meant well by my brother, and why then 
 should you make a disturbance, or deny him ? You will take 
 some refreshment with us, sir?" And so saying, she covered 
 the table, and thus diverted my questionings and my curiosity. 
 
 After a while, and when he had taken sundry long pulls 
 at the cider-jug, the old Blaisot appeared to have regained 
 his self-possession, and to have formed some great resolution. 
 He began by asking me my reason for coming, and my an- 
 swers had the effect of quieting his suspicions altogether ; and 
 without any farther allusion to his son, we talked of things 
 in general, and then discussed the business I had in hand, 
 and the conditions on which it could be executed. 
 
 By degrees, however, and with the deepening twilight, the 
 conversation flagged and we sat in silence, each falling back 
 upon his own thoughts. Loubette had been for a long time 
 silent, with her eyes fixed on the hearth, whence the embers 
 now shot up a ruddy glow that lighted the room with a 
 dazzling glare, and then sinking down again, cast only strag-
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 165 
 
 gling rays of pale and flickering light around. Without, the 
 wind sighed and moaned in half whispers through the thicket 
 of reeds across the water, and came blustering with louder 
 tones over the stubble-fields, now bringing sounds of other 
 kinds from the far distance, so that even I was impressed by 
 an undefmable sensation of awe. 
 
 Loubette threw fresh branches on the fire, which soon flared 
 brightly and cheerfully enough, though the wood was very 
 wet, and gave out all sorts of strange hissing and whistling 
 sounds in burning. 
 
 " The ' Pavas ' weep : that is a bad sign for the absent," 
 said Loubette with a deep sigh, which the old man echoed in 
 a hollow tone. "The gentleman brought him good luck," 
 continued Loubette ; " if he were but once directed there, he 
 and others might forget what " 
 
 Here she suddenly broke off. 
 
 " No, no, it is all in vain ! " muttered the old man to him- 
 self. " There is no such thing as good luck for one who has 
 been rocked on the knees of the dead." 
 
 I inquired what he meant by this. 
 
 " I mean what my own eyes have seen," continued he, with 
 mingled emotion and reserve. " For that matter, every one 
 in Vix can tell you the story of the rocking-woman. But if 
 you wish to hear it from me, why, with all my heart I You 
 see, sir, it was in the time of the great war, when I was newly 
 married. It was a bad tune ; and whatever pains one took, 
 everything went wrong. Then my poor Sillette (God have 
 mercy upon her!) gradually lost her spirits, and let her hands 
 drop down, or sat with them folded, instead of working away 
 where work was much needed especially as our boy William 
 was then born, and required to be taken care of. It was in 
 vain that I told her of it, both kindly and crossly. I used 
 often to say to her : ' If children are left to scream at night.
 
 166 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 the old people in the grave awake.' It did no good : she let 
 him scream on, and only wrapped herself up the more in the 
 bed-clothes. So the child dwindled day by day, till it was 
 pitiful to see him. One night, when I was half asleep myself, I 
 thought I heard a humming sound ; and when I was thoroughly 
 aroused, I found sure enough that it was no dream. I sat up 
 and listened again, and it was the humming of a spinning- 
 wheel. And when I put out my head through the bed-cur- 
 tains, there, at the other end of the room, in the bright 
 moonlight, sat the grandmother who had been under the sod 
 for seven years. And she spun on and on, rocking the child 
 upon her knees the while. Can there be any good fortune 
 for that poor child, who was made over by his own mother to 
 the nursing of the dead ? He who has been touched by the 
 dead is doomed to misfortune! There is no blessing upon 
 him. Something deathlike clings to him : no flocks, no crops 
 prosper under his care the hearts of all those he loves turn 
 away from him. And so it is with our poor William ; and it 
 is not without reason that he is called ' Mourning-child.' " 
 
 "Did you ever see the spinning visitor after that?" in- 
 quired I. 
 
 " I took good care not to do so," replied he. " Why, every 
 child knows that he who sees one of the dead return a second 
 time, may as well get his own shroud ready. But I heard the 
 spinning- wheel go round who can say how often ? How- 
 ever, the child throve afterwards ; and strange to say, he 
 seemed to turn away from his mother entirely, and attached 
 himself to old Marion, the stable-woman." 
 
 We now sank back into the former oppressive silence. 
 Loubette went up and down the room, busied about house- 
 hold matters, and often stood as if listening at the window ; 
 then she came and sat down with us again. Suddenly a 
 most strange and piercing cry, like that of a bird, sounded
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 167 
 
 without. Both father and daughter started up, but each with 
 a very different expression of countenance. He said, half 
 loud 
 
 " It is the night-raven, and at so late an hour ! that, too, 
 Lodes no good." 
 
 She seemed to be listening intently ; and as three similar 
 sounds were heard in quick succession, each drawing nearer 
 and nearer, she said in a trembling voice, which was little in 
 accordance with her words 
 
 " Ay, a boat must have disturbed him in his nest. It is 
 the sleeping-time of beasts, but the eating-time of men. If 
 you please, sir, supper is now ready." 
 
 She had already lit a lamp, and we sat ourselves down to 
 a table covered with a clean cloth, and well provided with 
 simple fare. As the old peasant gradually thawed, and threw 
 off the curse of suspicion the sad inheritance of this people 
 I began to be quite comfortable ; and only remarked after 
 a while, that the girl, who had often risen from table to see 
 about one thing or another, as well as about my sleeping 
 quarters for the night, had now absented herself altogether. 
 
 The old man told me a good deal about his son how brave, 
 obedient, and industrious he used to be, and how he had been 
 betrothed to a wealthy maiden of the district ; who had, how- 
 ever, been faithless to him, and taken another person and 
 how, since then, he had become altered in everything. He 
 was even going, in answer to a question of mine, to explain 
 what he meant by this, when we suddenly heard heavy foot- 
 steps and the clattering of arms outside, and in a moment or 
 two the door was opened, and the brigadier of the gendarmerie 
 of Chaille entered the room iu full uniform, let the butt-end 
 of his musket fall noisily on the floor, and greeted us in the 
 peculiar, jovial, and free-and-easy tone belonging to his class. 
 
 Old Jerome rose, then sank down again as pale as death j
 
 168 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and the glass, which he took xip by way of strengthening his 
 courage, rattled against his teeth. 
 
 " Good appetite to you, sirs 1 and do not let me disturb 
 you," said the gendarme, casting a keen and rapid glance 
 around the room. " How goes it with your health, Papa 
 Jerome?" continued he, as the old man sat opposite him, still 
 silent and motionless ; " and where in the world is Loubette ? 
 she is not generally absent." 
 
 "Loubette?" said the old man, who, as it appeared to me, 
 really did not at the moment know where she was ; " why, is 
 she not in the kitchen?" 
 
 " Old fox," said the gendarme in a sharper tone, and draw- 
 ing nearer, " you know as well as I do that she is not ; and 
 now, then, out with it at once where is she?" 
 
 " I I will look for her," stammered the peasant, getting 
 up and going towards the door. 
 
 " No such thing, old man ; you are not to stir from this 
 spot ; and let us have no more tricks, if you please. You 
 know quite well why I come, and we know just as well that 
 your son is with you, here." 
 
 "My son my William here!" exclaimed the old man, 
 with an air of surprise which must have appeared natural and 
 genuine even to the gendarme. At least, he continued in a 
 less harsh tone 
 
 "Well, whether you know it or not, he is here, and we 
 must take him up as a Refractoire ; so be reasonable, and at 
 all events, get hold of the girl for me." 
 
 Blaisot swore by all the saints of Upper and Lower Poitou 
 that he knew nothing about it ; that his son had never told 
 him a word. By this exaggeration of ignorance he only 
 awoke again the suspicion of the brigadier. 
 
 " We know you," he exclaimed, stroking his mustachios ; 
 " everything is white here ; and before you will help a servant
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 169 
 
 of the Government so much as with your little finger but 
 wait a little, and we will soon manage you." 
 
 The old man now declared in the most eloquent manner his 
 attachment to the July dynasty, and his ignorance respecting 
 any offence committed against any government whatsoever. 
 
 "Hold your peace, you old hypocrite!" replied the soldier, 
 with a certain degree of restored confidence in his tone. " Do 
 not we know you of old ? Did not you do just the same when 
 you were thirty or forty years younger ? Sure I am, it is not 
 so serious an affair as it was then. The Blues did not under- 
 stand a joke ; and a bullet or the guillotine soon made an end 
 of the refractory. But still, mind what you are about, for the 
 prison and the galleys are no trifle either, and an execution in 
 the house I say, old fellow !" 
 
 The poor man would perhaps have been able to bear all 
 threats against life and liberty stoically enough, but the 
 thought of being deprived of his goods and chattels by an 
 execution woke up his covetousness the hereditary vice of 
 the peasants of Poitou and he lost all control. 
 
 " For the sake of the Holy Virgin, M. Durand," he pite- 
 ously exclaimed, with his hands clasped, " do but believe me ! 
 William has never returned home since" 
 
 Here he stopped, having observed the scrutinizing glance 
 cast at him by his tormentor, and continued in a less doleful 
 tone 
 
 " It has been through no fault of mine ; how much I said 
 to him when the lot fell upon him and how I told him, over 
 and over again, that he must make up his mind and obey, and 
 be no ' bush-recruit.' But you know very well, my good M. 
 Brigadier, as well as all Lower Poitou docs, that since his 
 betrothed jilted him and married another man, there is no 
 getting him to leave the country, even though he were as free 
 as a bird on the tree."
 
 170 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " That is the very thing, old man," exclaimed the gendarme 
 in triumph. " He cannot leave Louise ; and yesterday he 
 was seen at Vallembreuse, and is it likely that his own father 
 should not know where he spent the night? But now we 
 have had prattle enough ; we must search the house thorough- 
 ly, and if we have to dig up the hearthstone to find him, yet 
 find him we must!" 
 
 He was moving quickly towards the door, when Loubette's 
 voice was heard outside in loud disputation, as it soon ap- 
 peared, with the brigadier's men who were stationed without. 
 One of them dragged her in, while she struggled violently, 
 and defended herself with her tongue most courageously 
 
 "Is this, then, the law, right, and good order of the clay, to 
 say nothing of its politeness," cried she, with her harsh but 
 full-toned voice ; " that a virtuous girl should be treated like 
 a criminal, when she comes home from the field ?" 
 
 "Why, only see now! the mistress of the house!" ex- 
 claimed the brigadier tauntingly. " And may we ask where 
 thou comest from so late, old lady ?" 
 
 "From a place where it is not usual to say ' thou' to girls 
 one has not the honour of knowing, M. Gendarme," an- 
 swered Loubette, with a degree of boldness that had a some- 
 thing of the heroic, when contrasted with her father's embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 After the dialogue had been carried on a while in this tone, 
 growing even bitterer and bitterer, the experienced old soldier 
 observed that she only pretended to be indignant, to conceal 
 her distress and confusion, as well as to gain time, and in- 
 duce him, through very anger, to abandon the part he had to 
 play. 
 
 He therefore quickly composed himself, and said, in a tone 
 of grave and ironical politeness 
 
 " Now, then, we will take hold of the question with silk
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 171 
 
 gloves, and perhaps Miss Loubette will have the great kind- 
 ness to inform us where she has just come from." 
 
 "Why, if you are quite bent upon knowing this great 
 secret, I have been taking the shepherd his supper." 
 
 The gendarmes at once confronted her they had caught 
 her coming from the very opposite direction. But Loubette 
 was not to be puzzled by this. She asserted that although she 
 had gone round to the field where the sheep were feeding by 
 the meadow, that had only been for the purpose of fetching 
 the sickle, which she had forgotten at noon. 
 
 " Or, perhaps you may think that I wanted to cut old 
 Jerome's bread with this sickle," added she with a sneer, as 
 she threw down the sickle, which she really drew from under 
 her apron. 
 
 The brigadier now tried to catch her by all manner of art- 
 ful questions and assertions ; but she parried them so well, 
 that he began to contradict himself, and knew no longer what 
 he was about. 
 
 "There's no catching the subtle creature !" he exclaimed 
 at last, in dudgeon. " And there's no dragging the truth out 
 of the stupid old Chouans either. Two of you stay here to 
 watch these people, and the rest of us will rummage the whole 
 place he must be here." 
 
 The brigadier had taken no further notice of me than that 
 implied in his first curt greeting, for he knew me before. But 
 I plainly saw that he found my presence inconvenient. I fol- 
 lowed him to the house-door, and heard one of the gendarmes 
 say to him " Was not that a boat that glided over the water 
 behind the bushes yonder?" 
 
 In fact, we soon heard the sound of oars, and the trilling 
 of a cheerful song, then a scream, and a momentary silence ; 
 then some quick oar-strokes, a rustling in the thicket ; and, an 
 instant after, the vagabond Berand, my travelling companion,
 
 172 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 rushed towards the house, breathless, and evidently beside 
 himself, and threw himself down upon the bank before the 
 door. At once assailed by the brigadier, who not unreason- 
 ably charged him with being an old drunkard, he broke out 
 into the following unconnected sentences 
 
 " I have seen seen him ! There there I tell I tell 
 you. He glided in his white boat out from the bushes and 
 and under the trees opposite and he was gone 1" 
 
 " But who there what there, in the name of all that is 
 holy ?" screamed out the brigadier in his impatience. 
 
 " Who ? He !" was the low reply ; " the white boat, and 
 the little yellow man at the helm ! And he had a corpse in 
 its white grave-clothes lying across the boat before him ; its 
 head was hanging over the water !" 
 
 "The wooden-leg is drunk; he has been dreaming!" 
 laughed the brigadier. 
 
 "Would to God I had dreamt it, and were not sober!" 
 said poor Berand, who had indeed been pretty effectually 
 sobered by the fright. " But I have not only seen but heard. 
 ' Turn back, unhappy man !' the figure exclaimed, ' or I will 
 turn thee round and round.' The brandy still gave me 
 courage to answer, ' Man or woman, whom hast thou there ? ' 
 But it cried out in a voice that went through the marrow of 
 my bones, ' I have got tall William to-day, and in eight days 
 I shall have thee ! ' That was enough for me ; and here I am, 
 thank God, at least on dry land still ; and in eight days hence, 
 I shall take pretty good care to be far enough from here ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the cripple named the name of William, than 
 the brigadier hurried off, with an exclamation, to the canal, 
 and all his party after him. We heard the click of their 
 muskets as they cocked them in setting off; next, we heard 
 the brigadier call out three times, and then a gun was fired ; 
 and, on hastening to the place whence the sound came, we
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 173 
 
 found the gendarmes collected on the bank of the side canal, 
 by which Blaisot's land was bounded, and occupying a por- 
 tion of the causeway from which one could see part of the 
 great canal and its nearest ramifications. 
 
 "If the little yellow man has escaped us, he has at all 
 events left his freight behind him," called out the brigadier, 
 as he pointed towards a moonlit spot on the opposite side of 
 the small canal which belonged to Blaisot's land. With 
 horror, we discovered a corpse stretched out at full length in 
 the moonlight. The gendarmes brought out the boat in 
 which our wooden-legged friend had just arrived, and went to 
 fetch the body. Scarcely had they laid it down upon the 
 dyke, than Loubette, followed by her father and their guard, 
 rushed towards it, kneeling down to look at the face, and find- 
 ing it unrecognisable through decomposition, snatched at the 
 right hand of the corpse, and exclaiming " Holy Virgin, it 
 is my brother !" sprang up, and held out a ring to her father, 
 naming the names of William and Louise inscribed on it, and 
 a naming heart between them. 
 
 After the first outburst of grief, the girl soon attained to a 
 remarkable degree of outward composure ; though there was 
 certainly something overstrained and excited about it ; and it 
 was often interrupted by almost convulsive gestures, wringing 
 of the hands, and deep-drawn sobs. However, it was such as 
 enabled her to give all the orders she deemed necessary. 
 
 Agreeably to her directions, the corpse was taken to an out- 
 building near the house, to which Loubette made her escape 
 as soon as she had with inconceivable celerity prepared every- 
 thing against the arrival of guests. 
 
 The old father appeared quite broken down, and almost 
 childish with grief and horror ; and, with lamentable groans, 
 and xinconnected cries, he meekly allowed himself to be led 
 back to the arm-chair in his own room.
 
 174 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Either by the shot, or by the sort of presentiment or in- 
 stinct which never fails to draw people to a place where a 
 calamity has occurred, even before any definite tidings of it 
 can have had time to reach them, a number of the country 
 people of the neighbouring district were soon collected. Lou- 
 bette was now busily occupied ; for, according to the popular 
 custom, which makes a death, as well as a wedding or a christ- 
 ening joy and sorrow alike a pretext for eating and drink- 
 ing, she had to provide both food and liquor, during which 
 task she seemed to be struggling rather with anxiety than 
 grief. Old Jerome welcomed each arrival with loud lamenta- 
 tions, which did not, however, interfere with his activity in 
 passing round the jug. 
 
 As soon as Loubette had attended to her guests, and 
 especially seen that the gendarmes were favourably placed 
 as regarded the circulation of the cider- jug and the brandy 
 pitcher, she hurried out again, and placed at the threshold of 
 the little out-house, where lay the corpse, covered with a coarse 
 linen cloth, two lighted candles, which were not rendered 
 superfluous by the dawning light for it was a dark corner 
 enough. 
 
 The maiden was seated at the entrance with her head 
 covered, and, as one neighbour after another came in, she 
 appeared neither to see nor hear, and kept all at a distance by 
 the violence of her emotion ; so that even those who would fain 
 have taken a nearer look at the body, refrained from passing 
 her to do so. Each fresh comer was contented with a hasty 
 glance and a murmured prayer, and then withdrew. 
 
 After a while, the aged shepherd presented Himself, a 
 venerable form, that seemed rather to belong to other 
 times. 
 
 " This also comes in the train of old age," he said in a half 
 whisper, as he remained standing close to Loubette. " The
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 175 
 
 son of the house, whose birth I commemorated, lies dead upon 
 the bier, and the daughter sits weeping at the threshold !" 
 
 "God is proving our faith and patience, Master Jacques," 
 replied the girl, looking up, as if struggling with contending 
 purposes, and then, deeply moved, looked sadly in the old 
 man's face, as he continued his wailings. 
 
 He placed his broad hand upon her head, as if to bless her ; 
 but his lamentations only increased her grief, for he spoke of 
 the virtues of the deceased, who was evidently an object of 
 affection to the whole neighbourhood. At length, groaning 
 deeply, he shaded his face with his hands, and the few large 
 tears that trickled slowly over his furrowed cheeks, seemed as 
 though wrung by the greatness of his agony from fountains 
 that had long been dry. He now made a movement towards 
 the corpse, and,' at first, Loubette appeared inclined to hinder 
 his advance, but checking herself, she muttered in an under 
 tone "The gray-head will not betray us!" and followed 
 him with looks of earnest attention. 
 
 He lifted the cloth that covered the face, but let it fall 
 again immediately. There was no trace of identity ; and the 
 spectacle revealed by the uncertain light was one of horror. 
 The pet sheep, which had accompanied the old man, and at 
 first attentively sniffed the air around the corpse, now turned 
 unconcerned away a great offence in the eyes of old Jerome. 
 
 " I have thought more highly of the beast than it deserved," 
 he said sullenly. " It is no better than the children of men I 
 Should you not recognise your master's son, living or dead 
 even though his features be disfigured ? But such is the way 
 of the world to have no memory for the absent and the 
 dead!" And EO saying, he withdrew, accompanied by the 
 black sheep, which looked half ashamed, half surprised at his 
 reproof. 
 
 The brigadier, finding I had studied the law, had asked me
 
 176 BBITTANY AND LA VENDfiE. 
 
 to visit the body, and to draw up the proces-verbal of the 
 finding of the corpse. Berand offered to assist me, as he had 
 experience in such matters. 
 
 On the discovery of a corps malheureux as a body whose 
 manner of death is suspicious or doubtful is termed in this 
 country it frequently happens that the next of kin devolve 
 the duties of preparing it for burial on an official styled the 
 grave-digger of the lost, who is seldom a person of good repute, 
 although the pay is excellent. Master Fait-tout seemed, 
 nevertheless, accustomed to the work ; and his help was very 
 acceptable, for it was no pleasant task ; and I wrote down 
 what he dictated in answer to my inquiries. 
 
 On a sudden, as he was busied with the right arm, he burst 
 into a loud exclamation of astonishment. 
 
 " What is the matter?" I cried. 
 
 "What is the matter!" he replied softly, coming nearer 
 than was agreeable to me ; " what do you see on this arm ?" 
 
 " I see a tattooing mark, such as you were making at the 
 inn at Marans." 
 
 " Just so : the grand-piece the altar, the lily, the cross, 
 and a cipher. Now, except the lad on whom I etched it this 
 morning, there is only one in all Lower Poitou who has the 
 grand-piece on his arm ; and that is, or was not Guillaume 
 Blaisot, but Pierre Sauvage, called the well-reputed, who 
 was drowned a week ago, no one knew where, or how, and 
 now " 
 
 A half-suppressed scream prevented the completion of the 
 sentence, and on looking round, we saw Loubette standing 
 erect at the entrance, pale, and with dishevelled hair and 
 flaming eyes, and her arm stiffly extended. 
 
 " Come hither, maiden ! " he exclaimed, " your brother is 
 alive ! At least, this is no more he, than it is the Pope of 
 Rome."
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 177 
 
 But her emotion was at first too great for words ; and when 
 she did speak, the accents were not those of joy, but of an- 
 guish and terror 
 
 " On thy life on thine everlasting salvation, say not an- 
 other word ! And who allowed you to meddle with the 
 dead? what business have you here?" she added with a deep 
 groan, at the same time approaching him. 
 
 I quieted her with a few words of explanation, and an 
 assurance that she might trust me. She grasped my hand, 
 but cast a look of suspicion on my assistant. The latter, 
 after a short pause, during which he displayed more feeling 
 than was his wont, exclaimed 
 
 " Now I see it all ! You knew that it was not Guillaume ?" 
 
 She nodded assent. 
 
 " You are a brave lass, and I understand the game ; and 
 may the deuce take me if I meddle, or mar! I've no such 
 liking for the bloodhounds, especially since 'the glorious 
 days ' in Paris yonder. So, my word upon it, I'm silent." 
 
 "Now I know the meaning of the bird-call," said I to 
 Loubette; "a signal that Guillaume was there with the 
 corpse, was it not?" 
 
 Again she nodded, and whispered, faintly smiling 
 
 " He had most fortunately seen it lying in the mud and 
 slime at the border of a little creek two hours ago, and had 
 arranged it all with me. He is in concealment, while he is 
 supposed to be dead, and the hue and cry is thus stopped. 
 He hovers about here, as though Louise had bewitched him, 
 and declares that he must see and speak to her yet once 
 more." She turned again to Berand 
 
 "You keep our secret?" she said, looking earnestly at 
 him, and holding out her hand. 
 
 He was about to grasp it, when he suddenly drew back, 
 and exclaimed
 
 178 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " Not so fast ! Your fine brother, then, was the yellow 
 dwarf with the hollow cough, and the corpse in his White 
 Boat, who gave me such a fright as he chased me on the 
 water? No, that was too much that's not to be forgiven ! 
 To make such a fool of me, and terrify me, like a child with 
 a scarecrow! We'll see what the brigadier says to that 
 game !" 
 
 I strove to appease him ; but, unluckily, another weight 
 dropped into the wrong balance. 
 
 " No, no," said he ; " what a fool I should have been ! The 
 Sauvages have offered fifty pounds for the body of their son, 
 and I may as well have the reward as any one else." 
 
 He was rushing out, but she stood in the doorway, and 
 placing both her hands on his shoulders, and looking at him 
 with sharp and earnest gaze, while her cheeks glowed with 
 the excitement of her situation, she said, in a calm, but harsh 
 and determined voice 
 
 " Look well to yourself, wooden-leg : you have a choice to 
 make. Are we in future to be friends or foes? Give me 
 your word that you will say no more than you are asked, and 
 from this hour you have a home in the house of the Blaisots 
 and you know the value of such a home to you and the like 
 of you. Or say but a word, make but a sign a gesture that 
 may involve peril to my brother, and you have Loubette 
 Blaisot for your deadly enemy, and Loubette keeps her word 
 for good and for evil. If you know it not, ask throughout 
 Lower Poitou ; and then, old man, ask yourself whether it 
 can bring you either honour or profit in this country to betray 
 a loyal Vendean to the gendarmerie ? Guillaume is lost if 
 he is not dead ! Do you understand ? As to the promise of 
 the Sauvages, the Blaisots can fulfil it as well." 
 
 A host of conflicting feelings was struggling in the man's 
 breast. It was mortified vanity alone that had caused him
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 179 
 
 to swerve from his original friendly resolution; and thus 
 when I told him that if he did not himself represent his fright 
 as a mere idle joke, in order to justify his treacherous betrayal 
 of the young Blaisot, no one in the country would for a mo- 
 ment doubt the fact of a spectral appearance, or regard his 
 terror as otherwise than perfectly natural he was pacified, 
 and able to estimate Loubette's promised gratitude, as well 
 as her threatened vengeance, at their proper value. He now 
 put his hand into that which she again held out 
 
 " Done ! I keep counsel." 
 
 It was indeed high time that we came to an understanding, 
 for during the discussion all the neighbours had withdrawn, 
 and the brigadier had called twice ; and scarcely had we 
 turned again towards the corpse, while Loubette resumed her 
 place and attitude at the entrance, when he appeared, and 
 inquired if the deposition were not yet ready, as it was time 
 lie should be setting out. I hastily wrote the concluding 
 words, and handed the document to him. He scarcely looked 
 at it ; and it was evident that the cider had done its work. 
 Calling his men together, he departed with them and old 
 Jerome, to make his deposition before the nearest magistrate. 
 The old shepherd would fain have taken another look at the 
 corpse, but this Loubette prevented. 
 
 " He knows nothing of it," she whispered in my ear, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders, and shaking her head significantly. 
 
 No sooner had the tread of the gendarmes and the clang of 
 their weapons died away in the distance, than Loubette, who 
 had been intently listening, sprang to the back-door, and twice 
 repeated the bird-call that I had heard at the beginning of 
 the evening. After a few minutes, I heard her speaking with 
 some one, and, in company with a young peasant, she walked 
 into the room, to which, unable any longer to bear the neigh- 
 bourhood of the corpse, I had betaken myself.
 
 180 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Fait-tout now proved his right to his name, by undertak- 
 ing to dig a grave in the garden, and to superintend the 
 interment of the deceased, by which the gendarmes, as well as 
 the neighbours, asserted that he had sought his own death, 
 and had thus forfeited all claim to Christian burial. 
 
 As Loubette came in leading her brother, the likeness be- 
 tween them was very striking ; and those traits which took 
 from her the softness of womanly attractiveness, rendered him 
 a type of manly beauty. He was an active, well-looking fel- 
 low, in spite of the hardships that he had recently endured, 
 while he had been wandering about like a criminal, or a baited 
 wolf. 
 
 On seeing me, he retreated a step, and put his hand in his 
 vest, as if seeking a weapon, but Loubette soon reassured him. 
 
 When the first greetings were over, and he had offered me 
 a few words of thanks, Loubette interrupted us, reminding 
 him that it was time to refresh himself. 
 
 " For you cannot stay here," she added with a heavy sigh ; 
 and for a moment, it appeared that the struggle of her full 
 heart was about to find relief in tears. She rallied, however, 
 and resumed her usual calmness of bearing ; it was as though 
 hers were a life of action, not of emotion. 
 
 And yet with what motherly tenderness she now ministered 
 to her brother ! carefully appropriating to him his place, his 
 cup, his spoon ; anxious to give him yet once more the full 
 impression of home. It was touching to see him fold his 
 hands in prayer before he cut the bread. 
 
 " It is the first of the new wheat," said Loubette ; " I would 
 not use any till you were with us." 
 
 " God bless thee, my sister ! I praise Him that He has per- 
 mitted me to taste again the corn of our paternal fields for the 
 last time," he added slowly, and with a deep-drawn sigh. 
 
 He however turned to the table and set to in good earnest,
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 181 
 
 as though he were making a meal that might cany him 
 through more than one day. Between whiles, he asked a 
 hundred questions about all the little matters that had 
 occurred in field and stable during his absence ; and in the 
 interest of these domestic details, both seemed to have for- 
 gotten the perilous circumstances in which he was placed. I 
 was compelled to remind him that if there were nothing more 
 to be apprehended than the return of his father, the meeting 
 with him must be avoided, as he was not in the secret. When 
 Guillaume was away, he might know all with safety. At the 
 same time, I offered to take him with me to Marans, from 
 whence he could readily get across the country. It was so 
 early, that we ran but little risk of meeting neighbours on the 
 road, and in case of a straggler or two, he could contrive to 
 hide his face. 
 
 He accepted the proposal, and slowly arose from his seat in 
 the home of his youth. 
 
 " God's will be done ! but it is hard for a son to shun his 
 o'wn father, and steal from his own home like a felon !" said 
 he, as he grasped his staff, and took the bundle which his 
 sister had prepared. She now turned aside, and, for the first 
 time during this trying scene, her strong mind gave way be- 
 neath the storm of her feelings. She covered her head, and 
 sobbed as though her heart were breaking. He stood unde- 
 cided, and struck his stick against the floor. She made a 
 strong effort, turned towards her brother, and, cutting a 
 small slice from the loaf, she made the sign of the cross on it, 
 then kissed it, and put it in his vest. She then grasped his 
 hand, and looked imploringly at me. I understood her, and 
 went out to look to the vehicle, and to leave the brother and 
 sister alone to their bitter parting. She still strove against 
 her weakness before the stranger. 
 
 In a few minutes he came out, and, without saying a word,
 
 182 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 took his seat beside me in the car, gathered up the reins, and 
 we were off. We drove on for about an hour and a half, 
 when he suddenly halted, and said 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, I will not detain you, but I have business 
 here, hard by." 
 
 I represented to him the risk he incurred, and expressed my 
 surprise at his having any business that could hinder him for 
 a quarter of an hour under such circumstances. It availed 
 not, and he only entreated me to wait for him. 
 
 " Only ten minutes," he exclaimed with the deepest emo- 
 tion. " It is no business it is but a house a look. I cannot 
 leave the country without once more" 
 
 He pointed to a house overshadowed by trees, about a hun- 
 dred paces from the spot. 
 
 "Louise?" I asked. 
 
 He coloured, and nodded assent, and then hurried towards 
 the dwelling. 
 
 I fastened the horse to a tree, and followed him, to be at 
 hand in case of trouble. He stood a while beneath a tree 
 that was growing out of the hedge which surrounded the 
 garden. The window of a projecting angle of the building 
 was just opposite, and doubtless he had good reasons for 
 choosing his post. The curtains were drawn, and the inmates 
 of the house seemed buried in sleep. The distant village 
 clock struck three, and I thought it high time that we were 
 again on the road. I approached, and bade him be comforted, 
 and take courage. His expression awed me ; it was rather 
 one of anger and passion than of sorrow, with the same stern 
 fixed look that he had in common with his sister. 
 
 "One moment more!" he whispered softly. "She must 
 know that I have been here, and then she will see how to 
 settle it with her conscience. Yes ; if she should learn that 
 my corpse was found here !"
 
 THE WHITE BOAT. 183 
 
 He laughed a bitter laugh, as he untied his cravat, and 
 was about to fasten it to a branch which overhung the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " She will know it but too well !" he murmured. 
 
 Just at this moment, the cry of an infant was heard from 
 the chamber. It had a wonderful effect on him, and changed 
 his fiercer mood into one of complete prostration. 
 
 " She is a mother !" he cried. " I did not know it; Lou- 
 bette should not have concealed that from me. It is all over 
 now I and God forbid that I should bring terror to a mother ! " 
 
 He let go the bough, which swung back against the win- 
 dow, and fastened the cravat round his neck ; and in a few 
 seconds, was seated by my side, lost in thought, and rapidly 
 urging forward the horse on the road to Marans. 
 
 He drew up at the Bridge of Vix, and declared that his 
 route now lay in a different direction. I offered him the 
 charge of a little farm in Touraine, if he would let me know 
 where to find him. He was evidently grateful for my sym- 
 pathy, but declined the offer, saying 
 
 " It can't be ; I must live as the rest do. To manage a 
 farm properly, I must have a wife, and I could not think of 
 that. Man must labour, in the quietness and the peace of his 
 heart and of his life, and that I cannot ' do. I should never 
 see a gendarme without thinking that he was seeking me." 
 
 " You are dead for the gendarmes, Guillaume, and for all 
 the world except Loubette and me," I replied half jestingly. 
 Bnt the words made a painful impression on him. 
 
 " It were perhaps the best thing that could happen for me 
 if it were true," he rejoined gloomily. But recovering him- 
 self quickly, he imparted to me his plan, which was to seek a 
 home with some friends in the Talmond country. I made 
 some inquiries as to his means of subsistence ; but he was 
 shy, and broke off the conversation abruptly, saying that he
 
 184 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 had still far to travel, and that people were coming in sight 
 along the road from Marans. He was right; and we had 
 scarcely time for a brief farewell, and a hearty grasp of each 
 other's hand, when he was lost in the thicket, and I saw him 
 no more. But among the bodies of those who were shot by 
 the gendarmerie in the slight rising that soon afterwards took 
 place in La Vendee, on the appearance there of the Duchess 
 de Berri, that of Guillaume Blaisot was recognised.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 TRADITIONS of enchanted treasures, still obtainable by en- 
 chantment, are .as common among the people of France as 
 anywhere else. One of the most detailed of these traditions 
 has maintained itself in Les Pays des Basques. It is often 
 narrated by the shepherds who tend their flocks around the 
 sources of the Gave, whose confluence in the plains forms the 
 Adour. 
 
 Long before the days of Julius Caesar, there was a magician 
 who, riding on a tamed dragon, contrived to reach the rock 
 where Debrua, the Evil Spirit, had his abode. He wound a 
 magic chain seven times about him, and forced him to reveal 
 the nature of the talisman which insured possession of all 
 earthly power and earthly enjoyment. Debrua gave him the 
 information required. In order to obtain eveiy wish of his 
 heart, he had but to conquer the saffron-coloured fly that ap- 
 peared every evening in a mountain-pass of the Pyrenees 
 which he named. In order to catch the fly, he was to weave 
 a net of the three hairs whose roots were nearest the brain, 
 having previously prepared them with sweat and blood. The
 
 186 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 enchanter followed these directions, caught sight of the saffron- 
 coloured fly, and followed it seven days and seven nights 
 over rocks and through thorns, on which he left not only 
 shreds of his garments, but even of his skin and his flesh. 
 At last the fly settled upon the roof of a cow-keeper's hut, 
 where he could not reach it (the reason of this is not told us) ; 
 and as he had no other method of dislodging the insect, he set 
 fire to the hut. Then the saffron-coloured fly flew off again ; 
 and he continued to follow, till at last it lighted upon a 
 fennel-plant. Again he found himself unable to reach the 
 object of his pursuit, for fennel is inimical to all enchanters. 
 While he was standing in dismay, a young shepherd, who 
 was pasturing his flocks in those regions, chanced to see the 
 beautiful insect, caught it in his cap, and was about to carry 
 it home with him. At this the magician was enraged : he 
 followed the boy, slew him, and obtained at last the saffron- 
 coloured fly ; but before he could seize it in tne proper way, 
 it gave his hand such a sting, that the whole remainder of 
 his life was poisoned in consequence. He became richer 
 than the Labinas, or fairies of the Gave ; but he fell sick, as 
 those do who are devoted by their enemies to the blessing of 
 St. Sequaire, which dries them up. And at last he died as 
 if the very core of his heart had been stung through and 
 through. 
 
 Now, Brittany and the bordering district of Maine are also 
 rich, not only in fragments and traces of traditions which are 
 less fantastic, it is true, than the one we have just related, 
 having for the most part a Druidical air about them, but even 
 up to our own time, practical attempts to obtain such en- 
 chanted treasures are common there. The shepherds of the 
 Pyrenees, on their part, never think of making search, us the 
 very use of gold is unknown to several of them. 
 
 There are many places, it is true, where the only evidence
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKEH. 187 
 
 in favour of the existence of buried treasures consists in the 
 local superstition about them ; but there are many others, 
 again, which possess such strong presumptive evidence of the 
 fact, that the higher forms of mammon-worship in our own 
 day have not disdained to concur in popular and superstitious 
 researches. 
 
 One of these spots is a hill, or high mound of earth, between 
 Le Mans and Mamers, called by the peasants " La Motte 
 d'Yve," but officially named Mount Jallus. Here, in olden 
 times, the English held a strong position, which they only 
 evacuated after the peace of Brettigny. Upon that occasion, 
 being unable to carry off with them the long-gathered and 
 costly spoils of the whole country round, they are said to have 
 buried them here. 
 
 Since then, numberless attempts to dig out these treasures 
 have been made in numberless parts of the hill ; and these 
 diggings have been more or less deep, according to the means 
 possessed by those who, having been stung by the saffron- 
 coloured fly, have sought their fortune here. The neighbour- 
 ing village, St. Cosme, is avowedly the head-quarters of the 
 treasure-seekers, and was especially adapted to their reception. 
 But of late, when even English companies, and masculine as 
 well as feminine notabilities of the July government, have 
 taken up the matter, there are comforts to be found in the 
 village inns which make it very possible to spend one's money 
 if not usefully, at least pleasantly enough. Magnetism, 
 too, has played its part here. The father of a well-known 
 actress followed the directions of a somnambulist in his search 
 for treasures and, indeed, with greater success than any 
 hitherto obtained. It is true that he sunk some thousand 
 dollars in the speculation, and in a few days received in return 
 five old copper coins and three rusty nails 1 That did not, 
 however, prevent his imitators from seeking the same spiritual
 
 188 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 counsel ; and a somnambulist is now one of the indispensable 
 personages connected with the digging operations, which have 
 since that time been carried on at considerable outlay. 
 
 In the autiimn of 1844, 1 accepted the challenge of a friend 
 to visit these works, as results of antiquarian interest, at least, 
 appeared by no means improbable. 
 
 We were already drawing near to the end of our journey, 
 when, on the slope of one of the shafts near the roadside, we 
 remarked a man lying fast asleep. He wore the peasant dress 
 of the district, and was very neatly and cleanly attired. In- 
 stead of a stick, he held in his hand a little spade one of 
 those used in mole-catching. My companion recognised the 
 sleeper, and said, as he pointed him out to me 
 
 "That is one of the most remarkable specimens of our 
 country-people. Jean Marie is something between a charla- 
 tan and a sorcerer. He knows all sorts of secret remedies, 
 and sells talismans. He cures all manner of diseases, both 
 of men and beasts, exorcises reptiles, and discovers water- 
 springs. He sells love-potions to the damsels round, and con- 
 trives to transpose himself from place to place as quick as 
 thought. He does business with all the farmers far and wide, 
 and every year buys an acre of land. No doubt he is now 
 on one of his rounds, for he has his magic pack with him, I 
 see." 
 
 The stranger had in fact a leathern bag, or pouch, open on 
 his knees : he seemed to have been rummaging in it when 
 sleep overtook him. Curiosity impelled us to draw nearer, to 
 investigate his mysterious store ; but he woke up, and at first 
 looked round him with terror and suspicion. But as soon as 
 he recognised my companion, he at once became composed ; 
 and having hurriedly concealed his knapsack, he stood up 
 and greeted us. He was still in the prime of life and strength ; 
 but the expression of his face was rather that of a Norman
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 189 
 
 than of an inhabitant of Maine more expressive and more 
 jovial, though of equal cunning. 
 
 It so happened that he was going the same way as we 
 were ; and as he stood upon tolerably familiar terms with my 
 friend, whom I shall name Charles, he was easily persuaded 
 to set off with us. His next destination was the farm of the 
 fat Francis, as he was called who was also, as it appeared, 
 a public character in these parts. As we were starting, a 
 small article dropped out of the cunning man's store, which I 
 picked up and returned to him. He thanked me, and said, 
 not without some embarrassment, that it was a specimen of 
 corn which he wished to show to Father Francis. 
 
 " Is it not rather corn prepared for the mercurial test, old 
 sorcerer?" asked Charles with a laugh. 
 
 Jean Marie smiled, and shrugged his shoulders without 
 answering. It was unmistakeable that he himself doubted 
 as to the reality of his own arts and his own wisdom. 
 
 Charles then gave me the following description of the way 
 in which the price of corn is foretold. 
 
 Twelve grains of corn are, with all manner of hocus-pocus, 
 laid in a row upon the hearthstone, before a very hot fire. 
 Each grain signifies a month in the year, and according to 
 the way in which the increasing heat causes some of them to 
 bound backwards or forwards, so will the rise or fall in the 
 price of corn be. 
 
 I observed that the custom seemed connected with Druid- 
 ical superstitions an idea to which the heathenism of Jean 
 Marie seemed to incline. 
 
 " Wisdom is the gift of the ancients," he quietly replied. 
 
 " This sort of wisdom comes very near that of the Evil 
 One 1" remarked Charles. 
 
 "And what of that?" rejoined the other, with a smile. 
 " The really humble are those who do not deny that ho is
 
 190 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 wiser than they. The devil is always treated like a beggar ; 
 everybody barks after him in order to pass himself off as a 
 good dog." 
 
 We soon reached the Mount Jallus, where our way diverged 
 from that of the devil's champion. Our expectations concern- 
 ing the diggings were much disappointed ; for either there 
 really was nothing to show, or else we were not trusted. The 
 leading engineer, to whom we had an introduction, was not 
 on the spot, and so we soon continued our way to St. Cosine, 
 where we hoped to find him. 
 
 But there too we missed him ; and the aspect of the village 
 was not calculated to lessen our vexation. It was a genuine 
 French nest; and to those who know the meaning of that 
 phrase, it says all that need be said. Owing to the utter 
 absence of any other object which could inspire the least in- 
 terest, or afford the least pleasure, we bestowed our attention 
 upon a travelling tinker, who was carrying on his trade op- 
 posite our inn, and whose whole appearance had something 
 picturesque and romantic ; provided that such epithets be not 
 denied to the generality of Teniers' paintings, and to others 
 of the Flemish school. 
 
 After he had placed his furnace in the proper position, he 
 began to make his dinner of a piece of black bread and a 
 couple of onions. But suddenly he started, sprang up, and 
 ran off into a by- street, which was cut short by a low wall. 
 Here he stood for some time leaning against the wall ; then 
 jumping on it, he looked round about him in evident excite- 
 ment. At length he returned, downcast and murmuring to 
 himself. We had been throughout unable to discover any 
 cause for this sudden emotion. 
 
 Just at that moment our host entered, and we asked him 
 who the man was, and what was the matter with him. The 
 host shook his head, as he answered that no one could exactly
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 191 
 
 tell, unless it were the devil. From the man himself, whose 
 name was Claude, no answer whatever was to be got as to his 
 family or his circumstances. Anyhow, he was a vagabond ; 
 and owing to his ceaseless wandering about the country, he 
 had had the name of le Rouleur given him. One thing, how- 
 ever, was certain whenever the diggings on Motte d' Yve were 
 set agoing, he was sure to be there, and for this reason people 
 have supposed him to be a treasure-seeker, and half a sor- 
 cerer. 
 
 We determined that we would try our luck with the tinker, 
 and going over to where he was, we tried to make ourselves 
 as agreeable as we possibly could. But he remained gruff 
 and monosyllabic ; either looked down at his work, or cast 
 sidelong and suspicious glances from his deep-set black eyes 
 at us. And yet his answers always had a meaning at bot- 
 tom. 
 
 " You must find it hard to be so long from home at this 
 season of the year?" I suggested, after making a few less 
 direct observations. 
 
 " He who is alone in the world is at home everywhere," 
 replied he with a bitter smile. 
 
 " Then you really are always on the move?" 
 
 " The poor must go wherever he can find sun and food." 
 
 " But when sickness or old age comes ?" 
 
 " Then one does as wolves do one lies down in a corner 
 and makes an end of it." 
 
 So we went on for a while ; and Charles, who piqued him- 
 self not a little upon his advocate's skill in cross- questioning, 
 did not make much further progress. 
 
 At last, it chanced that I, taking it for granted that the 
 tinker, like all of his trade, came from Auvergne, began to 
 speak to him about that province. 
 
 " I am no Auvergnat," said he drily.
 
 192 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " Where, then, do you come from ?" 
 At first he was silent, and then muttered, " Berri." 
 That word showed that we had won the game, for Charles 
 himself is a " Berrichon ;" and he played the part so well, ex- 
 pressing, in the purest and most horrible patois of Issoudan, so 
 much delight at meeting a countyman,* that old Claude's 
 frosty demeanour could hold out no longer, especially when he 
 found that my friend and he were still more nearly related, as 
 being both of the same district of Morvan. 
 
 It was not long before we were all three sitting around a 
 bottle of genuine " Berri," which completely unloosed the 
 poor fellow's tongue, and afforded us abundant explanation of 
 his strange conduct, which rooted entirely in the popular tra- 
 ditions about treasures and treasure-seekers. With him tink- 
 ering was but a pretext to disguise his own special vocation, 
 which held out to him, as an inevitable result, the obtaining 
 of countless riches by digging up the treasures watched over 
 by dragons and monsters in those Men-Mrs and other monu- 
 ments, in which Brittany and the neighbouring Celtic pro- 
 vinces are so rich. And, moreover, he was a by no means 
 raw professor of mysterious lore; but he had, with the help 
 of some old books, devised a very complicated system of popu- 
 lar magic, alchymy, and astrology, in all which he believed 
 as devoutly as in his own existence. 
 
 The chief points of his creed regarding treasures were as 
 follows. There are treasures of three different kinds : the 
 first belong to the Evil One, whom he always called le 
 vilain ; the second to the dead ; the third to spirits, to fairies, 
 and to such of the defunct as he designated by the expression 
 of the Summoned, because they were appointed to a corporeal 
 
 * The tie of fellow-provincial is much more warmly acknowledged in France and not 
 amongst the peasantry alone than one could have expected from the centralization of 
 tho whole state.
 
 THE TREASUKE-SEEKER. 193 
 
 resurrection. The first comprised all precious stones, as well 
 as the nobler metals, which had not seen the face of heaven for 
 more than a hundred years ; the second were those over which 
 a living being hd been slain, and over which his spirit kept 
 watch ; the third were treasures which had been hidden by 
 fairies, spirits, or sorcerers. The discovery and the raising of 
 these three different kinds must be carried on by different 
 ways and means. With the Evil One, there was no other 
 way of dealing than by entering into a binding contract, con- 
 cluded upon a cross road, and at midnight, after Master Eobert 
 this, it seemed, was another of the Great Enemy's names 
 had been solemnly and specially invited, with all the cere- 
 monies necessary in such a case. 
 
 The treasures existing under the guardianship of departed 
 spirits are more rare, and are, besides, most difficult to obtain. 
 The living creature who first touches them must inevitably 
 die, either at once, or in the course of the year. Tho great 
 point, therefore, in this case, is first to procure rest for the 
 troubled spirit, and to obtain for it an entrance into the 
 realm of souls, that BO it may be able to forsake its post. 
 
 The third class of treasures is the most accessible. An 
 accident, a happy meeting with one of the possessors or 
 watchers in a gracious mood whether these be genii, fairies, 
 or dragons will often avail to open out endless wealth to 
 some fortunate mortal. Magic and the art of conjuration, 
 it is true, offer other means through the proper use of which 
 a few favoured ones may with greater toil attain their end. 
 But such science is only possessed by a few, and is fast becom- 
 ing more and more rare. One way, indeed, of breaking the 
 spell which renders treasures invisible, is to induce a priest to 
 say a mass backwards ; but then it is scarcely possible in these 
 days to get an ordained minister to commit such a sacrilege. 
 
 But what the people call " la trtve de la nuit de NoVl "
 
 194 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 (the truce of Christmas-night), affords the best chance of all. 
 And on this point the would-be wonder-worker adhered as 
 implicitly to the old, partly Druidical, partly Christian, tradi- 
 tions current, as in the remainder of his creed he was content 
 to follow the grossest follies or impostures of all known or un- 
 known Black Art ; or, perhaps, I should rather say, to follow 
 his own wild fancies. 
 
 The night then, when the Saviour of the world, the Prince 
 of Peace, was born, or, at all events, the hour of His birth, 
 affords to the whole world a sort of a " truce of God." Al' 
 laws and "all strife, all enmity and opposition between the vi 
 sible and invisible 'worlds, are done away with for that hour 
 Love and Peace alone hold sway over the universe. There if 
 no wickedness, no transgression, no punishment! The in 
 finite burden of anguish laid upon the world, is for a seasor 
 removed, and it draws a long breath of ecstasy because of thif 
 deliverance, which does not, however, extend beyond midnight 
 During this short respite, the petrified spirits of the Men- 
 hirs and other Druidical remains, rise and hurry to the lake* 
 to quench their thirst, and to bathe therein. So the treasures, 
 that they guard, remain open and unwatched. It is the samo 
 with the dragons and serpents, which lay aside their heavy 
 carbuncle crowns, that they may drink of the running brooks 
 The evil spirits have neither power nor will to injure. Even 
 animals throw off the curse to which they have been subjected 
 by the guile of the serpent; and those who are wont to fly 
 from or devour each other, now meet and associate harmlessly 
 and trustingly. The most hidden clefts and lowest depths of 
 the earth open out, the mountains tremble with joy and display 
 all their treasures and splendours, as in spontaneous and loving 
 subjection. The called may profit by these moments, but wo 
 to him who has not carried his booty to some place of security 
 before the next hour strikes. The firing of the cannon which
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 195 
 
 announces the termination of the midnight mass, is the sign for 
 the renewing of the great conflict between the visible and in- 
 visible worlds. The , evil spirits return to their posts, and 
 should they find the treasure-seeker still there, he is given up 
 to their power till the day of judgment. 
 
 Poor Claude had now lived twenty years in the firm hope 
 of profiting by this interval of peace, and had repeated his 
 attempts every Christmas-night, now here and now there, 
 throughout the whole country, without ever being disconcerted 
 by their want of success, and by the utter absence of any one 
 experience, any one appearance which could confirm his pre- 
 conceived notions. With steadfast patience he counted the 
 days till the next Christmas-night should come round. 
 
 " To-day again," continued he, after a pause, speaking 
 rather to himself than to us, and having indeed, as it appeared, 
 completely forgotten our presence in his excitement ; " to-day 
 again I have had a sign." 
 
 "When you ran into the little street, eh?" interposed I, 
 thoughtlessly enough. He started, looked at us suspiciously, 
 bit his lips, and said in a changed voice 
 
 " So, then, the gentlemen observed me ? Indeed, indeed 
 well then, you must have seen too, whether it really did 
 turn up the street or not ?" 
 
 " What do you mean it ?" 
 
 "Oh! perhaps the gentlemen believe that they have got 
 hold of a child, and are asking it its catechism !" he now ex- 
 claimed, with an expression of the greatest bitterness, as he 
 jumped up. All our attempts to calm him, to regain his con- 
 fidence, to induce him to speak, were perfectly vain. It was 
 only by the offer of a reward, which was really a considerable 
 one for him, that he was persuaded to act as our guide to a 
 neighbouring village, where we wished to visit some antiqui- 
 ties, and which, moreover, lay in the direction that, as we had
 
 196 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 already ascertained, he meant to take this very evening. I 
 hoped to be able to regain our lost ground with this singular 
 and half-distracted man. 
 
 But my hopes were disappointed Claude remained sullen 
 and silent. After a while we reached a solitary farm-house, 
 which Claude announced to be that of the Fat Francis, whose 
 name AVC had already heard. A party of peasants in the im- 
 mediate neighbourhood, busy with rakes, spades, and shovels, 
 were very zealous, and loud about their work. One of them 
 held in his hand a fork-shaped hazel-rod, a divining-rod in 
 short, and was giving directions, and answering questions 
 with dignified bearing, and solemn gestures. As we drew 
 nearer, we recognised Jean Marie. 
 
 " The mole-catcher!" exclaimed Charles with a laugh. 
 
 " Not at this moment !" put in Claude ironically ; " he is 
 playing a higher part just now ; he has Aaron's rod in his 
 hand, and seems to be looking for treasures or water, the 
 ignorant, unbelieving blockhead that he is !" 
 
 I beckoned to him to be silent, and, hidden behind some 
 bushes, we were able to see the busy group quite near. 
 
 " The right twig gold, the left iron if both move, water ;" 
 said Jean Marie, as he walked up and down with his divin- 
 ing-rod. The peasants followed him about, with every token 
 of highly-wrought expectation, and deep wonder and reverence, 
 not unmixed with a shade of fear, for the marvels that were 
 to appear. At last, and close to where we were standing, the 
 left twig was seen to move ; and after the labourers had, at the 
 sorcerer's bidding, proceeded to dig to the depth of about two 
 feet, something was heard to ring beneath the spade, while 
 he stooped down, and lifted up in triumph a horse-shoe, which 
 the bystanders passed from hand to hand in amazement. 
 Jean Marie then went on to a place where flags and rushes 
 grew amongst the bushes.
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 197 
 
 " Dig here !" said he exultingly ; " here is water !" 
 
 And after the peasants had again dug about two feet deep, 
 a spring of tolerably clear water did indeed gush forth. 
 
 " To hide and then find a horse-shoe, to discover water 
 where rushes grow, that is the extent of his art," muttered 
 Claude, with an expression of conscious superiority, while we 
 advanced and saluted the water-finder. Jean Marie was evi- 
 dently very unpleasantly affected by the presence of Claude, 
 though he did not venture to show it openly. 
 
 It was evident, indeed, that the ragged tinker domineered 
 over the well-to-do quack. He answered some of Claude's 
 ironical remarks in a conciliatory and humble manner, but it 
 was plain that he felt decidedly relieved when we urged our 
 guide to go on again, and thus avoided a serious dispute 
 between the rival magicians. 
 
 But Jean Marie's tactics were evidently complicated to a 
 degree that we vainly tried to unravel for, in a short time, 
 we heard him calling after us ; and when, after a rapid run, he 
 came up with us, it was to say that as our road passed quite 
 close by his house, he should be exceedingly obliged if Master 
 Claude would undertake a few repairs for him. It is possible 
 that he wished to humble the man whom he felt to be his 
 superior in mystic lore, by calling upon him thus to practise 
 his lowly trade. 
 
 But be that as it might, we had soon reason to be thankful 
 for this political measure. For scarcely had we retraced our 
 steps for half a mile, and by a cross road approached so near 
 Jean Marie's dwelling they call such hedged-in portions of 
 land Closeries as to be able to discern its roof beneath the 
 surrounding fruit-trees, than all at once the thunder-storm 
 which had been gathering ever since noon, burst upon us with 
 such violence, that even in the short way that yet remained, 
 we got wet to the knees and were truly glad to find under
 
 198 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Jean Marie's roof: a. shelter from the .hail and; rain, and a 
 cheerful fire at which to dry and warm ourselves, 
 
 We, or rather otir host, were welcomed by an unfortunate 
 idiotic, wild-looking, grown-up, hut dumb female. She was 
 sitting upon the threshold, her tangled hair over her face, 
 and her eyes closed. But she heard us at some distance, 
 jumped up, and on seeing first of all only my friend and my- 
 self the two treasure-seekers walking together behind she 
 ran at us with threatening gestures and fierce sounds. But 
 she had hardly discovered Jean Marie when her whole being 
 changed, and she hastened to him, jumped several times around 
 him, laid her head on his breast, ran on before him, rubbed 
 up to him, and finally preceded him into the house. There 
 she continued to make the strangest gestures, and to utter 
 sounds that resembled the joyful whining of a faithful dog. 
 
 Jean Marie introduced her to us as his sister Martha, and 
 returned her oft-repeated manifestations of delight at his return 
 much more kindly than I should have expected from him. 
 He praised her much to us as a trustworthy, and able guar- 
 dian of the premises in his absence, careful and attentive to 
 her brother's comforts, and to all things and persons which 
 he had a value for. 
 
 " A mother always thinks her last child beautiful, and I 
 have no one related to me now in all the world, except my 
 poor Martha," observed he, as if apologetically ; " and when I 
 come home in the evenings, it is something to have a human 
 being there, who loves and welcomes me. And we under- 
 stand each other capitally, in many more ways than you could 
 believe." 
 
 It soon appeared that the continuance of our journey, or 
 our return to St. Cosme, were alike out of the question. All 
 the fields and meadows, roads and paths, were under water ; 
 the little brook, that ran past the house, roared down the
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 199 
 
 valley like a mountain-torrent, and soon swept along in its 
 course fragments of the bridges it had destroyed. Twilight 
 too had closed in, and, to cut the matter short, we could not 
 hope, before morning broke, to take a hundred steps in any 
 direction without considerable danger. So we thankfully ac- 
 cepted the invitation of Jean Marie, who cordially offered us 
 all he had to give, namely, a fire, bread, wine, and some clean 
 straw for the night. We accordingly sat down to table com- 
 fortably enough. But all our attempts to get the tinker to 
 thaw again proved perfectly useless. Jean Marie, on the con- 
 trary, had almost regained his cheerful, confident tone, and was, 
 if not much more communicative, at least a great deal more 
 talkative than his rival. Poor Martha crouched down on the 
 ground beside her brother, and laid her head upon his knee, 
 like a tired child. Every now and then he gave her a mouth- 
 ful, and whenever he appeared to forget her, she reminded 
 him of her presence by a low and gentle whine, just as a little 
 dog might have done. At times, she raised her head and 
 looked steadfastly at her brother, and then a lightning flash 
 of conscious affection would shine out from her expressionless, 
 rolling, light-blue eyes. Jean Marie seemed to take pleasure 
 in speaking of her, and relating how, though certainly weak 
 in body and mind, she had by no means been idiotic up to her 
 twelfth year ; nay, that on several occasions, her love for her 
 mother and her brother had wonderfully exalted her mental and 
 bodily energies ; but a fire, which had consumed her parents' 
 house by night, had so shaken her whole being, that she had 
 become what we saw her now. Yet she had still some inter- 
 vals of clearer consciousness, and he went on hoping if not for 
 a cure, yet at all events, for some alleviation of this heavy 
 trial. 
 
 Claude had been all this time busy with a couple of iron 
 pots which were given him to tinker. He had partaken very
 
 200 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 moderately of the repast set before him, and had taken no part 
 in the conversation, in which the " Eat-catcher," as he con- 
 temptuously called our host, had displayed a very good, perhaps 
 indeed the best side of his character. Every now and then 
 Claude fixed his gaze, as if unconsciously, upon the idiot, with- 
 out however a trace of the interest and sympathy which the 
 country people are wont to show towards this afflicted class of 
 beings, whom they call " Holy Innocents." After some time 
 he rose, went to the door, looked out at the weather, packed 
 up his implements in his basket, and took hold of his old hat 
 and new cudgel. 
 
 "You are surely not going further to-night?" asked Jean 
 Marie. 
 
 " About two good miles further," was the reply. 
 
 " If the son of your father is in his right mind, he will put 
 up with my straw, and not risk his neck on" 
 
 " The son of my mother has his own ideas on the subject, 
 and knows what he is about," broke in his gloomy guest ; and 
 with a curt leave-taking he prepared to depart. Our host was 
 evidently more occupied by curiosity as to the intentions of 
 his mysterious and singular fellow- treasure-seeker, than offend- 
 ed by the incivility of his manner. Above all things, he seemed 
 to dread any open rupture with him. He at once offered him 
 the parting cup courteously enough. My friend laughingly 
 expressed his good wishes for the traveller in the words of the 
 prayer to St. Bon-sens : " God preserve you from the men of 
 the court, the women of the city, and the wolves of the field." 
 
 " Well, the gentlemen may laugh as they will, but let me 
 become a 'Normand' and that would be no trifle to a good 
 ' Manceau' if I did not see yesterday a wolf, or something 
 worse, near this cottage of mine. I ran for my gun and fol- 
 lowed the creature along the hedge. Just as I was going to 
 make a hole in its hide, it howled, and then I was perplexed
 
 THK TnEASURE-SEEKER. 201 
 
 as to whether, after all, it might not be a dog, and I did not 
 fire. And yet I had never in all my life seen a dog like it ; 
 so I aimed again ; but in a moment it vanished, as if it was 
 bewitched, as if the earth had swallowed it up, just at the foot 
 of the great earth-mound behind the garden." 
 
 The tinker, who was just setting out, suddenly stood as still 
 as if he had taken root, and listened with intense attention. 
 He instantly put several rapid, low, and to us scarcely intel- 
 legible questions, as to the size and colour of the animal stood 
 silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, then put down his 
 basket and sat down, brooding and mute, in a corner of the 
 room. We had had our overtures repulsed already too often 
 by the surly old fellow, so we took no further notice of him ; 
 but Jean Marie contemplated him with growing curiosity 
 and timid reverence. It was quite evident that he burned to 
 try his luck, and question this master-sorcerer about his mys- 
 teries ; and the best preparation for this measure seemed, in 
 his opinion, to be a frequent offer of the " fire-water," which 
 he had taken out of a cupboard in the wall, to pour out the 
 parting cup. 
 
 We were unwilling to be any longer in the way, and were, 
 moreover, tired enough ; so we asked to be shown to the room 
 where we were to pass the night. It opened out of the 
 kitchen, or parlour, in which the two men were sitting. I 
 left my door a little open, that I might watch them, for 
 Claude's demeanour had made a great and disagreeable im- 
 pression upon me, which my friend's jokes had no power to 
 remove. I had certainly no fear about our own personal safety ; 
 but I had a presentiment of something .mysterious and horri- 
 ble. However, my intention of watching soon subsided into 
 deep and heavy sleep, and painful dreams. My last half- 
 conscious impression was of an eager, low-toned conversation 
 between the two treasure- seekers, who were sitting so close
 
 202 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 together that their bent heads almost touched. I heard, 
 something said about the earth-dog which watches treasures, 
 and then I dropped off to sleep. Again I thought I heard 
 them speak of some sacrifice that would be necessary, as who- 
 ever touched the treasure first would be lost. The heads bent 
 still nearer; Claude hissed something in the ear of Jean 
 Marie, who started up as if horrified. I tried to rouse myself 
 to greater attention, but it was in vain, for sleep utterly over- 
 came me. 
 
 How long I slept I do not know ; but I plainly heard a 
 rustling at our door, and Jean Marie's voice, saying 
 
 " They are asleep ! " 
 
 " It's all the same," answered another voice, and I heard 
 the key turned. 
 
 Then Jean Marie called Martha, and the poor thing mur- 
 mured, and stretched herself as she awoke ; but no sooner 
 had she recognised her brother's voice, than she sprang up 
 with her loving little whine, and was ready to do anything 
 that he might point out. After a few minutes' delay, the 
 three set out together. At first, before I was thoroughly 
 awake, I had the impression of a crime about to be perpe- 
 trated ; but it soon occurred to me that there could be no 
 real danger to Martha in any part that the stupid superstition 
 of the two men might assign her. And yet there was some- 
 thing horrible in reflecting that the death of the poor idiot had 
 been actually decreed in the mind and will of her brother, as 
 the price to be paid for wealth. So, then, the tempter had 
 prevailed over the best feeling of his nature, over the genuine 
 affection he felt towards the helpless sister whose whole life 
 seemed to consist of her love to him. 
 
 My first impulse had been to jump up and prevent the 
 undertaking of these men, whatever it might be. Soon, how- 
 ever, succeeded another the idle curiosity, or, to call it by a
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 203 
 
 milder name, the interest I took in this aspect of popular life, 
 made me desirous to see where the thing would end. My in- 
 tention was to let them go on, and then to creep after them 
 with my comrade. I had not such a high notion of the old 
 fortress in which we were shut up, as to suppose I could not 
 force the lock from within ; and besides, I remembered having 
 seen some iron tools in a corner of the room. 
 
 As soon as the footsteps and voices of the treasure-seekers 
 had passed out of hearing, I jumped up, awoke my friend, and 
 informed him of what I had heard. We soon set to work. 
 But the task was more difficult than I had supposed, and we 
 lost much time in spite of vigorous efforts, till at last we de- 
 termined by the help of an iron bar, which we were fortunate 
 enough to find, to lift the door off its hinges. When we got 
 out we looked about us carefully, in order to find out the 
 nearest way to the mound of earth, of which Jean Marie 
 had spoken the preceding evening, and which was doubtless to 
 be the scene of their great operations. The morning however 
 was just beginning to break, cold and gray, and we felt un- 
 certain which way to take. 
 
 Suddenly we heard a hollow crash, and then a piteous cry. 
 We hurried in the direction whence it came, and had hardly 
 taken two hundred steps when Jean Marie came to meet us, 
 carrying his poor idiot sister in his arms. He was in a state 
 of fearful excitement. "The old quarry I" he gasped out as 
 he saw us. " We tried to widen the entrance. Martha, poor 
 Martha ! the whole of it fell upon her ! make way, I tell you, 
 make way !" 
 
 He rushed past us to the house. For a moment we doubted 
 whether it might not be right to apprehend the tinker, as we 
 suspected that a crime had been committed. But Jean Marie's 
 cry for help determined us to hurry at once to him. We found 
 him busied in carefully tending the poor faithful creature, but
 
 204 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 himself in a state of increasing excitement. When we entered, 
 he implored our assistance. Alas ! there was nothing to be 
 done ! Martha lay upon the hearth, with a wide gaping 
 wound in her head, and covered with hlood, while her whole 
 attitude showed that her limbs were fearfully shattered. 
 
 Our efforts and the administration of brandy and water, at 
 length succeeded in rousing her for a moment from the state 
 of torpor in which at first we had found her. She raised her 
 head a little, and opened her eyes. Their glance had no 
 longer a trace of idiotcy it conveyed the full expression of 
 conscious, sorrowful love and deep anxiety. "Jean Marie!" 
 she cried in a weak but perfectly distinct voice. When her 
 brother heard her speak, he leaped up as though he had been 
 struck on the breast with a red-hot iron. " Did you hear 
 that ?" exclaimed he, wringing his hands. " She has spoken, 
 now, it is all over with her !" In fact, she rapidly relapsed 
 into a swoon ; her breath became fainter and fainter ; a few 
 minutes longer and the death-convulsion shook her feeble 
 frame, she groaned once more, moved her lips, tried to raise 
 her head, and look towards the side, where her brother was 
 sitting upon the hearth petrified with grief; then, she sank 
 back, and all was over. 
 
 What had we any longer to do there ? What help could 
 we afford to the living or the dead ? Jean Marie did not 
 even answer any of the short attempts at consolation, which 
 we addressed to him. Like an image of the deepest woe and 
 bitterest remorse, he sat by the corpse his eyes riveted on it. 
 He took no further notice of us than was implied in a hasty 
 and imploring motion toward the door. We obeyed his mute 
 request and went away, fully intending to send all necessary 
 assistance from the nearest village. 
 
 We returned by the way we had come the day before. 
 After a few minutes' walking, we reached a place where the
 
 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 205 
 
 road was covered with earth and stones. This, then, was evi- 
 dently the old quarry where Martha had met with her death. 
 We stood still for a moment, and saw a figure crawl out of a 
 narrow opening, and, passing close by us, disappear in the 
 thick brushwood beyond. We could not mistake the dark 
 face, the piercing glance of the tinker. Yet we had no right, 
 and no plea for detaining him. For the few expressions that 
 Jean Marie had used touching the sad occurrence, proved 
 that it had been owing to an accident, and not, in the ordinary 
 acceptation of the word, to a crime. 
 
 " Has, then, the death of that harmless innocent been power- 
 less to quench, for one moment, the superstition and thirst for 
 gold in this man's heart?" I exclaimed-, shuddering. 
 
 " On the contrary," replied my companion, " she was the 
 very sacrifice who was to purchase for him the safe approach 
 to the long-sought treasure." 
 
 We had had enough of treasure and antiquity-seeking for 
 a long time to come, and returned past the Motte d'Yve in 
 much graver mood than that in which we had first seen it.
 
 DURING the course of a journey upon business, that led me 
 through ancient Brittany in 183-, I happened to leave Pon- 
 trieux rather late one evening, and to take a footpath that I 
 was tolerably well acquainted with, hoping thus to reach 
 Treguier before sunset. But I had much miscalculated, and 
 before I was half way it was already fast growing dark. In 
 addition to this, a violent snow-storm came on just as I 
 arrived on the barren plateaux that run along that part of the 
 coast. As their steep though low banks of rock or earth are 
 washed by the sea, it may well be conceived that the storms 
 from the north or west, blowing as they do over a measureless 
 expanse of ocean, rage over these plateaux with unresisted 
 fury. 
 
 At first I felt a species of enjoyment in battling with the 
 elements ; but very soon the narrow path was ankle-deep 
 with drifted snow, which almost threatened to cover me up, 
 and at all events prevented my seeing two yards before me. 
 It is true that the moon rose early ; but the wild masses of 
 fast-flying clouds, and the thick snow-fall, only confused one's
 
 208 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 senses the more, seen through her unsteady light, so that I 
 could hardly conquer a tendency to vertigo if I stood still 
 for a moment, and relaxed the full stretch of my physical 
 energies. 
 
 However, there were occasional pauses in the storm, as 
 though it were taking breath for new outbursts of fury ; and 
 yet these short respites exercised no comforting influence 
 over me. They were either broken by the howling of wolves, 
 or by other less easily explained, and therefore more disquiet- 
 ing night-sounds of nature ; or else the dashing of the waves, 
 which the high wind had excited and for a time out-roared, 
 or the rushing of a swollen stream, broke suddenly upon my 
 ear, reminding me of the nearness of danger without enabling 
 me to distinguish exactly the direction in which it lay. If I 
 turned my back to the storm for the sake of an instant's 
 repose, I soon lost every distinct trace of the path I ought to 
 take. If I faced the wind again, that afforded me no cer- 
 tainty of being in the right way, for it kept shifting con- 
 stantly from north to west. 
 
 Fortunately, a little footpath that I at last followed, led me 
 down suddenly into a narrow dingle, into which the storm 
 could not penetrate ; and while it roared away over my head, 
 I was able to take breath, and collect my scattered senses. By 
 and bye, I observed at a distance of about a hundred yards, 
 in a broader and lower part of the dingle, a few unsteady 
 lights ; and going towards them, I soon found myself at the 
 door of a humble hut, which stood at the end of a poor little 
 village, whose low and ancient church- steeple, lighted up by 
 the moonbeam, was visible for a moment through the driving 
 snow. 
 
 The door was only a lean-to ; and on pushing it open and 
 entering the cottage, I found myself in one of Brittany's 
 spinning-rooms. About twelve women were sitting round a
 
 THE GROACII AND THE KAKOUS. 209 
 
 bright fire, turning their spindles with great rapidity, and 
 shortening the time now with talk, and now with song. Some 
 sleeping children lay in a corner of the room. The seat best 
 protected from smoke and draught was occupied by a young 
 woman, who was suckling a baby, and singing the while a 
 wailing nursery-song in an under tone. 
 
 At my entrance, every face was turned towards me with 
 an expression of mingled anxiety and curiosity, to discover 
 through the clouds of smoke, and by the fire's xmsteady light, 
 who it could be that was shaking off the snow from his coat, 
 and standing stamping upon the threshold. 
 
 " God's blessing rest on all here present," said I, in con- 
 formity to the custom of the country. 
 
 " And on the stranger as well," answered the good woman 
 of the house, rising, and advancing to meet me. 
 
 " There is a shroud over the heath, and even the wolves are 
 unable to find out their lairs," I continued, as I approached 
 the fire. 
 
 " Houses are for Christians," replied she, pointing to the 
 wannest seat near the hearth, which was immediately ceded 
 to me, while the women crowded together. 
 
 A long silence succeeded ; for good manners in Brittany 
 forbid that the guest be addressed first, or plagued with ques- 
 tions: people wait to hear what he may have to say. At 
 length, having recovered a little from my fatigue, and got 
 warm again, I inquired how far I still was from Treguier. 
 
 " Three long miles and more," answered the countrywoman ; 
 "but the waters are out, and without a guide you could not 
 get there safely even by daylight." 
 
 Upon my asking whether it would not be possible for me 
 to procure a guide from the village, she replied with a deep 
 sigh, which called forth more than one echo 
 
 " Our husbands are at Terre-neuve, on board the St. Pierre."
 
 210 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 "All of them?" said I in amazement. 
 
 " All, of course. Does not the strange gentleman then 
 know that it is the custom here for all the men of a village 
 to sail together if possible ? We have been expecting them 
 every day for the last eight days." 
 
 Some of the other women now began to speak all at once, 
 in a half whisper, and in most melancholy tones, as follows : 
 
 "God be with them! The ships from Brabet, from St. 
 Brieux, have already returned a fortnight past ; it is only the 
 St. Pierre that is missing." 
 
 " And yet it is high time that our husbands should be 
 back, for the winter sets in hard, and the dear time begins." 
 
 " Our little bit of spinning won't last us much longer, even 
 if we were to spin till our fingers bled." 
 
 " Only ask poor Dinah how many measures of barley she 
 still has in her chest for herself and her baby." 
 
 " And over and above that, she owes me for the milk she 
 has had every day since the little one's birth." 
 
 " Dinah may well pray to God to grant a good haul of fish 
 to the St. Pierre, to enable her to get out of her difficulties." 
 
 "Why, as for that, she ought to be very thankful that 
 hitherto things have gone much better with her than she 
 could have expected or deserved." 
 
 There was in the tones of the speakers, and indeed in their 
 whole bearing towards the young woman, a something rather 
 contemptuous, which surprised me. Dinah evidently felt it. 
 She bent down over her child, and sobbed out " I pray only 
 that God may preserve my husband." 
 
 I now observed her more closely. In spite of the very 
 poorest clothing, she made upon me the impression of great 
 and rare beauty at once proud and somewhat wild in cha- 
 racter, and yet full of feminine softness and grace. 
 
 The women went on speaking of the ship, upon which all
 
 THE GROACII AND THE KAKOUS. 211 
 
 their hopes hung, and of what they purposed to do in case it 
 returned with a profitable cargo. 
 
 " I shall go to the town," said one, " and eat my fill for 
 once of wheaten bread." 
 
 "My brother has promised me a silver ring," said another; 
 " but I shall not have one under thirty francs." 
 
 " I will buy a couple of masses for the soul of my mother." 
 
 " I have vowed one to the honour of the holy St. Anna." 
 
 "And thou, Dinah," asked I, turning to the young woman, 
 " what wilt thou do when thy husband returns?" 
 
 "I I?" answered she, as if timid and embarrassed. "I 
 will lay his child in his arms, and we shall be together." 
 
 At this moment, a cow, which occupied a partition at the 
 back of the cottage, stretched her head out, and lowed three 
 times very emphatically. 
 
 " Another stranger is coming here : the red cow knows 
 what she is about," observed the housewife. 
 
 A moment later, we heard heavy steps outside, and then 
 came a loud knocking, and a rough voice said 
 
 "Is there any room in this house for the poor?" 
 
 " Anaik Timor! the GroachI" exclaimed all the women 
 at once, with an unmistakable expression of alarm and abhor- 
 rence. Dinah echoed the words after a moment's interval, 
 and said, while she pressed her child still closer to her breast 
 " Anaik Timor ! May God graciously preserve us !" 
 
 "Is there, then, no room for the poor in this house?" the 
 rough voice again asked in a still harsher tone. 
 
 The housewife rose reluctantly and opened the door. In 
 came a little old woman, with the most wretched snow- covered 
 rags hanging about her, and exposing to view her thin, dark, 
 and seemingly smoke-dried limbs. She carried on her shoul- 
 ders a much-torn bag, out of which projected the neck of a 
 bottle, the nature of whose contents it was easy to guess at.
 
 212 EKITTAXY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Her long gray hair was stiff with snow and frost. She carried 
 a long and strong cudgel in her hand. Her face was so 
 covered with a net-work of deep wrinkles, that its original 
 expression could hardly be traced. Only, her green-gray eyes 
 showed mingled wickedness and cunning, and had an un- 
 steady piercing look, which seemed the effect not alone of 
 drink, but of insanity. 
 
 She remained standing in the middle of the room if the 
 covered space deserved the name shook off the snow, stamped 
 with her stick upon the floor, and threw threatening glances 
 upon the circle around her. 
 
 " It takes time, as it seems, and trouble to make up one's 
 mind to open the door to old Timor ! And yet the weather 
 outside is too bad to turn out a dog in," said she, in a loud, 
 sharp, screeching voice. 
 
 After some apology made by the good woman of the house, 
 she continued 
 
 " So, then, you did not expect me ? No, indeed, you never 
 expect old Timor. What do you, sitting round your warm 
 fire, with plenty to eat and drink, care for those who are 
 freezing and hungering without? But patience, I say, it is 
 not yet the end of all things, and who knows whose turn will 
 come next?" 
 
 While she was putting her bag down, and finding herself a 
 place near the fire, I asked some of the women about her ; 
 for though I knew what respect the country people in Brit- 
 tany show to a beggar of this kind, yet there was a something 
 about the threatening demeanour of this uncanny and wretch- 
 ed being that surprised me. My questions only received the 
 following words in reply, and they were whispered in fear and 
 trembling 
 
 " She is a Groach ! a witch a wise woman, I mean." 
 
 As the old woman moved towards the fire, she became
 
 THE GKOACH AND THE KAKOUS. 213 
 
 aware of my presence. For a moment she seemed rather dis- 
 mayed by it ; but she soon recovered herself, and said, in an 
 almost mocking tone, while she fixed her piercing gaze upon 
 me 
 
 "Look you, now, a Tud-gentil a nobleman !" 
 
 It is thus that this people are wont to call every townsman, 
 or, as they say, every gentleman. I must here remark, that 
 the women spoke to each other in the old Arrnorican dialect, 
 taking it for granted that I did not understand it. To me, 
 however, they spoke French as well as they could. 
 
 " A nobleman ! " continued the old hag, with a grin ; " fine 
 clothes, watch, chain, ring, and all I Well, Joan Timor 
 might have had them all too, if he had liked ; and when he 
 was alive, Anaik had no need to go about with the beggar's 
 staff, knocking at doors, and hearing the people within say- 
 ing, ' The old witch ! God be gracious to us ! ' " 
 
 She then began, as if in absence of mind, to hum an old 
 song about the Plague of Elliant, while she cowered almost 
 in the fire, till I really expected each moment to see her dry, 
 black, and claw-like fingers begin to blaze. 
 
 She had for some time been looking askance at Dinah, who 
 was evidently discomposed by this, and turned away, so as at 
 least to shield her child from the malignant influence. 
 
 " So, then, Kaven-eye," suddenly screeched out the old 
 woman, " thou too art here ! How comes the rope-maker's 
 daughter amongst respectable women?" 
 
 The poor young wife grew pale ; and I now understood the 
 ungraciousness evinced towards her by the rest of the group. 
 She belonged, then, to that unfortunate and despised race 
 known to the people of Brittany as Kakous.* 
 
 * The Kakous of Brittany are doubtless ctymologically the same as the Cagots of the 
 South of France, and afford the same difficulties in the way of adequate historical ex- 
 planation. Wa will content ourselves with suggesting that the terms Kakous and
 
 214 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " You are mighty proud, Dinah," the old witch went on ; 
 " and all because a young fellow of pure blood has thrown 
 himself away upon you, and you happen to be nursing a child 
 of his at your breast. But I too have had husband and 
 children, and now I am desolate and spurned by all the world. 
 Wait a little, thou daughter of an accursed race ! This day 
 year I foretold that this would be a black day to thee. The 
 day is not over yet, and I already hear" 
 
 "Why do you hate me, Anaik? Why do you persecute 
 and curse me ? I have never done you harm," broke in the 
 poor young woman, in an imploring tone. 
 
 "Why? why?" screamed the hag. "Did not your hus- 
 band drive me out of your house, and forbid me its entrance, 
 because thou hadst complained to him about my evil eye, and 
 my bad words ? And what had I said ? I had only called 
 thee a rope-maker's daughter; and that thou art, and wilt 
 remain. But wait a little, and you too, all of you, who took 
 so long a time to consider whether you would put up with old 
 Anaik by your fireside, or leave her to freeze out of doors, 
 your punishment is coming to you from Treguier!" 
 
 " From Treguier!" exclaimed several voices. " Have you 
 been speaking to any one from thence ? Have you any 
 tidings of the St. Pierre, Anaik?" 
 
 " I have just come from Treguier, and as I was leaving, a 
 ship had just come in." 
 
 " Was it the St. Pierre, Anaik ? Tell us, for God's sake !" 
 cried the poor women, springing up and crowding around the 
 old woman, who seemed to delight in keeping them in sus- 
 pense, while she filled her short, black pipe, and looked round 
 the circle with a mocking glance. At last -she- replied 
 
 Cagots may have served originally to designate an oppressed race like the Helots and 
 Pariahs of other countries. This expression of abhorrence was then applied to lepers, 
 and in later years to the members of any trade or pursuit considered ignoble and de- 
 grading, as was the case in Brittany with rope-making and coopering.
 
 THE GROACH AND THE KAKOUS. 215 
 
 " No, a Saxon ship." 
 
 The people of Brittany still call the English " Saxons." 
 
 The women gave vent to their disappointment in loud 
 lamentations and complaint. 
 
 " What do we care about those heretic Saxons, if thou 
 canst tell us nothing of our own people ?" said the woman of 
 the house, at length. 
 
 "The Saxons came from Terre-Neuve, too," continued 
 Anaik, in a tone of indifference. 
 
 " Then they had perhaps some tidings to give of the St. 
 Pierre ? speak, Anaik," implored Dinah, overcoming her re- 
 pugnance, and, with gestures of entreaty, approaching the old 
 woman, who made as if she had not even heard the question. 
 But when all the rest had gathered round her, she vegan 
 slowly, and drop by drop, to distil the poison she had prepared 
 for them. 
 
 " The Saxons told of floating icebergs, between which ships 
 were shivered like glass ! They had heard the crash of one 
 ship, and afterwards seen fragments of it float past them ; and 
 on one portion of a mirror there was the name to be read 
 what was it that the Saxons called it ? anyhow it was some 
 saint or other. I've got it now it was the St. Pierre I And 
 there, you have the latest news!" said she in conclusion, in 
 her screeching voice, which rose above the tumult of grief 
 which suddenly succeeded to the deathlike silence in which 
 the poor women had been listening. The name of the ship 
 fell like a thunder-bolt amongst them. The spindles fell 
 from their hands, and for a moment there was nothing to be 
 beard but various expressions of the deepest anguish, so loud 
 and violent, that every individual voice was lost in the gene- 
 ral wail. Dinah alone knelt silent and rigid in a corner of 
 the room, hiding her face upon her baby. 
 
 I looked steadfastly at the old woman, and could hardly
 
 216 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 restrain my indignation and horror. Her malicious grin, and 
 the manner in which she shrank from my gaze, gave me the 
 firm impression that she was either telling a positive false- 
 hood, or at all events making the very worst of any bad news 
 she might really have heard. 
 
 " You are drunk, and you lie, you wicked Groach !" I ex- 
 claimed at length, losing all self-control. " The St. Pierre is 
 not lost, or at all events the crew is saved." 
 
 Upon my uttering the word Groach, which in Brittany sig- 
 nifies the very worst species of witch, her eyes flamed with 
 rage, and she seemed ready to spring at my face like a wild cat. 
 However, she contrived to compose herself again in some de- 
 gree, and, changing at once her mocking expression into one 
 of forced calmness and horrible solemnity, which quite subdued 
 the poor women, who, in their deep distress, had again col- 
 lected round her, wringing their hands, or convulsively clasp- 
 ing them together, she proceeded to say 
 
 " So, then, old Anaik is drunken, and lies, according to the 
 learned Tud-gentil ! And he has heard of the Groachs, it 
 seems, and thinks that poor Anaik must be one of them ! 
 Well, I have nothing to do with such learned gentlemen ; 
 but you women of Loc-Evar, you yourselves may understand 
 the signs that are sure to follow. Just notice when you go 
 to bed, whether you do not hear the salt water dropping down 
 on the head of the bed ; and you who have broken the three 
 kings' bread,* you may look and see whether the share of the 
 drowned has not become mouldy. Ay, and God himself will 
 soon show you whether Anaik Timor is a liar or not the 
 dead will speak for themselves and for me. Listen ! " 
 
 Even I could hardly withstand the uncanny influence of 
 
 * A loaf baked on the 6th of January, the day observed as the anniversary of our Lord's 
 receiving the homage of the wise men of the East, who, in Roman Catholic countries. 
 are known under the name of The Three Kinyi.
 
 THE GROACH AND THE KAKOUS. 217 
 
 these words. We all silently listened for sounds without, 
 where the storm had burst forth with fresh fury. 
 
 Whenever there was a moment's pause in the howling of 
 the wind, a distant and solemn dirge might bo heard, ap- 
 proaching nearer and nearer. Soon a longer interval occurred, 
 and then we were able distinctly to hear several hollow wail- 
 ing voices singing an ancient litany for unhappy souls, which, 
 in the language of Brittany, ran something as follows : 
 
 "Brothers, parents, friends, children, for God's sake hear 
 and help us ! Yes, for God's sake, if still there be pity left 
 on earth I 
 
 " Those whom we have nourished have forgotten us, those 
 whom we have loved feel no compassion for us ! 
 
 " You are at ease and in comfort, but we poor souls endure 
 torment ; you sleep refreshing sleep, but we poor souls wake 
 in bitter pains ! We are in the flames of agony : fire on our 
 heads, fire under our feet, fire above, fire below ! Pray for 
 us poor souls!" 
 
 During this dirge the women had fallen upon their knees, 
 and through very horror were scarcely able to utter a few 
 ejaculatory prayers. And I confess that I myself was for a 
 few moments painfully struck by the coincidence of the old 
 woman's conjuration with this ghostly dirge. However, I 
 soon recovered myself, and hurried out to discover the true 
 state of the case. But the snow was whirling about so 
 thickly, that I could hardly discover even near objects by 
 the moon's unsteady light, and after a few steps taken at 
 random, I was glad to find myself in the cottage again. 
 There was no longer anything to be heard. When I re-entered, 
 I found the old woman standing triumphant in the midst 
 of the miserable circle, and she at once exclaimed contemp- 
 tuously 
 
 "Now, then, who has lied? who is drunken? Has tba
 
 218 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Tud-gentil found what he wanted so much to find, or has he 
 found out that old Anaik has spoken the truth?" 
 
 I answered, in some confusion, that on account of the snow, 
 I had been unable to see the travellers or the pilgrims who 
 had without doubt just passed by, but that the sounds could 
 have had no other origin. 
 
 "Keally," grinned the old hag, "travellers or pilgrims, 
 nothing more ! What do people in towns know about souls ? 
 The townspeople look upon their dead as though like dogs 
 they rotted in the holes into which they are put, and there was 
 an end of them. Very well, very well ; the Almighty will 
 show the heathens by and bye that they too have got souls, 
 and then the gentleman will see whether those were not the 
 souls of the men drowned in the St. Pierre who passed by just 
 now. Ay, he will soon see " 
 
 " The gentleman will see that he was right, and that Anaik 
 Timor has lied," suddenly interposed a grave and severe 
 voice. 
 
 I looked round : a priest had entered the cottage. The 
 women sprang up, and with a ray of joyful veneration on 
 their sorrowful faces, exclaimed 
 
 " His reverence ! God bless him !" 
 
 The priest, a worthy, dignified man in appearance, walked 
 at once to the wicked old woman, and looking keenly at her, 
 asked, in a tone of rebuke 
 
 "What are you doing here, Anaik ?" 
 
 " And why," answered she in a whining, and yet half de- 
 fiant voice, "why should not the poor be where they can 
 reckon upon a bit of bread and a good fire ? Are we not 
 in a Christian land, and may I not" 
 
 "Silence!" broke in the priest with severity. "It is not 
 hunger that brings you here, but revenge, and the love of 
 giving pain."
 
 THE GROACH AND THE KAKOUS. 219 
 
 Then turning to the women, he continued in a milder tone 
 " She has only told you a part of the truth, and that the 
 worst part. It is true that the English ship brought tidings 
 of the loss of the St. Pierre, but she also brought with her 
 the crew which she saved, at least the greatest part of the 
 crew," added he, much distressed evidently to damp the over- 
 flowing joy with which the word saved was calculated to 
 inspire the poor women. 
 
 While they, tossed about as they were by hope and fear, 
 pressed round him with lamentations and questions, he related 
 briefly that six of the men had, at the very moment of the 
 shipwreck, agreed in vowing, that if their lives were spared, 
 they would immediately upon their landing, without having 
 spoken to any one belonging to them, or given them a sign 
 of recognition, proceed with bare feet, and with heads closely 
 veiled, to hear mass in the village church. " And," said he 
 in conclusion, " you have just heard those six men pass by ; 
 and they must now be at the church, where I am going to 
 say the mass for them. The remainder of the crew, alas ! 
 are drowned!" 
 
 The women could scarcely hear him to the end, and were 
 about to rush out, each hoping to find her husband amongst 
 the six saved. But the priest placed himself in the doorway, 
 held them back, and sought earnestly and kindly to make 
 them understand what a sin it would be in them to hinder 
 their husbands in the performance of their vow. He exhorted 
 them to bear the torments of suspense with pious resignation ; 
 some as a small thank-offering for the gracious interposition 
 of the Blessed Virgin, who had saved those who turned to her 
 in faith the others, as a punishment of their sins, to which 
 doubtless belonged some neglect of the reverence due from 
 them to the Queen of Heaven. 
 
 But flesh and blood were stronger than all that the pious
 
 220 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 man could urge. At first they were satisfied to besiege the 
 priest with questions each believing that they could discover 
 in his looks, if not in his words, a confirmation of their fear 
 or their hope. But when he remained proof against ques- 
 tions, prayers, lamentations, and reproaches, and remained 
 firm in his priestly duty though evidently only by dint of a 
 most painful effort they began to hurry out through a back 
 door, which he had not perceived. 
 
 " Go, then !" he called out after them, really angry at last, 
 "go, and desecrate the sanctity of a vow! Chastisement 
 will surely overtake you in the life to come ; but beware, 
 moreover, that it do not suddenly fall upon you here ! Be- 
 ware, lest the very one who so lawlessly rushes foremost of 
 all, be decreed not to find the man she seeks for 1 " 
 
 Dinah was the one who had hastened on in advance of the 
 others. But as she heard these words spoken she suddenly 
 stopped, and after a short and severe mental struggle, turned 
 round, saying 
 
 " No, I will be obedient I will wait 1" 
 
 Her example had a powerful influence upon the remainder. 
 They all turned and fell on their knees in tearful supplication, 
 while the good priest once more affectionately exhorted them, 
 that each should bring with her the offering of self-sacrifice 
 that each should look upon herself as already a widow, or 
 an orphan, that so, should her lost one be given back again, 
 she might the more deeply, permanently, and practically ac- 
 knowledge and adore the wonderful goodness of the Lord, and 
 the mighty intercession of His Heavenly Mother, who had 
 herself experienced such sorrows thousandfold a sword hav- 
 ing pierced through her heart also. 
 
 Having thus in some measure succeeded in calming, or at 
 all events subduing them, he now called upon them to follow 
 him to the church. All did BO with the exception of Dinah,
 
 THE GEOACH AND THE KAKOUS. 221 
 
 who remained behind, and went hurriedly towards old Anaik, 
 who was sitting the whole time by the fire, and seemed quite 
 indifferent to what was going on. 
 
 "You know who are saved, and who are lost, Anaik?" 
 asked Dinah, in a stifled voice. 
 
 "I? how should I?" muttered the old woman. "And 
 even if I did, has not the priest commanded you to wait?" 
 
 "Does my John live? where is John?" continued the 
 poor thing, in increasing excitement and distress. 
 
 And as the old woman remained silent, she fell down at her 
 feet, and conjured her by all the saints, only to give her a 
 sign of what was to be her fate. 
 
 " I can bear all all, rather than this horrible suspense ! " 
 she repeated, over and over again, almost beside herself. 
 
 " Well, now," said at length the old hag, with a grin, 
 " what wilt thou give me if I tell thee thy fortune?" 
 
 " All all that I have, except my child ! " cried Dinah, 
 with one arm clasping her baby so tightly, that it screamed, 
 and with the other reaching out to the wicked old woman 
 whatever she had of value, as she believed. " There, my 
 rosary my cross of coral and ebony ! There, there my sil- 
 ver mourning- ring !" 
 
 The witch the while shook her head contemptuously, and 
 at last said 
 
 " What should I do with all these ? I like thine anguish 
 better!" 
 
 At that moment the bell rang a summons to mass, and 
 Dinah sprang up, rushed out, and flew through the village to 
 the church. I followed her. 
 
 The whole village was assembled there, in deep devotion 
 the women placed nearest the altar. A few sobs a few 
 ejaculations to the Virgin, alone interrupted the profound 
 silence. The candles were burning on the altar: all was
 
 222 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ready. Then the door of the sacristy opened, and the priest 
 came out, followed by six figures entirely concealed by grave- 
 clothes. A cry of sorrow, impatience, anguish, rose at the 
 sight, succeeded by the same breathless silence as before, and 
 the sacred ceremonial proceeded without any farther inter- 
 ruption. It was an impressive spectacle, this victory of faith 
 and obedience over the strongest and the holiest impulses of 
 nature. 
 
 I looked round for Dinah. She knelt at the entrance of 
 the church, with upraised face, and arms drooping nerveless 
 down. She had laid her little baby before her on the ground, 
 like a sacrifice that neither can nor wills to escape from the 
 fatal stroke. 
 
 At last the priest pronounced the words, He, missa est ! All 
 crowded at once in fearful excitement, with hearts and hands 
 reaching out towards the altar, where stood the six shrouded 
 forms. 
 
 " Lift up your souls in prayer ! " said the priest solemnly, 
 as he took hold of one of the six, bade him rise, and brought 
 him forward, his grave-clothes falling down as he moved. A 
 scream of rapture rose, and a wife lay sobbing on the breast 
 of the rescued one. So it went on throughout the number. 
 The excitement, the crowding, the exclamations of grief, on 
 the other hand, grew more vehement at each discovery. The 
 hopes of those who had not yet found their supporter grew 
 ever weaker and weaker. 
 
 Again I looked round at Dinah. She knelt in the same 
 position, as though turned to stone. 
 
 But when the last figure had risen, when the last shroud had 
 fallen off, and her John had not stepped forward, she silently 
 sank down in a swoon, and had to be carried away while the 
 congregation was dispersing the happy, with silent joy and 
 thanksgiving ; the unhappy, with loud weeping and wailing.
 
 THE GROACH AND THE KAKOUS. 223 
 
 Yet I heard no imprecations, no expression that could in any 
 way weaken the impressiveness of the whole scene. 
 
 I betook myself to the priest's house, where the greater part 
 of the recent widows and orphans assembled. With much 
 wisdom, he proffered to them all the consolations that faith 
 and love are able to afford. 
 
 The following morning I continued my journey. The 
 storm had raged itself to rest ; the sun shone brightly from 
 out the blue sky, and the spring seemed suddenly to waken 
 in the heart of nature, in trees, and plants, and little merry 
 birds. 
 
 When I returned by the same road a few days later, I met, 
 not far from the village, a very poorly-dressed woman, 
 with a baby in her arms, a bundle on her back, the white 
 beggar's staff in her hand, and her head sunk low, as though 
 she were walking in her sleep. It was Dinah ! I had not 
 the heart to waken her.
 
 THE CHOTJANS. 
 
 I HAD long made it a matter of conscience to endeavour to 
 obtain on the spot, and from the few surviving warriors, the 
 most authentic information possible, concerning the hitherto 
 unnoticed, or mystified beginnings of that remarkable episode 
 in the great and deadly struggle of old against new France 
 the Chouannerie. A respectable miller, whose little property 
 was situated on the confines of the old provinces of Bretagne 
 and Maine, where the strife was for the most part carried on, 
 afforded me the means of fulfilling my purpose. Although, 
 from his habits of mind, even more than from his age, he was 
 himself incapable of sharing, or even of understanding my in- 
 terest, he was able to direct me to those who could. 
 
 He came some little distance to meet me, and brought me 
 to his mill, where the further line of operations was to be 
 settled between us. As we drew near to the house, we saw a 
 young man occupied about one of the sluices by which the 
 water of the main wheel was either supplied or let off. On 
 my asking about the lad, whose manner pleased me, the miller 
 laughed, and said
 
 226 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 " That is Pierre, my only son and heir. He takes charge 
 of his grandmother." 
 
 This was said in a tone that invited further question, as 
 though to bring in some jest, or anecdote, and, in reply to my 
 further inquiries, he added 
 
 " We call the great sluice the grandmother, because it 
 supplies us all with bread ; but the boy, moreover, has to 
 thank that sluice that he did not swallow his last crust some 
 ten years ago. The thing happened thus : I was standing 
 here, by the sluice, and the water was let off, as there was 
 not much to be done just then, when suddenly, splash ! and 
 there was the boy in the deepest part of the stream. He had 
 fallen over the steep bank, and I saw two legs above the 
 water, and then nothing. I considered for action without 
 consideration brings no good ; so I said to myself, ' Before 
 thou couldst find a pole long enough to reach the bottom 
 before thou couldst find the boy, even if thou wert to jump in 
 after him and thou canst swim like a pair of shears the lad 
 is drowned, so' in short, sir, in the twinkling of an eye, I 
 opened the sluice, and the water rushed out like a mountain 
 torrent in spring, while I stood upon the watch, holding by 
 my left hand to that beam, as I hung over the foaming water- 
 fall ready for a grasp with my right. And sure enough, in a 
 few seconds, I saw*a dark object floating in the green and 
 turbid waters. Quick as thought, I seized it as it was rush- 
 ing onward to the great wheel, and drew out my Pierre by 
 the hair of his head 1 " 
 
 " But suppose you had missed your grasp ?" 
 
 "Ay, suppose!" he rejoined with a short laugh, and then 
 resumed seriously, " in that case, the next moment would 
 have seen him torn and crushed in the wheel, and me too, 
 sir." 
 
 I have given this little incident rather as affording an apt
 
 THE CHOUANS. 227 
 
 illustration of the peculiar kind of courage and decision by 
 which the Manceau and the French Breton are distinguished 
 from the Armorican on the one hand, and from the Vendean 
 on the other, than from any special importance of its own. 
 The three races are alike characterized by courage of the 
 highest order ; but the courage of the Manceau is cool and 
 calculating, and has regard, not only to the end, but the 
 means ; that of the Vendean, when once aroused, is brilliant 
 and joyous ; while the courage of the genuine Breton is of 
 darker, sterner mood. These distinctions carry weight in a 
 struggle which, being one of old nationalities against all-level- 
 ling revolution a struggle for religion, superstitions, customs, 
 privileges, and freedom, necessarily brought out all the pecu- 
 liarities of individual character. 
 
 I soon saw that to gain the friendship of the only surviving 
 brother-in-arms of the celebrated Jean Cottereau Chouan, was 
 the most likely means of accomplishing my purpose. Ever 
 'since the war, this man had been known in the country by the 
 name of Va-de-bon-coeur ; and he was now settled within 
 about six miles of the mill. 
 
 " He will tell you stories by the hour, if you can but once 
 set him agoing ; but he is suspicious of strangers, at least of 
 such as are called gentlemen. He ever remembers that he 
 might even now be called to account for the past. And, 
 moreover, you will soon see that he is fast becoming childish ; 
 he is generally to be found sitting before his door, knitting 
 garters, and teaching the children prayers and the catechism. 
 To look upon him now, it is hard to believe that he is the 
 man who stopped Diligences, shot Patauds, as the patriots 
 were called, and tied tricolour cockades to the dogs' tails. 
 And mind, if you would bring him to speech, don't be hasty, 
 but take time and a key to open the old man's heart ; and the 
 best key you can take is a bottle of genuine Cognac. And
 
 228 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 now, my char-d-banc is ready, and we will start for Boutiere 
 without further delay." 
 
 This was the name of the farm-house where the venerable 
 Chouan lived. The road lay through deep, shady lanes, and 
 the overhanging branches were tipped with ears of 'corn, the 
 tribute of the lofty-loaded harvest-waggons, as they passed 
 beneath. On either side of the high hedges resounded the 
 cheerful voices of the harvesters, or the monotonous and regu- 
 lar strokes of the flail. But we saw nothing for half an hour 
 together, save now and then, on a bank by the wayside, a 
 little girl leading a cow, as it fed on the short, succulent 
 grass, or chewed the cud, and turned from its meditations to 
 gaze at us. 
 
 As we approached a cross-way, I was struck by the impos- 
 ing and picturesque effect of a hollow tree, of vast circumfer- 
 ence, and graced by a sprouting coronal of freshest green, that 
 stood in the centre. Against the open side a crucifix was 
 nailed, and before this a peasant girl was kneeling at her 
 prayers. My conductor told me that the Chouans had found 
 their best hiding-places in these hollow trees, and that a 
 skeleton had been discovered in this, in the course of the last 
 few years the rusty musket still resting in the bony hand. 
 " Whether the poor fellow did not find it so easy to get out 
 as in, and so died of hunger ; whether he had crept there for 
 safety after a defeat, and had bled to death from his wounds ; 
 or whether the Blues had killed the badger in his hole, can no 
 man tell. However it might be, the priests made no difficulty 
 about finding him a grave in consecrated ground, where they 
 buried him with distinguished honours, and then placed a 
 crucifix here for offerings of four sous. Not a peasant passes 
 without lifting his hat, and as to the women the white-caps, 
 as we call them, on account of their head-dresses they make 
 ?i regular chapel of the gnarled and shattered oak.
 
 THE CHOUAKS. 229 
 
 " But yonder," he exclaimed, breaking off abruptly, " is 
 Marie Cottereau, a direct descendant of the old hero whose 
 track you are upon, sir. Marie ! Marie !" he shouted, " you've 
 said paters enow, and are sharp enough ; here is a strange 
 gentleman who wants to speak to you, my young white-cap!" 
 
 But the girl continued her devotions as though she heard 
 not. 
 
 " Her hearing is just like the mole's, but there must be 
 some special reason it's the way with those people. Marie ! 
 Marie ! the gentleman declares you are the prettiest girl he 
 saw in the church, and he's come on purpose to speak to you, 
 my angel !" 
 
 Still Marie prayed on. 
 
 " Ah, I have you now !" said the tempter, in a half whis- 
 per ; then aloud " I have brought you the ten francs owing 
 to you at our last reckoning." 
 
 A slight nod was the only rejoinder, and it was plain that 
 the case was hopeless. 
 
 " Since she is deaf to the ten francs, there is nothing to be 
 done with her," said the miller, driving away. " The little 
 stubborn maiden is a worthy grandchild of the widow of les 
 Poiriers." 
 
 To my inquiries about this personage, he replied thus 
 
 " You know our custom of calling people by the name of 
 the farm they cultivate; that of the widow Cottereau was 
 called les Poiriers. Have you never heard of the old woman ? 
 Then I can tell you somewhat concerning her, for my uncle 
 was notary at Port-Brillet, and did business for the Cotte- 
 reaux. He used to say, in his learned way, that the widow 
 of Poiriers was a genuine Roman. As for myself, I have no 
 personal acquaintance with these folk, but he has told me the 
 story a hundred times. We will get up the hill first, where 
 the road is better."
 
 230 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 When we were again on level ground, he settled himself 
 comfortably in his seat, and then proceeded with his narra- 
 tive 
 
 "You must know first, that the Cottereaux* were wood- 
 workers from generation to generation the people who make 
 our great wooden shoes, and all sorts of utensils besides 
 living in huts in the heart of the forests. They have neither 
 doctors nor priests among them ; and in winter they add the 
 business of smuggling salt to their wood-work. The great 
 salt sack, and the long iron-shod staff, for the Gabeloux^ and 
 to mark a grave, are regularly transmitted from father to son. 
 You may imagine what a charming, orderly, well-conducted 
 race these night-birds brought up. They were called Chouins, 
 from a kind of night-owl common in those parts, and the 
 gentlemen of the press have made this into Chouans. 
 
 " The husband of our Koman was, however, a trifle more 
 civilized than his neighbours. He had learnt to read, 
 Heaven knows how ! and used on Sundays to come round to 
 the farm-houses, and read to the farmers the legends of the 
 saints, while he taught the little ones Christmas carols. It 
 was thus that he became acquainted with Jeanne Mayne, the 
 daughter of a wealthy farmer, and soon married her. 
 
 " Jeanne's father, however, was one of the old stamp, and 
 vowed that no man should marry his daughter who would not 
 follow the plough and till the land, as her ancestors had done 
 ever since the days of good King Dagobert. 
 
 " The daughter said not a word, but on the third morn she 
 was off and away ; and in token that she had no purpose of 
 
 * It is well known that the troops of the French Condottieri of the fifteenth century, 
 who for a long period had possession of this country, laying every one under contribu- 
 tion, and everywhere spreading terror, were called Cottereaux. It is not improbable 
 that the first Chouans were their descendants, and this may account for their proud, 
 warlike spirit. 
 
 t The officers who collected the salt-duty.
 
 THE CHOUANS. 231 
 
 returning, her distaff and her trencher lay broken on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " She came to the forest of Concise, where Cottereau had 
 reared his hut, and declared that she was his. The next 
 thing was the church and the wedding ; and they set off to- 
 gether to Saint Ouen-des-Toits, the bride's parish. When 
 they got there, Jeanne advanced first into the church to get 
 speech of the priest, but as she entered, he stood up in the 
 pulpit and began to read the monitoire* After admonishing 
 certain persons who had neglected mass, or profaned saints' 
 days and Sundays, and so forth, he mentioned a maiden who 
 had forsaken her home and her parents to follow a man, there- 
 by bringing trouble and distress upon them, and a grievous 
 scandal on the parish ; he therefore admonished her to make 
 confession of her sin in the face of the congregation, and then 
 to return to her parents, under pain of excommunication. 
 Jeanne, who, up to this point, had been kneeling with her 
 head down, in order that she might not be known among the 
 rest of the women, now arose and said her confiteor in a clear 
 and steady voice, quite unabashed. 
 
 " Great was the sensation ; and the priest himself was at 
 first doubtful how he should receive this extraordinary confes- 
 sion, and whether he should not meet it with rebuke. But 
 Jeanne spoke him so fair, that all the womankind began 
 to wail, even those of her own family ; and even the heads of 
 the house either could not, or would not, bring anything 
 against her. So the good man commended her to the prayers 
 of the congregation, and adjourned further proceedings. The 
 further proceeding, however, was that he took her that even- 
 
 * Before the Revolution, It was the custom in western France for the priest to pro- 
 claim monitions cmonituire\ from the pulpit against all such offences and omissions aa 
 came before him. The name was not mentioned on the first time of reading, but the 
 culprits were invited to confession, repentance, and amendment, under pain of Church 
 censure';.
 
 232 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ing to his own house, and there, in the stillness of the night, 
 pronounced the nuptial benediction over her and her Cotte- 
 reau, and gave her a fine Latin certificate, so that nobody 
 could trouble her any more. She lived on tolerable terms 
 with her parents afterwards, and at their decease succeeded to 
 les Poiriers, as her share of the inheritance. On the death of 
 her husband, she came to live there. He was a serious and 
 somewhat austere but a good man ; and they had lived hap- 
 pily together, and had had two daughters and four sons, Jean 
 Chouan being one of them. 
 
 "Long before he began his dance after the Blues, Jean 
 Chouan was known as the boldest and bravest salt-smuggler 
 in the whole country ; and this you may have proof of if you 
 choose to listen to it in the Chant du jeune Gas-mcnton* still 
 sung in our streets and fields. This was the name by which 
 he was more generally known than by his own. He had ac- 
 quired it on account of the cunning with which he was wont 
 to deceive the custom-house officers, beguiling them with fair 
 words and specious pretexts, and all the while leading them 
 astray. Thus whatever the dilemma, he used to say, ' There's 
 no fear ; ' and this became his byword whenever dangers or 
 difficulties were started in his presence. On one occasion, 
 when he heard that the officers of justice were coming to seize 
 his goods on account of a fine that he had incurred, he first 
 bestowed all his moveables with his neighbours, and then, 
 finding the representatives of the law preparing to unroof the 
 house for the sake of the tiles, he returned, and, no wise 
 angered, courteously proffered his services at the price of a 
 dram. When evening came, and he had finished his task, lie 
 invited the officers to come and see that all was right, telling 
 them that he had laid the tiles in order in the kitchen. No 
 sooner had they entered, than, locking the door from without, 
 
 * Literally, " Lying fellow."
 
 THE CHOUANS. 233 
 
 he wished them a good evening, and a pleasant experience 
 of a night of storm and snow in a roofless hut, as he thought 
 it might be turned to good account by persons who went about 
 unroofing tenements professionally. On this, he went his way, 
 leaving them to bluster and swear at their leisure. 
 
 " But it was a losing game. He and his brothers were 
 brought down with repeated fines and imprisonments ; and, 
 exasperated by these, they became reckless and desperate, 
 and were hunted like foxes by the custom-house officers. 
 
 " One night they were caught, with half a dozen other wild 
 lads, all laden with salt, and leaping-poles in hand, so that 
 escape was impossible. Jean fell upon the little Pierre, as 
 one of the officers was called, and dealt him a fatal blow with 
 his long pole, and the rest took advantage of the scuffle to 
 get away with their booty. Great fear now fell upon the 
 smuggling community for an outrage such as this was of rare 
 occurrence and the general feeling was, that the offender 
 should make for Brittany, and keep quiet there till the affair 
 had blown over. Jean, however, maintained that " there was 
 no fear," and stayed in the forest. There, one fine day, he was 
 caught, and carried off to Laval, where his trial and sentence 
 were quickly despatched. "When the aged Jeanne heard the 
 news, she was milking the last goat that the fines had left 
 her ; and rising from her seat, she cried aloud 
 
 " ' Holy Virgin ! they will hang my Jean ! ' 
 
 " Then leaving the goat to its fate, she donned her best pair 
 of shoes, and ran off to the Chateau de Talmont the prince 
 having always been a good friend to her and her people. 
 
 " But alas ! the prince was at Court. For one half hour 
 the widow remained silently on the castle staircase, speaking 
 no word to any one. At last she exclaimed 
 
 " 'The king must give me back my Gas-Menton!'* And 
 
 * A specimen of the Cotnptainle dtt Gat-Menton may not be unacceptable here :
 
 234 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 taking off her shoes, she set out barefoot upon the weary, 
 weary way to Versailles. 
 
 " On the fifth day she arrived, having walked for seventy 
 hours without stopping, save to ask for a morsel of bread, or 
 an hour's rest on some clean straw by the roadside. But at 
 Versailles she was no nearer the attainment of her object. 
 The prince was absent ; and there was not a creature to whom 
 she could apply for advice or assistance as to the means of 
 approaching the king. In her distress she threw herself on 
 her knees before a crucifix, and there lay weeping and pray- 
 ing all night long ; and there, in the morning, she was recog- 
 nised by the prince's coachman, a kind-hearted fellow, who 
 happened to be passing. Touched with compassion for his 
 aged countrywoman, he stopped, and asked her whether she 
 would have courage to speak to the king if she could get 
 access to his Majesty. 
 
 "' Have I not been speaking to the King of kings?' was 
 her only reply. 
 
 '"Well, then,' rejoined the man, 'I will risk my place to 
 serve a countrywoman ; and God will put the right words 
 into your mouth if you ask Him.' 
 
 " And then, lifting her into the prince's chariot, he drove 
 forwards without hindrance from the guards, who, seeing the 
 prince's arms and liveries, supposed him to be seated within. 
 So Jeanne was driven to the entrance-court, where all tho 
 
 "Faut pas crier ainsi, ma rafire, 
 Chaussez vos meilleurs souliers, 
 Laissez tout et partez vile, 
 Sans rabattre votre tablier. 
 
 * * * # 
 
 J' feraia cent lieues et j'en f rais mills 
 Rien que sur 1'cuir de mes pieds; 
 Mon fils, il faut que je parte, 
 Dans mes mains j'ai mes souliers, 
 Et dans le cceur pour aller vile, 
 Mon fils. j'ai mon amitig," &c.
 
 THE CHOUANS. 235 
 
 equipages were drawn up, waiting till the king should come 
 out to take his drive. 
 
 " No sooner did Louis make his appearance, than old 
 Jeanne, springing out of the carriage, threw herself at his 
 feet, exclaiming 
 
 " ' Mercy ! mercy for my Gas-Menton, gracious seigneur ! 
 The custom-house officers have got the better of us, and now 
 they are about to hang my Jean ! Oh, mercy ! only have 
 mercy on my son ! and there are seven of us, who hence- 
 forward will pray night and day for -such a gracious king!' 
 
 " For a moment Louis was startled by the sudden move- 
 ment of the woman, whose dress and speech were alike un- 
 familiar to him, and whose bearing seemed that of a maniac. 
 The courtiers gathered round, and would have removed her 
 as dangerous ; but instantly recovering his presence of mind, 
 the king proceeded to question her, and after listening with 
 all patience to her story, he walked back to the palace to 
 satisfy the poor woman who would on no other condition 
 rise from the spot where she had knelt by writing an order 
 for an inquiry into the trial, to be followed presently by a full 
 pardon." 
 
 "And thus," I exclaimed in some surprise, "Louis spared 
 the life of the man who was subsequently the first to answer 
 the challenge of the Kepublic, by levelling his musket at its 
 soldiers to the tune of ' God save the king' ?" 
 
 " It was even so, sir," resumed my guide ; " and if you 
 wish to know more about this, and a thousand other matters, 
 you have but to ask old Va-de-bon-cceur, whose cottage I now 
 see just behind the clump of trees to the right." 
 
 We now turned into a narrow lane, which soon brought us 
 in front of a substantial peasant's dwelling-house, where a 
 troop of young lads were busied, amid jokes and peals of 
 laughter, in sweeping the threshing-floor an open space of
 
 236 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 trodden clay as clean as brooms could make it, while their 
 sisters were decorating it with boughs and ribbons. 
 
 "We are come just in the nick of time," observed the 
 miller as he alighted ; " they are preparing for the harvest- 
 home. This is a happy hit for gentlemen like you, who are 
 upon the track of old customs, and old stories and songs." 
 
 I was fully aware of the Druidical character of the harvest- 
 home festival in Brittany proper, where the peasant never 
 speaks in any but a devotional tone of the " corn of the 
 blessed God;" but I had not expected to find it thus cele- 
 brated on the French border. I soon perceived, however, 
 that the thing had a freer, and, if I may so say, a more 
 worldly character here than among the pure Celtic race. 
 
 There was no time to make friends with old Va-de-bon-coeur, 
 who, as patriarch of the family, had taken his seat on the 
 bench at the door, clad in the old provincial costume, and 
 with his white hair streaming over his shoulders, peacefully 
 looking on. Before we had time to look about us, we found 
 ourselves in the midst of the festival, in which we were at 
 once invited to participate, as though we had been old ac- 
 quaintance. The farmer, a noble-looking, middle-aged man, 
 a nephew of the elder Chouan, was now led by two youths in 
 holiday dress to the barn, to fetch in the last sheaf, which, 
 according to the rhymes still repeated on these occasions, is 
 equal in weight to the whole harvest, and can by no might 
 of mortal man be lifted, unless by one gifted for the occasion 
 with supernatural power. The farmer grasped the flower- 
 wreathed sheaf, and bore it off in triumph to the threshing- 
 floor, and the procession was then formed. First came two 
 young girls, carrying brooms made of green fir-branches, with 
 which they swept the path before the sheaf- bearer ; these 
 were followed by children, swinging garlands woven of fresh 
 flowers mingled with ears of corn. After these we were de-
 
 THE CHOUANS. 237 
 
 sired to fall in ; and it was rather from want of stout arms 
 than in compliance with our earnest desire, that we escaped 
 the special traditional honour of the guest the being carried 
 in a sort of litter, beneath a canopy of leafy boughs. We 
 gladly compromised the matter, by allowing a couple of very 
 pretty girls, with bright tin plates in their hands, to walk at 
 our side, and present us with fresh barley and sweet flowers. 
 Behind us came a youth bearing the sieve, and flinging aloft 
 handfuls of corn and chaff so adroitly as to catch the corn 
 again in the sieve, while the chaff was dispersed in the air. 
 The threshers brought up the rear, beating time on the ground 
 with their flails. 
 
 And in this manner, with song, laugh, and discharge of 
 small arms, we walked twice round the threshing-floor, after 
 which the sheaf was spread in the centre and threshed out, 
 amid jest and merriment, with admirable skill. Eefreshments 
 were plentifully served the while ; but the harvest-home feast 
 was not till evening. The invitations are given by sending 
 a nosegay, which is left in the dairy. Across all the winding 
 paths that intersected the surrounding fields, the neighbours 
 might now be seen wending their way, each woman with her 
 pan of thick milk, adorned with flowers. Contrary to the 
 custom of the north-western provinces of France, the women 
 are allowed, in honour of the harvest-home, to sit at table 
 with their husbands ; and the scene was one alike of enjoy- 
 ment and sobriety. 
 
 As to my special business with the patriarch of the house, 
 it seemed at first little likely to come off. He was silent and 
 suspicious rather, as I feared, of my companion than of 
 myself; indeed, the miller's exaggerated friendliness and cor- 
 diality was as displeasing to me as to my host. I asked .the 
 latter what his age might be. He replied, with an air of 
 honest pride " Seventy-one times hath the Lord granted me
 
 238 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 the favour of coming on my feet to meet the harvest-sheaf; 
 once I was carried in my mother's arms." 
 
 I thought that now indeed I had got the right end of the 
 thread ; and I proceeded to allude to the many circumstances 
 of interest he must have witnessed asking him, moreover, 
 how he had contrived to keep the harvest-home during the 
 time of the Great War. I do not remember his answer ; but 
 when the miller in a loud voice broke in upon our conversa- 
 tion, the old man cast a sidelong glance at us both, and said 
 " The Blessed God is almighty, and can make time for all 
 things." 
 
 Shortly afterwards, and in a very unexpected manner, I 
 found a way to his confidence and all the more readily for 
 the absence of the miller, who left us to attend to some busi- 
 ness in the neighbourhood connected with one of the seven 
 lawsuits of which he had made a merit with me. 
 
 It happened that the old Chouan, after the fashion of his 
 country a fashion in which the Manceaux are no whit be- 
 hind the Normans was involved in at least one lawsuit, that 
 occasioned him its full share of vexation and anxiety. On 
 his alluding to the subject, I told him that I was a lawyer, 
 and could give him hopes and suggestions such as his own 
 counsel had not held out, doubtless lest the pleasures of the 
 lawsuit should too speedily be brought to an end. This 
 opened the old man's heart ; a couple of glasses of Cognac did 
 the rest and, in a word, I was afloat ; and although he spoke 
 at first with a measure of shyness and confusion, yet, warming 
 under the influence of his own reminiscences, he then, and at 
 subsequent meetings, related to me many interesting par- 
 ticulars relative to the beginning of the Chouannerie, and 
 many of its more minute details hitherto unknown. Some of 
 these I propose now to give to the reader, as nearly as possible 
 in the words of the original narrator.
 
 THE CIIOUAKS. 239 
 
 Jean Cottereau the salt-smuggler, commonly known as Gas- 
 menton, was, as the miller had told me, one of four brothers. 
 Pierre, the eldest, was the only one who had followed his 
 father's trade as a wood-carver. He was a gentle, quiet, 
 simple soul ; and " better fitted to milk the cow than to make 
 head against the wolf," as old Va-de-bon-coeur was used to 
 say. Moreover, he stuttered, and being on this account unac- 
 ceptable as a companion, lived much to himself. The two 
 younger, Fra^ois and Rene, went out with Jean as salt-smug- 
 glers ; the former, indeed, greatly resembled him in characters 
 He was equally remarkable for cunning, boldness, tenacity of 
 purpose, and faithfulness to his friends ; while he was dis- 
 tinguished from his brother by a certain romantic turn for ad- 
 venture, which is by no means uncommon among the people 
 of this province. Rene, unlike either, was malicious, covetous, 
 and unmerciful, literally taking pleasure in bloodshed, and as 
 it were, becoming intoxicated by it. His covetousness, and 
 the ways and means by which it was manifested, would have 
 been often ludicrous, if they had not been connected with cir- 
 cumstances of the most atrocious cruelty. The sisters were 
 Perrine and Rene'e, who seldom left the paternal roof during 
 the continuance of the war. In this district, it is regarded as 
 a sin against honour and propriety for women to be in any 
 way associated with the doings of the opposite sex ; and thus 
 the women of Maine took no part whatever in the strife; 
 while in Brittany and La Vendee, the women shared alike in 
 its wild passions, and its deed of heroism. The habitual cau- 
 tion of the Manceau peasant may have something to do with 
 this, for they have a proverb " A deserted house invites the 
 thief," and in fact the plundering generally began in the 
 empty houses. 
 
 In spite of the memorable proximity in which he had once 
 found himself to the hempen collar, and the wonderful escape
 
 240 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 therefrom, for which he was indebted to his mother, Jean 
 Cotterean could in no wise be induced to give up his wild and 
 desperate career, and soon became involved in difficulties of a 
 similar kind. From these he was again extricated through 
 the friendship of the Prince de Talmont, who contrived to get 
 him out of the country, and admitted into Turenne's regiment, 
 then quartered at Lille. This was all very well for the win- 
 ter ; but no sooner did the sun begin to shine and the birds 
 to sing among the fresh green leaves of the forest, than he 
 began to pine for his woodland home. A letter, which he 
 received from his friends about this time, converted the yearn- 
 ing desire into an irresistible impulse ; and he deserted. His 
 noble patron could only avert the consequences of this step 
 by procuring a lettre-de-cachet, and thus getting him out of 
 the way for two years. This seclusion was the means of 
 effecting- a wonderful change in Jean's character ; he who 
 had entered the prison a wild, reckless youth, left it an 
 earnest, thoughtful man, alive to all generous and lofty im- 
 pulses. 
 
 It was shortly after his release that the Revolution broke 
 outf and it found in him at every moment, and in every phase 
 of its career, an avowed and thorough-going opponent. His 
 mother, as she was wont to say for the purpose of renewing 
 her gratitude and stimulating her prayers, was continually 
 repeating the story of her adventure with the king, imitating 
 his manner of speaking, and describing his appearance. With 
 simple, and almost prophetic pride, she would declare that 
 from that hour of mercy, the Bourbons and the Cottereaux 
 were indissolubly linked together. Her devotion to the 
 Church was part and parcel of her loyalty to the Crown. The 
 tongue that denied and insulted the one, blasphemed and 
 ridiculed the other ; and the same impious hand was uplifted 
 for the destruction of both. Eventually, the struggle became
 
 THE CHOUANS. 241 
 
 to Jean what it was to the whole population of western 
 France one waged for rights and liberties, against the des- 
 potism of revolutionary equality. 
 
 These liberties included not only all that gives to social 
 and daily life its peculiar charm and character ; not alone the 
 traditions and the discipline through which the influence of 
 the Church is so universally felt they also involved civil 
 rights, and especially the time-honoured parochial system ; 
 and although, in the headlong career of youthful daring, Jean 
 had cared little for these things, yet now, in the maturity of 
 manly reason, he had become fully aware of their importance. 
 If he did not, like Cathelineau in La Vendee, take for his 
 watchword, La Liber te des Paroisses, he well knew how to 
 bring this side of the question to bear upon the feelings and 
 passions of his neighbours. 
 
 It is true that the Eoyalist rising was by no means general 
 among the peasantry of Maine ; still, that part of the popu- 
 lation which did take part in it, stamped the impress of its 
 original character on all its operations, and was on several 
 occasions greatly distinguished. 
 
 The carrying out of the decree for the universal demolition 
 of convents, gave to Jean, as it did to other Eoyalist leaders, 
 the long-wished-for pretext for the commencement of the war. 
 On the 15th of August 1792, the youth of Saint Ouen-des- 
 Toits were invited to enrol themselves in the national guard. 
 They came for the most part without suspicion, and as a mat- 
 ter of customary obedience ; but when they found themselves 
 in the midst of gendarmes and pen-and-ink, the sacred loyalty 
 of the peasants soon got the better of their respect for the 
 scribes around them, and instead of enrolling their names at 
 the command of the mayor, they broke out into menaces and 
 revilings ; and on the gendarmes attempting to use force, 
 Jean Chouan raised the cry of Vive le Rol ! a las la Nation .'
 
 242 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and throwing himself on the gendarmes, at the head of a few 
 comrades, soon put them to flight with a sound drubbing. 
 
 If the peasantry had had to do with the authorities and the 
 gendarmes only, it is very possible that this encounter might 
 have had no further consequences ; but in the wake of these 
 came the towns, where all were more or less penetrated with 
 the new ideas. Burghers of La Baronniere, Andonille, and 
 La Brulatte, who had looked on quietly, if not well pleased, 
 as long as the assault affected only the mayor of a rival neigh- 
 bouring town and his officials, were by no means prepared to 
 submit to the insult offered to the national tricolour, which 
 they had that morning borne in triumph from Laval. They 
 fell upon Jean Chouan, who had seized and was carrying it 
 off; but in this second struggle the Eoyalists were again vic- 
 torious, and finally marched away, bearing the banner, the 
 prize of the strife. 
 
 Jean Chouan, who had previously held consultations and 
 formed plans in concert with the Royalists of the neighbour- 
 ing province, and the heads of the party, now proceeded with- 
 out delay to organize the rising, in so far and in such wise as 
 the nature of the country and the character of the people 
 allowed ; while the peasantry in general gave a passive and 
 moral support to the cause, readily furnishing rations to the 
 Eoyalists ; but the military element consisted of not more 
 than a few hundred men, trained by previous circumstances, 
 and stimulated by passion and by personal feeling. These all 
 recognised Jean Chouan as their leader, and placed themselves 
 at his disposal for any enterprise that he thought fit to under- 
 take, the most part returning afterwards to their homes, or 
 places of refuge. A little band there was, bound to him by 
 ties of special affection, who constituted themselves as his 
 body-guard and staff, and accompanied him alike in his 
 hiding-places and his encampments in the forest and on the
 
 THE CHOUANS. 243 
 
 moor. In cases of imminent danger, even these were accus- 
 tomed to disperse, each shifting for himself as he best might. 
 Their leader's retreat was then known only to some trusty 
 confidant, who carried messages, and urged the warriors to 
 fresh undertakings. Not unfrequently, Jean was his own 
 aide-de-camp. 
 
 Subsequently, when the conventional courtesies of warfare 
 were forgotten in the exasperation of prolonged strife, and the 
 massacre of prisoners even of the unarmed had become 
 common on both sides, the number of those who remained 
 with their leader was greatly increased. The Royalists, 
 driven from every shelter by the conquering Eepublicans, were 
 anxious to save their friends and relatives from the fearful 
 death that awaited those who were known to have been guilty 
 of harbouring or assisting them. 
 
 The next onslaught was led by the national guard of the 
 little neighbouring towns, who, in order to avenge the insult 
 to the tricolour, made military excursions into the surround- 
 ing villages, which were in bad repute with them for their 
 Eoyalist tendencies. Jean Chouan took advantage of one of 
 these excursions to encourage his men by dealing a heavy 
 blow to the enemy. He ordered some few hundred men up 
 from Laumy-Villiers, and lay in wait for the patriots or 
 Patauds, as they were called in derision at Bourgneuf, and 
 falling upon them, slew twenty, and scattered the rest in all 
 directions. 
 
 It was after this outrage that he and his more immediate 
 personal followers had sentence of death passed on them, and 
 concealed themselves in the forest of Misdon, between the 
 forge of Port-Brillet and the village of Olivet. They num- 
 bered about forty ; and among these was one Trion, commonly 
 called Miellette. He was second only to his leader, in dexterity, 
 daring, and physical strength ; but he wanted the seriousness
 
 244 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and the moral ascendency of Jean. He was, however, distin- 
 guished by a drollery and love of fun, which never forsook 
 him under any circumstances of privation or difficulty, and 
 which rendered him peculiarly useful and acceptable as a 
 companion. Often, when the little band was sunk in the 
 depths of gloom and despondency, a jest from Miellette could 
 in a moment provoke them to laughter, and revive their 
 spirits and courage. There was only one among the number 
 who was insensible to these influences, being too full of his 
 own importance. His name was Godeau, and he was a 
 stately man, addicted to high-sounding phrases, and of lofty 
 manners, which he had acquired in some great house where 
 he had been gamekeeper. He moreover asserted his claims 
 to be regarded as a learned man, one who knew Lathi a 
 knowledge confined, as it was generally believed, to the 
 Dominus Vobiscum picked up from a priest, whom he had 
 formerly served. He used to complain bitterly of the evil 
 times that had taken him from his beloved books. 
 
 As to Fra^ois Cottereau, no home could have pleased him 
 better than the forest of Misdon, since at the forest-edge lay 
 the hamlet of Loriere the dwelling-place of " la pauvre don- 
 zelle." This was the soubriquet given to a poor orphan who 
 had been found suspended in her cradle to the bell-rope in the 
 church-tower at Olivet, by a farmer of Loriere, who had taken 
 her home and brought her up. Susan was at this time about 
 twenty years of age ; but she was so small and delicate, that if 
 it had not been for her rich and powerful voice, no one would 
 have supposed her to have been more than fifteen. It was 
 only for this, and for her helplessness, and her innocence, and 
 her lowly, obliging temper, that she could have been loved 
 for she was anything but pretty. She was known far and 
 wide as the most exquisite of songstresses. "When she was 
 herding the cattle of her foster-father in the forest, with no
 
 THE CHOUANS. 245 
 
 other companion than her faithful dog, her song resounded in- 
 cessantly ; and they were chiefly the plaintive ballads of the 
 olden time that she sang. It was those that had first attrac- 
 ted Fra^ois, and he had soon loved her tenderly, but rather 
 with the affection of a brother, and in pity to her orphan state, 
 than with any other feeling. He would sit for hours by the 
 pool beside her, listening to her song, and not unfrequently 
 his comrades too would come and make a circle round la 
 pauvre donzelle, and listen, while they thought sadly of their 
 friends at home. 
 
 It happened one day, that the cottagers of Port-Brillet, 
 who regarded themselves as townspeople and played the pa- 
 triot, taking advantage of the absence of the whole Chouan 
 party, fell upon their huts and utterly destroyed them, carry- 
 ing away everything they contained. The Koyalists, on their 
 return, found themselves roofless and helpless, without even 
 the means of preparing their food. Without a moment's delay 
 they set out upon the track of the marauders, overtook them 
 on Olivet heath, killed several of their number, and then re- 
 turned in triumph to the forest with their recovered spoils, 
 Miellette marching at their head, with the great kettle on his 
 spear-staff as a trophy. 
 
 The national guards soon suffered so severely, that they no 
 longer dared to meet the enemy in the open field, and it be- 
 came necessary to send Eepublican troops called Blues to their 
 support. In spite of this succour, victory still, in general, 
 declared for the Cbouans the name of their leader being now 
 universally given to the Royalist party. His mode of warfare 
 was simple enough, and, for the most part, the same tactics 
 were repeated with the same result. The enemy's columns 
 were enticed into one of the interminable, deep, and narrow 
 lanes overhung with tall trees, or they were allowed to defile 
 into it without interruption, to carry out some plan of which
 
 246 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Jean Chouan generally had accurate information. His fol- 
 lowers then formed themselves into three separate companies, 
 and lay in wait behind the hedges. When the enemy had 
 passed the second ambushment, the first would rush out and 
 attack the rear of the column, while it was beset in front by 
 the third division ; the second waiting for the propitious mo- 
 ment to fall on the centre. Sometimes the centre was the 
 first attacked, and the other divisions fell in afterwards. It 
 was seldom that the Chouans ventured to attack the towns 
 garrisoned by regular troops, and the defeats sustained by 
 them were chiefly on occasions when they had deviated from 
 this practice. In the meanwhile, the war in La Vendee had 
 developed itself far more extensively ; Lescure, Larochejaque- 
 lein, Stofflet, Charette, and Beauchamp, with Cathelineau as 
 their leader, had led the Vendeans from conquest to conquest, 
 had annihilated one Eepublican army after another, and torn 
 the tricolour banner from every fastness in Brittany. Only 
 Nantes still held out. The taking of this city might have 
 been the death-blow of the Republic, as Cathelineau's de- 
 cease before its gates was the death-blow of La Vendee. 
 There was no man who understood the people as he did who 
 had been one of them. None could manoeuvre them as he 
 could for the battle, and yet leave them to fight it in their 
 own way. None was like him qualified by personal gifts, by 
 the respect of the aristocratic and the confidence of the po- 
 pular element, for the supreme command. It was to the want 
 of unanimity among the older leaders that the defeat of Beau- 
 prien must be attributed, and it was by the subsequent retreat 
 across the Loire that La Vendee was torn from itself. Jean 
 Chouan was apprised of this movement by the Prince de Tal- 
 mont, who invited him to support, and associate himself with 
 it, but without naming time or place. The prince's will, how- 
 ever, was law to Jean, who never forgot the old ancestral ties
 
 THE CHOUANS. 247 
 
 that linked him to the family, nor the protection that he had 
 formerly owed to its living representative. He commanded 
 his bands to rendezvous at the forest of Pertre, where he was 
 met by certain noble leaders of the party, De Puysage and 
 Dnboisguy. His aged mother and Susanne la pauvre 
 donzelle, had accompanied him, as the only means of escaping 
 the vengeance of the Republicans. As time went on, and no 
 one appeared, the former suddenly exclaimed 
 
 " God help ns ! it thunders I" 
 
 " Thunder in October ! " rejoined Miellette, laughing ; " that 
 must be a straggler of last August." 
 
 " I know what it is," said Godeau gravely ; " it is a mere 
 physical echo from some cavern." 
 
 " It is the thunder of the cannon it is the Vendeans!" ex- 
 claimed Jean Chouan, who had put his ear to the ground. 
 "Forwards! forwards to Laval, my brave fellows! The 
 Prince de Talmont is expecting us." 
 
 Jean hastened to Laval at the head of four hundred men. 
 Some of his people halted before the house of the President 
 Moulius, who had pronounced the sentence of death against 
 their leader, and called aloud for the judge, in order to reward 
 him after their fashion for his trouble. His wife opened the 
 door in fear and trembling, and assured them that her hus- 
 band was not within. 
 
 " Fear nothing, Madame," said Jean Chouan kindly, " it 
 is only the malefactors of Monsieur your husband, who have 
 called to pay their respects to him." 
 
 She then invited him to come in and take some refresh- 
 ment ; but he excused himself on the plea of haste, and was 
 going away, when, overhearing some threatening expressions 
 from his followers, he paused, broke a couple of branches of 
 grapes from the vine that overhung the porch, and ate a few 
 of the grapes ; and then, thanking the good wife with the
 
 248 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 greatest cordiality for her kind reception, he put spurs to his 
 horse and rode on. But no one after this dared, even by a 
 look, to alarm his hostess. They well understood the sym- 
 bolical teaching of their leader, and were perfectly aware that 
 no one would be allowed with impunity to infringe the rites 
 of the hospitality which he had accepted at the house of his 
 enemy. The courtesy could hardly have been more graciously 
 managed by the prince himself. 
 
 The arrival of the men of Maine who numbered about 
 five thousand, and who were commonly styled La petite Vendee 
 was a subject of rejoicing and of hope to the native Ven- 
 deans : it was one of the last bright gleams that preceded the 
 horrible catastrophe of that giant straggle. All were delighted 
 with the bearing of the Manceau leader, and struck with the 
 wisdom and lofty resolve that distinguished his counsels, no 
 less than with his extreme modesty. They were astonished, 
 too, at the authority he exercised over a body of men who, as 
 they said, followed him only out of friendship ; for in their 
 own army, order and discipline were sinking lower and lower 
 every day, in spite of the efforts of the bravest and most be- 
 loved of their few remaining leaders. Of the thirty or forty 
 thousand well-appointed troops, who, accompanied by a motley 
 crowd of women and children, cattle and loaded waggons, 
 had passed the Loire, not more than five or six thousand 
 were really interested in the Eoyalist cause, and ready to 
 fight for the love of it. Against the overwhelming superiority 
 of numbers, this noble band bore off untarnished, on every 
 such occasion, the laurels of its former fame ; and of these it 
 may be said " La Vendee fell, but it was never conquered." 
 
 But even among these, there was no nucleus for the forma- 
 tion of a regular command, such as might have insured the 
 execution of any definite plan of defence or escape, even if the 
 divisions among the chiefs had not rendered any such plan
 
 THE CHOUANS. 249 
 
 impossible. Every individual soldier was the mere creature 
 of his own will, and yielded obedience to that leader only who 
 was the object of his previous regard and attachment, and that 
 only when actually engaged with the enemy nor even then 
 was his submission to be relied on. The bravest leaders, such 
 as Larochejacquelein* and Stofflet, were often reduced to the 
 necessity of throwing themselves into the hottest of the fight 
 at the head of their men though against orders, and against 
 their own better judgment merely to escape the imputation 
 of cowardice, and the consequent loss of all influence. After 
 these came some ten or fifteen thousand, who were ready 
 enough to join in the fight when the former had secured the 
 victory, but on whom it was impossible to reckon for with- 
 standing any attack, however favoured by circumstances. The 
 "rest were a demoralized and useless mob, indifferently ap- 
 pointed, scarcely even to be induced to stand to their arms, and 
 certain to flee in confusion the moment they were attacked. 
 
 Any regular gradation of officers was unknown in this self- 
 constituted army. In battle, each followed his friend, or the 
 leader who was the object of his special regard, or to whom 
 he found himself nearest. On the march, no sort of order 
 was observed ; at every moment armed men were leaving the 
 ranks and dropping behind, to mingle with the groups of wo- 
 men and children, wounded and sick, who covered the bag- 
 gage-waggons. Hunger and disease, grief and despair, made 
 daily ravages among this miserable host ; and their line of 
 march was revealed to the pursuing Republicans by the dead 
 bodies which strewed the road. 
 
 When it was necessary to make a circuit in order to avoid 
 a town, the confusion was almost inextricable, rendering 
 
 * The noblest and truest martyr of the cause, whose well-known word to his followers 
 is a model of heroic eloquence "8i J'avance, sulvez-raoi ; sije meurs, vengez-mol; si 
 Je rccule, tuez-rool !"
 
 250 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 attack or defence alike impossible. The only compact body 
 consisted of a few hundred men, the personal followers of their 
 chiefs, who formed a sort of van and rear guard, and kept 
 watch against impending clanger from whatever side it me- 
 naced the main army. 
 
 Among these, Jean Chouan and his band soon occupied a dis- 
 tinguished place. He had naturally associated himself with the 
 Prince cle Talmont ; and he it was who had decided the fortune 
 of the day on the bloody field of Croix-Bataille, where the 
 Blues sustained so signal a defeat, by pointing out to the prince 
 a track which had enabled him to surround them. But every 
 such victory only multiplied the dangers and confirmed the 
 hopelessness of the retreat. The refreshment of the combat- 
 ants, and the care of the wounded, involved the necessity of a 
 halt, and this gave time to the advancing divisions of the 
 enemy to come up. The unsuccessful attack upon Granville, 
 where the Eoyalists had hoped to fortify themselves till they 
 could embark, and the consequent forced retreat upon Laval, 
 increased their sufferings to the utmost, and reduced them to 
 absolute despair. Attacked on all sides by the Blues, the fur- 
 ther march wa~s one long struggle, with few intervals of rest. 
 At D61, a panic terror seized the entangled mass. Even the 
 bravest even Stofflet, with two hundred horsemen, was forced 
 back into the retreating stream, while urging his horse to the 
 attack with shouts of " Death ! death for the brave !" 
 
 The women, with loud and angry cries, reproached their 
 husbands for their cowardice ; while the men, falling on the 
 women, declared that they had been the hindrances to their 
 fighting. In the midst of the universal disorganization, Jean 
 Chouan and his little band stood their ground through a mur- 
 derous fire from the Blues, and, under cover of a thick fog, 
 succeeded in driving them back. 
 
 A moment's breathing-time was thus gained, and a brief
 
 THE CHOUANS. 251 
 
 interval for consultation ; and the glory of having saved La 
 Vendee was unanimously awarded to Jean Chouan. The 
 Prince cle Talmont, wishing to give some proof of his grati- 
 tude to his faithful follower, signed a deed on that very day, 
 granting to him and his descendants in perpetuity, permission 
 to cut as much wood as they might, ivant in the forests on his 
 estates a recompense alike characteristic of him who gave 
 and him who had chosen it. The prince, who at that moment 
 could not command even a clean shirt, and whose possessions 
 were all confiscated, disposes of his property for all time ; and 
 Jean Chouan, the hero of the fight, the deliverer of the host, 
 thinks of a provision for the hearth of his posterity as the all- 
 sufficient reward of his valour. 
 
 The destruction, which the last victory had only postponed, 
 overtook the flying Vendee, a few days later, in Mans. The 
 streets and squares of the city were blocked up by the dense 
 masses of women and children, sick and wounded, unarmed 
 and despairing, and the cattle and waggons completed the 
 confusion, and made extrication hopeless. The Blues made a 
 simultaneous attack upon all the gates, where the little rem- 
 nant of the followers of the chiefs withstood them with the 
 most determined valour. Jean Chouan availed himself of a 
 momentary pause at the post he was defending, to run back 
 to the city to look after his mother. 
 
 Our Va-de-bon-cceur accompanied him. They found the 
 old woman seated on the ground in the market-place. Fran- 
 gois Cottereau, with his head sunk upon his breast, lay 
 wounded before her, and she was holding his hands between 
 hers, that were folded in prayer. La pauvre donzelle was 
 kneeling beside him, endeavouring to assuage his sufferings 
 by chanting her sweet plaintive ditties in his ear. 
 
 At the sight of this, which was but one of many such 
 groups, Va-de-bon-cceur was so much overcome, that he could
 
 252 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 not advance a stop farther. Jean had contrived to procure 
 two horses, and he now implored his mother and Susanne to 
 make use of them to escape ; but before they could determine 
 on this, the storming of the gates was renewed with increased 
 fury. Jean tore himself away, and hastened to his post, 
 calling out as he threw his musket over his shoulder 
 
 "Be quick, be quick, mother! and if God will, we shall 
 yet meet again at les Poiriers!" 
 
 The enemy now soon forced an entrance. Xight was ap- 
 proaching, and Jean and others defended themselves from 
 house to house, till at last Prince da Talmont interposed, and 
 commanded him to think of his own safety. All was lost ; 
 the gates were broken down ; the enemy masters of the place. 
 Jean assembled his followers, brought them out of the town 
 in safety, and then returned to assure himself that the prince 
 had escaped. Satisfied on this point, he rejoined his people ; 
 and by his thorough acquaintance with all the tracks and 
 by-ways of the country, led them back, without interruption, 
 to the forest of Misdon. 
 
 Once in the still shelter of the forest, and released from the 
 fearful struggle and din, which for many previous days had 
 not left them half an hour's repose, the feverish excitement, 
 which had hitherto kept up even the wounded, gave way. 
 They cast themselves on the straw upon the floor of their 
 huts without speaking, and slept soundly for four-and-twenty 
 hours. When they awoke, their first feeling was a joyous 
 consciousness of escape from imminent danger. It was night, 
 and they held a sort of muster, while one called aloud the 
 names of all who, but a few days before, had left this hiding- 
 place. To the name of many a faithful comrade, proved in 
 peril and in battle, there came no answer, unless some eye- 
 witness of his fate announced him as " dead," " dead," " dead," 
 " prisoner." About forty were found to have survived, and
 
 THE CHOUANS. 253 
 
 of these many were wounded, some severely. The care of 
 those, and above all, the thought of the future, occupied them. 
 The latter looked hopeless enough : the Blues would overrun 
 the country, and soon no place of refuge would he safe from 
 them. 
 
 A long and gloomy silence followed these explanations. 
 Even Miellette, whom a ball through the ankle could not de- 
 prive of his jest, now strove in vain to raise the spirits of his 
 brethren. Suddenly the voice of song was heard in the dis- 
 tance ; it came nearer and nearer, and was soon" recognised 
 as that of la pauvre donzelle. They sprang from the ground 
 to go forward and meet her in the pale moonlight. What a 
 sight of horror met their eyes ! There indeed was Susanne, 
 her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, barefooted and 
 almost naked, and pale as the dead, leading a white horse by 
 the bridle ; in the saddle, one whose face was covered with 
 clotted blood sat stiff and erect, still holding in his right hand 
 a sabre, as in act to strike. Jean Chouan recognised his 
 brother Francois, and called to him ; but the figures passed 
 noiselessly befqre him, like some spectral apparition, and soon 
 were on the other side of the narrow but bottomless swamp 
 that bordered the forest, so that they could only be reached 
 by making a circuit round it. The song, taken up again 
 by the poor wanderer, now echoed sadly through the masses 
 of the dark forest ; and for a while the men, even the bravest 
 and boldest of them, stood as if spell-bound. Jean was the 
 first to shake off the ghostly terror, and hasten after them. 
 As he came up, and called to them again, Susanne ex- 
 claimed 
 
 " Here we are ; save him ! save poor Fran9ois !" 
 These were the last words of perfect consciousness that she 
 ever spoke, and as she uttered them she fell to the ground. 
 Terror, grief, and weariness, with hunger and thirst, had de-
 
 254 BB1TTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 privecl her of her senses. Jean now turned to her companion, 
 and asked for their mother ; but Fra^ois answered not a 
 word. His look was vacant, and his teeth were set. 
 
 After he had lifted his brother from the horse, which was 
 no easy matter, and bound up his wounds as well as he could, 
 the poor girl came to herself, and Jean brought both into the 
 hut, and made a further attempt to gain some information as 
 to the fate of his mother. But Fra^ois continued speech- 
 less ; and Susanne's whole mind seemed possessed by an old 
 song, which, in that night of terror and of flight, she had sung 
 over and over again to the wounded man, as containing her 
 whole provision of words and thoughts of comfort. Her 
 answers were imperfect, and interrupted by snatches of the 
 song. 
 
 "Where is mother left, Susanne? think for a moment, 
 poor child 1" said Jean soothingly. 
 
 "Under there!" replied the girl, looking him full in the 
 face. " Don't you know about it ? under there, with all the 
 others. The cannon, and the waggons, and the cattle, and 
 and the Blues, were in the middle of us, and and and 
 
 Le petit point-du-jour arrive, 
 Arrive, arrivera" 
 
 " Well, Susanne, and what became of mother in the morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Now, the widow the old, old lady they threw her 
 down, and the oxen and the waggons went over her ; and 
 
 A la porte de sa mdre 
 
 Trois petits coups frappe'rent 
 
 And because her pain was so great, your mother the widow, 
 Jean how she implored our lads to make an end of her ! 
 But the poor youths said, 'Nay, another' they said what 
 happened then ? No, that's not to be known ! the good God 
 may not you know the good God, Jean? He would not
 
 THE CHOUANS. 255 
 
 have allowed it. And then your mother said it was well ; 
 and and 
 
 Si vous dormez, rgveillez vous, 
 C'est votre amant qui parle & vous." 
 
 "And Fran9ois did not save our mother?" cried Jean in 
 a heart-rending tone, and wringing his hands bitterly ; while 
 the strong man's frame was shaken by the violence of his 
 emotion. " Fran9ois stood by and did nothing ! " 
 
 The name seemed in some degree to recall her senses, and 
 she spoke for a few minutes more coherently. 
 
 " Yes, poor Fra^ois ! he took the horse's bridle between 
 his teeth, and drew his pistol and his sabre, and threw him- 
 self upon the Blues ; and 
 
 N'est-il pas terns de 1'oublier 
 Le beau galant du terns pass6." 
 
 Susanne's mind now wandered again ; and it was not till 
 she had hummed in a low voice several verses of the ballad, 
 that she continued 
 
 " Ah, what a deal of trouble I had with Fra^ois your 
 brother, Jean. It was so hard to find him under all the 
 Blues ; but at last I got him on the horse, and brought him 
 home with the song that he was always so fond of 
 
 Toujours, toujours dedans, mes chants 
 J'irai plearant et regrettant." 
 
 But all Jean's further trouble and patience were thrown 
 away on the maiden, who was by this time quite incapable of 
 any further coherent effort. His brother lay motionless and 
 insensible ; only when his mother's name was mentioned, a con- 
 vulsive shudder passed over his ghastly features, and a flash 
 of anger for a moment lighted up his glazing eye, and then 
 he sank back into total unconsciousness. 
 
 Jean Chouan still bore up amid all these horrors ; hia heart
 
 '256 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 was but braced by them ; and since he had not been able to 
 save his mother, his first thought now was to avenge her. 
 
 His next care was to provide a safe retreat for his men. 
 For this purpose he caused pits to be dug in the deepest re- 
 cesses of the forest, the entrances to which he closed by strong 
 hurdles covered over with turf and moss, which might over- 
 grow them, so as to obliterate all trace of the removal of the 
 earth. Here they were sheltered, first from the cold, and, 
 moreover, so effectually from their enemies, that they often 
 heard the Blues tramping over their heads, without the least 
 suspicion of being so near the objects of their search. Provi- 
 sions were not wanting to them ; but it was with the greatest 
 difficulty and danger that they could procure powder and 
 shot. And it was generally Jean Chouan himself, who crept 
 into the towns beleaguered by the Eepublicans, and brought 
 back a store of these. 
 
 One day, as he was returning from one of these adventurous 
 expeditions to Laval, and was dividing the powder in one of 
 the excavations a little apart from the rest, he saw Miellette, 
 whom he had despatched to Bourgneuf, returning breathless 
 and in great agitation. 
 
 " What, ho there ! Gas-menton," he called from afar ; " you 
 will have need for all your powder to-day !" 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Jean calmly, while he con- 
 tinued his occupation. 
 
 "'What's the matter?' The matter is that the prince is 
 taken!" 
 
 At these words Jean sprang from the ground, where he had 
 been seated, as though he had suddenly gone mad. 
 
 "Give me my musket!" he exclaimed, after hearing that 
 the Prince de Talmont had been betrayed at Bazonyes, whence 
 the Blues had brought him to Ernee, where his trial would be 
 made short work of.
 
 THE CHOUANS. 257 
 
 " Give me my musket, Miellette," he repeated, filling his 
 pockets with cartridges the while ; " I must be off to 
 Ernee." 
 
 " But the place is full of Blues I" 
 
 " All the better ; I am the more likely to see "what they 
 are about." 
 
 "You will but fall into their hands yourself; you cannot 
 possibly escape them." 
 
 " There is no fear!" said Jean; and his comrade know- 
 ing well his last word, tried no longer to dissuade him, and he 
 set off ; while Miellette cursed himself and his stars for hav- 
 ing brought him the evil tidings. 
 
 For two whole days nothing was heard of their leader, and 
 his men began to give him up for lost. At the end of that 
 time he reappeared, with his musket under his arm. He had 
 discovered that the prince was then at Eennes, but that he 
 was to be sent to Laval for trial, or, in other words, execu- 
 tion. Jean had planned and proposed everything accordingly. 
 He had summoned all his followers to rendezvous for the rescue 
 at Buis-de-1'Aulne, between Gravelle and Laval, on the way 
 from Rennes. All was fixed except the hour ; of this Jean 
 was every moment expecting intelligence, and till he received 
 it, not a man must stir from his place. 
 
 Miellette handed to him a scrap of dirty paper, which had 
 just been left with friends in the neighbouring village, by a 
 beggar, who gave no message with it. But neither .Jean nor 
 Miellette, nor any of the band, could read writing. Yes, there 
 was Godeau the learned. 
 
 " Here away with you, Dominus Vobiscum," shouted Miel- 
 lette ; " come and show us for once that learning may be 
 turned to some account." 
 
 Godeau came slowly and with dignity, took the paper, 
 looked at it with an air of importance, turned it over, shook
 
 258 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 his head, and finally declared that there were no intelligible 
 characters, and that the paper had been merely scribbled over 
 as a trick played off to mislead them. 
 
 Whereupon Jean crumpled the paper together, and put it 
 into his pocket, and lay down again with his followers to 
 watch. But- when that day, and another, and another passed 
 over without tidings, Jean became so restless and impatient 
 that he could neither eat, drink, nor sleep ; and at last, unable 
 longer to endure this suspense, he started off to gain intelli- 
 gence himself at Saint Ouen. 
 
 Soon, however, he was seen returning, with hasty strides, 
 and with a look and manner such as his followers had never 
 before seen. 
 
 " Where is Godeau ?" he exclaimed in a voice of thunder. 
 
 Godeau came slowly forward ; he was evidently distrustful. 
 But Jean sprang towards him, seized him by the collar, and, 
 shaking his massive frame till every joint cracked 
 
 " So, you are the villain who was to read these lines to 
 me !" roared Jean in his ear. " You said that the paper was 
 only scrawled with unmeaning scratches. Tell me now, is 
 there any word written there or not, dog as you are !" 
 
 " I I there is nothing that I could make out." 
 
 " Make out, indeed ! but I have made out that the prince 
 was taken to Laval two days agone, and this was in the 
 paper and and now the Prince de Talmont is dead ! Do 
 you hear rne, scoundrel? dead, dead, dead!" 
 
 Then turning to his followers 
 
 " What did you promise rne ? What was to be the reward 
 of treachery ?" 
 
 " A bullet through the head ! " said many, speaking together. 
 
 " You know, then, what to do with this miscreant ; and do 
 it speedily." And so saying, he pushed the unhappy man into 
 the midst of them.
 
 THE CHOUANS. 259 
 
 While they were binding the eyes of the culprit, he kept 
 screaming like a madman that he was no traitor ; although 
 to Miellette's logical and apt question if indeed he could read, 
 he still replied in the affirmative, and offered the weakest and 
 most evasive apologies, still swearing by every saint in the 
 calendar, little and great, that a traitor he was not. He now 
 strove and struggled with demoniac strength, and would by 
 no means submit to his fate. At last, seeing that he could 
 not be persuaded to kneel, Miellette, who superintended the 
 execution, ordered him to be thrown down on his back ; the 
 muskets were levelled at his breast, the triggers clicked, 
 and 
 
 " Can you read ? for the last time !" asked Miellette. 
 
 "Not" was the reply wrung by the very agony of death. 
 Bather than give up the reputation he had hitherto enjoyed 
 for learning, the miserable man had thus, out of mere vanity, 
 played off the trick, of which lie had so little foreseen the 
 cot. 
 
 " So then, Dominus Vobiscum," said Miellette, striking up 
 the muskets, " you have lied to us like a Judas ! and to main- 
 tain your cursed conceit, the Prince de Talmont must bite 
 the dust ! But still, you are no traitor. Off with you, then, 
 and hide yourself as you may ! Only don't cross Jean's path ; 
 he would shoot you as he would a mad dog." 
 
 Immersed in fresh sorrows, Jean forgot to inquire about 
 Godeau. His brother Francois died of his wounds, and was 
 buried, with imminent risk, in the family burying-place in 
 the churchyard of Olivet. Henceforth, la pauvre donzelle, 
 whose mind had never been restored, was in no way to be 
 kept from the grave. She had established herself under the 
 shelter of the little porch at the entrance, and spent the 
 greater part of the day kneeling beside the grave, either 
 praying, or singing some plaintive ballad in a sweet low
 
 260 BKITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 voice. This was a token to the Eepublicans both of the 
 death and resting-place of Francois. They disinterred the 
 body, cut off the head, and stuck it on a long pole, with this 
 inscription : " The head of the famous Cottereau, leader of the 
 Chouans in Lower Maine." It was then borne in triumph to 
 G-ravelle, and there erected in the place of public execution. 
 Susanne had seen all this, and no word had passed her lips ; 
 even her song was quenched. She had followed the rabble 
 rout to Gravelle ; and when the pole had been securely fixed 
 in the ground, she had seated herself close by it. The sen- 
 tinels of the party desired her to be off; and as she gave no 
 heed to their bidding, they shot her where she sat. 
 
 All these particulars Jean had heard from his youngest 
 brother Bene, who up to this period had occupied himself but 
 little with passing events : to secure his homestead and his 
 property was his first object. In spite of this, he was seized 
 and imprisoned as "suspect;" and when he was permitted to 
 return to his little domain, it was to find his house plundered, 
 his orchard and fields laid waste. This was the work of the 
 Contre- Chouans, as they were called, a band of wretches 
 who, under pretext of discovering Chouans, overran the dis- 
 trict as plunderers. The sight of his devastated farm had 
 filled Kene's heart with a burning thirst for vengeance. He 
 desired his wife to gather together the few scattered relics of 
 their property, and to follow him ; and taking his musket 
 from beneath the hearthstone, where it is the custom of the 
 peasants to conceal it, he departed for the forest of Misdon. 
 
 " That is all that the villains have left me 1" he exclaimed, 
 as he met his brother, and pointed to the bundle that his wife 
 was carrying ; " but may I be a beggar to the end of my life, 
 if for every dollar's worth that the rogues have stolen or 
 spoiled I do not bring down a Blue 1" 
 
 Rene did not lack opportunities to redeem his pledge. Jean
 
 THE CHOUANS. 261 
 
 himself was brought, by all this misery, into a state of fever- 
 ish restlessness a rabid craving for the excitement of blood- 
 shed ; and scarcely a day passed over without some encounter. 
 Now he would attack the Blues in their quarters ; now he 
 would rescue a band of Koyalists ; now he fell upon a convoy, 
 or emptied the coffers of the receiving officers. Along the 
 whole of the border on either side, Maine or Breton, not a 
 place, not an hour was secure from an inroad of the Chouans. 
 The engagements at Eouge-feu, Bourgon, St. Marais, Grand- 
 Mail, St. Ouen, and so forth, followed quickly on each other ; 
 and almost always the advantage remained with the Chouans. 
 
 The impetuous bravery of Kene was manifested on all occa- 
 sions. Va-de-bon-cceur declared that his musket would go off 
 of its own accord whenever a Blue was within range ; but 
 he manifested also an insatiable thirst for blood, and a most 
 inexorable cruelty. He abused women, and shot down un- 
 armed travellers, merely on account of their wearing the tri- 
 colour cockade, and would spare neither the wounded nor the 
 prisoners. He declared that it was his greatest pleasure to 
 cut down patriots by handfuls. His covetousness, which 
 nevertheless only added fuel to his fury, often rendered him 
 almost ridiculous. When, as was not unfrequently the case, 
 it was necessary to burn the booty which there were no means 
 of bringing away, he would crouch beside the fire, like the 
 wolf at the sheepfold, seeking to rescue a portion bemoaning 
 the loss of such treasures, and storming against the patriots 
 for hindering good Christian people in their enjoyment of 
 them. 
 
 Jean, on the contrary, was opposed to all needless blood- 
 shedding, was severe against all acts of violence committed 
 in cold blood, and prevented them whenever he could ; but 
 the increasing ferocity and exasperation of the men at length 
 rendered this interference ineffectual. Rene's prowess gave
 
 262 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 him unbounded influence ; and his atrocious cruelties did not 
 give serious offence to any, while by many they were imitated. 
 It was in vain that Jean frequently took away his brother's 
 weapons : Eene was sure to find a musket ready to his hand, 
 to carry on his dollar-reckoning with the Blues. 
 
 One day, the Chouans were lying in ambush near Genit, 
 but Eene, thirsting for blood, could not rest, and set off in 
 search of spoil. He soon saw a man creeping through the 
 underwood, and without asking any questions, shot him on 
 the spot. Jean and the rest, who had been overcome by 
 sleep, started up, and ran to the place to find one of their 
 most trusty spies who, at the peril of his life, was bringing 
 them a sackful of cartridges and flints, of which they were in 
 urgent need weltering in his blood. But what raised Jean 
 Chouan's grief and anger to the highest pitch was that the 
 victim was none other than that coachman of the Prince de 
 Talmont who had driven his mother to meet the king. 
 
 "Wretched man!" he said to Eene, turning upon him, 
 " there is too much of innocent blood that already cries against 
 our name. You shall atone for this to God in heaven !" 
 
 But before he could discharge his weapon, Michael Crivier 
 snatched it from him, and the rest of his followers fell upon 
 him and held him fast. 
 
 " Disarm your leader?" shouted Jean, aroused to fury. 
 
 "No, Jean," rejoined Crivier calmly and seriously; "but 
 we will have no Cain among us." 
 
 These words were more powerful with Jean than his wrath. 
 He raised a cry of horror, hid his face in his hands, and rush- 
 ing into the thicket threw himself upon his knees, and it was 
 long before he could be pacified. 
 
 In spite of the frequent recurrence of similar scenes of ter- 
 ror, the Chouans were not without bright moments. When, 
 after long and fruitless searching of the forest, the Blues had
 
 THE CHOUANS. 263 
 
 for a brief space departed from the immediate neighbourhood, 
 and the sun shone bright and clear, the Chouans -would come 
 out of their holes, and assemble in a meadow in one of the 
 clearings, and there, on the banks of a running stream, enjoy 
 themselves in song and dance, after the manner of the country. 
 As the swelling tones were borne on the wind to the surround- 
 ing hamlets, now inhabited only by women, these would come 
 to the doors of their cottages to listen, and shuddering, whis- 
 per to each other 
 
 " The lads are gay to-night ; how many of them will be 
 there to-morrow?" 
 
 If, in their hasty and frequent night-marches, the Chouans 
 came to a church that had not been spoiled of its bells a rare 
 event, even the vicinity of Blues would not prevent their al- 
 lowing themselves the enjoyment of once more hearing the 
 sounds they loved so well. They would ring the Angelus, 
 amid cries and tears of joy, and kneel in fervent prayer 
 around the church, till warned away by the urgency of the 
 peril. 
 
 Jean Chouan no longer took part in those merry moments. 
 The perpetual shedding of blood was a horror to him ; and 
 the recent encounter with his brother weighed heavily upon 
 his spirits. Once, when a convoy for which they were lying 
 in wait, came within range of shot, and all were impatiently 
 expecting the word to fire, he gave the strictest orders that no 
 one should fire, and suffered the unconscious Blues to pass 
 without molestation. To the loud murmurs of his people, he 
 replied 
 
 " The Cottereaux have taken the lives of but too many of 
 God's creatures, and the righteous Lord will take vengeance 
 on them for this." 
 
 The words were almost prophetical. The sisters, Perrine 
 and Eenee Cottereau, who had hitherto lived quietly at the
 
 264 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 farm, were soon after this taken to prison, and then brought 
 to Bourgneuf, where they were to be transferred, with many 
 others, to Laval. There could be no doubt of the sentence. 
 Jean at once resolved to rescue them at all hazards. But 
 the greater number of his men were absent, or wounded, and 
 he cdVild only collect about twenty. He caused these to swear 
 by their portion in paradise, that they would shed the last 
 drop of their blood in order to deliver the sisters. 
 
 The little band lay in ambush in the forest of Dtironclais. 
 Jean, whose calmness and self-possession had never before 
 been known to fail, now trembled so that he could scarcely 
 speak. He reminded his men of the love he had deserved 
 from them, and entreated their prayers for him and his. 
 Time passed ; Jean went backwards and forwards, continually 
 looking for intelligence ; but nothing was to be seen or heard 
 of the escort with the prisoners. It rained in torrents, and 
 the poor fellows stood knee-deep in water in their hiding- 
 place. Jean ceased not, with streaming tears, to exhort 
 every man separately to perseverance. 
 
 " We will rescue the poor girls, will we not ? You cannot 
 forsake me now?" he would say, over and over again, to 
 each. 
 
 " While you hold out, we shall," was the reply of his faith- 
 ful comrades, and further they spoke not. 
 
 The rain now increased, the water rose higher, and the cold 
 was piercing, and for four-and-twenty hours they had taken 
 no refreshment. As the second night began to draw on, Jean, 
 touched with compassion for his devoted followers, bade them 
 return to the shelter of Misdon. 
 
 " The weather must have detained the Blues ; to-morrow 
 we rendezvous here again." 
 
 They accordingly retired, while he himself, urged by dark 
 forebodings, hurried to Bourgneuf, there to get tidings of the
 
 THE CHOUANS. 265 
 
 prisoners. He heard that they had been taken to Laval by a 
 circuitous route, and hastened back to the forest of Misdon 
 to take counsel with the faithful Miellette, who was his blood 
 relation. Miellette had a peculiar aptitude in disguising him- 
 self, so as to personate without risk of discovery an. infinite 
 variety of characters. In the dress of a peasant woman, he 
 now made his way through the midst of the soldiers to Laval. 
 On his return, he was so far overcome by emotion, that he 
 staggered into the cave where Jean was watching for him 
 without being conscious of his presence. The deathlike pale- 
 ness of his face, and the misery depicted in his heretofore 
 cheerful countenance, told all. 
 
 "They have murdered them?" screamed Jean wildly. 
 
 "Yes; but the maidens have not disgraced you," replied 
 the other ; and then proceeded to relate all that he had wit- 
 nessed, without being able to interpose. 
 
 Renee, who was barely sixteen, had at first wept a little, 
 and could not walk forward when she was brought out to the 
 guillotine ; but her sister had supported her, and whispered 
 softly in her ear that " she should strive to die without making 
 much ado." Perrine then assisted her on to the scaffold and 
 under the axe, that the poor child might be spared the horror 
 of seeing her die. This over, she stepped bravely forward, 
 and calmly, " as she were going to church," and calling aloud 
 "Long live the king! long live my brother Jean Chouan!" 
 she laid her own head beneath the axe. Scarcely had it 
 fallen, when Miellette had rushed forwards, and dipped his 
 handkerchief in the blood of the sisters ; and this handkerchief 
 he now presented, as a sacred memorial, to their brother. 
 
 Jean had listened to the relation in gloomy silence, and 
 now thanked his true-hearted comrade with a nod, while he 
 took the bloody token from his hand and hid it in his breast. 
 He said not a word, and he shed no tear ; but from that mo-
 
 266 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ment, my informant assured me, he was never seen to smile, 
 nor indeed to speak, except when he was constrained to give 
 orders. He would not take any part in the gathering of the 
 Eoyalist leaders in Lower Maine, nor would he head any 
 other enterprise. To all entreaties, he only replied 
 
 " They must not be involved in my misfortunes." 
 
 At last, Jean, with his few surviving followers, was sur- 
 prised by the Blues in a farm-house La Babiniere. Most of 
 them contrived to escape, as did Jean himself; but on hearing 
 the screams of his sister-in-law, Kene's wife, he returned, 
 rescued her from the enemy, and helped her over a ditch, 
 which he held against the Blues till she had time to effect 
 her escape. Then, pierced by many balls, he fell ; but he 
 had strength enough left to drag himself into a neighbouring 
 thicket, where he was wrapped in a coverlet and carried by 
 his men to the forest of Misdon. He lived, in inexpressible 
 agony, till the next day, and made use of his failing strength 
 to the very last moment in exhorting the rest to steadfastness ; 
 urging them to choose Louis Triton, called Jambe d' Argent, 
 whom he esteemed as the ablest among them, for his suc- 
 cessor ; and speaking words of comfort and of counsel to each. 
 
 His last look was so joyous, so full of love and submission, 
 and so inspiriting, that Va-de-bon-coeur could not even now, 
 in his old age, allude to it without tears. 
 
 " He died as God's saints die," said the old man with 
 these words closing the narrative of events, in which he had 
 himself played so conspicuous a part. 
 
 The Chouans were now anxious to preserve the body of 
 their much-loved leader from exposure to the same indignities 
 which had been offered to that of his brother Frangois. With 
 this object, they dug a grave of unusual depth in one of the 
 most secret recesses of the forest ; and there, amid tears and 
 prayers, they deposited the corpse. They then filled up the
 
 THE CHOUANS. 267 
 
 grave, carefully stamping down the earth, so that there might 
 be no possibility of a sinking ; replacing the turf, which they 
 watered plentifully, and strewing dry leaves over the surface, 
 so that it was scarcely to be distinguished. 
 
 Such was the end of this remarkable man, who gave his 
 name to a burgher-war, of which General Hoche, to whom 
 pertained the glory of terminating it, said " That all other 
 warfare was mere child's-play when compared with it!" 
 
 Jean Chouan's peculiar greatness consisted especially in its 
 limitations. He never, either in feeling, idea, interest, or 
 effort, stepped beyond the narrow circle of which he formed a 
 part. With him, all was direct, individual, personal. His 
 sphere was circumscribed as compared with his abilities, and 
 thus his death had little influence on the war. It was carried 
 on by many others, who, if less gifted and less honoured, still 
 kept up the struggle in the same mode, and with varying 
 results, under the name of Chouannerie.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 
 
 THE Bay of Douarnenez, enclosed as it is by the two rocky 
 peninsulas of Kelerne and Crozon, which leave only a narrow 
 passage out into the open sea, belongs to those portions of the 
 coast of Brittany which make the deepest impression upon a 
 traveller possessed of taste and sympathy for such scenery. 
 Its charm does not, however, consist in what is generally 
 called the beautiful, or the romantic. There are along this 
 coast many \vilder, sublimer, more romantic, and more beau- 
 tiful points. But that which exercises so peculiar an influence 
 here, is doubtless the complete unity of style, if one may use 
 such an expression, the harmony of the whole, and of every 
 detail, down to the very moss which hangs from the rocks, 
 partaking, as they all do, of one and the same grave, severe, 
 gloomy, and mysterious character. Yet this coast-scene is 
 preserved from a dull monotony by the exquisitely blue waters 
 of the bay, which, though protected indeed from the mighty 
 waves that break upon the rocky promontories outside, yet 
 not only curls beneath the breath of the almost spent wind, 
 and shares the great pulsations of ocean in its ebb and flow,
 
 270 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 but is still further animated by as it were a ceaseless breath- 
 ing, or, in other words, a peculiar, mysterious, perfectly regu- 
 lar, and low-murmuring swelling, and subsiding of its waters. 
 Whatever explanation may be afforded by natural causes de- 
 pendent upon the formation of the shore, it is certain that the 
 people connect this phenomenon with the tradition, according 
 to which the old Armorican King Gralon still dwells in his 
 glorious magic city, deep down under the surface of the bay. 
 
 After a long absence, I revisited this country a few years 
 ago, to recover from the effects of the marrow and bone, the 
 soul and spirit- consuming business of the metropolis. I had 
 wandered away to the northern tongue of land, my whole 
 being open to the impressions conveyed by its scenery, and to 
 the influence of the strengthening sea-breeze which blew over 
 me from both sides, to the left from the bay, to the right from 
 the open sea. Opposite Rostudel, not far from the hamlet of 
 Kerkolleorch, I observed, on my left, a little green dingle 
 which opened out between gray masses of rocks, and led 
 down to the shore of the bay. Below me, the little brook 
 which had given rise to a kindly vegetation around to grass, 
 bushes, and some low trees, had been, by the help of a few 
 rough, upright stones, converted into a well that a few wil- 
 lows shaded over. 
 
 A young peasant-girl sat on a stone near this well, her arm 
 resting upon one of the large red earthen jugs which are uni- 
 versally used in these parts, and have from time immemorial 
 been brought over from the opposite coast of Cornwall, which 
 was once inhabited by a kindred race. I stepped towards her ; 
 for even at a distance I was attracted by the peculiar and sur- 
 prising charm of such an apparition in this lonely and savage 
 spot. She was of a remarkably pure and touching order of 
 beauty, and the simple costume of the district, poor but deli- 
 cately clean, the blue gown with a broad red border, the
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 271 
 
 brown kerchief around the head, and which fell over her 
 shoulders and bosom like a pair of wings, the small bare feet, 
 the round arm leaning on the red pitcher all formed an xm- 
 speakably charming tout ensemble. She greeted me in the 
 dialect of the country, with so gentle a voice, and such a 
 frank, friendly glance and nod, that I could not resist the temp- 
 tation to become somewhat better acquainted with her, which 
 would, I knew, in all probability be the result of a little 
 conversation. As I approached, returning her greeting, and 
 wiping away the drops that stood on my brow, she praised the 
 water of the well, and offered me some to drink ; and upon my 
 making a sign of assent, she rose, and, with fascinating grace 
 and alacrity, raised the pitcher to my lips. While I drained 
 long draughts of the pure stream, she held the heavy pitcher, 
 and looked at me with a smile. 
 
 As, according to the custom of the country, I thanked her 
 by bidding God bless her, and was about to enter into con- 
 versation, a harsh voice broke in 
 
 " The Holy Trinity protect us ! Can it be Dinorah, who, 
 on the open heath, sets up a liquor-shop for the townsfolk?" 
 
 I looked round, and saw a miller of the neighbourhood, 
 whom I knew by sight, sitting upon his sacks, which a strong 
 horse carried without difficulty together with his master, and 
 on his way apparently to one hamlet after another. Under 
 other circumstances he would have been a welcome companion 
 to me, for he knew the country and its inhabitants intimately, 
 and, apart from his self-satisfied, levelling, liberal views, and 
 the spirit of contradiction which he caught from his news- 
 papers apart, I say, from this, and an utter absence of all 
 feeling for what was deepest, tenderest, and most earnest in 
 the heart of the people, he was by no means a bad sort of 
 man, nay, for every-day life, he might be called a cheerful 
 and useful companion.
 
 272 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 At this moment, however, his appearance, and the anta- 
 gonism between him and such a creature as Dinorah, as well 
 as his discordance with the place, and with all that united to 
 form the mood which he disturbed, were extremely unwelcome 
 to me. Half offended, half embarrassed, I was silent, and 
 turned away, that I might not be tempted to say anything 
 rude to him. But Dinorah did not long owe him an answer. 
 
 "Go your ways elsewhere, Guiller Three-Tongues" cried 
 she, with a gay and unconstrained laugh. "You are well 
 entitled to the nickname, else you never could speak so much 
 arrant nonsense." 
 
 " Come, come, girl, give me at least a drink as well," said 
 he conciliatingly, while he saluted me very politely for he 
 knew me at once, in spite of my turning away. 
 
 " Not I, indeed," replied she tartly. " This is only 
 spring- water for good Christians ; such as you want fire- 
 water, and that / do not sell ; so go your ways." 
 
 " My way is thine, child ; for it so happens that I am tak- 
 ing this flour to Kerkolleorch." 
 
 " Except that portion of it which remains behind sticking 
 to the mill-stones is it not so, Guiller?" 
 
 I could not help laughing at this allusion to the well-known 
 foible of the miller, or rather at the droll, pert way in which 
 the girl brought it out ; but the miller turned to me, and said, 
 with a shrug of his shoulders 
 
 " Monsieur, then, understands the gour lanchenn (the bad 
 tongue) already. But who ever would believe it of a little 
 saint that she could be so sharp? I have seen her when 
 she was not higher than her pitcher when she could not 
 even call me by my name, and now I can get on less well 
 with her than if she were an advocate. That shows plainly 
 enough that when God took the tongue from the serpent 
 He gave it to the woman. I should like to know if she
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 273 
 
 serves Bauzec the black in the same way when he passes by 
 her door." 
 
 The miller had evidently touched his fair opponent on a 
 tender point. At all events she was silent, blushed percepti- 
 bly, and pulled her head-gear about with some embarrass- 
 ment. But when he tried to follow up his advantage, she 
 soon found her tongue again, and some light-hearted and 
 harmless bantering was carried on between them for some 
 time longer. 
 
 At last, he replied to the reproach of not knowing how to 
 prevent his three tongues from contradicting each other, by 
 an allusion that I did not understand, and which soon put an 
 end to all jesting on the part of Dinorah. 
 
 "Well," cried he, "we can't all be the blessed Virgin's 
 god-children that is only the lot of such little saints as Di- 
 norah." 
 
 " Do not mock at holy things, Guiller," said she, with a 
 sudden earnestness of voice, look, and gesture, while raising 
 her pitcher to her head, and preparing to go away. 
 
 "Old William* may burn me black," replied he, " if I 
 meant to mock. Every child in the district knows the story, 
 and if the gentleman has not heard it already, I will tell it 
 him now 
 
 " You must know that the little Dinorah was just born, and 
 was to be, as is right and proper, baptized as soon as possible. 
 All were assembled in the church, and quite ready. The 
 sexton had brought the shell with the salt in it the priest 
 had put on his stole ; they were only waiting for one of the 
 godmothers. At that moment came a messenger out of breath 
 to say that she had suddenly dropped down dead. You may 
 imagine the confusion and distress. It would never do to 
 
 * This is the title given by the peasants of Brittany to the devil perhaps from a for- 
 gotten play upon the name of William the Conqueror.
 
 274 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 take the first come for the godmother of such a jewel of a 
 child, and in short she was very near being carried out of the 
 church unbaptized home. At that moment, out of the Chapel 
 of the Holy Virgin Mary, which stands on one side of the 
 choir, there came a wonderfully beautiful lady, dressed in silk 
 and lace, and offered to hold the child for baptism. The 
 priest had nothing to say against it, and all the rest of the 
 party assembled held their breath at the apparition ; and be- 
 fore they rightly knew what had happened to them, our little 
 Dinorah was baptized, and the apparition had vanished again 
 into the chapel. But pray, sir, do not think of disputing with 
 Dinorah here, or with any of the good folk of this province, 
 as to whether it really was the Blessed Virgin, or a dis- 
 tinguished lady from Paris, who was sketching at that time 
 in the neighbourhood, and hunting out Cromlechs and other 
 antiquities and curiosities. So now you see it was no bad 
 joke of mine, but that it is in good downright earnest that we 
 call Dinorah the little saint, and the Virgin's god-daughter ! " 
 
 I looked inquiringly at Dinorah, who replied, half in anger 
 and half in embarrassment 
 
 " Guiller can lie even while telling the truth ; but, how- 
 ever, no one can alter what God willed should happen. The 
 dog may bark at the moon, indeed ; but the moon does not 
 on that account fall from the sky." 
 
 So saying, she went away with a quick step, and soon dis- 
 appeared behind the rocks. 
 
 We took the same way more slowly. The miller went on 
 rattling for some time, but I did not heed him. The little 
 legend I had just heard, had in no way diminished my in- 
 terest in Dinorah. I knew well that the people in Brittany 
 are always pleased with stories of some wonderful distinction 
 paid to one or other of themselves by the Lord of Heaven, or 
 by some of His saints. Such highly-favoured ones are objects
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 275 
 
 of pride to a whole district. I had already heard of the widow 
 of a baker of St. Mathieu, whose dough had heen kneaded by 
 the archangel Gabriel ; and of Lotsen of Batz, to whom the 
 Saviour himself had taught certain words which had the power 
 of guiding a ship safely over the most perilous seas, and through 
 the most terrible storms. But I had held all these stories to 
 be mere jests, and had never yet seen one of these distin- 
 guished individuals. Here, however, was a maiden who was 
 evidently fully persuaded that she stood in a peculiar relation 
 to the Queen of Heaven. No one who saw her could doubt the 
 genuineness of such belief on her part ; nay, this story alone 
 gave the key to her peculiar bearing at once lively and dig- 
 nified, modest, retiring, mysterious, and yet firm, self-possessed, 
 and even daring as it was. Moreover as Guiller confessed 
 cordially enough, when he found that his light talk found no 
 response in me though Dinorah was certainly rather too 
 proud of her exalted sponsor, she did her credit by being 
 the most pious, most honourable, and, in short, the best girl 
 in all the country far and near ; and if all saints were like 
 her, added he, he would himself think seriously about being 
 converted and trying to get to heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile, we had reached one of those cottages standing 
 close by the shore, where the so-called Gabariers were wont 
 to live, that they might collect tang, fine sand, and other 
 productions or refuse of the sea, which they sold to potash and 
 glass manufacturers, in order to eke out by these small earn- 
 ings the fishing, which was their special vocation. But this 
 cottage of which I speak was in far better order than the 
 generality. It was built of granite blocks, pretty regularly 
 arranged, and roofed with large slates. Its situation was shel- 
 tered, standing as it did at the opening of a little hollow in 
 the steep banks which rose from behind it, leaving room 
 for a little bit of garden, where herbs, and a few flowers, pro-
 
 276 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 tected by a green hedge, seemed to flourish very well. A 
 deep curve of the shore reached to a few steps of the cottage 
 door. The little waves, sparkling in the evening sun, lifted 
 in their play a neat boat on to the snow-white sand of the 
 beach, which was diversified here and there by gay shells. 
 Nets were hanging up to dry upon a neighbouring rock. 
 
 Guiller observed to me 
 
 "That's the home of Dinorah's father, old Salaun. And 
 there lies the old man himself," continued he, laughing, as 
 he pointed out a man asleep in the shadow of a rock, " and 
 repeats the paternoster of St. Do-nothing. These people live 
 as they used to do in Paradise. The sea brings them all they 
 want while they sleep, and they have only got to stretch their 
 hand out to take it in. No doubt he is dreaming at this 
 moment of the great lobster with pearl eyes, and of the bank 
 with silver anchovies ; and he is ready to sell his soul to 
 Satan if he will but get him a net made of sand, with which 
 to fish out all these marvels from the depths of the Bay of 
 Douarnenez. I will waken him just in time to prevent the 
 bargain being struck." 
 
 He did this in rather a summary manner ; and after a few 
 jokes, both men began to unlade the sacks of flour which the 
 miller had brought. During this process, I engaged the 
 Gabarier to take me in his boat, at the next ebb of the tide, 
 to the cave of Morgate, which was opposite, at the very ex- 
 tremity of the southern point. To while away the short inter- 
 vening time, I ascended the banks behind the cottage, and 
 delighted myself with the glorious scene presented by the 
 bay : its rocky shores, the wide sea beyond, the promontories 
 and fissures far and near, the hundred sails of small and 
 large vessels traversing the blue expanse in every direction ; 
 and all this brightly lighted up by the Bun, which already 
 neared the misty horizon.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 277 
 
 I was roused out of the dreamy condition into which the 
 scene had plunged me, by the noise that the fisherman and 
 miller made in shutting the cottage-door after they had fin- 
 ished their task. I had begun to descend, but involuntarily 
 stood still as I saw Dinorah come out of the cottage. She 
 had placed her distaff on her hip, and as she went along she 
 whirled the spindle with great speed and accuracy. In the 
 other hand, she held up her apron, in which she seemed to be 
 carrying something or other. She came up the cliff near to 
 where I was standing, behind a projection of rock, and then 
 stood still, a few steps below me. She looked round on every 
 side, raised her hand to the four points of the compass succes- 
 sively, while she pronounced two or three words which I did 
 not understand. She was instantly answered by a loud chirp- 
 ing from the low bushes around, and from every side different 
 kinds of birds bullfinches, robin-redbreasts, hedge-sparrows, 
 titmice, and many more flew down to pick up the food she 
 had brought them in her apron, and which she now carefully 
 and lovingly distributed in little handfuls, while, in an under 
 tone, she sang to herself in a strange sort of way. 
 
 It was a lovely picture, seen thus in the red glow of even- 
 ing ; and the pure outline of her face, with its rich waves of 
 golden hair around, would certainly have afforded to a painter 
 a most admirable study for the head of a saint. 
 
 At length I approached, but she beckoned me away, with- 
 out, however, evincing the least surprise or embarrassment. 
 
 " If Monsieur comes nearer, all my little birdies will fly 
 away, and they are not half satisfied," said she in a whisper, 
 that her proteges might not be disturbed by the sound of a 
 strange language. 
 
 However, at that moment both the men came noisily out of 
 the cottage, and the little birds dispersed on every side, with 
 :v loud twittering, expressive of their alarm and displeasure.
 
 278 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 So Dinorah, after having called out a few quieting and 
 sympathizing words after them, found herself obliged to speak 
 to me. In answer to my question, by what means she had 
 contrived thus to tame such shy little creatures, she looked at 
 me in astonishment, and said 
 
 " Why, by the same that attract all God's creatures by 
 love ; by showing them that one is fond of them. In winter, 
 when they cannot find food for themselves, I strew it for them 
 before our door, and in summer they know me again." 
 
 As she spoke, we reached the cottage, and the miller could 
 not refrain from teasing her a little more. 
 
 " The little saint has again given alms to the beggars of 
 the air. No doubt she expects to find one or other amongst 
 them who will bring her tidings from her high and holy god- 
 mother." 
 
 Dinorah went into the house, silent, and evidently offended ; 
 but old Salaun said gravely 
 
 " And why not, pray ? If our fathers have not deceived 
 us, there are birds who know the way to the upper sea, and 
 can no doubt carry a message to the blest in Paradise." 
 
 " Well, all I know," replied the miller, " is that it is just 
 the contrary with my horse and me. We have to find our 
 way to one who comes much nearer to the lost in hell. Or 
 has the devil at last hunted down his prey Judock Ship- 
 wreck of the Kaven-cliff ?" 
 
 Salaun, it was plain, wished to avoid giving an answer, 
 and went accordingly towards the boat, remarking that it was 
 high time to think of our expedition. But the name of Judock 
 happened to recall to my mind, though indistinctly, certain 
 criminal prosecutions in which I had been engaged. And 
 upon inquiry, the miller convinced me that it was indeed this 
 very man who had been brought before the Court at Brest 
 several years before, charged with heavy crimes, but who had
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 279 
 
 been acquitted, contrary to the general expectation, owing to 
 some deficiency in the evidence. 
 
 " If I only knew," added the miller, " whether the old vil- 
 lain were at home, that he might himself receive his flour 
 from me, and make no more ado about it, I would rather" 
 here he interrupted himself. " But there comes his boy 
 Bauzec the black and he can give us the surest information, 
 if he but choose to do so." 
 
 The new-comer was a young lad in the very poorest dress 
 of the district. His thick, unkempt, rough, coal-black hair 
 fell like a mane over his shoulders. In his right hand, he 
 held a long cudgel, which, with strength and agility, he 
 swung round in circles; while his left hand clutched with 
 fierce grasp the sack which he carried on his shoulders. His 
 features, as well as his expression, wore no trace of the old 
 Armorican type had about them nothing of its sad, severe 
 earnestness, and indomitable fidelity. There was evidently 
 the wild, cunning, gipsy character about the dark contracted 
 features, and the bright, deeply-cut eyes. In short, there was 
 something in his whole appearance that awakened dislike as 
 well as fear. 
 
 When he saw that he was observed, he stopped for an in- 
 stant in his rapid walk, and seemed doubtful as to whether or 
 not he would turn back. But just at that moment Dinorah 
 happened to come to the door, busied with her spindle, and 
 looking down. 
 
 As soon as he saw her, he came on again, but so slowly, 
 that the miller more than once called upon him to make haste, 
 adding, that in general he was light-footed enough, otherwise 
 there would have been an end of his light feet long ago, and 
 he would have had a couple of pounds of iron hung upon 
 them. When the lad had come within a few steps of us, he 
 stood still again, and cast furtive glances differing, however,
 
 280 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 wonderfully in expression first at us, and then at Dinorah. 
 The miller then asked him if Juclock was at home. He made 
 no answer till Dinorah repeated the question, when he slowly 
 said 
 
 "He only can know that who comes from the Ravens' 
 Cliff;" 
 
 " And thou, lad, comest as usual," said the fisherman, ad- 
 vancing towards us from his boat, " only from some place 
 or other thou shouldest not come from, and which no one asks 
 thee about." 
 
 " Where should he come from, indeed, but from some poach- 
 ing expedition?" suggested the miller. "Let us see what 
 your booty is to-day fruit or roots, fish or flesh !" 
 
 And so saying, he was going to snatch at the sack, but the 
 youth looked at him in such a way, and made such an ex- 
 pressive motion with the cudgel, that the miller, strong as he 
 was, drew back, with an exclamation that called forth the in- 
 terposition of Dinorah. 
 
 " Bauzec comes from the downs," she calmly said ; " I saw 
 him wandering about there an hour or so ago." 
 
 " He has been hunting with the gentry. I have met him 
 out with them before now," exclaimed Guiller spitefully. 
 
 " And why not ?" replied the youth in a tone of defiance. 
 " Here is my gun, which never fails, and here my sporting 
 dog, which never loses scent of the game," added he tri- 
 umphantly, as he swung round his cudgel, and opened his 
 sack a little, out of which peeped a little white, hairy head, 
 with small, red eyes, and a pointed and blood-stained little 
 nose. 
 
 " A ferret ! " exclaimed Salaun ; " no wonder, then, that the 
 gentry complain that they can hardly get a roasted rabbit out 
 of all their rabbit-warrens." 
 
 " Bauzec grinned with delight at this acknowledgment cf
 
 TUB VIRGIN'S GOD- CHILD. 281 
 
 his heroic deeds. He fumbled in his bag, and brought out 
 four fine rabbits, on whose white breasts the little track of 
 blood showed where the ferret had sucked their veins. That 
 little creature evinced a strong fellow-feeling with its master, 
 looking complacently upon its victims, and licking its lips and 
 whiskers with its small red tongue. 
 
 To the miller's question as to whether he was willing to 
 sell them, Bauzec replied 
 
 "Not here; I shall get a better price for them at the 
 tavern in Crozon, as well as a glass of fire-water into the 
 bargain." 
 
 So saying, he replaced his booty in the bag, lingered for a 
 moment or two as if in indecision, and then prepared to leave 
 without any further salutation. But he suddenly recollected 
 himself, drew one of the rabbits out of the bag again, and 
 threw it at Dinorah's feet, with the bold yet shy manner of a 
 rough youth, who would willingly be gallant but does not 
 know how. 
 
 " It is the finest of them," muttered he ; " the little saint 
 may keep it if she will." 
 
 Dinorah looked at him gravely, almost severely. But her 
 father pushed away the present with his foot, and said rudely 
 " Take thy game along with thee, lad ; we only receive 
 presents from Christian people." 
 
 Bauzec shrank back, and for a moment appeared discom- 
 fited ; but he soon regained his savage air of defiance. He 
 uttered a sort of hissing sound, which might pass for a laugh 
 of contempt, took up his bag again, and with a few strides 
 vanished behind a projection of the rocks. 
 
 The miller, meanwhile, had picked up the rabbit, and said 
 that his conscience was not so tender ; and that, if they de- 
 spised the dainty roast it would make, it would do nicely for 
 him.
 
 282 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 He then prepared to join Bauzec, as lie had to go to the 
 Eavens' Cliff. I resolved to accompany him ; for I was curious 
 to make the personal acquaintance of this Judock, whose 
 innocence as to the charges already referred to had always 
 appeared to me something more than doubtful, while their 
 nature had left on my mind a picture of a remarkable and 
 original villain. The fisherman promised, though evidently 
 with some reluctance, to bring the boat round for me to 
 Eavens' Cliff at the proper time. I took a short farewell of 
 Dinorah, but found her far more silent and reserved than she 
 had been at first ; and went on my way, accompanied by the 
 miller. 
 
 " You will find Judock an odd sort of saint," said my com- 
 panion, in his obtrusive way ; " or rather, I should say, no 
 saint at all, but a regular limb of Satan, with whose sins and 
 crimes one could fill up the whole way between Camaret and 
 Crozon. For twenty years he lit false lights from Loquirnk 
 to Trevignon, and has had more to do with shipwrecks upon 
 this coast than the south-west wind itself." 
 
 I asked whether this creditable occupation enriched its 
 pursuer. 
 
 " One cannot exactly tell," rejoined Guiller ; " he lives in 
 his den yonder as poorly as a Klasker-lara a bread-seeker, 
 as we call beggars about here. But the question is, whether 
 his miserliness be not greater than all his other vices. Many 
 believe that he has tons of buried gold. And besides, he 
 gains something every now and then as a flayer and rope- 
 maker; and on that account, too, the people look askance 
 at him as anything but a Christian, and aver that he is a 
 Kakous." 
 
 After an hour's good walk, as we followed a bend of the 
 down, we came in sight of Judock's hut. It was built into a 
 small and narrow fissure in the rocks, and stood close to the
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 283 
 
 shore. The natural walls thus afforded, the moss-grown flag- 
 stones that formed its roof, and whose broad crevices were 
 stuffed up \vith sea-tang, held together by strong fir-branches, 
 rendered it difficult to distinguish the dwelling from the rocks 
 around, and the sea-produce strewn upon them. Everything 
 was barren, rude, and inhospitable-looking. Some pointed 
 piles of bones lay about, and the projecting roof of the gable 
 had two or three horses' skulls nailed to it a decoration 
 worthy of the whole. 
 
 Judock sat at his door, busied with some old cordage, which 
 he was pulling to pieces. He was a little, thin, shrivelled 
 old man, with a large bald head. The prevailing hue of his 
 face was almost brick-coloured, but in the countless wrinkles 
 the skin was lighter ; and as these wrinkles widened more or 
 less at every change of feature, or when he spoke, they gave 
 him a strange repulsive appearance, and made a varying and 
 confusing impression upon the beholder. His restless, pierc- 
 ing glance, his beak-like nose, his low forehead, his toothless 
 mouth, his under jaw in constant motion, all completed a 
 picture, which only answered too well to the opinion that I 
 had already formed of him. 
 
 As soon as he saw me he started, and furtively watched all 
 my movements with visible unrest and suspicion. But he 
 pretended not to observe me. 
 
 " Now then, old sinner," said Guiller to him at last, " canst 
 thou not give God's blessing and the good-day to this gentle- 
 man?" 
 
 "What is the nobleman seeking for on this coast?" was 
 the ungracious answer, spoken in an under tone. 
 
 " Ay, what indeed? old Judock, perhaps," said the miller, 
 laughing. 
 
 At these words Judock sprang up, and seemed doubtful 
 whether to flee or to defend himself. I however soon calmed
 
 284 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Irim, by assuring him that I was only a lover of rock and 
 ocean, and that I had a boat ready to take me to see the 
 cave. Without returning me any answer, he seized the sack 
 of flour that Guiller had brought, and carried it into the hut. 
 No sooner had I crossed the threshold, however, than Judock 
 let his burden fall, and gave a loud scream. 
 
 "He here!" exclaimed he, with an expression of extremest 
 amazement. " The saints be gracious to me ! how has he 
 got in?" 
 
 The intruder was Bauzec, who, to all appearance quite 
 unconcerned, sat upon the hearth and roasted potatoes in the 
 ashes. 
 
 "Why," observed the miller, showing himself upon the 
 door-sill, "you have not left more than one hole to your 
 palace ; how could he have got in otherwise than by it, old 
 boy?" 
 
 " No, no ; the door was shut, and I but I must ferret out 
 how this vermin crept in here without my knowledge, or " 
 
 He raised his hand threateningly against the lad, who, 
 however, replied calmiy, and with an ironical emphasis upon 
 the expression 
 
 " Why, my dear father, does not the wind find its way in 
 without asking your leave, and why should not your dear 
 little son do the same?" 
 
 " Only hear him, the young imp !" exclaimed the old man, 
 half angrily and half piteously. " He himself confesses that 
 he has slipped in here to rob his poor old father !" 
 
 " Eh, father dear !" continued the youth in the same mock- 
 ing tone ; " so there is then something to rob you of, and 
 people are not so far wrong eh?" 
 
 That last sentence was too much for the old man. He 
 seized an iron implement which lay at hand, and rushed upon 
 Bauzec ; but with a laugh he slipped away from him, and out
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 285 
 
 at the door, with cat-like agility. The old man followed, but 
 he very soon returned out of breath, apparently without 
 having effected anything. He spent himself in asseverations 
 respecting his poverty, his age, and his wretchedness; the 
 untruth, and indeed impossibility, of any reports to the con- 
 trary ; the bad-heartedness and ingratitude of the " vermin," 
 as he called his well-educated son. 
 
 The miller put an end to the repulsive garrulity of the old 
 man whose mind was actually weakened by the alarm given 
 to his covetousness by reminding him of the payment due, 
 and of the glass of brandy that was to accompany it. But 
 he could only bring him to the point by the positive threat of 
 no longer grinding for him. 
 
 At last the boat of old Salaun touched the shore, and he 
 called out to me that there was no time to lose. I was glad 
 to leave the inhospitable hut and its owner, and the miller 
 too, whose manner towards the old man was disagreeable to 
 me. So I soon found myself sitting in the boat, and gave 
 myself up to the strange and sublime scenes that shore and 
 sea afforded me, as we rowed to the outlet of the bay. Sa- 
 laun had made visible haste to push off from the shore, and 
 had at first exerted all his energies to get away as fast as 
 possible out of sight of the Kakous' hut. 
 
 His exertions, and the anxious look that he cast towards 
 the cloudless horizon, induced me at last to ask him whether 
 we had a sudden squall to apprehend. 
 
 " Ask them who cause such, sir ; it would not be the first 
 storm that has come from that quarter in perfectly still 
 weather," said he significantly, while he pointed to the direc- 
 tion where stood the dwelling of the Kakous. 
 
 And strange enough, at that very moment, a light white 
 cloud rose from the point in question, and spread out to the 
 horizon. But I soon convinced myself that it must be smoke,
 
 286 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 and concerned myself no further about the matter, seeing that 
 the Gabarier, to my query as to how a fire could take place 
 on so nearly uninhabited a coast, merely replied by shrugs of 
 the shoulders, and other strange gestures. And besides this, 
 we had now reached the vicinity of the Grotto of Morgate, 
 where Nature claimed and absorbed all my attention. 
 
 I let the conversation drop, and soon we glided through 
 the narrow entrance into the cave, whose noble dome look- 
 ing, in the wonderfully blue light, as if it were built of 
 sapphires rose suddenly upon the astonished and bewildered 
 sight. This cave certainly surpasses the so much more widely 
 famed blue Grotto of Capri ; and this particular point, as well 
 as the whole coast indeed, possesses in a much higher degree 
 than those southern shores, the charm of ancient local tradi- 
 tions and national songs. 
 
 These are for the most part connected, in this district, with 
 the mythic King Grail on-Mawr (Grallon the Great), and with 
 the magic Princess Morgane, or Margate, who, as is well 
 known, occupies so prominent a portion in the legends and 
 lays of Arthur's round table. 
 
 Nothing was wanting but a hint on my part to induce my 
 companion, who had been hitherto so monosyllabic, to set off 
 fluently upon these subjects. 
 
 His favourite tradition the scene of which, moreover, was, 
 he asserted, this very grotto appeared to be the story of the 
 fair Genossa, which is also preserved in an old national song 
 ( Guerz] of Brittany.* 
 
 Genossa was the daughter of a mighty lord, who lived in 
 the castle whose giant ruins are still shown on the island of 
 Kozan, at the mouth of the Laber. Genossa lived without 
 
 * It is well known that the distinguished VillemarquS has published a collection, in 
 two volumes, of similar national lyrics, under the title, Barzas-Briez, chant* populairet 
 de la Bretagne, which have also been translated by Ad. Keller, and others whose names 
 have escaped my memory. But the legend of Genossa is not amongst them.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 287 
 
 God, and without a wish. Her father let her grow up as do 
 the flowers of the field, and no priest had ever approached the 
 island, which was devoted to the Evil Spirit. Sitting upon a 
 snow-white cow with golden horns, she wandered all the day 
 long through the meadows and woods that lay around the 
 shore, catching in her silken net the birds on the wing. 
 ' One day she chanced to meet a beautiful young man upon 
 a black bull with silver horns. His approach thrilled her 
 through and through. He spoke such wondrously sweet words 
 to her, that she was bewitched by them. The black bull 
 and the white cow walked so closely together, and so slowly, 
 that they could crop the grass at their feet, and pull at the 
 same flowers ; and the blended sound of their hoofs echoed 
 like music in the heart of Genossa. 
 
 The fisherman had at first told the tale in his own way, and 
 with sundry pauses ; but soon the words of the old ditty fell 
 from him in their original form, and he continued without in- 
 terruption, in a strange half-chanting, half-reciting tone 
 
 " It seemed to Genossa as though every tree were hung 
 around with wreaths of flowers, and sweet bird-notes sprung 
 from under every leaf, and the sea-breezes were laden with 
 incense-like perfume. Genossa met the handsome man on the 
 black bull more than once, and ever his magic power grew 
 stronger and stronger over her. She soon thought and wished 
 only what the stranger wished and thought. And so it came 
 to pass that one day the white cow returned to the castle 
 alone, and Genossa sat behind the stranger upon the black 
 bull with the silver horns. The lord of the island of Rozan, 
 however, gathered all his men together in pursuit, each bearing 
 in one hand a sword, and in the other a dagger. For this 
 lord had promised to cover with gold every drop of blood spilt, 
 whether of their own or their enemy's. 
 
 " Soon Genossa found herself resting by the stranger's side
 
 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 on the sea-shore, while the black bull pastured near. As soon 
 as the stranger saw the pursuers advancing, he vaulted with 
 Genossa on the back of the bull, who plunged into the blue 
 sea, and soon carried them over to the Grotto of Morgane. 
 Arrived there, the stranger began to caress the maiden ; she 
 shrunk away abashed, and said 
 
 " ' Leave off, Spountus.* I hear my mother weeping and 
 sobbing between the boards of the narrow house.' 
 
 " ' It is the sighing of the waves in the narrow fissures of 
 the rock, my sweet Genossa.' 
 
 " ' Listen, listen, Spountus ! my mother speaks from under 
 the consecrated earth ! ' 
 
 " ' What says she, then, from under the consecrated earth, 
 Genossa?' 
 
 " ' She says that her daughter is not to give herself up body 
 and soul without the show of consecrated altar-lights, and 
 without the priest's holy chants.' 
 
 " ' Be it, then, as she wishes, Genossa, my beloved ; I honour 
 the dead ! ' 
 
 " Then the handsome stranger made a sign, and suddenly 
 there rose out of the darkness priest and choristers, and sur- 
 rounded the rock that rises in the little island in the midst of 
 the grotto. They covered the rock with a cloth of scarlet 
 silk embroidered in silver, and kindled around it tall wax 
 lights in golden candlesticks. The marriage ceremony began. 
 But at the moment when the priest spoke the blessing, and 
 placed the ring upon her finger, Genossa screamed aloud till 
 the whole grotto rang with the sound. The ring burnt her 
 finger like fire. She tried to tear herself away to fly, but it 
 was too late ! Spountus seized her arm, and forced her to 
 follow him through long, endlessly long and dismal passages. 
 
 * Spountut, the Terrible, is one of the names given to the Evil Spirit by the Armorican 
 Celts.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 289 
 
 Her heart died within her, and, trembling and sorrowful, she 
 leaned on the one who had become master of her soul and 
 body. 
 
 " ' Listen, Spountus,' whispered she, ' does it not seem as 
 if all around us here, there, and everywhere there came 
 the sounds of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth ? ' 
 
 " ' It is nothing, Genossa, my sweet soul, but the workmen 
 who are boring the rock above us, and singing their songs the 
 while.' 
 
 " ' Seems it not, Spountus, as though bitter tears were trick- 
 ling on us down the rocks ? ' 
 
 " ' It is only the water of the springs that oozes through 
 the rock, Genossa, my sweet soul.' 
 
 " ' Lord of my life, the air that surrounds us is like the 
 breath of a furnace !' 
 
 " ' Genossa, joy of my heart, look there ! Fire, tire, every- 
 where fire ! this is hell, heathen maiden, and thou art mine 
 for ever ! ' ' 
 
 This is the Querz of Genossa, which must of course lose in- 
 describably by translation, and by the absence of all the cir- 
 cumstances under which I heard it. 
 
 We rowed once more in silence round the devil's altar, and 
 by way of dispelling the oppressive and shuddering mood into 
 which the old song had unconsciously plunged me, I inquired 
 whether Spountus were still occasionally to be seen in the 
 grotto. The fisherman did not answer at once, but first with 
 a couple of powerful oar-strokes made the boat shoot out 
 through the entrance of the grotto into the clear daylight and 
 the free expanse of sea. Then he said 
 
 "The gentleman ought to have asked old Judock that 
 question he knows its answer." 
 
 As it was evident that my companion had no pleasure in 
 telling either what he knew or what he thought upon this sub-
 
 290 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 ject, and as, moreover, we were suddenly surrounded by a 
 thick fog, occasioning all manner of optical illusions, and re- 
 quiring his whole attention to be given to the management of 
 the boat, we both continued silent. But after about a quarter 
 of an hour, when a fresh wind rose and drove away the fog, 
 Salaun suddenly touched me on the shoulder, exclaiming 
 
 " Look there ! Judock's hut is on fire ! " 
 
 On looking round, I remarked a ruddy light on the Eavens' 
 Cliff, which was scarcely distinguished from the rosy glow still 
 thrown by the setting sun upon the higher rocks. It was 
 only at intervals that a brighter flame leapt up. Agreeably 
 to my wish, Salaun steered our boat to the spot ; curiosity, or 
 the wish to assist, overcoming the repugnance which he had 
 previously shown to the Eavens' Cliff and to its owner. 
 
 As we drew near, we saw a number of men busily engaged 
 about the fire, while numbers more were hurrying towards it 
 in every direction. Having landed, we soon found out that, 
 as is generally the case on such occasions, the greatest part of 
 them, by screams and useless gestures, impeded the assistance 
 that might yet have been afforded. A few only were occupied 
 with the door, which, however, they had vainly tried to break 
 open with the half of a fir-tree stem torn off the roof, while 
 the fire appeared to be devouring slowly the inside of the hut, 
 which had no vent or opening of any kind. On approaching 
 nearer, a loud groaning and whining was distinctly heard with- 
 in. We listened for a moment ; another voice arose, a sharp, 
 mocking tone, which at last broke out into a yell of fiendish 
 laughter. Then hard blows were repeatedly given then 
 again the same wailing and whimpering, the same mocking 
 rejoinder. 
 
 Salaun and the remainder drew back in horror, and a few 
 words spoken half aloud showed that they were in no doubt 
 as to whom the old villain had to deal with, and that, in
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 291 
 
 their opinion, no human help could avail to deliver him from 
 the grasp of the spirits whom he had served all his life long. 
 
 It was in vain that I requested Salaun to join me in an 
 attempt to break open the door. 
 
 " This fire is not kindled by mortal hands, and we poor 
 sinners can never put it out." 
 
 " The Church will put it out, then," here interfered a deep, 
 well-toned voice. 
 
 It was that of a priest who had joined us. All surrounded 
 him, taking off their hats with much respect, while I in a few 
 words explained the state of things. Though advanced in 
 years, he was still strong and active in mind and body. We 
 understood each other instantly. While he sent a messenger 
 to fetch an axe from the nearest village, and gave some other 
 judicious orders, which the people unhesitatingly obeyed, I 
 climbed to the top of the rock into whose fissures the hut was 
 squeezed, that I might thence try to find out whether it had 
 any other opening or not. 
 
 I was, however, unable to discover anything of the kind, 
 and was therefore about to descend, when I saw a dark figure 
 glide behind some low bushes at a little distance, but the very 
 same moment it vanished behind the next projection of rock. 
 It had already become too dark, and the apparition was too 
 sudden and momentary, for me to have any distinct impression 
 as to its form or features. 
 
 At first, I felt half inclined to pursue it, but after two or 
 three onward steps, I felt convinced that to do so along such 
 a road as this, over such masses of rocks, such crevices, and 
 through such brushwood, would be not only vain, but danger- 
 ous. At the same time, too, the strokes of the axe upon the 
 door announced that the chief point that of forcing nn en- 
 trance into the hut, would soon be gained, and I therefore 
 rapidly made ray way down again.
 
 292 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 Just as I arrived, the door gave way. A stream of flame, 
 clouds of smoke, and sparks rushed out, and scared the by- 
 standers away ; but the fury of the fire was already spent, and 
 in a few moments the priest was able to enter, followed by 
 Salaun and myself. The others remained standing outside, 
 partly out of respect to the injunctions of the priest, partly 
 through terror of the things that might have to be encountered 
 within. 
 
 The first sight that met our eyes was Judock lying upon 
 the hearth in a pool of blood. He was still alive, and we 
 instantly carried him out into the open air ; and at the ear- 
 nest entreaty of the priest, the barber of the neighbouring 
 village, who, like the many others, found himself on the spot, 
 undertook to examine, and, as far as he was able, to treat 
 the severely- wounded man. At the same time, all that could 
 be done, was done to save the hut. It was found that all 
 that was combustible was already consumed, and the glowing 
 embers were easily quenched. No trace was found of the per- 
 petrator, or of the cause of the crime, except, indeed, a mat- 
 tock, which had evidently served to raise the hearthstone, and 
 to dig under it. 
 
 That this calamity was not accidental, we none of us had 
 any doubt ; and as I, in company with the priest, again 
 approached the late possessor of the hut, the surgeon, as he 
 called himself, showed us a deep wound in the breast, and a 
 considerable dint in the head of the old Kakous, which could 
 only have been dealt by a murderer's hand. 
 
 It was quite plain that no recovery was to be looked for. 
 Before we found the old man, he had bled almost to death, 
 and seemed to have already entirely lost consciousness. But 
 after a few minutes, he came to himself a little, moved his 
 lips, opened his eyes, and tried, with the convulsive energy of 
 a dying effort, to shape his loud groans into intelligible words.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 293 
 
 If bis appearance had been repulsive in life, it was now almost 
 insufferably horrible. At length, he was able to make it un- 
 derstood that he wished to confess. The bystanders seemed 
 to look upon such a request not only with wonder, but dis- 
 pleasure, as involving unheard-of presumption, and actual 
 desecration of the rite. But the priest knelt down at once by 
 the head of the dying man, and at a sign from him, the people 
 reverentially retired, the greatest part evincing their sympathy 
 with the solemn occasion by kneeling also, with heads un- 
 covered, and hands folded in silent prayer. 
 
 The moon had by this time risen, and spread a mild, peace- 
 ful light on the shore, the rocks, and the sea, whose low mur- 
 mur the solemn stillness of the men, so loud a few minutes 
 before, rendered more impressive. The silence was only 
 broken every now and then by the increasingly painful groans 
 of the dying man, or by an outburst of sparks, as some rem- 
 nants of the wood -work within the hut, or rather the cleft 
 that it formerly occupied, fell in. 
 
 After a few minutes, the priest beckoned me to approach. 
 He had, according to his apprehension of the duties of his 
 calling, endeavoured, before all things, to awaken the feeble 
 consciousness of the expiring sinner to the necessity of pre- 
 paring for death after the manner of the Catholic Church, as 
 far as it was possible to do so under such circumstances. But 
 when this was over, he was anxious to make an attempt to 
 elicit some words which might lead to the discovery of the 
 murderer ; and it was with this view that he wished to have 
 me both as assistant and witness and also called old Sa- 
 laun. 
 
 The dying man's words were for the most part incoherent, 
 and spoken in an unintelligible voice ; but, however, such as 
 they were, they tended to confirm a suspicion that had already 
 crossed my mind, and led me to connect the mysterious prc-
 
 294 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 sence in the hut, of the youth called Bauzec, on the occa- 
 sion of my first visit, with the apparition I had just witnessed 
 on the rocks above. In the mind of the dying man, shaken 
 as it was by the death-struggle, and the terrors of conscience, 
 the same opinion evidently often obtained respecting the per- 
 sonality of his murderer, which the people are wont to offer in 
 connexion with the most varied circumstances, namely, that 
 the Evil One had surprised him counting his ill-won wealth, 
 and asserted his own claim to it. 
 
 But every now and then the recollection of the true state of 
 the case would pierce through, as he repeated 
 
 "The Vermin! the Black! the Vermin!" over and over 
 again, with such rage and abhorrence, that his energies seemed 
 more and more exhausted by each repetition of the words, and 
 at last he died in pronouncing them. 
 
 It was to me a very significant fact, that Judock should, in 
 his wanderings, use many common English phrases, which 
 rendered it beyond a doubt that he had carried on treasonable 
 communications with the enemy during the war, and it was 
 with these that "the criminal prosecutions already referred to 
 were connected. 
 
 The priest and Salaun shared my conviction. But when I 
 exclaimed with horror 
 
 " The son the murderer of the father !" the fisherman re- 
 joined 
 
 " It is bad enough as it is, but Bauzec the Black is not the 
 son of Judock Shipwreck. I myself saw him draw the fellow 
 with his hook out of the hen-coop of a ship that had gone to 
 pieces. He knew best what wind had driven it upon the 
 Eavens' Cliff. And then the little black imp sat upon the 
 coop, and was scarcely on shore before he shook off the water 
 like a poodle, and danced and screamed, so that it was awful 
 to seo him. But as he had been almost drowned, the country
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 295 
 
 people called him ' Bauzec,' which means in the gentleman's 
 language, ' the drowned one.' " 
 
 " Judock, then, adopted him as a son?" asked I. " That 
 is more than I should have believed of him." 
 
 " That was not the case either," replied Salaun, " but just 
 the contrary. The boy hung upon the old man like a chain ; 
 hooked himself to him like a kitten. He could neither be 
 shaken off nor driven away by blows, kicks, or hunger he 
 always returned. If Judock had flung him out at night, 
 and driven him far away across the downs, believing that he 
 would not find his way back ; when morning came, there he 
 was again cowering at the door. But you are not to suppose 
 that gratitude or attachment had anything to do with this. 
 On the contrary, from the very first he took to playing all 
 manner of tricks upon the old man ; and if he ever failed to 
 get out of the way of blows with cat-like expertness, and 
 chanced to be caught, which was rare, he would bite and 
 scratch like a young wild beast. It really seemed as though 
 he were an evil spirit, and had a hold over the old sinner's 
 soul. At all events, he was obliged to tolerate what he could 
 not avoid. For, you see, he was grown old and feeble, and 
 had besides, a horror of the lad, whom he never called by any 
 other name than the ' vermin ; ' or else what could have pre- 
 vented him from tying a stone about his neck and throwing 
 him into the sea ? Certainly it was not conscience or tender- 
 heartedness, for" 
 
 Here Salaun interrupted himself. 
 
 " The Kakous is now dead, and has to give an account of 
 himself elsewhere, and so I will say no more about him. We 
 poor folk about here have never doubted that Bauzec was 
 given to Judock Shipwreck as a plague and a punishment 
 whether man or devil, it's all one." 
 
 Meanwhile the corpse had been carried into the burnt-out
 
 296 BRITTANY AND LA VESDf E. 
 
 hut, and a watch over it appointed for the night. We 
 at length contrived, by the light of the tapers brought, to 
 discover a narrow opening at the end of the fissure, which 
 wound up to the top of the cliff, and opened out amidst 
 the brushwood there. This might possibly have afforded an 
 inlet to a slender and active youth. But how it happened 
 that the builder and owner of the hut should not have been 
 aware of this way of entrance, or how, on the other hand, he 
 should not have stopped it up, fearing that his good-for- 
 nothing comrade might learn to make use of it without his 
 leave, and probably to his hurt, this certainly did remain a 
 mystery to \\s. 
 
 Midnight was already past before the country people dis- 
 persed, and I again took my place in the boat, to be rowed 
 by the old fisherman to his own dwelling. We were both 
 silent, meditating, no doubt, upon what we had just witnessed. 
 We now approached the little bay in which Salami's cottage 
 stood, and by the unsteady and changing light of the clouded 
 moon were already able to distinguish it, when we heard a 
 loud cry for help proceeding thence. The next moment, two 
 figures rushed out on the shore, and struggled violently or 
 rather, one struggled to overpower the other, who endeavoured 
 to escape, and cried more and more loudly for help. 
 
 "God be with me!" exclaimed Salaun at the first scream 
 heard, " it is Dinorah's voice ! " 
 
 And straining his strength to the utmost, he made the little 
 boat bound to the point where we saw the two forms, while 
 we both announced the approach of help, and endeavoured to 
 frighten away the assailant by raising our voices to their 
 utmost pitch. But owing to the murmurs of the waves upon 
 the beach, and to the excitement of the parties concerned, 
 they did not observe us till we were but a few yards from the 
 shore, when we plainly distinguished not only Dinorah, but
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 297 
 
 also the aggressor, who was no other than Bauzec the Black. 
 We further observed that the young girl's strength was nearly 
 exhausted. Dinorah was the first to perceive us. At once 
 she tore herself out of her assailant's grasp, and rushed 
 towards us into the sea. 
 
 Her father had hardly time to check the boat's speed, so 
 as to prevent a collision, when, breathless, exhausted, with 
 torn garment and streaming hair, she clasped the boat's prow, 
 and was lifted into it and carried to shore in an unconscious 
 state. Meanwhile, Bauzec had vanished ; and it would have 
 been in vain to have pursued him, had we not, besides, been 
 fully occupied with the poor girl. 
 
 Thanks to her thoroughly healthy nature, she soon came 
 round, and told us but not without a certain reserve, and 
 an evident endeavour to criminate the ruffian as little as pos- 
 sible that Bauzec had, about half an hour before, in great 
 haste and excitement, joined her on the shore, whither she 
 had gone to look for us. He had told her, in the strangest 
 and wildest way possible, that he must leave the country 
 forthwith, aud that she must accompany him. Upon her 
 refusal, he at first tried every means of persuasion, and showed 
 her his hands full of gold. But when she remained firm, 
 and again hastened out of the cottage, whither he had fol- 
 lowed her, and rushed to the shore, he tried to carry her 
 away by force. 
 
 " And then I cried once more out of my inmost soul to my 
 heavenly god-mother, and you came, father ! " said the girl in 
 conclusion. And the joy that beamed over her features at 
 the miraculous help which she fully believed to have been 
 afforded her, banished every trace of her previous terror. 
 
 Soon, however, on learning from us what had happened at 
 the Ravens' Cliff, and recognising, as we did also, in her late 
 experience a confirmation of the blood-guiltiness of her wild
 
 298 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 lover, she was seized with a profound and peculiar emotion. 
 She became pale as death, trembled in every limb, and threw 
 herself upon her knees, where she long remained in fervent 
 prayer. 
 
 Could the miller, Guiller, have had some grounds, then, for 
 rallying her about this wild, repulsive, wicked youth? What 
 relations could there possibly be between him and this pure 
 and maidenly creature ? A few words, however, exchanged 
 upon a later occasion with the priest whose acquaintance I 
 had made at Eavens' Cliff, afforded me the only explanation 
 conceivable. Her feeling was a complex one, consisting in 
 part, of womanly compassion for oae whom all the world, and 
 perhaps with good cause, avoided ; in part, of a certain dread 
 of the youth's savage strength, not entirely free, it might be, 
 from a germ of unconscious admiration of it; in part, of 
 blended piety and vanity, such as one often meets with in 
 more refined society. She had believed herself elected, by 
 the assistance and to the glory of her heavenly sponsor, to 
 convert this poor benighted soul. 
 
 And upon Bauzec's part, joined to the impulse of passions 
 early wakened, there was doubtless a better and deeper im- 
 pression made by the maidenly gentleness and purity of 
 Dinorah. Wild and scornful as he was to all besides, and in 
 outward appearance to her also, it is certain that she had 
 obtained a degree of influence over him, which she, in her 
 half-childish way, took pleasure in displaying. 
 
 All this, as I have already said, I only found out later. 
 At the period of which I treat, I contented myself with leav- 
 ing the father and daughter together, and betaking myself to 
 rest in the fragrant hay-loft under the roof, which was the 
 room assigned to me. 
 
 When I awoke the following morning, the sun was already 
 high in the heavens : nothing seemed stirring in the house,
 
 THE VIKGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 299 
 
 or round about it. I only heard the monotonous breaking of 
 the waves upon the shore, and the twittering of birds between. 
 I found the little room below in the best order possible, and 
 even my clean and simple breakfast ready provided ; but 
 Salaun and his daughter were nowhere to be seen. 
 
 I knew too well the rights with which the inhabitants of 
 Brittany invest the stranger whom they designate as the 
 sent of God not to avail myself, even in the absence of the 
 host, of the hospitality of which I stood so sorely in need. 
 But before setting out, I laid down a gold piece iipon the 
 table, which I could hardly have got old Salaun to accept 
 had he been at home. 
 
 I took the way to Crozon, and had not proceeded far before 
 I heard in the distance a solemn chant, which drew nearer 
 and nearer to where I was. On account of the very high 
 hedges which shut in the road, I was unable as yet to see any 
 of the singers, even though I could distinctly hear the words of 
 their song. A peasant who came from Crozon informed me, 
 however, that it was a procession, undertaken by all the ad- 
 jacent parishes on account of the long-continued drought, and 
 that it was marching around the fields, chanting, and offering 
 up prayers for rain. 
 
 From a little hillock on the roadside which I ascended, I 
 succeeded in seeing the procession, which soon, however, defiled 
 along a cross-way, and came into the road. First came the 
 priest, then the men, two and two ; afterwards the women, in 
 their picturesque Sunday costume, but with grave bearing, 
 and absorbed in deep devotion. 
 
 In the pauses of the chant, which were devoted to prayer, 
 nothing was to be heard but the humming of insects and the 
 chirping of birds. 
 
 One of these pauses was suddenly interrupted by a noise, 
 which proceeded from the direction in which I had come. It
 
 300 BRITTANY AND LA VENDEE. 
 
 was made by the rolling and rattling of a vehicle of some 
 kind ; and soon we could see in the lane behind us a cart, 
 surrounded by armed custom-house officers, as well as by some 
 fishers and peasants. The procession drew to one side to let 
 them pass. 
 
 As the cart approached, we observed that three men were 
 sitting upon the same seat, and that the one in the middle 
 was chained, the other two evidently guarding him. Soon 
 the name " Bauzec the Black," which, spoken low, went from 
 one to the other throughout the procession, left no doubt upon 
 my mind that it was the murderer on his way to prison. In- 
 deed he himself took good care to give me every opportunity 
 of recognising him ; for scarcely had the cart come up with 
 the procession, than he raised himself from the stooping atti- 
 tude he had before maintained, looked around him with the 
 greatest audacity, and called out, to such as he was acquainted 
 with, words of jesting or abuse, so that the good people seemed 
 at first quite petrified by his profligacy. However, when the 
 universal horror and displeasure had found a vent in ejacula- 
 tions and execrations, he seemed to take even increased 
 delight in his own lawless conduct, and was not to be con- 
 trolled by his companions. 
 
 But in the midst of his most daring defiance, he suddenly 
 uttered a cry of mingled rage and anguish ; and after one 
 violent effort to break his chains, suddenly sank down power- 
 less, with his head bowed on his breast and his eyes closed. 
 
 The reason of this transformation was soon evident to me. 
 The cart had passed the men, and reached the part of the 
 procession formed by the women. There stood Dinorah, pale 
 as a corpse, her little hands convulsively clasped, her lips 
 quivering, but with a look of the deepest sorrow in her eyes, 
 as she fixed them upon the lost being before her. "When this 
 look met his, all his wild audacity was at once at an end.
 
 THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD. 301 
 
 The procession again put itself, singing, into motion, and 
 was soon lost in a byway behind the bushes; while the cart 
 with the prisoner went on its way to Crozon, where I arrived 
 soon after it, but was not able to remain. After a while, the 
 newspapers gave me an account of Bauzec's execution. 
 
 Many years afterwards, on visiting a friend at Brest who 
 occupied a position in its largest hospital, I recognised in one 
 of the Sceurs grises, to whom the care of its sick was intrusted, 
 the Virgin's god-daughter, Dinorah.
 
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